My world I share

Motion Se Hi Emotion

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Fri, 19 Aug 2016 03:25:00 +0000

An act that creeps unconsciously into your consciousness and adulterates your thoughts day in and day out, I suppose , that is addiction. You repeatedly perform an action everyday that seems so obvious and one fine day you realize that you are so much comfortable with it or so much uncomfortable without it.

What? What did you think just now? Come again loudly you dumb mind of mine! Of course, I am not talking about daily ablutions. No, not also about mastery in brushing teeth twice daily.

Disguised above is an effort to humbly boast about writing as an addiction. All those wasteful lines were part of 'make word count 600' bug I am presently infested with. Those were also beta version of a magnanimous opening about writing as a skill that I will vomit all around in the next stanzas. Skills which in nascent stage are just Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V but then manifest into a pest reluctant to die anytime soon.

Slowly, I will hypnotize you like the shabby Tantrik of good old Ramasay brother’s Zee Horror Show. As your eyes swing to and fro with the words pendulum, you will hear an echo of "tum mere vash me ho, tum mere vash me ho". Overwhelmed by the seduction, I am sure you will rapidly scroll down to the comments section and type in praise of this post "What a crap!Didn't know you can write trash so well" or more politely " Wow!purely a dustbin material".

I understand that when people tell how good you are at something that not necessarily means you are being appreciated. It also means they have had enough of you. Remember the college auditorium where a self acclaimed speaker is applauded midway during his speech signalling that the students want no more of him. I also understand that there is a hidden displeasure in comments like 'keep writing' or 'you write well'. But when your mind is blind by misconception about your annoyingly bad abilities then motivation effuses even from taunts and sarcasms.

Forgive me friends. But for the past few months I am suffering from an intense delusion of thoughts. So much so that recently I texted my Ex a happy Raksha bandhan and spoiled all chances of a superhero comeback by the next valentine.

My life has been on a recent turmoil as I suffered the first blow of transfer as a government employee. The over hyped government bungalows and helping staffs had deserted me. The bereavement caused an emotional trauma leading to loss of coherence in thought. Every idea of a new blog post was brutally murdered at the hands of a daunting task of searching a house on rent. The whole blogosphere was abuzz with daily new posts and there was I, bound with duty during day hours and spending wonderful evenings looking for To-Let boards. That is when I realised how much uncomfortable it is for a bad writer and a free adviser to not get to unleash their knowledge upon others. Free advices in real world and blog posts in virtual are like internet popups- there will be many as long as you are alive anywhere.

A maha purush, with 3400 fb friends, once told me that long subverting your feelings may lead to emotional constipation that may ease out only after three to four irrelevant and utterly dark and stinking blog posts. This one I guess is the first of them. One may run away from the onslaught of such unappetizing posts. But I share an emotional attachment with the motion of words originating from deep crevices of mind. As my fingers again traverse the contour of keypad reproducing the nauseating thoughts on the screen I feel free. Free and unbound like a school kid bursting with energy and ready to run and laugh after a hiatus of morning assembly prayer. I feel what one feels after Kayam Churna or the more marketable Patanjali Kabz Har Churna. Relaxed and satisfied like Bashkor Banerjee in the climax of the movie Piku.

Sincere thanks for bearing with the above sh**,

Hope to see you soon .

Thankyou for reading

From Kansas to Alabama- My Years In Uttar Pradesh

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Wed, 22 Jun 2016 18:55:00 +0000

Kanpur Central Station

"I have never been to the U.S, but I have been to U.P”. This famous sentence was once not said by William Wordsworth. Had he then Wordsworth would had his name rechristened by the local populace of Uttar Pradesh as William Gorakhpuri or Wordsworth Lakhnavi. The overwhelming hangover of colonial regime interspersed with Indian fervour finds its utterances in names like Faithful Ganj and Burlington chauraha. So it would also not be surprising if the landmark Taat Mill Chauraha were renamed after Wordsworth as Taat Will Chauraha or rather Willyum ganj.

A few days back a long lost friend of mine called me up to break a news that broke my heart so much that I wanted to break his nose. He was going to pursue MBA from a university in the United States. The joi-de-vivre seemed to spill out everywhere as he rasped in a makeshift US accent about his scholarship etc. Anyways, I kept interjecting with wow’s and aha’s lest he sensed the fuming resentment inside me.

Everything was normal till he enquired "Howz your life bhai?". It took me an entire 60 seconds to make meaning out of it. Life! Someone was actually asking about it, certainly not me. Not that I didn’t have the answer but I was unsure between replying ‘beautifully screwed up’ or ‘Fatalisticaly wonderful’. I pondered a while about my situation, a process I abstained for past many years. My life’s vehicle was steered by forces unknown to me as I sat listlessly on the backseat. Fumbling for an appropriate answer I opted for a self financed aerial survey of my life in entirety.

Amid sweltering hot and humid winds, bathed in perspiration, cruising at 110 kmph inside the cockpit of a horn blaring electric loco I saw myself. 8000 miles away from Kansas, where my friend was relocating, in a land once famous for power looms and now power cuts. Kanpur, the land of gutkhas and paan masalas.

My mind drew up an impromptu answer based upon my experiences. How every person here held his head high partly because of self respect and partly to avoid drooling of masticated masala from his mouth’s corner. How several times I survived an onslaught of freely whirling misguided spits. A few times when it grazed past me then my stare was bogged down with an even fiercer one and an arrogant reply “dekh ke chalo na be!”. How not only vehicles but also glaring eyes criss-cross each other at traffic signals. How every vehicle here bears a name plate to designate and distinguish the owner- ‘Block Pramukh’(Block Head) to ‘Poorva Vidhan sabha Pratyakshi’(an ex-candidate lost in the state assembly elections). Even losing an election is a matter of pride here and is flaunted for generations to come. A bi-cycle painted in blue and white strips is undoubtedly from Air Force while that in blue and red is of civil police. None of these enthralled me enough to be included in a satisfactory reply.

Beads of sweat trickled down at an unhurried pace behind the ears down to the neck as I sat inside my baking hot office. A transfer order seated comfortably on the table was mocking me on my face. It said I am transferred to Aligarh. I must boast about Aligarh, I decided. So, my fingers frantically googled about the tourist places there. I wanted to gather breathtaking nuances about the historic city, forge them together and serve Aligarh masquerading as an indianized Alabama. Glee! In 0.72 seconds google offered 35,000 results. Passing a silent accolade to the search engine, I scrolled down to the one that said ‘28 tourist places in Aligarh’. Even after blending it in aromatic spices a jackfruit evolves as a jackfruit and not boneless chicken. 17 places out of 28 searched were ordinary religious sites, 9 were single screen movie theatres, 1 Aligarh fort, and remaining one was a pond which doubled up as a garden. Aligarh was indeed a place to visit.

Eventually, I thought of boasting about my Group-A tagged job. Only 3 years into it and it already felt like 30. Every day passed unplanned. Each day was different and repetitive in equal measure. You had the best of railway quarters, best of staff, best of facilities that would froth envy among many. Yet everything was so hollow and monotonous. It was like owning a Sennheiser headphone when all you got to listen in a loop is K.L Saigal. I rummaged around for my accomplishments. There were none. Beautiful Memories? Yes there were some.

“Howz ur life bhai?”, his sharp voice derailed my train of thoughts and I was caught unprepared. In times like these when your reputation is at stake, lay truth to rest. Empty a sachet of local gutkha into your mouth. As it mingles and melts with your saliva Kanpur will be your Kansas and Aligarh your Alabama. After all everything is about imagination.

“My life is wonderful bhai" I replied, "I am being transferred from Kansas city to Alabama. I have never been to the US, but I have been to U.P”. beep beep beep...

P.S : No gutkha was used while writing this post.

Thankyou for reading

The Land Of Falling 'Degrees'

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Thu, 12 May 2016 01:55:00 +0000

Image Courtesy: Sitepoint.com

India is as much a land of religion as much as a land of degrees.Religious structures throng the nook and corner of its vast stretch. So does thousands of degree colleges. Temples in Varanasi, Betel shops in Patna, Momo stalls in Gangtok and Engineering colleges in many cities are prosperous business entities. The abundance is so significant in some cities that 7 out of 10 times a randomly tossed stone will hit an engineering college. The remaining three it would be a coaching centre.

If you happen to go to east Delhi your eyes can not miss large hoardings atop buildings which seem glued to each other. Many of those claim -10vi fail 12vi paas Karen, 12vi fail BA pass Karen.(Those who failed in 10^thpass 12^th , those who failed in 12^th pass BA). This can not be chided away just as a prophecy but highlights the proficiency by which one can lay a claim to a degree . I never knew their means or success rate but their presence was a consolation and a dubious safeguard for my future.

In a startling similarity both education and religion in India is matter of affordability. A person is free to feel blessed by devoting a gilded chadar to a local dargah while another may find salvation by donating a gold chain to a deity. Similarly, one could comfortably pay his/her way to an engineering or medical degree through earmarked donation seats in pristine private colleges. One could, as well, enrol in a local government college and attend a convocation without ever attending a college lecture.(No offence to School of Open learnings). As far as possessing a degree is concerned, hard work has a substitute here.

People here are obsessed with their own religious adventurism and others mark sheets and degree certificates. Competition here is pervasive, sometimes just a door away . It is quite normal for an Indian mother to be more inquisitive in the marks of neighbour’s son than her own. Clever kids use the parents weakness to their advantage. They would reveal their low score in any subject with an even low score of a neighbourhood kid, the mother of whom is a strong contender of best mother in society. “The paper was really tough” they may suggest and the mother would happily buy that excuse as long as the score is more than Mrs Sharma’s kid. If Mrs Sharma’s child scored more then “he must have cheated in examination”.

The first lesson of statistics I learnt was from my mother. Her gloating eyes would scan and compare report cards of me and my friend as she deciphered the sum average of marks of all subjects. One could observe her dancing eyebrows over a backdrop of changing facial patterns from bloody red to serene pink as she screamed when my marks in a particular subject were less and smirked when I fared well than him. We two innocently sat beside revelling her free of cost light and sound theatrics .

So in a country obsessed with what-you-do syndrome, it is not surprising of our leaders to invest more time in altercation over each other degrees than on the future of several degree holders. Students here can happily remain idle even after postgraduation from prestigious institutions. Farmers holding a plough eyeing for rain clouds and students grabbing a degree waiting for job opportunities are a common sight here. Here, facebook.com and freshersworld.com share same window screen. The Hindu is read with same alacrity as is an Employment News. Opportunities? Oh, many. So much so that you can find an MA in economics honours brushing his shoulder with an uneducated labourer at many construction sites. A Ph.D. holder might still be aspiring to be a government peon. And an M.Tech degree holder might still be running against time to secure a job before he turns 30 and lands on the wrong side of eligibility criteria.

If a postgraduate from IIT Kanpur is willing to join a Group-C cadre in a government organisation, if due to the absence of adequate jobs another postgraduate from a government university has to restrict herself to household chores, if Ph.D. holders are showing up in clerical cadre examination then future of a nation is murkier than ever.

A debate over the genuineness of degree of an old political leader will never bother a young graduate. But finding a respectful job does. In a nation where a vast majority consider degree as an index of temperature than an educational certificate, there the leaders have an onus more than ordinary bickering. The least they can do is to refrain from such allegations and dutifully create an atmosphere of jobs lest the much hyped demographic dividend would be the demographic drawback of the nation.

Thankyou for reading.

Mere ODD-EVEN Ayenge- Karan-Arjun Revisited

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 20:16:00 +0000

*Also on theindiasatire.com*

http://www.theindiasatire.com/2016/04/mere-odd-even-ayenge-karan-arjun.html

It’s an action-packedstory. No, it is a thriller. Alright, let us not be partial, it is an action-packedsuspense oriented melodramatic emotional thriller.

This is not an ordinary punar-janam script. It is the Baap of all of them.

It goes like:

Once upon a time in the urban fartlands of Dilligarh there lived a rustic and dreadful Thakur. Thakur Durgandh Singh. Durgandh? Because his presence created an atmosphere of durgandh-read toxic gases- in the village. The two sons of Thakur, Nitrate Singhand Sulphate Singh, had intoxicated the atmosphere of the village by setting up many industries and construction units that emitted noxious gases. Particulate and construction dust lingered now on the otherwise clean air of Dilligarh. People were afraid of their presence. Where other villagers moved in cart or bicycle, Thakur and his crony family, sister BEHENzene and mother AMMAnia vroomed past on dusty roads in their motor vehicle. The naive villagers did never object to the noxious gases their vehicle emitted and consoled themselves with just covering their nose with a torn piece of cloth. Whoever raised his or her voice against Thakur khandaan polluting habits were meted a capital punishment of forever living in toilet-less slum. The ignominy and horror of openly defecating in a field ensured that no one ever attempted a dissent. The tyranny of Thakur khandanabjectly left the villagers to meekly surrender and suffer in an atmosphere of above permissible limits of Durgandh, Behenzene, AMMAnia, Nitrate and Sulphate.

In the same village lived an innocent coughing self-acclaimed Aam Aadmi's Aam Aurat-Kejriamma. To clear doubts, Kejriamma was not the elder sister of Kaveri Amma of SRK starrer Swades. Where Kaveri Amma of Swades had no child, Kejriamma had two-Yes you guessed it right- Odd Singh and Even Singh. The new avatar of Karan Singh and Arjun Singh.

Kejriamma’s honest and toiling husband was diagnosed with Aajeevan coughing due to the suspended particulates in the village atmosphere. He once braved to enter the obnoxious haveli of Thakur to resent and complain about the rising figures of venomous gases in the village. The offended Thakur inturn asphyxiated him in a gassing chamber.

Her two sons were so much traumatized by their mother’s cough, masked people around them and father's death that they concocted a devious plan to demean Thakur's ego.

Legends have it that the plan devised by the two went on to be recognized as Kejriamma's Odd-Evenformulae.

On every odd date,Odd Singh deflated all Odd Number vehicles of Thakur's entourage. On the even date, Even Singh deflated all even numbered vehicles. They were kind enough to spare the vehicles of women, though. Thakur was offended by this audacity of ordinary people and before the formulae became an insurrection, he gassed Odd and Even on the 15th day after the plan started.

Aggrieved by the loss of her sons an enraged Kejriamma vowed the words which I was so eager to write and you were desperate for since the beginning of this teary saga " Mere Odd-Even Aayenge, Durgandh Singh Mere Odd-Even Aayenge"

Kejriamma’s prayers and belief were answered full two months after the inhuman massacre of her sons. People recall that on 15^thof April when the village was dark as dungeon and a cauldron of heat and dust enveloped its periphery, two figures rose like a shadow over the smoky sullen air of Dilligarh. The Odd and Even version-2.0 had returned to haunt the senses of Thakur and his family. Simple villagers who were accustomed to smoke and gas saw the rebirth of Odd and Even as the harbinger of good days. Some thought Odd-Even return is another obscure event and will die soon as version-1.0. But the once famed Odd-Even formulae scared the hell out of Thakur’s family. Soon Odd-Even- as the famed Karan-Arjun- destroyed every member of Thakur Durgandh Singh’s family. They were shown the limits of propriety and dared not to cross ever the threshold set by the public at large ever after.

‘Ho! ye bandhan to pyar ka bandhan hai…’ did you just hum this song? Did you just think that this story had a happy ending like every stale Bollywood script. Then let me remind you, my friend, this is 2016 and not mid 90s. Conclusion is not the genre of today. Something in the end exists to keep nagging the frail human mind. So it is here. Remember, Thakur and his noxious family were only shunned for a meagre 15 days. Evil in any form refrains from dying easy. Probably the rise of Odd-Even-Dobara will not suffice to give a cleaner atmosphere to denizens of Dilligarh. Probably Odd-Even may need not one, but several rebirths in many forms to quell the tyranny of many Durgandh Singhs.

More to yoy in- Odd-Even - 3.0.

Thankyou for reading

Our Jungle Book and Our Doordarshan

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 17 Apr 2016 05:39:00 +0000

Have you ever been on a time machine?

I have. Yesterday, as I sat inside a multiplex savouring Disney’s Jungle Book, my fantasies of Mowgli were fanned up again. As the memories of yesteryear evinced nostalgia I was virtually transported to several years ago. The years of a sound blaring large box with a front glass called TV, the years of tweaking an antenna to catch the fleeting signals and a booster to boost the reception . The years of black and white television and a much colourful life.

An old Television set

Roof top antennae

Those were the days when life was at peace with an only channel available Doordarshan. The Doordarshan signature tune and montage are still engraved in my memory .

The whirling orange cloud and a melancholic background tune had a magical appeal to my senses. Moving colours and a rhythmic sound well inside the comforts of a house created a mesmerizing effect. How so brooding was that music but it brought a hope of 6 pm Sunday show or a 4 pm matinee.

Doordarshan vintage logo and montage

My mother tells me how the telecast of Ramayana brought the nation to a standstill. People would assemble around the sole television set in the neighbourhood to watch the show. I don’t remember about other famous serials like Buniyad, Hum Log, Nukkad etc. Probably because during HumLog was telecasted my parents did not possess me or a TV set.

It was in 1993 that a TV set became an additional member of our family. The animated Jungle Book series empowered every child then with an hourly licence on Sundays morning to boldly turn on TV in the presence of their parents, which was next to impossible on other days. It had cast a spellbound effect on children of 90s. What was once only a part of imagination and fantasy was in real before our eyes. We could actually see a lion, a bear , a black panther and all wild animals speaking in our dialect. We could call them by their names –Bagheera, Sher Khan, Baloo as just another friend. Animals reflected emotions like us, they were no strangers. Mowgli became our first superhero. The one who can befriend all animal, fight with a tiger, hunt with his Panja, a wooden boomerang. In school, several 30cm long wooden scale were sacrificed to make a Mowgli ka Panja. The song Jungle jungle baat chali hai … nevertheless became an anthem among kids.

What was only feared was an electricity cut or a

strong wind that turned the antennae away and the screen to a standstill colours of rainbow. Then the best among us would run to the terrace and tweak the antennae, another capable hand would turn the knob of booster, a few successive yells between the two and Ta-da….it was back.

With Mowgli bloomed several other memories of animated series like Ghayab Aya( India’s first made in India animated series), He-Man, Spiderman, Disney Hour-TaleSpin, Duck Tales etc.

Ghayab Aya

He-Man and The Master of Universe

Duck Tales

Spider-Man

Toons like Ek Anek Ekta, where a sister sings a story about birds and a hunter to her younger brother about significance of unity, or the Tree of Unity, where a man plants a sapling and is joined by others in nurturing the sapling to a tree, were shown only as a filter but made a significant impact to our senses. Tell me who can forget the Ek chidiya, Anek Chidiya song or Aya Aya Potli baba from the puppet show Potli Baba Ki.

A still from Ek Anek Ekta

Ek chidiya Anek Chidiya

A still from Tree of Unity

Potli Baba ki Kahani

A still from Malgudi Days

Among other favourite serials among children
were Alif laila, Malgudi Days, The Sword of Tipu Sultan. My brother and me would waggle broom or a stick or anything long and strong at each other as the sword of Tipu Sultan. Another serial that gripped the imagination of young and old back then was Chandrakanta. It was with Chandrakanta that every episode ended with a sense of what next and made us wait desperately for the next one.

Sunday was eagerly awaited also for Rangoli- a music series and a 4 PM Sunday matinee which brought the whole family together. Almost every time it was a black and white film with an unrecognizable name. If it was not B&W then the screen made it so. But to a hungry eye, anything in any form was a delicacy. My mother did all dinner preparations in time before the film began. She also ensured a homemade snack ready for all of us during the film was aired. The snack and the film were inseparable.

In the late 1990s, a sci-fi series Shaktimaan, the Indian answer to offshore superheroes like Superman and Batman awestrucked the young minds like never before. Kids believed in the superhuman powers of Shaktiman so much so that they jumped off buildings hoping that Shaktimaan would save them. My young cousin would point his finger upward and revolve around making a whoosing sound and then pretend that he was invisble like Shaktimaan.

The onset of Dish TV flooded the minds of Indian viewers with 24 hrs cartoon and movie channels. It, no doubt, created multiple options for viewers but it took away the pleasure of waiting for an entire week to catch a glimpse of one's favourite serial, the pleasure of sitting and watching a matinee with an entire family.

As the deep orange cluster of clouds revolved in the screen to eventually reveal the sun and the Doordarshan logo, I knew the backdrop tune was of Saare Jahan Se Achha . But I could never comprehend why the tone was so mournful. As if Doordarshan longed for something, probably it knew that its days were numbered. But the Dooraarshan gave an unmatched viewing experience to the formative generation of 80s and 90s. It's masterpieces are now the souvenir of memory like the song :

Jungle Jungle baat chali hai pata chala hai..
Arre chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai phool khila hai

Jungle jungle pata chala hai,chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai

Ek parinda hoy sharminda, tha woh nanga
Bhai isse to andey ke andar, tha woh changa
Soch raha hai bahar aakhar kyuu nikla hai
Arre chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai phool khila hai.

Jungle Jungle baat chali hai pata chala hai..
Arre chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai phool khila hai

(Old lyrics)

One of the most recognized still from
The Jungle Book Shonen Mowgli on DD National

I Have Disproportionate Assets! Sue Me.

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Tue, 15 Mar 2016 19:18:00 +0000

Photo credit: denverpost.com

Disproportionate assets, for the sake of novices, is an accumulation of personal asset which is not in proportion to the living style what a particular organization deems as deserving for you. Disproportion is commonly ascribed a negative connotation like possessing an asset whose value exceeds the purchasing power of your salary. There are exceptions, though. If you don’t ride a two wheeler Honda Activa and instead drive around in a three wheeler Vikram Auto then it is not disproportion. It is a blatant example of stinginess and you should conceive changing such ignoble habits soon in the larger interest of your family.

I too have disproportionate assets. So what? Drop me in front of a firing squad. But let me first rewind you to 2011.

Way back in 2011 when I cleared All India Engineering Services exam my family was elated like never before. The prospect of a good Govt Job as a Group-A officer and a good salary made us dance to the Mother India’s tune of “Dukh bhare din beetey re bhaiya, Ab sukh aayo re”. An extensive plan was made over several telephonic conversations of how grand we shall lead the next course of life.

Sensing a meaty feast my friends glided around like Vulture glides over a carrion. A thrifty person as I am, all my friends were treated lavishly with Rajma Chawal and lassi at a roadside Kerala Café. That was all I could afford in a 8000 stipend from the institute.

Back to 2016.

This month I received two messages in succession. The first one said your salary account is credited with an amount of 27000 for the month of Feb. I read it again to find the word ‘meagre’ before 27000. It wasn’t there. May be by salary standards 27000 does not qualify for ‘meagre’ even. A government employee gets allowances in addition to salary. In hindi it is called ‘bhatta’ e.g Travelling allowance is ‘Yatra Bhatta’. In the month of February for the past 4 years, in lieu of salary, I rather receive a ‘Jeevika Bhatta’ sustenance allowance. I received few condolences call from unknown sympathisers. They turned out to be loan lending agents. I thanked their concern and asked for a non-refundable loan. Their phone and my phone are at peace since then.

The second message was from legal extortioners- better known as Income tax department. It asked me to pay an advance tax before 15^th March to avoid invoking IT act. 24000, in bold numbers, is the amount deducted from my salary as a tax this month. This in addition to a perpetual dent of roughly 1500 each month from April to January. Outraged by their act, which was a clear evidence of salary foeticide through TDS much before it’s embryo matured in my savings account, I replied back “Plz consider going to hell”.

My Tax Saver expert friends suggested me to liaise with any of the money guzzling devils - 80C, 80CC, 80 CCD and 80 what not? To all such mocking suggestions, I humbly reply - 80 my foot!. Investing a lakh to save few thousand is a matter of affordability. When your earnings ensure that your investment in Café Cofee Day-CCD- is not more than a Cappucino-sans an extra cream-then tax saving funds don’t come even in a dream.(Hey, that rhymed!Didn’t it?). So, if the money saved is money earned then money saving out of an insignificant earning can also make you bankrupt. After all, one must cut his dress according to his cloth.

We all are brought up in a sanskaaredfamily and we owe a responsibility towards them. Agreed that my family is not a melancholic blend of budhi Maa, bin-byaahi behen and a lachaar bhai. But it is no better. An ever demanding sister, an equally low paid brother and a tech-struggler mother who in her ripe age chants deals of Snapdeal instead of shlokas of Gita, is a more devastating mixture.

For some, it may appear as a financial fiasco at a personal level. But it certainly is not. I still think twice before spending money in a gathering. Thrice before buying stuff as expensive as a DSLR lens. I am yet to own a two wheeler forget an Innova I yearned, yet to own a home, yet to invest in any substantial capital.Yet to do a lot. My entire savings is two zeroes more than the word count of this post. I consider my assets to be in disproportion to what I should have after a 5-year long career span. In the last Annual property Return, I once thought to write under bold inverted commas – ‘huge disproportionate asset. Sue me!’

P.S: I don’t rant about my Job or my salary. Far few people get an opportunity to find a sense out of what they do. Far less get to do something which has a larger reverberation than in just your family. Yesterday, an ATM receipt revealed to me an available balance of Rs 185.56 in savings a/c.Full fifteen days before the next smell of a salary, I didn't know what to do so just grinned back on the face of ATM. I believe there rests an underlying humor in every situation of life.This post is merely an outcome of that thinking.

Thank you for reading

Exams: An Alternative To Arranged and Love Marriage

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 13 Mar 2016 14:42:00 +0000

photo credit : thehindu.com
An artist's imagination of people appearing in examination to get married

As the youngest sibling, I take pride in having successfully married off my sister once and my brother twice. Twice? Did I just say twice? Oh yes. The first one was rescinded with a ceasefire between the two parties. It met a natural death by today's standards during the probation days after the engagement. Thankfully quiet earlier than the cards were printed. Or we as cunning Brahmins would resort to using whitener for replacing the name of the girl with a new one.

I also boast of immense knowledge gained in deciphering meaning out of nonsense matrimonial profiles scattered all over the newspaper on Wednesdays and over internet.

I have the first-hand experience in arranging arranged marriages and second-hand experience in knowing the nuances of love marriages through my cupid struck friends who turned Devdaseventually.

There are two types of marriages on earth. No points for guessing- Arrange marriage(AM) and Love Marriage(LM). The problem with these two is that AM is difficult to arrange these days and LM is difficult to be loved afterwards.

Arranged marriages are like multiple choice type examination. You are given 4 or 5 choices and as always you are not sure about the answer. So you reject the two based on the appearance and the family. Out of the three remaining, you make a guess and move on. If the answer is correct you score a plus one. If it misfires then you become a monumental example for others who champion the cause of love marriage over arranged marriage. Do not get disheartened by the failure. If success teaches one then failure teaches a hundred. Utilize the experience gained to write a book ‘101 ways to crack MCQs Marriage Choice Questions’.

Love marriages are like knockout examination where several questions are arranged one after the other. You get to answer one question at each stage. The correctness of the answer gives you another question and so on. The success in each question defines your credibility for the subsequent one.Failure in any knocks you out of the whole process. The first stage demands an intense preparation to woo and win over your love. You convince him or her for marriage in the second. Then you convince your mother, father, relatives, more relatives, neighbours, more neighbours, your kaam wali baai, your sabzi wala, your newspaper vendor etc preferably in that order. If by the time you have convinced an entire generation of people, who have no business other than poking their advice on you, and the love remains intact then you plan for an eventual marriage.

The classification can be further extended to-Love come Arranged marriage and Arranged come Love marriage. (Please don’t doubt the MS word's spellcheck, cum is deliberately replaced with come here.)

In the first one, the boy produces his love to his parents and says “ Maa, teri hone wali bahu(daughter-in-law)”.After few tantrums of his mother on the pretext of ethereal societal pressure and few rounds of confidence building measures with his father and a casual threat of elopement his parents give in. Then the parents brand themselves in society as the torchbearer of modern outlook and reluctantly arrange a decorous marriage ceremony. Here arrangement comes after love – so love come arranged marriage.

In the second type, the boy’s mother manifests a girl and says “Beta, teri hone wali Vadhu(bride)”. The boy shows a courteous displeasure through few synchronous movement of his nose and eyebrows and bridles on the poor choice of his parents. The parents eventually recede by threatening of searching no further prospect for the boy. When the boy anticipates a lurking uncertainity over his matrimony future, then with a bout of forced shyness he condescends to his mother’s choice “ As you say Maa. Have I denied you ever?”. Here love is forcibly inflicted upon the two young birds after bonding them in shackles of marriage.

The veterans of shaadi experiment would agree here that all the conventional system of hooking up are stale and consumes a lot of energy and time. So I suggest a revolutionary way with which we are more accustomed to. Marriage through an actual written examination.

Children in India are well-versed with appearing in examination. They are subjected to an intense testing procedure at every step, where they guzzle the syllabus, as large as Bible and Gita combined, to score more and more. So he or she competes to get admission in a school, then competes in annual examination spanning over next 12 years. Then competes to get into a college, there compete in the semester exams. Then compete again to get a good job.

So what if we add an extra pan India Marriage Examination (IME) like JEE for all who are willing to escape the grilling procedure of arranged and love marriage? A syllabus be defined incorporating the cultural and liberal ethos to satisfy the old and the young. Questions like fill in the blanks of humorous jokes to judge the sense of humor in boys and an essay on beauty tips to evaluate beauty index in girls. Job security and salary be given a separate marks percentage. The total marks scored to be the criteria for ranking boys and girls separately. Common ranked boys and girls accept the fait accompli and marry each other.

No searching on the matrimonial site, no proposing of girl or boy anymore. Just an extra examination and the most difficult dilemma of life can be solved using the most effective means -a pen and a paper.

Thankyou for reading

Oh JNU! And We Thought Engineering is All Fun

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sat, 27 Feb 2016 03:00:00 +0000

phot credit : vividscreen.info

"In India, the pen can never run dry. Something, interesting, is always happening"- Ruskin Bond.

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The fact-finding committee of Government is under severe pressure from engineering students across nation to verify the legitimacy of ‘figures’ of condoms, beer and cigarettes allegedly found inside JNU campus.

The BBC committee of engineering students that is spearheading the agitation, have asserted that if the figures are found to be correct, even up to 3 decimal places, then a second round of agitation across engineering colleges will be called. When asked whether their committee is sponsored by BBC they clarified, “BBC is Booze, Bust and Cigarette – the yearning desire of all students right from 1^styear to 4^th year”.

“Cutting across the caste, creed and religion, these three defines us and unites us “ thundered the other with a fist raised high, out protruded a half-burnt cigarette from it.

“Thus, today we demand a respectful right to hold a beer can in one hand and a Badi wali Gold Flake in the other", said the secretary.

“Hey, I’ll prefer wine and a Cigar”, yelled from the back, an ancient looking student appearing third time in his final year.

They cited that Beedi was a disgrace to their smoking culture which smokes for the coolness quotient and thus they have not sought the data about beedi.Then they highlighted why the figure of beedi was abjectly low to that of cigarette inside JNU.Beedi is more associated with poverty and malnourishment while a cigarette is more urbane and classy. More of urban population is opting for humanities these days than engineering, they inferred.

“Well, Beedi don’t last long” suggested one.

“Ya! and it is far more difficult to make a smoke ring out of beedi”, another student complemented.

Together they pondered the merits of cigarette over Beedi. How cigarette can be easily shared but not beedis as sharing beedi would let no one have enough of it. They concluded that one should abstain from beedi until the life support system connected to father's pocket does not dwindle.

The committee has sent a right to information appeal to Deans of all colleges and universities to declare figures on a daily basis about used condoms, Beer cans, liquor bottles,chicken bones and Cigarette stubs at all dhabas inside their campuses.

The data received would be refined and processed using MATLAB software. Separate bar charts and graphical sheets will be prepared using data of condoms, cigarettes and beer cans for each university. These bar charts would enable the students appearing in engineering entrance exams to rightly choose the college of their choice. In the later stage, a mathematical formula is envisaged with Condoms, Beer and Cigarettes as three variables. Data of each university will be put in the place of variables to get a constant factor called the Oomph factor (O.F). The universities with more Oomph Factor would be rated above.

O.F of various universities would make it easier for students to choose science stream or humanities in the earlier stage of life, they say.

“We were misinformed “, lamented one student, “ and made wrong career choices. We do not want our younger brethren to suffer the same fate as ours”

BBC committee has pressed the university administration to ensure these basic amenities to all students of the engineering college. Even on days when Non-veg is served in squalid hostel mess the figure of bone pieces has never touched whooping 50,000 that JNU devours just in a day.

“Our college is dismally below in these figures to that of JNU. What is the need of all our hard work?” said a grizzled student, who just dropped in to ask his roommate the whereabouts of toothpaste they share.

“If you get double the fun in JNU with just half the hard work in engineering, then bhala koi ye kyun le wo na le?” mimicked one, like Nirma Super advertisement of 90s.

“Maan gaye! Aapki parkhi nazar aur Oomph Factor, dono ko” hailed the other with a high-five between the two.

Some of the disgruntled younger one’s called for banning Chetan Bhagat’s Five Point Someone. They said it has mislead an entire generation to believe that girls are easy to win over in engineering colleges.

“ 10000 cigarette butts, 3000 beer cans and 3000 condoms a day is something even a top ranker IITian would die for. Can you even imagine?” Asked one.

“And all I have managed by 3^rd year is just a safe seating spot near the prettiest girl in class”, rued the first ranker, the sorrow on his face was palpable.

Seeing the eyes of their top ranker swelled up in tears, the crowd bellowed together “Ban…Ban..Chetan Bhagat. Ban…Ban him”.

Meanwhile, Quora is reportedly flooded with questions about ‘How to get admission in JNU after engineering?’

As the BBC committee drafted a proposal highlighting their demands, a S.O.S (Saatvik Oatmeal Sansthan) has entrusted upon itself a purification drive for JNUites. It has resolved to send 15,000 bottled Gau-mutra and 10,000 Patanjali whole grain biscuit packets inside the campus.

Thankyou for reading

A Doctor's Prescription on Nationalism

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Mon, 22 Feb 2016 20:19:00 +0000

Photo credit: dnaindia.com

"It is necessary for every person who stands for progress to criticise every tenet of old beliefs (if) reason is the guiding principle of his life. "- Bhagat Singh

“The only religion that is fashionable is patriotism” – Swami Vivekananda

Not a sermon but you are best to choose your side and allow me do the wittiest best I can do.

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"Look at your eyes" the eye specialist said donning a thick lens “they have swollen like table tennis balls"

"Oh really?" I asked. I was soon reminded of a neighbour‘s son who armed with his new found love of table tennis bat posed a potential threat to anything that looks similar to a TT ball. I vowed not to go near him.

"If you keep watching TV like this I assure you with two lawn tennis balls popping out below your head" he concluded.

"But there is so much going across the nation" I reasoned " My nationalism and freedom of expression both are at loggerheads, people are marching, sloganeering. It's all over the news"

"Oh, nonsense. You can have them some other day.The news channels are not going anywhere"

"It’s not only the news channel but the question of my nation. We got to protect what is right even at the cost of our own lives" I asserted.

The doctor beamed light from his made-in-china torch straight into my eyes and said "I don’t care about your life. But at the cost of your eyes, you can go ahead"

Sarcasm? Wasn't it friends? But beaming an alien light from made-in-China torch into my made-in-India flesh during a make-in-India week boiled my blood out. How unnationalistic?

"But doctor I have just subscribed an only News add-on pack that serves me a hot fodder for thought."

"Subscribing for news channels and expecting a reasonable and neutral debate is like betting on Ishant Sharma for a last ball six. The hot food it serves will melt your sense faculties. Stay away from them, I say ".

His words were harsh on my ears and set-top box. Having succumbed to anti-TV propaganda, I pursued other alternatives.

"Laptop doctor. can I fondle with it?" my hopes exalted. A laptop and a free wi-fi could be a better alternative to a TV. Before your own view suffer a mutation by biased hubub of news anchors, google out safely and cling to news that keeps your own view afloat. Together they can also be lethally used to infest social media with your enlightened political opinions. When others conspire to strangulate your idea of patriotism or freedom of speech then these modern day weapons can fire canons of vindictive posts, comments, trolls and advices on your adversaries.

"No. Not even a smartphone" rebuffed the doctor.

Then and there I heard on the backdrop a naggingly long melancholic tone- like a background score played when 60s Bollywood Maa was forcibly separated from his son.

The air became too heavy to breathe. The thought of isolation from the unreal social world and confining myself to the horizons of the real world was suffocating. If abandoning TV was setting aside materialistic needs then leaving social media was instant nirvana I didn’t aspire for. If ever I felt what it means to be separated from soul it was then.

How would I survive without poking my nose into nationalistic fervour doing rounds in the social media. How can I not see and comment "Bharat mata Ki jai" 'if I am the real sapoot of Bharat mata' as one of the post claimed yesterday? Or how much I’ll miss being edified by a self-acclaimed laureate’s post over need to preserve freedom of speech in the same way as Egyptians have preserved their mummies.

How can I abstain from spilling my thoughts on the timeline and keep my self busy in calculating like, comment and share statistics ? Overblown by a convulsion of thoughts I receded into My World which I annoyingly share all the time.

I observed the doctor was lecturing in detail about my medical complication:

"You just contacted Acute Myopic Nationalistic Disorder. A type of retinopathy prominent to eyes, which shuffle between news debates in an attempt to devour all the information at a go. Persons exposed to both hindi and english news channels are more vulnerable to it than those who stick to a one language debate because of variations in severity of discussion in both language. Because of disoriented news radiations, the nationalistic cells in retina sends disrupted signals to mind which are contrary to those perceived in a normal human being."

He further added “A long exposure to such views may result in a Ideology Cataract when every other individual possessing an alternative view on patriotism or right to criticize looks like an imminent threat to your freedom of expression. At last, it may result to complete blindness and chaos of mind. “

The doctor went on to suggest few medications depending upon the extent and nature of damage.

“Two pills twice daily of NDTVinadozole-5mg and IndiaTodaylometazoline-10mg when the vision is restricted fundamentally to nationalism and patriotism. The tablets would suppress the BP-Bhartiyata Pressure (Pressure to meaure Bhartiyata levels in blood)- to below normal level. So much so that you will nauseate even at the thought of someone labelling you Indian.”

The doctor supplemented “Two tablespoons of TIMESNOWelchol syrup and one tablet of Zee-ncovit 5 mg when BP reaches at a threateningly low level and the call of nation demands violent eruption of patriotic feelings. It will invigorate the Bhartiyata level in blood at any cost.”

I thanked doctor for his diagnosis and was happier to possess a prescription laden with strong medication to support my sick leave in office.

Before leaving the chamber I enquired “ Doctor! What if my eyes don’t fall asleep at night even after these medicines?”

“Ah, don’t bother” he drifted his hand in air to play down my concern and uttered something which for me proved to be the Baap of all anaesthesia “A shot of DDNewsallwellstatic injection………….. at primetime “.

Thankyou for reading.

Letter from an aggrieved Shani dev to Maharashtra CM

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 14 Feb 2016 20:17:00 +0000

Photo credit: indianexpress.com

Halo CM saab,

Shani here. No, not Sunny Deol but Shani Dev or the planet Saturn you can always relate to. We both are ghayal ,although, he by acting as one and me by acting of my bhakts.

Well he can make an Ajay Mehra avatar again to fight for the truth so evident in his movies. But I am more or less a mute spectator since ages as the He-sena and the She-Sena are embroiled over something which I would never bother of.

I don’t understand the debate why the two gender are in a fix over ‘darshan’ from a handful distance of the “prohibited platform” when I am known to create turmoil in their life from a well over 1.2 billion kms. The two child of God, Men and Women, should primarily focus on my noble worship than turning their tirade into a naval warship. Both would drown if both fire in equal measure.

I am sure, sir, that the Girl-on-CCTV who dared to break the tradition and stood on the platform to offer an oil was a Vishnu incarnation. Much like Mohini who incinerated Bhasmasura-the demon by mesmerising him into destroying himself by his own powers. I am known to instill fear in the minds of lesser mortals by saade-saati (my 7.5 years stay in a horoscope) . What I thought could be a selfie-with-shani stint by the lady proved to be my nemesis as a saade-saati over me.

It could also be a ploy of other planets to demean my stature. The threat I impose on the innocent human beings and their subsequent offerings must have annoyed them. I was one God who enjoyed respect unconditionally, a god on whose name a day in a week is ascribed to. Citing my influence in the horoscope of a naive person astrologers made cash registers go ringing. People would crave for Sapphire stones across gem shops like a drowning person gasps for air.

All these fame and fear are spilled and washed down with the oil bath I was so comfortable with.

Now Devlok social media is abuzz with news like- Shani Shunned on Earth and

Girl Pours Oil on Shani-What happens next will blow your mind or on Quora-Why Shani is no more a threatening planet etc etc.

The continuous pouring of oil in Shringrapur was oil supply to Devlok.The prices of which in Devlok are at an all time high since oil offerings in the shringrapur has dipped substantially.

The day since Shri Shri has mentioned names of Tirupati and Vishwanath temple both Lord Vishnu and Shiva are afraid of being scrutinised by fame seeking lesser mortals. Imagine what would happen if the inflow of wealth in Tirupati or the bhang in Vishwanath temple declines. That would be the recession of our times-when together oil, wealth and booze touch record low levels.

Trust me this is the first time since Brahma incepted earth that Devlok is in serious threat of being abandoned by its own creation.

Sir, I am already cursed once by a lady who happens to be my wife. My eye sight is downward ever since . They would be ever shut if I am cursed again by whole gamut of feminine championing sena. So I urge you to settle the matter once and for all.

Or Rahul baba may cite the government to be too insensitive over gender discrimination and bring alive the much adored "intolerance" up to this town which boasts of no locked door in houses.

I am more afraid of Arvind Krantiwal who would demand that If he can go to a President house in sandal then not only women be allowed up to my idol but they be allowed to do so wearing sandals. Another krantikari thought, you see. After all how can you be so insensitive towards fairer sex.

As it happens in your country, what is labelled as the collective conscience of all is always represented by a few. Who in order to further their own interest make a mountain of a molehill.

But as God, we never invented tradition. For us everything living and non-living is divine and sacred. Everything you see or can not see is our creation. Men and women are born through us. As our child both are equally pure. Both can embrace me with purity not of flesh but soul instead.

Threateningly and Lovingly Yours

Shani Dev

Thankyou for reading

Ghayal Once Again – Oh Sunny! what hath thou wrought

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Wed, 10 Feb 2016 15:51:00 +0000

There are some movies which are once in a generation. There are others which come with an average expectation but are an instant hit. And there are some which re-establishes the old and the dying of Bollywood. To put the curtain down Ghayal –Once Again is not any of them.

Ghayal-Once Again is not a movie it is an experiment which vied to discover a catalyst that would soar the dipping career of Paaji but in the process has surely drowned it. The intelligentia of the script touched record low levels. At few points it dipped so low that scientist could go on a deep water exploration using it.

Doesn't makes sense here? Make me watch a movie like this and I can bemuse you with more such paranoid activities here.

Ghayal-Once Again is a revenge orientied movie. Not only the script but actually. It is a statement loud and clear to all reigning Khans of Bollywood who are feigning their long lost charisma through decrepit movies. It says that if you can befool and bore the audience with melodramatic dialogues like'15 saal-9 mahine-4 din...' etc. etc. then I can also return with a script which is 'ghayal' right from the word go.

So we have Ajay Mehra(Sunny Deol) as a messiah and famous reporter. In one scene when he boards a moving local train evryone identifies him "Arey ye to Ajay Mehra hai" much similar to the Spiderman of New York. Raj Bansal(Narendra Jha) is a rich, egoist and influential businessman. he gets the server of Ministry of Telecommunications hacked to fix a tender one day in advance. How? " Sir, it is hacked. here is the printout" done. So mean of me to expect a full technical hacking process in a movie. Ok. But in such a rudimentary method? What a farce to professional hackers. Bansal's son is a , no-points-for-guessing, spoiled brat. We are told if the son is inflicted even a wound then the stock markets of India would tumble down. Shrewd economist and a share broker here.

Om Puri is reduced to a sacrificial character, whose death was supposed to arouse in the audience the first passionate disliking for Bansal.

Narendra Jha justified his character but the plot always had a void of Balwant Rai (Amrish Puri) of Ghayal or Katya (Danny) of Ghatak.

Soha Ali Khan did beautifully what she was expected to-a supporting actress with few emotional outbursts. She could never match Meenakshi Sheshadri though. Even Deol's anger index was a notch below the first Ghayal.

The story is based upon the fact that when an antagonist does not interferes with the protagonist then the protagonist, in a quest to prove his protagonism, unnecessary meddles with the antagonist.

Four kids, who by the movie standards are cool as they use cool technical words like Blogging and Downloading quite often, have just won a bravery award. They get hold of some bad secrets about Raj Bansal which they intend to hand over to Ajay Mehra. Bansal's henchman chase the kids in streets, off the streets , parking lot, inside mall and where not. How? GPS buddy! At one stage Bansal directly asked the Defence secretary to give him access to high resolution satelite imagery of Mumbai to enable the henchmen for better chasing. Thankfully he was said 'No'.

The film had all the masala of 90s bollywood . The stalest was saved for the climax- 'wo bachhi teri beti hai Ajay'. And so Ajay Mehra hijacked Bansal's helicopter and flew to his high rise empire. How? Hijacked we were told, that's it. All we saw was Ajay seated on the driving seat of helicopter.

The film gave had many moments to prod us to leave. One such was when Ajay jumped off a fast running local to another local in opposite direction safely. He sighed so we knew he was safe.

I am a huge Sunny Paaji fan as early as his Salaakhein, Zor, Ziddi. I also feel that any creative art deserves huge respect. But when you base your expectations on massive hits like Ghayal (1990) or Ghatak (1996) then Ghayal Once Again comes a cropper.

A shrewd movie critic will sit through the endings but will never reveal it to you . I, for one, not being a specialist and all the more drunken in my venegeance towards series of mind numbing scenes left the movie 20 mins before a surely indigestible ending.

Marriages: Arranged in Heaven, Squandered on Earth

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Thu, 04 Feb 2016 19:03:00 +0000

credit: india.com

"Aana hai bhai. Pakka" Said my friend’s friend as he handed over his marriage invitation magazine.

Yes! With 8 thick glossy leaflets and an overwhelming embossed lord Ganesha on the cover it resembled more like a grandeur magazine than an invitation. Here was this person, just an acquaintance, but too jubilant to invite an extra mouth for a rupees 1200 something per plate event.

I gathered my senses back and reflected upon my friend’s friend’s face. His mouth lay wide open salivating over his wedlock. The pearly white teeth splendidly projected the euphoria into a dazzling smile. "And come along with bhabhi". His face radiated a cunning smile as if he knew something which I am yet to come terms with.

This is why I despise both the invitation and the approcah of invitaion. "Please do come...if you don’t come Ill not marry…without you shaadi nahi hogi…..bla bla bla”

What the nonsense. How on earth my presence or absence makes or mars one’s marriage. Even if I bodily manifest into the ceremony my spirit would hover around rabdi-jalebisbut nowhere as an escort for Dulha to the mandap. The courteousness and formality breaches frustrating level when one says “… Bhabhiji ke saath aana”. Damn it you dork, you don’t even know that I am yet to possess a bhabhi…err… a wife , and your confidence doubts my own marital status.

Attending marriage is not a child’s play these days. It involves extensive planning, investing energy, time and financial resources to make successfully into such an event. The whole process from what-to-wear to what-to-gift can be made into a PERT CPM chart like a project management.

However this was not the trend always. When we were kids my father would come home and announce a marriage ceremony he was about to go. Out of three siblings the one whose homework was over would be the chosen one. Mother would comb our hair and dressed us up in clothes earmarked for special occasions. She would wipe our face with the edge of her sari soaked wet in water. A splash of powder on our face stroked gently by her palm and we felt like a complete man, without Raymond. An edge of sari and a rub of hand would do a lot more to lift our spirits that no tissue paper or a face wash could do now. Back then we considered perfumes to be a privilege of adults. But then we knew father would be gracious to part with mild spray like holy asperges. More than the sweet smell the cooling sensation on bare arm would brighten our senses. A smooth pillion ride on two wheeler and lo we were there. I never noticed the groom or bride. Never did I care whether we brought a gift along. I sincerely dedicated my attention on noodles and ice-creams. On wondering whether the waiter carrying a tray full of soft drink glasses would ever reach my side. When he did I laid my hand on the glass full up to the brim. It never mattered whether marriages were slotted in heaven or hell as long as the glass was full.

I think the underlining notion behind attending marriages are still the same only its execution has become a more extravagant.

Blackberrys and Van Heusens are the trend of the day. Gifts like monetary envelopes , Bouquets, a dinner set on sale from Big Bazar or the one gifted once to you, decoratively wrapped gives you an inner line permit up to the stage.

Baraats are recklessly made to detour over an extra mile when the climax can be reached in few yards. A person,possibly mama or chacha of groom, gleefully halts the procession by mindlessly setting the crackers off every time the baraat finds its pace. The gloomy groom, seated atop the motor driven chariot, is put up for public exhibition. An army of depleted veterans whiff their heart out into trumpets as the sound of accompanying generator overpowers them. The site of blowing trumpets among sucked in cheeks and bulging eyes makes you wonder the necessity to call a medical attention before reaching the venue. An assortment of bollywood tunes is unleashed upon the devout dancers. A brazen nagindance and an occasional fleeting glance towards the groom to exchange an approving smile establishes your undisputed claim on the friendship and the meals thereafter.

The starters are given an equal treatment as the main course. (A noodles counter still attracts as much hits as the blog posts by Purba Ray on A-musing).The interspersed time between the meals finds you over the stage for a post event evidence photograph. The professional friends of bride and groom would pass the session decently with a keep-calm-say-cheese look. But when the more intimate college friends throng the stage every soul living or dead knows who they are. A typical blessing hand over the bride and a devilish V-fingers behind the groom is an all time favourite for the session. A few more intimate friends would seat themselves near his bhabhi-to-be much to the chagrin of groom.

When the crowd recedes back to normalcy the bride and groom are subjected to the artistic liberty of hired photographers. Who leave no stone unturned to proclaim their origin from Paris fashion week. To the amusement and entertainment of paan munching crowds flashes pound over the two martyrs as they haplessly pose to the tunes of DSLRs.

Suddenly a buzzing sound reverbrate the atmosphere…Gosh! they got drones out here!. To novices it may seem a terrorist attack than a pompous show of video recording through toy drones. The stage rises above the head. Large size projectors are all set. A live varmala is a cynosure for all eyes as if its the last they will see.

As my friend’s friend left, I pondered about the unnecessary zeal we Indians attach to a marriage ceremony. The jubilation for the run up to this event surpasses that of a bilateral accord between two hostile nations. Why cant we avoid it? Why can’t we treat marriages as just marriage.

Yes Just a Marriage. The cacophony surrounding a marriage ceremony has sucked the simplicity out of nuptial bondings. On the pretxt of its ones in a life event we have made a keema out of it. But then we don't do a band baja baraat on other one-shot events, say the first date? Why can’t we do something like a ‘Happy Birthday to you’, gather friends, cut a cake , arrange few namkeens and sweet and a piece of cake on a paper plate. Sing a 'Happy marriage to you' in chorus and over. chat mangni pat vyaah. The parents bid good night to the bride and the groom and leave the destiny to decide over happily married or not?

Thankyou for reading

START UP MUMMA, STAND UP MUMMA…OH SHUT UP BETA!

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Thu, 21 Jan 2016 16:48:00 +0000

Once upon a time in a middle class, Government-job-crazy family:

“Maa, I want to contribute to the nation building” I said affirmatively to my mother.

“So you are, beta” my mother said, ignoring my well planned words as she flicked another long whatsApp message on her newly acquired smart phone.

“No I am not” I pestered like an adamant internet pop-up, ready to spew my plan all over on a new screen tab if she tries to close the conversation again.

“You are working for Railways. Railways contribute to the nation building. So you indirectly contribute to the process. You need not do more ” She smiled slyly having successfully changed her Whatsapp DP as a flower, the meaning of her name, Suman.

“you said it is a burden on nation last time when the train was late by 4 hrs” I tried to check mate her by her own move.

“Now it pays you, it is no more a burden you see” She kept fiddling on the screen with a firm index finger and fist closed. I recalled Darwin’s theory of evolution. How a person adapts slowly from a basic phone to a smart phone and switching from index finger to thumb.

She kept mum for a while as I stood aghast for having failed to even plant my idea into her mind.

“Hey…There…I….Am…Using….Vaatsup” She read out loud and clear from her smart phone like a school kid recites a poem word by word. Then she looked inquisitively towards me and said “Can I write something else here?”.

Annoyed by her insolence towards my thoughts I pretended indifferent towards her innocent query.

“Don’t keep sulking like a new bridegroom” She said. “I don’t seek a favour,you see, I demand it. I taught you to read and write now help me out to text and type”

I knew before I unfold my plan she would have it her way.

“of course you can.” I assured her “That’s the status of your whatsapp and not vaatsup please.Let me help you. Say what you want to type in here?”

She stretched to hand her phone to me and said “Murjhaya Phool, Poem by Mahadevi Verma”

My jaw drop down to ground as I got hold of what she said “Maa! You just can’t write out an entire poem in a Whatsapp status. Keep that creativity for your facebook status”

She felt extremely disheartened as if it was the life’s another bitter truth when you conceive a big plan but fail at the hand of destiny. This time destiny had metamorphosed into limited 139 characters of whatsapp status.

Recalling my experience from Orkut days when alternate uppercase and lowercase texts were a rave I tried to cheer her up “ Look I will write your name over here with alternate uppercase and lowercase design SuMaN”

“Its good but needs more decoration. I want my status to be better than Sonu's mother". My heart went out for poor Sonu who must have undergone similar ordeal to satisfy his mother's Whatsapp fanatasies . Meanwhile my mother, having settled two of her child's marriage and, added two winking smileys and a pink flower symbol beside her 'SuMaN' status was now a complete woman. She could now rest in peace till Sonu's mother changed her status.

Having successfully settled the things that matter the most to all these days I tried to introduce my plan again.

“Maa I am fed up of my job and want to Start-up and stand-up ”before she dipped again into her smart phone liquid crystal, I spluttered all in a go.

“No I won’t suffer anymore embarrassment” she chided me “ You have had enough of standing-up on benches and outside classrooms in school. Why do you want to bring in the ignominy of standing-up all again”

“Maa you are getting it wrong. Thankfully my schooldays are past long back. It is our PM who inspires everyone to Start-up and Stand-up. I just want to follow his advice”

“If your PM further says to Start-up, Stand-Up and Jump-Down the cliff ,will you still follow his advice”

“But why would he say so?”

“Well he can say so someday, you never know”

“Maa! You got it all wrong. Start-up means having one’s own business set up using a radical idea. It would not only help me in standing up on my own feet but helping others to do so by employing them”

“Beta….Wake up. That’s the area where you should first concentrate on every morning before leading an army of dozing brats. Your generation needs a kick up every morning and you talk of start up. The only pIace where you deserve to become ,what you call, BeelGate is in your dreams.”

“That’s Bill Gates, Maa. The start up god of this generation”

“haan wahi. Pronouncing correctly doesn’t makes you one”.

To reinforce my point further I cited examples to her

“ Didn’t you see last time when we were in Pune? So many start-ups had blossomed every where in Hinjewadi area. That was so inspiring”

“Not blossomed my son, mushroomed and mushrooms don’t last an entire season”

“Well my friend Vidhatanand is now an entrepreneur . he has his own web based tutorial for GRE and CAT, Vocabmonk” My idea of dropping a name of a well known friend was to make her believe that if he can then even I can.

“Who ?the one who supplied Nagraj and Dhruv comics to you?”

“I don’t remember what comics you are talking” I knew this was not getting any better so I simply evaded. But once a canon is fired you never know what harm it may do. In my case it lead to devastation.

“Stay away from him, I say” she commanded “thanks to your friend, you almost flunked in class 5. For me your govt job is better than an antarparnar”

“Ent…” I started

“Don’t pronounce it for me”. By this time her hands had grabbed the smart phone. She fondled around the edges of phone, found a familiar button to push it on again.

Her eyes gleamed like a child as the updates kept pouring in.

“See your Vimla mausi has probably sent her daughter-in-laws pic” hand me my glasses the image is so hazy.

I explained to her how the picture haziness is not due to her eyes but due to slow net speed and it will be evident once it gets downloaded. She was less concerned about the technical nuances though.The epiphany of image incarnating before her eyes shooked the senses out of her.

“Why don’t you start up with a tutorial to middle age women on whatsapp and facebook. You can always become a what you say antarparnar” she said gleefully.

Dreaded by the thought of being gheraoed by swarming senseless queries and dissection of whatsapp and facebook to their atoms, I retorted submissively “ Maa ! I think I just found out altogether a big reason to start loving my job”

Thankyou for Reading

Mayhem At Midnight: Count upto a Pay Commission Report

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Thu, 07 Jan 2016 07:41:00 +0000

After Freedom at Midnight Domnique Cashier comes back with his thrifty reporting on 7th pay cuttision atrocities and presents the Mayhem at Midnight. A book that shattered the dreams of always moaning but always working govt employees (What? That was not a Shelden Cooper's uhh...huuh sarcasm. They actually work).

Ok,read on.

The book opens with a famous speech titled Tryst with Penury:

“At the stroke of the midnight hour of December 31st when the world sleeps, except the BPO employees of Gurgaon, Babus of India will awake to misery and mayhem. A moment comes, which comes after every tenth year, when a Govt employee steps out and dares to stare from old brands of costumes to new, when a decade ends and when the soul of his wallet, long suppressed by inflation and his wife's burgeoning demands, finds utterance.”

A pity govt staff eyes every pay commission as the decadal avatar of Lord Krishna and its report as the only Gita-Saar known:

-Yada yada hi Salaryiyasya glanir bhavati Babusaaheb !

Abhyuthanam inflationasya, sambhavami yuge yuge.

Paritraanay Babunaam, vinaashaay cha Privataam!

Grade payam Sangsthapanay, Sambhavami dashakey dashakey

To those who piously opted but miserably failed in Sanskrit in class 8, here is a never-to-perfect Google translation.

-Whenever there is decay of Salary Structure, O BabuSaaheb !

And there is exaltation of inflation, then I Myself come forth.

For the protection of the Govt Employees,

and for the destruction of his flamboyant Private counterparts,

For the sake of establishing a respectful grade pay, I am born from decade to decade.

Thus every 10th year the staff’s devotion towards his duty increases manifold, he takes a holy dip into his own mystical river of sweat, chants incessantly the chalisa of his financial wounds inflicted by the sharp edged inflation, reasons out like a shastra pandit on why the Govt employees deserve a raise of galactic proportions. He keeps fantasizing with several final reports published across social media. Any news suggesting a minimal raise makes him mentally torment the writer and his ancestors, while a picture of a news clip justifying a significant raise finds a seat along with his favourite actress in the saved images folder .

The days counting up to the report of any pay commission is tensed and difficult to wait up to. Like a kid experiencing goosebumps prior to the final report card when he knows he has not performed well, a govt staff too experiences metabolic disorders ranging from extreme perspiration to persistent constipation prior to the finalization of pay commission report.

Buoyed by the chances of exponential growth in salary few fundamentally Be-positives pre-order their tailors to stitch an extra large pocket to adjust bigger wallets for expectantly bigger reward . Few others heave a sigh of relief for no more self justification that Riibok is more comfortable than Reebok. No more waiting of a SALE season and no further tilting of MRP tag on the pretext of judging the quality of a merchandise before annoyingly suggesting to salesman “Bhaiya kuch achha dikhao” when they actually mean “Bhaiya kuch sasta dikhao” .

The govt offices are converted into temples of philosophy where a vision document of govt. salary structure is prepared over an exhausting debate about the economic scenario that can make a JNU Professor doubt his abilities. Softwares are coded and data encrypted - read Excel sheet formation- to forecast expected salary- if Basic is hiked, HRA is kicked, GP is thrashed ,DA is merged or TA is submerged and what not. The lonely computer, which was always left to brood in a dusty corner, surprisingly finds its moment of oomph. A sudden flash of attention makes it confident to become the genesis of the next Big Thing on earth. Every thing seems well just when the electricity rises upto its expectation and goes off. Beep… beep… beep… and the poor computer without any life support fades again into oblivion.

Then comes the time for the experience to make a count. So several cups of tea - lemon to ginger and sugar less to an extra sugar - is sacrificed. Anecdotes are shared by the old yet overtly smart ones about the Pay commission report from the sources he tells he can’t name and he doesn’t knows either. Some young enthusiast –who keeps knowledge of all trades but his own – dexterously explains the economy behind Pay Commission to the rapt attention of oldies. He mixes all the flavours from Polity to International Relations, drops in some heavy jargons ranging from Wholesale and Consumer Price Index to Purchasing Power Parity while ensuring to bring in the most despised word ‘inflation’ now and then to the affirmative nodding of all.

As the year ends the clouds of Pay commission looms large over all govt offices. The dreamy and droughty eyes of a govt staff pleads for that drop of rain which can sprout the seed of happiness on the land weathered by rising prices yet tilled by hard work over a decade. The likes of Mishras, Guptas and Agarwals uncover their grief of not fulfilling their family expectations . The atmosphere inside the office becomes heavy with simple sarkari dreams of simple sarkari families- dreams of converting a two wheeler into a char-chakka so that an entire family can fit in together, dreams of marrying a daughter to a well off family, dreams of saving enough money for their child’s best education, dreams of gifting his wife a sari woven of tasar silk and not suti anymore. Dreams that are as magnificent as Himalayas for them yet as simple as a road side pebble for many. Dreams that sustain not on the trivial reports of any pay commission 7^th or 8^th but on the solid hope and desire of the ever happy sarkari family.

Thankyou for reading

Letter from an aggrieved 'Number System' to Delhi CM

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Fri, 25 Dec 2015 06:36:00 +0000

courtesy : Google images

Dear sir,

Notwithstanding the fact that we rate your hard hitting decision to reduce the number of vehicles polluting Delhi's atmosphere as marvellous , our Union of Number System strongly disapproves with the rule behind rationing.

Bearing a legacy of famed mathematicians like Bhaskara , Aryabhatta , and Ramanujam isn't it undignified to employ simple elementary mathematics of odd and even to frame a rule which will affect the psyche of masses in general. Your rule, my dear, has ignored the basic principle of mathematics : the difficult, the better.

The simplicity of identifying odd and even has sucked the breath out of your fellow protest groups, who were so longing to hug the deserted Jantar Mantar had you offered a more difficult proposition to Delhiwales . Infact, your transition from a coughing krantikari to a pondering adhikarihas caught every ready-to-agitate soul unarmed.

But real world apart, the world of mathematics is under a severe trauma since you colluded with the chunnu-munnus of number system and ruined the ego of other big shots like Prime and Composite number or Rational-Irrartional number.

Sir, your rule has revived the caste system in our community where odd-even still enjoy privilege over other real numbers. For years we have ignored the discriminatory treatment meted to rational-irrational numbers over odd-even by the student community at large. For a meagre 5 marks they prefer writing the complete multiplication table of even numbers between 1 to 10 than proving how square root2 is irrartional. Just because 2,4,6,8,10 are even and rhyme together should we deny poor square root2 the right to prove its rationality? In such a partial oriented society, the selection of only odd-even by an ex-IITian thereby ignoring the whole gamut of real numbers might leave Pythagorus turn in his grave.

In a bid to assert your mind's supremacy, pay homage to past mathematicians and give fodder to protest to political parties we suggest you an alternative. Make a raita of all real and imaginary numbers, spit a bit of calculus into it and offer a ready to rebel vehicle rationing policy as raita to litter.

Enforce some out of box complex rules, go back to vedas or vedic mathematics and churn out theorems that would put followers of Euler, Lafrange or Leibniz to shame. Unleash the 'iterative dog' of Runge-Kutta method over the numb mortal brains of Delhites . Introduce the imaginary and ever dreaded iota (i) as the complex series in vehicle numbers, gift the Delhi dudes some Double Differential equations and toss a pinch of quadratic to the motorists Madams, the solution to which would be their licence to drive. Or include rational irrational numbers as part of the rationing policy by crowning every vehicle number with a square root function and let the hapless mind decipher its rationality. Make the vehicle numbers so miserable to identify,sir, that people shudder twice before driving again.

Let us together prove everyone that when we copy a rule then we improvise upon it even better. Thus let us welcome a beautiful world where early morning every person worth his mathematics soul would hold a glass of milk in one hand and an advanced mathematics book in the other.

With few regards

Yours Mathematically,

Union of Number System

Thankyou for reading

India is Cinema, Cinema is India

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Fri, 18 Dec 2015 08:47:00 +0000

Selected for Spicy
Saturday Picks

I had a dream.

No wait!. Not the one like Sir Martin Luther King.

It’s a simple one, the one we are more accustomed to in our ordinary lives. Its ordinariness makes me shy to share it with you. But then Sheikh Peer has rightly said “Whats in a Shame?”. Or is it 'Shakespeare' and 'name'? whatever, let it be 'shame' for a while.

So my dream goes like ;

From the Ramparts of Red Fort I saw our Prime Minister addressing to the nation on the eve of auspicious release of Dilwale and Bajirao Mastani. He asked the Shahrukh Sevaks and Ranveer Sena to maintain peace and harmony on this festive day . He also pleaded with the Whatsapp users to not spread rumors regarding Dilwale's story being leaked and warned them of falling in trap of negative publicity of SRK. Rather he suggested every cinezen to become a Dil Wale and support King Khan in his desperate days. Or they should carry packets of Bhaji inside theatre to watch Bhaji Lao Mastani.

Someone in the crowd broke the news about CBI, Centre for Bollywood Investigation, raids inside Delhi secretariat. CBI said it acted upon the information of illegal hoarding of black tickets of INOX and Big Cinemas of the two mega movies by the secretariat . Arvind Crazywaal cried foul and said that CBI wanted to get hold of a file regarding investigation of DDLJ black ticketing when Jaitleyji was Movie Minister.

Then, I saw Arnab God's Swami in Movies Now. In his news debate When- Arnab- wants-to-know-then-the-nation-wants-to-know he sought clarification on the necessity of releasing the two mega entertainer on the same day .Why of all the 365 day Sanjay Leelaa Bhansali chose to spoil cinema lovers much awaited never old sizzling combination of Shahrukh and Kajol.

He also wanted to know why the nation should not know that if Deepika and SRK know each other so well then why did not they opt for other dates so that he is saved from knowing what he is trying to know now. He grimaced over the insensitiveness of bollywood towards 1.2 billion poor cinezens. In his conclusion he used words like Pathetic-thrice, Miserable-4 times, Pity-twice and Hopeless-once before suggesting to watch Gangs of Wasseypur again to gang up against both the new movies.

Switch to Red Fort and amid a thunderous applause we saw entire film cast of Dilwale and Bajirao waving from the Red Fort while a new slogan is launched by our beloved the-one-who-must-not-be- named "India is Cinema,Cinema is India" and further announced a one day NH-National Heralday on 19th December.

--------------------------- INTERMISSION ------------------------------
Plz read further at your own idle Time !

A soft music awakened me which I mistook for Beethoven's fifth symphony but was actually buzzing of few nonchalant mosquitoes inebriated with All-Out liquor.I furiously swept them away in air and hurriedly tried to catch the glitz over the Red Fort .

Instead, I found myself seated behind Jyotiraditya Scindia inside Parliament. In a well memorised and loosely rehearsed speech, RaGa sought the speaker's attention over the over dose of red hue by Bhansali in his earlier production RamLeela and criticised him of saffronising the bollywood. RaGa accused the govt for playing with minority sentiments citing that since SRK belongs to a minority therefore Govt is eroding SRK's finance with Bajirao's release on the same day. "Such is the apathy of this Govt that the number of persons below Bollywood poverty Line (BPL) have increased day by day" he roared. "60 % of India's cinezens fail to watch 1 movie a month. The Govt must not only boast about opening bank accounts under JanDhan yojana but also deposit movie ticket fares in it."

He recalled how in UPA's Movie Goers National Relaxing Entertainment Gurantee Act

( MGNREGA ) his govt had assured one day movie a year to one person of a family.

Jyotiraditya Scindia stared Mallikarjun Kharge down when he tried to correct RaGa’s MGNREGA abbreviation " Baba ne bola M for Movie to Movie" with loud thumping over desks.

Supplementing that SRK's Dilwale is better than Bajiraohe elaborated how he has downloaded both last night on torrent.

A Bollywood Janta party (BJP) member accused the opposition for stalling the GST bill which would ensure reduced Tax for poor Moviegoers . Jaitleyji countered the fabricated chaos about timing of both movies in the same week. “People should watch both instead of one” he suggested with his suave smile.

The TringBring Movie Congress (TMC) was offended and compared Jaitley's remark to that of Marie Antoinette's –Let them eat cake , if they can't have bread. A tragic enact by Didi "Do ticket movie ki keemat tum kya jano Jaitley Babu" sent the opposition benches to cheer "once more...once more"

Unperturbed by the speaker’s dire consequences of stalling the parliament entire opposition staged a walkout to mark 18th December as PVR Chalo Andolan day.

A familiar Nokia ringtone echoed in the slowly evacuating hall. I pointed towards the Apple Iphone seated lazily inside the Khadi pocket of a grumpy member beside me "Sir, why do you demean the poor Iphone by using a ghostly Nokia ringtone ". Something jolted me up like a slap on my face and I located the source of cheap sound into my Lumia720 wailing beside on bed.

Softly I touched the answer button to ease its pain.

The caller voice resembled to that of a sleepy news reader in All India Radio who is entrusted to broadcast news in the dead of night while he knows no one is listening.

“Why do you sound so sad my dear ?” dizzied with sleep, I enquired

“Sir this is Engineering Control Allahabad. Would you go for night foot plate tonight?”

Disgruntled due to this unauthorised encroachment over my dream sapce, I replied sternly “No, I will rather watch Hate Story-3 again” and slid the phone back under the pillow.

Thankyou for Reading

The Islam I Know

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Fri, 20 Nov 2015 07:30:00 +0000

I have no idea about various versions of Islam being propagated across the world. The repeated news debates over Islam has repeatedly failed to make sense to me. Their Urduish accents are no better than Italian movies without subtitle. One of the demerits of 32 inch HD LED TV is that

the frowning news anchor seems like your father threatening you to score a hundred out of hundred in Mathematics. They may jump out of screen and slap you red next time if you don't heed to them

Their debates have made Islam so complex that the complex differential equations involving omegas,iotas, sigmas, gammas and with respect other ammas seems more rudimentary to me.

I have also no idea of what others conceive about people who follow Islam and its practices.

Let me break a breaking news to you all. The followers of Islam are from the very earth we all link our origin to. Well, you don’t need an assurance from me after all . They are as simple as people of any other religion for whom religion is something what career choices are for students of middle class families : totally imposed upon them.

The college life is the time when our soft clay like character is mould and hardened for future. Having spent the crucial college life in one of the prestigious Islamic universities of India, Jamia Millia Islamia, I sort of feel privileged and claim a right to discourse on Islam.

The college environment where friendship is the strongest religion and the professors are the real preachers, breeds thoughts which come a long way in shaping your thoughts for lifetime. Most of my friends in college were followers of Islam. But never did we dwelled into altercations over each others religion. Forget altercation, we hardly cared what religion we followed. For us there were only three types of species on earth : Front benchers, middle benchers and back benchers.

I came to know about two sects of Islam from them : the most beautiful girl in our class was a Shia and the second one was a sunni. Trust me no one cared about hell as long as they were present in class. I came to know that Ramadan is the more appropriate word than Ramazan, that a person who

is on travel and a child has no compulsion to keep a fast during the holy month, that the appeal of the evening Iftaar party was more alluring to them than the full day fast. My friends abstained from watching movies during Ramadan as long as it was not a Shahrukh mega. They too had fond memories of loving Ramayana or a Mahabharta on DD as much as others did. My friend Iqbal knew much more about Mahabharta than me. The Baal Ganesha put smiles on my friends younger brother as it did to any small kid. Five of my classmates proudly called themselves Paanch Paandav and shared everything from examination chits to cigarette puffs.Three of them followed Islam.

My friends who follow Islam are liberal in approach and thoughts. For them religion is just a symbol as it is to us.

I have climbed the stairs of Kalkaji and visited Varanasi ghat with them.Together we have unsuccesfully tried to sit in silence inside the Lotus Temple of Delhi just to smile mischievously before bursting out with laughter. We have been to Jama Masjid and Akshardam Temple all together. For us it was all fun and no religion. We hated politicians in equal measures and loved A.P.J Abdul Kalam , we appreciated Shoaib Akhtars tantalizing looks but equally booed him when he bowled bouncers to Sachin.

My knowledge of Islam is complicated, yes, but only in names. It took me months to realize that the Mehreen Mushtaq Lanker are not three siblings but one and it took me years to spell them correctly. That Kamrul Hasan and Qamrul Hasan are two different people and not one separated just by L,M,N,O and P.

My Knowledge of Islam is simple and not that intricate as many may have. The Islam I know thrives in the heart of my friends who treasure relationship as we all do. The Islam I know walks among the ordinary crowds of Batla House to Shaheen Bagh in Delhi, trying to earn a decent living and celebrating small nuances of life.

My knowledge of Islam is in the sweet Sheer Korma and Sewai I loved to devour at my friends house every Eid. It is in Imran's youngest brother who was as desperate for eidis on Eid every year as he was for the crackers on Diwali. It breathes in the form of my friend Iqbal, one of the best gifts from Jamia whom I trust as much as my brother. The Islam I know has those Paanch Pandavs who used to drown in the colours of Holi while keeping the world behind them. It lingers in the rich aroma of Naeem bhai's biryani of Jamia canteen which relieved the hunger pangs of students across all religion. The Islam I know sustains in my professors at Engineering college Azhar sir, Khalid Moin, Qamrul Hasan and several others who wanted all of us to excel in life as much as our parents did. They celebrated excellence and never religion.

The Islam I know is quite simple and joyful. It is more than a name or a surname, more than anything wrong what people misconceive it to be. The Islam I know has love, friendship, passion, success, failure and all human emotions we go crazy for. And I am sure your knowledge of Islam is as good as mine.
(Dedicated to my Alma Mater and all friends. Forgive for putting in names without permission)

Thankyou for readin

Why on Earth are you not Married?

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 08 Nov 2015 18:26:00 +0000

My brother’s marriage is scheduled for the last week of November. Delighted? Well, I don’t intend to invite anyone. But I will try to inform everyone. Yes!. Everyone from my chacheri chachi’s eldest daughter in law to the Fuferi Bua I have never seen. From the gaanv wale Tauji to my lesser known cousins sprinkled all over India. From the friends who have preserved their ‘likes’ and ‘comments’ like treasures on facebook to the ones who have mindlessly but loyally liked all the shi***** I post. (Extra stars is just to bemuse you, consider the first word knocking the mind as correct!)

Our social norm expects us to blast such news to all. So what better way than on a social networking site. You may like, comment or share in hundreds. So that even a remotely located tech-savvy kid of Jagada tribe of Africa knows that one elder brother of one hapless person in some place called India is finally about to get married. Let there be prayers in churches ,offerings in temples, nazranas in masjids. But see that the news doesn’t spreads to Syria. If they get elated they might send beheaded congratulatory messages .

With this declaration many restless soul would pester more firmly with their questions regarding my settling prospects . Not every one likes to see happiness on your face for long. Henceforth, I can not use the Law of Precedence (Marriages are fixed in descending order from eldest to youngest) religiously followed in a middle class Indian family, to defend my free radical state.

Earlier, to every question about my marriage I smirked off by replying “abhi Bhai hai bada”. The worst part was to beam a lightning smile while replying to the same moronic question put up at various gatherings. It was similar to grudgingly produce an extraordinary grin every time your dearest but meanest friend graciously offers Rs 30 McAloo Tikki in all parties at McDonalds,while you know it tastes worse than local Aloo Tikki.

Such gatherings have their quota of Anatomists and Philosophers. The Anatomists would dissect your family structure to know the reason why on earth you are still unmarried. Where is your Brother? Is he employed? Why doesn’t he marries if he is employed? Why doesn’t he lets you marry if he doesn’t want to?. Do you have a sister? Is she elder to you? Is she married? And then like a lost tourist he would again venture to the source and conclude, “That means bhai ke baad karoge?” I felt like answering “ Na, bhai ke bete ke baad”

After a can of beer or two the philosophers would produce their gems of thoughts in the form of stories that how one of their friend had to accept celibacy only because his elder brother took long to settle. After few more cans of beer find their fate sealed inside their tummies you become an open target of whims and fancies regarding bachelorhood. Your free radical state might be linked to the reason behind ozone layer depletion or the cause of recent Chennai floods. Your Vivah cheerharan becomes the tax-free source of entertainment for the masses. You may look for a saviour like Krishna but if your Krishna is not single then chances are the best derision would be from his side.

With God’s grace I hope my brother gets married. He has patiently batted for 4 years like a test match. Twice my family jumped in elation to celebrate his dismissal but the bowler refused to raise the appeal. The ball is in the air this time, I pray for his resounding dismissal.

Nowadays, you are not sure of your marriage till you actually get married. Marriages do have their probation and confirmation.You never know when on your marriage night any Aakash (Amir Khan) comes out of blue and repropose your bride to be. I have seen Dil Chahta Hai . Thrice. “Ki mujhe yakeen hai ki tum janmi ho mere liye, bas mere liye aur mera dharti pe janam hua hai taaki tumse mil sakoon aur agar tum ye apne dil se poochogi to jaan jaogi ki main sach keh raha hoon”. Flat. Done. Fate sealed. Years of perseverance and hard work gone with just a dialogue. Off pack your bags… smile sheepishly say goodbye to the Shalini (Preity Zinta) of your dreams and start searching your next bride to be. See the cheapest matrimonial site and market yourself again. If things seems gloomy and you do not find a better prospect for too many days in a row then the hindi dailys will brighten your hope. Sell yourself among the only coloured pages of hindi daily and I assure you not less than 50 calls a day. Sundays would be all more charming when the flood gates carrying marriage prospects are opened. Thus, your hope will be rechristened and you will get a million reasons to live happily till next weekend.

If your brother or sister is equally interested in your marriage as you are it helps. If not use the power of a dual sim smart phone to develop your clone. Use one number to mediate like the prospect’s brother and the other number as the prospect himself.

And even if it doesn’t help go and watch Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (HDDCS) and hope that the Shalini gets a change of mind and returns to you like the Nandini (Aishwarya Rai) of HDDCS .

Till then Stay Single, Stay Blessed!

Thankyou for reading

Harry Potter and The Battle of Bihar

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Wed, 04 Nov 2015 19:57:00 +0000

Edited from original source Google

Harry Potter and The Battle of Bihar

Bihar has successfully weathered the month long slugfest festival enjoyed thoroughly by the insatiable media. During the same time I bumped across a news about “Harry Potter and the cursed child”, a play revolving around the Potter story 19 years later where it left, scheduled to open at London Theatre in July 2016.

Within seconds the Potter mania engulfed my consciousness and I relived the decade long symbolic association with the wizard as if time travelling in Hermoines’s Time Turner in the Prisoner of Azkaban. But the ever monotonous news updates about Bihar elections unwittingly hooked me to the present.

I tried again to peek into the Hogwarts school and found myself surrounded by muggles all across from Bihar. Muggles from Munger to Darbhanga, Muggles of all castes and religion. I found the wizarding atmosphere full of political colours. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses were now owned by various political parties honing their charms and spells over the muggles. The Tri Wizard tournament from Goblet of Fire is replaced by the democratic election process. Where each party has to place their best wizard forward who can successfully cast the Imperius curse(hypnotising) over the muggles to win over their votes. I was dejected to see the best Witchcraft school turned into a vicious land of power seekers.

In order to seek clarification from Hagrid I ventured into the Forbidden Forest. There I saw our hero, our ordinary boy with whom we all shared a significant part of growing up years. The Boy-Who-Was-Elected with his spect-acular looks and side-swept hair Niti-ease Potter sat dismally with his Philosophers Stone, caressing it gently to become an immortal CM.

He narrated me how he along with Laalo Weasley and Hermoine Gandhi have formed The Muggle Gatbandhan to defend against the Saffron Wizard Lord VadodaraMort. He narrated me how the Saffron Lord’s army have been casting democratically Unforgivabe curses in the land of Bizar-dry.How they once intentionally used the magical spell ‘Accow’ and not the more appropriate ‘Accio’ to summon the cow lovers to their party. How the frequency by which Lord apparates and disapparates between Delhi and Bihar has been troubling him. The intensity of casting charms using theatrical expression and hand gestures mastered by the Lord has done sort of Bombarda Maxima among the muggles.

The verbal duel between Weasley’s Ron Janta Dal (RJD) and Saffron Lord’s Baahar-ki Janta Party (BJP) once dropped so low during a Quidditch game that the Ministry of Magic had to personally reprimand both to maintain the decorum of game.

At another stance, I saw Amit-Dementor Shah sucking happiness out from our boy through many communal spells but the boy successfully casted a Expecto Patronus Bihari spell and won over a million heart.Sadly, Hermoine’s charms were so dull that she did not even qualified for being called a wizard. She was past her best and the Muggles left her rallies to rest.

But, I found the ideals of Albus Dumbledore a.k.a JP in Bihar waning among his followers. The one-who-must-Always-be-named was nevertheless wrong in irresponsibly using his Wizardry powers entrusted upon him by muggles across the nation. But our trio fearless heroes including the Boy-who-was-elected did not fared up to our expectation.

May be the Lord’s ‘Achhe-Din-ka-Dabra’ become the killing spell for the Niti-ease Potter, or may be our boy grabs the ELDER WAND again from the Diagon Alley to become the best wizard born ever. As I recede from my Potterlogy to reality I wish, whoever wins, Bihar gets to rise above its Deathly Hollows.

Thankyou for reading

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 01 Nov 2015 18:13:00 +0000

Diwali ka Diwala

This Diwali make your smartphone shop for you right from the luxury of your home. Or this Diwali go out and shop your heart full on new hero bike. This Diwali just donty shop for you but for your entire family. This Diwali paint your home bright with Asian Paints. This Diwali go broke, bankrupt, get ruined and stay impoverished everafter.

Deepika padukone in Tanishq ad rightly says that for past many years Diwali in her home has not changed. She always gets a jewellery fromm his father. And in the end just as if that would not be enough her mother also has a jewellery which we surely know fromm her expression that it is new. Sure way to get the Diwala out of your father.

Or paint your home not with ordinary distemper or chuna, dig deep into your pocket and have your house painted with nerolac paint or Nerolac ki raunak as asked by Shahrukh khan.

Aur is Diwali khushiyan lle chalo, Cadbury celebrations le chalo. Larger the packet larger the khushiyan lesser the number of choclates. Jao le jao khushiyan. You can either buy ever reliable boondi k buniyan in less than half the price of single chocolate inside the pack.

This Diwali if you are not already famished after month long all special and exclusive sales on amazon, flipkart, snapdeal, jabong, myntra, santra, kaddu, muli etc .com then go celebrate Diwali as you have already did for so long.

Letter From Ravana to Ram

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Thu, 15 Oct 2015 06:00:00 +0000

photo credit: imgion.com

Dear Ram,

Hope you had a wonderful and bombastic 4015th Vijaydashmi celebrations. Or was it 4019th? Having been burnt every year so religiously that I have certainly lost the count of years since we engaged in the battle in Lanka. That was long time ago and together we five have stood the test of time. Yes I am counting in Meghnad , Kumbhakarna and Laxman too . You and your faith are still vibrant while me and the evils, I am said to resemble, still exist. That puts us in stalemate mate!
I really wish that we should have signed a peace accord then or Vibhishna could successfully play a role of mediator rather than enacting like a presstitute as your media does now.

Well who cares for peace, it is all fun that people seek whether watching the Ramlila or clapping while I am lynched…..Oh! did I say that. Sorry, I meant burnt. A slip of thought and my tongue dear. That L word is quite a buzz now a days here in your media that it is giving a tough competition to the more common f word. f ??of course f in lower case is facebook.

It is not only me who drop L word during casual conversation but few days back I found a newly wed wife of a software developer asking her husband through a comment on his facebook wall “ Darling, will you come for lunch today? The software developer might not be interested in regular patta gobhi that her wife eagerly cooked so he replied “ No dear.. you lynch yourself”. That post had 251 likes and 34 shares before the husband clarified that he actually typed lunch but the Auto-Correct mode typed it lynch. I was later updated by Meghnad’s tweet that the couple have settled to divorce after Vijaydashmi. Strange, that people here in your land have lost the sense of tolerance and react over few misquoted words.

Well while we were roaming around your nation observing our creatively crafted into ugly effigies I was really thrilled to watch me having ten heads. Empowered with a smartphone and the notion that daughters can be saved via Selfie with the Daughter, I couldn’t resist to take a Selfie with the Effigy to help me save my effigies from being burnt. My selfie tweet has become latest rave in Pataal Lok. See we too share useless personal emotions like people do on Bhoo-Lok. But sadly my effigies and your daughters still remain vulnerable .

So then I asked Kumbhakarna to schedule a meeting with Arvind Karebawaal to stage a bawaal at Ramlila maidan at Delhi. He was expected to do a bawaal if he is not given a turn to shoot an arrow on our effigies as is the demand by Delhi Ki Junta through him. Guess what? Kumbhakarna kept sleeping and Arvindji coughed his way back home.

As a second option, I thought to request Ravishing Raveesh Kumar of Anti TV, who is busy now a days with his show Ye Jo Mera Bihar hai, to do a Ye Jo Mera Tyohaar hai on the inhuman treatment meted out to me and my family members repeatedly year after year. Although only his mike seems to be more receptive than him while his cameraman always has a tendency to point and shoot any living organism passing nearby but the main subject. But at least it will highlight the apathy of we three. May be some rationalists would return their ration card to stop this barbarism. Or the SC takes a suo motu cognizance and issues a guideline that ‘only He who exemplifies a true Ram like character would be exempted for burning an effigy of the Ravana” Then possibly I may never burn in your nation, Ram.

With best wishes,
Yours truly
Former Lankapati, Ravana
Wish we don’t see each other next year.

Thankyou for reading.

My take on Income Tax return

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 19:36:00 +0000

Its pleasure to file your IT return on the last day. Its valour to defy their repeated reminders through messages and emails. When you delete those messages, when you ignore those emails consider it as your bold declaration of war against a gamut of IT officials who have ruthlessly seized your hard earned money in form of taxes.

But I sort of take extreme care and diligence to file it not on the last day but in the last hour, preferably in the last minute. I want to keep the IT officials pondering till the last minute of the time i have. Its ecstacy to feel that the guy who has deducted almost a month of my salary as income tax is sitting in anticipation on the other side of network biting the last nails he has.Wheteher I will or I’ll not.That may sound weird .But i seek satisfaction in thinking so. The act of filing an IT return is not due compliance but my vengeance towards the IT deptt.When W.H Auden wrote that “ those to whom evil is done do evil in return” I consider he meant an IT return and i completely abide by it.

The whole financial year gets over by playing hide and seek with the IT deptt.If they had their TDS, I had my NPS. If they brandished their cess and surcharge, i countered with my PPF and insurances .

The soulful joy is when you cunningly pluck out your secret move from the pack of cards and surprise them with an extra unreported savings done . A 500 here and a 1000 there saves a 50 here. The refund amount may be small but it gives a paradigm shift to your effort of filing return.The whole idea is not to reveal all your savings in a go and keep a few for the last moment to climb the bandwagon of Tax refunds .

Although the truth is that you can’t change your fate and you can’t change your total tax. But you can fight your fate and you can claim your refund from tax. Its just an alter way of thinking. For full one year a lioness sharpens her claws, works hard and plans and effects a kill. The lion simply comes and carries a major chunk from her kill on the pretext of rule and strength. The lioness is a salaried employee and the lion is IT deptt. To get a tax refund is that moment when you can strike and snatch the meat out of the lions mouth.

A net tax refund makes you feel like an achiever,a shrewd planner who has just turned the table to the other side. So you invest all your lifes accountancy, use all statistics , trignometry or geometry or every rubbish you have read but make sure that in the end you get the hell out of your IT return and get them to pay you back. After all the one who strikes the final blow is the one who wins.

Thankyou for reading

The Parliamentary Entertainment:Last day of Monsoon session 2015

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Fri, 14 Aug 2015 19:55:00 +0000

photo credit: ibnlive.com

Would have wished to be in parliament today
Not that I am a connoisseur of political debates. But be it movies or parliamentary debates entertainment is all I seek. Entertainment is all it was. The last day of monsoon session was never the less than an epic potboiler.

Mallikarjun Kharge tried to inspire like the king of Spartans.He knew the numbers are few but the territory has to be defended.He spoke valiantly.He charged audaciously. HIs courage never faltered him, only his accent did.

So he fired the 7 Questions or the 7-Qs towards towards the government benches.This when the master orator was absent from the battle field. Only he has engineered 5-Ds,3-Ts,6-Ss
etc more succesfully earlier. He has churned out such words from his word processor more faster than can fruit juice by a food processor.

I am afraid someday he may claim that 26 alphabets and 1 to 10 digits are his creation during BJP rule, leaving 0 for Aryabhatta.

Sushma Swaraj resembled a wounded tigress which waited patiently to prowl on the Ra-So prey. The wounds afflicted by the allegations were all out on her face.All she did was wait for her turn. She knew it will come.And When it did she devoured the opposition by impeccably chosen words. Words mastered from her ‘adtees saal experience in Rajneeti’. "RG you are fond of holidaying.On your next holiday go and read the Kaale karname of your family and come and ask your mother Mumma, Quattrochi ko kitne paise diye. Mumma Anderson ko kyun jaane diya tha?" and then "Adtees Saal se Rajniti me hoon...Thirty Eight Years...aur til bhar bhi daag nahi laga".Well these are the dialogues that brews a 100 crore saga entertainer. For that matter Bahubali can be an exception. Sarcasm at its best, she ripped apart Ra-ga with her final onslaught and actually spelt Quid pro quo for him.
On the background the self acclaimed iron man who has seemed to lost all his charisma for the past one year seemed as cold as stone and seemingly trying to decipher greek inside parliament.He pacified Sushma swaraj by patting her back and probably quipped " Beti don’t speak for so long. Nowadays only Modi does so.”

Attack and counterattack.
Rahul Gandhi was in his artistic best when he retorted in equal measure quite confidently

" Sushma swaraj held my hand yesterday and asked Beta kyun Naraaaz ho mujhse.Maine tumhara kya kiya”. I told 'Main apse naraz nahi hoon.Maine aapki aankho me dekha jaise main abhi dekh raha hoon.Main satya bol raha hoon.Aur aapne apni aankhen jhuka li" His words thoughtfuI?Who cares. His mannerism draamatic? Yes it was.I wondered wheteher there'll be an advertisement after his speech -Beta Kuch lete kyun nahi?
Arun Jaitley had his turn too" The problem with Rahul Gandhi is he is an expert without any knowledge". The problem with Arun Jaitley is he always wears a smile, he thinks it makes him look suave but which makes him look all the more cunning.So stop grinning.

Not to forget the continuous din and sloganeering of the congress calling PradhanMantri Hosh me aao...hosh me aao and Pradhanmantri Sadan me aao..sadan me aao and cheer by the BJP members.The epitome of democracy seemed like the epitome of defamation .Kala-dhan was no where to be discussed but the kala-man was all out for us to see.

Narendra Modi tweeted a congratulatory message for Shushma Swaraj as if she had won a national level extempore competition. By tweeting the video link of Shushma Swaraj’s speech he behaved like a father who takes pride in the misdeeds of his spoiled brat and brags it out everywhere.

I wish I get to see such impromptu scripted parliament session in the multiplexes. I will whistle, hoot, shout at each dialogue. I will jeer down with congress-Pradhanmantri chuppi todo, chuppi todo. I will chant along with BJP members. What an experience it would be . Bravo Parliament.

Thankyou for reading.

Indian Railway and Job Satisfaction

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Wed, 10 Jun 2015 19:38:00 +0000

Completed 1.5 yrs as Asst Div Engg and also full probation period with Indian Railways.

Being a part of a system that has shouldered the expectations of an entire population for more than 160 years feels great. I have seen people sacrificing their lives or suffering irreparable injury while performing their duty to keep the route safe for trains. The selfless devotion of people towards the sytem is commendable. People whose single pursuit is to keep the wheel rolling and the giant moving. For me the Moto of Indian Railways is “Keep Moving’. No matter what just keep moving . For this giant machinery has not learnt to stop even in harsh circumstance or an extreme climate. And the fraternity of railwaymen ensures that it serves its only purpose day in and day out safely and promisingly to connect people across region. This is not an ordinary organization. This orgnzn has carried all generations successfully ,literally and physically. For the past 160 years it has catered to all demands, be it individual, political, occupational or religious and is still on track. Some may feel it has failed, but it never has. It has always evolved in better ways. To satisfy the need of 2.3 crore passengers every day and simultaneously making an earning for the entire 13 lakh employees is not a failure. When the endeavour of an organisation is to satisfy million needs at a time then it can’t be termed a failure.

It was during the restoration work after the Muri express derailment on New Delhi - Ald route, two weeks ago, which brought one of the busiest route of IR to standstill that I realised the motive of our organization. I realised that whatever happens, the first objective was to to make it move. There I realised that the satisfaction does not lie in the closed comforts of a luxurious room, not even in owning a brand new car, not also in the cool ambience of a mountain hill being able to pay a five star hotel bill. These are occasional thirst which must be quenched but can never give a feeling of completeness . It was after being awake for continuous 43 hours and at the restoration site for continuous 32 hours I realised the demands of duty. After being baked under the bright noon sun, and washed with the hot dusty winds , with minimal food to eat and only water to rescue that I felt complete and satisfied.

I realised that no work is small ,no system is perfect, no job is complete in itself. The curve of satisfaction in any job represents a sinusoid . Someday its far above while someday its too below. Someday you crave for more while someday you wish it remains as it is. I detest many part of my working schedule. Like many I complain about the facilities as a Govt officer , frown about the job demands , dislike its unnecessary phone calls .But then let the detestable part of this job be the lower half of that elusive satisfaction. For after it brooms you up to the crest which leaves memories for years.

The other day one of my friend in another Govt orgnzn told me that she was proud of Indian Railway. I was just back from an unpleasant late night protocol and didn’t replied to her then. But yes, deep down in our heart , proud is what we feel!

My Woeful Salary and Indias' Budget 2015

noreply@blogger.com (Aayush ) — Sun, 01 Mar 2015 18:12:00 +0000

How can you give 28000 as a salary, that too after working for 3 yrs of overhyped-underprivileged Group A Class I officer service? How on earth does this meagre amount qualify for a salary even? This is what I earned for the past two months. Sadly but truly it is 4000 less than what my Group C staff got this month. At one point I had an urge to borrow some from him in lieu of granting 8 extra leaves . 28K in 28 days of Feb. means I managed to earn only 1000 Rs per day which gives me a feeling of having myself enrolled in MGNREGA rather than working as a Govt officer(Pl add ‘Overhyped’ every time I use this cuss word).

28K is a sum which can swing a Bollywood Maa’s mood away from honest salaried Police officer Ravi to Bangla-Gaadi-Naukar -Chaakar owning criminal Vijay. 2015 is 40 yrs more than 1975. Presuming Ravi owned 1000 Rs per month then and adding an increment of Avg 1000 Rs per yr (considering in b/w pay commissions) he would have earned 41000 in Feb 2015, 13000 more than me. And to admit my mother is no simple, innocent, white suti saree clad Nirupama Roy of 1975 potboiler Deewar. She knows things and she demands things. She rattles of Flipkart by heart. Although she calls it Philip Kaat . Last week she asked me to buy “5 sim wala Aashu Ye Phone ”. It took me 3 google search to decipher her craving for Asus Zenfone 5 and 3 days to convince that 5 is not meant for 5 sim slots.(You guessed it right, Aashu is my nickname)

28000 Man??In hindi its called Atthais Hazaar. Infact in hindi it stinks. Even Tees-Battees hazaar commands some respect in social circle. But atthais hazzaar??Although its not true but in general parlance of Bihar,UP Afsar gets Assi (80) hazaar and a Peon gets Paitees (35) hazaar. Where does Atthais fit into it??Bandhua Mazdoor!

I thought Jaitley baba with a mandate of 282 would be heartful enough to part away some amount from Govt coffers as bonus for Holi/Diwali to officers too. I waited for this announcement with bated breath and dog’s curiosity during his budget presentation. But finally all he did was to move away on his Elephant slowly and surely.

Thankyou for reading.