Life Goes On!!!!!

The Demonetization Quandary

2016-11-18T23:40:00.002+05:30

These notes are worth jackshit now!

In Chris Nolan's genre-defining film, The Dark Knight, the character of the Joker, immortalized by the late Heath Ledger said, "Introduce a little anarchy, upset the established order and everything becomes chaos!" Little must have Batman's arch nemesis realized how true his words would turn out to be 8 years later in the world's largest democracy!

On the evening of the 8th of November, my phone's pop-up notification told me about a briefing our Prime Minister had with the military chiefs of our armed forces earlier in the day. Nothing much to it, I remember thinking to myself as I put my phone away. A few hours later, my phone beeps again, this time to tell me that the PM shall address the nation at 8 in the evening. Address the nation? Like how the US Presidents do? My mind begins to race and I recall his meeting with the military chiefs. He is not mobilizing our forces on the ground, is he? Declaring war against Pakistan? Hell no, he wouldn't do that! He won't, right?

For over an hour, I vacillated between apprehension and hope until the time arrived when our PM majestically declared his grand kingside attack plan on black money and fake currency - the move to demonetize the 500 and 1000 rupee notes.

My initial reaction to this, like everybody else’s, was awe and respect. I have never showered the man with undue adulation. I am someone who believes that his party came into existence, prominence and then finally to power, all on the basis of their inveterate demagoguery. But being objective as ever, I never questioned Modi's leadership and his will power to see through things that he wanted to get done. And thus, despite the government filing an affidavit with the Supreme Court in August of last year refusing to bring political parties under the ambit of the RTI and despite the government sitting on the names of people with black money stashed in Swiss banks abroad and despite refusing to open the party's funding records to the public, I believed Modi when he told me, in his usual oratorical brilliance about how demonetization will bring in billions of rupees in unaccounted money to the government's disposal, about how banks will be full with defaulters trying to declare their off-the-record income and how this will lead to an increase in their lending capacities thereby reducing the interest rates on loans that they hand out! What a win-win situation for all!

Of course, in the midst of all this theatricality, I forgot that I was nothing but a neophyte when it came to economics. I do have a working knowledge of the country's financial system, but in no way could I picture the fallout that was to come after, and how most of the claims which I believed in with all my naiveté, were just wind and words!

When everybody was jubilant and getting high on the balls that Modi had, I chanced upon a live television debate of Kerala's finance minister, Dr. Thomas Isaac. Unlike me, Dr. Isaac is a badass in economics and is perhaps the best finance minister the state has ever had. When everyone around him was busy showering praises on the PM, Dr. Isaac appeared unimpressed AF, and dare I say, a tad bit condescending. He blithely put the whole thing aside as a sham and went about giving structured arguments to his point. Now, Dr. Isaac is a communist, so naturally, I believed he was just being partisan and doing what politicians ought to do. After all, who doesn't see the good that's coming out of it? Isn't that pretty obvious? You demonetize high-value currencies and hoarders get caught with their pants down. Either declare the money and pay a legal fine or lose the entire money altogether! Wow! Masterstroke! Right? RIGHT? Apparently not!

Now, to begin with, what the government just did isn’t demonetization at all! Demonetization by definition means retiring a currency note of a particular value, once and for all. An example would be the complete demonetization of the 10,000 rupee note in 1978, never to be used or seen afterward. What the government intended to do here is just replace old currency notes with new ones so as to force defaulters to declare their undeclared income and to give a solid Joe Frazier like left hook to the fake currency industry. And to some extent, it may have succeeded at both these endeavors. But is it enough? Is the cost versus benefit ratio favorable?

You see, only a minuscule percentage of the black money economy in India is in the form of hard cash. Indeed, very few people are idiotic enough to store bundles of cash below bathroom tiles and in the false ceilings of their bedrooms. And that's because there is absolutely no guarantee to what can happen to physical cash. They can, for instance, go so out of value, that you may need to carry a sack full of them to buy a ticket for a 2 km bus ride as it happened in Zimbabwe, or they can just be removed out of circulation by the government as it's happening now. The logical thing to do would be to turn the cash into real entities that’ll appreciate in value over time, like gold or land or put it in circulation in the stock market industry buying bonds and shares and hell, earn more money out of it! And if you are still too paranoid, send it off to offshore tax havens like the Panamas, the Swiss banks or the nearby Southeast Asian countries like Thailand and Singapore.

Point being, this demonetization thing literally means diddly-squat to the smarter hoarders. And most often, the smarter ones are the bigger fish. Don't you find it perplexing when known crony capitalists like Adani and Ambani, and film stars blacklisted in the Panama Papers praise the shit out of this move and call it monumental while the common daily wage worker breaks his back cursing the government all day out? Does it not tickle your inquisitiveness when the people that we wanted to see get booked, spend $750 million on their daughter’s wedding or throw a lavish party because their niece just got engaged while the middle-class son can’t convert the 5 lakhs he has accumulated into legal tender for his father’s cancer treatment?

I am in no way alleging that these people had prescient knowledge about the shit that was about to go down. All I am saying is that this move is so ineffective in catching the people that actually matter, that the very same people go ahead and praise it openly! And even among those who had their blacks stored as cash, there were some who could get it converted into white overnight. How? A branch outlet in Mumbai of a famous jewelry chain in Kerala did business worth $450 million on the night Modi announced this plan. The salesman, a friend of mine remembered how people came in frantically and bought off gold and diamond chains without so much as looking at them. The store was open till 6am the next morning and then remained shut for the next three days because they literally had nothing to sell! If this was the case with one small branch of one jewelry chain in one city, imagine the situation and the business done across thousands of jewelry stores across the nation? Seems like this whole black to white transformation isn’t that tough after all!

The next biggest bullshit being peddled around is how the investments in banks have surged to a record high of 1.7 million crores and how this will force the RBI to further reduce the repo rates. Our former Finance Minister, P. Chidambaram deftly exposed all the holes in this line of argument. The RBI just reduced the repo rate a month back and that reduction itself happened after a period of 6 years. So expecting another rate cut is expecting too much. Secondly, the record money that’s coming into banks isn’t windfall by any means. People are depositing money into their accounts not because they have a lot of extra cash or because they just don’t need their money right now. They are doing it because they are being forced to. All they want is to exchange their old notes with new ones and the only way to do that is via bank deposits. Most of the money deposited today will be withdrawn tomorrow. This isn’t any windfall. This is just a temporary influx of money that’ll disappear as fast as it comes, and the banks, in the end, will have no perceptible increase in deposits for the RBI to even consider another repo rate cut. So hold your horses!

On the other side of the spectrum, what followed was total bedlam for the common, middle-class man and woman. ATMs weren’t functioning the first few days, while banks received an in-flow of the new 2000 rupee notes in small chunks each day. Although, why the RBI would introduce notes of higher denomination before notes of lower denomination still beats me. The official explanation is that the government wanted to give people their money back as fast as possible and that meant printing fewer notes but with more value. But how the government and the RBI, with their team full of world class economists, failed to understand the basic fundamental that the 2000 rupee note will remain virtually useless till the 500 rupee note comes into the picture, is something none of the experts out there could figure out yet! And how replacing lower value notes with ones having a higher value will aid in the fight against black money is a question for which I still have to find a solid answer! All it’ll do is make it easier for people to stash their money back into those false ceilings.

It has been more than a week and a half and what was promised to be a minor inconvenience of 2 days in the beginning, is now standing at a death toll of 50 plus with people sacrificing their jobs and their family to spend a quarter of a day in queues outside banks and ATMs. As if the torture wasn’t gory enough, the government has placed strict caps on the amount of money each person can withdraw and exchange! Can you see what an infringement that is on the economic freedom of the people? The government holding out hard-earned money of the masses is some serious crime but since it’s not purposeful and is being done more out of necessity than out of a ruthless need to implement a fascist policy, the public in general, are willing to forgive. But for how long do you think? For how long can parents watch their children go to bed starving or the son see his mother suffering because he can’t withdraw the required amount from the bank or the mother keep quiet about the death of her poor baby because the hospital won’t accept demonetized notes or the father run around trying to convert the money he accumulated over years for his daughter’s wedding? For how long?

Also, the government’s errant behavior of increasing and rolling back the limits looks like a two year old kid fidgeting with a Rubik’s cube – it literally has no clue! It’s way in over its head now. All observations after 10 days point to a gross underestimation and mismanagement of resources on the government’s part. Surely, how did the government not see that removing 21 billion notes out of circulation overnight and replacing it with 21 billion new notes is not something that you could accomplish in a matter of days? How did it go ahead with the plan when it knew that our country with 1.25 billion people has only 0.2 million ATMs and just over 3000 technicians to calibrate them? Why where the ATMs shut down for two days after the 8^th of November only for the Finance Minister to tell us afterwards that recalibration will take another 3 weeks? If the numbers above are to believed, complete normalcy can return only after a minimum of four to five months. I for one happen to believe that that amount of time will only test the patience of people a bit too much. All it takes is a spark to ignite a bottle of Molotov cocktail. A little riot here, a little vandalism there and before you know, people will follow suit. And if there is anything history has taught us, it is that this can come true without any iota of doubt.

So, let’s shed this false façade of the greater good and let’s not rope in the army every time to cover for government inadequacies. I didn’t see anyone getting worked up when our great soldiers were made to work like laborers to build pontoon bridges for Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s Art of Living program in Delhi. Let’s just cut to the crap. The government needs to first acknowledge that it is in fact in deep shit and that’s getting part of the problem solved.

I of course, am not the person to say anything about further measures that need to be undertaken, because if I could have, I would have been on the board of the RBI or assisting the Finance Ministry. What I said, was entirely based on common sense. There was no statistical drivel in there and no lofty concepts of economic parity. Just as I saw through the bullshit, millions of Indians also have. Like me, they too are angry because the government couldn’t wait to take credit for a relatively good idea and ended up rushing it without proper planning which resulted in the total mess the country’s economy is in currently. As each day passes, the situation moves from bad to worse.

And the government, now too egotistic to even admit that they messed up, has started to shift blames already. The beginning was yesterday when Piyush Goyal declared in the Rajya Sabha that the whole demonetization thing was the RBI’s idea! Is that why Mr. Modi addressed the nation beating his chest out and took all the credit for this when things were all sunshine? I don’t know. Nothing looks like anything to me anymore!

Knowing the Real India - Part I

2015-08-26T23:59:00.001+05:30

I sit on a half-broken bench at a rather empty stretch of the platform with the setting sun casting its weak rays onto my tired eyes, my luggage placed awkwardly on my lap, my throbbing head tucked into my chest, my stomach aching, my muscles full with the lactic acid build-up and my throat parched with an unusual thirst that just wouldn’t disappear even after having emptied two bottles of mineral water into it.

I am at Hazrat Nizamuddin station in New Delhi and it is somewhere in the last week of June 2014. The harsh North Indian summer is putting up its last, brave fight before it fades away for good, for almost a year, and then it shall return next May. I am severely nauseated for quite some time now accompanied by a very strong aversion to the sight and smell of food. Even a passing reference to the word makes me want to puke. I look at my watch and it says half an hour to go before sunset. My train which will be my escape to Mumbai will arrive half an hour before midnight. This means waiting another five hours in this strangulating atmosphere. My intestines churn when I arrive at this conclusion. I occasionally look up to check on the creepy-looking rag-picker who has made himself comfortable on the edge of the platform. I curse when I catch him staring at me. Or is it my bag that he has got his eyes on?

I start wondering about the day that passed behind me. I had arrived at the New Delhi station just early today by the Rajdhani Express, the most pampered and favored train in the Indian Railways. And what a fruitful journey that was! My co-passengers were all people holding some of the most enviable positions and jobs and had a lot to talk and share about their accomplishments among themselves. A retired government service man who was now a full-time voice actor for television soaps, his son an eminent cardiologist; an old man with Gandhi spectacles, a wavy beard, a free-flowing mustache, and his hair tied up in a ponytail who might as well have had the words ‘intellectual journalist’ written over his forehead (he was one by the way); a research scholar in mathematics (of all subjects!) who was on his way to the Clay Institute – which if you don’t know is Hogwarts to math wizards; and a Delhi based woman and her two-year-old son who now lived in Mumbai with her husband.

Together, they all discussed issues. Everything from the mundane and commonplace to the more serious ones like politics and economics. The journalist was particularly sympathetic to the AAP and that piqued my interest in his views and conclusions about the fall of the party-led government in Delhi. The cardiologist spoke about increasing coronary diseases among Indians and how one day we will overtake Americans in that regard! The voice actor simply rambled about his adventures and the people he dubbed for on television. The housewife recognized every name he mentioned with the enthusiasm of a teenager who just got to meet a band member from One Direction. The others though, sat scratching their heads, bored out of their heads by his impassive storytelling.

‘You don’t dub for film actors?’, the journalist asked finally.

This visibly irritated the voice actor beyond measure and he then did not speak for the remainder of the journey. The woman, for her part, kept going on and on about why she thought Mumbai was a much better place than Delhi (I know lady!).

In the midst of all this elderly talk, there was another interested listener like me. Her name was Shivani Pete. She was perhaps two years older and ridiculously beautiful with a face carved out with queen-like features – a Roman nose, high cheekbones, eyebrows that conveyed control, and olive skin that was adequately tanned thanks to the Mumbai heat. She was traveling to attend her first semester at the Delhi School of Economics. Though she was seated next to me, we didn’t talk much initially. But I could tell from whatever little she spoke that she was one of those rare kinds. That down-to-the-scale combination of beauty and brains. No, I wasn’t attracted to her nor was it one of those senseless love/infatuation at first sight scenarios. I was, truth be told, highly impressed.

When the old men got tired of all the non-stop talking, I searched for an apt conversation starter to engage with her. You are not a flirt, I reminded myself as I thought of a perfect line. I looked at her and she was eating yogurt out of a plastic container. She had requested an extra box from the waiter and the bewitched man had given in. She was finishing off the final bits when I finally managed to spit it out. ‘It's lactobacillus. Good for your stomach’ I said that and flashed a smile that ran from ear to ear as if I had spotlessly uttered a Shakespearean quote on Broadway.

Now this line could have been an enormously epic fail with every other girl on the planet. Mentioning some lowly gut bacteria in your first sentence with a female is not exactly what they call ‘smooth'. I could already picture all those ‘stud gurus’ from shit-soaked MTV programs shaking their heads at me in discernible contempt.

But this one was different. ‘Biology student ha?’ she smiled back. And then it began. Never in my life had I come across a girl so aligned about things that mattered to me. Things like your country, its diabolical neighbors, its unsteady economy, its uniquely structured political architecture, its still ethical refusal to permanently side as an ally with any superpower in the world, and the list runs pages.

We agreed on almost everything and disagreed on a great deal too. The biggest difference in opinion was the time when she matter-of-factly blurted out that the concept of development in this country is so clichéd and so far from the truth and that in reality, India fares far worse than even some of the most poverty-stricken African nations. India was in fact still a major Third World country, she had said. I argued to the contrary. I asked her to look at India’s space programs, her status as an undeniable stakeholder in global markets of multinational companies and nations themselves, and also the line-up of states all over the world that wanted to make strategic and economic treaties with her. She shook her head at this and replied that a country does not attain greatness by its triumphs outside, it attains greatness by the quality of living among the people that exist under its name, the amenities they receive, and the social, political, and economic harmony that prevail therein. And in this regard, India was nowhere within a hundred miles of being labeled a world leader.

I couldn’t argue further. I had a valid point. But she had a valid point too. I checked the time and it was approaching three in the morning. ‘How about we catch some sleep? Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.” She took the cue to end this never-ending debate and climbed up the berth and laid down. I spent another hour looking through the window at the darkened silhouette of the trees melting away outside before my eyes closed and I fell asleep.

The train creaked into the New Delhi railway station at exactly nine in the morning and I got down with my luggage – a backpack and a small carry-on bag. She got down with her luggage – a minaudiere clutched in her right hand, a backpack, and a travel bag half her size. It was so immense she could have easily stuffed a dead body in and no one would have suspected a thing. We took the underground metro that lay opposite the station and separated at Moolchand. Simple goodbyes and courtesies were exchanged as she left the metro cabin and I watched her disappear into the office-going morning crowd. That would be the last I ever saw or heard of her. The philosophy of a ‘single-serving friend’ from the movie Fight Club sprang into my head. Edward Norton was right after all.

I reached my college by ten thirty and finished my job by eleven. I then waited half an hour for Kabeer. He is the younger brother of my teacher at graduation college. He arrives and looks, talks, laughs, and behaves the same way as his elder brother. The similarities are so striking that I had to message my teacher halfway through the conversation about it. Also, like his brother, Kabeer too is an absolute foodie. His eyes beamed with excitement around mid-afternoon.

‘Chalo, aaj tumhe Dilli ka khaana khilaata hu!’ Come, today I will show you the food of Delhi!

Half an hour later we were seated at a very famous Mughlai restaurant near the university. Smoke from hot tandoors serenaded our way with the refreshing odor of charred flesh. I hadn’t eaten much since I got off the train so I made it a point to gobble up as much as I could. The waiter arrived and I asked Kabeer to order the best dish on the menu.

‘One chicken kadai full, one chicken tikka full, and six butter rotis. Oh, and before that get two plates of shawarma as starters.’ he shot off at the waiter whose eyes darted from Kabeer to me repeatedly as he took the order, a genuine look of surprise visible in his eyes.

I too was astonished at the sheer quantity of food that was being ordered for just the two of us. I leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice not wanting the waiter to hear. ‘Are you sure Kabeer? This much?’

“Arree don’t worry Altaf Bhai. I will adjust!” he said and laughed heartily, much to the vexation of the other customers. I, too couldn’t control myself and joined in.

I always had a low appetite, so it was natural for me to get full just fifteen minutes into the feast. Kabeer though was still going sturdy and looked like he had space for another item or two on the menu. He pompously declared how his was a family of people who just went wild bananas over food (It was only later that my teacher told me that Kabeer could eat one kilogram of mutton in just one sitting. My word!).

We stepped out of the restaurant and moved towards the ring road. Kabeer asked me what time my train was and I told him it was at eleven thirty that night. He invited me to stay over at his place till nightfall maybe freshen up a bit, take a bath or so, sleep an hour or two, watch a bit of television. I was tempted but I declined. The reason was that Kabeer was staying with his friend who in turn was staying at the winter residence (in summer!) of his aunt. Barging into the house of my teacher’s brother’s friend’s rented apartment unannounced isn’t exactly good manners. He pressed. But I still refused, giving him a thousand inconsequential and fatuous reasons until he relented. He hauled a rickshaw for me and bargained with the driver for over a minute about the right price to Nizamuddin Station. “Dilli ka hi hu. C****ya mat banao mujhe.”, he said repeatedly until they finally agreed on a fee, no love lost between them. I got in and thanked Kabeer for making my day and also hoped we meet again when our semester starts. He guffawed again, this time even louder, and waved off my thank yous with a brush of his hand.

That was then and this is now. I snap back to reality. My co-passengers, Shivani, Kabeer, the chicken tikkas, and shawarmas, everyone, and everything felt so distant and illusory. Nebulous memories from a forgotten past life. My physical discomforts which had given me a temporary leeway have found their way back in. Looking back now, the decision to reject Kabeer’s offer seems such a huge blooper, one even bigger than Napoleon’s decision to challenge the Royal British Navy. Napoleon at least went into exile after his gaffe. I for one, am trapped in this ostensible hellhole of a place, gasping for breath with every passing minute.

I look at my watch. Time has moved. But at a snail’s pace. It’s still only seven forty. Almost four hours still left to sublimate. I fervently wish and pray that time passes off like it does when you watch a good movie or when you play a game of cricket. Four hours seem such a short period then, it seems so long now.

I see people forming a queue under the supervision of a police constable on the platform next to the one I am on. They are lining up for a ‘first come first serve’ entry into the unreserved local compartments of long-distance passenger trains. The ones where you have to forget your seat when you go take a piss. An idea sparkles inside me. I pick up my phone and log into the Indian Railway app. Usually, it is like what you expect from a government application – slow and taxing, it makes you want to pull your hair out in anticipation. But luckily this time it jumps to life in an instant. I flick through the list of Mumbai-bound trains this evening. I find one. I can’t exactly recollect the name but this one starts out from here at exactly eight forty-five and reaches Mumbai by four in the evening the next day. The ticket I have in hand currently belongs to the eleven-thirty train and it is waitlisted. If the confirmation doesn’t come through, I travel to Mumbai sitting near the toilets. With just a few hours to go, that seems highly improbable. On the other hand, I could get a local ticket and travel on this train that I have just fished out from the app. But that means sacrificing a possible seat and the obvious comfort that comes with it. But I also can’t take to this waiting business anymore and desperately want to be on the first train that gets me out of this netherworld. I am in a dilemma. I have to make a decision. Should I or should I not? To be or not be? Aristotle’s classic metaphysical question.

It is then that memories and images from my childhood come dancing past me like logs of wood on a free-flowing river. Memories of the elders in my life, my uncles, aunts, father – especially my father – constantly lecturing me and my brother about how we had an easy and ‘silver platter’ childhood. How they had it hard and exhausting, how they walked for miles to school and back, how they lived without electricity for most of their infancy, and how they left homes, families, friends, and foes, in search of a better life. “You never had to worry about that my son!” my dad would often proclaim emphatically. Behind all these constant reminders of their arduous and demanding childhood and adolescence and youth, I had always felt the presence of a slight insinuation. An insinuation that we, having lived in a city were soft and tender, an insinuation that we were a people who would wince and cry at the first sight of hardship, an insinuation that we could never even think of stepping out of our comfort zone, an insinuation that we were sissies.

Of course, this was my smothered and suffocating brain whipping out these dumb ideas but at this particular moment, they seemed so logical and true. It increased my determination. I wanted to prove to my father and my uncles and aunts that I too am forged with the same metal as them, that I could do things that they thought were impossible for me. And what was a better opportunity than the one that had presented itself now? Me traveling in the local compartment of a passenger train with hardwood seats and no berth to sleep and no space to tuck my baggage in. That would make a good story to tell!

And this was the tipping scale. I turn towards the ticketing counter that lay behind me and stroll in with the determination to buy a single local ticket to Mumbai.

Little did I know that this decision would prove to be one of the worst that I have ever made and that I would be made to suffer for this sudden burst of imprudence in me. It will teach me what a vain thing a fool’s idea of glory is!

Behind Enemy Lines......

2014-09-23T18:28:00.001+05:30

The press convention room was abuzz with a lot of unusual chatter and activity. Media personnel were being shown into the sixty seater hall after being put through rigorous frisking and security checks. The camera men were busy mounting their microphones on the orator’s podium. Occasionally there would be hushed snares and glares among the men as they vied for the spots that would command the most space on the international telecast of the event that was to air to the view of the entire world in just a few minutes.

Young journalists, many of whom who had never been to the historic parliamentary press room where just taken aback by the sheer majesty and architectural grandeur of the hall; even as they themselves were somewhat nervous about the happenings that was to follow. Besides them, experienced veterans sat with an air of petty confidence and calmness but they too would be lying if they claimed they weren’t anxious. And why wouldn’t they be. It was, after all, the biggest political sand storm that had kicked up after the 2004 beheadings of three Indian soldiers belonging to the border security force that manned the volatile Indo-Pak border. Though Pakistan had explicitly denied the hand of their armed forces in that brutal tragedy; it was nevertheless an open secret and every third grade dimwit in India knew the truth. The opposition had pounced upon the opportunity and every minister in both Houses of the Parliament left no stone unturned in declaring the government impotent and incapable of defending the nation. The government though, for their part had claimed that they were doing everything they could possibly do through diplomatic channels and that it was not in the nature of international protocol to take up arms and act in haste over such incidents without tangible proof. The media went berserk over all these developments and the fire that ensued lasted for over a month.

Now, after almost a decade, a controversy similar in nature but more grotesque in pattern had emerged. But the tide and in which they emerged were different. The opposition was the government and the then government had been reduced to a miniscule minority in the House. The new ruling order was seen as more authoritative and stronger than the older one and it was expected that this time, India’s response would be threatening. But the situation itself was delicate and not as simple as three servicemen being killed in combat. It involved a topic which no country on the face of the earth was comfortable talking about, though it was something which every country did and had to do for their own defence and survival; to maintain internal security and peaceful integrity of their international borders and to some extent play political hopscotch. The topic was espionage.

The sounds in the press hall were silenced immediately as the Prime Minister’s official media spokesperson Nirupama Roy entered the hall and went straight to the podium. She climbed the dice coolly like she had done countless number of times in the past, dragging her long embellished sari beneath her feet. After adjusting the microphone she began addressing the assembled journalists.

“Good morning everyone. I will keep this short. As you all are aware, this press conference was called by the Honourable Prime Minister in view of the alleged infiltration remarks by Pakistan in which it was claimed that the Pakistani Army had captured a secret agent working for the Government of India in an undisclosed location along the Pakistani side of the LOC. As scheduled, the PM will present his statement shortly. And he will not take any questions so I would request you to refrain from asking him any. Thank You.”, saying this, Roy cleared the podium and left the hall as fast she had appeared.

The ‘no questions’ clause let out a collective sigh of despair among the assembled media wolves who had spent their whole adult life jumping up and down at the opportunity of asking questions. Nevertheless, they would still try to incense him with blazing one liners and hope to make him feel compelled to answer atleast some of them. The issue was contentious and had ignited heated debates on international spy networking and insurgency. It nevertheless was expected by the general masses that the government would come out in full support of the captured agent and try to extradite him and get him back to his country and honour him with the highest gallantry medals. But this was just public, layman fancy – imbecile, foolish and driven by passion over brains. It didn’t work that way in the real world. There was no scope for patriotic sentiments or public opinions. The only thing that worked was diplomacy and every foreign relations expert in India knew what the PM’s response would be. So there were no surprises why the reporters felt deprived or even marginalized at not being allowed to question him on such a politically significant affair.

The doors opened and the bulky frame of Yudhishtir Sinha, the fourteenth Prime Minister of India stepped in holding a manila envelope in his hand. Giving his usual courtesy smile, he moved on to the podium clustered with innumerable microphones belonging to different news corporations. After having settled the envelope which contained the statement on the desk, Sinha took one long look at the assembly. His eyes swept through each and every reporter in the room, identifying some, being intimidated by some, and recording some new faces to his memory.

After taking a long, deep breath, he opened the envelope and pulled out the four page statement drafted by his expert team comprising of speech writers and eminent political advisors. Even though Sinha knew everything written on the statement by heart, he ignored the text at the last moment and began speaking extempore.

“As the Prime Minister of India, and as its numero uno representative, I hereby categorically deny all the allegations of espionage labelled by the Ministry of External Affairs, Pakistan as completely unfounded and baseless. The individual in question, Mr. Jasif Jamshed, has not been found to be part of any military or paramilitary regiment or troop under the command of the President of India. At the most he is an Indian citizen who has erringly wandered off into Pakistani territory. I assure the country that all possible means would be undertaken to get the concerned individual back to India safe and sound. Thank You”. Sinha stepped away from the podium and briskly walked towards the exit door even as he could hear those journalists hammering him with nasty questions like a group of hyenas attacking an infant deer.

Yudhishtir Sinha walked straight to the Parliamentary exit and out into the huge lawn where his official vehicle the BMW X5 – fortified, armoured and solidly bulletproof – waited for him flanked by guardsman belonging to India’s elite Special Protection Group, the force responsible for protecting PMs, former PMs and the President of India and their immediate families. The SPG was instituted after the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi by LTTE militants of Sri Lanka. Experts felt the need to have a dedicated protection force for the Prime Minister analogous to the American Secret Service. The selected individuals were cherry picked from various sources like the Armed Forces, the Police and sometimes even the Navy and the Air Force. Traditionally, the SPG is headed by an officer belonging to the Indian Police Service or the National Security Guards. As Sinha moved towards his SUV, he was flanked by two of these guards on the either side, alert and holding their MP5 submachine guns in a combat ready position, and they trailed him till he had entered the vehicle and closed those huge armor plated doors.

Once inside, Sinha picked up his secure handset rigged with speed dials to his most important official contacts. Not being a man too fond of technology, he began dialling a number out of his memory. A number he had called atleast fifty times in the past few days. After a few rings, Jai Rajeevan, a 1977 batch IPS officer and the present chief of R&AW, the Research and Analysis Wing, answered the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Prime Minister.”, the voice was bold and intimidating and the words spoken with a tone of awareness.

“The press conference is over Jai. Go ahead with the operation and call me back with the news that you have acquired Agent Jamshed back”, Sinha hung up the receiver back where it belonged and rested his head back on the seat.

That was all that was needed to be said. He had just ordered an operation to rescue the same Indian citizen who had ‘erringly wandered off into Pakistani territory’; though he knew that was a statement far from the truth and that agent Jamshed had gone there as part of an infiltration attempt; as part of the many counter insurgency operations that are carried out by R&AW against Pakistan and ISI. And Jamshed was a son of the soil. Disowning him was never a choice. His service to the country can never be repaid; but by bringing him back from the fangs of torture from under those ISI bastards, the country would have shown its own small gratitude towards him.

Welcome to D'HELL'I!!!!..

2014-09-11T21:27:00.001+05:30

So me and my friends end up in Delhi for our post graduation in biological sciences. Now Delhi is a place not famous for its serenity and peacefulness. It is a place famous for its horrendous crimes against women, for the number of people that die each year of the merciless winter, and for being the epicentre of the most prolific race of blood sucking maggots the country could produce; the political elite!. So naturally, before I set off from Mumbai, I had people from Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Mumbai, USA and Uganda telling me to be careful and not fall prey to the huge array of popular vices this place offers. For the part of me and my friends, I can confidently say we share similar sentiments. We had been to the city once before to appear for the exams, our first time, and the experience was nothing close to exemplary. Infact, a Delhi Corporation Bus conductor tried to fool us by accepting money and not giving a ticket! Hell I lived in Mumbai for two decades and never remotely had such an experience!

So if the University of Mumbai wasn’t as half as bad as they say it is, it would have probably tipped the scales and I would have chosen to abandon this wretched capital of India. But unfortunately it is and so Delhi is a necessity. Add to that the fact that I am nurturing Civil Services dreams, and Delhi becomes entirely unavoidable.

They say a man doesn’t understand the value of sight until he loses it. And in similar fashion, I failed to understand the value of my home city Mumbai until I left it. I was someone who addressed Mumbai as ‘garbage city’ and ‘shit box’ the whole two decades of my life. But now when I am in a city which is hell on earth (use that term literally during summer), I dearly and heavily miss my city. And when I say I miss my city, I mean I miss everything that’s in and around it. My parents, my brother, my friends, my teachers, my cat, my house, my buildinmeg, the BEST, the autowaalas (oh how I yearn for rickshaws that ply on meters!), the Metro, the vada paavs, the bhajjias, the pothole infested streets, the floods and the list goes on and on!

Now sitting in my room in Jamia Nagar, I think of Delhi as a completely alien place to me! Even the hindi they speak is with a slight Haryanvi slang. The men here are aggressive and hot headed and the women aren’t half as pretty. Ganesh Chaturti is probably the biggest festival in Mumbai. Here, no one cares about Ganeshji! Even the schools and government offices remain open on the day. Diwali is just a one day affair and people laugh at you cynically when you ask them about Diwali vacations. The academic sessions run a month late; so when your mid term ends around October in Mumbai, it sums up around December in Delhi. So you have your Christmas-New Year holidays and mid term holidays combined into one. I bet Mumbai students won’t like that!

Talking about food is a sacrilege. Mumbai is an open kitchen where you can enjoy cuisines from all over the country whether it be Gujarati, South Indian or Punjabi. In Delhi there are no Gujaratis. Atleast I haven’t seen any yet! So talk about their food is an utter waste of time. But you do have those schemers selling pseudo Dhoklas and pseudo Khandvis as though they are futuristic rarities imported from Mars, charging you fifteen rupees per piece (what horseshit!). South Indians are not as endangered as the Gujaratis here but their food is in a serious threat of disavowement. Idlis and Dosas are served in select ‘South Indian’ restaurants. Though the idlis are fine, it’s the sambhar and the chatni that will want you thinking of abandoning food for the rest of your lives.

Being a south Indian, fish is a necessary part of my diet. Whilst in Mumbai I had fish every alternate day. But you can’t find fish in Delhi and thats because you can’t find the sea within a 1000 miles of this place! So if you want fresh marine food, you have to either go to the Bay of Bengal or to Gujarat; both of which are too far away. But you do get freshwater fish at a place called CR Market which I am reliably informed is the only market of its kind in here.

Now when you walk along any street in Mumbai, chances are that you will bump into a roadside vada paav stall or a dosa vaala or a farsan store every hundred metres. The peaceful corner where you can have that cheap and spicy daily snack of yours. In Delhi, you don’t find any roadside stalls. Even if you do, they have no freaking clue about a vada paav nor do they sell bhajjias. Some have samosas that look like two dimensional triangles and taste like molten rubber. And when you know you are paying ten rupees for this greasy piece of crap, it makes the already torturous process of shoving it down your throat all the more painful. You then have the famous McDonalds joints at select places where they charge you extra for every packet of ketchup and laugh when you ask them for coke floats. And KFCs are almost unheard of here! So that means even Westerners have a tough lunch here!

That was all the talk about food. Now lets talk about the pains of finding a house to stay in. People here still live in the old world mindset of religious differences! My friend could not find a room in the area I lived because he is a Hindu and the place is predominantly Muslim! So we try to find a room in an area with a Hindu majority and guess what? They won’t allow me because I am a Muslim! Now seriously, I am appalled. I thought this Hindu-Muslim bullshit was a matter of yesterday and subjects in stupid Bollywood films. But here in the capital of this great country we call India, we have such factors still playing an integral part in determining how these people live!

We have known or heard about the coal mafia, the mining mafia and even the sand mafia. Putting all these old school maifias to shame, in Delhi we have the water mafia! In simple terms, people in Delhi ‘buy’ the water needed for their daily household activities, especially drinking, from water vendors who turn up every morning with big plastic drums and equally big funnels. When I asked around a bit, the answers I got were shocking. No one knows where these people come from but they believe the water they bring is purified and free of contaminants. And the standalone reason why people rely on these water retailers is because the water provided my MCD (Municipal Corporation of Delhi) is so full of shit that even a dead man would contract hepatitis. Its so bad that I don’t even make wudu for my prayers using that water! I would however like to say that only the area that I stay in has this issue and its not synonymous for the whole of Delhi.

Now transport in Delhi; although legions and legions away from Mumbai; is the only silver lining. Delhi is a radial city and so a bifurcating rail network like the Mumbai locals is not a solution. The answer was discovered ten years ago when the first metro train rolled out. For all my criticisms of this place, I must give in to the fact that Delhi has an elaborate and complex network of metro services which is cheap, well connected and fully air conditioned; something which is direly desired both during summer and winter. You can reach almost any place of commercial, academic, political and historic significance using the metro. Compared to this, the newly running Mumbai metro may look like a nipple sucking baby but its just a matter of a decade and a half at the most; and then the Delhites would lose that one echelon of superiority they had over the Mumbaikars.

The bus service is good but not great. You have buses to reach any place in the city but its just that. The buses here don’t traverse every nook and corner of the city like the BEST buses; which has an impressive fleet of well-coordinated bus routes that can almost drop you at your doorstep! The rickshaws as usual don’t use their meters. They charge you by your looks. If you are naïve enough to let him know you are not from Delhi, he will burn a hole the size of a watermelon in your wallet. Thats the reason when Indians from different parts of the country visit Mumbai, they are most surprised seeing these meters actually being put to use. One thing I found peculiar in Delhi is the cycle rickshaw whose engines are men themselves. The socialist in me didn’t allow me to travel in these vehicles. To me these were yesteryear atrocities that should have been abolished long ago with the caste system. But as time passed and when the other rickshaw proved expensive, I hesitantly started using them. And now I travel by them everyday. Oh how young minds get corrupted in this vicious place!

Then there are those battery operated trailers which ferry you at a much cheaper price. These are not strictly classified as vehicles and are driven around by young boys in their early teens. They have no licences, no permits, no road traffic regulations or anything remotely connecting them to the established transport laws. They left the auto rickshaws red faced because they paid much more for their licences and permits and their fuel charges and then carried less passengers at a higher price. Naturally people preferred the electric trailers. This went on until one fine day a bus smashed one of these vehicles into orange pulp and the driver, a twelve year old boy died on the spot. The Delhi High Court then ordered all the trailers to be taken off roads until they secure a proper registration and are driven by licenced adults. Now, in clear disregard for a High Court dictat, these trailers have appeared back miraculously, driven by the same young children who at their age are supposed to be attending elementary school with the other kids. Atleast in Mumbai people take contempt of court seriously!

But the most shocking, eye-ball popping fact remains that in Delhi, getting hold of a gas cylinder is as easy as buying eggs! If you have a few hundred rupees to invest, you can buy your own gas cylinder. When comparing it to the fact that in Mumbai, you need to have a gas account and the government hammers you with cylinder limits each year after which they revoke your subsidy, this seems such a convenience! Use LPG as much as you like, whenever you like and however you like. And when you run out of gas, no worries. Just go to your nearest ‘gas-refilling’ shop and get your cylinder filled with fresh gas at ninety rupees per kilogram! But the sinister part is when you realise the immense scope of misuse this can bring upon the society. If one day some, deranged wackjob, frustrated with his life and the happiness of others, just decides to blow up an entire block, just for the heck of it; well; he can! And no one can check him!

So like the experimental scientist who draws conclusions after studying his observations, I too feel obliged to do so. The whole purpose of this blog wasn’t hate mongering. It was an oriental observation through the eyes of someone who is a completely new resident to the culture, social structure and anthropologic fabric of this city. Maybe the things I feel undesirable about this place would be the most alluring to the natives here. And maybe what I find good here (not much of that!) maybe the most hated here! But as days pass by, I hope my heart comes to like this place. Though growing to like it as much as I like Mumbai is a big, big ask; I think I can do away with some of the grudges in a couple of months. Having said that I am apprehensive of the day some of my new batch-mates, some of whom are ardent Delhites, would read this. To them I would like to say that maybe now when your reading this, I have already turned into a big Delhi lover! A true Delhiphile! And if I have not, please forgive me because nothing tops Mumbai! The city of dreams! The city that never dies!

In Search of The Prophet - 1

2014-04-19T21:18:00.002+05:30

It was perhaps the most torturous day he could remember in a long time. The dry blistering heat just serenaded its way through the house and the somewhat busy streets of Taif, the sister city to Mecca which lay about a 100 kilometers southeast to it. The winds that blew over the city brought with it the sand and a sense of impending doom. Ofcourse he had seen many such heat streaks across his life, but this time he felt he couldn’t handle it; partly due to the flu he acquired two weeks ago while at a business trip to Syria.

Falah ibn Atah lay still on his cot, tired and wearied. His muscles reeling with fatigue, his bones so weak he thought walking would crumble them. Mentally he was a depressed man. His wife had given birth to a daughter again; her third. How would he face his fellow tribesmen now? He could hear them teasing and taunting him. ‘Look! Here goes Falah the man who has no one to carry forward his name!’ He sighed. He loved his girls. He would give up anything in this world to keep them. When the first girl was born, he defied traditional custom and refused to bury her alive in the sand dunes outside the city. Girls were a burden to the Arabian middle class. At a time when every tribe and town of Arabia were nothing but warring factions ready to spill blood for the silliest of reasons, not having a son to fight battles was a shame.

But burying newborn girls just because they couldn’t grow up to be bloodthirsty hounds was something he could not come to accept. But Falah was nevertheless still a man and he easily fell prey to the constraints and standards of society and becoming the subject of their ridicule was something that bothered him a tad bit too much. And not having a son wasn’t exactly why he was at loggerheads with his tribe.

After growing up and forming his own opinions and perceiving things his own way, Falah, at a very young age had refused to pray to the idols in his city and neither did he take part in the annual Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca where tribes from all over Arabia paid homage to the 360 odd idols inside the Holy structure of the Kaaba. “When I travel the desert at night, I know that God is not kept in a house” he would often say to his detractors.

Through his travels he had heard about Noah, Abraham, Moses and Jesus and the message they preached, that which of one God for the universe; the Unseen, the most Sublime. Attributing Him to idols and pictures which can neither harm people nor do any good to them, in his opinion was blasphemy and belittling of God. To prove his point to his father, he had once pushed the idol of the Calf from the tableplace at his house. When it fell and broke into a thousand pieces he commented, “Father, this idol cannot even take care of itself how would it affect the lives of the people who pray to it.”

He was slapped and beaten up for this ‘sacrilegious’ act and at the end his father out of love for his son advised him to keep his feelings about religion to himself if he wanted to live peacefully in the tribe. When his wife failed to give birth to a son the second time, some of his tribesman had observed that he might have incurred the wrath of the gods upon him. Even though in doubt, Falah never wavered and held steadfast on to his doctrine.

But life, as they say is not affable to everyone and he had seen his fair share of bad times and now he lay in this small bijou house of his not knowing what his future had for him. The fever had subsided and he felt a little better and proceeded to sit up at the edge of his bed. He had just got up to get some water for himself when he thought he heard some commotion outside. A clamor of people screaming and shouting aggressively. It was growing louder and louder with every passing second. He could not make any head or tail of what this was about. He turned and moved towards the door slowly, holding onto anything firm and steady for support as his legs still felt feeble.

He opened the door and was surprised to see his wife standing outside facing the street, the basket full of groceries still in her hands. He was about to ask her when she had returned when he realized that everyone was standing at the doors of their respective houses as if awaiting some passing by carnival show. Falah trained his eyes in the direction of the oncoming pandemonium. He could vaguely make out two men being vigorously chased by children and street urchins of Taif. They were being pelted with stones mercilessly by children. As they came closer, Falah saw one of the men shielding the other with the long cloaks of his garment but this proved to be a futile exercise as both of them were injured pretty badly. He wondered what their fault was. He had never seen such punishment borne out for anyone in Taif in the past. People were usually flogged for their crimes.

He turned to his wife for answers.

“Don’t you know? The one in the front is the man from Mecca who claims to be the prophet of God and the one shielding him is his adopted son.” She replied.

“Muhammad?” Falah tried to remember. Half a decade of information began to process in his mind. He had certainly heard about him throughout his travels along the desert, the man who talked about absolute monotheism. Some spoke of him as the awaited Prophet while many dismissed him as a madman; a lunatic who just kept blabbering consummate poetry. What did they call it? Ah yes! The Qur’an!

But that was all the much he had heard about him. He didn’t know what he professed or what he taught or what were the contents of this poetic prose they called the Qur’an. But first things first. Why was he here and why is he being pursued like this?

“Muhammad has gone against established order. He is challenging what the people of Arabia have been doing for centuries! Stopping the worship of the sacred idols of Arabia? I think he just wants to be seen as the ruler of Mecca. All he wants is power.”, his wife went on, a tone of evident bias in her voice; she obviously didn’t share Falah’s views on this subject.

“He obviously doesn’t want power.”, Salam al Uteybi, his neighbor interrupted. “He belongs to the very tribe that has custody over the Kaaba – The Quraish- they are Mecca’s defacto rulers. Early into his preaching, the chieftains had offered him wealth as much as he wanted and the sole leadership of the tribe. But he refused. His own uncle is opposed to him. So money; I don’t think so. He is probably mad, that’s what everyone in Mecca says he is.”

“Whatever. Overtime, life in Mecca became hard for this man and his small band of his followers. He was under the protection of his uncle who died last year. To top that even his wife passed away. He reached here today morning with his son seeking the aid and support of this city. The chieftains welcomed him and allowed him to speak freely of his message. But he started speaking of his monotheism and women rights and slave rights and what not! Some say he even told the chief of one of the tribes that in the sight of God, he is equal to his black Abyssinian slave standing next to him.”

“He what?” Falah exclaimed. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. But he couldn’t say Muhammad was wrong either. This man was saying and advocating ideas which for years he thought were legitimate. What if he is indeed the prophet the Jews in Medina and elsewhere talked about? The ideas he preached certainly did not sound like that of a lunatic. And if he wanted power and wealth, he could have easily accepted the Quraish’s offer a long time back and escape being persecuted like this. He had no reason to be chased around the streets of Taif in this unsparing manner.

He was shaken out of his thoughts as the men neared their house still being pelted with stones the size of apples. Falah looked at the Prophet. Never in his life had he seen such exuberance and radiance emanate from a person’s face. He had a collective air of humbleness and sincerity. At the first glance itself, Falah could make out that this man possessed a very sound intellect and even when being assaulted ruthlessly, he still was not desperate as any other man in his place would be.

As they came closer, he saw that both the men were bleeding from cuts and bruises all over the body. He noticed that Muhammad’s shoes were clotted with blood and he barely could keep himself up to walk the distance to the city walls. When they reached Falah’s house, Muhammad almost collapsed but Zaid held him and they both kept on moving; half walking, half running till they saw a vineyard. Once inside, the chase stopped as the vineyard was private property and belonged to Atabah and Shaibah, two wealthy chiefs of Mecca. Falah saw Muhammad take refuge under one of the bigger trees and sit there breathing heavily. He wondered whether the people to whom this vineyard belonged would drive him out of there; afterall they too belonged to the upper echelons of the Quraish.

After some time he saw Adaas, their Christian slave come out with a plateful of grapes and inch towards the resting men. Maybe they took pity in their condition; religious ideologies aside, they both belonged to the same noble tribe. Adaas was having a conversation with Muhammad and then suddenly he fell on his knees and kissed Muhammad’s hands.

Falah was stunned. Who was this man? Should he be in awe of him or should he stay clear of him? What sort of sorcery did he possess that the poor herded towards him? He had known that one of the earliest converts to Muhammad’s religion was a black slave named Bilal. Why? What did he give them? Certainly not a life of ease and comfort. Instead, he had heard that they were persecuted like animals in Mecca. Why would a person abandon the pleasures of life and flock to this illiterate man to live a life of tyranny?

Questions began to build up inside him. He looked at Muhammad. He was just fifty yards away. He could walk straight up to him and get each one of his doubt cleared. But could he do that? If the chieftains got whiff that one of their tribesman made contact with this prophet of God, they would make both his and his family’s life a living hell.

Falah restrained himself. But he still was restless. He had to talk to Muhammad come what may. But not here; not at Mecca. As Falah sat at his bedside he felt his head getting heavier again and the fever that had once subsided was creeping its way up again. He turned and lay down his mind bellowing with uncertainties that needed explanations. After a few minutes he fell asleep.......

With Love From a Soldier.....

2014-02-17T22:54:00.001+05:30

I started writing this blog while I was still in the train to Kerala. I hadn’t seen my sister for five years and even failed to attend her marriage. So when I learnt that she is coming to Kerala from Dubai for the vacations, I thought of meeting her up and decided to book a single ticket to her place. It was almost Christmas and rush time so tickets weren’t available but I still bought them on a waiting list believing that it would get confirmed. And so I stared down at my mobile screen in disbelief on the day of the journey as Indian Railways graciously informed me that my ticket has just fallen short of confirmation and the chart has been prepared. But I was nevertheless determined to make the travel, even if it meant travelling without a berth to sleep.

It was an AC coach so I didn’t have the option to adjust myself with fellow passengers who had confirmed seats. But I sure could travel near the door, adjacent to which lie the revolutionary Indian Railway toilets in which human poop crash land onto the tracks after passing through a tunnel; as in one of those slides in Water Kingdom! (eww). But nevertheless I was content I managed a ‘seat’ or whatever it is you want to call it. Now the next thing was company. I couldn’t afford to sit alone in this place for two days; I would be bored to death and may not even sleep properly. Also, having someone for company would discourage the ticket checker from kicking us out of the train on charges of travelling without reservation (they normally don’t but it would be perfectly justified if they did so). And so I waited and waited until a dark, burly man with arms like that of a freight crane climbed the compartment with a big metal suitcase and a large baggy green duffel bag. Definitely a member of the armed forces, I reckoned. I was delighted when he didn’t move into the compartment and started adjusting his bags near the gangway, which meant he too was on a botched up waiting ticket.

One thing lead to another and three hours into the journey we were sharing dinner. And in those three hours I felt like I knew his life story. His name was S.K.Nair and he was a unit commander in the 4^th Battalion of the famed Kumaon Regiment of the Indian Army. In his 28 year old career he had served in almost all forms of terrains from Northeast India to the Gujarat border and even in the tough, unforgiving glaciers of Siachen. But the one thing that stood out for me in his impressive curriculum vitae was that he was a Kargil war veteran where he was part of Operation Vijay. He even showed me the Yudh Seva Medal he received for his services during the operation where they fought against Pakistan Army members who had crossed into the Indian side of the Kargil Line of Control.

After dinner, we spread out our bed sheets on the corridor but sleep was a depravity thanks to the stinking toilets a few meters away. He plucked out a bottle of Coke from his bag but the odour gave it away; it was alcohol. He smiled sheepishly at me and called out to the soft drinks vendor who was roaming back and forth the coaches and bought a Coke (the real one) for me. After two gulps of his drink, words began to flow out like an express train. And so in one of the many unguarded moments, he related to me an incident that happened in his youth when he was just a few years into service. The incident definitely may sound straight out of a bollywood flick but it still was dramatic and needed to be documented.

“I was just twenty-six years old. You know, the young and the restless kind? My first posting was in Upper Assam for peace keeping activities. My transfer was just due in two months when the Government declared ULFA as a terrorist organization. Tensions in the area escalated and there were killings everywhere. The army had to fend of fights and minor skirmishes from both ULFA as well as Maoist troops. And when they were not fighting us, they were busy fighting each other. In any case, many tiny villages bore the brunt of the attacks and the army always intervened. In such conditions all transfers were called off indefinitely and more troops were being sent in. Everybody was pissed; all of them wanted to escape that hellhole. But not me.” A controlled shyness cracked upon his face and he tried in vain to control his smile as it met his cheeks from end to end. I wondered how a bottle of alcohol can make even the hardest of them falter.

“She would come thrice a week with groceries from the nearby village and set up a makeshift shop for the morning. She was alone mostly but sometimes in the company of a little boy; not her son; she was too young to have a son that old; her brother maybe.”

“Or it would be better if we put it this way – You WANTED him to be her brother and not her son.”, I pointed out. He was as sloshed as an ape so I saw no harm in adopting a more endeavoring tone.

“Nahh. I know boy. She must have been just twenty and that boy was easily over ten. Plus I am no good a soldier if I can’t tell a woman and a mother apart.”, he slurred and waited for my approval to move on. I nodded.

“So yeah this woman. My platoon was posted along the market and my shifts lasted eight hours a day anytime I choose. I ofcourse opted for the morning slot; that’s when she came; by the only bus that ferried people from the town to the village. And there were only three buses each day so timing myself to reach the bus stand wasn’t much of a task. I would stand there daily upon her arrival and would hold my INSAS rifle in a combat ready position, puff my lungs up with all the air I can take in, bark orders to no one in particular and strut like the ringmaster in a circus; all just to impress her. You know when…”

“Did you get anywhere with that? I mean with all those antics of yours?”, I interrupted, impatiently wanting him to progress forward.

“Yes ofcourse! By the end of the first year I could smile at her confidently, by the end of the second year she started smiling back at me..”, he beamed with pride while I remembered that I myself had spent three years just smiling at the girl I like and my conditions weren’t even as demanding as his!

“So you know we had started to talk and stuff. I even began buying groceries from her though I got enough of food from our base and didn’t need any more. She told me about her problems; how she had to leave school after the ULFA activities in her village increased to break-neck point; how she had to support both her brother’s education and her mother’s medical bills. She thought it was funny to think about medical bills when the nearest hospital they had was just bombed to shreds a few months back. But she never once did complain about what life had done to her. She was a tough woman. Those kind who have the guts to stand up to adversities and move on; the ones who can move mountains if need be.” , he went on and on and spoke with great fluency for a drunkard.

“So if you ask me whether it was love, I cannot say that. Maybe it was just sympathy that I had for her for the circumstances she was put through, for the determination she showed in wake of these circumstances; sympathy which later grew into empathy and then to a state of immense respect and awe which I must say looked to me a lot like ‘love’. I didn’t know if it was love or otherwise. I knew no other emotion of a similar kind.”, he was now beginning to get progressively moody. The initial nostalgic tone was now replaced by a less potent form of catharsis.

“I had even contemplated leaving the army and marrying her and everything. Ofcourse I wasn’t serious about it but that thought was gaining momentum with each passing day.” , he paused, opened the empty ‘Coke’ bottle and sucked whatever little drops of alcohol that remained.

“So one day I couldn’t make it to the bus stand on time; we had some extra combat drills to perform. It had happened before and I knew I would find her at the market. I walked through the morning crowd, patiently screening people ahead for that familiar face; the sole reason why this tempestuous place was tranquilizing to me. I saw her as I moved forward. She had had a busy day. Her baskets were almost empty and she was good to leave in some time.”, his tone getting heavier with each word.

“As I inched closer she saw me and looked up and smiled; almost asking me where I had been throughout the morning. ‘Army drills’ I was about to say when right there in front of her a frag rolled in and before I could say or act, it exploded and with that she blew up into tiny bits of flesh and bone. And before I could lift my rifle, I felt the stinging sensation of bullets ripping through my torso; I fell down and blacked out never believing I would survive.”, he had said everything quickly without any dramatics, leaving me no time to anticipate this tragedy. He wiped his eyes before any teardrop could make its entry. After taking two or three deep breaths he continued.

“Twelve civilians and one of my colleagues were killed. A regular Naxal attack. I survived despite four bullets punching holes in my body and also got the Parakram Medal; they give it away to soldiers who sustain injuries during military combat. To many that medal is a symbol of their pride and honor. To me though, it’s a symbol of loss, pain and sorrow. There are times I wished they had killed me along with her; I found no meaning to live this life with nothing to look forward to.”

“There are some love stories that never happen and there are some that just end tragically. But then there are also some love stories whose wings are clipped just as they begin to take flight rendering it handicapped for life. I guess I fell into the last category.” He didn’t speak anything after that. Wishing me a goodnight he lied down to sleep perhaps burying all his sorrow once again like he had been doing for the past twenty-four years. I didn’t feel compelled to ask him anything either. I had not expected his tale to have such an agonizing end and perhaps I needed some sleep to get over it.

The next morning when I woke up, commander S.K.Nair was standing at the door sipping tea. He gave his best smile and said, “I bothered you with my stupid Assam love story didn’t I?” , he asked laughingly. “I am sorry! It seems like my wife is not the only one who has to hear that! I am sorry if it bothered you. Its just this old crap which I blabber every time I get drunk; I can’t help it. Want to have some tea?”

“Sure. Thanks.” I said. I was happy to know he was married and was having a fine life. But at the same time I fully accepted the fact that this man, who had not weathered after all these years of hardened military service, clearly nurtured a broken heart, a heart which even after twenty-four years mourned the death of a woman he once loved.

Hyderabad Files.......

2013-09-19T20:35:00.000+05:30

We pleaded with our teachers the whole of our second year begging them to take us to an excursion out of Mumbai. But our requests were turned down like we were asking them to burn down the college. But this year, maybe because it was our last year in college and maybe because we were a ‘good batch’ as the teachers always put it, a five day industrial visit was planned to the city of Hyderabad. It was planned just a month in advance by taking our suggestions and Chetan sir was the appointed in-charge of the whole thing (he did not like that one bit). Even though this was the last outing our class has had together, three of them couldn’t attend it, one of them being our friend Unain. We truly missed her and her presence could have made our trip even merrier. And perhaps more than me, she wanted this blog to be written so in a way this is for her. So here it goes. A simple description of our trip. Given the gravity of the tour, I would take a little liberty and make it a little longer than usual. Hope you all find the patience to see the end!

DAY ONE: - Excitement galore! I got up early in the morning as usual and packed my bags. I prefer to travel light and that reflected in the weight of my baggage. The train was departing at 12.45 pm from CST and we were asked to assemble there an hour before time. I caught an auto rickshaw to Andheri station and picked up Neha on the way. A minor accident and screwed up train timings caused us to reach CST only by 12.30 and this especially made me a target of ridicule for Hafsa because I had always poked fun at her for being late.

Anyways all arrived and we boarded the train and it set off at the prescribed time. The initial two and a half hours were spent getting everyone together as much as possible. Some passengers were offered seats two or three rows away while some were sent packing to another compartment. Lunch was fun with Sahir sir inaugurating it by gorging on Chetan sir’s tiffin. By the time he returned what left was just the smell of good food which was once upon a time present in his box. Some of us also removed our lunch boxes and started a kind of mixed food festival with dishes ranging from butter chicken and chicken gravy to fried rice and tamarind rice to methi ki rotis and scrambled eggs. After lunch all the students assembled near one row away from the teachers as if they were smuggling alcohol into Saudi Arabia and started imitating them. Every one from the faculty to the students were imitated. It was a laugh riot. And when the students finished, Sahir sir imitated some of the students with near perfect accuracy. It was then time for the regular Antakshari and Sahir sir showed that he was a walking, talking jukebox of old songs who could utter it in a matter of seconds. All this while playing cards with me and Vivek! The fare moved on to dumb-sherads and here again Sahir sir single handedly turned the tide with his selection of movies. The boys nailed it anyway averaging at 30 seconds while the girls took atleast two minutes for each movie. The noise was getting louder and louder until an imposing lady police officer asked us to shut it. Everybody immediately started with dinner and the same procedure followed as it happened in lunch. The problem was everybody got food for atleast five people so ultimately a lot of food was wasted. After fooling around for some more time, we prepared for sleep and the first to sleep was Mohsin followed by me. People like Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammad never really planned to sleep and were disturbing people who were trying to. Some like Manali with Mohammad were applying tooth paste on the faces of people who were asleep. Mohsin like the Joker in The Dark Knight rubbed it all over his face and continued sleeping. But they left me alone because they have this false image that I am grumpy and cannot tolerate fun…….

DAY TWO: - My eyes opened at 5 am in the morning and I found Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammad stark awake like owls on a starry night. I got out and brushed my teeth and freshened up. Hyderabad was supposed to arrive at 6 in the morning and it was almost 5.30 now. Chetan sir (who apparently had motion sickness and could never sleep on a train) was covered from head to toe in his blanket and was fast asleep. Sahir sir was sleeping adjacent to him. All of them were woken up and I particularly had a tough time waking up Mohsin ‘Ultimate Sleeper’ Sheikh.

Nevertheless Hyderabad arrived and all of us got down. It was a lot cooler than Mumbai; around 22 oC. We walked to the bus and thankfully it was a lot better than what we had in Jaipur. Our hotel, One Continent Atria in Abids was just ten minutes away. If the hotel at Jaipur was great this one Hyderabad was just awesome. Swanky modern architecture with graciously furnished wooden interiors and huge green sofas adorned the lobby. Four people were supposed to share one room and we had five – Myself, Mukul, Mohammad, Mahendra and Nikhil. We were asked to assemble at the breakfast buffet by 8 am and we knew we were never going to make it. We however reached there by 8.30 and the breakfast was simple yet delicious. Bread, cheese, butter, omelets, idlis, vadas, sambar, chutney, fruit salad, fruit juices, milk shakes etc constituted the huge and rich buffet. We boarded our bus and set off to our first location; the CCMB – Center for Cell and Molecular Biology in Habsiguda. It was founded in 1977 under the CSIR and got its own separate land in 1987 which was inaugurated by the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi.

The compound was adored with a wok of art by the late M.F Hussein and so were the interiors with paintings by various other artists. Inside we met a middle aged man who was supposedly an instructor who trained new recruits. We were seated in a mini amphitheatre kind of a with a projector screen waiting to start a short movie of about fifteen minutes. The instructor sang a lullaby for half an hour so during which all of us including our teachers dosed off like newborn toddlers. Me and Nikhil had to keep our eyes open forcefully because the man was looking just at us during the whole session. Trust me; it was hilarious trying to maintain a ‘don’t-worry-we are-listening-to-every-damn-thing-you-are-saying’ face! He then took us first to an electron microscope and showed us an actual focused nucleus of a bacterial cell under it. Over the next few hours we just roamed from one building block to another seeing different rooms and different machines. All of them essentially looked like big boxes- blue or white; some as expensive as three and a half crores. After some time we shot off to ICRISAT – International Crop Research Institute for Semi Arid Tropics which was another hour of journey from CCMB. The guide we met at ICRISAT was just opposite to the guide we had in CCMB. Murli M Sharma, atleast 70 years old and tonnes and tonnes of experience. Charismatic speaker, inspiring narrator, acute philosophical views; he was a personality who had to be met to be believed. I just sat listening to him during the whole 30 minutes tour of the ICRISAT farm area. I am sorry for some of my friends who made fun of him and again some who had the audacity to sleep callously in front of him and snore! They missed the whole thing. With ICRISAT our official industrial visit was over and what remained were two and a half days of fun.

So we headed of to our final location of the day – The Snow World. We reached there by 6.00 in the evening and got dressed in the snow attire which they provided us. People were very excited leading upto the entry time which was 6.30 pm. When the gates opened people rushed in like the Greek army in the movie 300. But two minutes inside and people developed complications in breathing and felt chest heaviness. So it all turned out to be the volcanic mountain that never erupted. But nevertheless we had a lot of fun. I had a soaring headache before entering snow world and it vanished the moment I got in. Most of us took the slide twice and thrice but avoided it later as carrying the slide up was a demanding task at such high pressures. Chetan sir was targeted by one and all and he got so laid off that he left the arena huffing and puffing well before time! The time was up and we left for the hotel. A hot shower bath neutralized everything and we felt fresh and we headed for dinner on the fourth floor of the hotel. The dinner was laid out as a buffet and it was great though the chicken was ordinary. Returning back to the room I borrowed the prayer mat from Amina and spent my time praying all the times of namaaz I missed during the last two days, while others left me to peace and enjoyed it out at the corridors. Occasionally I would hear howls and cries and I would wonder whether I am in the company of humans!...

DAY THREE: - Though I slept late I woke up for the Fajr prayers and also woke up Amina through the intercom because she had wanted to be. When I woke up Mohammad, he mumbled something in Gujarati and apparently slept in the bathroom for half an hour. Mukul was shutting of his alarm again and again and was going back to sleep. So in a way we were late for breakfast today too and Hafsa poked fun at us again (I suspect she ever took a bath!). After having the same breakfast as the previous day we set off for the Nehru Zoological Park which was almost at the borders of the city.

Now the Nehru zoo is something which will make the Mumbaikars believe that their beloved Jijamata Udyan is some kind of a practical joke. The zoo was home to a host of wild beasts - the majestic tigers, the handsome lions, the swift cheetahs, the unparallelly vicious leopards and jaguars, the agile jungle cats and the tiny fishing cats, the buffoons, the chimpanzees and almost all of the primate family, the huge rhinoceroses and the sloppy hippos, the cute but dangerous bears, the wolves, the jackals, the hyenas and other volatile pack hunters, the healthy Asian elephants, the towering giraffes, the charmingly bulky nilgais and the ever impressive birds – I can just go on and on. Compare that with a week, aging, frail, arthritis infected lioness of the Jijamata Udyan and you have the results! Most of us (even quiet and reserved people like Zainab) borrowed a cycle on rent and zoomed around the huge area like it was Tour de France! Ask me and I will tell you I felt like Alberto Contador! I and Hafsa even got lost in the huge park and it took us twenty minutes of cycling to get out. It was pure fun!

After the zoo we headed back to the city, straight to Charminar. When we reached there I heard the muezzin give the call for the Zohar prayers and turned to see that I was standing in front of the humungous Mecca masjid. Not one to miss out on the occasion, I along with Mohsin attended the jama’at prayers. The masjid inside was pure Persian architectural grandeur. The ceilings were as high as a normal three story building with fans and glittering zoomers hanging down. By the time we finished our prayers, others had already visited the Charminar. So I am not capable of commenting on it here. The plan initially was to allow some time for shopping. But the day was marked by pro-Telangana activists enforcing a bandh all over Hyderabad and it was better and safe to reach the hotel as fast as possible. But ofcourse girls have a taste for the theatrical and practicality is not something embedded into their genetic composition. Many of them went to the extent of cursing the teachers and the poor tour guide. At the hotel, after having lunch we had a three hour hiatus period till 6 pm. We spent our time loitering around the corridors and making prank calls to other rooms. We were supposed to go for a cruise ship ride at the Hussein Sagar Lake and visit the Buddha statue there but again, the pro Telangana protests played spoilsport.

Instead we went shopping to the famous Karachi Bakery which was a twenty minute walk away from the hotel. All of us bought fruit biscuits and some other delicacies which were hot sellers. We returned back to the hotel and had our dinner which was the sumptuous Hyderabadi Dum Biryani. All the girls forgot their weight issues and gorged on the food as if they had been hungry for days on end. We went back to our rooms. Fun like the last night was not possible because someone (you know who) was determined not to let people loiter around in the corridor and wanted them to just go to sleep. And I am particularly thankful to Amina; she knows what for! Rocky V was on TV so we boys watched it till 2 am and then went to sleep. Nothing is as gripping as the Rocky series!......

DAY FOUR: - I missed the Fajr prayer because I slept late. I hated myself for that. The first one to get up was Vivek who moved out to the next room after taking a bath. The rest of us woke up at 7.15 which was extremely late by everyday standards. It was a race against time because we had to check out of the hotel today and were asked to assemble at 8 am for breakfast with all our bags and parcels packed. Anyways we made it by 8.45 and had our breakfast one last time. We bid adieu to the wonderful hotel and loaded our bags into the bus. Neha’s photo fetish caused her to forget her Karachi Bakery sweets at the hotel parking lot but realized it only later in the day. The bus moved out of the town towards the Ramoji Film city which would be our last visit in Hyderabad and we would be there for the whole day. For the uninitiated, the Ramoji Film city is the biggest film city in the world and holds the Guinness world record for the same. It is spread over 1,666 acres and houses 67 film studious and consists of various sets like airports, airplanes, railway stations, whole colonies, landscapes resembling European and other foreign countries, gardens etc.

At first we had a bus ride to actually enter the film city which was fifteen minutes away. There we first moved into an enclosure which contained fun activities like slides, the rain dance, the scare house (which was laughable) and the skating rink to name a few. Even though I had never tried skating before, I put on the skating shoes and went for it. Though all I did was fall, fall and fall, Hafsa, Sahir sir and Vivek zoomed around me like professionals. Mukul who always thought himself to be a master in all sports was perhaps as good as me! After that all moved on to the rain dance which I conveniently boycotted. So did many others like me. But ultimately all of them had to get wet because the clouds opened up to five minutes of heavy rain. There were other attractions like the stunt show which I must say was commendable given the amount of effort they put into it. Some of the actions could prove fatal if gone wrong but it didn’t and it never did. Ofcourse there were people who called it stupid and over the top but people never stop ranting so you let them be. There was this mini world tour which was a novel experience. It was a sort of puppet show meant to showcase different places all over the world. I particularly loved Bangkok, Paris and Oklahoma because of the keen observation they put into make these sets.

There were many other shows to be experienced and lived but there was this time crunch so we moved on to lunch at the Chanakya restaurant within the film city. It was good and we finished off with some ice cream. We all moved straight for the bus tour of the film city. The guide spoke when the bus passed each important place and mentioned the importance of the spot in terms of its use and would mention some famous Hindi and Telugu movies shot there. The pseudo railway station and the airport were highlights; you could hardly differentiate the real from the reel! The bus halted near a huge square building. It was the studio used as sets for Indian mythological dramas like the Ramayana and Mahabharata. It was mainly made of King’s courtroom with his council of ministers sitting about and a background voice playing a small chunk of an episode in repeated loops. Though everything in there was made of just plaster of paris, it all felt and looked real. So real that you would feel yourself transported to that world of the kings and the masses. Almost like you have gate crashed into some all important meeting going on between King Dashrath and his men!

After that we were allowed to tour the various gardens that were so mesmerizingly charmful. First up was the Deviyani garden with five huge statues of a naked Deviyani in various dancing positions. You can call it art to satisfy your questioning mind. For me it is just the tradition of pure objectification of women that the world is ever willing to follow. The other gardens like the Sanctuary and the Japanese gardens were also exceptionally good and made a good photo op for the girls. The final spot was the replica of the Ajanta & Ellora caves. Though I have never been to the real caves, looking at the replica made me feel I have visited them. It was that beautiful! The rains bellowed and we returned back were we started. Though most of them went for the rides in their spare time, my upset stomach (very upset with the biryanis!) caused me to have a peaceful time sipping hot tea with the Chetan sir and Sahir sir. And giving me company were Mohammad, Saylee and Vivek all there for their own reasons.

So all of it ends here. We went straight to the Hyderabad railway station. After waiting in the waiting room next to the filthy toilets for an hour, we boarded our trains. Nobody minded adjusting their seats because all were tired and wanted to go to sleep. The dinner was from our hotel and it was great; something like a farewell gift from Hyderabad. The people there were extremely friendly and cordial. It is not an exaggeration and I and Amina witnessed that at many instances. Sahir sir, who was always the epitome of the serious, no nonsense individual turned out to be the showtopper! Archana Ma’m showed an aspect of her personality which we never knew existed. And Chetan sir. He was mimicked so much, he had a hard time herding the girls at every location like a shepherd, he was taken down and targeted everywhere by students (remember snow world!), in short the water had gone above the nose for him. When asked about the part he enjoyed most during the trip he simply replied, ‘The part when we return back to Mumbai.’

But nevertheless we had a lot of fun and this was something we would treasure for the rest of our lives. Those merry times we had with our friends. The train halted at Dadar station and we all got down and went our separate ways with alluring memories that would linger in our minds for days…..

The Beauty Within.......

2013-07-06T23:09:00.003+05:30

Rafique sat at the corner of the bus avoiding public eye hushed up in that one man seat. It was five thirty in the morning and the bus was ferrying passengers from Kamanpur to Chokdi. Rafique preferred these early morning rides to the town even though he had to report to his workplace at nine; where he worked as a tailor in a small shop where they repaired bags. The morning bus travels always allured him. The cool breeze, the aroma of dawn when the early strips of light meets the earth, the foggy atmosphere, the lush greenery, the pothole ridden roads; all of these gave him an immense sense of peace and tranquility. Some thing which he never found in his twenty four years of life on earth.

Rafique’s life to be summarized in one phrase was just silent suffering. He was born to a poor peasant couple in his native town of Kamanpur. Rafique was born with shockingly absurd features; almost as if he was among the most disliked people of God. He had an unusually huge head which seemed as if it would burst at the temples. The broad forehead ended with two bulging but drooping eyes almost ready to fall off at the sockets. It was worse when he developed his teeth. If his milk teeth were distorted, his permanent teeth became a symbol of ridicule for his classmates at school. His hair grew in patches and fell of before they covered his head. His shoulders always sagged; like they were tired of carrying his head and his hands were thin and bony with veins jutting out like fingerprints. All in all, Rafique was ugly; very, very ugly. If Prophet Yusuf was blessed with half the beauty on earth then Rafique was cursed with half its ugliness.

His father -if he ever wanted to call him that- was a downright drunkard who spent more money on women and liquor than on the welfare of his family. When he saw his son for the first time he blatantly accused his wife for sleeping with the man next door and threatened to kill Rafique. His mother on the other hand defended her little boy like a lioness defending her cub. To her, Rafique was her son and nothing mattered more. She didn’t care what the world thought about her son. She loved him and that was that. When Rafique was four, his father’s dead body was found floating at the community pond nearby. Postmortem reports revealed he was heavily drunk.

At school Rafique always sat alone; not by choice but by force. Later on it became an act of preference. He didn’t wait for his classmates to distance themselves from him. He would choose a corner and sit there. Throughout his school life, he never made any friends, not even acquaintances. Hell; he hadn’t even talked to half the class when he passed out. His mother –his only comforter- died when he was 15 of a degenerative lung disease. From that day on, it was a struggle for dignity and survival. He didn’t want to study further. He saw no possible benefit in that. All he saw was disgust and contempt in he faces of people he met. Some even showed pity and he hated that. He never understood why he was to be seen as a monster when all he had was a different physical structure. Why was he treated like an outcast, like a leper? Why couldn’t he be accepted as he was; without those shrugs of difference, looks of fright and sympathy? But these were questions Rafique never found answers to. There were times when just the sight of a dangling rope or the kitchen knife at his home gave him heavy suicidal thoughts. But his faith in God never wavered and he fought through these tough times every time they confronted him. He had nightmares of people chasing him down the street with sticks and stones. He would wake up with panting breath and then not sleep for the rest of the night. From his heart he knew that people are not that bad and no one hated him. But his appearance made him such a weak man mentally that he couldn’t take it any more. He saw volumes and volumes of darkness everywhere he turned.

After doing all kinds of odd jobs, he landed up as a tailor repairing spurned and torn bags in Chokdi. This job didn’t require him to face people and it made him happy. He was happy he didn’t have to walk around trying to hide his face from people he met. He would come by the early morning bus, when it was still dark and sit on that single seat at the far end of the bus. No interactions. No reproaches.

Rafique was woken up from his usual self retrospecting thought processes when he heard sounds of screeching followed by a booming crash sound. A crimson colored SUV zoomed past them into oblivion.The bus got to a stop. He craned his neck outside. In the still lingering darkness he could make out a figure; a woman, probably a young girl, crouched along the divider in an awkward position with fresh maroon colored blood just beginning to spread out onto the road. A bicycle was lying besides. Someone had just knocked the solitary cyclist and sped away. It was dark and they were almost in the middle of the forest. The nearest hospital was four kilometers back along the route they had come from. Helping the victim meant taking a detour and heading back were they came from. And no one wanted the headache of getting stuck in law loops trying to save accident victims. Being a rural area, the police often were uncooperative and intimidating. The driver had learned to turn a blind eye to such incidents a long time ago. The bus started moving forward. Rafique couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Hey! She needs help! She is bleeding!” he screamed at the driver.

The driver turned around and after the milliseconds of frown he gave at seeing Rafique’s face, he said, “This is common here! You know what happens if you try to save them.”

“But she will die..” he tried to explain. He was shocked to see such coldness from these people. There was no one to support him. All sat there like lifeless bodies staring back at him with indifferent eyes.

“Go ahead. Help her. Get off and leave us.” The driver said. The conductor shrugged as if to show that his loyalties lied with the driver. Rafique couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He obviously couldn’t leave the girl behind. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. He jumped out of the bus. She was there, bleeding profusely. Rafique knew that the nearest hospital was an hour of walking and he didn’t expect any vehicles at this hour. Bu it was nearer if he took to the forest.

He picked her up and lay her over his shoulders and ran through the forests. It had rained the night before and the land was marshy. His shirt was red with blood but he could still feel her breathe. He was a frail man and this was proving to be a physically draining act. Within fifteen minutes of pacing he could feel heavy cramps in his legs which urged him to stop. But he knew that if he stopped he won’t be able to walk again. He prayed to God to grant him the strength to move on. Then the rains arrived.

Half an hour later it was still raining and Rafique could see the end of the forest and the main road. His heart was pounding like a grinding machine. His heavy head ached. His bony hands were filled with blood. But he still went on. He reached the hospital in another five minutes. Attendants came rushing to him and took away the girl. His eyes blurred. All he could see was a group of people taking her away. Someone shook his shoulder to ask something and he collapsed.

Rafique was discharged two days later. He made inquiries and found out that the girl was safe. He thanked God for His help and left the hospital contended. It was back to schedule as usual for Rafique.

A month later when he returned home he saw the girl waiting outside his shanty with her father. She was young. Maybe twelve years of age.

“You are a tough man to find! What did you think? You can save my daughter’s life and we will never know who it was?” the girl’s father asked smiling.

He was shocked and surprised at the same time. He didn’t know whether he was happy to see her or would he have liked that she would not have known how her savior looked like.

His first instinct was to hide his face consciously as much as he could. The girl saw this. She moved closer to him. She moved his hands away from his face and touched his cheek. Rafique was taken aback by this behavior. Nobody wanted to take a second look at him let alone touch him.

“You know? They said all sorts of things when we came searching for you. But you know what? They were wrong. All of them. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen!” saying so she moved closer and hugged him tightly. “ Thank you! Nobody helped me when I lay there dying. Those were the ugly people. God gave you a wonderful heart and that makes you beautiful!” She was crying now.

Tears flowed down Rafique’s eyes. Two and a half decades of pain and suffering all washed away by this one act of benevolence and love from this little girl. And that was enough. He will never hate his life again. This unprejudiced gesture from an innocent child was enough for him to keep his spirits alive till the end of his life! He closed his eyes and thanked God for the lesson He had given him. He was now ready to take on the world.

The story of Yusuf Jamal....

2013-01-21T22:16:00.001+05:30

Yusuf Jamal was a man of character. A religiously upright man, idealistic to the core, a doting husband, a loving father, a caring son, a gem of a friend, a worthy neighbor and many more qualities you have to behold to believe. His life and career had seen both sides of the extreme in a very short span. He remembered the first day he came to Mumbai with his childhood friend Umar at the tender age of nineteen overwhelmed by family responsibilities his terminally ailing father had thrust upon him. He had marveled at the sheer chaos and charisma the city radiated. Mumbai, the city of dreams – he had heard. To the people in his village, Mumbai was a heavenly abode far away into the horizon where people went and came back as the affluent. Mumbai has space for everyone, Mohan bhai a beneficiary of Mumbai had said. Given all the problems his family faced and realizing how gravely they depended on the sole male member in the family for bread, Yusuf had decided to give Mumbai a shot.

His first day in Mumbai had seen Umar running towards him with a job offer as an attendant in a shop which sold illegally smuggled artifacts like watches, wallets, bracelets, gold ornaments etc. He was delighted at first at this great piece of news. But his conscience and religious upbringing took over his mind and convinced beyond all doubt: this is morally wrong. Such were his ideals and such were the ways in which he followed them! He was determined that his family back n his village won’t live of an improper source of income. Over the week he was lucky to come in contact with a lone man setting up a tailoring shop in one of the many by-lanes in Mumbai. His boss was his teacher and mentor in a skill which would later shape his career.

In due course of time; with the Grace of God, as he always said, he set foot firmly in Mumbai. With great difficulty and perseverance he married off his three sisters. Even though the ceremonies were not pompous he had taken care in finding worthy husbands for them. After some years he got married to a woman of his native whom he brought to Mumbai along with him. They had three children, two of them girls and a handsome young boy. But Yusuf’s family didn’t stop here. He had too big a heart and too great a conscience to overlook his nephews and nieces and their requirements. He had taken all care of every aspect of their lives right from their studies to big medical expenses. But Yusuf was not a man of immense wealth. His fortunes declined with every act of kindness he bestowed not only on his relatives but also on his neighbors and friends.

He was kind often to the point of getting exploited by people eager to dent an honest mind. But Yusuf didn’t mind. He was always happy to give. His wife would ask him whether he cared for his own children who were now growing up fast. ‘I have helped a lot of people in my life. There would always be someone who would bail me out when I am in need.’ he would say.

Well times don’t remain merciful to anyone for a long period of time. His first daughter’s marriage was fixed with a handsome young man he had forged a business deal with. All preparations were underway and he wanted his girl to remember her wedding as the most memorable day in her life!

A month before the wedding, Yusuf found himself sitting at the porch of his sister’s villa at an upscale household in Bangalore. His small-scale cloth unit at Masjid Bunder was gutted down in the fire that engulfed the market a week ago. Yusuf’s whole world had come crashing down. He assisted the workers in his shop with finance as temporary sustenance till his unit limped back to life. All of this rendered him virtually penniless and with his daughter’s wedding close on the heels, he had decided to approach his now wealthy sister.

‘Ofcourse she would help me!’ Yusuf had beamed at his wife while setting of from his home. He did not think of it as asking for a favour in return of all the favours he had done her over the years. He was simply done in with the thought that his sister would only be happy to help him for the cause of her niece. He had sat there for quite some time when his brother-in-law and his sister emerged from the house. He stood up expecting warmth and pleasure. Instead what welcomed him was cold indifference. He told them all about the misery he had faced in the past week and how he hoped they would assist him with his daughter’s marriage.

‘I would have surely liked to help you but you must understand. I don’t have that kind of money you see.’ was the simple answer he got. Saying this, they both sped away in their Mercedes C-class. Yusuf stood there at the porch numb and dumbfounded at the turn of the events. He couldn’t imagine they were the same people he knew more than half a decade ago. He staggered out of the house in shock, his jaw clenched on the verge of crying. He was not sad about his daughter’s fate. He was sad at his sister’s snub. Cold apathy. That’s the word to describe it. Distraught, he started his walk back home wondering what he would tell his wife and daughter. Things had been the unexpected. But he had no qualms. God had given him this fate and he was no one to question His decision.

An hour later the phone at Yusuf’s house rang. His daughter attended the call.

‘Yusuf Jamal’s house? I am calling from the Dean Jose Hospital in Bangalore. Mr. Yusuf is no more. He apparently suffered a serious stroke and was declared dead before he got to the hospital. May I know who it is that I speak with?’. He heard no reply. The only thing he heard were cries and shrieks of disbelief of a whole family.

A Walk Down The Memory Lane.....

2013-01-12T21:15:00.001+05:30

‘Why so moody Altaf? What happened? You girlfriend dumped you?’ I looked up and saw Anwar uncle grinning at me asking me the same question others had been asking the whole day. He was that one person to whom you could confide in your worst fears and your most well kept secrets.

‘No!’, I managed a weak smile ‘Actually yesterday was our school farewell and though I am not depressed I am a bit off colour, you know… friends and teachers and stuff…’

Sensing my predicament, he quickly added, ‘Oh farewell huh? Not the best part of your life I agree. A bittersweet moment for all. But you take it as it comes son, nothing you can do!.’ He sighed under his breath.

I had expected words of encouragement, words carrying happiness through them cheering me up, but these sounded inclined towards a condolence. And thats the last thing I want to hear. I have to admit that I was quite a bit unbalanced of my mind at the realization that school is finally over – once and for all. No more of my friends ‘fighting’ over my south Indian tiffin, no more teachers asking us to kneel down or stand up on the benches as punishment, no more fights over trifle matters, no more scurrying up and down the school corridors, no more hanging out with friends after school.. no more of anything! The very fact that I spent almost my whole childhood at school and the friends there grew up with me was disheartening. It moved my heart to have to forget all those things.

Anwar uncle probably could read my mind. He put his hand around my shoulder, ‘Come. Lets take a walk. May be things will brighten up.’ He smiled affably.

Walking along the road on a cool February evening was quite a pleasure indeed. But my inherent gloominess inhibited and deprived me of enjoying it. I was appearing to be quite mentally weak. Maybe I shouldn’t be sad at all. I am certainly not the only child in the world to have to face the end of school.

‘You know Salam? Has your dad ever told you about him?’ He asked almost inquisitively. Salam? Salam who? I racked my brain to retrieve any memory of a man of this name. Perhaps there was one. My dad mentioned it now and then.

‘I have heard about him I guess. Dad keeps mentioning about him. But I just can’t get through.’

‘Yeah. He lived next door to our ancestral home in Kerala. Your father had a fight with him because he beat me up at school.’ I looked up surprised. He never told me that. ‘Well the fight is a matter of later discussion. What I am saying is that this Salam and I became the best buddies in school. We used to get rounded up together for anything and everything that happened in school. We ate, fought, studied, laughed and cried together.’

Ha! I knew where this conversation was going! ‘And one day inevitably school ended. But it was 1981 not 2009. We didn’t have a simple phone at home at that time let alone your social networking sites and mobile numbers. As you can guess the drift was unavoidable and it was a complete lockdown when his father a police officer was transferred to Mysore. I was shattered obviously you can imagine. Though I didn’t cry or shut myself at home I was nevertheless sad and reserved for quite some time.’

“You didn’t even have a contact number! It must have been so frustrating!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes it was but I got over it. I made new friends and then moved to Mumbai for my studies and everything about Salam took backstage in my mind. But I never forgot him’ I nodded indicating him to continue. ’23 years. Can you imagine the vastness of that elapsed time? I never thought I could meet him again until I got the shock or surprise of my life – whatever you want it to call it. At your sister Saniya’s wedding some years back.’ His face broadened into a smile as he spoke. ‘Whats more? He had come to the wedding from the groom’s side. Just pure coincidence. The will of God! That day was the best of my life. We sat and discussed about good old times and what not. I cant express what ever emotions that surged through me. He was as stunned as me. It was….was just Priceless!’

I was dwelling into the narration I just heard. It just blew up my mind. Here was one man who hadn’t seen or heard about his best friend for 23 long years! I was not even that many years old! I still not am! And yet he could manage and move on. And then there is me; standing at the complete opposite side of the spectrum. Even with ample technology and connectivity at my disposal I was sulking like a five year old. Truly I have been blinded. It surely didn’t make my burden any lighter but it gave me the strength to carry it! I looked at my uncle and he instinctively smiled at me. He knew he had delivered again and I wanted to thank him. But I didn’t. I never did. Thanking him would be undermining our relationship.

I looked skywards. I thanked the One above for things like Friendship, Love, Nostalgia….

Priceless Relationships…Priceless Emotions!

A One Day Affair.....

2012-12-07T20:37:00.000+05:30

There was a huge void which was left to be filled in us after the exceptional Rajasthan trip ended last December. And that’s when this unexpected one day affair came up. And while it was not even within a miles radius of the fun we had in Jaipur, it was satisfying and enthralling in more ways than one. Not all girls in our class are allowed for a trip which has a clause which is tantamount to ‘overnight stay’. And the girls who fall under this category are our best friends in college. So it was naturally a joy to be able to spend quality time with all in a group which we are often deprived off. Secondly the trip was not at all mediocre in any terms even though it was meant to be an educational visit. And so, the trip happened on the 30^th of November; on a cold Friday.

We were asked to assemble at the Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus at sharp 6 am in the morning. And before your brain dismisses the previous sentence as a cakewalk let me ask you to try it out yourself before coming to that conclusion. Though I should mention that I was overjoyed by the prospect of having to travel alone to CST at a time when most of the city would be fast asleep under their blankets cursing the unbearable cold. I got up at 3.15 in the morning and spent 10 minutes trying to shut down all the sleep inducers in my biological system. Lazily, I performed all the morning rituals and got ready in the nick of time. I put on my bag packed with a set of clothes and my camera and put my wallet were it belonged and set off like the great Marco Polo on a travel adventure. I checked the time and it was around 4 am. I dropped a message to my friends whom I was supposed to meet at Bandra station. I stepped out of my building gates enthusiastically and I saw a half packed BEST bus go past me. Yeah all the Marco Polo feeling oozed out!

Reaching the bustop I hired an auto-rickshaw to take me to Andheri station. Since it was before 5am in the morning, the driver charged me under the midnight plan and it cost me a bomb to reach my destination. Proceeding towards the booking counter I observed that there were a lot more people than I expected there to be. Even the train I took to Bandra was almost occupied and it was just 4.30 in the morning! Well the say it right… Mumbai – The city that never sleeps!

I gave a call to Mohammed after an earlier failed attempt. He picked up the call fresh from sleep and sounded like a drunkard. He was the one expected to arrive late and I was sure he was going to stand true to our expectations this time too! I reached Bandra and emerged out of the station premises. Paper vendors were busy beginning their day. Loads of newspapers with that ‘just off the machine’ smell arrived in packages and they sorted it out like trained robots. I got myself a copy of my newspaper and in no time Mukul, Mahendra and Mohammed arrived and we started of to CST. We were accompanied by some other of our friends on our short journey. Unain and Amina were coming together and Neha was with Suchandra Ma’am.

All the students surprisingly arrived on time except Vivek who cancelled the trip sighting a headache. Mohammed was the chief ‘ticket obtainer’ and he rushed to the windows atleast thrice to get new tickets for the new arrivals, everytime arousing the attention of the onlookers. All the faculty members where present unlike Rajasthan where Vibha ma’am abstained from coming.

All arrived and the tickets acquired, we embarked on the 6.45 am Karjat local and sat in a peaceful corner confined to our very own group far away from the notoriously noisy First Years. It was a hour and a half long journey and like any other one of its kind, it began with a bang; all making fun of each other and pulling each others legs. Half hour into the journey, Mukul slipped into his pensive moods, Unain immersed herself in her earphones, Mohammed was perhaps thinking of some new poems to write, Amina chatting with Neha; and Mahendra was you know what! Sitting in the corner, I was patiently reading the newspaper (nothing gives me more joy than doing that on a morning!) with the winds blowing along my face.

After what seemed like an eternity, Neral arrived and we all got off the train. It was very cold for 8.30 in the morning. It was perhaps around 18-19^oC and that was not an ordinary Mumbaikar experiences. The Saguna Baug was a good 5km away from the station. The girls were stuffed into a minibus and they set off. The boys got to travel in or on (whatever preposition you want to use!) a tempo completely open furnished with metal benches at the sides. The rest had to stand and it was bad considering the pathetic road conditions. It instantly reminded us of the Tiger safari in Ranthambore!

Saguna baug was perhaps an ordinary piece of land which was converted into useful areas of agriculture, animal husbandry, pisciculture and other such accompanying activities. They made a fortune by showing around people all their work and explaining it to them. After a good breakfast of missal pav we were divided into groups and taken around the area on a study tour. Our guides were your usual village guys; not fluent in English and Hindi but profound in knowledge of what they do. He was able to explain us well even though Vijender sir interrupted him frequently to share his knowledge. We were shown around white onion fields, rice fields, medicinal plants, plants with historical and geographical significances etc. There were other things of our interest like the vermiculture pits. No one was listening to what the guide had to say. All were interested in sighting those wriggling creatures who we knew were under those pits. The biogas plant was another very interesting venue. When Vijender sir informed us that a city as huge as Hannover got 30% of its fuel expenses from a biogas plant system, I was just amazed! If a city like Hannover could do it, Mumbai could accomplish it too in a very short time! Afterall we have no shortage of faecal matter do we?! After some one hour of walking we reached a spot where we were offered fresh lemonade and it indeed was really tasty and soothing considering the scorching heat.

What followed was some display of dragnet fishing. An artificially created pond was were the fishes and turtles were grown. After all the groups had gathered at the spot, all the guides got into the water and literally dragged the fish net on to the coast. People were cheering at every fish that was jumping up and down valiantly to escape from the nets. The guides caught the still writhing fishes and turtles and went about showing it to the people assembled over there. All were clicking pictures of those poor things. Some morons even asked the guide to hold turtle upside down to which the guide happily obliged. Its one thing when you hunt and kill animals too eat on them and a totally another thing to just shove them around for mere entertainment. This part for me was cheap and sadistic! Our group along with sir moved away from this mess and found solace in the hammock swings which were tied below the serene shades of the huge trees that stood there. Occasionally we could see stallions being rode by what seemed like expert jockeys. Being a Rajput, sir had obviously received training in horse riding and he was discussing the subtle nuances involved in handling an aggressive stallion.

After some time we were asked to change ourselves to get into the river! And that’s exactly what we had come for. The river was our main temptation to get to this place. Even though I was a little tentative initially in getting into the waters because of a soaring headache, I couldn’t handle myself and got ready at the last moment! When we reached the river banks, we saw people were already there enjoying themselves. Unain was busy clicking pictures while Neha and Amina were just wetting their feet. We directly went in without wasting much time. Mukul new swimming among us so he swimmed like he was Michael Phelps and we stayed put in one place for some time. Girls like always were shy getting into the water understandably and that’s when I hear things from a certain girl’s mouth which was outright disgusting. We moved away further into the river and spent about an hour and a half to doing all sorts of things you can do except swimming! There was this water buffalo ride which again fell into the category I mentioned above – cheap and sadistic. Akshay, the image of a macho man on land, stood stiff like a kitten when he entered the water. Mohammed was busy wooing someone who spat venom on his face; the wounds of which he is nursing till now! I was happy in my own way though I wished someone had entered the river with us!

After two hours of quality water time we headed back for lunch which was good though not excellent. We spent the rest of the time playing lawn tennis (not exactly) and then lazying on the hammock swings, gazing at the sky above us and almost falling into deep sleep. It was time to pack our belongings and rush home and I didn’t want to get out of these ultra comfy swings! Lazily, we changed ourselves hurriedly and headed onto the same open tempo waiting for us. We reached Neral station and waited for the train headed to Karjat.

The plan was to occupy the train seats as it would return back to its journey towards CST. Well, the train arrived and all started crowding the doors. And before all could climb, the train left. I looked around and was pretty much surprised when I saw the people who missed out where all form our own group! It’s a headache to travel with girls in a train and its even worse when the girls whom you are travelling with rarely take to trains! Half the time was spent in calming one of them that everything was alright and that we would catch the same train when it returned. And so after much convincing we caught another train. The teachers were obviously scared and were frequently calling us to inquire about the situation. We got seats soon and seated ourselves comfortably. Cramps were setting in as I waited for my station to arrive. Me and Neha got off at Ghatkopar while the rest went on till Dadar. We reached out homes by 8 pm with some great memories. Trust me you can never describe fun and adventure as it happened in writing! Let alone in a paltry blog!

3...2...1...HELIX!!!!!

2012-09-06T17:44:00.000+05:30

Well, the last year our then Second Years organized a wonderful annual intercollegiate biotechnology festival – Helix. We the First Years provided the man power required on the day of the event. Me and my friends were even part of the Treasure Hunt event which attracted the biggest crowd. (An intercollegiate event without a treasure hunt is lame.)

Now, today its almost exactly a year since Helix 2011 and we are on the threshold of venturing into Helix 2012. Some where in between this one year, the baton of Helix had been passed onto us unofficially and imaginarily. Back then, being just mere volunteers, we had no idea what it takes to organize an event as big as Helix with very limited number of students. We never thought our batch had the capability and resilience to pull of such a feat. But as the wise men said, “Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Man”. Well, in this case, it is more women than men! My friends who didn’t even turn an eye accidentally towards Helix last year are the ones who are working as hard as the ploughing farmer, hoping to reap an excellent yield. Some are even holding the whole monopoly of Helix (even the main coordinators!)

Building upto the final days in the countdown, our beloved biotechnology lab resembles nothing less than a Dharavi warehouse. The usually slick and clean lab floors and tables are now messy and untidy. Chart papers from posters, ribbons, box boards for the props, sketch pens, pencils all lie on the floor like dead soldiers after a war. People work and move in a pace unknown to mankind! Almost as if the relative pace inside the laboratory is more than the outside world. Almost feels like Einstein’s theory of relativity can be tossed out of the window any time! Though in these final days I am sitting at home (I have a suspected case of leptospyrosis; by the time you read this I will know my condition) am not having a easy life either. Since the Mumbai clouds unleashed a catastrophe three days back in the form of unexpected heavy showers, I injured my leg wading through the waters. Nevertheless the water was no Holy thing and I got a swelling big enough to scare kids. Two days later, I started developing fever symptoms and my doctor advised me to undergo a test for leptospyrosis. As if I wasn’t scared to hear about this thing, my teacher at college told me he had a friend in school who died of this disease!

So I had to work from home and that was the auspicious time my computer crashed. So I had to shuttle between the internet café and home with the injured leg! So no one can say I sat at home and enjoyed while others slogged it out at the lab! Coming back to things at the lab, everything and everyone from different events are racing to finish all the preparations in time! Amina and Unain are the main coordinators as well as the pillar support of the Retroquest (Treasure Hunt). They spend their entire day shouting at the top of their voice explaining the First Years all the work they have to do. Besides they have to attend calls from participants who have their own fair share of doubts. They are also answerable to Sahir Sir (of course all are) regarding queries about the event’s progress. Both Sahir Sir and Vijender Sir make abrupt entries into the lab; sometimes with orders, sometimes with some or the other piece of information. They are the main coordinators of the event among the faculty members and have provided great leadership and support to us students.

Moving further, Mahendra and Mukul are the ones who did and are still doing most of the computer work. They are always busy in these end days; Mahendra with the T-shirts and Mukul with the banners. Besides they are also part of Retroquest so that means they make a mad scramble to get the event ready in time. The Scrab de crypté, which is a unique event and purely our own find is one event which is expected to garner great attention among the participants. It is a combination of Dumb charades and scrabble in the theme of biology. Our initial trials have assured us that this is one game the participants will take away with them when they leave! Creation of props for scrabble is a very hard thing and my team mates Nikhil, Hemani , Farheen and Saylee have worked very hard to accomplish it. Even the First Years did a wonderful job in making beautiful and creative posters.

Mohsin and me are very busy with the proceedings of the quiz competition. Especially since I am working from home, we are having a tough time communicating with each other. People belonging to Zooming Bandra- our photography event; have the least work to do. But even they are super busy with all the work that comes with the ending days! AD-here is another event of which Mohsin is again a part of! He and Neha along with the M.Sc students are preparing an excellent script for the skit and all are excited about that! Mohammed is the common factor in all the events. He is there wherever people need him (I mean shifting their work to him) and is seen roaming about the lab always. People involved in Pipette your Thoughts also have their hands full with all the other work. Besides all these, there is always some or the other work coming your way which you have to do. Things like designing coupons, taking minor printouts, being a mediator between students and teachers etc. are jobs all do at some or the other point of time.

All these hectic works mentioned above happen inside the four walls of the M.sc lab from morning 10 am to evening 5.30 pm between about fifty people. Imagine the chaos! Imagine excitement! Imagine the ecstasy! Imagine the anxiety of all the students and teachers working towards this one common goal – HELIX 2012! Ofcourse such dedication and hardwork never go unrewarded and we shall; God willing reap the benefits on the 8^th of September, 2012. We hope to succeed in providing a happy and fun time combined with great knowledge to all the participants! We hope to provide the participants with moments they can treasure for a long time in the future! We hope to make the participants leave with the intention of coming back the next year! We hope to finish with a successful and all achieving HELIX 2012!
The Countdown Begins!

Because they did it for you....

2012-04-27T18:26:00.000+05:30

It was the third day after my uncle's funeral at my native place in Kerala. All of my uncle's siblings (there were nine of then) were at home and had planned to be there for 10 days or so. There was melancholy everywhere. I remember the last time the whole huge family had gathered together was for the wedding of my uncle's son in the same house. That was about six months ago. But now after half a year we were back again mourning the death of a man who was dear and near to the people of the village. I was sitting outside on the porch with my brother and two other cousins, fiddling with two rabbits caged in the outhouse. They provided momentary and temporary deviation to our grief stricken minds.

I heard the gate open and an old man limped in with great gusto (you don't enter a house in Kerala without knocking at the gates). I wondered who this man could be. I had never seen him before nor did he resemble anyone in the house. So I could not conclude whether he was any distant relative of ours.

He sat in one of the chairs which was laid on the house front and started taking deep breaths. After calming himself down, he looked up at us and started calling out my aunt's name -'Hamida!, Hamida!'

We were obviously dumbstruck. Suddenly an old man comes out of nowhere and starts calling out my aunt with an unpolished, hard-line authority. My aunt came out from the kitchen. I could tell even she was taken aback by this abrupt entry. As she came closer, I noticed her facial expression change drastically and she clutched her face as if in utter disbelief and tears rolled down her cheeks. She stamerringly addressed him as 'Thangam Sir'. I realized then that this old man must have been an old teacher of hers. She signaled me to call out dad from inside. I went in and told him that an old man by the name of Thangam was waiting outside and that I thought he was an old teacher of his. My dad looked at me with a bee-stung face for a few seconds and fastly paced outside to the porch. He normally never emoted much like my aunt but now it was evident that even he too was surprised by this sudden arrival.

He immediately lent his hand to the old man and helped him climb those few steps to the couch at the porch. By this time my aunt had learned to take control over her expressive ways and had regained her composure. One by one, all my aunts and uncles embarked. Even my grandma welcomed him heartily. Here, I got a slight hint that the relationship this man had with my family transcended way beyond a simple teacher-pupil relationship. Perhaps the bonding was with the whole family.

Over the next one hour all of them sat and discussed and remembered the old days bit by bit. Some memories were good and nostalgic and others were grim and tragic. His narration reflected the many moods and times my dad's family underwent during his early days. We, the second generation of the family simply stood their in awe as we calculated the amount of depth that was present in the childhoods of our mothers and fathers!

Like the state of many other Muslim women in our country, even the women in our village were not allowed to pursue higher education. The same would have happened with my aunts if not for the staunch opposition that was raised by Thangam sir with my grandfather. On his advice and guidance, my aunts became the first Muslim women to join the polytechnic college in Amaravilla.

The interaction continued and moved onto grim topics like poverty and the accompanying tough times. Well, I knew that my dad's family had a fluctuating financial status but what I learned from Thangam Sir's narration just blew my minds out. He narrated the incident from his perspective. I would shorten it and narrate it in second person.

My dad was around 15 at that time when this incident happened. Thangam Sir lived in the house opposite to my dad's house. It was late morning and cooking for the afternoon lunch was about to begin. My first aunt discovered that there was no rice at home and also no money to buy some. So she sent my dad to get it from the nearby ration store at loan like they were buying for quite some time now. Thangam Sir saw my dad move out of the house but never saw him return back. After about an hour, he went into the house and asked for dad. My aunt was in the kitchen and she confirmed Thangam sir's notion. He also observed that the utensils kept on the stove for cooking lunch lay idle for lack of ingredients. He immediately rushed out of the house and walked to the ration store only to find my dad sitting there under a tree with a sullen face. On inquiry he learnt that the shopkeeper had declined to give him rice on loan as they failed to repay the amount of the earlier ones. My dad, immature and at teenage at that time could not find the strength to face his sisters and mother with no rice and had dreaded the possibility of having to see them sad and in a state of self pity!

Thangam Sir finished the narration and everyone where in tears. I saw my dad's eyes go wet too. Though I had a lump in my throat I didn’t cry. Having said that, they cried because they had experienced it and memories were still fresh in their minds.

Thangam Sir looked at us and said, “You people are lucky. You will not experience the poverty and shortage your fathers and mothers experienced. Because they have experienced it for you. God is great. He sees everything and knows everything. And He will take you to high places." And Thangam Sir's statement was true in this case. Now, all of them are financially well off. Atleast none of them suffered from shortage of food, one of the basic needs of life!

'They Have Experienced It For You'... Golden words by a wise man. Though my religious credentials do not allow me to believe that phrase, but still those few words epitomize and signify the fact that life is full of hardships and you have to struggle and have faith in the Almighty so that He helps you to endure those hardships. It rightly projects the truth of life and propagated a ray of hope for all of us! After all they say, "Night is the Darkest before Dawn." Yes it is indeed!

As Thangam Sir walked away I looked at him and thanked him from my heart for making me practically realize such an important lesson in life!

The Heartbreak.....

2012-02-29T20:14:00.001+05:30

I was never like this before and my friends are testimony to that. I was just this normal college going guy who would mind his own business, scum around with his friends, watch Messi flick a goal over Casillas or Sachin screw up the bowlers and retire back to bed after each lazy day. But since the day I saw you, my world had turned upside down and I mean it.

That was a Wednesday when I noticed you among all the other girls. I don’t know, but I think it was the grace with which you filled your feminity or the serenity in your actions that injected a viral and desperate sense of tranquility in my mind. And I myself stand witness to the fact that not a day has gone past since then when I have not thought about you before going to sleep. Don’t think I am ranting like Shahrukh Khan in his usual romantic flicks, but when I close my eyes, the first thing that comes to my mind is your smiling face. And I had tried to get over that feeling initially by using many means but none of them worked. But I must admit, that unknown to me, the uncontrollable teenager in myself who was waiting for the slightest initializations to go astray and wander like a cursed soul, had started to love this amazing occurrence. How blessed is your face! Rosy cheeks, gleaming eyes with intensity and feminine determination, the most warming smile revealing what looks like a set of the worlds most shiny and silvery pearls, your voice is like a masterpiece of eloquently stitched symphonies that would put even the great Beethoven to shame. It gives me the strength to challenge the world’s most potent atheist who disbelieves in the sheer existence of God!

Sometimes my friends believe that I have metamorphosed into a pathological lunatic from a normally quiet and understandable individual. Of course I have revealed to them about your identity since I had the sole belief that this would not go out of bounds. That would surely be an unpardonable breach of confidence on their part.

Are you aware that my grades have started to stoop low and you are the only reason behind it? I come early everyday and stand besides the college gates hoping to meet you and take the walk to the classroom in your companionship. Each day I try to muster the courage needed for that priceless walk to eternity. But sadly my already mediocre confidence diminishes with every passing millisecond. So much so that I feel like a fool standing there expecting your timely arrival. I feel synonymous with the young child who thinks he can gulp up whole of the vast oceanic expanse in a mere tumbler. Sad and dejected I give up my try with a resolve to make it the next day. My experiments in the laboratory frequently go wrong. Thats because my gaze is fixed at your ethereal charm rather than the apparatus. Even though I cuss myself and bring back the concentration, my ever wandering eyes let me down.

I am oblivious to what the teacher preaches in the class as I steal glances to look at you without the knowledge of my friends or for that matter even you. Now since we have started talking to each other, every word that you speak and every smile that you emanate feels specially propagated towards me and only for me. There is elegance in your talk, hypnotism in your smile and an sense of mysticism in your methods. It all made my imbecile mind believe that you reciprocate my feelings the same way I do. Thats the fault of my logic starved brain which believes that a movement in any direction is a sign of progress. How insane! I have gone so mad for you that I can’t bear to see you talk to any one, even for the most professional reasons. But having said that these are the moments which make realize the hard truth of the misery I am facing. It comes as a slap to my face as I realize that I mean nothing to you, that you probably even don’t have the slightest clue that you have made life a living hell for me. This whole love thing is crumbling up my insides and with great pain I have declared to myself that I want you to pass out of my life just as a mere tree in the long road through the journey of life.
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Its been eight months of infatuation trauma for me. I still remember the day when I discovered that you were in a relationship with someone. Whoever he is, I have all the belief that he is the luckiest guy on this planet. That day, enduring great scars to my heart I threw out all thoughts about you into the darkest corner of my mind from where I hoped your memories would never be retrievable. Invariably out of the blues a famous poem by Miguel Otero Silva echoed in my ears.

"I heard her feet walk away from me
And sensed dusk in my face
My heart swaying between her and the street,
I dont know from where I found the strength
to free myself from her eyes
to slip from her arms
I walked, crying through rain and glass
clouded with grief and tears
To the loneliness that awaited me."

The Rajasthan Express.......

2012-01-03T19:36:00.001+05:30

So as I had mentioned earlier, we the students of R.D.National College performed a 5 day excursion to Rajasthan, more precisely to Jaipur and Ranthambore. Well I didn’t find any taste in the idea of describing a 5 day long event in a limited issue like a blog. But still some people wanted me to write it up though I am pretty confident that you won’t find it interesting at all. On my defence I warn you that this is like a documentary. Don’t blame me if you people don’t like it!!

THE FIRST DAY: We were asked to be present at the main reservation counter of Mumbai Central railway station at 5 pm sharp to board the Mumbai-Jaipur Superfast train at 6.30 pm. I was the second one to reach the spot preceded by Nandita. Others flowed in with the passing time. All of them especially girls were accompanied by their parents. Almost all students arrived on time and checked themselves against the name sheet. Ofcourse there were those eternal ‘laters’ like Hafsa and Vivek, but they weren’t late enough to miss the train. After ensuring that all the students had arrived we went on to the platform and boarded our train. We were 39 in total and were dispersed among 9 compartments- from S1 to S9. My friends were all in the adjacent compartments and I had only Vijendra Sir and some Second Years for company. After ensuring everyone had settled down Vijendra sir relayed between the bogies to make sure all were as close as possible. Even I helped him to some extent. As night fell and people started going to sleep, we were all still awake and well. The idea of sleep seemed like absolute absurdity to all of us. Sir was with Mohsin and group and they ofcourse had a great time. Me and Mukul indulged in watching movies on Mahendra’s I-pod. So insomniac were we that we didn’t close our eyelids until 3 am. We did sleep for an hour for the sake of it though.

THE SECOND DAY: But when we woke up it was very cold. It was so cold that Mahendra snatched Jaya’s bed sheet and covered himself from head to toe and dozed of again. Me and Mukul covered ourselves in Saylee’s huge blanket and were chatting with Jaya. Our talks were repeatedly interrupted by Mahendra’s snoring which sounded like a F-16 fighter waiting for take off. In the far horizon, orange strips tore across the blue sky marking the onset of dawn. After our body maintained some homeostasis we both got up and moved on to the other bogies to perform formal goodmornings on those who were awake (and to wake up those who were asleep!!!). By four thirty Ratnam Station arrived and we got down to free our body and experience some real cold. We bought some tea after the train started ( it sucked) and I lost my appetite. When Sawai Madhopur arrived we saw hawkers selling some really big perus. They were so big that each of them could qualify as a medium sized coconut. Only three of them fitted in a 1 kg range. Our generous sir bought them for all of us. Even though it was bright outside we couldn’t afford to open the windows due to the cold wind. Rest of the journey was uneventful apart from the occasional shivering when someone opened the doors or windows. We reached Jaipur by 12.30 pm. We dragged our bags and loaded it onto the bus which was waiting for us. The bus sucked in the first look itself. We reached the hotel in 15 minutes. Vijendra sir instructed us to get ready in 1 hr time and have lunch after which we had to visit places like the Sisodiya garden and the Monkey valley and an ethnic restaurant called Chokhi Dhani. Our hotel was superb and the food was mind-blowing given the skimpy budget to which it was squeezed in. After having lunch we all departed for Sisodiya Garden- a 300 year old garden built by a certain Raja to please his wife. The garden was huge and marvelous and superbly maintained and was peculiarly full of Cycas plants. Photography was not allowed but nobody gave a damn! Our stay was limited and we soon drove of to the Monkey valley. As the name suggested it was a valley kind of thing swarmed by monkeys which were used to the human attention. After spending some time there we went to the last spot for the day- Chokhi Dhani.
It was essentially an ethnic fun place meant to present the cultural and traditional diversity of Rajasthan. There were things like folk dance, rabri,elephant rides, camel rides, puppet shows, magic shows, boat rides etc. All of them wasted there time on camel rides and missed out on other stuff. Except some of us ofcourse. It was time for food at last. We found it hard to get accustomed to the Rajasthani food but it was very healthy to say a compliment. We reached hotel by 12 in the night. We needed to get up early the next day but sleep came by hard and we wasted our time making calls to the girls through the intercom present in the hotel room.

THE THIRD DAY: As usual, the alarm was ringing on 3 of our phones and we four (Myself, Mukul Mahendra and Vivek) were encouraging each other to get up. We got up late and hurriedly got ready and ran down for the breakfast. Boys came on time. Girls were never expected to arrive on time. After all they had things like nails, hair, eyelashes, lips, face, nose, ears etc to account for.
After breakfast we set of for the Jalamahal; a palace in between a lake, the name of which I can’t recollect. The water was very polluted a few years back, hence a committee of which Vijendra sir was a part planted plants like Fragmitis austrelis and Cesbania as part of Phytoremediation. We saw the Pargota of Jaipur; a miniature version of the China Wall which surrounded Jaipur. It was built for securing the territory during the rule of Rajputs. We then proceeded to the Amber fort. It was classy and beautifully built and showcased architecture which was not influenced by the Mughals. It took around 2 hrs to roam the whole palace. The Diwaan-e-khaas was my favourite; for its scenic beauty and the glassy gloss. Though it was a fort it resembled a palace due to its architectural style.
Next up was the Jaigarh fort which was visible from the Amber fort. Jaigarh fort was nowhere close to the architectural grandeur its companion down the hill possessed. Yet it was strategically more important and viable for artillery strikes. The main attractions were the fire arm museum and ofcourse the Jaivana- world’s largest cannon on wheels. It was a structure weighing 250 tons, made of eight metals, had a range of 35 km and needed 4 elephants to change its direction. Interestingly there was a pit dug behind the cannon which had earlier been filled with water . It was made for the man who would light the cannon so that he could jump into the water and escape the recoil impact! Enough time was wasted and so Nahargarh was cancelled and we all returned to the hotel for lunch. We then went to Jantar Mantar but could not make it in time. We were taken to the Jawaharlal Art Gallery and allowed a shopping time of 1 hr after which we took a walk into the art building. Beautiful indeed but I didn’t understand anything of it! That was up for the day and we all retired back to our hotel for dinner and yea..something called sleep- which was again wasted by making useless calls to girls.

THE FOURTH DAY: As usual hurried waking ups were followed by hurried baths and getting ready for the day. Today was going to be educational. Breakfast as by custom was great. 12 noon was the official checkout time. So we loaded our bags in the bus in the morning itself. We were first taken to an area of land consisting of 56 acres which was basically a bio-diesel project of which Vijendra sir was a part earlier. We learnt of plants like the Jatropha and Acacia tortalis. A project on 56 acres of land! My projects hardly cross 5 pages! We then went to a nature park exclusively botanical which hosted a large number of plants and trees which we use in our day to day life. Names were too scientific to be remembered and written here. There were also exotic plants from countries like Israel, Argentina, Spain, Peru etc. Lot of studies already though it was quite interesting. Especially when u get showered with knowledge by your faculty. Again due to lack of time we cancelled more engrossing ventures like a Bio-gas plant and a Water treatment plant. We went straight to the Central Park- which if I am not wrong is the largest public park in India. It had a 10 km long track! The high point is that it has India’s tallest national flag at a height of 207 ft with a flag which is 78 ft long and 48 ft wide. Huge indeed. After heading back to the hotel and having lunch we proceeded to Sawai Madhopur or precisely Ranthambore. It was a 4 hr long journey which was further added to 6 hrs thanks to our driver who lost his way and then to 8 hrs due to the catastrophic road and some unfortunate events which need a special mention later. We reached by 12 am. Ranthambore was even more cooler than Jaipur All of them were shivering from head to toe. Tempertaures hovered around 5-6 C. We arranged our bags and had dinner in the new hotel and dozed off. We had to depart at 7 am for the safari. All of us set alarms on our phones and went to sleep hoping we will get up early.

THE FIFTH DAY: Again we woke up late at 6.30 am. Bathing was not an option thanks to the blistering cold.We finished the toiletries and went out for the safari. Coffee and tea were served which was a temperory relief. Me and Mukul ran around the hotel to generate heat and also did push-ups but to little relief. It was time for the safari. We were divided in two batches; each one in an open air van(colldd!!). We were lucky to have Sir sitting besides us. He gave regular inputs and seemed to know more than the guide himself. We were unlucky to spot the tiger but we did see his pug marks. We spotted the sloth bear which is a singularity in itself. Jackals, Nilgais, Mongooses, Sambar deer, Spotted deer and the Tree Pie were the main attractions. We returned back all thrilled and elevated and had our breakfast. After that there was a gap of about 4 hrs during which we had lunch and did some shopping. Then we departed for the Hammir fort. The driver of our bus; Mr.Rahis Alam was a Sanctuary Award recipient- One of India’s most prestigious awards- for maximum number of tiger spottings! His eyes were so trained that he could see and identify all the birds perched on any damn tree; all this while driving. We also had hopes of seeing a tiger when people coming out said they spotted one. But the necessity to go to the fort ruined it. We tried when we returned but to no avail. We got an insight into Mr.Alam’s capability when while returning( it was around 7pm and dark) he spotted an owl which was on top of a tree which was on top of a considerably high hillock. We were seriously amazed. Suchandra Mam was all jaws on the floor! We returned back with complete excitement. The thrill of a safari never dies! After some time we had dinner at around 9.30pm and then there was the camp fire. A group of tribal people performed the Rajasthani folk dance and there was also some brilliant fire show performance by the dancer. The dancer also encouraged others to join him and many burst into impromptu dances. Almost all of the students joined him. I didn't. Dance was never my thing. I have never danced even in the bathroom! The camp fire dance was like a farewell gift that Rajasthan gave us. It was really the curtain closer. After some time we departed for Sawai Madhopur station to get back to Mumbai. There was this unhappy feeling about this journey coming to an end especially thinking about the time we spent with sir. All of them developed an instant bond with Vijendra sir. He came out as a superb entertainer and was a like a father figure to the students.; caring for them at all moments and even picking up fights for them with bad men in the train. A special thanks to him.
The Train arrived at Bandra Terminus the next afternoon and we all parted ways with New Year wishes to all. A wonderful and treasurable journey had come to an end. I don’t know why but goodbyes to friends felt like farewell parties. All went their separate ways. I took the train to my home all the way thinking about this wonderful trip of ours!!!

Death's Own Country

2011-11-22T18:47:00.002+05:30

It was an incident which happened just a month ago. I was in Kanyakumari, Tamil Nadu at my maternal uncle’s home. Kanyakumari was initially a part of Kerala but was later merged into Tamil Nadu due to linguistic reasons. My uncle used to frequently travel between his home and Nagercoil, a busy town in the midst of Kanyakumari on business purposes. Since I was at home he asked me whether I wanted to go along with him. My uncle used to travel using his motorcycle and you may agree that riding pillion on one is a very pleasurable matter indeed. Besides the route he used to take was the Trivandrum-Kanyakumari National Highway. You will find the whole journey enjoying yourself in the company of the majestic Velimalai Hills on one side and the serene Parvathipuram river on the other. Women washing their clothes and men bathing their cattle is a common scene on the river banks. Unlike cities, people in villages don’t have any inhibitions on bathing in the open along side the river. Parallel to the river banks are acres of banana plantations in full bloom. And when you are on a bike you get to enjoy all these scenarios even as cool, soothing air ruffles against your body.

Having foreseen the fun in the journey, I readily agreed to it. In a matter of minutes we were speeding down the highway. My uncle is a very safe driver. Though he is young, he is not reckless and I have never seen the milometer in his bike clock above 50 km/ph. Everything was going on well and I was enjoying every bit of my journey.

KSRTC ( Kerala Road Transport Corporation) bus drivers are notorious for the careless speed they input into every journey. They regularly ply along this Trivandrum-Kanyakumari route transporting passengers from Kerala to Tamil Nadu. Like them even the TNSTC( Tamil Nadu State Road Transport Corporation) buses have services on the same route. KSRTC drivers are nowhere close to their their Tamilian counterparts in matters of road discipline. The TNSTC buses rarely go above 45 km/ph. But the KSRTC drivers believe they are proud owners of a Ferrari 360 Modena the moment they step into their bus. They whiz past every vehicle on earth reaching 65-70 km/ph on crowded roads even in peak hours. The difference is so startling that a TNSTC bus takes 2 hrs to reach Nagercoil from Trivandrum while a KSRTC bus takes just one and half! Over the years the KSRTC buses have been the root cause of many road accidents in Kerala killing many people as reported in many shocking statistics.

The bike was trudging along when we reached the Villukuri bridge and small gypsy shops became visible. They were a temporary sight as nature would take its place again. As we cleared the small village we found ourselves behind a huge tipper lorry carrying debris from a construction site. It moved at the painstaking pace of 25 knots. I leaned outside and from a distance saw a mini van approaching us. As the van came closer and closer I could see something behind it trying to vehemently overtake it. After a few seconds I saw that it was a KSRTC bus making its usual trip and as its genetic code demanded, it was trying to overtake every other locomotive on the road. This being a normal case with these buses, I thought that it would give up after seeing the lorry in front of us. Though a part of me was wondering the worst case scenario if it didn’t.

And my coldest dreams were confirmed when indeed it didn’t give up its try to overtake the van. The bus moved parallel to the van and the lorry towards them. Before anyone could get the hang of things, the bus was sandwiched between the lorry and the van. Though it managed to sneak out from between them, the tail of the bus collided with the tail of the lorry. This resulted in a tailspin and it dawned to us that we were about to be doomed. The heavy super-fast bus twirled in an uncontrollable manner. Our bike being just meters behind the truck was in close proximity with the on-coming bus. My uncle just screeched the bike to a halt as if waiting for the bus to come and hit him. Of course the inevitable was going to happen. I almost suddenly felt a cold shiver run through my spine, my tongue suddenly felt very salty, my heart was pumping so hard that I felt it will pop out of my mouth any time. I don’t know what transpired on me but I felt that I was indeed going to die. Something inside me was nudging me to accept the bitter truth and submit to God Almighty’s will.

After taking two voracious turns on the road the bus did the unthinkable. On the third turn the driver miraculously gained control of the bus and the bus went straight beyond us missing us by an inch. So much so that I could feel the hot gas pouring out of its engine. I heard frantic, mouth-shuddering cries from inside the bus as it edged past us. The driver got the bus to a halt just a few metres behind us. It was at that point that I realized that I had escaped death by a nanometer. I wanted to jump, scream in ecstasy and shout like a mad man. But the insanity of the situation in which I was seconds before stopped me from doing that.

A foul smell took over the place and I realized that it was coming from the stressed out tyres of the bus. Smoke was emanating from the engine like a military tanker on fire. People from other vehicles stepped out and looked at the driver with a you-bloody-stupid-idiot sort of look. The driver gave them back a remorseful look. Fortunately no one was hurt. After a few moments of uncertainty everything fell back into place. The driver started the bus and drove of again. My uncle looked at me.

“It happens often”, he said trying to calm me down. I was too wretched to give an answer. We drove back home quietly canceling the trip. We decided not to mention the dreaded incident to anyone in the house. That is why this incident is a close secret between me and my uncle. I told this to nobody, not even my brother or my closest friends in college. And I never wanted to. But the other day I was watching the news when I learnt that 166 people were killed between 12 am to 4 am on the morning of 20th November 2011 in various parts of Kerala due to road accidents. The news also revealed that India recorded the highest death due to road accidents in the world, and Kerala the highest in India. Perhaps God’s own country was turning into Death’s own country.

I don’t think any of the existing conditions will improve even a bit by this post. But it was just my way of showing condolence with the victims by depicting my own experience. I don’t know how to conclude this post but that is it.

Nature At Its Best.........

2011-09-20T18:36:00.000+05:30

We as mumbaikars don’t often get an opportunity to indulge with nature at its dazzling and picturesque best. Not at least in Mumbai though. But we, the zoology students of R.D National College, Bandra got that precious opportunity to learn and understand Mother Nature and all its subtle intricacies in its original naturality.

As per our credit system we had to perform an excursion on matters related to our subject of study. Since we had already undertaken an industrial visit to KF Bioplants to Pune as Botany students, it was the turn of zoology department to take us for a ‘ride’. And they did so aptly. The planned excursion was to Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) Goregaon, Mumbai. BNHS is basically an NGO or a Non-Governmental Organisation working for the conservation of nature in and around Mumbai.It is the oldest NGO in Asia running for the past 128 years.

I don’t know about you but I was hearing about this place for the first time in my life. We were asked to come on our own to BNHS. Our faculties gave us the necessary guidelines to reach the spot which is situated alongside the famous Goregaon Film City and on the outskirts of Sanjay Gandhi National Park, Borivili. We had no idea what we had in store for us when we were in the bus which was supposed to take us to BNHS from Goregaon station. As the bus trailed like a snail along the township of Goregaon, I wondered how boring the excursion would be. But as soon as the bus entered into the Film City territory my imagination started running the other way. With every foot the bus moved, my expectations also got higher. And finally the grumpy old conductor announced that the bus has reached its destination. Clueless, we disembarked off the bus. We looked around and found our friends and faculty waiting for us. As we moved in closer I could see a board with a picture of a horn bill which read “BNHS” (that was the first time I realized the existence of this organization!!).

A relatively short man with a captivating smile wearing a T-shirt displaying the BNHS logo leaded us to CEC, the educational centre of BNHS. We were shown into an auditorium where our attendance was taken duly and our batch was divided into four groups for the nature trail (and I got separated from my friends). I looked around to study the members of my group and Dharam, Vivek, Valencia and Unain seemed to be the only people I knew. Our group had two members from CEC as our guides – Kaustubh Sir(Environmentalist) and Eugene Sir(Ornithologist). We were very lucky as we were going on the best, toughest and the most informative trail in BNHS - The Leopard Trail. As soon as we stepped out of CEC, our guides started to shower us with their enviable knowledge of ornithology. We as students could only hear the caws of crows. But they as seasoned bird watchers could make out at least 5-6 sounds of different birds including the Magpie Robin, Taylor Bird, Racket Tail Barbet, Mynas, Thick Built Crows and so on. We were obviously dumbfounded at their inimitable worth of knowledge.

We were trudging towards the entrance point of the Leopard Trail and on the way we were shown many specimens of different creatures and plants and were explained about their distinct characteristics. Kaustubh Sir also brought our attention to the bark of a tree which was valiantly scratched and nudged by a Sambar Deer. We moved on and on the way saw many flora and fauna like the Soccer ball Tree and the Leaf-Miner etc. After some time we reached the gateway to the Leopard Trail. A sign board read

“BEWARE! YOU ARE ENTERING THE LAND OF THE KING OF THIS JUNGLE- THE LEAPORDS...”

Enough to send chills down your spines. But our guides reminded us that leopards were nocturnal creatures and would not come out when people were spotted in large numbers.

We descended down a very steep inclination for a good 30-40 meters. There we met a river which though was not in full bloom, was very scenic and catchy with tiny creatures like the land crab and the water cricket moving around in large numbers. The river would get deeper as we moved forward. There were many highlights on the way like the Ghost Tree, Curled Ginger Flowers, The Wolf Spider etc. We had our moments of excitement when Dharam said he had spotted a snake and I too had seen something wiggling in the water. But nothing much developed out of that.

Then we moved along to the ascending part of the trail which was a very long and harsh climb, tiring us physically. We saw the teak tree. The leaves of this tree are peculiar. On rubbing the leaves on our hands we get a reddish brown tinge which is due to the heavy iron content present in it. I wondered that I studied about teak since I was in my 4th grade but I never came across such facts. Pop came the answer too. Its because bookish study just polishes the external mind. But the knowledge which we acquire through experience stays for ever. And that’s why field study becomes so important in building a person’s career overall. We observed some exotic trees like the Eucalyptus( Australia), Gliciridia(Central America), Gulmohar( Madagascar). Some of my answers impressed Eugene sir and he complemented me. Though I was happy I thought those answers to be childish and known to all.

We came back to the CEC after that wonderful and informative trail and learnt that we were the only ones to take the river route!! I was feeling elated and at the same time sorry for my friends who did not have the luck to trail the coveted Leopard Trail.

The excursion ended with a thanks giving session by Manoj Sir – Not to forget his trademark ‘sort of’ which he included in his speech which made us cry with laughter.

And at the end of the day we walked away with serious thoughts lingering in our minds about nature and ecology. I was thankful that I didn’t take up engineering. Otherwise I would have ended making machines and devices locked up in a four-walled room rather than exploring and playing an important hand in conserving and nurturing God’s precious gifts. Hope another such excursion comes by in no time……………

The KF-Bioplant Experience.....

2011-08-08T17:11:00.000+05:30

I know I am not Barack Obama that people will scurry around to read my blog. Nor do I find any sort of satisfaction in presenting this blog which is not a generalized matter like my earlier blogs. Its only that I want to preserve this piece of memory so that it doesn’t get buried in the sands of time. If not for anyone, its just for me so that I don’t forget that memorable day. But having said that I must say that this blog is for all those students who were part of that day with me. I am doing B.Sc Biotechnology from R.D national College in Bandra. As per the new system of gradings the Mumbai University has made two compulsory industrial visits every year for degree college students. This blog is about first of those visits to India’s largest plant tissue culture company- KF Bioplants. What prompted me to write this blog was that this wasn’t like any other tour to any place. This tour opened ourselves to the world of reality. It also also acted as a bond maker between all of us who were almost new to each other.

The said company is situated in Hadapsar, Pune. It was planned that the bus would leave at sharp 6:15 in the morning. But like every other tour it was bound to leave late and it surely did. After it was made sure that all the students had arrived, the bus left for Pune at sharp 7 in the morning. I don’t know about the others but I had no clue whatsoever about the whole nature of the visit. I sat back in ease as I was fasting and it was not advisable for me to do a lot of shouting and enjoyment. I watched in bored fashion as the bus grunted past all those busy bylanes of Mumbai in a disrespectful fashion. I was feeling crappy because my friends and I were separated. But the surprise was about to come just now. In about 45 minutes we had cleared Mumbai and were speeding across the Vashi creek. What followed were jaw dropping scenes of nature at its full flamboyance. The same look which you get when you travel along the Konkan routes during the monsoon period.

Mahendra had brought a camera which was a 12.1 MP Canon Powershot. He was busy clicking pictures of everyone in the bus. Come to talk about it, the bus had by now divided itself into various camps. One group along with Mukul were playing Uno while some were indulging in Antakshari. Some of my friends were busy talking to Vijendra Sir.(Describing him would take a different blog altogether!). The other three members of the faculty were busy talking among themselves. After about one and half an hour into the journey,I saw a sign board which read- GHAT STARTS HERE. The bus which was proceeding at the speed of 65 km/ph suddenly slowed down to a mere 30 km/ph. We could see mountains ahead with clouds covering their heads like the crown of the glorious king. Small bursts of waterfalls could be seen almost everywhere. Suddenly there were flashes of camera lights everywhere. Everyone were jutting their heads out to get a view of the green world not associated to Mumbai. Even the all experienced faculties were looking in awe and amusement. Many tunnels, speeding vehicles passed by for the rest of the journey.

We reached the place at about a quarter to 12 in the afternoon. After dividing us into two groups, we were led to behind the factory were we saw a initiation room. The women working inside were wearing sterile outfits as described by the officer in charge. They working like trained robots oblivious to the fact that we were watching them with the gravest attention.
While the second group went in, we engaged ourselves in clicking some photographs of some really beautiful flowers, mainly gerbera. With the help of Mahendra’s super powerful camera we clicked some really beautiful pictures. Then it was time to visit the second leg of the company which was 3 kms away and which consisted of seven, monstrous green houses. We were taken into one of the green houses. I was dumbfounded as I was visiting a green house for the first time even though I had learnt about it a lot. There were tons and tons of cultured plants lined about in a tabular fashion. I went berserk and was clicking every damn thing that came in front of the camera. There were many different types and colours of gerbera flower and other orchids. I even got a chance to click photos of Vijendra Sir along with the orchids on his request.

Having done that we all proceded for lunch. As I and some of my friends were fasting we indulged in prayers during that time. Then it was time to bid adieu to Pune as we all jogged onto our bus like an army. The return journey was especially fun as the tyre of our beloved bus punctured and caused a delay of another hour. We were at Khandala at that time and simply enjoyed the climate there. Everyone got a chance to bond with the faculty and also among each others. I spend most of the return journey talking with my new found friend, Saylee who was smarter than I thought. She asked me a lot of questions about botany, vegetation of Pune and geology. At times I didn’t have answers to most of her questions.

The faculty members especially the H.O.D Vibha Ma’m confessed that she liked our group and that it was very enthusiastic.

By the time we reached the outskirts of Mumbai, it was sunset and time to break our fast. Our other friends also got along with us and shared their food items with us.

There was a sinking feeling as we were nearing the end of the journey. Majority of us got out at the Bandra railway station bidding goodbye to our friends. It was a mind blowing experience. I reached home by 9:30 but I longed for another trip but I knew it won’t come sooner.

Three days after the trip, we were in our botany lab learning the preparation of wine. That’s when our H.O.D announced the second tour which would happen in the ending days of December. And this time it was going to be even bigger. We are going on a six day tour to Jaipur, Bharatpur and Ranthambore!!!!! Damn excited!!! And I am really longing for it…………

Believe In Yourself.....

2011-07-08T10:40:00.000+05:30

It is one of those incidents which you never forget in life. They come up as revelations when you are in need of it. These are tiny leaflets that make your huge book called life. The reference I am about to tell you is an incident that I witnessed which helped me inculcate a sense of self belief in myself. I hope it does the same to you. After months of searching for a good topic to write on, this idea flashed like lightning to me.

I was into learning karate since I was 7 years old. After three years of training when I was 10 years old, I along with about 30 odd students of our karate institution, where selected for an All India Karate tournament to be held in Thrissur,Kerala. It was a ten day trip to Kerala and was planned during the Christmas vacation in December 2005. We reached Thrissur by 26th of December and straight away paid a visit to the stadium in which the tournament was to be held. The scene was jaw-dropping, awesome and whatever you want to call it. Being born and brought up in a space cramped city like Mumbai, we were but naturally surprised to see such a huge stadium. It was actually a indoor basketball stadium with a seating capacity of about 3000. The platform or the WWE ring (as we called it then) was being built at the center. The mere sight of the ramp sent shivers running down most of our spines.

After about a day’s rest, the tournament was flagged open on the 28th of December (ohhh…I can never forget those dates) and would continue for three days. The Black Dragons- a team from Kerala were the official organizers of the tournament. We had heard plenty about their team being fearless and ruthless and the one which swept most of the awards every year. And man they did live up to their legendary reputation. We watched in awe and dismay as seasoned karate pros from all over the country perished like amateurs at the hand of the deadly Black Dragons. They moved on like trained, powerful robots and nobody could do anything about that. The first day itself saw many of our team members including me get knocked out of the tournament. Phew! I suffered a knockout and when I woke up I was at our dugout. The game was over for me.

Well the real story starts now. On the third and the last day all the different weight categories were headed towards the last rounds. Almost all of them were ensured a bronze medal at least.
As I said the fighters where divided as per their weights. Like I was in the 35-40 weight category. Of all the fighters, the one who stole all the limelight was Manoj Black Dragon-as he was called by the announcer. He kicked and swayed everyone who came his away during the tourney. People gripped with fear when they saw themselves pitted against him on the fight list. Most of his fights ended in brutal knockouts. He undoubtedly won his weight category of 55-60 kgs.

And after all that, when everyone thought that everything was over, the organizers announced a surprise trophy. The Dragon Crest as it was called by them. The speciality of that trophy was that it had no weight or gender bounds. Anybody who cleared 5 rounds in their respective categories were eligible for that trophy. Not surprisingly, the first one to get himself enrolled was Manoj. After that it was like nobody wanted that trophy. The organizers asked repeatedly about any one wanting to join as contenders for the coveted trophy. After a while a student from our institution, Deepak or Spiderman as he was know among us him stood up. He said he was ready to fight Manoj who was by now grinning and showing off thinking that he would win the trophy without any competition.

‘Are you out of your mind’, ‘He will chew you and spit you out’, ‘You are gone!’. That was the reaction from our camp. Sure he was the best from our institution and also the only one to win a gold medal from our team, but not up to Manoj, we thought.

In a matter of minutes, he was padded up and the fight would start in no time. Manoj, full with over-confidence was looking at his dugout and gesturing at the girls declaring his supremacy. The crowd was silent. 3000 people, sat like they knew the fate of the match already. Even we at our dugout were counting the probabilities of Deepak returning back without fracturing some part of his body.

The referee called the players closer, and gestured some rules to them. He drew out and after a moment shouted, “Start!” And the fight was on. The showboating Manoj was taunting Deepak who was looking keenly into his eyes. After some initial struggle he was pushed to the corner of the ring by Manoj. This was the moment. Deepak came back with a startler. Running across the stage he unleashed the deathly Bruce Lee style flying kick. It went straight to Manoj’s jaw. And man!! He ruffled across the ropes and was out of the stage. The referee counted till ten so that Manoj could come back in. But he didn’t getup, let alone re-enter the stage. The match was over! The Dragon Crest was ours! The supremacy of the Black Dragons ended. We could not believe what we were witnessing. Deepak unleashed into a flurry of somersaults and ugly gestures at the Black Dragon dugout.

Nobody gave him a chance. Not even his teammates, not even his coach. Of all the 3000 people only one person believed in him. And that was he himself. He had courage, he had power, he had swiftness, but above all he believed in himself. He never let himself down even when everyone others did so. He was holding the metal studded shining trophy in his hand with his eyes gleaming at the limelight. He knew he had achieved something and set a role model others.

Even now I think about that incident after 7 years. I bet all the people present there would also remember him. Now, whenever I am in doubt I think about this man called Deepak and try to draw inspiration from him. Because he was the one who Believed In Himself.

Why Science Students Screw up Their Junior College?

2011-06-02T20:44:00.000+05:30

Well scholars and even normal human beings like you and I know that experience speaks on a person. And it surely does. Because this topic is written by a man who indeed screwed up his grades when he came to junior college. Its not just my tale but that of all the students who appear for their HSC in Mumbai- The City Of Dreams. Yeah…poor students are indeed left dreaming at the end.

Every year passes by and you hear all those stories of your neighborhood boys an girls who score considerably less than what their class X percentage was. Since it happened to me too, I analyzed the matter and came out with all those reasons like the air crash investigator who comes out with the cause of a devastating air crash. If gone in detail I can publish a mini book on it. But this is the shortest it can be.

First and the foremost reason is that the Class X syllabus is a hell lot simple than junior college portion. For the newbies who score in the high eighties in class X and expect to do an encore in their HSC, this comes as a Mike Tyson sort of punch to their jaw. They find it difficult to cope with the new and much harder concepts of Physics and Maths. But their conscious mind does not want to believe it and they end up trying to master that portion till the very end. Sadly they end up just trying and nothing more.

Secondly students in Mumbai think that there is a need for a good college to excel in your HSC. Hence in a valiant search for that ensures that you get it at least 20 kilometers away from your home. That means a travel time of one hour if you take a train. A worst case scenario if you take a bus. Secondly the student gets into some very damn expensive classes who as we know only want to please the student’s parents by maintaining a clean slate. They conduct tests before the student can realize what the chapter is about. In fact the chapter is completed even before the student finds out the chapter’s name. Many scientific reports believe that an average child has an attention span of only 3 hrs per day. But these so called coaching classes take up courses in the months ranging from March to June non-stop without even a single holiday for 7 hrs at a stretch each day!

By the time the vacations are over 70% of the portions are finished(what crap!). When college starts they reduce their class times to 3 hrs(great act of responsibility). So if you count 5 hrs of college plus 3 hrs of tuitions plus 2 hrs of traveling. It takes up ten hours of you active 16 hrs. Student spends time in all those daily chores for about 4 hrs. So after all this do you people in your sane mind think that the student would want to study in the 2 hrs they get to sense and feel whats happening around in this world? Of course he would not. He would instead crave for entertainment of any sort to free himself. Also peer pressure acts on him in a terrible way.

I am not supposed to say this but colleges in Mumbai are utterly useless. They would be deserted like government libraries if not for the fact that they conduct practicals. A new collegian expects his college to be a friendly an co-operative affair like his school. But it is not so. Its just like the Indian government(exists for the namesake).Teachers come and go. They don’t care about the portion nor do they take classes seriously. Even then they want students to attend all their lectures. Other reasons include the obtainance of mobile phones, want to attract the opposite sex, and to experience the all new factor called bunking. Especially if you have that odd chemistry teacher who just blabbers out his qualifications. I don’t want to go in detail about all that.

Yet there are those super humans who survive all these atrocities and come out as “Toppers”- the word itself needs coronation. We should really salute those super humans wherever we see them.

It does not end here. Theirs a lot more to it. As I mentioned I can write a mini book on this topic. This comes from a source who has experienced all this on himself and has also seen his friends who were perennial toppers in their school days nose dive with their percentages. I am sure that anyone of the above mentioned points would have contributed to your diminished percentage. Just think about. Yeah, I bet you will.

This was not a pamphlet of complain or anything of that sort. Its just what I felt. And I think you will agree with it to some extent. And do post your valuable comments on what you think about this matter..

Osama bin Laden - Martyr Or Terrorist?

2011-05-07T17:53:00.000+05:30

I don't know how many will read my blog. I don't know how many will accept my views. But I am writing this blog for my own self and for the few people out their who can comply with my view point on perhaps the world's most famous personality - Osama bin Laden.

Talking about him and all the chaos surrounding his death. Many people in the Islamic world hail him as a 'mujahid'. They say he waged a battle against the U.S.A- a country which can cross any limits to accomplish and establish their supremacy in the modern world. On the face of it, for any muslim, he is indeed a warrior who fought for all the muslims and performed the duty of jihaad.

But everything is not as it seems. It is a matter of fact that America especially under the Bush regime behaved like an imperialist,bloodsucking maggot, who in the name of war on terrorism did nothing but disrupt and destroy the lives of tonnes of people in countries like Iraq, Afghanistan and other similar places. What was perceived to be a war on global terrorism ended up as a civilian war killing more than 5,00,000 people in Iraq alone. Many children were killed, women were raped, and many more rendered orphans. The tyranny of the Bush regime never ends.

It was against this undefiable act of deamonism that Osama waged a war against. A justifiable act indeed. But the method he took to continue with this war is a matter of huge controversy. He declared fatwas (religious orders) favouring the killing of America and its allies which included innocent citizens. He claims this was in accordance to jihaad(struggle against evil) prescribed in the Holy Quran. But his fatwas had serious theological flaws.

Talikng about jihaad, the Holy Prophet laid down strict rules against the killings of women,children and non-combaters. He also prohibited attacking people by taking them unawares. Unfortunately Osama's fatwas transgressed all these restrictions. He considered women and children to be legitimate targets of jihaad. He could have been an example not only for the muslim community but also for the whole world if he had followed the proper path.

But sadly he ended up tarnishing the image of Islam, a religion which deeply emphasises on the principle of peace. Yet people call him a martyr who fought for Islam. A sad but blatant truth. I don't know how many comply with my view, but this my way of thinking and this the way I follow and perceive Islam to be. I finish my blog with a quotation from the Holy Quran which says...

"If anyone kills any innocent man its like killing the whole of mankind"

A Train Journey To Kerala.........

2011-04-25T09:49:00.000+05:30

Looking at the title you may obviously think that it is just another description of just another train journey to a beautiful state called Kerala. Well indeed its a journey to my motherland Kerala but the blog I am writing is not a travelogue. Its about my encounter with a man I met during the two day long yatra. My interaction with him thought me a thing or two about the subtle intricacies of life that one needs to follow.

It was after my SSC exams in mid march 2009. Since that was an important year and due to some personal reasons I had not visited my native place since the past four years. Not long, you may think. But for a person like me its too long a time since we have none of our relatives living in Mumbai. Besides Kerala was a place I yearned to live in thanks to its scenic beauty and pollution free environment. Something which is unheard of, in a bustling,24×7, metropolitan city like Mumbai. Sometimes I have gone to the extent of cursing myself for the prospect of having to live in Mumbai inspite of being born in Kerala. Due to all these reasons I wanted to rocket to Kerala as soon as my exams were over. Luckily my dad's friend was planning to travel to Kerala due to business reasons. I booked my ticket with him and in no time in a matter of few days I was of to my hometown all excited.

Day one of the journey passes away entirely travelling through Maharshtra. Its only the next day morning that you enter the Kerala border through Mangalore. One of the very first stations is Calicut-the place where the iconic personality Vasco da Gama landed as he first came to India. A man of short height but stout stature boarded the compartment and sat right in front of me. I got a little excited as I could now talk to a local of Kerala. He looked a little out of place as he was adjusting baggage under the seats. I asked whether he needed help but he did not mind my words. At this point I got a faint notion that my co-traveller was a grumpy man who cannot be easily befriended. And my intuition only got worse as the journey progressed. My uncle who was with me tried making all sorts of friendly gestures with him but everything turned futile. Apart from occasional glances, he just won't talk.
I became restless and tried hard to figure out his personality, but to no avail. I wondered why would anyone wan't to sit idle throughout a long journey. To my mind he had already become an imbecile, egoistic man who disliked public communication. The rest of the journey continued in the same vein with I making gestures by which he understood we were tired of his attitude.

The train hustled and bustled into Trivandrum and we got up to collect our luggage and exit the train. As we were about to leave I gave a final glance to the man, upon which he woke up and came closer to us. My uncle too turned and looked towards him. He said," I know that I have been too recessive. But you must understand that I am not in that frame of mind. I just lost my son in a bus mishap. He was the only one to me." As soon as he said that,he left leaving the two of us doing nothing but staring at each other. We didn't know what to do, what to say but pick our baggage and get out of the train. Suddenly the whole world turned upside down. We were the ones who were imbeciles, egoistics and all those damn slang words in the world. My uncle was quick to run behind him and tender an apology. We watched him as he walked, shoulders drooped into the busy bush of passengers.

"Prejudice is the worst thing that can destroy a relationship son. It leads to miscommunication between people. Had we thought about the matter from his perspective, we could have avoided such a situation.", commented my uncle. That day I learned that we need to think both ways before we come to a particular decision.Our gestures might have hurt him. But there is no use talking about it now. We should have realised that before. In life there might arise many a situations like this and we may end up being at crossroads. At such a juncture, thinking about people from there view helps to make a right decision rather than make a decision based on your view and regret it life-long.

So friends, I hope you might have learnt something out of this ordinary blog I wrote and you may use it in your life.

MY FRIENDS IN COLLEGE.......

2011-02-07T14:54:00.000+05:30

I had started my blog on the topic-FRIENDS FOR LIFE???.....and I think the intended people liked it.Hence I have decided to continue on that topic but with a more dip of reality.

Since my childhood days, I have maintained that no one comes close to school friends.And i think that notion is the same for all of us.But college is a bigger fraternity and the friendships we have there have a great effect on our personality.Hence i am going to describe about the closest circuit of friends i have in college.People not included in this list should not feel offended as i am going through a lot of time and space crunch at this moment.

Here are the people who make me what i am in college.(in alphabetical order).

AMEY MORE

Amey.He is the quintessential,typical college loving,happy-go-lucky kind of guy.Apart from being a self crafted batsmen who plays for the prestigious MCA,he is one of the coolest guys to hang out with.He turns out to be the convener for almost any get-togethers organized by our friend circle.Tall,lanky and kinky,Thats how you describe a guy like Amey.

GAURAV AGARWAL

Gaurav is the perfect 'boy next door' type of guy.You will encounter people like him every now and then in AAMCHI MUMBAI.He is also the ultimate TechGuru not only among us, but also among the whole of SYJC.and i bet he can even give the B-tech students a heavy run for their money.There is no other word beyond his,when it comes to tech related things.Be it mobiles,laptops,PCs and what not???And thats why he is a hit with girls?!!!!

MAHENDRA VARMA

Yes the name itself has royalty etched on it.He joined us from the UBS college when we were in the 12th grade.But i must admit that he has gained more friends and popularity in a single year than we did in two!!And thats Mahendra.He is damn funny and humorous.He can kick the ass out of anybody in the so called 'War of Words'.So don't mess with him.....!!!

MOHAMMED REHMANJI

Mohammed is the cute,bubbly funny man of our group.He can imitate our college professors to the teeth with no stone unturned!People say i am good in the subject of biology.But i credit him to be the ultimate when it comes to that field as he is far more dedicated than me.He is always cheerful and blushing.Have a dull moment??You ain't happy for some reason??Just hang out with him and everything will be fine.....infact you will cry with laughter....!!

MUKUL KAREYA

What do heptathlons do??They specialise in one or more forms of athletics.And that is what Mukul does. Though not true to the definition, he is a guy with the ultimate sportsmanship spirit.He can sprint,he can run long distances,he can win tele games for your team and most importantly, he can play football. And man...he does play it damn well!He is a professional and plays for the Yuva Sports Club in Bandra.He is also one of the best in academics among us.....though he denies it always(ha.who listens???)....

SHAYARSH SINGH

The most dedicated among us when it comes to dreaded word called studies.If any one of us studied like him, then we would have got our names pasted on the 90+ lists long back.very quiet and keeps to himself mostly.You will have an impression of a book-worm when you look at him......and seriously,he is one...

SOHAIL SHAIKH

Last but not least.Sohail.He is dark,he is rich, he is shy, and he is a self proclaimed physicist(much like Mukul) and he is from the land of the West-Saudi Arabia.Yes.Even though he is an Indian, he resides in Jeddah.Yeah, he is an import.We call him 'tadipaar' OR simply 'refugee'!!

He again like Mukul denies that he has excellent academic records.But again-who listens?!!He is a typical character who doesn't mind going to ends for friends even if it requires him spend huge prices.....

And hence these are the people i be with in college......These are the gems of my life......

Friends For Life???

2011-01-25T10:14:00.000+05:30

Everyday as a 12th grader, my days pass by in a jiffy with the company of my friends. Playing football, teasing each other by names, ridiculing some teachers and all. Yes its the time of our life to make merry......

But people like us rarely think of the larger backdrop. Maybe we don't need to. And perhaps we should not. Because its this time of our life that we get to enjoy. Get to feel the aroma of friendship. The aroma of sincere commitment for each other. We get to enjoy all the moments we spend together. We rarely are concerned about our studies(we consider it as a second priority). But sometimes in the middle of this bliss and happiness suddenly a question pops out of nowhere.

"ARE WE GOING TO BE TOGETHER LIKE THIS FOREVER TILL THE

VERY END OF OUR LIFE?"

If you consider the facts of life, the answer to many of us would seem to be in the negative. And indeed so it will be. In just a matter of few days our first years of college life will be over. All scattered back to their respective nests. All will make themselves ready for the challenges life will throw with them. All will have to explore and survive the big bad world which is waiting for them. At such a juncture, friends will count only as people you meet during a long journey to some place. No doubt all will be in touch thanks to wonders called social networking sites. But will we be ready to spend time so nonchalantly at that time. Now in our moods we may say yes. But looking at the larger picture it will be a time when you will be dogged with family responsibilities. Our young shoulder will feel the pressure to make a career for ourselves. all the childhood buddies will be scattered all around like pearls of a broken necklace.

Such a period is inevitable yet necessary. So this as my first blog is a tribute to my friends. We all came from different parts in Mumbai to one place called Bandra. Yes its pure destiny. Otherwise my Friend Gaurav who lives in Bhayander wouldn't have met me - a person who stays so far away in Ghatkopar. We all spend two years of quality friendship and the time for us to part has come.

So after many years if you see any of your friends in some city in some part of the world, then just remember that it was God then and it is God now who wants you to meet again...............

"THANK YOU MY FRIENDS FOR BEING IN MY LIFE!"