Echoes

House of Cards, Season 4: Notes

2016-03-05T23:15:00.002+05:30

House of Cards is not a TV show. It’s a deeply emotional and personal annual event during which I don’t engage myself in any other relevant activities. So in three sittings, I completed these 13 episodes (thanks to work, or I would have completed it in one go) and this is what I think:

Lighting: I’ve said this before and I’m saying it again, one of the most striking things about House of Cards is classily ambient light in which the whole series is shot. All the indoor shots are shot in sombre, modest and mellow light that it has a mystifying feel. Hands down, the best lighting arrangement I’ve seen in a TV show.

Dialogues: Sentence formation is the greatest of all arts known to mankind. I get high on perfect sentences. HoC S4 delivers knockout punches in every episode. I am itching to share a few, but last year, I was admonished for spoiling it for a few friends. But like Frank Underwood, I don’t give a damn. So, here it is, in a scene, Claire’s mother says to Frank Underwood, ‘Not even being president could give you any class’. I have never seen a more savage insult in my life. And that, coming from a mother-in-law, is possibly must be the lowest point of Frank Underwood’s life. This was just one such instance. For dialogue-addicts, this season is cloud no 9.

Boldness: House of Cards is the poster boy of boldness on TV. Some scenes are so bold that it takes a heart to digest them. Using sex and violence to get classified as bold is one thing, but sending a terrifying shock down your spine without any bloodshed or show of skin is an art HoC has mastered over the last four years and it takes it to the next level in this season. A scene in which, he speaks to (read threatens) the Secretary of State, Cathy, is so brilliant and so bold that you wouldn’t want anyone like Frank Underwood within a hundred miles of your house. And then there are many such.

But, the last one minute where Frank Underwood, looks at the camera and utters two sentences, the very last two sentences that will make you shudder. I am yet to recover from that jolt.

Imagination: There are a few scenes where Frank Underwood is hallucinating. The kind of imagination that has gone into writing these scenes, I wonder what these writers are on, for, pardon by naivety, I cannot fathom how their brains work. These David Lynch-esque sequences that will blow your mind... God, what I wouldn’t do, to be in the writers room while they conceived those scenes.

Acting: The acting, without exception, was top notch. I am not qualified to enunciate on the greatness of Kevin Spacey’s acting as Frank Underwood. The others: Robin Wright was strong gritty and evil as usual. It was enchanting to see the human side of Michael Kelley for a bit, but I think the new entrant, Jeol Kinnaman, the Swedish actor is the find of the season. And his wife is coma-induing-pulchritudinous-British-bombshell ;-)

Now all this, is great. But every show, has a moment. A moment where your jaws drop, your eyes are wide open and your heart pumps blood twice as fast. You won’t know what hit you. You feel your nerves pulsate and there’s a rush of blood in your head and the vessels throb so hard that you feel you’ll explode. You’re immersed in the sheer brilliance of the creator. That moment where use of civil language is so undermining of the brilliance, yes, that moment, comes at the end of episode 6. The final scene. I’ve seen it over twenty times and I am sure I will, many times over again, because, that’s what you do when you encounter brilliance, you surrender.

- Deepak Karamungikar

Momentary lapses of reason.

2015-08-25T09:51:00.002+05:30

I was fifteen and we were eleven people living in a seven hundred something sq. ft. house. My grandfather, grandmother, me and my brother slept in the front room where we kept our black and white TV. We didn't have cable TV. But thanks to the KGB-esque technology, our Uptron TV, with just a simple aluminium antenna, caught signals of our neighbor's cable TV and we enjoyed Zee TV and MTV and such other channels sometimes, depending on the wind direction and the direction in which our antenna was pointing. At one point, me and my brother were almost living magnetic compasses giving medieval Portuguese explorers a run for their money as we could tell which direction meant which channel clear on TV. We also had a three-person black-ops team in place which included my sister who would tell if the image was clear or not, based on the direction I used to turn the antenna on our terrace and my brother played the middleman coordinating between me and my sister. After one such strenuous field operation on a holiday, we managed to get the best signal for MTV. I remember spending the whole day watching English music videos which I had only heard about, or heard at some friends' place. I slept late that night and remember my late grandfather turning off the TV after I slept - I remember because when you switched our Uptron KGB TV off, it went off with a thud from its speaker.

The next morning, as I woke up to the commotion around me, the first thing I did was to switch on the TV. I heard weird haunting bell sounds. I was half-awake until my eyes witnessed one of the greatest and the most creative footage I had ever seen. The next five minutes were so mesmerizing I didn't even blink. Capes behind men that flew all the way up into the sky, large balloons bouncing off into endless emptiness, men walking mysteriously on stilts, a man with a bicycle wheel the size of a ferris wheel, larger than life statues, endless corridors, meadows, men carrying bells on their backs and other such mesmerizing visuals. I remember each moment as I saw it that day. That was my introduction to Pink Floyd. The video obviously, was 'High Hopes' from The Division Bell.

That was my introduction to the phenomenon called rock music. Years progressed as rock music began to grow on me, A while later, me and my brother were both deeply involved in rock music. I limited myself to the mysterious philosophies of rockstars and their lifestyles and the lyrics. My brother took a step ahead and learned guitar, which he has mastered now. I tried to play drums for a while, but couldn't get past a point - guess I was never made for it. Or I didn't try hard enough. I will, however, make another attempt at it, as soon as the time is right. By this time, I had begun to explore other bands as well, while Pink Floyd always remained my favorite. I still feel, it is impossible to perform a song better than Echoes - that's what this blog is named after. Nirvana became a big favorite. Metallica too. But what I understood very late, was that Led Zeppelin is a genre in itself. While I remain biased toward Pink Floyd, I must admit that Led Zeppelin is the definition of mind blowing. They were the first to make you want to headbang. And then, I got addicted to The Doors. The Doors is why I decided to write this post.

***

During the aforementioned years, I was so deeply involved with rock music that I had black t-shirts of all the bands I mentioned above. Anyone who has known me for a while knows that I only wore those black rockband t-shirts. I had one particular favorite with Kurt Cobain's face on it - which I wore as a lucky t-shirt, to eleven of the quizzes I won in Hyderabad while in college. But that's not what this is about. I have no shame in admitting that I had numerous arguments with people who denied that Pink Floyd is not the greatest band. I went to the extent of almost breaking my relationship with a very special friend who was on the Led Zeppelin side of things, a side, to which, my eyes opened much later. Yo, if your're reading this, I concede. You were right in some way, but I will forever remain a Floydian.

The whole point of telling you this story was to tell you that it was my first ever argument over something I loved dearly. Before this, only thing I came close to defending was Sourav Ganguly, but I never really confronted a worthy opponent. Why do we love people we never met so dearly? Do we love them or their work? I have only seen Roger Waters once, from over fifty meters away - but even today I see him playing bass guitar shirtless in the remnants of that Colosseum at Pompeii, I get goosebumps. David Gilmour, Pink Floyd's lead guitarist was so dear to me that I chose to name the URL of this blog over him. What is it that draws us to them?

It is futile to talk about rock bands without using the world 'influence'. Influence is a very strong word in the rock music culture. Every band has influences. Each rock fan has influences. A friend who I don't speak to anymore, once played a stupid fucking song on high volume and expected me to head bang. I said the band is a bunch of assholes just like him and he had no taste. He avenged that comment by trying to ruin my reputation and left my life - why did he had to get so worked up over a band that's so stupid, is what I thought then.

But now older, and presumably wiser, I think that's not the right question. The right question to ask is, does it give me a right to take him down? The answer is no. But it's too late now. If you look back at your life, you will too, find moments where you should have just kept your mouth shut and let people have their way. Jim Morrison, was a fantastic poet, brilliant singer but a giant asshole who had no control over his life. The fanatics will argue that he never wanted to have control over his life and that's what made him special. But in my book, overdosing doesn't count as losing control - it's plain stupid. Same with Kurt Cobain. Brilliant singers, brilliant performers, but couldn't extend their careers. Or may be their careers didn't matter to them. All genius comes with inexplicable eccentricities, but eccentricities that are a threat to the very life that gives you the opportunity to be that genius are as pointless as Linkin Park.

Now, there was a time when eccentricities like these, served as a subject of supreme excitement. Not that ever thought of doing drugs, but I liked the adventurous thoughts of having the life of a rockstar, being with several women, becoming world famous, etc. As time progressed, or as we, the middle-class call it maturing, I realized that most of the things I liked about rock bands in 2001, I do not today. I do not have the urge to argue and prove that Pink Floyd is the greatest band. It is the greatest, but I don't want to convince you. Or anyone. There comes a time in everybody's life - where the only thing that matters is what actually matters. Shoving opinions down others' throats doesn't make any sense. You'll come to a point where you'll strongly believe in yours though, but you will not counter others. That point of being mentally stoic and unreactive nobility is a severely crucial threshold we all must reach.

I have no shame in confessing that I have lost three friends till date because of my inability to keep my mouth shut. In those momentary lapses of reason, my urge to prove my point superseded the necessity to weigh in the consequences of your absence from my life. Fanaticism breeds aggression. Aggression leads to incompatibility. Incompatibility leads to a decision point where someone will remain in your life only if they love you way too much or they need you in some way or the other. Or it's a combination of both in varying proportions. I have experienced all the three types. A heartfelt thanks to those who haven't left my side.

Sorry to make this post so long, but it was necessary to establish the premise before I could get to the point. Every night when you go back to sleep, you invariably remember that moment when you should have stayed calm and not spoken. And it hurts. Strategic silence is a rare skill - one must strive to gain it.

In the legendary words of Ari Gold, "Silence, is fucking golden".

- Deepak Karamungikar

Twitter: @poetrification

Unknown

2015-02-11T08:34:00.001+05:30

Beyond the mountains the sun rose

Through the slits the light flows

Awakens she again, smiling at the dawn

Hoping she'd live a life, she'd always longed

She smells the morning hoping for a day of her own,

Someone with a story knocks on her door,

She speaks not a word, till the end she hears

Quietly inside her, his shoes she wears

Inside his shoes she walks, as his stories haunt her

Of her own life she forgets, surrenders to his

She walks miles as his life engulfs her

Of her own smile she forgets, begins to wear his

She lives his life until she masks her with his

She begins to feel his pain, unmindful of her own

And when she smiles she often forgets, the joys are not her own

In his life she had found, a joy of her own

At the turn by the curb, she stumbles and wakes up

Her mind opens, of her own life, she remembers

She vows not to give in, into another's shoes again

She walks home with dreams, of a tomorrow of her own

She slips into the night, thinking of a life she'd always longed

Dreams she again, of the hopeful morrow

Dawns it again, barely like it was foretold

There's a knock on her door again, yet, she's bold

Another story awaits her heed

Another pair awaits her heel

Lives again she unfairly, another person's life

Thwarted her soul recluses, gives up her smile

There came a time when she forgot who she was

It was the world she was in herself, the mirror too gave up

She lived many a life, but not once her own

Every time they knocked, she slid into unknown

- Deepak Karamungikar

Opinion Overdose

2015-01-12T10:48:00.003+05:30

Cliche is the foundation of society, and opinion its soul. 'Opinions are like...', goes a very cliched saying that doesn't end pleasantly. Let's be uninterested in that cliche for a while. Let's just consider the aspect of opinions. Opinions are shaped by multiple factors like upbringing, economic and social class, independent thinking and judgement, tastes, likes, perceptions and many other such factors. Opinions are often not honest. At least on social media. One may have a secret life with a different set of opinions running inside him but often finds himself playing to the galleries because that's what is considered acceptable or posh or hipster or just because everyone thinks it is good.

I remember my friend and I visited Providence Bakery in Neredmet X Roads, Hyderabad when was in seventh standard when someone asked me, 'What's your favorite drink?' I replied, 'Maaza', without hesitation. The man asked the same question to my friend and he said, 'Thums Up'. After a brief chat, the guy left. I knew my friend had lied because he and I loved Maaza and detested any drink that caused difficulty in swallowing because of the gas. I asked my friend, 'Why did you lie about your favorite drink?'. My friend nonchalantly replied, 'Maaza is a sissy drink. What will he think of me if I tell him him my favorite drink is Maaza?'. Then I asked him, 'But you had Maaza in your hand when you said Thums Up? What about this hypocrisy?'. My friend had no answer. He just looked at me and said, 'Oops' as he stuck his tongue out.

What I see today in adulthood is no different. Quickly adjusting an opinion to match up to that of whom one is jealous of, is the oldest trick in the holy book of hypocrisy. One of the other things people do is to state opinions that will or are most likely to offend other folk who you don't like. Now this one too, finds its origin in the same book. Third is the standard, non-existent high-standard claim-emphasizing opinion that undermines the others and their opinions. Now this is the deadly lot. This is the bunch that markets and circularizes sadness in the society.

With social media emerging numero uno as a communication tool, opinions are being shoved down our throats with or without our consent. The sad part is not the shoving that happens without consent - if you're unwilling, you can always log off. The sad part is the opinion consumption that is happening with our consent. There are so many layers of opinions and thoughts that are masking the original thinking capability that I sometimes wonder what my opinion on a subject really is!

The other day I expressed my major disappointment with a very popular film because I seriously found it shadily hammy and insanely moronic. I got pounced upon by people. There was a time when I would simply join the bandwagon and just mute my inner voice. Then there was a time I would fight and defend my case. Not anymore. I would still like to have my own opinion. But this time, I will not express it. And that is where I have found the sweet spot. Opinions stress you out. They make you tired. I don't want to get tired because of something that is not fun. In the master George Carlin's style, I have realized, peace lies in the commandment, 'Keep thy opinion to thyself'.

- Deepak Karamungikar

The Human Side of Interstellar

2014-12-18T05:25:00.002+05:30

Interstellar is not a film. It is a divine marriage of philosophy, science fiction and essential life lessons. On a vehicle called Physics, Christopher Nolan takes you on a visually stunning journey through human emotions. When I watched it the second time, I was pleasantly surprised to find some of the scenes didn't register when I watched it first – something Christopher Nolan mentioned in one of his interviews. The science aspect of Interstellar has already been overdone. Let’s look at the amazing life lessons and basic human nature Christopher puts across with great sophistication.

Image Source: bustle.com
Father-daughter relationship: The first human aspect about the film is the father-daughter relationship which is the strong foundation on which the whole plot is meticulously constructed. A daughter doesn't want her father to leave and a father’s regret about leaving her to save the world. The most touching among them all, is the scene where Cooper says, ‘I’m coming back…’ and Murphy asks, ‘When?’ .

Smallness of humanity: Among other things, one thing I found striking is the clarity with which Nolan has put across a point we always knew – how insignificant we are. Billions of galaxies, each with a billion stars. And Among those, is Milky Way, with billions of stars, each with a solar system of its own. Around one such star revolves our planet. The vast emptiness of the universe is breathtaking, but our insignificance in it, is scary. When Romilly says, ‘There's only a few millimeters of aluminum between me and nothing for millions a miles around’, I felt the punch on my soul.

Image Source: rogerebert.com
Nothing is impossible: At the risk of sounding like a self-help book, I would like to bring up two instances which re-emphasize the message. First, Cooper says, ‘We will find a way, Professor, we always have’. Second, during my favorite docking scene, while Cooper is about to dock the just exploded endurance, CASE says, ‘It is not possible’, to which, Cooper replies, ‘It is necessary’. In spite of the stunning visuals and dominatingly brilliant background score, this dialogue blew me away. Just try to put in context, the things we do, to get what we want. The one explanation for why we do certain things in life – it is necessary.

Positivity: The whole movie rests on one word – hope. They start the mission hoping to find something that they are not certain about in the first place and risk everything. Every sub-mission is a risk they play out with just a four letter word acting in their favor, as they tread the unknown path. When Murphy grows up, Dr. Brandt says to her, ‘Not sure of what I'm more afraid of, them never coming back, or coming back to find we've failed’. To which, she replies, ‘Then let’s succeed’. These are lines you cannot come up with, unless you have a very deep understanding of life. And an extremely positive outlook is a mandatory condition. Positivity is the soul of Interstellar.

Discovery: ‘Accident is the first building block of evolution,’ says Dr. Brandt. Right from the first few frames, Nolan has stimulated the spirit of discovery in the viewer. When a young Murphy discovers books falling from her shelf, she realizes there’s some intent behind it and that an unknown force is trying to send a message across, which she fondly names it ‘ghost’. When I watched Interstellar first time, possibly owing to the visual and audio extravagance, I failed to register the essence of few scenes. But a very important thing it teaches you is discovery. No visual in the film is straight forward. Be it the shreds of corn plants in the farm that fly away meticulously while they chase the surveillance drone on a flat tire or the pieces of Endurance that are stochastically falling away from the ship after the explosion. Pause every scene, every frame and see how there’s so much to discover in Interstellar. Right from the bar codes that get transmitted through gravity in the form of thin and thick lines gathered by a dust storm, till the unending pursuit of Murphy to save the mankind, it’s a discovery, discovery of Nolan’s brilliance. Should we all be a little more observant in life, and fuel our sense of discovery, is there magic waiting to happen?

Imagination: Throughout the film, Nolan expands the boundaries of your imagination by galactic proportions. Interstellar teaches you to imagine. It is a cold reminder of the capabilities of human brain. Certain scenes leave you stunned to your bones. When a very tiny endurance was shown passing by an extremely giant Saturn on the IMAX screen, I was searching for a word to describe what I felt. I am convinced that no adjective befits the grandeur. But it leaves you richer, for, you have better imagination than when you entered the theater.

Love: We all have people and things we love around us, and those who are not around us. Nolan very impressively introduces us to the reality that we have always failed to recognize, simply puts forward the truth in the most profound manner, through Amelia Brandt, when she very intensely delivers the line, ‘Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends time and space’. We perceive love. That is the truth, a truth that has struck me more than any other.

Murphy, at the end, holds Cooper’s hand and says, ‘Nobody believed me, but I knew you’d come back’ and Cooper asks, ‘How?’, she has tears rolling out of her eyes and says, ‘…Because my dad promised me’.

Beyond the physics, wormholes, time dilation, space ships, time travel and extra-dimension tesseracts, Interstellar is the story of a father who travels through a wormhole, stops by on a couple of planets, escapes death and a spaceship explosion narrowly, goes back into past, comes back after about seventy years to keep a promise he made to his daughter.

- Deepak Karamungikar

Negotiation: Why should one keep mouth shut?

2014-06-07T12:39:00.001+05:30

In the summer of 2002, I was caught in an unfortunate situation like many times prior to that and later. I started early one morning armed with twenty rupees and my tank-full Yamaha RX135, to eat masala dosa at at a famous dosa place in my area. At 19, I was unaware and felt no fear at the repercussions of the dangers of driving carelessly. Rather, I didn't know what was driving carelessly, or carefully, or either and both. With a cigarette in my mouth, I zoomed away at 90 kmph, giving as many fucks as Aryabhatta invented.

People who've known me a while, know well that my blind confidence was at an all time high at that time. As I was about to cross a certain bus stop, I was waved at, by a familiar figure. I didn't bother much and zoomed past, but something from inside pricked me. I almost had reached the next bus stop. I slowed down and turned around to see this person called Y. Y looked fresh. He had probably visited a temple, given the vermillion and vibhuti he had on his forehead. I knew Y because of a friend. When you are bad with the bat and the ball, you become the umpire. Y and I umpired at a summer tournament for two years. That's how I knew him and his generous smile was unforgettable. That's probably how I recognized him even at that speed.

'Hello! How are you?' he asked.

'I'm doing great, how about you?' I asked.

'Well, I'm fine. I'm going to ABC. Can you drop me at XYZ', he asked and didn't wait for a response. He just sat beside me and even I didn't think it was necessary to say a yes or a no. It was understood. I drove slow and as I passed by that hotel where I originally intended to eat, I realized that the smell of a freshly roasted dosa and its denial is a near death experience for a hungry soul. I just drove further, without complaining. Just a hundred meters before the bus stop, Y asked me to stop. He looked at me and said, "Deepak, there are people who are coming behind me. Will you take me as far as you can?"

"What do you mean by people? And why are they coming behind you?" I asked.

"If you ask questions, I will be in trouble," he said.

As I was about to start my bike again, I heard a massive thud. A well built guy with a thick beard had hit Y with a cricket stump on his head and Y was on the floor in front of a cycle shop. I knew the next blow was on me, or on my bike. Either way, my father was going to disown me and be very very angry. Before I realized, six people had arrived from somewhere and had started hitting Y. I didn't know what to do. If I ran away, I would be a coward for life. Also, actually, they would chase me. I went for the next best thing. I started screaming loudly and tried to stop them. Just then, a group of truck owners and contractors intervened and a giant circle was formed. And thus began, the most impactful conversation of my life.

A neatly shaved tall man who reeked of Ponds powder came forward and asked, "What is happening? Why are you beating him?"

Among the fourteen to sixteen men who seemed to be interested in seeing Y's intestines, one spoke up and said, "This motherfucker has stolen gold from our house"

"So why don't you go to the police?" said the man.

"We were going to the police station. But found him on the way," he said.

"Who is this boy?" he said, looking at me.

The next sentence just ripped my courage into tiny shreds. "He is the main dealer," said Y and looked at me as if we've lived together in the same house for ten years.

"What?" I said, discombobulated.

"It was his idea, he said he can get good rate for stolen gold," said Y and looked at me. I was expecting him to wink and he didn't. Motherfucker.

My confidence shattered like two-mm glass when thrown on the floor.

"Yes sir, I just trusted him and we were going to sell now," said Y as a person tried to raise his hand on me and as the blow was about to land, I just ducked, escaping it first time. Second time was no guarantee.

"Take his bike. This guy looks educated and all but is a big fraud," said one guy in Telugu and they snatched away my bike keys first and then the bike. Since the entire argument was on the road, they decided to move a bit inside and by now, one person had held Y by collar and another ultra-intelligent guy went to call the police.

There were passers by and there was oceanic embarrassment. My collar was held by a couple of youngsters who thought I was a fraud and was a smart one at that. Suddenly, a second blow was about to land on my face and just then, I couldn't help but cry. As tears broke into tears, he said, "Don't you feel ashamed to do all these kinds of things? what is the point in crying now?"

I somehow gathered courage and said, "You can frisk me. You can check my wallet. If you find anything on me, except twenty rupees and Diya Mirza's photo, you can hit me as much as you want". (Diya Mirza according to me is still the most beautiful Indian woman. Will remain so, forever.)

"Let us check your bike," said one asshole, and they stripped open my bike. A third blow was about to land on my face when I asked them to handle the bike carefully. Somehow, on his own, he backed out, but they kicked my Yamaha like anything and mishandled it. I cursed them in silence. During this moment, I was observing Y. He was shamelessly borrowing a cigarette from a pan shop which had just opened and managed to get it. He displayed no remorse, whatsoever. He lit it up and in about ten minutes, two policemen arrived at the scene on a Hero Honda Splendor. One of them had a walkie talkie up his waist. The moment he saw Y, he spoke something into it and two other policemen arrived on a Bajaj Chetak. No discussion ensued. The policeman riding pillion on the Bajaj Chetak walked up to Y and slapped him hard thrice, punched his face and kicked him. "Motherfucker," he said and made him sit between the both of them. The twelve or so who had come to get him, vanished without trace. Never saw any of them ever.

I was asked to come to the police station and was asked what happened. I showed them the twenty rupees and told them I was going out to eat my favorite Dosa and all that happened. They never even made a call to verify my identity. The circle inspector spoke to me in English and I was through, safe. Didn't have to prove a thing. He just said, "Be careful, son. Don't mix with these people". The lesson of the day was, never ever ever, ever ever open mouth and express disappointment, which I have never followed in later life, but in any case, I got saved the first time.

Shamelessness has no limit. Rather, objectivity has no remorse. At about 9.20 am, one and half hour later than I had expected, I ordered one masala dosa followed by one onion dosa. As I savored the divine breakfast, I realized what role luck can play in life and why it is important to ignore few instincts. Had I just driven past, things would've been so cool. But then, I would've lost a valuable lesson, a training session on how to handle pressure - especially that involves physical violence. As I was about to leave the hotel, one guy stopped me and asked, "What happened?". I just stared my bike and said, "I got late for my breakfast".

This morning, I was talking to my friend Varun Reddy about "pressure-driven negotiation skills", that's when I realized that this incident, which was buried in my memory, had to come to light. Any mention of this anywhere would only remind me of that terrible Sunday morning. But then, twelve years is a long time. I'm over it, although it still hurts. The inspector at the station had told me that Y was a seasoned criminal and fraud. He was wanted in many cases. And hey, last year, I learned that he died. No regrets. All men must die (Sorry, RR Martin) - some deserve to die earlier.

I was glad that I escaped unhurt that morning. More than anything else, it was on that day, I guess I started observing people more keenly than ever. And that was probably the birth of the story-telling instinct inside me.

- Deepak Karamungikar

Election Special!

2014-05-19T06:53:00.002+05:30

The 2014 Lok Sabha Elections were full of rush, excitement and amazing moments. It had its share of unpleasantness as well. But it was an awesome experience overall. This is how I enjoyed the build up to the elections!

Happy Birthday Sachin Tendulkar, the former Indian opening batsman who scored 34 ducks in international cricket. || This is how Indian media treats Narendra Modi.

ND Tiwari's SMS to Digvijaya Singh: "Bachelor Party kab hai?"

Amartya Sen is like Hodor from Game of Thrones. Every now and then he comes around, says "Modi not good", "Modi not good" and goes away. And nobody cares.

BREAKING: Mamta demands special status for Bangladesh. #FakingNews

Right Now: (On May 8, 2014)

Modi: Rally in Varanasi.
Rahul: Campaigning.Sonia: Staring into defeat.Kejriwal: Trying hard to hold ground in Varanasi Mamta: Tensed about Bengal ...Digvijaya Singh: MakeMyTrip--> Honeymoon Packages.

Hey NDTV and CNN-IBN, here's a math problem for you:

Calculate the amount of FAILURE when a consistent 12-year hate campaign against ONE MAN fueled by spinning lies, propaganda and deceit, powered by online and offline pseudo-secular intellectualism and billions of rupees fizzles out like a silent fart. (5 marks)

Two minutes silence for everyone who gave up years of friendship for supporting 'a particular party' in this election because you're neither getting that party and nor are you likely to get the friend back.

Arnab Goswami's Times Now has confessed a mistake and they've corrected their exit poll numbers. The last time Arnab said sorry was when he was 10 and he continued to bat after getting out three times and the bowler's father had to intervene.

Year 2023. Aliens have destroyed earth.

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It was a dark stormy night. LJ was the last person remaining on earth. For three years, he had been living alone on earth as the alien apocalypse had destroyed all human kind. Too tired to live and too proud to die, he walked like a vagabond taking undestroyed portions of terra firma as pathways. That fateful night, after the longest walk of his life, reeling under the cloud of despair, he reached a cave that glowed. There was a fire burning inside it. He walked inside and found a piece of paper and a pen - the only recognizable objects he had seen in three years. He held the pen in his hand as it shivered. With adrenalin tsunamis pumping inside him, he put the tip to the paper. After a moment, a tear rolled out of his eyes for the joy of holding a pen. His heart cried as he laughed hysterically and when he gathered composure, without a second thought, the only thing LJ, the Liberal Journalist wrote was - "There is no Modi wave".

Rahul Gandhi has left the country two days before the poll results. His 'escape' velocity is higher than that of Jupiter!

Shobha De's political analysis on NDTV.
Aunty, you're on the wrong show. You should be on "Entertainment ke liye kuch bhi karega".

Eons ago, a righteous God-king lived a life of penury and impecunious exile for fourteen years, devoid of all the riches and glory he rightfully deserved. But guess what, at the end of it, he emerged as the harbinger of a new era. His Golden rule was after that exile. Bharat Mata, you're at that point now. Glory and Riches hence further, for, the exile is now over.

What is the procedure to hire the Hubble Telescope? Trying to locate the Aam Aadmi Party.

Hello, what did you say? "there is no Modi..." What? Hello hello....hello...."there is..." What? I can't hear you, speak louder..."....Modi..." What? Come again? Beeep Beeep Beeep Beeep.... #ModiWave

Arnab to his reporter: "I can hear crackers behind you!"
Bhai Arnab, you should have said this a while ago to Sanjay Jha!

Two things I want to do:

- watch NaMo's swearing in ceremony live on NDTV.

- watch CBN's swearing in ceremony on Sakshi TV.

Vengeance is a dish best served when soul is not sold.

अभी अभी खबर आई है के नितीश कुमार का अहंकार बिहार की सारी सीटो में पीछे चल रहा है!

Amit Shah went to UP and achieved 73 out of 80. That's like sending a professor to Mahboob College and he sends 91% of them to NASA as scientists.
The most amazing outcome of this BJP victory is that Renuka Chowdhary has discovered a concept in Physics called 'low pitch'.
Nandan Nilekani lost the election from Bangalore South. Blow to Bangladesh.

Amartya Sen and Rakhi Sawant have had the same impact on these elections. And economy. And bollywood. And either. And all three together. FTW! #MathIsFun

लालू प्रसाद यादव जी के पास अब हार मानने के अलावा कोई "चारा" नहीं!

Breaking: In the absence of a credible opposition in the Lok Sabha, BJP to use 3D holographic projection to create one.

So at the end, Congress' seat tally is somewhere between Rahul Gandhi's IQ and Narendra Modi's chest size.

People feeling sad about Manmohan Singh's speech are the same ones who want Balika Vadhu to continue for another ten years.
#TheekHai #StronglyCondemn

Nitish Kumar has resigned as Bihar CM.

Somewhere, in 4K ultra high definition, in infrared filter, at 80000 frames per second ultra slow motion, and with Hans Zimmer background music of a 108 piece orchestra, Amit Shah is turning his head toward Bihar and beginning to smile as he runs his hand over his head.

Divine Ganga Arati at Varanasi, but multiple massive smokeless fires reported from TV studios!

ఇప్పుడె అందిన వార్త: అంబాటి రాంబాబు ఇంత్లొ హై వొల్టెజ్ వల్ల కాఇల్ కాలి ఆగిపొయిన ఫ్యాను!

First meeting in USA:

Obama: We have FBI, CIA, NSA, CIGI, AFISRA, NGA, MI, MCIA and ONI.

Modi: Turns left and smiles.

Mani Shankar Aiyar is the S.I. unit of failure.

The Economist magazine has come up with a cover story on why NaMo is unfit to be a PM. Hello uncle, funny that the impact your magazine has in India is limited to being a print ads question in Brand Equity Quiz.

New short story: The Queen

2014-03-28T06:31:00.002+05:30

Last week, my idol, favorite writer and legend Shri Khushwant Singh ji passed away. 'He was inspiration for many' is the most cliched line you would've heard in any eulogy. It is not always false. I cannot put in words what that man and his works meant to me. Let us say that I owe my storytelling ability to him.

I dedicate my new short story, 'The Queen' to him. May his soul rest in peace. Presenting,

The Queen: http://scentofthenight.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-queen.html

- Deepak Karamungikar

The Unfathomed

2014-02-27T13:17:00.002+05:30

No wind blows across these fields anymore
No butterflies hover over these lands
Dead are these trees that once swayed in glee
Forlorn looks my yard succumbed to fate's decree

Shadows of you I still see on my wall
Of walks you've taken in my past
Silhouettes of memories on the back of my eyelids
I gave away my heart in a way the world forbids

Joys of your presence now confined to memories
Echoes of your laughter cumbered to fancies
Veiled behind screaming silence is a cry of hope
Unscathed by distress I still hold the endless rope

To the dark tune of the long night my feelings unfurl
Unfathomed they hide like oysters pregnant with a pearl

- Deepak Karamungikar

The Haunting Sunset - a short story

2014-02-12T03:19:00.000+05:30

Note: Indiblogger hasn't registered my new blog yet. Sharing the link.

My new short story: 'The Haunting Sunset'

Read here: http://scentofthenight.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-haunting-sunset.html

- Deepak Karamungikar

Why is Athadu the greatest Telugu film made in modern times?

2013-11-12T14:45:00.005+05:30

In Summer of 2012, I had visited Warangal for a day. During the afternoon, I was waiting for my friend at Kadambari restaurant in Hotel Ashoka. The usual buzz suddenly stopped and everyone looked at the TV. It was Maa TV and they were playing Athadu. It was the farmland fence dispute scene featuring Tanikella Bharani and Mahesh Babu. For five minutes, people almost stopped eating. There was no talking. Then there was a commercial break and normalcy resumed. Seven years after its release and multiple reruns, people still stop for a glimpse of brilliance. That, gentlemen, is the greatness of this film called Athadu.

I will not mince my words but Trivikram Srinivas, albeit his declining quality, is the best writer we have in Telugu film industry today. In Athadu, what he created was not short of magic. Be it the opening sequence shot in the green light, that sets out the subtle tone of the film, then there is a routine bank robbery but then there is an explosion of emotions that make you go insane when the young kid says, "Vaadu radanna. Champesanu". This is the point where you realize that it is not going to be anything ordinary.

Superstar Mahesh Babu reinvented himself with Athadu. The intensity in his eyes in throughout the film is worth all your time and energy you've spent. I didn't say ticket money because greatness and money are mutually exclusive. As we progress into the film, there's the old city murder. The way the scene was shown twice in two different ways, first time like nothing really happened and then the second time, in super slow motion and how! Only select swear words can describe that exact feeling. And I am willing to use them all, should a need for verbal expression about the greatness of this movie arise.

Coming to the comedy. There's hardly any disagreement that Brahmanandam's performance in Athadu is one of his finest. What seemed like one subtle fest suddenly becomes a raging sarcasm galore and how! What Brahmanandam did to this movie, nothing can take it away. My all time favorite dialogue remains, "Pellikoduku average anta kada!".

One of the least spoken about, not just in this movie, but any movie that he has acted in, is a Punjabi actor called Sonu Sood. To stand by Mahesh, match his body language, his height, his dialogue delivery, he's one man who has done his job well. So fucking well that nobody notices it. On a list of 10 things you know about Athadu, he is eleventh. Kudos Sonu, you will be in my heart forever for this role.

Tanikella Bharani. Mentioning what TB is to Athadu in one paragraph is an insult to begin with. But compared to the shamelessness of the current standard of Telugu cinema, I am confident I will do a good job. The scenes where Mahesh confronts TB in the farm fields is somehow the most enigmatic fight/confrontation scenes I have ever seen. There is only cold sarcasm behind those sharp dialogues, but then, you feels your stomach freeze in awe when you see Mahesh break those granite pillars and the words he speaks to TB.

There are certain scenes which will take you breath away. For example the subtle tact and genius with which Mahesh takes back Prakash Raj's visiting card. The one in which Mahesh writes down a cheque for Trisha's sister's marriage. The one where Prakash Raj discovers one of the policemen jumps the gun and fires a bullet at the signal. The one where the kids fall short of that one marble. The one where they realize that the money from such crimes is stashed in banks! and why not! There are more. But listing them down was never the objective of this post.

There are so many important characters. Nazar, Kota Srinivasa Rao, Sayaji Shinde, Prakash Raj, Rahul Dev and all else. This is not about listing them out either. But let us rise beyond the characters. Let us look at this movie from a birds eye view. It is just epic. It is an epitome of elegance which the ruthlessly foolish Telugu cinema audience of our times didn't recognize. Post-facto, everyone is a brilliant analyst. But I have been an ardent fan of this film ever since I watched it in Ramachandra 70mm - second show on the first day.

The dialogues of this film, if published as a book will sell more than Harry Potter or the Lord of The Rings, alas that's only limited by the Telugu speaking population, of which, I am a proud member. They are a standard. A benchmark which many pretentious films have competed to reach, albeit in vain. As a man born and brought up in Andhra Pradesh, Athadu is a film I am proud of. Are you?

And one last thing about Athadu is that, in a few years, it will be a universal fact that it is not a film. It is not even classic literature. It is time they declare Athadu a branch of science. It is 8 years and there is not an iota of difference in the number of goosebumps it gives you every time they watch it. That, gentlemen, is what makes Athadu the greatest Telugu film made in modern times. No conditions apply. Sheer brilliance.

Edit: March 2, 2021 - There was one thing I forgot to mention, without which, both the film and this article is incomplete - the astounding background music and songs composed by Sri Manisharma. The bgm in certain dramatic parts is so captivating and fitting that it elevates Mahesh's presence and the film per se to stratospheric levels. It took me a long time to make this edit - but all errors must be corrected.

- Deepak Karamungikar

My favorite dialogue: "Vetaku velletappudu puli kallu ela untayo, ala untayi. Kopanga. Sootiga. Vaadu Meedku Dorakadu."

Stargazer

2013-09-29T08:03:00.002+05:30

Some memories last a lifetime. Moments freeze and remain in front of your eyes forever. You just have to close your eyes to relive them. In the summer of 1996, I had attended the marriage of a relative, in a very rustic village. I was thirteen. At the onset of teenage, I was too young for anything damaging, yet, I had a reputation. However, this post is not about that. It was one of the hotter days that summer, when left with nothing else to do, we decided to explore the countryside.

Me and an older cousin of mine decided to take a long walk around evening. We went across the small pond that had almost dried up. It was the first time I had seen a very large flock of swans drinking from what was remaining of the pond. The ridge along the pond had trees on one side and mostly dry land on the other side. We kept walking, talking of things I barely remember. I had a stick in my hand and I kept fiddling with it, hitting every plant I saw on the way, recklessly.

A point came where we were in the middle of what can be best described as a serene endless piece of land, with the setting sun on one side of the horizon and impending darkness on the other. At a distance, we could tell from the dim lights, was the village. A gentle cold breeze had begun to blow. We decided to stop and go no further. It was time to return. As we turned around, the pond had a fluttering silver line across it. It was the moon. As we moved closer to the village, we decided to sit down on a large rock, rest for a while as we had nothing else to do at home. My cousin was a frequent visitor to that place, and hence going back was not a problem. I kept looking at the pond, over which, the yellow, not-so-bright moon wandered.

Soon, it turned dark enough for the stars to light up the sky. It was at that point I decided to look up straight into the sky. At that point, with hands under my head, I looked up into the sky. There were a million stars spangled across the sky and to my right in the sky, shone the bright moon. Crickets chirred incessantly as a gentle breeze humbly comforted me. Calmness engulfed my soul. Conversation had succumbed to nature.

Moments don't last forever. Neither did this. My cousin shook me up from the ecstatic stargazing indulgence. We walked home. Over seventeen years have passed since that night at Sanjeevanraopet. Not even once in all these years have I felt the peace, tranquility and the ecstasy I experienced that evening. However, it is so fresh in my memory that I just have to close my eyes to re-live it. But it is still a memory - and a memory is never an experience.

But as years passed, I realize, that experience was the birth of the unrelenting romantic in me.

- DK

आँगन

2013-09-12T11:29:00.002+05:30

खिले थे गुलाब इस आँगन में उस शाम
धुप छाँव की अन बन में ले रहे थे तेरा नाम
डूब गयी थी तेरे इंतज़ार में इस तरहा आँखें
पता ही न चला कौनसे थे आंसू, कौनसे थे अरमान

सांस लेने में भी डर लग रहा है ,
सांस के बहाने आस ना छूट जाए कहीं,
लेकिन हवा भी कुछ इतनी ख़ास थी उस शाम
हर झोंका ला रहा था तेरे आने का पैगाम

ख़्वाबों की दरी बिछाए हर ज़र्रे को सजाया था
सितारों की चमक चुरा कर हर कोने को रोशन किया था
पता नहीं था तेरी परछाई में भी वोह रौशनी थी
आँगन क्या, तूने मेरी ज़िन्दगी से ही अँधेरा मिटाया

तुम्हारी आहाट का प्यास था मेरा आँगन
उस पायल की खनक ने तो फूल ही उगा दिए
जिस चौखट पर बैठ कर तेरी आवाज़ ढूँढता था
देखते देखते वहाँ जैसे तेरा मंदिर ही बन गया

- दीपक करामुंगीकर

Texas Diaries 2: Inglorious Basterds

2013-08-21T10:20:00.001+05:30

Anyone who has lived in the US knows the kind of importance that is given to cleanliness and maintenance of apartments by the owners. There are inspections in which you are expected to present your apartment in the best possible way. Also, according to the Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, it is impossible to keep your apartment clean at all times. So this one time, all of us put in our best efforts to clean up the apartment and did a decent job - but for the cockroaches. We didn't know what to do about them. So we called for the pest control guys who are employed by the owners.

Five days had passed since the clean up and the apartment was coming back to it's original form. That was the day there was a heavy knock on the door. I opened the door and found a tall burly man with his equipment. "Pest Control," he said in a voice that would have scared all the pests if they had ears. He was a born Texan, which I could tell from his strong southern accent. He walked inside and began to prepare the pest bait. I found the syringe-paste he used interesting and asked him, "So you put these baits and when cockroaches eat them, they die?".

He looked at me and in a heavy southern accent said, "They're gonna die". The moment he said this, there was a spark in my brain. I could feel it. I realized this man was said the exact same words Lieutenant Aldo Raine, played by Brad Pitt says about Nazis in Inglorious Basterds. There was so much similarity in their voice that if you closed eyes, you would believe that Aldo Raine was standing in front of you. It was the exact same voice. I kept wondering as he quickly got to work and finished his job over the next few minutes.

This is where I didn't keep quiet and the impulsive conversationalist in me was at work already.

"What is your name, sir?" I asked.

"My name is X," he said.

"Do you watch movies?"

"Yeah, I do. But not too many," he said.

"Did you watch Inglorious Basterds?" I asked.

"No...I didn't" he said.

"Do you know Brad Pitt?" I asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said.

"When you said "They're gonna die", you exactly sounded like Brad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds," I said.

"Wow? Really?" he said as he began to blush with happiness.

"Yes of course you do. I cannot find a reason to tell your voice was different from his. You sound exactly like him," I said.

"Thank you, that's so nice to hear," he said and looked evidently delighted.

A casual chatter followed before he left. He seemed very happy with the compliment he had received and he left with that I-sound-like-Brad-Pitt-yay! smile. But I was wrong. The next day, they sent an inspection squad to our apartment because this gentleman had mentioned to the authorities that our apartment was not clean. One of his responsibilities was to report apartments that are not maintained clean. He did his job. Brad Pitt equalization and flattery doesn't work. Welcome to America.

Texas Diaries - 1

2013-08-14T14:50:00.001+05:30

One fine day in December 2012, I decided not to take shit anymore. And thus began the only process I have meticulously followed in my life of 30 years.

An MBA. Almost 8 years of Corporate experience. Set married life. 3 year old beautiful daughter. Retired father. Working mother. Almost permanent, set job. Salary was good enough to fund all sorts of vagabondage. But somewhere in my heart, a voice kept telling me that I wasn’t doing what’s best for me. One day, that voice was so loud that it spoke through my lips. I told my mother,
“Aai, mee America la zato” (Mom, I will go to the US).

I was sure that with my kind of experience and educational background, a second MBA would be the best option. But I had made the mistake of MBA once already. I had taken the GRE earlier that year. I took the scorecard out of the cupboard that day and said to myself, “Let the dance begin”. After a lot of research and self-assessment, I narrowed it down to the stream I would like to specialize in. This time, it was not by instinct. I did not allow any “your-communication-skills-are-good-you-should-do-an-MBA” type of street-wizardry to impact my plans. Once the academic program was finalized, it was time for the process.

TOEFL, Recommendation letters, SoP, transcripts, application, fees, so on and so forth. This is an extremely tedious process if you are working 6 days a week, 14 hours per day. But finally, I was able to successfully apply to three universities. Two of which admitted me. One didn’t finalize the admission because the transcripts provided by Osmania University had poor quality prints and my marks were not legible on the memo. Thanks, OU. I love you.

Once the admissions are in, the next step was education loan. However, the organization which rejected my application for an education loan citing the lamest excuse “You won’t get student visa at this age”, here is my digitus medius. Screw you. I am in Texas now.

The visa. Having spent almost about one lakh fifty thousand rupees on the process, there is still no guarantee that I would make it. And the probability, was always 0.5. On 15^th May 2013, when the happy faced visa officer approved my visa after asking basic questions, tears rolled out of my eyes like it was a bride’s farewell. Stomach ached. A 10 year old unthinkable dream was being fulfilled. I didn’t just walk out of the consulate with a heavy stomach and tears of immense joy; I walked into a new future.

The fun part is, I got my visa on 15^th May 2013 and I was scheduled to leave on 22^nd May 2013. Just 6 days in between. Given the way my luck was running, I hadn’t done any shopping whatsoever. I had refrained from even buying those large luggage bags, leave alone clothes and other things. On 22^ndMay, I finally boarded my first international flight.

After coming to the US, things slowly began to settle down. It has been almost 3 months now. In December 2012, all I had was an idea of a better life and an enhanced career. At the age of 30, I left behind my kid, wife, mother, father, friends, job, financial freedom, a set life and a lot else.

Another of my biggest worries was how I would fare in academics after a dreadful gap of almost 8 years. How will a body and mind that is so used to sybaritic indulgences get used to the rigor and discipline that a Master’s program demands? And my past academic record being the least impressive thing on my CV, I had my own fears. I was in no shape or form to do this. All I had was a desire. But today, I got the final result of one course in my first semester. I made an A-grade. That is 90% plus. Guess that settles it.

Although this is just the beginning and there is a long way to go, the sense of satisfaction is unparalleled.

- Deepak Karamungikar

The HWR Procedure for Twitter Funerals

2013-07-13T07:01:00.003+05:30

Every time a legendary film actor passes away, Twitter behaves in a certain way. This flowchart tries to understand what goes on the mind of that tweeter who hadn't given a damn about the actor until he died (and will never give after that day), but hypocritically pretends to be in the thick of the things on that day.

ఆకలి వేసిన శుభవేళ

2013-07-04T12:39:00.002+05:30

సాయింత్రం ఆరింటికి, బస్సు దిగగానే ఇంటి వైపు నడవడం మొదలు పెట్టాను. నోరు మూస్కుని ఇంటికి వెళ్ళకుండా, కిళ్ళి కొట్టు వైపు నా కళ్ళు చూడక చస్తాయా. రోడ్ దాటి దారి మార్చాను. రోడ్ దాటాక గుర్తొచ్చింది, ఇంట్లో ఎవరు లెరని. ఇక ఇంటికి కూడా ఎం వెళ్తాం లే అని అల ఒక సిగరెట్ కొని, దాన్ని ఆనందిస్తూ అలా నిలపడ్డాను. ఏ ముహూర్తాన నాకు ఈ ఆలోచన తట్టిందో కాని, ఆ కిళ్ళి కొట్టు వెనుకల సందు లో ఒక దూరపు బంధువు ఇంటికి వెళ్దామని డిసైడ్ అయ్య. ఎలాగో ఇంకొక గంట లో భోజనం టైం, ఇంటికెళ్ళి ఏమి ఒండకుండా ఇక్కడే అడ్జస్ట్ అవుదాం అనుకున్నను. ఆ సందు లోకి మరలడం, నా జీవితం లో చేసిన ఒక పెద్ద తప్పు.

"ఎవరైనా ఉన్నారా?", అంటూ పెద్ద మొనగాడి లాగా గేటు తీసాను. ఇంట్లో వదిన గారు ఒక్కరే ఉన్నరు. నన్ను చూసి లోపలికి రమ్మని పిలిచారు. కడుపులో ఆకలి దంచుతోంది. అరవై ఎళ్ళ వయసుతో వచ్చే కష్టాలు ఇవన్నిఅనుకున్నాను. మంచి నీళ్ళు ఇచ్చారు. తాగి అలా కుర్చునాను. వదినగారేమో అటు ఇటు తిరుగుతునారు. "భోజనం" అనే పదం వినడానికి ఆత్రుత తో ఇనుప సోఫ పైన అలా కూర్చొని ఉన్నాను. వదిన గారు వచ్చి, "టీ తీస్కుంటారా?" అని అడిగారు. ఆకలేస్తుంది, మా ఇంట్లో అందరు ఊరికి వెళ్లారు, నాకు భోజనం లేదా టిఫిన్ పెట్టండి, అని చెప్పే ధైర్యం లేక, సరే, టీ అయినా తాగుదామని "సరే" అన్నను. ఆవిడ వంటింట్లోకి వెళ్లి, అర నిమిషం కూడా కాలేదు, వాళ్ళ ఇంట్లో ఫోన్ మోగింది. వదిన గారు వచ్చి, ఫోన్ తీసి, "హలో!" అని అన్నారు. పది సెకండ్లు విని, హటాతుగా కింద పడిపొయారు. సినిమాలలో రిసీవర్ వేలాడినట్టు, ఇక్కడ కూడా రిసీవర్ వేలాడింది. నాకు టెన్షన్ మొదలైంది. ఒక వైపు ఆకలి. ఇంకో వైపు పాలు పొంగిపొతున్నయి. ఎం జరిగిందో తెలిదు.

వంటింట్లో కి వెళ్ళలా, ఫోన్ లో ఎవరో అని చుడాలా, హాస్పిటల్ కి ఫోన్ చేయాలా, ఏది అర్థం కలెదు. ముందు వెళ్లి గ్యాస్ ఆఫ్ చెసను. పక్కన పోయి మీద ఒక గిన్నలో ఉప్మా కనిపించిన్ది. ఉప్మా లో నెయ్యి వాసనా కి, నా దరిద్రానికి ముడిపడింది. ఈ అరవై ఎళ్ళా జీవితం లో ఇంతకన్న కష్టమైనా క్షణం నేను అనుభవించలెదు. ఎం చేస్తాం, నోరు...కాదు ముక్కు మూస్కొని ఒక గ్లాస్ లో నీళ్ళు తీస్కెళ్ళి వదిన గారి ముఖం మీద చల్లాను. ఆవిడ మాత్రం కదలలెదు. ఇంకా కొన్ని నీళ్ళు చల్లాను. అయినా చప్పుడు లెదు. ఫోన్ సంగతి గుర్తొచ్చిన్ది. రిసీవర్ ఎత్తి, హలో అన్నను. ఇంకేండుకుంటారు లే, అనుకోని, ఇంకా కొన్ని నీళ్ళు తీస్కోచ్చి వదిన ముఖం పైన చల్లాను. ఇన్ని నీళ్ళకి వదిన గారు ఏమి లేవలేదు కాని, ఆవిడ బట్టలు మాత్రం తడిసి పొయాయి. మాడిన నా అదృష్టానికి, అప్పుడే నా ఫోన్ మోగింది. నా మనవడు చేసిన ఘనకర్యానికి, ఎన్టీఆర్ గారి "ఆకు చాటు పిండ తడిసే" పాట రింగ్టోన్ లా మొగిన్ది. వదిన తడిసిన చీర కి, ఈ పాటకి, ఆకలి తో మాడుతున్న నా కడుపుకి, నా దరిద్రానికి ఎంత సమయస్పుర్తూ!

ఫోన్ ఎత్తాను. "సార, మీకు లోన్ ఏమైనా కావాలా" అని ఒక ఆడ మనిషి అదిగిన్ది. ఇలాంటి సమయం లో ఓర్పు చాలా అవసరం. ఒక ఫోన్ వల్ల వచ్చిన చావు చాలు అనుకుని, వదిన ముఖం తన కొంగుతోనే తుదిచను. కొంగు నా చేతిలో ఉండగా, ఎవరైనా చూస్తె ఎం అనుకుంటారో అన్న భయం ఇప్పటికి మరిచిపొలెను. ఇక వేరే మార్గం లేక వదిన చంపల మీద రెండు లాగి కొట్టాను. అప్పుడు ఆవిడ కళ్ళు తెరిచిన్ది. "ఏమైంది?" అని అడిగాను.

"మన శృతి...." అని రెండు పదాలు మాట్లాడి, మళ్ళి స్పృహ కొలిపోయిన వదిన, ఈ సారి నా చొక్కా గట్టిగా పట్టుకుంది. లేద్దామనుకుంటే చొక్కా చినిగే అవకాశాలు చాలా కనిపించాయి. వదిన కి ఎం జరిగిందో, ఫోన్ లో ఎవరేమన్నారో ఇంకా క్లారిటీ లేదు కని, ఆ సమయంలో ఎవరైనా చూస్తే ఎం జరుగుంటుందో అన్నది మాత్రం నాకు క్లియర్ గ అర్థమయ్యిన్ది. రెస్ట్ తీస్కునే వయసులో అరెస్ట్ అయ్యే టైం వచ్చిన్ది.

ఇక ధైర్యం చేసి, చొక్కా ఒదిలించుకున్నను. అప్పుడే, మల్లి ఫోన్ మొగిన్ది. ఫోన్ చప్పుడు కి వదిన లెచరు. మల్లి ఫోన్ లో ఏదో విన్నరు. అరటి పండు కోసం కోతి జాగ్రత్త గా ఎలా ఎదురు చూస్తుందో, అలా ఆ సంభాషణ ముగింపు కోసం నేను కూడా ఎదురు చుసను. ఈ ఐదు సెకంద్లలో నేను ఆశావాదం నా ధర్మంగా స్వీకరించను. కానీ, కాలిన ఖర్మని , రామ్ గోపాల్ వర్మ నీ, ఏమి చెయలెము. వదిన గారు మళ్ళి స్పృహ తప్పారు. ఈ సారి, ఆవిడని కింద పడనివ్వకుండా, నేను అడ్డొచ్చి, ఆవిడని నా వడిలో తీస్కొని కింద పడ్డాను. తలుపు తెరిచే ఉంది. గేటు శబ్దం వినిపించిన్ది. నాకు కళ్ళా ముందు రాజముండ్రి జైలు కనిపించిన్ది.

రెండు క్షణాల తరువాత, రవి వచ్చాడు. వాళ్ళ అమ్మని నా వడిలో పడుకొపెతటుకొని,"బాబు రవి" అని అన్నాను. పోయిన సారి అతను ఎక్షమ్ లో ఫెయిల్ అయినప్పుడు నేను అతనిని తిట్టిన తిట్లు గుర్తుకొచ్చయి. సందర్భం చూసి పగ తీర్చుకుంటాడా ఏంటి అని ఒక సందేహం నాకు సూదిలా గుచ్చుకున్ది. "బాబాయ్ మీరు.... ఎం జరిగింది? అమ్మకి ఏమైంది?" అని రవి నా వైపు అనుమానం తో చూసాడు.

"అదీ, అదీ, నెను... ఊరికే అలా..." అనేవరకు, మళ్ళి ఫోన్ మొగిన్ది. ఇక ఈ టైం లో దేవుడు నన్ను తీస్కేల్తే బావుంటుంది అని నా అరవై ఎళ్ళ జీవితం లో మొదటి సారి అనిపించిన్ది. ఫోన్ పెట్టిన రవి తన అమ్మని నా వడిలో నుంచి లేపి, మంచం మీద పడుకొపెట్టాడు. "అమ్మా..." అని ఒక సరి అన్నాడు. పొద్దున్నే సూర్యుడు ఉదయించడం, బిడ్డ పిలుపుకి అమ్మ పలకడం, సహజం.

"అమ్మ, ఏమయ్యింది నీకు?" అన్నాడు రవి.

"శృతి..." అన్నారు వదిన.

"అక్క కి ఏమి అవలెదు. స్కూటీ మీద నుంచి కింద పడింది. గుద్దిన వాడు పరిపొయఆడట" అన్నాడు రవి.

"మరి ఆ వెధవ శృతి పారిపోయింది అంటాడెంటి?"

"ఆమ్మ!! అక్క పారిపొలెదు. అర గంట లో ఇంటికి వస్తున్ది."

ఈ మాట అని రవి, నా వైపు మరలాడు. "థాంక్స్ బాబాయి గారు. మీరు ఉండకపోతే ఎం జరిగేదో" అని నాకు కృతజ్ఞ్యతలు చెప్పాడు. సుబ్బులక్ష్మి గారి సుప్రభాతం విన్నంత సుఖం అనుభవించాను. ఇక ఇంటికి వెళదాం అని బైల్దేరే ఆలోచనలో ఉండగా, వదిన గారు నా వైపు చూసి, "బావగారు, ఎలాగో భోజనం టైం అయ్యింది, మరి మీరు.....".

- దీపక్ కారాముంగికర్.

Nine thousand miles from home

2013-06-04T11:53:00.001+05:30

Clouds scattered in disarray, wander across the sky
Winds ask me for reasons, words cannot explain why
Pain I hide behind my eyes, wrap it in smiles
Home sheds a tear for me, from across nine thousand miles

Set off along a rough path, I found many a milestone
But every time I turned back, blurring away was the way home
Unscathed by hurdles, as I walked the road unknown
Memories of home kept company, tears never left me alone

As I walk along this path of dreamy aspirations
I carry with me, the sweet burden of your expectations
Inch by inch, I shall see myself through the promises I made
God give me the strength, for an arduous move I've played

As I live alone, nine thousand miles from home
My heart's still in my yard back home, no matter where I roam

- Deepak Karamungikar

Here I am

2012-12-25T19:24:00.003+05:30

A whiff of you, in my every breath
Survived the storm, cheated death
So far I traveled, seas seem modest
Nights and days, across many a forest

Drench my forlorn soul, in your caring grace
Solace I seek forever, in your warm embrace
Unscathed by anything, here I stand now
So firm was my love, even death took a bow

Skies along the horizons, asked me on my way here
How far will you go, till when shall you steer
I smiled and looked away, kept walking along
What does they sky know, of cozy warmth

As I stand here at last, survived to see you smile
A place in your heart I ask, I've walked many a mile

- Deepak Karamungikar

Alone

2012-12-12T18:15:00.001+05:30

Unfathomed by his own, alone he suffers,
Bereft of warmth, quietly he dithers,
Unsung songs, linger on his lips,
To the tunes of gloom, his heartbeat slips;

Unspoken melancholy, obscures all hope,
Silence of solitude, despair beyond cope,
Sliding into sadness, one moment at a time,
He closes his eyes, as memories chime;

From one horizon to the other, the sky unfurls,
Memories from the distant past, the mind hurls,

Desolate, forlorn, he sinks into the mire,
Sorrow rains that night, hope burns like fire;

Alone he walks this earth, alone he departs,
Love is not a choice, nobody gets two hearts;

- Deepak Karamungikar

You.

2012-12-01T13:27:00.000+05:30

Echo of your tinkling anklet
Charm of your disarming smile
Magic of your enchanting fragrance
Warmth of your comforting embrace

Sparkle of your bewitching eyes
Shadow of your flowing hair
Comfort of your giving lap
Bliss of your loving caress

Disquiet of your wandering breath
Calm of your endearing silence
Tranquility of your engulfing aura
Magnanimity of your forgiving heart

Ecstasy of your immersing presence
Mastery of your bewitching grace

- Deepak Karamungikar

The Indulgence

2012-11-27T14:43:00.002+05:30

My new short story - 'The Indulgence': http://scentofthenight.blogspot.in/2012/11/the-indulgence.html

(IndiBlogger is yet to register the the above blog, so sharing the link here. Do not worry - it is safe.)

In the Lord's yard.

2012-09-16T14:36:00.000+05:30

In 2002, I had gone to Tirupathi for darshan of the Lord with a friend of mine, his elder brother and two of his friends. I had an overall budget of Rs. 1000/- which included an onward journey reserved ticket. The journey went well, except that one of the guys with me, who had an immense reputation of being an absolute idiot, lived up to it. That apart, it was a great trip. I was going there for the first time after 16 years, and hence was very excited. We landed in Tirupathi and climbed up the hill on foot. It was extremely tiring, but was very exciting. After a five hour trek, we reached atop the hill at about 3 in the afternoon. The next two hours were spent in finding accommodation, lunch and enduring that nincompoop.

At about 6.30 pm, as we lay tired in the cottage, one of my friend's friends, who lived in Tirupathi, showed up after we had called in the afternoon. He came with a letter that allowed us for a special darshan where we didn't have to wait in any queue. He asked all of us to get ready by 8.00 pm. At 8.00, I wore a white shirt and formal trousers and was ready to go. We entered the temple premises through a gate which was usually closed. It was unlocked for us and we crossed many a empty corridor to merge with the main large queue about 20 meters from the Lord. The moment I took darshan, all my tiredness vanished into emptiness, a wave of energy engulfed me. Before I could think anything, my mind went blank. Soon, the guard pushed me and I left. It was an extremely satisfactory darshan.

Once out, I found it hard to express my joy to my friend. He was in the same state of mind. We all came out and sat on a platform that ran along the long wall of the temple. In about two minutes, this notorious human being, gave me a plastic bag, and said, 'You wait here, I'll be back in 10 minutes. Don't go anywhere' and took his friends away with him. I was now left only with my friend. He and I were too overjoyed to speak anything. Just then, his friend, who had us take an earlier darshan than planned arrived. They left for some shop close by. I refused to go, because that was the meeting point and none of us had cell phones. The temple yard had a divine aura to it. A devotional song played in the background as the temple bathed in HIS glory. I was enjoying my moment of peace, alone, on that night abounded by hazy orange and white floodlights, when I turned right to find a man about 50-years-old sitting by my side.

He wore thick glasses with old fashioned dark brown frame. He hadn't shaved and had a two-day-old white beard. I smiled at him before he struck a conversation with me. He asked, 'Where did you come from?'
'Hyderabad,' I said.
'What's your full name?' he asked.
I told him my name, and he was quick to shift the language to Marathi.
'Came with your friends?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'My son is a little older to you, but you remind me of him,' he said.
'Oh, is it?' I said.
'Where did you come from?' I asked, wanting to know more.
'I came from Nagpur, alone. My son was a drug-addict. He has been to the rehabilitation clinic thrice, but he started off again. But I don't know what happened to him, last year, he quit drugs and concentrated on body building. He has a good body now. He still smokes cigarettes,but that's ok. At least he is away from drugs,' he said.

I was beginning to get uncomfortable with the conversation. But he continued, 'My son doesn't listen to me at all. He doesn't respect me.' On one hand, I was a little repulsive to his approach as a 19 year old, but on the other hand, I was beginning to feel sorry for him. 'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,' I said.

'I came here last night, when I arrived, my bag was lost in the transit from Tirupathi to Tirumala and no one has found it yet,' he said.
I began to guess where this was going. Obviously, it was going to be money. I remember very well that my secret pocket in the front had a Rs.500 note, my wallet has a Rs.100 note and a Rs.50 note in my shirt pocket. I became a little protective about my money and turned slightly left. The next thing that man said was, 'I currently have no money. I have called my people, and they are arranging for some money. I have not eaten any food either.' The last sentence struck my heart and I quickly gave him the Rs.50 note I had in my shirt pocket and said, 'I am student, and this is all I can afford to give you.'

He took the money, put it inside his shirt pocket and said, 'Thanks.' I turned left to see if any of my friends were coming and turned right again. There was absolutely no one sitting beside me. I looked in the front, the left, and scanned the whole place properly. I found no trace of him. The next people on that platform were at least ten meters away and the yard, that day, was surprisingly uncrowded. If he had walked, ran or jumped away from where he sat, or I thought he sat, he wouldn't go unnoticed.

I am 200% sure I gave the man the money and before I could turn my head back, he was gone. In this lifetime, I will not forget what the man looked like, the words he spoke to me and the look of a helpless father on his face. If I try hard, may be I can still remember his voice. Did the man actually exist and I failed to see him leave, is a question that is open for individual interpretation. But interpretations are not explanations.

- Deepak Karamungikar

The Flutter

2012-08-26T22:31:00.000+05:30

Drenched in her love, he sought no respite
Her hair danced on him, in the dim light
Enslaved by her eyes, he held her in his arms
Thought he'd resist, but gave in to her charms

Little did his smile say, little did her eyes
So close they lay, hearts spoke in sighs
Tears hung in her eyes, but she hid it in her smiles
Waiting to smell his breath,quietly she shies

Curled in his arms, she felt safe as a shell
Their breaths met, God had cast his spell
Hunted by his eyes, becharmed by his touch
Arrested for life she felt, his magic was such

Love rained that noon, her lips romanced the flutter
Draped herself in him, she sought him forever

- Deepak Karamungikar

Sweet Lour

2012-08-06T21:34:00.003+05:30

Hiding her smile hard between her lips
She ignored his eyes but slowly her heart slips
She looks away from him as he steps closer
Silence was the music, his breath, the composer

Enchanted yet unfazed, she ignored his pleas
Pretense was evident, nothing hid her ease
The urge for his warmth had reached its brim
Yet, a fence of sweet anger kept her from him

Joy behind her frown was hard to conceal
Cheer in her eyes prevailed over her veil
She sought guilty pleasure as she pitied his chase
But Inside her heart, she longed for his embrace

He then gave up and held the moon in his hands
Finally she smiled like cold rain on desert sands

- Deepak Karamungikar