A niche of my own

Watercooler Tidbits 2nd Nov 2011 - Sahib, Bibi aur Ghulam

2011-11-02T06:18:00.000-07:00

Some events that happen almost feel random and out of place. Even if you want to justify such occurrences with a “lesson-learnt” or “karmic cycle reason”, they still don’t make sense enough for one to “feel at home” or feel complacent. These events are normally very small, almost negligent, in all respects, whether duration, after effects and even impact. But the brain remembers it so well. As if, “it meant a lot”. As if, there was some learning which wasn’t assimilated. But, what?

On the contrary, the “big events” make the drama of one’s life and everything good or bad, is somehow or the other “made to associate” with. The brain commendably, links memories so tactfully that the poor thinker is never out of the vicious circle of “thinking”. That gives most of us, our favorite pass time, especially for certain people (which includes me) who otherwise don’t fancy a hobby or a skill. But those small events, those really puny moments, I don’t get those. I don’t know why they stick. You try not to think about them and inadvertently you are already thinking about them. That brings us to question if there is any real meditation possible on Earth. In the purest and truest sense? I say yes, not because I have experienced or rather embodied it, but for the simple reason (and fact) that if there is copious amount of literature documented about it, there has to be some truth in it.

This makes me wonder if anything documented, stemmed from truth. Will it be possible to trace the truth? Ever? Think about the Mahabharata, for instance. How would one find out the truth behind or in it? For now, I rely only on my conviction, which somehow never deceives me, until yesterday, when it decided to take me on a jolly good ride. The belief system I held (and I think I still hold the same) was challenged and ushered me to a place of complete discomfort where nothing I saw was known.

How did I land myself in such a situation, I keep thinking in amusement! It wasn’t so hard actually. I just watched one of Guru Dutt’s classics, “Sahib, Bibi aur Ghulam”, which is otherwise a documented story. Yes, it’s “Bibi” and not “Biwi” as most Hindi watchdogs would advocate. Guru Dutt was known to be an unorthodox movie maker. He experimented with almost every aspect of cinematography. Unfortunately, most of his movies received their due only after his death, long after, the cinema fraternity actually “matured”. If one has watched any of his movies, one can see evidently, the stark contrast. But of course, every movie has its own standing and comparisons or “reviewing a movie”, is not where I mean to go. Nevertheless, reading the wiki page of Guru Dutt is recommended.

“Sahib, Bibi aur Ghulam” is about as the same suggests, about an employee (somehow using “servant” seems devoid of empathy, although correct) named Bhoothnath and his wealthy employers, the Chaudhuri couple. The role of Bhoothnath is played by Guru Dutt himself. Rehman plays the role of “Chote sarkar” and Meena Kumari plays “Choti Bahu”. We have Waheeda Rehman play the role of Bhoothnath’s wife, Jabha.

The backdrop is that of a British-ruled India’s “Calcutta”, the society torn apart by strong dogmas. Wealthy Zamindaars cheat the poor off their land, rendering the latter to be completely at the mercy of the former. The wealthy and the rich competing amongst. Different factions of rebels and freedom-fighters waging their own wars against the British Raj.

The state of women, in every sense and every spectrum of that society, was sad. The best a woman could do was to get married to a wealthy man and save herself from falling into the dungeons of filth. If lady luck smiled on her, her husband would wander “less beseeching love”.

The drama begins with Boothnath’s entry into the scintillating palace of the Chaudhuri’s. He finds shelter here and gets a job at the Mohini Sindoor Karkhana. The company makes vermillion powder, “which when smeared on the forehead by married women, made their wishes come true”. Why would this be worth mentioning? Well that would unfold in a bit. Boothnath meets Jabha (the company owner’s daughter) here and I’m not sure if it was love for him. She surely, fell for him after a few tiffs.

The first 30mins are lavishly spent on beautifully carving the background for the aftermath; the audience is left to wonder if there are any Sahib and Bibi, at all. But once the page turns, the importance of building that mindset is understood. Impeccable style of the director, Abrar Alvi.

Chote Sarkar normally returns home sloshed and is helped to his room by his personal attendant, Bansi. His wife, Choti Bahu who comes from a rather poor family, has been well indoctrinated to believe that her life is useless because of the lack of love/ attention from her husband. She decides to use Mohini Sindoor with the hope that she may be able to “free her husband” from the shackles his illegitimate lover. Thus, she approaches Boothnath, with some help from Bansi.

The first show of Meena Kumari, decked up from head to toe, brings awe not only in Boothnath but also in the audience, rendering both speechless. She looks gorgeous, even in the black and white print of the movie. Thus builds up a strange relationship of respect, admiration and slight ownership for Boothnath. He cares for his mistress more than Jabha, who he “thinks” he loves. Every wish of Choti Bahu, would be taken as his command.

To please and lure her husband to be with her, Choti Bahu decides to have alcohol, which grows into a habit and leaves her own on her death bed. She tells Boothnath to get her a bottle which he refuses at first, but then gives in to the pressure.

Change of job and strangeness of events in Boothnath’s life, make him go away for a while to another city. When he returns, the once, most-talked-of, beautiful palace he had seen, vanishes in thin air to house a grotesque structure. The times had changed. The people once smitten by the wealth of the Chaudhuris’ had turned their backs and gone looking for better pastures.

Chote Sarkar was now bed-ridden and Choti Bahu was still an alcoholic. Her state was pitiful and yet she looked lured by the false hopes. She asks Boothnath to help her find a certain sage who could cure her husband, which Boothnath readily agrees to.

They take a carriage one night, when her brother-in-law sees them both and thinks that they have an illicit association. He orders his henchmen to kill Choti Bahu. On the way to the sage, Choti Bahu tells Boothnath her last wish; to dress her up like Goddess Laxmi when she dies and smear lot of Sindoor on her forehead, before the last rites. Just then, the henchmen stop the carriage, beat up Boothnath and kill Choti Bahu.

Several years later, Boothnath, now married to Jabha, returns to the fortress, only to find the skull and bones of his Choti Bahu.

Most songs in the movie are quite popular even today. But the only one that really struck me was “Piya aiso jiya mein …”. This song amplifies the veil of illusion that Choti Bahu draws over herself to make her believe that she shared a loving relationship with her husband. It’s an unhappy outcry of sadness.

It is indeed a tragic story, certainly not recommended for the faint-mind.

On hindsight, all I remember is a woman’s angst for her husband, for his attention and love, well portrayed by Meena Kumari. She struggles till the end. Boothnath is a person who thinks he loves a girl (Jabha) but cares and literally owns his Choti Bahu. He has a love for her which is not intimate in nature, but the kind which brings about a maturity, immense respect and profound sense of understanding.

He sees Choti Bahu not as an attractive, good-looking, wealthy woman, but more like a woman who in struggling in her own world of DOs and DON’Ts; trying out ways to “win her husband”. Does our society understand such relationships? Is it mature enough to let be a man and a woman, without naming the relationship? Well, we need to see who makes the society; which is we. So can we, individually, think of a bent of mind which sees everyone with respect? Or are “they” all the centre of our gossip and jokes?

The relationship between Choti Bahu and Bhoothnath is certainly beyond the understanding of an average person. Our paradigms are made so well and fool-proof that we falter even when we have to imagine a loop-hole. Also, when some of us see the loop-holes so clearly, we choose not to speak because of the fear of being the odd-one-out. We have a hard time accepting opinions which don’t match with ours, thus alienating “the maverick”.

Boothnath was very much human and thus his expectations burgeoned without even his knowledge. He had a sense of ownership towards his mistress which didn’t do well for him. But on thinking deeper, the ownership is not like the one most relationships boast of, where possessiveness sprouts and relatively suffocates either of the parties. This ownership just wanted the well-being of his mistress, at all times. It was like an expectation which had no grounds but was there because of the innocence of the character who thought that his authority would bring her back to her sense.

When one hears the title of the movie, undoubtedly, the mind conjures a story where the “Bibi” and “Ghulam” have an illicit relation. Once again, the thought of meditation needs more assessing and questioning. Why? Because, when we can’t move away from our pedagogies, how can we even think of moving beyond them and embody a self, mature enough to meditate.

It is strongly recommended that the one watching this movie should make an attempt to think, rationalize and ponder on the issues touched by the movie. “Some issues may not hold true today”, one may say, but I strongly suggest, you think closer and contemplate if the issue exists no more. If the contemplation brings one in conflict with oneself, there surely is some “healing” required.

Watercooler Tidbits 19th Oct 2011 - Gandhis’ and prejudices

2011-10-19T05:01:00.000-07:00

It’s been two days since I have had no work. The idle mind has these sudden bouts of work-hunger. I don’t know what to do. Somehow, things seem to be moving slow. I resort to writing now because I have been reading quite a bit since yesterday. What I read was probably one of the main reasons which compelled me to write.

It all began with an article on Rahul Gandhi making rounds on the FB. It accuses him of allegedly raping a girl and keeping her and her family in captivity for several days. How far it is true, is something worth investigating. Like the chemical organic reactions, one article led to another. I further went on to read a bit more about his background. After reading a bit more, I found him quite a dull personality, almost a misfit in the “Gandhi-Nehru dynasty”. At a certain parliament session, someone in the newspaper remarked that he lacked the confidence and the commanding tone, expected of an offspring of this dynasty. May be, I am expecting too much. Why should a child be like his parents? So much of pressure on the poor chap, a billion pair of eyes banking on him, to get a high from anything good or bad uttered.

I further read about one of the politicians who could make me turn my head. Indira Gandhi. The contents on the web are copious and there’s only one line in which I could describe the lady. “You can hate, you can love her. But you just can’t ignore her.” I wouldn’t want to be very vocal about my opinions about her. Although, I would like to mention that she is someone I like and admire. From what I read, she came across like an extremely dominating personality but with her own set of insecurities. It seemed, from the material that I read, that she saw her insecurities evidently but put up an extremely strong front to the public, so much so, that most people who hate her, are in reality, somewhere, envious, I guess. Reading about her, makes one look at the self. How is she different from any other person around?

She is accused and uttered profanities, at for the Emergency she had declared on the State. I wasn’t born then, but given a chance, would have liked to experience what it means to have an unquestionable, almost autocratic rule in the country where most civil rights are revoked. Khushwant Singh, a known, maverick author, is one who still supports Indira Gandhi’s decision to declare the Emergency. He supports his case well, with chosen words. He mentioned how the turn of events of Operation BlueStar was a shock to Ms.Gandhi, as well. But to be open to a different set of probabilities with a blindfold (of any faction) on is not something that would help one to think further on the subject.

Further, I read about Feroze Gandhi; better known as Indira Gandhi’s husband. Reading about him was a complete pleasure. From the material I read, he seemed to be a courageous man who had the spine to stand against Jawaharlal Nehru, his father-in-law, thus jeopardizing his personal life. He was almost abandoned by the Parsi community for trying to nationalise the Tata group since it had reached a monopoly in the country. A simple wiki page on the man, not many words and no high drama, but words enough to point out the actions worth remembering, such is his story.

After reading about all the Gandhis’, aforementioned, reading further about Mahatma Gandhi could only, in a way, complete the circle. It was shocking to learn that the Mahatma at one time did nurse feelings of a fanatic racist against the Blacks, whom he openly, referred to as “Kaffirs”. The imprisonment in South Africa though, brought about a change in the person behind the persona. He turned rather sensitive to all sentient beings. Many people have criticized him for not proactively “saving the lives of Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sahdev”. Until today, I had known the same fact. But truth or knowledge (or do we call it Wiki-truth?), comes to those who seek it and I was destined to be of different opinions, as of this day. He did try “commutating the death sentence given to the trio.” I had always respected the Mahatma and the revelation increased my respect further. Many factions still think he should have probably tried to avert their death sentence. But somehow, the consideration that the trio belonged to a different school of thoughts (“Freedom through violence and by force”), contrary to that of the Mahatma, is never taken into account, in spite of which, the Mahatma had put in efforts to reduce or alter their death sentences. On one side, they hate the Mahatma “for promoting himself as the Hero” and on the other, they still expected him to be “the Saviour”. All the weblogs and articles I have read about him are in entirety, just people’s interpretations, which are indeed, biased at most times. Thus, my perceptions, since are based on these facts, are not all first-hand.

This makes me smile, in wonderment.

I don’t know why I chose this “path” to read about the Gandhis’. But I do realise, that I have grown a bit to have a sort of discernment of my own. I see now how I segregate people’s personal life and public life. I think the reading was important, for me as a being. I needed to look at how the facts, true or false, bring about a reaction in me, how they make me feel and what is that in me, that got offended or complimented.

A witty quote of Einstein’s says, “Few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social environment. Most people are even incapable of forming such opinions.” I ponder on this, self-contemplating and further trying to figure out about where I stand as of now.

Watercooler Tidbits 4th Oct 2011

2011-10-04T03:16:00.000-07:00

Continuing from where I left, yesterday; I mean, the writing, not the contemplation. The latter sticks and grows on me now, bound to me, becoming a "hobby" I indulge in. I don't mean analysis. I mean looking and observing the ways in which I behave.

Just to be entertained for some time, I walked to the water-cooler today. Refilling my bottle was the pretext, of course. There was a group of newly joined employees; we like to them "Freshers". The talks bubbled with energy. They discussed about Pune dust and traffic, the evening hang-out and then the appraisal cycles and their managers. Some had a very chirpy way of addressing their "problems" as they call them. While other, chose to literally, drag every word they pronounced and made the issue sound like the most melodramatic epilogues to a Shakespearean poems. To each his own. I respect that. But I kept wondering about the variety of ways we approach a situation. We give so much of importance to a "promotion" or "appraisal" which means, almost nothing, outside the perimeter of the bureau. The sentence, I just formulated, made me laugh, on reading it.

Well, the water-cooler for me, right now is one of the best places to be. I get to see the behaviours that other have, in me. I literally identify myself. Sometimes, judging and other times, criticizing. The former stands like an undying love while the latter is like the joker that makes me laugh.

Today's highlights weren't the Freshers. They were actually, a couple of experience folks, discussing their chances, for an onsite. Well, the onsite, for most of us, is a big door of opportunities which we try to cash every single bit. And, every person has his or her own reasons for an onsite. All well-justified reasons.

The protocol is not to reveal names. So, Guy1 (less experienced), Guy2 ("been there, done that") and Guy3 (“Onsite, not again!”) are my best picks.

Guy1 - "I think I will tell my manager to initiate my visa. I need to travel."

Guy2 - "That's good. You should. I remember my days of struggle."

Guy1 - "Oh! Then you could help me with a few suggestions."

Guy2's accent had not changed. From Hindi, he switched to English. He pulled and stretched every word, rolling the "R"s and using more of "Well, you know..."

Guy2 - "It's all about "selling" yourself."

Guy1 - "What??? How do I..."

Guy2 puts out a "been there, done that" huff and puff.

Guy2 - "Dude! I don't mean that. We are all in a corporate world. We deal with all these big people and we need to make our presence felt. Else they will not consider you. You need to let them know what you have. Tell your manager that my aspirations are ... Use catchy words like "long term plan", "career roadmap", "resource re-vamp", "insurgence of new technology in the market", "client satisfaction", "customer handling" etc." blah blah blah

Guy1 - "Dude, you rock! Boy! I'm so glad I spoke to you."

Accent engraved in every single consonant and vowel this time.

Guy2 - "Sure man! You'll do it. Barge into the cabin confidently and grab what belongs to you."

Guy1 - "How is it at onsite?"

Guy2 - "Boy! It is amazing. We do like real fun things. And I mean, REAL FUN THINGS. I stayed there for like, good 6 months and understood the "client expectations" and got a "good opportunity to polish my managerial skills". It felt after all, I had reached a place, I belonged to."

Guy1 receives a call and excuses himself. Enter, Guy3.

Guy2 - "Hey Guy3, wasssssup man?

Guy3 - "Dude! I think I may have to travel again for a few days. They have a resource crunch out there. Damn it! Hey you wanna give it a shot? Again?"

Guy2 - "Naah! Six months were good for me, with all that work pressure and those ranting folks. May be after a year."

Guy1 returns.

Guy1 - "Hey Guy2, can we continue from where we left?"

Guy2 - "Sure man!"

Sadly for me, I was caught red-handed listening to the interesting conversation, because I foolishly laughed.

I have a few sincere friends, fortunately for me, who have shown the real picture of the coveted onsite. I want it, but I am not sure if I am ready for the entire package. Yet.

And hey, dear Managers, if you are reading this, I am kind of open to all those jargons mentioned above. Really!

TO BE CONTINUED

Watercooler Tidbits 3rd Oct 2011

2011-10-04T02:25:00.000-07:00

"Man is a social animal" is what I have been taught since the time, I don't remember anymore. So what exactly does this statement mean. What I understand from this is that, one, Man is after all, an animal, thus savage and two, he "needs" a society with certain dogmas to lead a "normal" life. "Need" and "normal" are so relative but I don't intend to delve into those perspectives.

So, we agree, that Man is an animal and he's social. Somehow the "animal" part got me thinking more. I take a tangent now, knowingly. I think men are categorized as animals because there is some part within us which is never at peace. Obvious questions, not at peace with what, which part, why, how. Not at peace with the present state of affairs. Which part? I personally believe it's the mind but somewhere that answer does not satiate. Well, I see how I just embodied "not at peace with the present state of affairs". How, is a million dollar question which I can't answer. Why, because the mind, by our present reality, is so well trained to look into the future that the future always looks better and more promising than the present.

Anyways, a deeper thought into the discontentment, previously discussed, somehow made me think about the behaviour patterns we endorse now. Our inferiority complex, our insecurities, our jealousy! These are the outcomes of "something", "which WE THINK, we lack". The "something" which is the causal, is a Pandora's box. It is worth every nano-second to explore it, but it requires one to just "be", that is to say, it requires contemplation; which I think is the most difficult task, for me, as of now, because I prefer "the jazz" to "the silence".

Furthermore, these thoughts, very well, propel our body to have disorders, in ways, we may not like to look at. For example, eating, sleeping disorders. Well, gossip is also a disorder. How? We feed an "empty bowl" (which only FEELS empty) with the tidbits. At this point of time, I have a million questions to ask. Why, how, when. Although I just know the answers, and have not "felt" them, I shall not "papa preach".

So, gossip stays for now, as the best, cheapest form of entertainment for most of us. May be because an old adage brainwashed us to believe that "knowledge is power". If you are working for a modularised bureau, then canteen, the next cubicle or the water-cooler are the best places you would find a cue to pacify that sudden rush of "knowing" which is also called "vampire-feeding" or better yet, gossiping, for us, laymen.

A few days back, I went to the water-cooler bay, which has huge windows, in our office, to bask in a bit of sunlight, since I felt too cold because of the air-coolers. It was nice and silent. I could hear only the sound of the water-drops from the water-cooler. I stood at the window, which was tinted and showed my reflection in a bluish hue. Suddenly, two women rush there and seat themselves on the bean bags. To maintain anonymity “to respect the privacy”, let’s call them Lady1 and Lady2. The ladies begin their talk with a few giggles. They were married, I assumed, from their discussion on husbands to cooking in the morning. After a hush-hush talk on "something", they talk about their mother-in-laws.

Lady1 - "My mother-in-law is an amazing woman. She did... for us, she maintains a decorum at home. My father-in-law consults my mother-in-law on almost all matters."

Lady2 - "My mother-in-law is the most jovial lady you'll find. She cracks jokes at the drop of a hat. We are so happy when our mother-in-law is here."

Lady1 - "That is amazing. How come she is so humorous? She must have had a great life."

Lady2 - "Oh yes, she laughs at anything and everything, anyone and everyone. She is such a happy person."

Lady1 - "Wow! So when is she going to come next, to see you?"

Lady2 - "Well, that's the thing. She is coming next week" {with a grimace}

Lady1 - "So? Aren't you happy?"

Lady2 - "I am. But you know it is kind of tough for me to handle her sometimes. She instructs me to do everything her way."

Lady1 - "Oh yeah! I know what you mean."

Lady2 - "No you don't. She gets irritating and then I have a string of fights with my husband. Why can't she let me just be? Why does she have to laugh at me? Every time!"

Lady1 - "But isn't that good... she is humorous, right?"

Lady2 - "Oh come on, is that really humour, when I am asked as to why my husband should heat the milk in the morning while I get the clothes ready."

Lady1 – “My mother-in-law is the same. She cribs about almost everything about me. Including the food I eat.”

Lady2 – “Hell! One shouldn’t marry!”

Lady1 – “Yes, but you know we HAVE TO.”

Lady2 – “I know...”

Blah, blah, blah...

Marriage is a big, big question. To add to the “solved-mystery”, how difficult it is to accept a whole bunch of new relations though marriage, for both men and women. And tolerate or rather succumb to the “get-togethers”. Then, this had me wondering if I can genuinely, ever appreciate anyone. If I do, do I criticize them, after a while.

To be continued...

The story of the Red Nail Paint

2011-09-08T10:55:00.000-07:00

The place I was born was as unknown then
As it is now to me,
You ask "So why do you decide to pen"
"If you don't know this, silly ?"
But what would I do if my mommy,
Herself had no clue.
She left me in this place named Tommy,
Hilfiger known by few!

Picked, dumped, dazzled, hassled,
Every time, opened eyes to see myself shackled
Sometimes saw no light for days,
Does the Sun really have rays?

By big glassy windows was I kept,
Laying there like a vegetable inept.
Ladies, young and clad-young, walked by,
And I kept wondering why that "Sigh".

Some thither and gave me a look, so close
At times was conscious and other times got a marijuana dose!
The good days were not to be forever, I learnt,
The separation from the counter girl, my heart burnt.

Again packed, wrapped, thrown and sacked,
Drifted in a gush, so strong, compassion lacked.
The new place had no window, no velvet to lay,
A box so cold and plastic, that I even heard a donkey bray!

As days passed, I got sure, I was here now for eternity,
Like others in the box, old, brazened, of my fraternity.

And then one day they hopped along,
Just chirpy and bubbly, like a Scottish song.
They picked me over the others and saw how I performed,
"Oh take me home, please take me now, I am perfect, not deformed."

Prayers heard at last, I was somewhere I could call home,
She was lanky, tardy and sometimes even wore dresses Chrome!
Nevertheless, I was her first and I loved it that way,
Clueless! She gave me looks but had nothing to say.

The gong had struck and she picked me to play with,
I would finally know who I am, surrendering to no myth.
When on her nails finally, my past didn't matter,
Now sunken in my truth, no change of seasons, me deter.

2011-08-18T01:25:00.001-07:00

"What is it?"

2011-08-18T01:14:00.002-07:00

What does one do when all of it seems fake,
No wine, no cheese will help, nor cake.
A thunderous silence within feels so real,
People around look cool, say "No big deal!"

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

The big, "real", unjust world around I see,
While one suffers in hunger, the other's on a shopping spree.
Where one endures the scorching heat, the other is basking for a tan,
One making dough by a flinch, the other only thinks of a "surviving" plan.

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

Why is the agony not affecting me enough,
Am I bad, cruel, evil and innately rough?
What is it that I am missing here, are they like "keys",
At least tell me "You can find it!", it'll bring within peace.

But no! You don't do that, I ask, "WHO YOU ARE that I speak to"
"What is it that you understand? English, Spanish or Hebrew?"
Still no reply, I am tired of finding where this is leading
I'm questioning, listening, thinking and heeding

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

The REFLECTION says,
"Look within and you will see"
"Why don't you ask, "Who is this "Me"?"
"What you see outside is all you have inside"
"It's high time! Sneak no more, don't hide"

I say,
"I don't like this answer, I am telling you now"
"I am used to logic and only to God, I bow?"
Ah! I see this bias, I accepted, since the first day,
When I "want" soemthing I go "outside" and pray?

And yet, the question lingers,

"What is it, what is it?" I keep asking in vain,
The Unknown is fearful and something winces in pain.

Marked "Sold"

2011-06-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

From cradle to coffin, as I was told,
Life meant “surviving” till one is old.
Learning and struggling is the path to gold,
Like one had a price tag and marked “Sold”.

The basics of life were defined as food, clothing, shelter,
“Achieve this!” even if the mind goes helter-skelter.
And when one has “achieved”, it still doesn’t stop there
The competition engulfs all, even if one says “I don’t care!”

Then there is “someone” who preaches the “path to life”
“You can’t question Him; you can’t have a mental strife!”
“Money is no good, looks don’t matter; competing is bad”
“Give it all to Him, even if that makes you sad.”

One tries to make happy this end and that end,
One cheats, “survives” and lets his integrity bend.
Day by day killing the INNATE BEING within,
Just to satisfy someone “who is recording a sin”.

Then one fine morning, nothing makes sense
One looks deeper to see emptiness intense.
The powers that be deem one unsocial and unfit
One has to prove his “character” with an affidavit?

One wonders “I followed all the rules and did as “they” said”
“Why am I questioned if I take an off and once decide to be on bed”
“I “survived”; I struggled; I played blindfolded as I was told”
{The reply}
“Well, YOU didn’t question then and hence marked “Sold””

The wait for the end… Part 10

2010-11-08T11:44:00.000-08:00

It is said that Time waits for no man. Yet, there are instances where people have said “Time just stopped right there, for me!” Time is one concept, so incomprehensible; and yet so real. There have been researches done on time; innumerable theses, philosophies, satires and even innuendos written. It has gained the status of the “Fourth dimension”. So to say, no stone has been left unturned to prove its existence. But then, why oh why, does one have to consciously think of it and only then realize its existence.

A 50 year old man never ceases to fall in love with a high power bike or a posh SUV. A woman never, and that means NEVER, feels she has grown old. I wonder how difficult it is for Time, this time personified, to prove himself/ herself again and again. Imagine the effort he/she has to put in! Then, there comes a small child that tries to light a cigarette and pretends to be an adult, and puts all the effort of Time, yet again, in the drains. But the concept is captivating. So much so, that even when Einstein had to explain relativity to the layman, he had to resort to Time as a tool. He said, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity.” Well, physicists have always romanticized Time, time and again.

Put aside all the jazz and the philosophy, what is time meant for a person who is waiting? What is its’ significance to him/ her? Isn’t the concept delusional sometimes? Especially when he does not know what he’s waiting for. And yet, the wait is very persistent and pertinent.

The New Year had just passed by. Neeti didn’t expect his call. He hadn’t called her for her birthday. She returned the favor by not calling him on his. But it wasn’t that easy for her. She had to put in great efforts to control herself; so much so that she had to leave the city and go to some place far away, like a self-imposed vacation.

The first week of January is always, and will always be, full of excitement. The city sparkled with all sorts of decorations. The malls spared nothing to bewitch their scapegoats. Some offices and bureaus unsparingly gave leaves to their employees. The fervor stays till the first weekend and sometimes even beyond among the pompous souls.

Neeti had spent the New Year at the Cowasjee’s. The lady of the house, Mrs. Cowasjee, had prepared a lot of dishes for dinner and Mr. Cowasjee, for a change, contributed by smiling. “It is probably self-abnegation”, she wondered. Neeti thoroughly enjoyed their company. But flashes of old memoirs kept teasing her mind on and off. She showed no signs on her face and when Mr.Cowasjee asked her about her Year’s Resolution, she politely replied, “Uncle this year I’m going to get back all that I lost.” The answer made the old man not blink for 3 complete seconds. The look on his face was then reassuring. He replied nothing and just patted her head.

The seasoned and elderly folks have different ways of doing things. This gesture of his was interpreted in two ways by our heroine. One, she thought may be the pat was like a blessing. Then two, she felt probably the pat was the gentleman’s way of saying “I have seen the world… Been there done that.”

The entire second week was very hectic for Neeti. O’deth wasn’t keeping well and Neeti took care of her. O’deth didn’t have any room-mates and stayed alone. One day, at O’deth’s place, while Neeti was preparing spinach soup, O’deth asked her “Any updates?”
Neeti said, “I have a feeling there is, but in reality, I guess, there isn’t. A baby of my delusions, does that fit in here?”
“And Kashif?” O’deth was careful and almost whispered.
“He calls and I don’t receive.” The answer was meticulously delivered.
“Really? And he is fine with that. I’m surprised you’re still alive!” O’deth laughed at the small joke she tried to make.
“Yeah! Very funny! Come on Ody, he is a bad person… He’s a gangster.”
“No further comments darling! You’re intelligent, eh? And about good or bad, only if one’s profession decided that…”
O’deth then went on in a whisper “I wish you see through the tinted glass…”

The conversation ended but the ends seemed still loose. Neither of the girls were satisfied with the dialogue.

Neeti reached her place by 10.30pm. She threw her stuff on the table and literally pounced on the sofa. Her head was aching and her back hurt badly. Within 3 minutes, her cell phone rang almost startling her to her feet. She saw the screen. “Kashif calling…”
“Hi Kashif!”
“Neeti… aap ne mera call uthaya… Shukriya”
“God! Aap ne kyun call kiya? Aap jaante ho na main nahin aap se baat karna chahti.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain?”
“Kashif yeh mumkin nahin hain. Sorry”
“Main force nahin karunga par main chahta hun aap milo”
“Force… hahahahaa… yeh tho aap ka favorite shabd hoga, angrezi ka. Aap ka tho kaam bhi wahi hain.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain.”
Neeti burst out into tears.
“Neeti, kya hua? Batao mujhe. Usne firse takleef di kya?”
“Usne takleef dene ki zarurath tho thi hi nahin na Kashif… Mere tho dost hi kaafi the.”
“Neeti main…”
“Kashif main rakhti hun. Mujhe sone jana hain. Please”

No byes were besought. The line went dead. Neeti rushed to her bedroom and dug her face into the pillow. She cried and cried and eventually slept off.

Around 2.00 pm her cell phone rang again. With eyes still closed, she searched with her hand in various directions to locate the piece of cacophony. By the fourth ring, she received the call and …
“Hi Neeti...” It was Aman and he was almost panting.
“Aman… itni raat ko kyun call kiya? What’s the time?”
“Time… does it matter now!”
Neeti sensed queasiness and sat up on her bed and leaned against the wall.
“Aman, are you drunk?”
“Neeti mera bacha… mera shona. This is my last call baby! If you would ever call again on this number, I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed. This number will no more be mine.”
“Kyun? Are you giving up the worldly pleasures and going to Dharamshala.” She barfed venom.
“No my love. I’m not. I have a request Neeti.”
“Request! Wow! I like the sound of that word. You never do that. What is it, Aman?”
“I want to sing a song for you. One last song. Do you have the patience and the courage to listen to this one last song?”
Now this was too much to handle. Call at 2 am, a request, “last”… she was sure something unusual was happening.

“Aman… why are you saying LAST again and again? What has happened?”
“Nothing my love. Nothing. I just want to sing this song for you. Please.”
“Aman, please, tell me what’s going on?”
Aman replied nothing. Just a sigh, loud enough for the other end to hear.
Ever noticed how people build the edifice of suspense gradually with a large helping of drama.

“Last time you called and said some stuff like this. I didn’t get the head or tail of it. What are you upto? Please tell me. Aman? ”
Aman was crying by now. Neeti listened to him weep patiently and tried to calm him.
“Aman, what’s the problem my love? Tell me. We’ll work it out. We can. You know it. Tell me baby. Please.”
Notice the change in theme. From sarcasm to sincere pleads.
“Neeti its just…”
“What baby? What is it? Are you disturbed? Do you want me to come there? Haan?”
A wallowing sound and then, “Neeti I’m getting married.”
Silence. The sound of someone swallowing hard. The effect of the other panting.
Neeti broke the lull after 10 seconds.
“When?”
“In 8 days.”
Aman was still weeping.
“Aman do you know what you’re saying? Are you saying this to hurt me haan? You’re drunk too.”
“Neeti I don’t have the courage to call and tell you all this, otherwise. I need to drink to call you.”
“Well… why have you called me now? Oh yeah, by the way, congratulations. May God…”
“Neeti I’m sorry. Please. My parents and my grand mom wanted this and I just abided.”
The tone was humble. “Hmmm… Who’s the girl?”
“Haven’t met her. They chose…”
“And you said “Yes”. When did all this happen?”
“I was incapacitated. I had no choice. It happened a few months back.”
“Why are you telling me, though?”
“Neeti I want you to know…”
“Wow! Aman. And here you call me so that you don’t have the guilt anymore about not telling me.” She almost stung back.
“Neeti what guilt? Come on. We had broken up a long time back. Remember?” Aman was defensive now. Neeti noticed the change in his tone. No crying this time.
“Yeah. That is why I waited for you for 2 years. And you knew it Aman. You very well knew it. That is why this call today. Because you are guilty. You are so guilty Aman. You are so ashamed and I hear the contempt.”
“Neeti I couldn’t help it. My grand mom is not well and she wants to see me married. My parents wanted that too. And I had to do things for my family.”
“And you didn’t resist. So you wanted that too.”
“I don’t know.”

Something just died within Neeti. She felt like her body was only a vestige.

“Yes, that’s the classic answer you’ve given me all these months whenever I asked you.”
“See Neeti I want you to be happy. Just be happy okay.”
“Aman do you even know what you’re saying? You goof-up with someone and then make the person wait for you for 2 years and then just marry off…”
“Neeti I didn’t goof up. I told you that I wasn’t prepared.”
“Hmmm and here you are more than prepared. Directly for marriage. Aman I’m sorry, I’m cutting the call now. I wish you all the luck.”
“Neeti, baby please listen to me.”
“There is no point Aman.”
“I still have 8 days. I can do something.”
“Aman when there was time, you didn’t. Now, the milk is spilt. And frankly, I don’t think you have guts anymore. You need to be man enough!”

Neeti cut the line. Aman kept calling her again and again. She realized he was drunk completely. She switched off her phone. But sleep betrayed her. She sat up, wallowing and watching out of her window.

3 am and still Mumbai was awake. Her tears never stopped. All her past came right in from of her. She saw the first time she met Aman. The lunches and dinners they had. The laughs and tears they shared. Everything.

The dawn never happened for Neeti. She was awake and for once, Time made no sense. Break of dawn was just like a God’s way of physics. Her eyes were red and swollen. In that one night, her life had turned topsy-turvy. She lost weight and her face was quick to show the signs.

Even at 7am in the morning, she was at the same window; watching the oblivion. Nothing made sense anymore. The empty feeling that crept in her was here to stay and that she knew.

At 10am she switched on her cell phone. She got a series of message alerts. All were from her boss Sushant, inquiring about her absence in office.

Not a single call, from the person she waited for.

She had a bath and again sat at the same window. This time, no tear flowed. The eyes blinked once in a while, which seemed to be the only sign of life in the puny little body, sitting by the window, watching something or may be nothing, on the busy lanes of Mumbai.

She heard a knock on the door and pretended as if she had not heard it. The knocks turn louder. Gritting her teeth, she unfolded her crossed legs and walked up to the door, took a deep breath and opened it…
“Neeti…”

The woman gave no reaction or response. Her eyes met the eyes of her guest for a split second. She turned back and began walking towards her bed-room. She laid her steps apathetically. Her head tilted to the left.

“Neeti yeh kya ho gaya? Ankhein dekhin apni?” Kashif pushed his way inside her apartment. He noticed her bag lying on the sofa. The windows were open. It was all so not-Neeti.

Neeti shrugged and walked into her bed-room, sat on her ruffled bed and again watched outside the window. Kashif followed her. He was hesitant to enter her room but then realized it wasn’t the time for awkwardness and formalities. Something had gone terribly wrong and he had to know.

He sat next to her and looked at the woman watching outside;no emotion in those pretty but tired eyes.

“Kya hua Neeti? Batao. Bolo bache.”
No answer.
“Kuch nahin bologe tho pata nahin chalega na. Kuch tho batao.” He hesitantly, kept his hand on her shoulder. Neeti pushed his hand off but the human touch, sent a vibe down her body and had her tears flowing again. There was no wallowing or even weeping for that matter. Just gushing tears. Unstoppable. No sobs heard, no eyes blinked.
“Bolo… please”

“Uski shaadi ho rahi hain Kashif.”
“Par woh tho keh raha tha ki…”
“8 din mein… Usne call kiya tha raat ko.”
“Neeti… aap please matt ro… Main use call karta hua… Uska dimag thikane lana padega.”
“Abh kya fayda. Uski marzi bhi tho shamil hain uss mein.”
“Par woh itne mahine aap se… Neeti aapne do saal intezaar kiya. Aise kaise jaane doge aap? Main usse tik karta hun.”
“Nahin.” A deep breath. “Abh bas. Bhagwan ne mera kaafi mazak bana liya. Abh aur nahin yaar. Thak gayi main. Do saalon se apne aap ko roz jhoot bolti thi ki woh aa jayega. Aa jayega. Par abh jo hua hain, acha hi hua. Sach tho saamne aa hi gaya. I at least know what the reality is. Unlike before where I only guessed and wondered and hoped and…”

“Koi aise kaise kar sakta hain yaar? Neeti hum usse call karenge. Woh piya hoga.”
“Nahin. Mujh mein baat karne hi himmath nahin bachi. Isse zyada nahin bardasht kar sakti yaar main. Please.”

Neeti kept talking about random things; her tears never stopped. Kashif listened and kept cursing himself for being so helpless. A few hours later, after making sure that Neeti had her lunch, Kashif left. On his way out, he turned back and said to her,
“Neeti… Irada pakka hain? Call Karen ek baar?”
“Nahi Kashif… pakka” Those eyes spoke copious things and were confident.
“Fir Neeti, shayad abh intezaar khatam hua. ”
Neeti shot him a wide-eyed look. Those words rang.
And after a sigh, she asked, “Sahi mein?”

Kashif looked at her quizzically and in a while, left. He kept wondering about that question Neeti had posed.

7 days passed by. Neeti had made efforts to put things behind. She joined back work. Ramu and O’deth knew, from her of course, about the latest. They tried cheering her up almost every day. Kashif met her almost 3 times in a day and took her out for dinners, whenever she was willing.

That morning, Neeti woke up and the first thought that rushed to her mind was that it was Aman’s wedding day. She decided to show no remorse and fool herself every second of that day.
She took Ramu along to the Marine drive and opened her bag to display cards, dried flowers, burst balloon pieces, gift wrappers. He watched her closely. She placed a paper on the pavement and put on the stuff on it and set the entire collection on fire.

No words exchanged.

They both went then for a coffee.

6 months had passed. The trees had gained new leaves. Café bistros were renovated. The government had changed and newer promises were made. But Mumbai refused to reacted, in any way different than usual. It still continued with the same pace. Not missing a single heart beat.

One day Neeti and Kashif decided to meet up for dinner. A small, yet chic, place in South Mumbai was the venue. Neeti looked, of course, gorgeous.
“Aap ache lag rahe ho” He smiled, warmly.
“Acha” She retorted, a perky tone.

Then there was silence. An uncomfortable one, for Kashif.

A sigh and “Aage kya plan hain?”
Neeti looked at him surprised and burst out laughing.
“Kashif aap tik ho na? Kya puch rahe ho?”

He laughed too in self-pity and spoke no further. The tempo was all right. They left the restaurant with nothing to look back to.

The following day was exptremely hectic for Neeti. Kashif insisted on meeting and they met again. He asked her if she would like to sit by the sea on Marine Drive for some time. And, as expected, she didn’t reject the offer.

They both sat watching the dark sea. Huge waves hit the shore and the breeze jumped around like a peppy child. The peace was broken by the sudden ring from her phone. The number was familiar.
“Hello?”
She heard a a very deep breath followed by “Neeti…”
“Aman…” Kashif watched her face change colours.
“I made a mistake. Honey, my baby. God! I was crazy.”

He kept jabbering.
“Aman, wait! I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“My love I am sorry. I can’t live with her. I want you. Only you.”
Neeti was flabbergasted. “Aman please hang up. I can’t…”
“Neeti I love you gosh!”

Those words killed her. She had waited for two years and they came only after they lost their meaning and essence.

She heard his cries and then finally said, “Sorry Aman. Take care and goodbye.”

She cut the line while he kept pleading her.

She looked at Kashif who seemed satisfied with the current development. They both didn’t discuss it, but smiled at each other, and kept looking at the sea.

“Neeti aap ko yaad hain maine aap se kaha tha ki aap mujhe ache lagte ho?” That was sudden and totally unexpected.
Neeti was a bit alarmed but showed no signs of it. The herald made her prepare mentally.
“Haanji”
“Aur main abhi bhi aap ko bohot zyada pasand karta hun.”
“Okay”
“Neeti… aap samajh nahin rahe ho.”
“Yes.”
He looked the other side, took a deep breath and turned back to look at her. She was still looking at him, waiting.
“Mujhse shaadi karoge?”
She looked into his eyes. “Nahin.” Softly.
“Itni jaldi jawab dene ki zarurath nahin. Thoda waqt lelo.”
She took his hands in hers. “Kashif, aap ko jawab pata tha.”
He looked down. “Haan”
“Fir kyun?”
“Kuch sawaalon ka jawab nahin hain mere paas.” He looked helpless. His eyes could cry, if granted permission.

The rest of the evening was silently spent.

They reached her place and she invited him. He reluctantly came in and sat down on the messy sofa. The hurt was seen all over his sunken face.

She quickly made them both some tea. She broke the calm.
“Sorry Kashif”

They looked at each other. Each wondering about the other's predicament.
“Tik hain. Kuch nahin kar sakte.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hum dost tho rahenge na?” He almost begged.
“Hamesha… Shayad.”
“Yeh kaisa jawab hua.”
She smiled.

Time goes by its’ own wish and will. She understood her wait had ended when Aman called her this time. That she had meant a lot to him. And she knew that this wouldn’t be his last SOS call. Whereas, Kashif knew part of his wait had concluded but the other part was in Time’s hands. He waited and watched in complete composure.

Doc1.docx

2010-05-29T05:35:00.000-07:00

I just realized how difficult it is to write without having a topic or subject on your mind. In fact, I’ve begun writing this in an MS Word document and have saved it by the default name, Doc1.docx. I still don’t have a title and probably may not get one either, unless I spend substantial amount of time thinking. Thank you Microsoft.

Well, if so is the case, I should have chosen not to write. I would have been better off sleeping, on this lazing afternoon or may be watching any of my favorite movies. I have the option but I still choose to write. And if you have realized, I have completed one paragraph and am about to complete the second, but still nothing particular to write about.

Why does this happen? Why does one feel like writing but have no topic? Well, the way I look at it, I see the bombardment of subjects. This week almost everything under the Sun, has found some way to be associated with me. Not that I mean to give importance to myself. It’s just the dynamics! So many things to talk about, so much so that I don’t know where to begin.

Just to give a direction to this imbecile chain of thoughts, I would like to begin with my office. We’ve completed the Sprint, as they call it. Successfully! A small luncheon party to commemorate the occasion at a nearby restaurant, followed by a gust of meaningless laughs and gags, ensured that we were, after all, a Team, a good one. Notice how the mind finds everything and everyone, good in the ‘good times’. Just yesterday, I remember, having a tiff with a senior person, from this ‘good Team’ and cursing things away to glory. I showed my brave self in front of all the staring pairs of eyes. But once home, I cried my eyes out. You see, the mind is a funny laboratory. One reaction causes another one and the chain continues, like the organic chemistry.

Nothing gave me solace. No indulgence helped.

The next morning, when I stepped into the conference room, the aura had a charm about it. It was all fine and everyone took a big part in the leg-pulling, at every random person.

Anyways, I still haven’t been able to make up my mind about office. So I shall let that be.
I just read what I’ve written so far. Alas! Still, no title, suitable enough. May be, this one is destined to go unnamed. May be, this one may never be read. Would it matter if nobody ever read it? If yes, how? If no, why?

A small documentary named “Einstein’s biggest blunder” revealed to me that his relativity theory, E = mc2, is merely three-paged. I think of this again and again and still come to a conclusion about the ridicule this revelation brings. A bespectacled gentleman in the video said “Einstein gave us many answers but he left us, the scientists, with more problems.” Even the geniuses aren’t spared. But think about the three-paged theory. I’m tempted to call it a booklet, but it would be an understatement, for booklet, of course. He wrote the most admired axiom and explained it, in a way a kindergarten teacher would explain to a three year old, the meaning of education.

This was yesterday, unlike which, today is not at all eventful. One mind-rippling thing that happened is that my Papa sent me a gunny bag of mangoes, the non-hybrid, the authentic Goan Musraad. Papa knows the best. Let’s keep it at that so I can sign off for now.

It all belongs to thee

2010-05-26T11:05:00.000-07:00

This is my land, where I was born,
Richness of wheat, rice and corn.
This is my land where I toddled around,
No worries, no limits to me bound.
This is my land where I played hide-and-seek,
A few missing teeth and a dimpled cheek.
This is the spot I was kissed my first.
Some new feelings, then felt not nursed.
This is the land I toiled with my father,
Being a lawyer, I preferred rather.
Drenching in the sun made no sense,
And money after all covered every expense.

I chose the green notes over the greener paddy,
Being modern I thought was good and faddy.
A new home made far away from ‘home’,
In a city that looks like a posh glass dome.
A place that paid so much in dollars,
This “Independence” really pulled up my collars.
Elated was I to know I was my boss,
This life seemed full and red like tomato sauce.

It was all happening like a dream come true,
Until I was ushered to see things, without a clue.
All that was “real” seemed then, like nonsense,
I wondered what made these houses have a fence.
Was it only me alone and isolated?
Probably something was ill-fated!
The fake brilliance this city had once shown,
I could see through as the veil had blown.

It was too late to go back I guess,
This is an excuse, nevertheless.
Its’ easier after all to “suffer” and stay,
But challenging to walk out and go astray.
And yet if I go that way, once forgotten,
My land where the water never went rotten.
I see that I have to prove my identity,
As if to show I’m sane, a harmless kitty.
This is the place where I now want to be
And yet couldn’t, without paying the fee.

In spite of the affair I had with the land for years,
Why would I have my eyes not welled with tears.
The land, the water, the air was all free,
Until you decided it belonged to ‘thee’.

The worse is that I played your game with open eyes,
So how would I blame you for my own vice!

As within so without...

2010-04-22T07:19:00.000-07:00

Nothing stands alone,
Nothing can just be.
It's all a part of One,
Open your eyes and see.

Its the same everywhere,
And yet there is doubt.
They said it long ago,
As within so without.

The innocent cat closes her eyes,
And stealthily licks the milk.
She knows she's watched all along,
Yet she refuses to belong to the ilk.

The human is no different, yes!
Evading and putting on a pout.
He knows they said it long ago,
As within so without.

Someday the sleep will come to an end,
And he would have to rise on his feet.
But the reality would be too strong then,
A smack he may not be able to beat.

But does it mean it ends right there?
As if the emptiness was a bout.
It will still resonate again and again,
As within so without...
As within so without...

The wait for the end… Part 9

2010-02-10T01:31:00.000-08:00

What would it mean to lose one’s identity? If there is no ‘I’ left, how would a person feel? Take for example, a rich person who is famous, good-looking and leads an extravagant life. If some day he had to wake up and look at him in the mirror and not be able to relate to the reflection. He has realized the riches, looks, cars parked under the porch, none make sense. His looks are just a way to help him differentiate from the rest and are not of any meaning beyond. The big sedan he travels with and flaunts about, is nothing more than a metal box that looks after his logistics. If he is capable of seeing this and beyond, he would unmistakably notice that he has been living an illusion all the while. He tried to entertain himself; avoided looking at the real picture and instead kept garnering more and more face value. So to say, he tried to build the “I” with a car, more money, his ego, his looks.

After all, one still remains naked within the best and best of clothes. And this truth can never be changed. But is it the ultimate?

Aman woke up with a heavy head and looked around his room. The white walls were still white. The satin grey curtains hung there with no trace of movement. The clothes lying on the adjacent dewaan, lay there, lifeless. Nothing had changed and yet something felt like otherwise. He struggled out of his bed and walked into the drawing room. The place was a mess, cluttered with empty liquor bottles, beer cans, empty shells of groundnuts scattered all over and jumbo packets of wafers on the sofa, still filled with the remnants of powdered wafers. His fat wallet, thrown on the floor, jutted out a small part of a golden colored credit card. He raised his eyes brows, swore under his breath and looked away.

He walked into the other bed room and saw his room-mate asleep on the bed like a lifeless walrus, waiting for the Almighty to shower him with fragrant flowers of Holland. Aman laughed to himself at that thought and said, loud enough, “Walrus”. His room-mate opened his eyes a bit and squinted for a split second. But then went off to sleep again, this time with a huge snore.

Aman walked back into the living room and once again glanced at the dingy. He picked up his wallet and went into his room. He couldn’t make up his mind about bathing first or cleaning the place. He threw the wallet on the bed and went in for the daily ablutions. After a quick bath, he wore a pair of short and a faded T-shirt. He ran his fingers quickly through his wet tresses and set them decent. A cup of hot tea and an omelet with toasted bread pacified his growling tummy.

An hour later after reading the newspaper and checking his mails on his laptop, he stretched his arms and legs and frowned. He knew, against his wish, he would have to clean the living room, all by himself. Well, he did just that.

It took him nearly two hours to tidy the house. But his room-mate had not even moved a finger as yet. He was still asleep in the same position. Aman thought probably the cleaning would make him feel better. Lessen his restlessness. But on the contrary, he felt irritated. He called up Meeth. Meeth and Aman had been friends since Grade One in school. And yet, understood very little of each other.

“Kya kar raha hain?”
“Mahabaleshwar! Colleagues ke saath yaar. Tu bol. Kay chalay?”
“Sara ghar saanf kiya. Ye walrus abhi bhi nahin utha.” Aman swore, so Meeth could hear him.
“Walrus? Kaun bhai?”
“Lokesh re. Ani kon. Kab se soo raha hain.”
“Chod na. Sunday ke din kya karega woh. Chill kar re. Shaam ko milte hain. Wahin. Aaj teri beer party.”
“Nahin re aaj mann nahin hain.”
“Kya? ” Meeth screamed. “Teri tabiyat tho tik hain? Tere walrus ne break up kiya kya tere saath?”
“Chup yaar. Mood nahin hain.”
“Ja. Ek laath maar walrus ko aur bol teko movie leke jaye. ”
“Hmmm”
“Uff… bata kya problem hain?”
“Hmmm meko subah se ajeeb lag raha hain. Yeh kya life hain dost? Pura hafta apun log kaam karta hain. Fir raat ko pee ke soo jate hain. Weekend pe talli ho jao. Meeth, is this all life has to offer?”
“Abey ooo! Subah subah pravachan shuru kiya tune. Ramdev baba ka channel dekha kya uththe hi?”
“Meeth yaar. I’m serious. Meri life mein yehi sab hain filhaal. I have friends. I have a family, far away. I have the latest clothes. My spanking PSP. I have a nice white Camry. Nothing is lacking. Then why am I not feeling like it?”
“Like what?”
“Like… may be just satisfied… complete… like I felt with…”
“Ufff Aman did she call you?”
“Hell no! That is the problem. She hasn’t even called me. Not even once. Not even a missed call. Not even an attempt for one. 3 months! ”

Aman continued after a long silence. “I cleaned the entire house. I washed some clothes. I read the newspaper. I saw the company’s reports, checked my mails; chatted a bit with some online folks. I did everything a normal guy does on a Sunday morning. Exhausted myself! All this, so that I can get rid of the empty feeling circulating within; just to chuck her thoughts and stop this mind-yapping.”
“Hmmm. Coming there.”
“No no Meeth. I know this won’t go even if you come here. There’s only one thing that can help me.”
“Shut up Aman! You’re not doing that. Understand? Pagal hai kya!”
“Meeth I can’t bear it yaar. This is too much. 3 months is max I can tolerate.” Aman swore louder and louder.
Meeth joined in and swore too. “Do what you want man! I hate you for this.” Meeth sounded disgusted.
“Right! Call you later.”

Aman looked at his Apple iPhone and scrolled in the contact list. He knew if he would type out the alphabets of the person he wanted to call, the name would appear faster. So he preferred scrolling one by one, because that, he felt, gave him more time. He saw that the person’s name was now highlighted. Not that he needed his iPhone to remember or remind him the number. He had the number engraved on his brain. Since 4 years now.

He suddenly threw the phone on the sofa and hurriedly paced about the drawing room. He saw around if he could find some work to do. Just to prevent himself from doing what he desired the most. He saw a heap of washed clothes on his room-mates’ study table and picked them quickly. He decided to pay a small visit to the laundry man.

He picked up his house keys and wallet and made sure to tell himself to forget carrying his mobile phone. “What a paradox!” He thought. Walked down the distance and took small, lazy steps. But to his dismay, the entire affair lasted only for 30 minutes.

Here he was back in his apartment, pacing the flat, room to room. He loudly uttered a cuss and walked to the sofa. Picked up his mobile phone and pressed a key to switch on the display. It read “Neeti”.

“Enough is enough!” He pressed the call button. The first call went unanswered. He called up the second time and after three rings he heard a familiar voice say “Hello”.

“Haan main bol raha hun.” Aman quickly grimaced and thought about the stupid way he began without greeting.
“Oh you changed your number.”
“Yes. A month back. That is why I called you.” Neeti’s heart broke. Number changed a month back! “So you know that now onwards, I’ll be reachable here. Well actually, I was scrolling through my cell phone and was deleting contacts that had changed numbers. So thought of calling you…”
“Make up your mind first. Why exactly did you call? First reason or second.”
“Doesn’t matter. So you still have this number, eh?”
“Yes Aman. Confirmed. ”
“Hmmm. Good.”
Silence. Just small disturbances due to the mobile signals.
“So you’re done I guess” said Neeti to break the queasy silence.
“Yeah. So how are you?” Aman sounded very unsure of what he was saying.
“Aman what has happened? What exactly do you want?”
“Well…”
“What Aman?”
Neeti held her breath to listen to what Aman had to say to her. She guessed he would again say things that would hurt her. She had already begun preparing herself for the brutal ordeal.

“Neeti it’s a nice Sunday. I just thought of calling you. Remember we had decided to take a Sunday trip once. Please do go for that trip whenever you can, in future of course. I won’t be able to accompany you. But you please don’t stop yourself.”
“Aman, what the hell are you saying? And why can’t you come?”
“Neeti just listen to what I say. I am cutting the call now. I have some work to do.”
“Are you sure you want to cut the line? Because I think otherwise.”
“Well since I don’t have anything more to say, I’ll cut. If you have some news, then do let me know.”
“Nothing here.” The tone was sad. The words said more that they should have.

Sometimes, words don’t seem enough. Neeti thought about Einstein’s description of the telephone. He said “It’s a technology like a cat. You pull the tail in London and the cat meows in America.” She wondered how she would know about the pulling of the cat. She had heard the mews but was interested in the circumstance that made the cat take such a long ride.

Silence had again prevailed and none had anything to say.
“OK” Aman said.
“OK” said Neeti.
Neeti understood the line would now go dead. And it did.

The wait for the end ... Part 8

2009-12-08T13:24:00.003-08:00

How can Mumbai be described in a word? Will ‘pandemonium’ work? How about ‘dreamland’? Commotion? Extravagant? It would be a very difficult question to answer. Nonetheless, the answers that would pour in would be far too many for a normal 320 GB computer to store and still insatiable. This city has the same gift for all, that is, a dream.

It is said Mumbai has a place for everyone. Sea-facing villas, flats, shanties, streets, pavements, all are housed in Mumbai. There is not a vacant spot left in this bewitching city but still it never complains. It accepts one and all with open-arms. Thus, not surprisingly, the count of people, dwelling here, is not something to be given a thought to. The number is not worth remembering since every passing day will have yet another train, reaching the Mumbai railway station and delivering a new package of dreamers.

So is it possible to be alone in Mumbai? In fact, a better question would be “Is it possible that a person becomes a loner here?” The chances seem quite low, if one stands near the window overlooking the traffic on Peddar road, in Bandra, Worli, Dadar or any place which has a Mumbai pin code. This would be an optimistic thought. But, how about someone who has a sunken heart and watches outside the same window, looking at nothing? Does this city have something for such people?

Months passed by. Neeti counted days, followed by weeks and then months, since she last spoke to Aman. Aman did call her a few times. Once after 2 months, then after 3 months and then yet again after 3 more months. She had made a mental note of all these calls, the dates and always thought that every call she received would be the last someday. He was drunk whenever he called. He said that he loved her and would die without her. Each call of this kind made a nerve so sensitive within her, to the extent that she cried with pain and agony. She wondered if the man ever thought of what she went through when she heard all that stuff. Is this how she was supposed to be treated after a yearlong relation? Is this how a woman is treated? Do her tears have any value? Neeti had developed a very low esteem.

She tried to distract herself with various things around her. She had begun interacting with her Parsi neighbour, Mrs. Cowasjee, an elderly lady, living with her retired army-official, cricket maniac husband. Mr. Cowasjee loved his newspapers. He had himself delivered 3 newspapers every day. One in Parsi, the other in Marathi and one in English. Neeti found it funny, but dared not to question the short-tempered, white moustached ex-army man.

Neeti had made a few new friends through her colleague, O’deth. They met quite often and went clubbing on Saturdays. Neeti did not like clubs but went there only for the deafening music. O’deth made sure that Neeti was never left alone on Saturdays and Sundays. Especially since she had seen Neeti crying once in the office washroom and had eventually got to know about Aman from her. After listening to Neeti’s sad story, O’deth had managed to say just one line, “Neeti, he’s digging a grave for himself.” Neeti was too agitated then and ignored the comment considering it trivial.

It was the third Saturday of the month. 3 months had already passed by since Aman’s last call. Neeti was expecting a call anytime now. She woke up around 9 am and sat on her soft white bed looking at the heap of clothes on the chair. The clothes had over-piled up and a washing spree was long due. She thought to herself about the washing and imagined her hands soaked in white foam and wrinkled because of the over-exposure to water and alkalis. A world war awaited her today, at that thought she smiled and with a quick jump she stood up to get ready for office.

An hour later, while she was applying jam to the slice of bread, there was a knock on the door. She took a big bite, enough to suffice for the 5 steps from the table to the door.

“Good morning Aunty.” Neeti smiled. It was Mrs.Cowasjee in very pretty blue A-line dress.
“Good morning Dikra. Chaloo Ni. Come to my place right now. I have something for you.” Neeti smiled again noticing the polished English accent the lady had. Mrs. Cowasjee was always well dressed and had an enchanting, refined English accent that could make even a British conscious.
“Stop smiling. I know you like my English accent and that is why I flaunt it.” The lady put out a small teasing laughter.
“Aunty, my English is also good. You know yesterday Uncle was saying that I speak better than you.” Neeti laughed loudly and patted the lady on her shoulder.
“Really! Since when did you stop being afraid of my handsome Ronnie?” Mrs. Cowasjee had hit an ace this time and Neeti understood she had lost the case now. Neeti smirked and Mrs. Cowasjee winked.

Dumping her stuff in the bag, Neeti quickly locked the door and went along with Mrs. Cowasjee. On entering the Cowasjee residence, Neeti saw the table, set for three. Mr. Cowasjee stood up and greeted Neeti cordially. He quickly fetched two glasses of water for the ladies.

“Thank you Uncle.”
“Welcome Neeti. I hope you are doing well.” Mr. Cowasjee was a man of little words. He only passed statements and hardly questioned.
Neeti realised it was no question and hence only smiled back.

“Dikra, sit here. I have made Akuri. Ronnie darling read those newspapers later. Come for breakfast baba.”

Mr. Cowasjee dutifully put aside the newspapers and sat in his usual place at the breakfast table. Mrs. Cowasjee and Neeti were engrossed in their conversations. Mr. Cowasjee hardly looked up from his plate. When he was done, he stood up and excused himself.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s very silent. Manufacturing defect che. It doesn’t mean he does not like you. ” Mrs. Cowasjee could feel the discomfort Neeti had in the presence of Mr. Cowasjee.
Neeti smiled and said “Not at all Aunty.” She later added, “I must say he is very handsome and so stylish.”
“Hey! He’s mine.” Mrs. Cowasjee laughed loudly. Neeti blushed and laughed too.
“But Aunty, why 3 newspapers?”
“Parsi because of community related news. Marathi because he studied Marathi on his own and likes the language. English because he is a high-nosed army man. Pagal che!” Mrs. Cowasjee stood up and took her plate to the kitchen. Neeti offered to carry her own plate to the sink.

They had a good, huge mug of hot, brewing coffee. Suddenly, Mr. Cowasjee said to Neeti, “I’ll drop you to office today. I have to meet a person that side.”

Neeti gulped hard and before she could refuse the offer, Mrs. Cowasjee said “Neeti that is great! I’ll give you a list of vegetables. Please buy and give them to Ronnie. Ronnie never bargains. Thanks to him, I have even eaten potatoes worth dollars.”

Mr. Cowasjee drove his car from the parking lot to the main gate, where Neeti was waiting for him. Before Neeti could open the passenger seat door, he stepped out of the car, opened the door to the passenger seat and seated Neeti.

Was this how a man makes a woman feel like a lady? If yes, it is rightly said that it takes a man to treat a woman like a lady. Else a woman will never rise to be a lady, however big an achiever she may be. Neeti felt so special.

After purchasing the vegetables and giving them to Mr. Cowasjee, she was dropped to her office. Neeti did not attempt to open the door this time. She understood the protocol and waited until he opened the door for her and he did exactly that. Neeti smiled ear to ear.

“Thank you so much Uncle. Not for the lift, but for making me feel like a lady today. I haven’t been treated like this.” Without thinking, she pecked a small kiss on his cheek.
For the first time, Mr. Cowasjee smiled at her and placed a hand on her head, as if he understood she needed blessings.
“Bye Neeti. Have a good day.”

Neeti smiled even brighter and waved till his car was out of sight. What is it about Army men? What do they have different about them? Personality? Flawless English accent? Eye-to-eye contact while speaking? Manners and breeding? How would a woman not feel conscious in such a man’s presence? These questions kept bothering Neeti.

Office work was less since the weekend was approaching. By 3pm, after a small bite, Neeti left the office to click pictures for the weekend supplement. She thought of a theme and wondered what part of Mumbai would fetch her, the kind of scenes she imagined. O’deth offered her bike services since she was bored and had completed a write up for the weekend edition long time back.

The two girls roamed the city for effective pictures. Situational, natural, colourful. Within an hour Neeti had clicked more than 45 pictures but still wasn’t satisfied. The things she imagined were yet to be brought to light.

They reached Mahim and decided to take a break. O’deth pointed to a small, dingy restaurant and within no time the girls were inside having a nice cup of “Cutting chai”. Across the road there was a lot of commotion. Suddenly O’deth was pumped up and sprang from her seat.

“Lets’ go there. New scoop!” O’deth beamed and literally pulled Neeti by her hand. They crossed the road and stood at a safe distance to watch what was going on.
“What is going on there? Did you see anything?” O’deth asked a boy who had just passed by that commotion.
“I just saw three men shouting violently at someone.”

O’deth wasn’t getting any breaking news so she went closer and closer. Neeti followed her.

Seven men had circled a man, sitting on the road. There was another man in that circle too. But his role there couldn’t be judged from that distance. Neeti went two steps closer.
“Kashif!”
“Oh my God! You saw that don?
“Which don?”
“Kashif! Obviously! Lets click some pictures. Come on quick.”

Neeti stopped blinking and made no attempt to switch on the camera. O’deth looked at the girl quizzically and snatched the camera. She pulled Neeti behind a paan-stall. They hid there and O’deth unruly clicked pictures. When she turned behind to check on Neeti, she saw that Neeti was gone. O’deth looked around and frantically asked the paan-maker if he had seen Neeti move out of there. He pointed out in a direction. O’deth looked in the direction of the pointing finger. Neeti was moving towards the commotion.

The seven boys looked at Neeti walking in their direction. One of them snapped is fingers and yelled at Neeti. Neeti showed no reaction and kept moving towards them till she saw a bleeding man, sitting on the road and Kashif, bent over and slapping the man.

“Kashif!” she said. She did not yell, scream or shout. She said it loud enough for him to hear.
Kashif stood straight and looked at the woman who called out his name. His throat went dry. “Neeti aap idhar? Main yeh...”
Neeti showed her right palm signalling him to stop the explanation. “Forget it.”
Neeti turned back and walked away quickly. O’deth waited for her to cross the road and then followed her. She ran a little and caught pace with Neeti.
“Silly! Where do you think you are going?”
“I want to get out of here.”
“Scooty is parked near that shop. Lets’ get there quickly.”

Neeti appreciated O’deth's gesture to help and of not asking questions about what was going on. Two minutes and the girls were already on their way towards office.
“Ody drop me home. Take my camera and give all those pictures to Sushant. He’ll choose the one which will run on the weekend supplement. Keep my camera in your locker.” O’deth did as she was told.

Kashif kept calling Neeti. She placed her mobile for charging and let it ring incessantly. Not once did she receive Kashif’s calls. Sushant and O’deth called in between whenever they got the bandwidth. She received their calls and Kashif’s calls were then on hold.

Around 7pm, Neeti checked her phone and saw “86 missed calls” on the screen. She called up O’deth.
“What plans for today? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Honey, I thought you wanted some space. So...”
“I don’t want to be alone today. Please Ody. You understand me?”
“Get dressed. 20 minutes”
“OK.”

Neeti cut the line and quickly got dressed. For the first time in her life, she was over dressed. She had streaked out heavy Kohl lines around her eyes. Her hair was let loose. Her ears carried big danglers. Neeti saw herself in the mirror and immediately looked away. She was hell-bent on freaking out tonight. She put on a dark coloured nail-polish and wore a shiny blue dress. Everything was out of place. She thought over-doing could give her some solace.

In 10 minutes, there was a knock on the door. Neeti wore her high-heeled sandals, fetched her bag and rushed to open the door. On opening it, she saw Kashif standing there, fuming from head to toe, with red eyes and an inflated nose.

“Main bahar ja rahi hun.” Neeti said, looking away.
“Mujhe idhar tamasha nahin karna hain. Chup chap chalo mere saath.”
“Sorry. Main nahin aaungi.”
“Neeti... please. Mujhe baat karni hain. Abhi. Isi waqt.”
“Maine kaha main bahar ja rahi hun.” Neeti said very coolly.
“Yeh ghatiya kapde pehenke, kaha ja rahi ho aap? Aur yeh kya chehere pe lagaya hain. Apne aap ko dekho zara.”
“Hmmm. Baad mein baat karenge.”
“Neeti... jo hua...” Kashif spoke no more when he saw the coldness in Neeti’s eyes. He hit his fist hard on the wall and walked away.

Neeti closed the door.

The next morning, when she opened the door to pick the newspaper and daily packet of milk, she saw Kashif sitting on the steps watching the door with begging eyes.

“Andar aa jao.” She said. The same coldness in her voice.
“Kahan gayi thi aap raat ko?”
“Club. Coffee?”
“Ji.”

Neeti prepared some coffee and placed a mug in front of Kashif.
“Neeti kal aap ne jo bhi dekha woh sab...”
“Aap underworld mein ho?” She looked at him, eye-to-eye.
“Neeti aap jaisa soch rahe ho woh...”
“Yes or no?”
“Neeti meri baat tho suno... ”
“Kashif kya aap underworld mein ho?”
Kashif took a deep breath. He recognised the tone and said “Haan. Lekin aap agar...”
“Finish your coffee and get out!” Neeti was still cool. No wrinkle on her forehead. No raised eye brows. No alarming eyes.

The truth was out and she decided not to react or respond.

How does it feel when a trusted someone lies? Will any explanation give respite? Will the same trust be ever resurrected? These questions have no answers. At least, no verbally explicable answers. The answers are all too deep rooted and have direct connections to the heart. Breaking trust is like passing AC type current to a gadget which accepts only DC type. The circuitry is rendered irreparable.

Neeti watched Kashif leave her small apartment. He closed the door behind him, promising himself to find a right time and explain things to Neeti.

The wait for the end... Part 7

2009-11-16T08:22:00.000-08:00

To see a Gulmohar tree is a very rare thing in Mumbai. And then, to see it bloom, despite the pollution, is rarer. But unfortunately, Mumbaikars are so immersed in their daily bedlam, that even a magical speaking tree won't elicit any response. On the contrary, the bullish or bearish share market has the potential to wake the dead from the graves and spellbind them to follow the market trend. Nobody can blame the Mumbaikars for the type of attitude they have. They are just a different breed, although very attractive, one must admit. And their I-don't-care orientation is the biggest plus point they have, which on rare occasions works against them.

Neeti was yet to get the hang of the typical Mumbaikar attitude. She was very professional at work. Ignorant of emotions, feelings. But when at home, in solitude, she turned very vulnerable. It was like living dual personalities in one day. The point noteworthy is that she played both roles really well.

Speaking to Kashif, once a day at least, had become a ritual now. Neeti mostly spoke about Aman, while Kashif only listened and gave his opinion only when asked for. He knew that when she spoke to him, in reality she was talking to herself. She was fighting a lost battle. Sometimes, Neeti went on for hours in English and Kashif understood nothing but got the gist. He noticed the gradual change in the conversations. Neeti had begun blaming herself for all that went wrong. For more than 2 months she went on like that. Then she was slowly opening up. She had started telling him about particular incidents. Some good and some bad. Now, she had slowly started blaming Aman. She pointed out to the small mistakes he made and she noticed but never told him.

On one such occasion, when Neeti and Kashif were in a deep conversation around late night, Neeti's phone suddenly beeped. She looked into the screen of her handset. What she saw made her stop her breathing. "Kashif, woh call kar raha hain.""Kaun?" Kashif didn't have clue.Neeti couldn’t even take Aman's name. Something within her made her nervous. "Wahi! Aur kaun!""Baat kar lo. Baad mein baat karte hain."

Before she could say anything further, Kashif's line went dead. The other line had become active. Her smart phone, which she adored the most, among all the gizmos she owned, had become a piece of abhorrence. It kept flashing "Aman calling...”. She took in a deep breath; to get rid of the empty feeling coupled with an icy sensation, and received the call.
"Aman!" She only whispered.
"Neeti".

Gosh, she had heard that voice after 3 months. She didn't know what to feel and what not to. She was too dumbstruck to respond. The kind of feeling one gets after having a huge blob of ice-cream in the mouth, like a greedy child. The same numbness. The brain-freeze. The dilemma of choosing between spitting out the ice-cream or gulping it down in one shot.

"I didn't call to bother you. Just wanted to talk to you and see if everything is okay. We didn't speak for a long time."
"Aman. How are you?"
"I'm good. Are you really bothered about how I am?" Sarcasm, she made a mental note.
"Yes, Aman. I'm not into formalities and you know that well." The tone wasn't firm but Neeti tried.
"Then what happened for three months? Why didn't you ask me then?"
"Aman you know why." Neeti realised she was still making herself believe she was talking to Aman, by saying his name before every response.
"No, I dont. Please tell me why."
"Aman you broke up with me. You didn't want to be with me anymore. The last time you came you gave me all the reasons as to why we're not meant to be together. And here you are asking me why I haven't called you." Neeti broke down.
"Oh baby! Please don't cry. I was a jerk. I'm sorry. But I can't just commit. I still love you. I really do."

Neeti's mind was spinning by now. She heard the words and was gasping for air.
"Aman..." She cried. Only her sobs could be heard. Her mouth went dry and she couldn't stop the tears. Her breath was deep. That 1BHK where she lived suddenly seemed too small making her claustrophobic. She ran to the refrigerator, pulled out a water bottle and drank huge sips of water.Aman was surprisingly patient; he heard her cry and said not a word.

"Aman I have died everyday without you. I have craved for these words. Aman! What do I say!"
"Well there is only one way you could reply to these words."
"Of course, you idiot. I love you more than anything. More than anyone."

They spoke till 6 a.m. She was still not sleepy and could go on for another couple of hours without a blink. But Aman had started dragging words and yawning loudly.
"You're sleepy. Should we sleep off now?"
"Thank God you asked. Yes, my bachu. We should sleep off. And I'll call you in the morning."
"Okay." Said Neeti, half-heartedly.
"Yeah. Goodnight."

The line went dead. Neeti kept looking at her cellphone. Suddenly that piece of embedded-technology seemed the world to her. She jumped on her bed and gave out a small scream in her pillow. Her happiness couldn't be contained. For a moment she thought she would call the Nokia guys and tell them their masterpiece, which she owned, had given her the biggest happiness of her life.

People say its' tough when you don't have people around to share sadness and sorrow. But the truth is deeper. Its' tougher when you have happiness and don't have anyone to talk to. Sorrow can come out as tears; or as a write-up in your diary; or a blog or sometimes even a poetry. But happiness gives you such a high that only talking can help dilute. May be because happiness brings along with it some kind of loneliness too with it.

Neeti tried to get some sleep. She dreamt of Aman and smiled in her sleep.

It was 10 a.m. The Gulmohar in the neighbouring compound looked brighter. The birds had become chirpy. Neeti felt even the soap she used every day, smelled better, lemony and tangy. She felt fresh as a peppermint. The lack of sleep didn't affect her in anyway. In fact, her face glowed. She quickly got dressed. For a change, to commemorate the special event, she wore her new Prussian blue satin top and paired it with a pair of fine blue Levi's jeans. She picked her bag and hopped down the stairs and then to the street. The dainty dressed woman caught attention where ever she went. She looked not beautiful but attractive.

"Wow! Pretty haan!" Sushant, the frosty boss managed to say to her. He peered her and noticed the change.
"You look so..." Ramaswamy was still thinking. He thought he’d just leave it at that; no word, however beautiful, could express what he felt.

Neeti had a certain bounce about her today. She jumped about the office like a small girl would, when gifted a complete Barbie set. She called Kashif sometime after noon and told him everything about the conversation. This time also, like all the previous times, Kashif only listened.
"Yeh bohot bohot achi baat hain. Chalo abh mujhe thoda kaam hain. Main thodi der mein call karta hun aap ko."
"Okay KA-FISH! Babyeeee!"

It was 3 p.m. No call yet from Aman. Neeti grew restless. She was wondering about his well-being. She decided she would call him around 6 p.m. He could have been caught up with some work after all.

It was 7 p.m. and still no call. Kashif had called her a while ago and asked her to meet him at a bistro near Linking road. She could wait no longer and dialled Aman’s number. She waited for Aman to receive but the call went unanswered. In another 15 minutes, she re-dialled his number. And still no response. She turned panicky and again dialled after 2 minutes.
"Yes!" Rude tone.
"Aman darling! Are you all right?"
"Yes yaar. Why on earth are you calling continuously?" Irritate.
"Aman I was worried. I thought..."
"I don't care about what you thought. Just tell me why you've called."
"Aman, why are you yelling like this? I was worried and that is why I called. And you could have..."
"Listen! I am not interested in your speech. Please get to the point. And quick!"
Neeti took a deep breath; her fears were rising. "Aman you said last night you would call and then you ..."
"Neeti I didn't remember."
"But Aman we spoke till 6 a.m! And you said..."
"Yes! 6 a.m and you still have things to talk about?"
"Aman, how are you talking to me? Look at your tone. Do you remember what you said last night?"
"Last night... Neeti... I was drunk... Some shots of tequila, I forgot the count after some time and ..."
Neeti felt like she heard a bat screech in her ear. Her heart pounded within her chest, like seeking an opportunity to tear and come out. Her eyes were too shocked to break into tears.
"Aman do you remember you said you loved me? Do you remember your commitment?"
"Neeti all I can say is that I was drunk. What do you expect? I won't say anything more."
"You don't have to Aman. You just don't have to."

Kashif was waiting in the bistro. The 3 ear-to-ear smiling waiters stood up; one with flowers, another with a cake and the third with a gift. Neeti walked in like zombie and stood next to Kashif. He noticed she looked good in her attire but walked strangely, as if she had just seen a ghost. Her face was drained out of colour. Work stress?

Kashif signalled the waiters and the young chaps placed the things one by one, very cordially on the table specially decorated.

"Neeti! Hello ji. Dekho maine pura cafe book kiya. Aaj ka din jashn ka hain. Meri party aap ki khushi ke liye. Aajo ji and cake cut karo."
No response.
"Neeti... Neeti... Kya hua?"
Neeti looked at the cake and read "Mubarak ho Neeti aur Aman. Khush raho."
"Woh piya hua tha Kashif." She looked into his eyes, stone-cold.

Her breathing was heavy and slowly her eyes watered. Kashif was too stunned and only kept staring at the familiar woman in front of him.

Birth and death are extreme situations when a person falls short of words. But this is one situation, which is neither of the two, and yet feels the same. Nothing said can make you feel good. Nothing done can lighten your shoulders. They are just burdensome. Sometimes loaded with happiness and sometimes with sadness. They have to be borne with. Whether alone or in company, the outcome and the emotions are the same.

Kashif felt she was going to faint that moment and hugged her. She hugged back and bore her mouth into his shoulder not to let her cries be heard.

"Usse kuch yaad nahin hain Kashif... usse kuch bhi yaad nahin." She cried and repeated the words over and over again.

Something was dying and nobody could help.

The wait for the end... Part 6

2009-11-06T03:04:00.000-08:00

They were the late summer days, sometime in June. The spicy humidity made way for the heavy monsoon showers that would pour down, not until July. The initial budding showers, popularly known as the ‘mango showers’, were a divine respite from the blistering heat. Their sudden and slight teeming made the Earth smell so beautifully that even les parfums de Davidoff couldn’t incite.

Neeti and her very close cousin, Nitya had decided to shop till they dropped. Well to be precise, it was Nitya’s plan and Neeti could never win an argument with this girl. Nitya had a certain charm about her which only some women could carry off well. She was a complete woman with not even a 0.5 percent of Tom-boy characteristic. She liked big, dangling ear-rings, perfectly matching necklaces, floral prints, heeled-sandals with the flawless click-clack sound. She was a woman so womanly and was so proud about it that even the most handsome/manly men found it daunting sometimes in her presence. But her absence made a bigger dent and she was the heart of all the parties her friends threw.

Neeti and Nitya began the shopping spree in Camp, Pune, only because Nitya knew Neeti was quite low and it was only the class and sophistication of Camp that could ameliorate things, since nothing else had worked. Nitya shopped and shopped. They didn’t spare a single showroom, small or big, without paying their due respects.

By evening, Nitya was tired and her sandals hurt her feet. She needed a good pedicure, she thought to herself. She noticed that Neeti, after all this while when it was time to go home, was turning out to be a zealot, the real her. Nitya tried to persuade her so they could go home but Neeti was ready for a party.

“Nee we have to be home by 9pm else you know what happens” proclaimed Nitya.
“Nutty come on! We have to go on a ride. Zooming speed! I’ll ride the Activa. Lets’ do something... something like... Got it! Lets’ cover our faces with the scarves and do some Adam-teasing... On the ride!”
“Nee u nuts! Hahahaha... Girl! What if they follow us and you know... trouble us etc etc.”
“Come on Grandma!” Neeti had that mischievous look and a smirk and Nitya knew exactly what it meant
“Nee you are... hahahahaha... Lets’ do it baby!”

“Yuhuuuuu!!!” And they both screamed in unison, unaware about the fact that at least a dozen people were gaping at them already.

Just then Nitya’s cell phone buzzed.

All Neeti could hear was “Oh Hi” then “Oh No!” and “How come” followed by “Where are you right now?” and lastly “We’ll be there in 30 minutes”.

“Meeth has met with an accident and we have to go and visit him.”
“No comments!” Neeti scowled.

In 20 minutes, the girls reached Kowhai, a lounge in a chic part of the city. The bouncer outside asked them for their passes, which they obviously didn’t have. So he instead coaxed them to pay cover charges. Nitya, smart that she was, said to him very curtly,
“Sir my friend is inside and he met with an accident right here, in YOUR lounge. He called me only so I could quickly help him with some bandages and money. So now if you don’t let me go, I may have to seek legal help.” Nitya then turned to Neeti and said “Neeti you are doing your third year in law and I think you may want to intervene.”

Neeti was too flabbergasted to understand what was going on. After a small tap on her hand from Nitya, she realised she had to respond. She made a faint attempt at giving a professional smile. She then heard herself say “Sir, we’ll be out in 15 minutes flat. Else you can sue us.”

The bouncer, a very tall and hefty guy, saw the truth in Neeti’s eyes and said “Okay ladies, here you go. But 15 minutes only. Else my job will be at stake.”

“That won’t happen. I won’t let it.” Neeti said with poise as if she owned the lounge.

The bouncer liked that confident remark and opened the door for the ladies. Nitya called Meeth and asked him where his table was. Meeth raised his hand and asked her to walk down 10 steps and look up.

The girls finally managed to find the table. There were three young men at a small low lying table and two vacant seats, one was next to Meeth, the other was alongside another guy who wasn’t acquainted, at least not to Neeti. It was by protocol, that Nitya sat next to her friend Meeth and it was by default that Neeti sat next to that unknown guy. Meeth and Nitya exchanged their Hellos and ‘Long time no see’. Meeth introduced his other to friends to the girls.

“Nitya you know Tejas. And Tejas, this is my Nitya. Her sister Neeti” Tejas and Nitya had seen each other before and knew very vaguely about the other. Neeti gave a plastic smile, but looked good with that too.“And this is Aman. Aman we’ve met Nitya before, so many times, right? This is her sister Neeti.”
“Neeti, you look great. I wonder how a girl can look so good in a simple Adidas white tee and smart blue jeans.” said Meeth.
“Just like a guy can look good enough in a plastered leg and a beer mug in his hand.” Aman immediately shot Neeti a look. He liked the presence of mind the girl flaunted. Neeti looked at him and smiled, not a genuine one though.

Nitya and Meeth were gradually absorbed in their conversation which was a good and enjoyable mix of gossip and old memories.

“So, Neeti, right?”
“The music here is loud but I guess we’re sitting close enough to hear each other.” This time Neeti smiled. A big one. Probably, even a few tones mocking.
Aman enjoyed that stint.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m a photographer, well an aspiring one.”
She didn’t ask Aman what he did and so Aman offered it himself.
“I’m into Insurance. I am a manager in an MNC. I have normally, a lot of targets to achieve and many places to travel.”

“Travelling. Wow! I like that. I have travelled to very few places though but have enjoyed every bit of it. Last time...” Neeti was unstoppable. She went on and on. Aman gave a few inputs here and there but preferred listening to her. Then after a while, Aman made a small joke, on which Neeti burst out laughing. Her laughter was a thundering. She laughed her heart out. Aman was so surprised at the reaction that his laughter was stopped even before it started.

It was right there that Aman gave a meticulous look to the girl next to him. He saw she had a clear complexion with a nose little crooked, big mesmerising eyes that could swallow a whale. He noticed that the compliment Meeth gave her was a complete understatement of what she really looked like. She was gorgeous in that simple white tee and blue jeans. The dull lights of the lounge couldn’t hide her small ears that looked innocent, as if they heard nothing bad. Her eye-brows were thick and the lashes beneath them, hid her eye lids just enough.

Neeti was still jabbering with Aman. After a few moments, they both looked around and realised three pairs of eyes staring. Nitya’s, Meeth’s and Tejas’s. To them it looked like, Neeti and Aman met each other way before, in the history of time. Neeti looked at Nitya and felt a bit embarrassed.

“Nutty we should be leaving now. Else the bouncer will have us for dinner!”
“Nee I think you are right. We have a lot to talk.” Nitya had a naughty look.
Just then Aman interjected.
“Hey you can sit for some more time. I’ll go and talk to the bouncer. No problems then. Don’t go... I mean no need to go.”

Tejas noticed the desperation and exchanged a quick look with Meeth.

“Aman, I’m sorry but I have to leave. I had a nice time. See you guys. Bye. Nutty come on.”

Nitya bid her byes to all and the girls got out from there. They went to the two-wheeler in the parking lot just when Neeti realised there was something she had forgoten. She walked back near the lounge and to the bouncer.
“Sir you are a kind man. Thank you so much.”

The bouncer was speechless; he just managed to smile and saw the girls zoom off on their blue two-wheeler.

On the way Nitya pestered Neeti with all sorts of questions about Aman. Nitya said that she found Aman cute. Neeti didn’t think so but she kept mum. After they reached home Nitya made a last attempt to tease Neeti and get something out of it.

“You dumbo! Aman was drooling over you. I could see it. Me and Meeth stopped talking and looked at you guys for more than 10 minutes and you didn’t even realise. Aman had ‘that’ look, honey! He has your number too.” Nitya winked.

“What? I didn’t give him my number.”

“Well, I did. A long time back when you were finding a job, Meeth asked me to contact Aman . That is when I gave him your number. If you remember you have even spoken to this guy. Just two lines because he said that he was in a meeting and would get back to you, which he didn’t. But now I guess, he must be repenting and I’m sure will want to get back to you under any pretext. Hahahaha”

“Nutty its’ not like the way you think. I was all upbeat and wanted to have fun. Just when Meeth calls and you quickly chuck our plan and zoom me off to meet him. I still had that bubbling energy stored in me and given the first opportunity I used it in talking to Aman and that’s about it.”
“Nee you are boring. Lets’ get into the house now, else you know what music will play.”

The next day Nitya received a call from Meeth around brunch time. He wanted all the five of them to meet, again. Nitya sensed what it meant and told Neeti about the call.

Neeti decided this was a good opportunity to rectify the wrong signals she unintentionally sent out to Aman. The girls after a lot of discussion agreed to meet them. Same place.

“Hi, Neeti.” Aman gave her a heart warming smile.
“Hi.” Neeti didn’t return his smile. She made sure she didn’t sit next to him. For a long time she spoke to Tejas. They sounded like some huge business deal would be signed and ultimately a conglomeration of two huge business empires would be on cards.
Aman found it a little funny. So he quietly asked Neeti “Are you okay? You don’t sound enthu. Today.”
“I’m good, never felt better!” Neeti didn’t even look at him.

The evening passed quite awkwardly, for all. But at the end of it, Neeti was happy that she had put in efforts to clean the mess and though not completely, had succeeded.

Suddenly a huge wave hit the platform and Neeti jolted. She realised she was still sitting next to Kashif on Marines Lines, with his hand on her head. She looked around just to make sure the second time. All the memories she had so far seemed so of-this-moment even with her eyes wide open. It seemed like yesterday.

Kashif looked at her as if he had read all her thoughts all the while and had hoped he’d feature in somewhere. But that meant too much to ask for. It was hoping against hope.

Neeti looked at her watch and saw that the watch had struck 11pm. The night had prevailed. She moved and very slowly stood up. Her eyes hurt but her lips managed to smile. Kashif got the hint and stood up. They walked to his car, sat inside and turned on the radio. It was the Ghazal show being played and every song suited the circumstance. Kashif keyed the sedan to start and drove, while Neeti opened the window and let the wind blow on her face and mess her long untied hair.

The wait for the end... Part 5

2009-11-03T13:04:00.000-08:00

After a controllable flood, damage worth a few million rupees and despoliation of a few suburbs, the monsoon showers of Mumbai seemed gratified. The city’s commotion was upbeat. The schools and colleges were buoyant. The taxi drivers, rickshaw riders, fruit vendors, pedlars floated about the city. Not a chance of making a few bucks was missed. The “Spirit of Mumbai” was restored. The rains did manage to do considerable damage but even after determined efforts, it could not subordinate the Mumbaikars.

Neeti had taken an off from office for more than a fortnight now. Her boss was vexed. Her colleagues were worried and Ramu was perturbed. She had switched off her cell phone for long durations for most days. When the cell was switched on, the calls went unattended. Reaching Neeti had become a major concern in the office and a catastrophe for the handful of friends Neeti had. Sushant, her suspicious boss, even offered her an unbelievable hike and a tempting promotion in the near future. But Neeti, instead of jumping up with joy, turned down the offers and reassured Sushant that she had no intention of switching companies. Ramu made a short trip to her flat, while on an errand and returned disturbed himself.

On a certain Wednesday, Ramu noticed that Neeti’s cubicle phone had been ringing incessantly. He decided to receive the call the next time the phone rang. In a matter of few minutes, the phone did ring and Ramu, without wasting any time, picked the receiver and pulled the cradle nearer.

“Hello! Neeti’s desk.”
“Ji hume Neeti se baat karni hain.” There came a polite reply.
“Aiyo Sir Neeti nahin aaya office. Woh nahin aayega kuch dino ke liye”
“Acha? Aisa kyun?”
“Sir details nahin malum. Aap kaun bolta ji?”
“Ji main... Main unka ek dost hun. Kashif. Woh mobile bandh rakhtin hain tho maine yahan call karna munasib samjha.”
“Kya samjha Sir?”
“Huh?? Woh... tik samjha”
“Oh wokay wokay. Sir woh cell phone bandh karta hain. Disturb nahin hone ka thoda time.”
“Ji acha. Shukriya! Khuda-hafiz.”

The conversation left Kashif in a tizzy. Ramaswamy’s words played over and over again. What could have gone wrong with Neeti, after all? He imagined the worst. Every second seemed more and more difficult to pass. He looked up at the ceiling, stopped his breath for a few seconds and shut his eyes. The sound of his silent breath also seemed disturbing. He took off the Rolex watch from his left wrist and placed it on the table. He felt the urgent need for silence. Vanilla-plain silence. In a few minutes he opened his eyes, replayed the recent telephonic conversation for the umpteenth time and gauged the options he had. He could choose to sit and wait, till Neeti took her time and then approached him. Or he could go to her place, uninvited and even feeling unwanted. He knew himself too well.

The drive from his Worli apartment to Bandra seemed never ending. The minute Kashif reached Neeti’s society premises; he shoved the car in some corner on the road, without even glancing if it was a ‘No Parking’. He took huge steps and reached the floor where Neeti lived. He was about to knock the door when suddenly he felt a receding force within. Thoughts of what Neeti would think came gushing down. She could think he was prying. Or maybe even acting like an opportunist. He sat on the first step and looked down at his slippers. It now occurred to him that he had rushed in his ordinary slippers, he had carried no wallet and to top it all, he had worn lemon yellow pyjamas. Here he was just a knock away, from the love of his life, dressed perfectly for a slumber party.

Some self-reprimanding and gritting of teeth gave Kashif the courage to knock the door. He knocked it lightly the first time, as if to make sure he had the courage to do it again. Then the second time he hit the door a bit harder. There was no response. He knocked even harder. This time, a petit voice called out “Who’s there?”

Kashif realised he had to act cheeky now. If he mentioned his name, the door wouldn’t open, obviously because none of his calls were answered or returned. “Bill madam”

Neeti didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. The reply convinced her to open the door. When she did open the door wide enough, she saw Kashif stand in front of her. She looked him in the eye, turned back and went into the kitchen. Kashif came in, closed the door behind him and sat in the corner of a sofa, scared and alarmed.

Neeti had grown pale. She looked different. Her complexion had grown a few tones lighter but didn’t glow. Her nose was red and the skin was worn out. She had developed a cognisable amount of dark circles and looked ill. Kashif heard a few harsh coughs from the kitchen. Neeti walked out with a tray of two steaming mugs and placed it on the side table. She handed Kashif, tea and had prepared coffee for her herself.

“Mujhe pata hain aap chai peete ho, coffee nahin.”

Kashif looked at the small girl sitting in front of him, who had grown even smaller in size now. He didn’t know what to reply to the meticulous observatory remark Neeti just made.

A long pause of silence prevailed. Neeti sipped endlessly till she finished her cuppa.

“Yuhu! I finished first... Main race jeet gayi.” The feeble attempt to make merry was dismissed by both. Yet Neeti smiled. Kashif opened his mouth to say something just when the door bell rang; a furious ring this time. Neeti hurriedly opened the door and saw her neighbour standing.

“Oh! Hello Uncle!”
“Neeti your guest has parked his car on my lot. Please ask him to move it.” The reply was curt.
“Sorry Uncle. He may not have realised.”
“Where should a man in his late seventies find new place to park his old Bug? I have been parking there since 30 years now.”
“Sorry Uncle.” Neeti didn’t need all that talk at this time.

Neeti quickly informed Kashif about the problem. He, without wasting a minute, picked his keys and went to the door. Suddenly he turned back and said to her “Neeti chalo!”. There was no asking or pleading or requesting. It was an order. Neeti didn’t attempt to disobey. She instead obliged him.

A few quick steps and they reached his brand new Chevrolet sedan. Neeti didn’t notice the change in vehicle and stood next to the car. Kashif unlocked the car remotely and sat behind the wheel; then told Neeti to get in. Neeti numbly sat next to him and uttered no word of reluctance. Kashif drove smoothly and seemed disinterested in the new car or its features. This car, for now, seemed nothing more than a utility.

After a whole hour of driving and utter silence, with the exception of a few horns of other vehicles, Neeti spoke.
“Woh aaya tha. Kuch din pehle. Mere ghar pe.” Neeti kept looking ahead, into a huge zero.
Kashif gave her a quick look, just to make sure she was comfortable talking about this.
“Hamari kaafi behes hui. Woh ek hafte pehlese hi Mumbai mein tha par usne call karna jaayaz nahin samjha. Aane se pehle bhi usne call nahin kiya.”

Again a hurtful silence prevailed. But this time, not for long.

“Maine usse pucha hamare future ke baare mein. Pehele tho usne kaha woh tayar nahin hain.”
Neeti choked. There was nothing that could hold her tears back. She wept.
“Maine fir zor diya. Aur usne saaf mana kar diya. Woh apna career banana chahta hain. Main uske aade aa rahi hun.”
The words she uttered killed her from within. She grasped how difficult it was for her to say this; whereas for Aman, the same words spurted like a casual ‘Hi’ or a ‘Hello’.

Kashif stopped the car near the Marine Lines. He knew this was the only place she would want to be. For that matter, any person who lives in Mumbai knows that Marine Lines is the place where you can be yourself without any glitch. Happiness, sorrow, joy, anxiousness, remorse; you could share all of it with the Arabian Sea. The sea takes in all that you give it. It listens like a loving and patient grandmother. Occasionally, it does reply with a gush of water.

Neeti sat on the famous Marine Lines platform. She didn’t face the wide ocean today. She rather faced her back to it and sat looking at a tall building housing a plush seven star hotel. Kashif stood with hands folded-crossed in front of him.

“I love him. I want to be with him.”
Kashif needed no translation. He knew what it meant and that hurt.
“Neeti usse firse ek baar baat karlo.”
“Kashif woh nahin chahta mujhe abh. Woh mujhse duur jana chahta hain.”
“Neeti kya main usse baat...”
Neeti looked up at him immediately and promptly replied “Nahin. Kabhi nahin.”

Neeti began wallowing. The situation seemed to grow worse with her cries. Kashif sat next to her and kept a hand on her head. He let her cry. He placed her head on his shoulder, took out a white, neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face. Neeti wept harder. Kashif’s T-shirt was partly soaked at the right arm corner. He didn’t flinch for a second. He sat still, still keeping his hand on her forehead. He felt helpless. He knew this period was there to stay for a while. And it was painful and would grow even more in a few days; not only for Neeti but for him as well. After all, love is like a crescendo. For the fortunate ones, its’ like the periwinkles which never cease to bloom; but for the unfortunate or unlucky ones, its’ like an incurable cancer growing within, quietly and secretly, deceiving and making illusory promises.

Neeti’s soft weeping continued and Kashif knew the wait for the end had begun.

The wait for the end... Part 4

2009-11-02T09:50:00.000-08:00

The monsoons in Mumbai seemed eternal. There was no stopping. The government officials had already sent out a flood alert and advised people not to go out of home for a few days unless inevitable. But the seasoned Mumbaikars have a unique way of tackling rains. Their policy is simple, “When you can’t beat it, join it.” That is exactly what they do. This rubs on the new-comers as well and within no time are they ready to tackle the next rains.

But as the saying goes, “There are exceptions to every rule”, this one has one too. Neeti! She tried every possible thing on earth, even Yoga, but nothing could calm her when it rained. One day it dawned on her and she gave up trying. But it was too late and she had caught the flu already. Cold, cough, stuffy nose and red eyes, Neeti was full of it. She grew paler by the day and her voice had cracked. She sounded funny. Some of her colleagues called her “Local SRK”.

It was a dull afternoon and the Sun had conveniently hid behind the clouds. Neeti was loading the pictures from her camera onto her desktop machine. She was browsing through the pictures she had clicked. Just then a voice said “This one is very good”. Neeti turned to the familiar voice and smiled at Ramu. He was always in awe of Neeti’s sense of originality, creativity and excellence. “But Ramu they aren’t enough. Our boss thinks otherwise.” Neeti looked at her boss’s cabin and frowned.

“Don’t consider his opinion... He’s a sadist.”
“Unfortunately for me, that sadist decides my promotion and hikes.”
“Hmmm. Why are you loading them on the desktop? You never do that. ”

Neeti giggled. “Ramu my camera is becoming heavier, every passing day and I can’t bear to carry its weight”. There was a laugh in the adjoining cube, which meant an acknowledgement of her small joke.

Ramu grinned. “Neeti I got to go. See you later.”

“Yup! Bye Ramu.”

After four consecutive sneezes, her colleagues requested her to call it a day. Neeti agreed and packed her bag. She slipped in her camera, a pen drive, two books and her cell phone. Within 10 minutes, she was downstairs looking for a rickshaw.

“Auto!!!” she yelled in her cracked voice.

The rickshaw took a turn and came to where she was. She asked him if he would drop her to Bandra. The rider signalled her to sit. She quickly got in and told him exactly where she wanted to go. The rickshaw rider rode like he was on a horseback in a battle. Neeti shut her eyes, sneezing every five minutes.

In thirty minutes Neeti was home. She took in a deep breath and placed her keys on the table and flung her bag on the chair. She threw herself on the bed, bouncing once. She had a lot of time in hand and didn’t know what to do with it. She made a few calls and asked for some medicines and food to be delivered. Within no time she was asleep.

The door bell rang miserably. Neeti jolted and realised she had to get the door. She dragged her feet and opened the door. The delivery boy handed her the parcel, tendered the change and left.
Neeti quickly had the food and drank a lot of hot water to give her sore throat some solace. She looked at the medicine bottles and tablet strips and frowned. After a lot of convincing she tore open the strip to reveal a white tablet. She was all set to have it just when someone banged on the door.

Neeti’s eyes opened wide. She wasn’t expecting anyone. And it wasn’t a bell ring; instead it was a bang on the door. This was reason enough to be suspicious. In Mumbai life is so planned that there is not a minute to let in an unexpected guest. Every minute has a task to be done. Time flies off here like an eye blink.

“Who is it?”

“Open up Neeti.”

Neeti went cold. The blood was drained out of her face. She recognised the voice and opened the door like a robot.

“Aman!” she exclaimed.
“Who else were you expecting?”
“Well, you could have called up before coming.”
“Its’ ok Neeti. I just came to see you. I felt like SEEING you, its’ been long.”
“When did you come to Mumbai?”

“A week back.” The reply was very casual. And it cut through Neeti’s heart in a way that she felt a lump grow in her throat.

Aman pushed his way inside. He sat on the sofa and sighed relief.

“The rains are horrible. I don’t know how people manage all this.”

“Well it depends on person to person. For me, after such a long time, I still haven’t learnt to.” Neeti sounded acrimonious. The words had a pun. And Aman didn’t miss on the hidden meaning. He pursed his lips.

“Neeti I have been missing you crazily. But I have been so tied up with work lately. I don’t have time for anything.”

“But somehow you do have time to spend with your friends.”

“Neeti that is the only thing I do other than work. Come on yaar. Can’t you see me happy for some time?”

“Why have you come here Aman?”
“I thought I told you already Neeti. Let me repeat it for you. I came here to see you.”
“Well, in that case you should leave. You’ve seen me enough now.”
“I fail to understand you.” Aman almost shouted. “When I call you, you are rude. When I don’t call you are hurt. I’ve come here to see you and you are asking me to leave. What do you want me to do?”
“Aman, you know what I want.”
“God! You are impossible. I told you I need time Neeti. I am not sure about anything now.”
“Aman its’ been 2 years now. How much more time do you need?”
“Neeti I need a glass of water now. Nothing else would do. Please fetch me one if you can.”

Neeti paced her steps towards her small kitchen and fetched a glass of water. She was all worked up. There are some situations where God helps you. And there are some where God tests you. But this situation seemed none of the two types. There had to be a new category for this one.

These are like one of those times, where you have been forced to play tennis and you haven’t even held a racket in your hand ever before. The one at other end by default is an ace player and smashes the ball towards you with full vengeance. The ball passes by you leaving you gaping with agony and shame, rocket zooming and questioning your very existence.

Aman called out to Neeti loudly. Her chain of thoughts was suddenly broken and she quickened her steps outside and handed him the glass of water. She knew what she should say and what she would say. The difference in both made her stomach twist and turn.

“Aman we need to talk.” Neeti looked Aman in the eye and said it firmly.

Aman understood the seriousness of her tone and realised that it was no time to beat around the bush. He had to answer her.

The wait for the end... Part 3

2009-09-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

The pre-monsoon showers had just begun in Mumbai. The city was bustling with even more energy. Men went to work early to avoid the rains and the subsequent traffic commotion. House wives made desperate attempts to dry off clothes. Children didn't spare a single puddle; they jumped into them and brought them to life. Life seemed to be faster to anyone who looked at the city from outside.

But the rains didn't seem to agree with Neeti. She made all possible attempts to avoid getting wet. Unfortunately, all the tactics she used went in vain. The rain poured down when she left for office and back for home. She had no respite. She despised travelling to her office, especially during this season.

"Ramu I hate rains" One day, she suddenly proclaimed. The lull in the office was broken and people gazed at her like she had declared that she was going to change her citizenship.

"Aiyo Neeti Amma, rains are good. They help the environment, clean the city. They are our farmers' best friends." Ramaswamy made a futile attempt to convince her. He wanted to cheer her up. After all, he had noticed that since past 15-20 days Neeti received a phone call and ultimately landed up crying. The rains only added to her misery. He sometimes let her mock his accent. In fact, on rare occasions, he even mocked himself. Neeti laughed but he knew it was ineffectual.

"OK Ramu, I'm leaving. Have to cover the Mumbaikar's shopping spree during monsoon. I wish they wouldn't shop, at least during heavy downpours. Like that I wouldn't have to cover them." And she laughed, really loud. She bid a bye to Ramaswamy and hopped her way down the stairs.

She helped her camera catch glimpses of people in Bandra, Dadar, Churchgate shopping away to glory. The rain never seemed to exist to them. A group of young women in saris, presumably newly married , came out of the BSNL office. They bobbed about the stairways, chattering and laughing, unaware of the fact that Neeti was stealthily clicking their pictures.

Around 6 pm, Neeti reached the Marine Lines. There was no rain now. And the sky had turned slightly red. She clicked a few pictures of the setting sun and the sky. She was very tired and decided to spend some time alone there, watching the waves hit the shore. Within no time, her cell rang. She saw the number and recognised it.

"Hmmm. Hi, how are you?" said Neeti without even listening to the caller.

"Neeti, my love. Yaar I'm very busy. You should understand. There is no need to be irritated. Whenever possible I call you. What else do you expect?"

"I don't know what to say to you. I fail in the every attempt I make you know. I am fed up."

"Why are you always cribbing like this? Is there nothing better you can do? Yaar my job is not as simple as yours. All you do is click pictures here and there. You have your freedom. As for me, I have to meet targets. Set examples to my sub-ordinates. Make reports. Present quarterly reports. It gets on my nerves sometimes"

"Hmmm. Anyways. Have you called for anything in specific?"

"Well yes! I need a favor yaar. I won't be able to meet you tomorrow and all I want you to do is understand. Please Neetu bacha."

By now, Neeti choked. She was swallowing her tears. All she could utter was "OK".

"Oh you know you're my darling. Thanks girl. You're an angel!" The line cut without any goodbyes.

Neeti remained still. Her face did not twitch. But her tears gushed down. She didn't put an effort to wipe her face. She was still motionless.

From no where, she found a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to see an elderly woman.
The woman smiled and sat next to Neeti. Neeti suddenly felt quite awkward and hurriedly wiped her face. The woman didn't speak a word. Neeti made a feeble try to convince her that everything was alright.

"Aunty its’ all ok. Situation under control!" Neeti laughed.

The two of them saw the Arabian Sea engulf the Sun. After a few minutes, Neeti stood up to go back home. She picked her things, put her camera back and began to walk.

After two steps, she turned back and said, "Thank you Aunty. I felt nice. Goodnight."

The woman smiled brightly and said "God bless you. Goodnight."

By the time Neeti reached home, she was drenched. Her shoes were soiled. She quickly cleaned up and prepared a soup. The cell phone rang.

"Hello Madam I'm calling from TTFC bank. We're offering you a loan for ..." The female voice was a typical one. She spoke endlessly.

"Well my dear, I'm ready to take your loan but you will have to come and cook for me. Chalega?" Bang! Neeti laughed. The phone rang again.

"Neeti! Kaise ho aap? Lagta hain hume koi bhool gaya."

"Kashif! Oh my God! Its' you. Wow. Pata hain main aaj kaafi akela feel kar rahi thi. Aaj ka din acha nahin tha. Matlab acha tha but acha nahin bhi tha."

"Neeti aap ko coffee ki sakt zarurath hain." Kashif spared no moment. He laughed.

"Chance pe dance." Neeti laughed. "Chalo aa jao Bandra."

"Main wahin hun. Aap ke ghar ke neeche. Aao jao aap jaldi se."

"Yaar you are tho too good... Ek dum TGV ki tarah."

"TGV? Acha woh!!! Haan haan. Sahi. Abh please neeche aa jao."

"Pehle admit karo ki aap ko TGV nahin samjha."

"Ji?"

"Haan meko pata hain. Chalo bolo."

"Aree magar... OK tik hain... Nahin samjha."

"Coming!"

Neeti quickly rushed down. Kashif saw her and his mouth opened doors to at least a million flies. Neeti was uber casually dressed in blue pyjamas and an over-sized T-shirt. She looked stunning. No kohl. No lip balm. Nothing. She was in her natural form. Kashif saw that she had a few dark-circles. But that only added to her light skin tone. Her hair was left untied, probably even uncombed, and blew with the wind as she hopped towards his car.

"Sorry Kashif, meko firse change karne ka mann nahin kiya so..."

"Ya Khuda! Itni khoobsurati kaise sochi tune... Tayar ho ke aaye tho janab hum katle-aam ho jaate."

Neeti smiled. She sat in the car and again smiled at Kashif.

Kashif wished to run away from the female at once. He wished he would have never called her in the first place. He drove like he was in a trance. The woman next to him was the most beautiful creation, he felt, of the Almighty. Every single opportunity he got, he tried looking at her from the corner of his eye.

After a long drive, they pulled over at a coffee shop. Neeti ordered for a cappuccino and Kashif decided to sip on tea. They spoke very little. He noticed that Neeti was not jabbering today. They spoke mostly about platonic stuff. Kashif found it difficult to catch up with her. He listened more.

And then suddenly.
"Meko koi acha lagta hain. But shayad usse main abh pasand nahin. Hum dono 3 saal pehle mile." Neeti looked down. Her lips couldn't decide whether to smile or not.

"Mujhe aise laga tha."

"Fir bhi?"

"Aap mujhe achi lagti hain."

That justification seemed enough, although it was very contradictory.

"Magar..." They both fell silent.

Neeti looked outside the window and saw the distant sea. The waves hit the bottom harshly. The sea was rough.

"Neeti aap dono ke beech kya problem hua"

"Uske paas mere liye time nahin hain. Woh todna chahta hain. Main jodne ki koshish kar rahi hun. But nothing seems to work. Hum dikhava karte hain. Woh mujhe phone kare tho ehsaan jatata hain. Main baat karun tho woh phone rakhne ki jaldi mein rehta hain."

"Neeti kuch cheezein Khuda pe chod deni chahiye. Woh jo sab se acha hain, wahi karega."

"Hmmm. But fir bhi main koshish karungi..."

"Kab tak?"

Neeti looked at him with wide eyes and realised she had no answer. There was silence. Only the sound of the distant waves.

She turned to look back at the sea. The waves seemed to be whispering something.

Kashif kept looking at her. He didn't know what next was in store. All he knew was that he was head over heels.

He was in love...

Tester’s day – 9th September 2009

2009-09-10T00:39:00.000-07:00

The sale of the much-awaited CAT vouchers began yesterday. Scores of CAT-aspirants rushed to various branches of the Axis bank. I received several ‘pings’ on my chat box enquiring if I had got my copy. Some of my friends have even completed filling in the forms. So much of discussion about the time-slot! The way people reacted was too-much-to-handle. Finally to save myself from the agony, I had to log off from all the chat sessions I was online on.

Yes! I have still not bought my CAT voucher. And I don’t intend buying one till the end of this week. Its’ not a superstition I am nurturing. Neither is it my laid back attitude. This exam is as important to me, since I have a lot at stake this time. It’s a big risk I have taken. I am happy about it but nervous at the same time.

For 3 years now, I have been working in a QA (Quality assurance) and QC (Quality Control) domain. I loved my work, and I don’t mean job. I mean my work. The kind of tasks I took up and the way I delivered results. To be true, I was a passionate workaholic. And that is how I like things to be! I can shamelessly admit this. I worked so much that I didn’t even realize when my personal life went numb.

But recently, about 2 months back, I gave a microscopic look to my life. I realized that I had really lost on my tact to converse with people from the non IT-fraternity. Not that I bored them with any geeky stuff. But I didn’t have anything ELSE to talk about. All I could keep bragging was about work, work and more work. Also, I realized that I had turned a deaf ear to the company’s policies, salary concerns etc.

Finally enlightenment struck and I decided to quit. My curricula vitae, even after 3 years of experience, were a modest one. I had gained a lot of knowledge over the years but that which could not be used outside my company’s bounds. In short, NO SKILL SET/ EXPERTISE. No Java, Perl, UNIX, etc. Those technologies, that other companies bid for.

If put in the words of ‘Pursuit of Happyness’, “This part of my life is called Pitying”. All I did was brood and brood. I sulked about everything. I even had those bouts of crying. I wallowed for long periods especially during the weekends.

Then one day I rushed to my manager and told him that I wanted to quit my job. He asked me the reasons. I told him the truth. About all that I felt which includes company policies, peanut-salary. He in turn, spoke to his manager. A meeting was scheduled. Both, my manager and my super manager, yet another manager and me were in a conference room. The meet went on for an hour. I came out with a decision to re-consider my resignation. I went home that day and felt quite agitated. I spoke to my parents. My sister. My friends. No respite still.

One week later I finally put down my papers. I decided to answer CAT 2009. The spice here is that CAT was declared to go paper free, that is, online. COMPUTERIZATION! This would be my 4th attempt. By this time, I was convinced that my work, the kind of testing I did, wasn’t viable.

I started following CAT and related news. Yesterday after CAT forms sale began people posted several issues about the user-friendliness or should I say non-user friendliness of the UI (User Interface). Lack of error-checking, ambiguous language and above all, no editing post-submission. The servers seem slow too. After a person enters his voucher number and submits, there is a long wait for dawn to come. Two hours is minimum that was reported so far. The sole aim of Computerization was meant to make life easy. But this has caused people a lot of loss, financially and emotionally. People had to purchase new forms only because some had not put their father’s name, some had not entered their SSC marks. Thankfully, the issue has been taken up seriously by the IIM administration and a solution is expected soon.

But what has caused all this? Its’ because either the TESTERS didn’t do their job well or the company which made the UI didn’t think rigorous testing was required. Enlightenment strikes again. My job, my work was after all not something tending to null. It meant something! In fact more than that. Put in the ‘Pursuit of Happyness’ style, “This part of my life, this part here, is called Acknowledging”.

Yes! Testers play a major role in the product’s life cycle. A good tester is one who is not only good technically, but also the one who has a good insight. Testing the traditional way is expected but ad-hoc testing is the one that gives value-add. There are several testing tools now available in the market. But again, they are clichéd. The thoughts that pop while observing the product are the keys to actual testing. They are the ones, if worked on them, which make the product better in a true sense.

If testing is treated as a part of daily chores, a sense of donkey-work is bound to creep in. A good tester is definitely, the one who understands the product. Proactively learns about its aspects. Finds on the search engines about similar products and issues faced. To put it in simple words, a tester has to be, necessarily, a good researcher too.

From here on, we could easily conclude that testers are as important as the developers as long as they understand their role, value and their responsibility well. The tester’s road is, no doubt tough, but its’ worth the drive.

Life is in Moments!

2009-08-31T10:07:00.000-07:00

Just a small true episode! All real-life episodes will be posted under this title. I hope I find more!

"Hi darling!" As usual, he calls her around 1.30 pm.
"Hey there... wassup dude... hahahaha". She's bubbling because she has not much work in office.
"I just called to say 'I love you'" He sings. "Done with lunch?"
"Yes, I'm done... what about you?"
"Hmmm just had a quick bite. Nothing great!"
"That means you didn't have a proper lunch again today." She sighed sadly.
"Its ok... Anyways I wanted to tell you about a new scheme in my office. Our employees can purchase any book for Re.1. The offer has been brought to us by Crosswords,
exclusively for our Company folks. I know how much you like to read so I thought I should tell you this..."
"Oh my God!!! Are you serious? How many titles are there? Which books are there as a part of the scheme? Do they have Jane Austen? What about Sidney Sheldon?"
"Hahaha... Hold on! Well, I'm not sure about the titles, but there should be a good collection!"
"Hmmm! Oh well, take all of them... Any title, any author! Please please please!" She's completely exuberant.
"Yes Shona, I'll take all of them".
Two weeks later.
"Hey what happened about those books?"
"Hmm... Oh... Ahan...Yes darling! I have told them, they'll get them soon."
One month later.
"Those books still haven't come... that is so sad ya!"
"Oh... yeah... they should come by next month dear"
Two months passed by.
"Hey kiddo, come inside the car and see whats there on the backseat!"
"Mammaaaaaaaaaaaaa... Are you kidding me? They're all mine??? Oh my God! Jane Austen! I love you darling!" She gives the books a tight hug.
"Yes Shona, they're all yours!" He smiles.
Four weeks later.
"Did you get the tickets for the movie?"
"No, I didn't. I'm sorry."
"What sorry! You should have booked them in advance. I had warned you, this is so bad!" She's completely disappointed.
"Yeah... I'm sorry, where do we go next?" He's at fault and is trying to make up for it.
"I dont know and I don't care" Angrily.
"Ok do me a favor, please take my wallet and pay the parking fellow, while I drive the car."
"Hmm" Still angry. "How much?"
"30"
"Done" She does not want to spoil the Friday mood so she smiles again, not a complete smile though. "You seem to be a rich guy! Lots of credit cards and cash...
Hahahahahahaha" She's being a little sarcastic, attempting to pull his leg.
"Hmmm". He smirks!
"Can I look into your wallet?"
"Its all yours". He gives a heart-warming smile.
"Parking tickets, bills... God! Your wallet is messy."
"Hmmm... See and throw the unwanted please... Shona" He looks at her and again gives an apologetic smile.
"Shoe bill, parking ticket, parking ticket, parking ticket, Provogue, petrol bill...You need all this?"
"Only petrol bills". Smiles again.
"This is ... Crosswords bill????"
s"Give that to me!!!" He Snatches the bill and tears the paper into 3 bits.
"Stop it!!!! What is it??? Show it! Right now! Else I'll get down from the car right in the middle of the street." She yells.
"Dammit!!! It's nothing!" He yells back.
He gives the 3 bits to her unhappily. The paper is totally crumpled. She re-assembles them and is completely flabbergasted.
"You lied to me!!! You bought all those books from Crosswords... For their original prices!!! Why????? I hate you! I hate you! You liar! Scoundrel!"
"Shona please please understand me! I beg of you. I'm sorry. I lied but I had to."
"Why????????" She screams on top of her voice. The people in the neighbouring cars are all looking at them. She is vexed.
"Shona... Shona... I forgot when you asked me to order the books, I didn't place the order on time and then... I knew how much those books meant... to you... I just
... I just wanted you to have them. Please I beg, I'm sorry"
"You spent Rs.3000 on books. These books! I could have read them anytime and bought them one at a time. You could have just told me."
"Shona I... Please forget it! They're a gift... From me to my Shona. I love you baby, I'm sorry. I never meant to..."
"Gosh... Honey... I don't know what to...!" She chokes. Tears gushing.
Life lies in all these small moments.

The wait for the end... Part 2

2009-08-31T09:54:00.001-07:00

"What on earth were you thinking Neeti?"

"Boss, but these pics capture..."

"They capture NONSENSE! What! You want me to teach you to click pics now??? 2 more minutes in this office and I'll turn mad"

"Will turn? You have already!", Neeti said to herself softly.

"Neeti! I heard that!"

"Boss I should get back to work", Neeti couldn't hide her smirk.

"Yeah!" came the reply in a gruff tone.

Neeti's boss, Sushant, was a short tempered chap, exactly the opposite of his name. He cared for none and spoke his mind at times even when his opionion wasn't asked or didn't count. He was a hard-working fellow but not a good team player. Besides, he had had two divorces already and had now stopped believing in the institution of marriage. Although, deep down, he knew it was the otherwise.

Neeti was very jittery and fidgety today. She kept looking at her mobile. It did ring a couple of times, but not for the reasons she wanted.

It was lunch time. Her mobile rang suddenly breaking the lull in the office. A colleague, named Ramaswamy, who sits next to her cubicle woke up with a jerk from his sleep. Neeti saw his shocked face and declared "Subah ho gayi Ramu! Re Ramu!". Ramaswamy gave a sly smile.

"Hmmm Hey!"

"Where the hell are you? Do you realise you have called me after 48 hours?" Neeti couldn't control her decibles by now.

"Chill yaar! I am not jobless nor do I have time to go to parties and click snaps away to glory!"

"Gosh! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you..."

"Enough yaar! Listen! I got to go now... Important meeting yeah! Catch you later! See ya!"

"But you said we were supposed to ... Hello! Hello!" The line was already disconnected, even before Neeti realised. She jumped from her seat and ran into the ladies room. This was just another of those numerous times that she had wallowed in the office washroom. She took a complete 30 mins in there and came out, not until she washed her face and dried her eyes.

She reached her desk and sat looking at her computer screen like it was a television showing her the transcripts of the last mobile conversation. Just as she unlocked the screen, Ramaswamy said to her "Aiyo Neeti Amma, there was a call for you...Some Kafish I say"

Neeti burst out laughing and the whole cubicle was vibrating. "Aiyo Ramu Anna, its Kashif not Kafish I say" .

Ramaswamy laughed along. He always liked Neeti but realised long back that there could be nothing possible between them.

Neeti picked her mobile and redialled the number from the "Received list".

"Namaste Sirji" .

"Neeti ji! Kaise ho aap?"

"Badiyan... Waise aap ko mera number kahan se mila? Mere piche koi spy tho nahin lagaya na? Hahahaha" .

"Spy?"

"Detective?"

"Haan..." Kashif gave a quizzical reply.

"Oye Ramu, what is a spy called in Hindi?"

"Aiyo spy... wait Neeti, I'll search it on the internet" Ramaswamy swung into action.

"Jasoos!!!" Neeti almost screeched.

"Oh nahin nahin... jasoos nahin hain... maine thoda dundha and mil gaya aap ka number" .

"Acha... chalo chodo. Farmaiye... aap ne aise hi call kiya?"

"Woh main keh raha tha ki, main Worli mein hi tha tho kyun na lunch karen... Matlab hum dono... ek saath... alag alag nahin" Kashif sounded really nervous.

Neeti was caught off-guard. She didn't know what to say and she blurted out "OK"

"Main aap ko lene aata hun... White Honda city" Kashif was completely overwhelmed. He cut the line and told his driver that he would drive the car.

Neeti realised that she had said "Yes" for lunch. She wondered whether to call Kashif again and cancel the plan and apologize. After a lot of thought, she convinced herself to go for the luncheon.

As committed, Kashif was waiting in his white Honda City right in front of the entrance.

"Hi KAFISH"

"Neeti!" Kashif's throat went dry. He just kept looking a her as she walked near, sat next to him and again said "Hi". She had again worn a pair of simple straight fit demins with a well fitted V-neck black top. She looked very pretty. Kashif opened his mouth to say something and she cunningly said "Yes I know, main bohot achi lag rahi hun and kala rang meko suit karta hain."

Kashif blushed. He didn't protest. Quitely started driving the car. Neeti kept jabbering about work. Her boss. Her camera. On and off, she did ask him a few questions, but they seemed merely a formality. She didn't even spare him a second to answer any of them. Kashif couldn't help blushing and smiling, both at the same time. She spoke of the new fly-over from Bandra to Worli, about Linking road, her neighbour's dog, clothes. And out-of-the-blue, she said "Aap ka blazer acha hain! Waise aaj aap kaafi ache lag rahe ho KAFISH!"

Kashif suddenly seemed conscious and moved a bit in his seat. He smiled again. He didn't even realise that she had called him KAFISH.

"Abh main bilkul nahin bolungi KAFISH... Aap bolo KAFISHHHH" .

He laughed. "Mera naam Kashif hain".

"Nahin aaj se aap ka naam KAFISH... hahahahahaha". She laughed so loudly.

"Aree check tho kijiye Neeti ji ki peeche ka type kahin puncture tho nahin hua". His face was suddenly serious.

Neeti immediately looked from her window. The tyre was fine.

"Tik hain tyre".

"Hahahahaha meko laga shayad puncture hua ho"

"Kyun?"

"Aree aap aise hansi... ek tho tyre puncture hona jayaz hain" .

"Very mean". Neeti laughed again.

"Chaliye... hotel aa gaya."

... TO BE CONTINUED

The wait for the end... Part 1

2009-07-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

This is one of my innumerable attempts towards writing a short story. I hope at least this time I keep it short.

This is the story of a goon. Yes, a criminal. His name is Kashif. Kashif was a henchman, an extortionist, a kidnapper. He could be whatever you wanted, as long as you paid him hefty sums of money. He had a small one-room shanty in Dharavi. He lived there and operated his business also from there itself.

Kashif began his 'career' at the age of 10. His first consignment was given by a well established don of Mumbai. He was assigned to kill an upcoming builder who had refused to pay 'protection money'. Kashif's mother was admitted in the hospital and was fighting against death. The doctor refused to treat her until the previous dues were cleared. Kashif found no other option and took up the consignment and killed the builder. The don paid Kashif much more than promised and even offered to treat his mother in a plush hospital. But as fate would have it, by the time Kashif took the money and reached to rescue his mother, she was already declared dead. Kashif shed not a single tear. In fact like a good son, he performed all the last rites well. The next day, the hospital doctor who had refused to treat Kashif's mother was found dead in his 3 BHK appartment in townside Mumbai.

Kashif slowly and gradually progressed from a small-time henchman to a serial killer, then a kidnapper. From here on, there was no looking back for him. He was on a money making spree. By the age of 25, his name was counted among the big dons of Mumbai. He was very pleased with the kind of hold he had, but somehow was never satisfied. In a fews years, he began loan-sharking. Biggies from all over India came to him. He did their work and they paid him any random amount that he quoted. But unlike the other dons, he was never into human trafficking or drugs. He was a misogynist and kept away from women.

Come May 1998, there was a big event in the city. Some sort of an International Summit. All the Bollywood actors, company CEOs etc had gather at the 7 star hotel's banquet hall. Kashif was invited by one of the top builder's to threaten a certain government official. Kashif readily came. He met most known faces and some unknown. A waiter came to serve Kashif some drinks. Kashif turned back to pick a wine glass and that is when he saw her. She was dressed in blue denim and a white top, hair tussled in a black clip. Nothing eye catching about her. She kept clicking pictures, moving about the hall like she knew it so well. All the while she kept smiling.

Kashif noticed that his eyes kept following her. He tried to engage himself in talks but all his attempts were futile. He knew there was something about her that made him gaze shamelessly.

11.00 pm and the hall was getting empty. People started leaving for their rooms. Some were sloshed and had to be accompanied. Kashif called his driver and ordered him to get the car. The driver promptly drove the car to the porch. Kashif was all set to take the lift when he saw her walk down the flight of stairs. Unaware of his action, he followed her down the stairs. She was trying to miserably fit her camera into the hold-all and tie her hair, all at the same time. And then something from her bag fell off. Kashif quickened his steps and picked it up. He gave it to her, without even giving a glance towards what it was. He kept looking at her. She said "Thank you Sir". Kashif fumbled for words and somehow managed to say, "Koi baat nahin... tik hai". She bobbed about the stairs like a small kid, unaware of the mysterious pair of eyes staring at her.

Kashif saw her leave the main entrance of the plush hotel. He was about to follow her when his driver called out "Gaadi tayar hain Sahab". Kashif gave the driver a frosty nose look and angrily got into the back seat. The car left the premises and off onto the silent roads of Marine Drive. After covering about 50 feet, Kashif almost screeched "Rukooo". The driver hastily pulled the car. Kashif saw her walking down the streets alone. He stepped out and walked up to her. "Suniye! Kya main aap ko lift de sakta hun?". She jumped with fright. "Ji...Ji...Ji nahin". He again said "Suniye raat ka samay hai, aap ne yun akele nahi jana chaiye". She yelled back "Get lost you nerd. How dare you come and talk to me!". Kashif almost laughed. He said very calmly "Hanji, gaaliyan bhi de dijiye magar abh yahan se chaliye." She looked into his eyes for the first time and saw an assurance. "Well, I'm sorry dude! Can you give me a lift to Bandra?". Kashif only smiled and said "Haan haan Bandra Bandra".

They stepped into his car. She sat as far as possible. Kashif avoided looking at her. He had to put in a lot of effort. She kept looking at her mobile as if waiting for a call. He asked her "Hum call kar den? Aap ko thodi shaanti tho milegi warna aap iss phone ko dekhte rahengi aur hum aap ko." She smiled back. A big smile. And blushed. She put her hand forward and said "Hi I'm Neeti, photographer and reporter." He took her hand in his and held it like for eternity. "Kashif, hamara business hain." "Acha kis cheez ka business hain aap ka?". Kashif thought for a moment, saw her camera and said "Camera, TV, video". "Cameras... gosh I love cameras. This is given to me by my firm but I have one of my own. Its completely beautiful and the lenses are so ..." she went on and on and on. He only kept looking at her and nodding his head with the sound of any familiar word.

By the time they reached Bandra, she had explained the entire history of cameras. Not once did Kashif interrupt her. "Oh that's my home there. Thank you so much for the lift." "Ji koi baat nahin... good night". She looked at her mobile again and made a grimace. He spontaneously asked her "Coffee?". "Cafe Coffee Day Dadar" came her reply.

They reached Dadar. When Kashif entered CCD, the attending guys looked at him with fright in their eyes. One of them almost spilt coffee on a customer. Kashif smiled and raised an eyebrow. Neeti was too busy to notice any of this. She kept looking at her mobile. They were directed to a table. Neeti ordered two Cappuchinos. Kashif didn't attempt to order anything different. Neeti realised that Kashif could not converse in English. She didn't make it obvious and subtly changed her conversations to Hindi. Kashif seemed comfortable. They chatted about various things. About business, politics, Mumbai. Neeti looked at her mobile one last time and threw it in her hold all. He asked her "Kya aap ka koi boyfriend hain?". She shifted a little in her seat and said "Hmmm nahin". "Fir tik hain, kyunki main yeh kehna chahta tha ki mujhe aap bahut achi lagti ho". Neeti smiled, blushed and laughed. She paid closer attention to Kashif this time as he spoke about his Mumbai connections. She noticed that he was clean shaved, brown eyed and had a mole on his nose. He was not good looking but his smile lit his face like a shiny dew drop on a leaf.

The coffee was over and their conversations dimished with every passing moment. Neeti stood up and declared she would pay the bill. And without waiting for him to say anything, walked towards the counter and said to the cashier "Bill please!". The cashier promptly stood up and almost saluted her and said "No Ma'am today all drinks on the house". Neeti hardly believed her ears and jumped about the place. "Kashif aaj sab free hain idhar! Aree humne tho aur bhi lena chaiye tha. Hahahaha". Kashif murmured "Neeti, hamare saath rahoge tho sab free hoga." Neeti didn't hear clearly and asked "What?". He said "Kuch nahin ghar chalte hain!"

To be Continued...

Kya likhun?

2009-06-09T21:41:00.000-07:00

Baithe hain likhne kuch lavz aise,
Ye dil ko mile kahin kuch sukuun jaise.
Zehen mein kuch baat tho aaye,
Padhne wale ko maza bhi laaye.

Baat hai bas itni si hi,
Ki likhne ki koshish humne bhi ki.
Saath diya na Urdu ne na Hindi ne,
Isthemal kar liya inhe angrezi mein.

"Aage bhi tho likh", kahe kalam
"Kuch acha pyara tez aur naram,
Ki padhne wale ko samajh bhi aaye,
Aur sunne wala na hosh gavaye".

Likhun bhi tho kya ye bata,
Har koi kuch naya hain chahta.
Pedh patta badal aur neer,
Kar gaye jhoota Galib aur Kabir.

Pyaar, mohabbat ki ummeed na rakh,
Likh likh ke sab gaye hain thak.
Kismath pe na likh paya main kabhi,
Aur uparwale ne uspne tho kitabein hain chapi.

Rahi bas ek cheez jis pe main likh paaun,
Aur yun hi din raat likhta chala jaun,
Woh soch ke jo uthaya kalam abhi,
Woh baat pe jo abhi bho zehen mein hain hi nahin.

---Arpita
19th April 2009

वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

2009-04-01T22:07:00.000-07:00

थर थर पाउस आला
घन घन ढग बोलला
"आला मी नवीन जीवन घेउनी"
"नदीचा पोट ही चक्क भरुनी"
"काय पाहिजेस तुला माला संग"
"नाहीं पिलेला मी ते भंग"
मन हसून बोलला स्वतःशी
आली ही रुतु कशी
वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

हळू हळू पाउस गेला सोडून
सूर्य आला ढगा मागून
प्रकाशमय झाली येथे तेथे सगळी
पाने मजेत फुगडी खेळी
झाड़ खुशीत असा विचारे
सांग माला काय पाहिजे तुला रे
मन हसून बोलला स्वतःशी
आली ही रुतु कशी वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

झाड़ जोर जोरानी हसला
आंबा घाबरूनी खाली पडला
लुड्कत लुड्कत माकड हाथी लागला
खुशीत माकडानी उडी मारला
पोट भरुनी तो बोलिला
संग देऊ काय मी तुला
मन हसून बोलला स्वतःशी
आली ही रुतु कशी
वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

नाचत नाचत माकड पावला शहरी
पकडीत आला तो एक नगरी
पण पकड़णारा ही होता भारी
प्रयत्न करुन झाला तो मदारी
पैसे ज़म्वू लागले किती तरी
सफल होउनी आता विचारी
"माग! आणि भरून देइन मी घाघरी"
मन हसून बोलला स्वतःशी
आली ही रुतु कशी
वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

मन विचार करू लागला
मागु काय त्याला न कळाला
सगळस तर आहे माझ्या कड़े देवा
माझ्या नमनाचा दिलास तू मेवा
तू संग काय अर्पू तुला
दान दक्षिणा की फुला
मन हसून बोलला स्वतःशी
आली ही रुतु कशी
वाटे चालली नवल दिशी

You have a choice!

2009-03-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

I could be the sun,
And blaze for everyone.
I could be the moon,
And be romantic for someone.
I can be the star,
And inspire anyone.
Or I could be the sky,
Which holds all these together as one.

I could fly away where ever I could,
I could sit in the water like a buffalo would,
I could be a butterfly to live for a day or two,
Or hide like a mouse so none have a clue.

I could pretend to be a singer,
A star in parties to long linger.
I could be a beautiful Gucci-clad actress,
Smile for some and dance to impress.
I could be a witty, nasty little leader,
Cheating people but a smart mind reader.
Or just be me, like the way I am now,
With nothing to lose like a sleepy cow.

"You have choice!", God said to me,
Showed me many doors but gave no key,
"You could be anything and that too for free.
Just imagine how beautiful this life could be".

---Arpita

20th March 2009

I made this

2008-10-02T23:32:00.000-07:00

http://www.sumo.fi/products/sumopaint/index.php?id=0 This site is cool!

Fire (Exit) at Mc Donald's !

2008-10-02T20:56:00.000-07:00

Mc Donald's a favourite hangout among the youngistanies!

Jam packed! Try and find a table for yourself and you're a winner!

I think its hilarious the way people display sign boards and for this, to come from Mc Donald, makes it even more uproarious. Hahahaha .... Kudos to Mc D's!

Mumbai!

2008-09-30T20:49:00.000-07:00

Not even an inch vacant!

Flummoxed!

2008-09-28T23:26:00.000-07:00

Human World

The women of the Tiwi tribe in the South Pacific are married at birth.

When Albert Einstein died, his final words died with him. The nurse at his side didn't understand German.

St Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, was not Irish.

The lance ceased to be an official battle weapon in the British Army in 1927.

St. John was the only one of the 12 Apostles to die a natural death.

Many sailors used to wear gold earrings so that they could afford a proper burial when they died.

Some very Orthodox Jew refuse to speak Hebrew, believing it to be a language reserved only for the Prophets.

A South African monkey was once awarded a medal and promoted to the rank of corporal during World War I.

Born 4 January 1838, General Tom Thumb's growth slowed at the age of 6 months, at 5 years he was signed to the circus by P.T. Barnum, and at adulthood reached a height of only 1 metre.

Because they had no proper rubbish disposal system, the streets of ancient Mesopotamia became literally knee-deep in rubbish.

The Toltecs, Seventh-century native Mexicans, went into battle with wooden swords so as not to kill their enemies.

China banned the pigtail in 1911 as it was seen as a symbol of feudalism.

The Amayra guides of Bolivia are said to be able to keep pace with a trotting horse for a distance of 100 kilometres.

Sliced bread was patented by a jeweller, Otto Rohwedder, in 1928. He had been working on it for 16 years, having started in 1912.

Before it was stopped by the British, it was the not uncommon for women in some areas of India to choose to be burnt alive on their husband's funeral pyre.

Ivan the terrible claimed to have 'deflowered thousands of virgins and butchered a similar number of resulting offspring'.

Before the Second World War, it was considered a sacrilege to even touch an Emperor of Japan.

An American aircraft in Vietnam shot itself down with one of its own missiles.

The Anglo-Saxons believed Friday to be such an unlucky day that they ritually slaughtered any child unfortunate enough to be born on that day.

During the eighteenth century, laws had to be brought in to curb the seemingly insatiable appetite for gin amongst the poor. Their annual intake was as much as five million gallons.

Ancient drinkers warded off the devil by clinking their cups

The Nobel Prize resulted form a late change in the will of Alfred Nobel, who did not want to be remembered after his death as a propagator of violence - he invented dynamite.

The cost of the first pay-toilets installed in England was tuppence.

Pogonophobia is the fear of beards.

In 1647 the English Parliament abolished Christmas.

Mao Rse-Tang, the first chairman of the Chinese Communist Party, was born 26 December 1893. Before his rise to power, he occupied the humble position of Assistant Librarian at the University of Peking.

Coffee is the second largest item of international commerce in the world. The largest is petrol.

King George III was declared violently insane in 1811, 9 years before he died.

In Ancient Peru, when a woman found an 'ugly' potato, it was the custom for her to push it into the face of the nearest man.

For Roman Catholics, 5 January is St Simeon Stylites' Day. He was a fifth-century hermit who showed his devotion to God by spending literally years sitting on top of a huge flagpole.

When George I became King of England in 1714, his wife did not become Queen. He placed her under house arrest for 32 years.

The richest 10 per cent of the French people are approximately fifty times better off than the poorest 10 per cent.

Henry VII was the only British King to be crowned on the field of battle

During World War One, the future Pope John XXIII was a sergeant in the Italian Army.

Richard II died aged 33 in 1400. A hole was left in the side of his tomb so people could touch his royal head, but 376 years later some took advantage of this and stole his jawbone.

The magic word "Abracadabra" was originally intended for the specific purpose of curing hay fever.

The Puritans forbade the singing of Christmas Carols, judging them to be out of keeping with the true spirit of Christmas.

Albert Einstein was once offered the Presidency of Israel. He declined saying he had no head for problems.

Uri Geller, the professional psychic was born on December 20 1946. As to the origin of his alleged powers, Mr Geller maintains that they come from the distant planet of Hoova.

Ralph and Carolyn Cummins had 5 children between 1952 and 1966, all were born on the 20 February.

John D. Rockefeller gave away over US$ 500,000,000 during his lifetime.

Only 1 child in 20 are born on the day predicted by the doctor.

In the 1970's, the Rhode Island Legislature in the US entertained a proposal that there be a $2 tax on every act of sexual intercourse in the State.

Widows in equatorial Africa actually wear sackcloth and ashes when attending a funeral.

The 'Hundred Years War' lasted 116 years.

The British did not release the body of Napoleon Bonaparte to the French until twenty days after his death.

Admiral Lord Nelson was less than 1.6 metres tall.

John Glenn, the American who first orbited the Earth, was showered with 3,529 tonnes of ticker tape when he got back.

Native American Indians used to name their children after the first thing they saw as they left their tepees subsequent to the birth. Hence such strange names as Sitting Bull and Running Water.

Catherine the First of Russia, made a rule that no man was allowed to get drunk at one of her parties before nine o'clock.

Queen Elizabeth I passed a law which forced everyone except for the rich to wear a flat cap on Sundays.

In 1969 the shares of the Australian company 'Poseidon' were worth $1, one year later they were worth $280 each.

Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover the onset of baldness.

Ernest Bevin, Minister of Labour during World War II, left school at the age of eleven.

At the age of 12, Martin Luther King became so depressed he tried committing suicide twice, by jumping out of his bedroom window.

It is illegal to be a prostitute in Siena, Italy, if your name is Mary.

The Turk's consider it considered unlucky to step on a piece of bread.

The authorities do not allow tourists to take pictures of Pygmies in Zambia.

The Dutch in general prefer their french fries with mayonnaise.

Upon the death of F.D. Roosevelt, Harry S Truman became the President of America on 12 April 1945. The initial S in the middle of his name doesn't in fact mean anything. Both his grandfathers had names beginning with 'S', and so Truman's mother didn't want to disappoint either of them.

Sir Isaac Newton was obsessed with the occult and the supernatural.

One of Queen Victoria's wedding gifts was a 3 metre diameter, half tonne cheese.

Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, never phoned his wife or his mother, they were both deaf.

It was considered unfashionable for Venetian women, during the Renaissance to have anything but silvery-blonde hair.

Queen Victoria was one of the first women ever to use chloroform to combat pain during childbirth.

Peter the Great had the head of his wife's lover cut off and put into a jar of preserving alcohol, which he then ordered to be placed by her bed.

The car manufacturer Henry Ford was awarded Hitler's Grand Cross of the Supreme Order of the German Eagle. Henry Ford was the inventor of the assembly line, and Hitler used this knowledge of the assembly line to speed up production, and to create better and interchangeable products.

Atilla the Hun is thought to have been a dwarf.

The warriors tribes of Ethiopia used to hang the testicles of those they killed in battle on the ends of their spears.

On 15 April 1912 the SS Titanic sunk on her maiden voyage and over 1,500 people died. Fourteen years earlier a novel was published by Morgan Robertson which seemed to foretell the disaster. The book described a ship the same size as the Titanic which crashes into an iceberg on its maiden voyage on a misty April night. The name of Robertson's fictional ship was the Titan.

There are over 200 religious denominations in the United States.

Eau de Cologne was originally marketed as a way of protecting yourself against the plague.

Charles the Simple was the grandson of Charles the Bald, both were rulers of France.

Theodor Herzi, the Zionist leader who was born on May 2 1860, once had the astonishing idea of converting Jews to Christianity as a way of combating anti-Semitism.

The women of an African tribe make themselves more attractive by permanently scaring their faces.

Augustus II, the Elector of Saxony and King of Poland seemed to have a prodigious sexual appetite, and fathered hundreds of illegitimate children during his lifetime.

Some moral purists in the Middle Ages believed that women's ears ought to be covered up because the Virgin May had conceived a child through them.

Hindus don't like dying in bed, they prefer to die beside a river.

While at Havard University, Edward Kennedy was suspended for cheating on a Spanish exam.

It is a criminal offence to drive around in a dirty car in Russia.

The Emperor Caligula once decided to go to war with the Roman God of the sea, Poseidon, and ordered his soldiers to throw their spears into the water at random.

The Ecuadorian poet, José Olmedo, has a statue in his honour in his home country. But, unable to commission a sculptor, due to limited funds, the government brought a second-hand statue .. Of the English poet Lord Byron.

In 1726, at only 7 years old, Charles Sauson inherited the post of official executioner.

Sir Winston Churchill rationed himself to 15 cigars a day.

On 7 January 1904 the distress call 'CQD' was introduced. 'CQ' stood for 'Seek You' and 'D' for 'Danger'. This lasted only until 1906 when it was replaced with 'SOS'.

Though it is forbidden by the Government, many Indians still adhere to the caste system which says that it is a defilement for even the shadow of a person from a lowly caste to fall on a Brahman ( a member of the highest priestly caste).

In parts of Malaya, the women keep harems of men.

The childrens' nursery rhyme 'Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses' actually refers to the Black Death which killed about 30 million people in the fourteenth-century.

The word 'denim' comes from 'de Nimes', Nimes being the town the fabric was originally produced.

During the reign of Elizabeth I, there was a tax put on men's beards.

Idi Amin, one of the most ruthless tyrants in the world, before coming to power, served in the British Army.

Some Eskimos have been known to use refrigerators to keep their food from freezing.

It is illegal to play tennis in the streets of Cambridge.

Custer was the youngest General in US history, he was promoted at the age of 23.

It costs more to send someone to reform school than it does to send them to Eton.

The American pilot Charles Lindbergh received the Service Cross of the German Eagle form Hermann Goering in 1938.

The active ingredient in Chinese Bird's nest soup is saliva.

Marie Currie, who twice won the Nobel Prize, and discovered radium, was not allowed to become a member of the prestigious French Academy because she was a woman.

It was quite common for the men of Ancient Greece to exercise in public .. naked.

John Paul Getty, once the richest man in the world, had a payphone in his mansion.

Iceland is the world's oldest functioning democracy.

Adolf Eichmann (responsible for countless Jewish deaths during World war II), was originally a travelling salesman for the Vacuum Oil Co. of Austria.

The national flag of Italy was designed by Napoleon Bonaparte.

The Matami Tribe of West Africa play a version of football, the only difference being that they use a human skull instead of a more normal ball.

John Winthrop introduced the fork to the American dinner table for the first time on 25 June 1630.

Elizabeth Blackwell, born in Bristol, England on 3 February 1821, was the first woman in America to gain an M.D. degree.

Abraham Lincoln was shot with a Derringer.

The great Russian leader, Lenin died 21 January 1924, suffering from a degenerative brain disorder. At the time of his death his brain was a quarter of its normal size.

When shipped to the US, the London bridge ( thought by the new owner to be the more famous Tower Bridge ) was classified by US customs to be a 'large antique'.

Sir Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' cloakroom after his mother went into labour during a dance at Blenheim Palace.

In 1849, David Atchison became President of the United States for just one day, and he spent most of the day sleeping.

Between the two World War's, France was controlled by forty different governments.

The 'Crystal Palace' at the Great Exhibition of 1851, contained 92 900 square metres of glass.

It was the custom in Ancient Rome for the men to place their right hand on their testicles when taking an oath. The modern term 'testimony' is derived from this tradition.

Sir Winston Churchill's mother was descended from a Red Indian.

The study of stupidity is called 'monology'.

Hindu men believe(d) it to be unluckily to marry a third time. They could avoid misfortune by marring a tree first. The tree ( his third wife ) was then burnt, freeing him to marry again.

More money is spent each year on alcohol and cigarettes than on Life insurance.

In 1911 3 men were hung for the murder of Sir Edmund Berry at Greenbury Hill, their last names were Green, Berry , and Hill.

A firm in Britain sold fall-out shelters for pets.

During the seventeen century , the Sultan of Turkey ordered his entire harem of women drowned, and replace with a new one.

Lady Astor once told Winston Churchill 'if you were my husband, I would poison your coffee'. His reply …' if you were my wife, I would drink it ! '.

There are no clocks in Las Vegas casinos.

The Great Pyramid of Giza consists of 2,300,000 blocks each weighing 2.5 tons.

On 9 February 1942, soap rationing began in Britain.

Paul Revere was a dentist.

The Budget speech on April 17 1956 saw the introduction of Premium Savings Bonds into Britain. The machine which picks the winning numbers is called "Ernie", an abbreviation, which stands for' electronic random number indicator equipment'.

Chop-suey is not a native Chinese dish, it was created in California by Chinese immigrants.

The Russian mystic, Rasputin, was the victim of a series of murder attempts on this day in 1916. The assassins poisoned, shot and stabbed him in quick succession, but they found they were unable to finish him off. Rasputin finally succumbed to the ice-cold waters of a river.

Bonnie Prince Charlie, the leader of the Jacobite rebellion to depose of George II of England, was born 31 December 1720. Considered a great Scottish hero, he spent his final years as a drunkard in Rome.

The Liberal Prime Minister, William Gladstone, was born of the 29th December 1809. Apparently, as a result of his strong Puritan impulses, Gladstone kept a selection of whips in his cellar with which he regularly chastised himself.

A parthenophobic has a fear of virgins.

South American gauchos were known to put raw steak under their saddles before starting a day's riding, in order to tenderise the meat.

There are 240 white dots in a Pacman arcade game.

In 1939 the US political party 'The American Nazi Party' had 200,000 members.

King Solomon of Israel had about 700 wives as well as hundreds of mistresses.

Urine was once used to wash clothes.

North American Indian, Sitting Bull, died on 15 December 1890. His bones were laid to rest in North Dakota, but a business group wanted him moved to a 'more natural' site in South Dakota. Their campaign was rejected so they stole the bones, and they now reside in Sitting Bull Park, South Dakota.

St Nicholas, the original Father Christmas, is the patron saint of thieves, virgins and communist Russia.

Dublin is home of the Fairy Investigation Society.

Fourteen million people were killed in World War I, twenty million died in a flu epidemic in the years that followed.

People in Siberia often buy milk frozen on a stick.

Princess Ann was the only competitor at the 1976 Montreal Olympics that did not have to undergo a sex test.

Ethelred the Unready, King of England in the Tenth-century, spent his wedding night in bed with his wife and his mother-in-law.

Coffins which are due for cremation are usually made with plastic handles.

Blackbird, who was the chief of Omaha Indians, was buried sitting on his favourite horse.

The two highest IQ's ever recorded (on a standard test) both belong to women.

The Tory Prime Minister, Benjamin Disreali, was born 21 December 1804. He was noted for his oratory and had a number of memorable exchanges in the House with his great rival William Gladstone. Asked what the difference between a calamity and a misfortune was Disreali replied: 'If Gladstone fell into the Thames it would be a misfortune, but if someone pulled him out again, it would be a calamity'.

The Imperial Throne of Japan has been occupied by the same family for the last thirteen hundred years.

In the seventeenth-century a Boston man was sentenced to two hours in the stocks for obscene behaviour, his crime, kissing his wife in a public place on a Sunday.

President Kaunda of Zambia once threatened to resign if his fellow countrymen didn't stop drinking so much alcohol.

Due to staggering inflation in the 1920's, 4,000,000,000,000,000,000 German marks were worth 1 US dollar.

Gorgias of Epirus was born during preparation of his mothers funeral.

The city of New York contains a district called 'Hell's Kitchen'.

The city of Hiroshima left the Industrial Promotion Centre standing as a monument the atomic bombing.

During the Medieval Crusades, transporting bodies off the battlefield for burial was a major problem, this was solved by carrying a huge cauldron into the Holy wars, boiling down the bodies, and taking only the bones with them.

A ten-gallon hat holds three-quarters of a gallon.

George Washington grew marijuana in his garden.

Courtsey: http://home.bitworks.co.nz/trivia/human.htm

This is how Goa is on a Sunday... Totally Deserted!

2008-09-28T22:58:00.000-07:00

Seems like the inhabitants have left the place for good! But don't worry... This is only on a Sunday. Monday, they're all back... not with a bang though.

Goa ... Up and above!

2008-09-28T22:51:00.001-07:00

The last pic is one of its kinds. Delta X precison hmmm. All these pics were shot with a 3.5 mega pixele camera. From an airplane. I think the camera has done good. It was a little foggy though.

Panchgani...

2008-09-28T22:42:00.001-07:00

I had clicked this. The pic has turned out to be just fine. Never imagined I could click a good pic too.

Wish You a very very Happy New Year

2008-04-03T01:13:00.002-07:00

New Year is just like a new born.
Be it a baby or a field corn.

It comes, so clean and clear.
It was far, but now its near

It's as pure as mother's love
Its as sacred as Almighty above

Its as innocent as a child's laugh
Its as precious as your better half.

Its as refreshing as a mug of coffee,
Its as sweet as a wrapped up toffee

It brings to you new pleasures and joys
New smiles for all girls and boys

It brings with it new hopes for the old
New stories which never told

But, as always, it only upto you,
To either treat it like fading dew

Or welcome it with open arms
And recognise its new charms

You can make better or make worse.
You could spell a blessing or a curse.

You see our lamps are all lit
So make the best out of it.

---Arpita, 29/12/2006.

Wish you all a very very Happy and Prosperous NEW YEAR.

God Bless...

The touch of your hand says you'd catch me wherever I'd fall...

2008-04-03T01:13:00.001-07:00

Yeppie! Finally we have cleared the POST project also. I secured an 'A' grade. Didn't expect it. But of course it wasn't a bolt in the blue either. We had worked very hard for this.

I remember those Mysore days, where I used to literally cry everyday on phone telling my friends about the following day's test. I had turned out to be a very moody person there. I used to crib big time about the food there. I had not even spared the security fraternity there and even complained about it.

Many of my friends were fed up of my mood swings. I used to scream and yell on the top of my voice, breaking all the decibal control rules. Slowly and gradually, most of them avoided calling. But of course, I don't blame anyone.

All that while, there was one sweet friend who still kept his calm. Listened to all my cries. Tolerated my mood swings.

I remember one special moment which is very close to me.
I come from a family where 95% of the income is spent on food. We love to eat. And don't compromise at all in these regards. That's why the super solid build, we have. But that's not what I want to point out. During the Mysore training, I had a horrible time with the food served there. All continental, bland stuff. The first month, I put up with all the dishes. Some where around the 2nd month, this special friend called me at around 9.30 pm. It was a Friday, the last working day for the week. So I definitely could afford to have a long chat(long chats = till 3am or sometimes even 5am). I was very low since I had not faired well in one of the tests that week. He kept asking me as to what had happened. But you see girls never change. They never answer in the first go.

Around 11pm, I suddenly, out of the blue, started wallowing and sobbing. He kept telling me not to worry about the test and that I would fair well the next time. I told him that the test was not the reason. I was crying because of the bland food I had to have every day. I went on and on and on. In the next 10 mins, what I heard was a sob on the other end of the line. I asked him as to why he was crying. And all he said was "You are having such stuff there, and look at me here, having tasty food everyday".

Now what can someone reply in such a situation. I couldn't find anything to say. Was a very touching moment.

The smile on your face explains all that you need me
There's a truth in you eyes saying you'll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you'd catch me wherever I'd fall...

You say it best,
When you day nothing at all... Ronan Keating

Chandi jaisa Rang hai Tera...

2008-04-03T01:12:00.001-07:00

Chandi jaisa Rang hai Tera...

Its a beautiful day today. No scorching heat. No clouds. Clear blue skies and very pleasant. Just a hint of breeze romancing with the trees in Infy campus. Reminded me of my training days in Mysore.

But that is not all. I listened to one of my personal favorite songs after such a long time. It is a gazal written by Janaab Khatil Shifai, and sung by Pankaj Udhas. The lyrics go like this

Chandi jaisa ranga hai tera
Sone jaise baal,
Ek tu hi dhanwan hai gori
Baaki sab kangaal...

This songs speaks so romatically about the beauty of a woman. I am not proficient in Urdu but the style in which this song has been composed any lay man will also feel what exactly the poet wants to say. He has not only praised her beauty which immensely mesmerises the listener, but at the same time prays that no Evil Eye ever catches even a glimpse of her and that she may live a thousand years.

During my training days, a friend of mine came and visited me in Mysore. He stayed for two days. We had a lot of fun in that time. Lunches, dinners... had a very nice time. Then, like al good things must come to an end, he had to leave to get back to his city. That was his last evening there. We dined in one of the plush restaurants Mysore could offer. Hotel Nityanand. A well lit place, perfectly suited for a romatic dinner. And for the icing on the cake, there was a Mehfil, something that I never expected in a city like Mysore. People requested for gazals. And the singer happily sang most of the gazals. I also gave him a list of songs. One of them was our very own, "Chandi Jaisa Rang". I was hoping against hope, while he looked at my list that he may sing this one. He shuffled through his old, tattered book to find lyrics of any of the ones listed. In less than 5 mins, he started playing his harmonium and there! He did sing "Chandi jaisa rang hai tera..."

I just couldn't stop smiling while he was singing. And my friend not only enjoyed the song but also my facial expressions. :)

The 15h August, India speaks...

2007-08-12T21:39:00.000-07:00

What is the date?
Oh! India's ill fate.
Ah! The 15th of August,
Day of utter shame and disgust.
And have I not forgotten
Slavery and poverty all begotten.

60 years is the time passed,
One after another, sped so fast.
Year after year, giving a holiday,
Just pray it is always one weekday.

Some say, "60 years and nowhere...",
Others bray, "What do I care!
After all, here's not where I shall live,
Two hoot is what I have and now will give.
Leave this place to earn and be good,
Go to paradise for riches and food."

Gandhi? Nehru? Bhagatsingh? Bose?
Who they are God only knows!
Some men, I guess, who helped India get free,
From the English clutches, so much, I can agree.

Politicians, cricketers, police all corrupt,
I wonder, somehow they never go bankcrupt.
Smelly streets leading to dirty roads,
Spewing garbage and beggars in loads.

And this is the only gift have been given,
Riots, terrorism; this is India-driven.

But can she not ask, "What about you
Nothing's given to me and lot is due
Have you put a better foot forward,
Or only let the condition be lowered?
Did you, as a citizen, play your part,
Or forgot your duties and escaped smart?

You speak of staying and settling abroad,
But do you know of my culture? I guess not.
You pinch me about my poor and my beggar,
But have you bothered and been a saviour?

My streets and roads lay there unclean,
But haven't you too littered and been very mean.
My politicians, cricketers, police seem dishonest,
But have you not bribed, in a way, even the slightest?

No answers now do you have for me,
No reason for me to care for thee.
But still, I will try and do my best,
For it hurts to see my children in such unrest.

12/08/2007

Buhuuuu Buhuuu

2007-06-20T21:59:00.000-07:00

Guess what! I have no work again today... thought of composing a song but as of now not in a mood...
My colleagues went for a picnic(they call it a party) yesterday. I didn't :(. Oh come on now, I had reasons.
Robbins was angry. He asked me, a several times, to come .
Sometimes I behave really pricey... may be. But I didn't mean to though.
Anyways, I'm going to make a nice time-table for myself. I hope to follow it.
I just don't study these days. I had planned to start with .Net today but ...

I'm hungry too. But that's because I'm not doing anything. I just can't sit idle. It irritates me. Hmmm, so any ideas about what I should do today? Anything other than eating is accepted!

I read a nice quote on Contrapunto of TOI today. It says "If you are seeking new ideas, go walking.". Nice one, isn't it? So, expecting me to go walking? Naah! please, not today. Tomorrow. (I wonder when this tomorrow would come)

I have nothing to write(type actually, but I prefer 'write' since it gives me a feeling that I am 'doing something') but putting in sincere efforts to find something...errr...new.

Simultaneously, I'm even praticing typing on the keyboard without looking at it. I still need practice, a lot of it.

The cotton... high up

2007-06-18T00:27:00.000-07:00

You seem like cotton
You're spread everywhere,
Unlike my dress's button
You hang in the air.

Then you looked so white
Like a fairy's veil,
Now you seem grey in light
Making staid and pale.

While all rush home
You laugh so loud,
Safe in your dome
Pouring out on the crowd.

Naughty like a petit child
Playing pranks to glory,
Spreading like the fragrance mild
Like grandma telling a story.

Teasing the land to bubble
To smell like musk,
Tinkling the leaves to sparkle
To shoo all husk.

Selflessly you do your job
To bring earthly respite,
Walking like you always bob
To disperse your elite.

There I can see the flower
Innocently flaunting its teeth,
Smiling at you since an hour
But hey, can you see beneath?

Hmmm...

2007-06-08T04:47:00.000-07:00

I have absolutely no work today in office. I don't understand what to do.
So I thought of blogging, as a means to kill time...

"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity" - Albert Einstein

And will pass above...

2007-06-08T04:40:00.000-07:00

I sit in the evenings by the beach,
Trying to figure out how to reach.
The sacred place that is your heart,
With lot of affection and some art.
Still convincing myself this isn't love,
Just a phase and will pass above.

I see you pass by the corridor,
The crave to talk to you rises more.
So I walk towards you,
Just to say a word or two.
But you look at me with those eyes,
I feel within those butterflies.
And thus I move away from sight,
But something within me is still in fight.
Still convincing myself this isn't love,
Just a phase and will pass above.

There you are talking to him,
I feel the burning upto the brim.
I wish I could pull you away,
And sit close to you all day.
May be just looking into those eyes,
And not realising how time flies.
May be just letting you talk,
While we're close and take a walk.
May be just sitting by your side,
And let my senses just slide.
But then again I move astray,
Taking slow steps my way.
Still convincing myself this isn't love,
Just a phase and will pass above.

Now I'm home far away in miles,
Trying to forget your sweet smiles.
Letting go of all I saw of you today,
And sleeping off on my bed lay.
There you go! I see you again,
See how all my effort goes in vain.
Guess what!You swept me off my feet,
I felt new vibes,new rhythms and beat.
And then you uttered those words with glee,
"I truly love you, do you love me?"
"Yes yes yes" I shouted and jumped,
Only to find my throat all lumped.
All I realised it was a dream,
Over is all the sugar and cream.
But now I know I am assured,
I felt IT now and measured.
This is LOVE, nothing else could it be,
What I feel when you look at me.

Aha yes its here its LOVE,
And I hope it'll never pass above.