Another Mortal Life

"The biggest mistake of my life was..."
"Ha ha.. ha.. ha"
"ahhaha. haha. ha.."
"hmm.. so, the biggest mistake of your life was...?"
"Ha ha haha.. hmm"
"Oh :|"
***

"You know, life could be simple too."
"I know. You have been a bit too complex for me."
"????"
"Nothing."
***

"If we didn't have common friends, we would've been the best ones."
***

H: "To write a poem extempore...."
A1: "Your vagueness should be exemplary.

A poem is what people don't understand"
P2: "It's the poet's respite from world superficial and bland.

A poem is something you don't converse like."
V: "A poem is a conversationalist's last like.

A poem is the words introverts couldn't speak"
P1: "Why do I feel like advising you to see a shrink?"
***

TI: "How about my treat? It's long due!"

P4: "i told u, catch mee in a good mood smtime in the insti...but u r so keen on igboring me if u see me in the insti wat can i do"

TI: "don't say I ignored you! I saw an european unseen before, crossing me on a road, and by the time it occurred to me that she could be you, we were 10mtrs apart! And it was only once. Moreover, that didn't seem 2 b a nice situation for introductions."

Vibhav: "*An European Unseen Before*

Once in the insti while crossing roads,
I saw an European unseen before.
Alas! I couldn't recognize at once, but
I certainly didn't mean to ignore.

10 meters had already passed, and
for intros it wasn't a nice situation,
What I didn't know was that later on,
I'll be bashed with this allegation.

Allegedly, I am keen on igboring,
Indeed, these European ways are neat,
She swerved away with a vengeance on me,
when all I claimed was a treat."

P4: "Bad one for an excuse
Cause howmuchever you may muse
This excuse does not amuse.

For I know for sure that
At least one more chance you've had
Yet you've seen thru me, am I a rat? :P

The vengeance dude you deserve
Treat or not, the judgement we reserve."
***

Vik: "After an year of igboring you,
And after a dozen instances of being ignored
(Sorry, the number includes a few ambiguous ones
that I shouldn't actually record)
I've got only this to say
That I continue to be an introvert.
But may I so be not taken as
Someone rude, arch or curt :) "
***

"I don't like people. They suck- in fact, they are the only thing on the planet that Can. Figuratively. Literally. Terribly."
"So how does it feel being one of them?"
"Terrible."
***

"Go, ask for a recheck. This your answer is so not-incorrect, don't you see?"
"I know, P1"
"So, why not..?"
"Would it matter, I mean in the long run, that who scored highest in the mid term exam of class 6?"
"It will."
***

"Congrats! 50 outa 50! wow!"
"Thanks, A1! Well, our mathematics teacher and his terrible mathematics"
"What happened?"
"I didn't even attempt a 5-mark question, and he, thinking he didn't get to put a cross anywhere, awarded me 50/50!"
"Hmm, good for you!"
"Gotta get it corrected."
"There you are, again! You know what they call people like you?"
"Freak?"
***

"I like your integrated way of speaking"
"No M, I don't have that, not anymore."
***

"Meet the prof yaar, one more mark and your grade would go up"
"I won't"
"Why?"
"I never did."
***

"Pseud."
***

"Today, if I step into this room, I would have all my pride lost, for ever."
"You better do, you really have a shitty excess of it"
***

"You digress well."
***

"That one day changed my life; though, for the better"
"If you remember that, then I fear it only made your life worse."
***

Chand alfaaz dil se aise bhi nikalte hain kabhi kabhi..
Na siyaahi jinke saath chale, na kaagaz jinhe basera de.

This month has been an altogether new tryst with the campus. Apart from its dog(s) having got quite affectionate, and its bike(s) flipping me from one to another, and yeah, its lift(s) holding me in passionately when the majors were about to start etc etc...; it also has a certain T&P section I never had to deal with before this sem.

They lost/misplaced my Practical Training certificate again (Earlier, they had lost the one that reached them in July/Aug). Hail their generosity! Also, our department took good care of us too:

"The following three students will have to repeat their Prac T in summer 2008: 1... 2... 3.."

You said I crib too much. This is a small thing, right? and I can get it rectified soon. But why do I have to see that notice prominently displayed in the department for no fault of mine? Why does the onus of getting these shit of certificates be received at the insti lies with me?.. (when you want the companies to directly mail it to the insti)

And why does it happen twice? I mean, everybody is pardoned one mistake, except maybe the Khan of Chak De, but twice? If students can be told to repeat their training in summer 2008, why can't the T&P staff be penalised with a certain percentage of their salaries of summer 2007 for their utter negligence? Don't I talk fair enough?

And now when we've somehow managed to find the certificates (already approved by the head of T&P) in the bin that is T&P's office, we are not allowed to take them (or their photocopy) to the departmental authorities personally. It's three days now, and my dear department still hasn't received any communication from T&P:

"We will display colloquium grades on 10th. Let's see if we receive them by then.. :).. "

So it's we the students who have got to ensure a certain parcel reaches from a certain place in the insti to a certain other place in the insti, but without having any access to it! Even postmen would laugh at us.


PS: I think I can be a good masala-journalist, gossip columnist or like!

Kahaan se vo aayi jaane.. jaane kidhar gayi
Mohabbat phir mujhe chhookar guzar gayi

Aankho se vo ojhal.. huyi to laga ek pal,
ke mere hi seene mein kahin utar gayi..

"You know, the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: "Did he have passion?""

(Serendipity )

They told us to give up “I”.

And I was one of the few who took them seriously.

But no! “I” is such a beautiful word. It may not be the heart of a conversation, but the heart of an informal blog post it certainly is. I won’t buy their ego theories. And I’m pretty sure you won’t mind me blabbering about the inconsequential incidents of 'my' life.

I’ve had a long session of self introspection. Now that it was long and I’m obviously not writing about it (Yeah this is the first time in months that the title is the first thing I wrote when starting on a post), let me only mention the little bearing I want it to have on my blog. I want small sentences. I want the posts to be plain, simple, and unambiguous. I want to use “I” more often. I want to use “me” less often. I want to talk like “I feel…” and not like “Something makes me feel…”. I control my life, don't I?
…………………………………………………….

A dog bit me. 10:30 PM. Nov 5, 2007. in front of the nearby Nescafe. Apparently dogs are getting more and more human. You never know when they would strike. This one came unnoticed, and before I knew, tasted my blood with its teeth on my heel. The lights near the Nescafe were dim. I could only feel the pain. I couldn’t confirm if I still was the only being on earth to have tasted my blood. A couple of minutes later I knew I had lost the title. The two friends accompanying me shared their knowledge about 14 injections I will have to have in the belly which I knew was no longer the practice. Almost at the same time, a couple of other friends appeared, one of whom is a self-professed animal lover. I blamed all this on his being a little irritated of me in recent times :D

Anyway I had to rush to the hospital and I was administered first of the five injections of the one month rabies course. (Only five! And not in the stomach! Thank God!) Returning to the hostel, I googled about rabies. It was interesting to know that rabies is not too bad after all. Rabies virus has anti-AIDS properties. (Well, I better have my injections, because I don't think I'm in any need of these positive effects of rabies' virus!)

I took the third injection yesterday. Let me tell you I had had dozens of it in one day once. But I never looked at the syringe until yesterday. A look at it and I was startled. A scene of an Amitabh Bachchan movie came flashing into my eyes: Bachchan administering an injection full of air in somebody’s hand and telling him/her (I don’t remember the victim) that in a few hours the air would reach the heart and s/he would die. I stopped the nurse and enquired about the air. She laughed and told me it’s only the veins which must not be administered injections that contain air. Relieved. *sigh*

Lot of G.K. improvement, you said; didn’t you?
…………………………………………………….

Another understanding out of the afore-mentioned self-introspection session: It’s difficult for a perfectionist and a procrastinator to reside in one body. And it’s impossible if you’ve got a big ego. That’s the story of the colloquium. Firstly, I postponed the preparation of report and presentation to the very last day (The procrastinator). Then I thought I should postpone the submission (medical certificate would’ve been easy. Remember dog bite!) because I, at least once, thought I can’t finish things up in 12 hours. But somebody said, “Yes, I know you can’t” and I replied, “No.., I CAN.” (The big ego). Then I won’t do the copy-paste stuff. I would write every word of it myself. It’s not the number of pages that count; what counts is what’s written in them. (The perfectionist).

In short, I screwed it up.

And umpteenth time in my life I told myself: It is important to know what counts. But what’s more important is “in whose eyes it has to count”. And most often it’s not you.

OK, world, you are the boss.
…………………………………………………….

This evening, a friend pointed out that second half of 'Om Shanti Om' was such a direct take from 'Madhumati'. I remembered the Dilip Kumar movie and remembered how this particular song was once a favourite of mine:

Suhaana safar aur yeh mausam hasii.n
Humein darr hai hum kho naa jaayein kahin

-Mukesh’s surreal voice had no parallels.
And when you talk of Mukesh, you remember Raj Kapoor. Kapoors and then 'Saawariya'! Well, the latest Kapoor does act like his Grandfather (though, I must say, he knows little of acting.)- a younger version of the over-innocent Indian.

But, this must be called Rishi Kapoor’s week. While one of the films released this Diwali takes heavily from one of his biggest hits 'Karz', the other has his son in the lead role. Both the films feature his famous dialogue:
“Kya tumne kabhi kisi se pyar kiya??”

KIYAA!!!!

We'd had a falling-out. This was quite a long time back. I thought of a patch-up. Thought of a word or two. We were friends after all.

I clicked the orkut profile. Clicked 'add as a friend'.. the word verification page stared at me with: "R u Sure".

Moments won't die. Sometimes I think they are the building blocks of life or time in some Daltonian-ish theory. And some moments must be radioactive. Something totally changes in a fraction of a second, and forever.

I am disintegrating. But it's slow. Defining moments in my life are few. The fractions of second that change everything are rare. I am no masochist but something makes me feel I don't mind it all. Subconsciously I know it's nothing but helplessness, which is just another name for cowardice. 'I-don't-mind-it' sounds brave; don't tell me it doesn't.

What would be left of me in the end, I don't know. Moreover I am not gonna reach that end state any time soon. Wait, who am I reacting against? Don't know. Seems to be some minute little insignificant things.

Can I have a choice to start all over again? Can't the disintegration be fast? Oh, there.. I sound suicidal. But I'm not. I just want to start afresh. I want to feel every bit of me changed all of a sudden, for once, and not in the fashion of being left to brood over moments that catch me off guard every once in a while. What does it take? Apocalypse?

I don't make sense. But I am not drunk. That is even worse.

I had thought of letting my blog rest for the rest of this semester (and I was actually living up to such a decision for the first time!), but Phoenix bola "Thoda aur chalega" , and Taps seconded her. Bole to I'm tagged!
The rules (jo ki bataate hain 'simple' hain, khakh simple hain! I couldn't adhere to the add-adjective-format despite trying to.) of the tag can be read here.
So, here goes the greed list..:-

1. My hazy poems (Vibhav gave them this name, and it kinda describes them pretty well.), writing which really satisfies me... I wish that the possibilities that my poems sometimes talk of actually came true.

2. Having (though few, but) very good friends... I wish the few people whom I consider very good friends of mine considered me an equally important part of their lives too, or at least they didn't let me know if they don't.

3. Making some occasional sarcastic/funny comments in a group of friends and keeping silent for the rest of the time (Jai, of 'Sholay', has always been the character I liked the most, you know)... I wish I were able to start/continue a conversation with a single person as easily as I do in a group of friends. [Though I would like to mention that more than a couple of ladies have found my voice lovely (sexy?) in a I-mean-it tone. That means if your voice trembles, women find it lovely :P]

4. My well structured (:P) comments on Sagar's and Taru's blogs... I wish that those of my comments which I expect to be replied were replied [:P]

5. Dad, whom I love for the absolute freedom he has always allowed me... I wish dad had exercised some control over my ways, made decisions for me, at least once in a while (though only very rarely). [You know, Absolute freedom spoils absolutely.]

I held the air tight inside my lungs
As if the air that was outside
Had already abandoned me.
As if that was the last bit
I was going to get of it.

But this air could support life
Only for a short while.
I needed fresh air, badly.
And all around me was fear.
I had no choice but to inhale it.

It didn't need space in lungs,
But mind.
Or maybe the soul.
I let it into me, bit by bit,
with every word of that voice.

I didn't breathe,
I survived on fear.
The voice seemed to melt,
But then it chose to only fade,
Gradually distancing itself from me.

(I could've done something.
I should have done something.
But I faltered.)

The air appeared to be friendly again,
And so I exhaled into it the fear.
Little did I know then,
That it was my relief.
And I had disowned it so quickly,
With such an indifference that day,
That it still denies itself to me.

(The voice took a form,
a couple of times more.
But never again did it seem to melt,
unlike mentioned afore.)

"The Nobel committee regrets not giving the Peace Prize to Gandhi"

- Funny! When will they understand that that man was much bigger than their award. If there is anything they should say, it is that they missed an opportunity to honor the Prize itself.

1. I would make lesser use of internet. With the negligible net speed, it's the worst way of wasting time.

2. Engineering be damned. The engineering, the way it is taught, be damned. I made my decision. Countdown: 10 months remaining. I wish there were a Howard Roark in me.

3. I must keep in my mind that reading literature, newspapers, watching movies etc are better ways of time-pass than gossiping, playing cards, computer games etc.

4. The nearby Dhaba, excepting its chai, would be avoided as far as possible. The same for the temporary canteen. The tasteless food we get in the mess is, at least, hygienic, and presumably nutritious too.

5. AA would suffer less of my black humour. Also, I wouldn't allow myself to take an active part when C pulls N's leg (No such thing for the vice versa). There are many more decisions like these, but I don't find them suitable to be listed here.
.............................................................................................

The things you own end up owning you.
- Fight Club

Everything they taught us about self-discipline, keeping-your-cool, manners etc is rubbish. I feel good with my anger. It makes me feel that I'm still me. The original, elemental form of me. Closer to soul.

"Good morning, sir."

The professor nodded, with a smile; walked past, then turned back and said, "Hey.."

"Yes, sir..??"

"What's your name.. Vikram, right?"

"Yes, sir. It's long time since I did your course!"- said I, surprised, and somewhat delighted too; but more than that, Curious to know how he remembers me even after two and a half years of that course.

"Oh yeah, and You were the guy who came in my class 1.5 hrs late, in a tutorial of 2 hours."

Not knowing what to say, I just smiled, and started looking down.

"Hmm.. I still remember what you said that day: "Sir, I won't ask for attendance. I really want to attend this class." " - he said, walking away smiling.
.
.
Trust professors of IITD for remembering their students by their names, or by their deeds.
.
.
(At the end of that class, he had called everybody's name; mine too. I didn't respond. He smiled, and marked a 'P'.)

Visited the Samadhi of Baba Ramdevji Pir in Pokhran, Jaisalmer this weekend.
I've been feeling quite spiritual lately. Still, deep inside, I know I am not a religious person. I can't get myself to perform a pooja without somebody's insistence. It's not in my hands, God, you just didn't make me like that ('if at all you did make me' is a phrase too natural for me to add to it, and you know it well if you've been a regular reader of this blog; but, not this time.)
.
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India has, for long, been a country where one's faith makes another's living. But some people just overdo it. At least don't do it in the very premises of your Lord's birthplace. Please.
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We all thought of Pokhran as some barren land which the government found the most apt for nuclear tests. But believe me, there is life, good enough vegetation cover, drinking water etc. The area is rocky, more rocky than Delhi. There is sand, but not like the infinite spread of it we are shown on screen.
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There is a myth in the region which goes like Baba Ramdevji took Samadhi on the top of a hill and then, few hours later, he showed up to one of his followers. The follower told people that He is still alive and so they dug up the Samadhi, as a punishment for which Baba cursed them- "Generations of you people will be born disabled". So, looks like the government of India was fated to do nuclear tests there! (This is what people call 'a bad PJ'.)
.
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The urbanization robbed us of what we call the natural human behaviour. In pokhran, 4 hours from Jodhpur, you get to know what it is. It must have been divine, eons ago, to be human.
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Desert women are beautiful. Yes, they are. The glint in their eyes more than makes up for what heat of the sun robs them of. No, Paulo Coelho didn't say that, but his book was just the perfect companion I could have had during the journey. The next guy who would get 'The Alchemist' issued from the library would also feel some sand particles shearing against his hands when he reads this wonderful story. Set in one desert, autographed by another.

My worst fears never come true. Never ever. Must thank God for that. (Bad things happen. They do. But only when I'm not even slightly apprehensive.)
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Liked that girl. Sincerely. Really. Not any more though. Last word.
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People continue to bug me. I don't give them a damn. Oh! I contradicted myself.
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Could've felt good to find my face declared 96% look-alike of a celebrity.. if only she were male. Hell, these non-sense sites. Anyway, downloaded and watched the Bond movie she featured in. Found a 3-min pornography-clip of her the next day on our hostel LAN!
.
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People do drugs. Fine. (Everybody has every right to fuck up his/her own life.) Then, they try to persuade others to do the same. Holy shit.
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Three years back, during this very week, time wasn't very good. "I never gave up"- is one thing I'm very sure of about those days. Those otherwise-so-difficult-times have been my strength ever since. There have been moments when I tell myself, "If I didn't give up then, there is no way I'd give up now"
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Life goes on. It will. It must.
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.
It should, in fact.
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See you. Soon. Not very soon though.

Dhundhali dhundhali si shaamo.n mein
Dabdabaai, adhkhuli in palako.n se
Ghane kohre mein zindagi ko khete
Main kabhi kabhi yun hi chal deta hun

Kuchh tasveerein aankho.n mein bhee.nche
Baadal ki kaali parto.n ke peechhe
Raaho.n mein ek disha dhoondhte
Main kabhi kabhi yun hi chal deta hun

Anjaani duniya ko paate khote
Bache khuche sapanon ko chunte
Kachche dhaage mein unko pirote
Main kabhi kabhi yun hi chal deta hun

Haar jeet ke daanv pench se
Sukh aur dukh ki aankh meech se
Main kabhi ghabaraake, kabhi khush hoke
To kabhi kabhi bas yun hi chal deta hun

Despite all the talks about the need for expression, there is a certain peace that comes only with the inability to give voice to thoughts.

Dekhte hai tere us chehre ko
Sochte hai ki kuch baat kare.n

- This isn't the best you or I ever read, nor is it the best my friend Chetan ever wrote; but I've been humming it for 2 days now.. his poetry blends with music so effortlessly. His style lies somewhere between a song and a poem.. comprised of the best of the two worlds.

Tu mujhse gar khafa rahe to achchha hai..
Doorian darmiyaa.n rahe.n to achchha hai.

Mere jalne ka ilzaam tujh par to nahi magar,
Sitaaron mein ik faasla rahe to achchha hai.

Baat mohabbat-o-nafrat ki to ab nahi rahi lekin
Azab sa phir bhi koi silsila rahe to achcha hai.

It is weird.. the simultaneity of stagnation and change. And I don't even know which of the two I want to let continue.

Being in the final year is a mixed feeling. The number of people you know suddenly falls down to half, and that of the people you would like to know falls down to even less..Yeah, yeah, I'm talking about the few good looking girls IIT had, till the last sem. Final yr comes with an expectation of some sort of responsibility. To look at seniors wasn't that bad an offense, you know! Kids can't really stalk. Even if they do, it's pardonable. Shopping in the junior section is not prohibited, but you can't wander checking out there.

And again, the C-slot comes back to haunt me, and this time with a teacher who talks like, "Tu kal kahan tha?" My first experience in years with a teacher like that. I bunked his class on Friday. Let's see. :(.. But, well, I must say I don't really dislike waking up early in the morning. It's refreshing. The D-slot (the hour following the C-slot) is free for the third semester in a row, which allows for a good morning walk and occasional talk I so missed for one whole semester. The day starts at 6, not at 12; this is how God meant it to be. Though when I shared this thought with a friend, he simply came up with:
"Dil ke bahlaane ko Ghalib ye khayaal achchha hai"

I really enjoyed a recent treat by two of my friends very much. I would cherish it. There is something about men. They won't like to make it very obvious that they sincerely like a person. In order to hide it, they would try to make the remark seem too casual, or would try to quickly change the topic. I observed it for the umpteenth time that day in the conversations between friends. But may be it's only me, and I just keep looking for the traces of similarity in others' behaviour and mine to feel normal.

I am told I've been behaving quite maturely in recent times. It has been opined that this type of girl I won't fall for, that that type of girl I won't fall for, that I won't do this/that for a girl. Thank you, but how do the two sentences connect? Get blind, and fall in love? :P

Love is in the air, suddenly, for almost all my friends. And thankfully the air I'm breathing in is still pure and fresh. :D

It's really great to not have feelings like love/crush or whatever. You can smile deep inside on the little sweet nothings love makes your friends do for their girls. You can don the shoes of the-most-practical-guy-they-know and warn against the sentiments like "Love happens only once". And while discussing how the recent experiences of some of them have ended in heartbreaks (well, almost.), a friend recollected one of my own lines (and it suited my opinion in the discussion quite perfectly):

It feels good when your lines fit a situation so precisely, and not you but somebody else mentions them.

But, well, this indifference, this practicality, this mature behaviour may have another angle to it ... May be "Love happens only once"! (Remember "Hum ek baar jite hain, ek baar marte hain, shaadi bhi ek baar hoti hai, aur pyar....ek hi baar hota hai". Why on earth do 'I' remember it?) Arghhh!

On another note (as if till now I was focused on one topic only), my poems continue their infamous tryst with reality....
1.It all started in january. You and U was quite successfully decoded by someone! That was fun..
2. Then, a couplet blew out of proportions simply because of its rhyme scheme (or say because of me). But this was fun too.
3. And now somebody thinks she's the protagonist of "The Phone Call". This is fun too! :P

On another note, I would like to mention this tag by Phoenix. It felt good to see my name in the list. But having so few regular readers, I won't get into 'passing-on the tag'-business.

And, loved this poem.

I never happened to have the experience..
Of falling in love.

That I didn't even get many chances is true..
But that's not the end of the story.

The fact is I have resisted every chance..
Like I never let the wine to take over.

And this makes me remember a friend's assertion..
That one doesn't drink only to test one's limits.

You don't drink to feel proud
That it couldn't make you loose control.

Instead, you drink to succumb to it..
And float, and forget.. and remember.

Is it so?

Are unexpressed feelings like a bottle of wine
That you paid for, drank, but couldn't enjoy?

Comments

My room has been a terrible mess for the last one month or so. The fact that I had virtually stopped living in it acted as an excuse to let it be one. Until the day before yesterday, when a friend informed he's arriving very shortly. Considering the fact that despite knowing me for 7 years he knows little of the careless me, I decided to let the newly laid tiles shine again by removing the millimetre thick grainular layer of soil best classifiable as sand. Ok. I suck. So what?

Well, my friend is to face his GD/PI for admission in Indian Institute of Mass Communication (Typing sucks, but didn't want you to confuse it with IIM Calcutta. For 'worse' part of my life I've lived in Delhi, and I still am here. Besides, if IIMs would schedule their GD/PI for this time of the year, nothing greater than that. High hopes. Aah.), today and tomorrow, for two different courses. (Already left for the one that's today.) And now you'd think why I'm writing all this. So here it goes: As per the notification by the institute, the results of the written test were to be declared towards the end of June. So, my dear friend started anticipating them from the 18th of June. For 2 weeks he called me up at 8-9 am daily (barring 2-3 days), to ask me to look up on the net if the results were declared. And believe me, more than him it was me who prayed for the results be declared soon. God knows how I managed to act awake when I picked up those phones. After an 'immature death' of my sleep for 4 consecutive days I started putting the phone on silent mode before going to bed. And on days when I had had his missed-calls I would call him back (after the 'natural death' of my sleep) telling him- "Not Yet." I also told him I'd inform him as soon as the results are declared, but no! Call he must.

And finally, the results were declared in the late evening of 30th of June. I didn't happen to access the net till 2 am. And when I finally saw the list, believe me I so wanted he makes it, much more than I would've if I had not devoted 2 weeks of my morning sleep to it. I scrolled down the list and Yo! He made it. He was called for the interview for both the courses he had applied for. I wanted to call him right then, but he was at home and a call on landline at 3 am wasn't a good option. I adjusted my alarm for 6 am. I woke up at 6 and called. He was awake, as usual, my early riser friend.

And well, now he is here, staying with me. He sleeps at 12. I sleep at 3. He wakes up at 6, or atmost, 7. Doesn't leave the bed, just keeps waiting with open eyes for me to wake up. (It's unlike last time when he was here. Then, he'd wake up, turn the computer on, and, when I'd see him, would tell me he needed breakfast). I, in my half-sleep condition, ignore him for an hour or so, but finally give up at 8. Rarely do I wake up at 8.

And now while I finish this post, he must be going through the selection process. Wishing him the best of luck.

Comments

Sympathy is like a piece of bread.
People love to soak it in your pain,
'coz this makes it taste better for them.

When you are full of pain,
Dipping the bread spills some of it out.
You feel lighter, and thankful.
But the pain is now all around you,
And nobody soaks their breads in spillover.

People also take a sip or two of your pain,
And you like them for it, again.
Though they are only complementing their breads.

Face it that in the end,
It'll be you who would be left to drink it all.
You'd find the last sip much heavier
because of the tiny pieces of bread
Settled in the bottom of your drink.
And it would taste much bad.

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You're Siddhartha!
by Hermann Hesse

You simply don't know what to believe, but you're willing to try anything once. Western values, Eastern values, hedonism and minimalism, you've spent some time in every camp. But you still don't have any idea what camp you belong in. This makes you an individualist of the highest order, but also really lonely. It's time to chill out under a tree. And realize that at least you believe in ferries.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Comments

Life wants me to make decisions these days. And I want to run away from them.. and therefore I try running away from life too. But I know it won't let me have my ways for ever. I know the procrastination must be given up sooner or later.

The truth is I don't want to face it. I don't want to give up one thing for the other. I want to have it all. But life moves on the wheels of decisions. And while the inevitability of the decisions gets clearer more than ever before, I would put a piece of cotton in my ears and tuck my face in some novel or magazine. Then after an hour or so I would play the music loud enough to deafen myself. The truth is I don't want to hear the life calling.

And I've discovered many silly, awkward, stupid ways for it. I would read my yesteryears' poetry and make changes to it. I would play silly games of cards with friends. I would write and publish posts on the blog and then would weigh their silliness quotient and would finally remove them. Or I would write and never publish. I'd engage in terribly stupid online chats with some of my friends though many of them are staying only metres away, and even for those who aren't near I know I should better call them. I fear phone calls these days. It seems as if some extraordinarily inconvenient questions might come up from the other side which would be quite difficult to ignore on phone. It's so easy to change subjects on internet. You get time to think and give some politically correct answers. I hate it. I hate using internet to hide myself. I hate hiding myself. One can't win through without facing things.

One of the resolutions made with the start of this new blog was not to delve in the past, which effectively means talking about the future, the career, about shaping your life. But I forgot that exclusion of past doesn't only leave the future to be talked about but also the present. And the present is in disarray. And the fault is all mine. I 've been devoting my time in things very inconsequential in life.

It's time. It's time to follow the dreams. It's time to love my own shadow. It's time to make decisions. It's time to stop ranting. (And I know this may be the 100th time I say that.)

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Once in a week
I let myself click
your profile.

And I see there a pic
of you dressed in pink
And I smile.

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It's pure.. it's calm.. it's divine..
Nay.. this shadow ain't mine.

It's dark..
but it doesn't breathe the darkness inside.
It knows good from bad..
It gives itself away for the light.

It knows friends from foes..
It hides itself when the darkness is around.
Light is what made it exist..
By light only it loves to be bound.

It feels guilty for the darkness that exists within
So it never looks the sun in its eye.
And while I enjoy the rain falling on my head
It tries ablution in the water accumulating by.

It's pure.. it's calm.. it's divine..
Nah.. nay.. this shadow ain't mine.

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I am putting my thoughts in order
Lest the world dubs me insane.

In the night I try to dream my dreams
'cause they say day-dreams never come true.

And I'm holding some of them deep inside
For the time isn't ripe to dream them yet
.......................


(I angered somebody but now I don't give a damn
For fault wasn't all mine, I didn't get to explain.

I've been at the receiving end of belligerence
But I've been calm for the sake of friendship.)

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Dil to kehta hai mujhe ishq hai tujh se
Duniya ki kitaabein kuchh aur kehti hain.
Bujurgon ke tajrube hain dayaar-e-aql maana
Kya karoon meri zindagii to kahin aur behti hai.

Ik ajab ishaarah hota hai, padha hai maine,
Kisi ko mohabbat hotii hai jis lamha.
Tujhe chaaha to bahut hai maine magar
Koi ishaarah nahi to kya jhoota hai mera jazba.

Ik baar ho jaaye mohabbat to dobaara nahi hoti
-Maan to leta main ye kitaabi falsafa magar,
Chehre to aur bhi achche lagte hain mujhe
Mohabbat phir hoti hai tujhse pahle se badhkar.

Meri akeli nafrat se upzi meri akeli mohabbat
-Ek puraane sukhanvar humein batlaatein hain.
Yun to banti hai yaaron zamaane bhar se apni
Ik akeli mohabbat se koshish-e-nafrat kiye jaate hain.

Usne mohabbat nahi ki jisne na izhaar kiya
-Apni baat kijiye miyaan sab ko kyun lapet.te hain.
Aap ke zamaane mein haseeno.n ke sandals
Utne sakht nahii.n hote the jitne mere dost jhelte hain.

[--- To Shakespeare and the likes of him, with hate, respect and apologies.]

"No! Not from those!"
"Why? Oh.. Okay, then?"
"Those, the white ones, are for engineers; the practicing engineers I mean. You guys take those gray helmets"

I picked one of the gray helmets, and wondered how safe it was. I don't think it was safe even against a 5 kg weight falling from 5 m above. To our guilty satisfaction, the white ones differed only in colour. I don't think I would like to don one of them ever in my life.

But I won't deny I liked the first day on the second floor of the under-construction buiding. It took three years and a walk from the third basement to the second floor of that buiding to realise I am studying civil engineering. Till then it was physics, mechanics, maths, or whatever, but it was not civil engineering.

Some realisations are relieving, others urge you for action. Entering the MS of the college for the first time was relieving. Some, in those very moments, felt an urge for action; I felt the same, three years later on the roof of that under-construction buiding. I was too late.

Each human life sweats equal tonnes, somebody once said. Guess I had had enough of waking up at 11 am. But 8 am was harsh, for my standards. And three consecutive days of it were unthinkable. I bunked the third day. Four workers fell through a defective shuttering on that day.

The safety inspector was yelling at a junior engineer on the day next, "Make your workers understand that slippers are slippers and therefore not suitable for a construction site."

I wonder if the white-headed man understood. Nevertheless, he nodded.
..............................................................................
..............................................................................

Comments...

"You are high on exaggeration these days."

"Ok! Maana ki garmi hai, temperature 40 ko cross kar raha hai.. but won't you like to tell your readers that you spend 90% of the time gossiping in the comfort of the office?"

"That guy, your junior engineer, needs immediate treatment. The heat can aggravate his white heads."

"You told me you are enjoying. This post is in total contradiction with that!"

"Kuchh tone badal yaar apni posts ki. Kya ghazalon ki tarah ek hi sur mein.. :P"

"Men and women would sweat in equal tonnes only if there was no labour pain in this world. ;)"

"Whom are you reading these days, temme??"

Current phase of my life yearns for a idea. And it finds none. The only thing that can distantly qualify as an idea is what I've decided just a couple of seconds before: To write a blog post without editing it even once. 'Backspace' is the key strictly prohibited for this particular post.

Even while I start I know that the ban on backspace is quite dangerous. And unlike the numerous posts that never saw the light of the day (yeah, literally! Written in the night, and deleted therein), I have also decided this post won't suffer a premature death or a life-time hideout as a draft.

Having-no-idea-and-yet-writing is not very tough, isn't? I am already into the third paragraph. I think the humanities courses taught me enough of it. All those professors who mark you for the length of your answer taught me enough of it. You've to first start scribbling something, and in the flow of it you finally get an idea worth barking about. Now barking is too misfit a word here but I guess you've to let me get away with it. I can't edit you see. Don't blame me for posts such as this. Blame the hiatus I am in, with majors already over (3 days back) and the intern yet to start.

When it comes to language I've been a troubled guy almost always. The places I've lived in have changed twice: at the age of 6, and then at 10. The mixture of the regional dialects was such that I could never speak with proficiency neither in the dialect of people who knew me since I was a kid, nor in the dialect of the city I lived in ever since I was 10. The school was easy, bookish hindi was easy. But I could never connect with the heavily accented voice of the locals of the city. The children would find it difficult to not think of it as funny hearing someone in the playground speaking in a Hindi bordering on purity. I could never catch their local words.

Something else too happened simultaneosly and gradually, in the part of the summers that I spent in my paternal village almost every year. I had left that place at the age of six. A kid of six is not expected to have got the language and its every nuance by that age. A child growing up in a different environment can't be expected to retain whatever small part of the dialect he had learnt till the age of six. One can't be expected to learn the language, to immerse into the customs, and to remember the brief encounter with every distant relative one is not going to see until another summer vacation. But I was expected to. And I wanted to. But I could never understand how could I be expected to. Nevertheless, you are a child. So you must be doing something terribly wrong. You don't respect elders (i.e. you don't remember a face you had a glimpse of, some two years back, with no introductions.). The world never understands. Thankfully, parents understood. And soon, only they became my world.

As I said: I wanted to. I wanted to feel to be a part of them: those children in the playground in my city, and those people in the shades of non-baked bricks in my village. But I couldn't be a part of neither of them. My comfort levels in communicating with people kept slipping down the hill. Soon I realised I stammer a bit. Soon I realised how much I hate a phone. Soon I realised how much I love silence.

But life changes. One fine day, I realised I like languages, and the variety of them. One fine day, I realised that though I don't have a hold on any particular language/dialect I am gifted with a partial knowledge of many. I've grasped many words from many different areas and I have loved discussions on them. I haven't got the best hindi, best english, or best urdu amongst the people I know, but I'm happy I know a bit of each of them. I can equally understand the people of Rajasthan and Haryana. I can even decipher the meanings of most punjabi songs on hearing twice or thrice, though I don't get an iota of the conversations I sometimes find happening around me in the said language. I've liked Bindrakhia's voice a lot, especially his song Isqe di agg, and dupatta tera sat rang da. I once met an elderly Andhran man in train. He didn't know English, and whatever Hindi he tried to speak bordered on tough Urdu. I was glad I could understand him.

I would never forget the room I dwelt in previously. My love for the languages must've started around the time I first stepped into that. I guess the bhoot of the previous occupant of that room got into me. I started blogging and, most of the time, I've loved it. With blogging I think I have improved upon my english a lot. But I'm a bad thief. You'll say theft itself is bad. But chosing one person as a victim for all your thefts is too bad. You steal a room, then you steal a template, then you steal a template again! Too bad. To continue I will've to get into the IIM.

I was really made a sandwich of in the sandwiched room. And I loved it. The three of us sitting with their backs on the wall, with discussions ranging in everything in this world, and with a cigarrete being passed from one corner to other over me the non-smoker. Ask me how less I hated passive smoking on such nightouts. There are few people in this world you don't dislike even a bit; Sagar and Chetu are such.

And while after a few days, or may be, after a few hours, I might never see Prateek and Da again, I must say I'd perhaps never meet guys as modest as them. In future I won't let such people go with this little an interaction with me. Three years is a long time, and I must have spoken with them for minutes countable on fingers. Shit. Guess I'm getting nostalgic in advance.

1. People have different comfort levels with ethics. Nobody's is zero, nobody's is absolute.


2. Some people are brave, some are coward. The rest are only indecisive.


3. Life gives us only two options: either to live up to it, or to leave things to it. Most of those who are able to find a third one are found hanging on a ceiling fan.

........You never took an examination this dramatic......

The professor, 3 days before the majors, announces: “There will be a minor III, just after the major, and the best two out of the three will be considered. The same will serve as a re-minor for anybody who missed either of the two.”

This professor has quite cryptic ways of speaking.. (like, he won't ask you to be attentive, rather he'd say-"You know it's so easy to set a difficult question paper, but it won't be as easy to solve it.") And he has this unique way of evaluating the answerscript. Instead of giving you 4 marks for an answer (to a 5 marks question), he would write (-1). So he'd put -1, -2 and would write the reasons of these deductions beside the numbers. But, well, let's return to the major.

It’s 3:30 PM. Question paper is being distributed..

Maximum marks: 40

“Attempt 40 marks’ questions out of the 65 marks’ questions printed on the paper, in any possible combination of 5, 10, 15 marks’ questions.” Wow!!! Examinations were never this good.


It’s 5:30 PM now. Time over.

“There will be minor III, after 10 minutes break. Choice is yours if you want to take it or not. You can even leave with the minor’s answer script, at any time, if you think you can’t improve on your previous scores, because in any case, best two are to be considered.”



Minor III starts...
(I ain't taking it. I've entered in the examination hall 30 minutes late for the major, due to another extended major, and am still attempting the major (Of course, with prior permission to come late.). Also, I am in no mood of taking a re-minor after 5 hours of continuous exhaustion. Well, that’s a different story.)

Question paper is being distributed..

“Sir, it’s the major’s question paper!” says somebody.

“Yes, there are questions worth 25 marks, at least, that you haven't done yet, aren’t? Those who missed or want to improve on minor I attempt 20 marks in any combination (as it was of 20 marks); and those who want to take minor II, attempt 25 marks (as it was of 25).”

:O

The first week of May.. a few minutes of rain.. and the cool breeze afterwards.. The memories.. The last few days of the semester.. the same vellapanti.. the obsessive compulsion to write.. the inability to properly phrase a poetic thought.. and then the realization of its worthlessness in the times.. The continuous reminder to myself that there are better things to do.. What to do and what not?.. All those right thoughts at wrong point in time.. the majors' time.

"Soak yourself in work, Vikram, can't you?"

I would write.. And I would write a lot.. Some day.. About yesterday. This is just a reminder to myself that I would.

There would be a mention of the few words I've had with a friend about another friend. It feels good to hear the emotional side of men who'd rarely show it. You feel like the chosen one.

There would be a few words about how much I hate people calling me when I'm sleeping, and then complaining of my rudity on phone (which always was there, I was told!) .

There would be a few words about how some people were working night shift on a part-time peon's job, delivering notices. Sucked they indeed.

And there would be a few words about the room I occupied till yesterday, and 5-6 of the final yearites who lived on the same floor. I'll miss them.

But, looks like I'm already done writing all that.

From dawn to dusk,
I walked the roads, messily,
Permeating through crowds,
Moving through unmoving masses,
Absorbing their indifference
or coming to terms with my own invisibility,
Letting the pits get better of me,
Remembering the barriers as milieus,
Slowing down under the trees,
Pacing out the sun in least possible time,
And wondering how much of me they retained,
And how much of them made inroads into me.

Finally I’m at peace with the world, God and myself. As an effect, the unnecessary rants on this blog have stopped.

I have come to understand that, at the end of the day, practicality and objectivity matters.

I’ve also come to understand the importance of making clear decisions. I’m still a long way from the digital-yes-or-no, but it’s good to decide things for myself and face the consequences, rather than getting into a habit of postponing.

I’ve, finally, and again, come to respect the introvert in me. I love the way I’m. I also recognize the importance of talking to people, socializing etc, but such changes in behavior should be slow and gradual, rather than sudden and abrupt.

I’ve been quite proud of my laziness in the recent times, but I know that deep down I’ve a zeal for work. I’ve always had it in me, and it’s time for it to knock the indolence off. Life is too good to be wasted.

Poetry consumes you, especially the strict format of a ‘ghazal’. I know that if I’ve to keep my head intact, I shouldn’t write a ‘ghazal’ again (I knew I won’t write again, even while writing the last one.)

It’s important to let the people know the way you feel about them. Henceforth, if I feel-“It’s not going down well with me”, I’d say it, clear, blunt, and in their face, and without any diluting words like perhaps, somewhat, i guess, a bit etc which I've been guilty of using too much, and too often. And telling people what I find good about them should be even easier.
(One of my deleted-within-2-hours-of-publishing-posts returns here, though in a different form.)

Each of the above paragraphs could’ve been a post in itself, but I like it this way only: the ‘integrated way of speaking’, of a man of few words.

What would you do if you meet someone who talks/opines/muses like...

"The world and I are not on the speaking terms. The world tries to win me back, but it doesn't work. I guess I'm just not the forgiving type."

"It's my favourite place in the whole world, to be treated like dirt."

"You said it's important to have freedom to say no, but I think it's more important to have freedom to say yes."

"The truth is a bully we all pretend to like."

"He is the kind of man who wears his sleeve on his heart."

"I could never respect a man who didn't have the good sense to be at least a little afraid of me."

"Sometimes you have to surrender before you win."

"Wisdom is just cleverness, with all the guts kicked out of it."

I'd only give you advice if I didn't care what happens to you."

"If fate doesn't make you laugh, then you just don't get the joke."

"I take everything personally- that's what being a person is all about."

"They look like monuments of something that died. Something very unpopular.. like... human spirit, for example."

"Sometimes I think that's what heaven is- a place where everybody's happy because nobody loves anybody else, ever."

"Happiness is a myth, it was invented to make us buy things."

"People always hurt us with their trust. The surest way to hurt someone you like, is to put all your trust in him."

"I don't know what frightens me more,the power that crushes us or our endless ability to endure it."

"Mistakes are like bad loves, the more you learn from them, the more you wish they'd never happened."

"It isn't a secret, unless keeping it hurts."

"Men reveal what they think when they look away, and what they feel when they hesitate. With women, it's the other way round."

"Depression only happens to people who don't know how to be sad."

"Luck is what happens to you when fate gets tired of waiting"



?????????

I would fall in love with her.


[Dialogues of the female protagonist in Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts]

Vo jo aaye to khush mere ghar ke deewar-o-dar mile..
Aaine ko bhi shayad kuchh khush-bakht manzar mile.

Baithkar saamne poochha zamaane bhar ka haal..
Vo mile to humse magar.. humii.n se bekhabar mile.

Poochhi.n aakhiri mulaqaat ki jab yaadein usne..
Main kya batlata mujhe to khwabo.n mein aksar mile.

Unki aankhon se hua karta tha waqt ka asl andaazaa..
arse baad vo aankh mile ab.. barson baad nazar mile.

Likhun aur kyun main ghazal ab uske naam par..
Na ziyadaah waqt hai.. na sahii maqta-o-beher mile.

Baithkar saamne poochha zamaane bhar ka haal..
Vo mile to humse magar.. humii se bekhabar mile.

Seating opposite me, she enquired after everyone I ever knew..
She met me indeed, but, to the very me she appeared indifferent.

It’s 3:30 am. I’ve consumed a cup of coffee half an hour back and I know I won’t be able to sleep for another hour or two, however I try. In my current state of body and mind I can hardly continue with the book only a tenth of which I’ve read in last one month. Minors have just been over and I’ve nothing anew to study therefore (Don’t get into the apparent flaws in this statement; the foremost of which, or the origin of which, being that it’s being made by me.) So do read further only if you’ve nothing less unnecessary to indulge your mind in, and have nothing more worthy to focus your eyes on. (I’m not talking of Hellboy collections here.)

[And then I wrote some five more paragraphs full of non-sense, and as usual, the non-sense made too much of a sense, and therefore I found it better to erase them off. Thank me, for I didn’t force you to pretend to have read all that crap, for in any case you won’t have read more than two paragraphs. It’s 4:30 and I’m sleepy now. Good night.]

PS: If you ever want to bash me for a post, believe me you won’t get a better chance than this ;)

Thoda thoda sa darr lagta hai.. thodi si hai dilkashi bhi
Thoda khauf-e-zamaana hai.. thodi hasrat-e-maykashi bhi

"God helps those who help themselves."

=> 1) Don't expect much from him when you find yourself helpless.
2) When you can do things yourself, and very easily; he'll jump in, do things for you, and force you feel grateful.

=> Sachin IS God.

;)


.................................
Saurav always knew, but forgot at the most crucial time, that everybody's role in a team is different, and unique.
.................................
Sehwag is a big idiot, though a little lesser than he proclaims he is.
.................................
Greg will be too conscious not to be much gregarious when back in India. A Woolmer won't happen, but chappals await him in good numbers.
.................................
Rahul?
.................................
The biggest trio of the cricket history couldn't lift the world cup ever.
.................................

A few years back
Our paths used to cross quite often
And she would contemplate,
Once in a while,
To slow down.
But her feet would always quicken
And her eyes could never match that pace.

A few months back
I wasn't a poet.

A few days hence
If she would ever see me
She would wish she didn’t,
But of this her wish
She won’t be too certain.
Her feet will have to slow down.
Her eyes would want to run away.
I would say a "Hi"
Her eyes would relax for a while,
enclosed in her eyelids.
I would disappear,
For I never want to know
Whether the ocean-walls
Silently crack, or,
Outrageously burst.

Another day, another classroom, another professor, but the same story.

This time, it's the B-slot prof (proving other deptts' profs are equally good at bunking). His register would show I've attended around 60%, while I've gone for 80% of his classes. And attendence matters to him like hell (Here, he's depart-mentally different). Why do they calculate attendence as a percentage of number of classes actually held?

What does actually held mean? Eighty students made their presence felt to the neighbouring classrooms a bit more strongly than usual for half an hour, but the class was not actually held, because one person bunked off.

WTF.

Every class that is not cancelled in advance should be counted as actually held and the attendence be awarded to everybody. Man, at least for this course, I've attended 80%, and I certainly don't deserve an Attendence F.

And what makes them argue that attendence has a positive correlation with marks? (At least I score better in the courses I don't attend compared to the ones I do.) But even if it is true, then the student will eventually flunk on the basis of marks; so why do they need this tool of an Attendence Fail? Certainly their own positive-correlation theory disapproves of the need for this tool.

The faculty members who are not too good at teaching feel that this tool is the only way to ensure that the attendence in their classes does not reflect their (in)capabilities to the passers-by in the corridor. Better teachers seldom care for attendence.

Somewhere deep down the roots of its system, IIT finds it difficult to coop with me. [;)]

What else could explain the increasing tendencies of its faculty to skip classes whenever they’ve the slightest of idea (I don’t know how), that I’ve pulled myself out of the bed (only I know how) a little earlier than usual, and successfully resisted the peer pressure offered by the two parallel walls of my room [:P], to finally force myself on the road to sadda insti.

Yesterday was the X-th time this semester when a prof didn’t show up, and it was, at most, the 2X-th class I’ve had intentions to attend, all courses taken together! I’ve become a joke between some fellows: “You don’t want to attend this class, and you are short of attendance, right? Let’s ask Vikram to go for it, and there’ll be no class eventually!!”

And, on returning back to the hostel, I found my eagerness of blurting my frustration out on the blog was, again, too much for saddi IIT to handle, and so the net connection of my room went haywire!!! (And so, a day later, you are reading only a calmer version of the frustration!)

My dearest Insti, it’s OK! Chilllll! I haven’t got much of an interest in attending your classes. Just function properly. I’m better off in the hostel, for my own good, and for the good of all.

Instead, I should start visiting DU, NIFT, etc.

:D

I wish I was saner
or at least
my insanity would make
fewer public appearances.

I wish I could attend every "morning 11"
So that I didn't have to struggle
in understanding what the X's and Y's meant
in the equations the prof must have introduced
in the previous few classes I didn't attend

But what joy is there
in all these algebra and matrices?
Will my life be spent
determining a coeffiecient or two,
and finding an optimum value?

I wish I didn't have
targets so translucent
I can't see the future
I can't reflect on the passing moment.

I wish I didn't write
these silly poems in classrooms
I wish the last few pages of my notebooks
were blank
until all the preceding ones
were inked with notes
for a handy rot-learning.

I am too much of a wishful thinker.
I am a lonely word
with no prefix, or suffix.
I am condemned for ever
in the brackets of a matrix.


(This's how I made the optimum use of today's "Morning 11".)

I thought. I thought a lot. I skewed my mind beyond recovery. But I couldn't describe my mood that day any better than this line by a friend- "Years will disappear, but this day will remain."

And today too, the same line applies just as well.
(I could never understand the context of his line, though. I'm only talking about the line in isolation.) And you, obviously, can't understand the context of this post. Don't ask.

I've been paraphrazing the same lines this evening, but, for all my efforts, couldn't put them in the way I wanted. Paraphrazing helps including something, but leaves out some other integral part of the thought. Anyway, here is the raw version of the successive attempts at improving the lines..

1) Ab to tanhaaii bhi nahi deti saath mera..
poochhti hai kuchh roz tune bewafaii kyun ki.

2) Duniya ke to hum pahle bhi na the ab kya hote..
ishq kya hua ke ab tanhaaii bhi hai naaraaz humse.

3) Duniya ye poochhti hai ki main gham mein bhi hansta kyun hun..
Tanhaai ye kehti hai ki ab usko nahii.n sun.na mera haal-e-dil!

I wonder how those greats used to say poetic couplets at the spur of the moment, in the best possible form. I can only salute them.

The Philosopher was definitely no Socrates (and whether he was greater or lesser than him is beyond the scope of this particular post :D). The award of the title The Philosopher to this man dates back to the year 2001. Though not all agreed on it, but nobody expressed the unease. The Introvert always hailed himself as a philosopher in his own assessment of himself, but he never quite pushed for the title. The fact that the announcement came from a girl, and the fact that girls were the species he seldom raised a voice against, and the fact that this particular girl was too sweet to be raised a voice against, tripled together to force The Introvert silently accept The Philosopher as The Philosopher. Others in the group, including The Cute Guy, The Shy guy, Mr. Gandhi, Mr. Straight-Legged etc didn’t have any objections, for they knew the title wasn’t meant for them anyway. Mr. Business Mind was hardly consulted due to some constraints of space and time. Ms. Main-Main, Ms. Bak-Bak, Ms. Vi, Ms Ni and everyone else from the fairer sex were too determined to make the original name of the guy be forgotten soon.

The two years of The Philosopher’s association with the bunch were great. He became the integral part of the group. It was impossible to screw the school’s system without his ideas and Straight-Legged’s planning. The system, as a whole, rarely suspected The Introvert because of his hard-earned image of a sincere guy, but for Mr. Bear, the chemistry teacher, he was the usual suspect. Somehow Mr. Bear had started believing, and it wasn’t entirely his imagination, that somebody from the group would stand up and ask a string of idiotic questions whenever he was in mood of taking a quiz; and this somebody happened to be The Introvert. During all such idiotic-questions-sincere-answers sessions, Gandhi and The Shy Guy would enjoy the changing expressions on the teacher’s face and make The Introvert know when it’s going overboard; The Philosopher and Straight- Legged would be busy planning for the next move eg. How to convince the girls for a mass bunk (The Cute guy was their trump card for such efforts); The Cute Guy and Ms. Bak-Bak would occasionally laugh facing each other because they knew that the questions being asked were really idiotic. Ms. Main-Main would be busy cleaning her glasses and planning on her next move to irk The Introvert; Ms Vi and Ms Ni would keep making silent noises only they could hear.

One always wondered if The Philosopher really cared for anything happening around him or “Ai ajnabi.. tu bhi kabhi..” was always playing in his mind. But the paper-out-efforts proved he was not an all-romantic and all-ethics-philosopher. Getting the paper out wasn’t tough for The Philosopher and Straight-Legged because Mr Bear’s nephew was their good friend, but solving it wasn’t as easy. The Introvert couldn’t be of much help either, but together they managed to solve a decent part of it. The Introvert obviously topped the exams with not even a third of the efforts Ms Bak-Bak must’ve put in standing the second. Surely Ms Bak-Bak deserved being the first (Hopefully, The Introvert was forgiven.). Never before in his life Mr. Bear was surprised more (Few options were left with him, getting surprised was the easiest.)

Nothing remains the same forever. The lives moved on. Everybody joined colleges. The Philosopher joined the Big Bachchan college, The Introvert found himself in Double I, etc etc. The friends hardly met, in fact, some did never. Mr. Straight-legged went straight to some foreign college, and is occasionally seen by one or two of the group (The Introvert not included) once a year or even less frequently. There were one or two Get Toghethers and The Introvert could only make it to one. And there, The Philosopher took it on himself to irk Miss Main-Main, with his questions like, “Main-Main, In the city ABC you must be eating in pattals” and "Does the sun shine more brighter there (you know what I'm pointing to)?"and her reactions were a delight to see (as always) for The Introvert, but what he liked more was to annoy her himself. The Philosopher didn’t spare Ms Bak-Bak either, but there he got some resistance, from some expected quarters. Ms. Vi, he later opined, knew what to speak, and when, and how much, comparatively better than others. Some people were too unhappy for The Little Fatso’s absence in the GT, The Philosopher was one. He would've been the life of the meet. Who else could dance on those numbers from the city ABC!

The lives moved on, again, for they never stopped actually. One day, The Philosopher happened to visit The Introvert at Double I; and he spent two great days there. Despite his utter unwillingness at that point in time, he couldn’t resist his tongue uttering, “Yaar, I’m gonna marry!”
“OK, man. This is the bed. Just have some sleep, you haven’t had enough for two days”
“Listen, I’m serious. I’m marrying.”
This was when The Introvert realized it. He made a few guesses on the name, but finally had to settle for the fact that it was going to be a traditional arranged marriage.

The news of The Philosopher going to marry soon was difficult to digest for The Introvert on his own. He needed help.
“You know I’ve some great news about The Philosopher..”
“Must be marrying, he. Aur kya hoga!”- In came the reply from the other side of the line. Wonder why Ms Main-Main wasn’t titled Miss Intuition in the school!
There were other reactions too.“You know The Philosopher is marrying?”- Somehow it had got into the habit of The Cute Guy to inform people, especially The Introvert, of things they already knew. But nobody did mind, perhaps because The Cute Guy was too cute - so cute that even half a bottle of beer would be enough for men to start kissing him (on cheek). Though nobody could get to know the ladies’ point of view about him, till date.
The Shy Guy’s shyness was gender-specific. He could tell the weirdest of his secrets to the guys, but couldn’t even call Ms Bak Bak despite being in the same city for months. But the news of The Philosopher’s Marriage date fixed was enough a force for him to call everybody, or at least, to tell others to call. The Philosopher, however, had to call everyone personally, and he did; though not everybody. Anyway.

“February the 21st”
Gandhi and The Shy guy could make it on the day before, but others couldn’t. They met The Introvert on the morning of the 21st, and then waited for The Cute Guy. Three of them mounted The Shy Guy’s bike to reach the groom’s place. Business Mind cancelled his tickets for Malaysia (He’s handling his father’s business) and all five were to get on his car when the Baraat proceeds towards bride’s place.

The Philosopher was standing, surrounded by a bunch of elderly people. Graceful, as he always was. Smile seldom reached his eyes, and this day was no exception. Maturity in his behavior wasn’t sudden, but now it was going to get the marriage stamp (For the time being, let's refrain from words like shock wave, hurricane, sunami, the last day of liberty, etc etc.)

Soon the Baraat proceeded. The last to leave the groom’s house was the group. The journey was basically a reunion. The placement talks were soon interrupted by The Shy Guy, “Yaar, I can’t dance without having a drink”.(Don’t question his shyness. The Shy Guy is only specifically shy. And therefore, those who call him by this name can’t be convinced to believe he is not.) With this assertion by him, and after (im)proper actions in the said direction, it was quite obvious that only Mr. Business Mind knew how to make it to the bride’s place. (Obviously, Mirinda is no Miranda. It can’t give you a high.) And thankfully, he was the one in the driving seat of the car at that point in time. The Introvert had with him the previous month’s experience of being seen as a drunkard in public without even touching the bottle, so it hardly mattered for him.

The secrets came into the mouth, but didn’t stick to the tongue and therefore were swallowed back. Gandhi would always be Gandhi. No matter how bad he would try to project himself, he would always be a nice guy. The Cute Guy would always be The Cute Guy. He would always look more cute than any girl he might have been involved with (That he didn’t shave for five days, and had at least a millimeter of beard, could hardly be a deterrence to the half-a-beer-effect). Knowing Business Mind all over again (after a gap of years) was a new experience for all of them. The Introvert was all praise for how the guy had strengthened his father’s business.

Finally, they reached there.
“Have you seen me dancing, ever before?” The Introvert asked The Philosopher.
“No”- came the obvious reply.
And then he saw somebody looking quite familiar. Yeah, The Little Fatso it was! He was seeing him after 5 years! And where! Those were the moments. All of them danced for quite a time. Then they had dinner, two plates, six men.

Marriage rituals followed. This was the time when the traditional Indian marriage scene and the gorgeous girls could couple together to shake any guy's I-won't-marry-vows. But the guys didn’t have much time, with two of them having some utter urgency to return to their colleges. Mr. Gandhi chose to board his bus from there only. The rest five (One minus, one plus) returned by the same car.

The secrets finally started getting poured out. The Cute Guy changed the name of his first crush, and was too appreciative of another’s dressing sense, “Anything looked good on her” (Don’t know how this amounts to be an appreciation of her dressing sense!), while The Introvert appreciated her smile only (only!!). And they didn’t fight! [The ladies mentioned in this paragraph aren’t the ones mentioned earlier.] But The Little Fatso couldn’t dare admit the famous slap. Business Mind told them about his not-so-sincere relationships in a foreign land, as well as about the girl he was seriously keen on marrying.

Finally, The Shy Guy picked up his bike from The Philosopher’s house. A bike moving alongside a car in the dark. Perfect Rang De Basanti scene. (The Shy Guy would’ve loved the same babe from RDB accompanying him on the bike, all his shyness be damned.)

Everybody was dropped home. The last one in the car with Mr. Business Mind was The Cute Guy. The Cute Guy must’ve thanked Mirinda, but who knows!
...................................................................................................


PS: 1. It’s a fictionalized story. The people are real, but the qualities I’ve associated with them may be beyond truth.
2. I hope nobody minds. I’ve deep respect for everybody mentioned here. If anybody has any genuine objections, I apologize.
3. I apologize in advance in response to the obvious objections The Cute Guy and Ms Main-Main will surely have.
4. It was written when I used to post with the display name of The Introvert on this blog; the word is not a description of myself as such.

For the hopes I couldn’t make dry
For the obsession I couldn’t make die
For the heart, to which, I couldn’t ask a why

For the people I can’t throw out of my head
For the life that is but a compulsion getting bad
For the love for which I can’t paint the town red

For the friends who keep taking me wrong
For the feeling that I nowhere belong
For the poems that look like a protest song

For the words that have got no meanings as such
For the eyes that have featured a bit too much
For the mind that finds itself into the crunch

This blog takes a break.

Gubaar hai, dhuaa.n hai, ya ye meri hi zindgaani hai
Kabhii nazar ka dhokha thii, ab aankh ka paani hai.

First, this is the post I wrote last Friday, published, and then deleted!!...=>

I don’t have to write, in fact I should not, but I will. The two maiden, untouched textbooks and the two other sets of good looking reading material do not tempt me enough to put my hands on them. One of the books has passed the 30 days of its association with me, rotating 30 degrees a week on the shelf. Its interactions with the dust have made some gorgeous paintings M F Hussain would be only too willing to claim as his own.
These paintings, rectangular sketches etc are so nice to think about while sitting idle here in the room. But I really didn’t like picking up the drafter and moving out for the workshop yesterday. Every eye seemed to be in full mode of enquiry. The only thing I could do for mixing in the fuchha bunch was a shave which I of course did, but that didn’t help much.
But professor Sachdeva is good. And that eases off the trouble. The cycloids appearing more like sine curves are acceptable to him! Though he doesn’t offer the guys the “correct it and come back” option he sometimes offers to the fairer sex. Anyway, fine. I haven’t got issues with that.
Ok. I think I can cut it short here. The textbooks deserve some attention.”
……………………………………………………………
...........................................................................

Returning to the present…

The minors won’t go without extracting a few words for themselves out of my not-so-busy self. ‘Not-so-busy’ is no reflection on the past three days, but a pointer to the fact that my minors are almost over. Yesterday was a nightmare. While I wanted to write a complete post dedicated to the same, the frustration chose to come out in the comments section of this post by V. Having come back to my eternal ease with the way IIT functions, and to my unwillingness to talk about how some of the profs are explicitly proud of the way they shit, I no longer feel like writing about all that in detail. But really, I won't forget those 5-10 minutes when I was supposed to be in two examination halls simultaneously. The fourth block was never as far away from the workshop. IIT sucks well.

I wrote this line while commenting on Siyaah's blog and felt like noting it down on my blog too:
Dil karta hai koi sawaal to apna sa lagta hai..
duniya vohi poochhe to lagti hai paraayi si.

Lately, I don’t prefer posing all those silly psycho-philosophical questions to myself which I once enjoyed to ponder over. May be the questions have dried up, like the vegetation that didn’t receive rain, of silly answers, in time. May be because I’ve understood they are nothing but silly. Or may be because I get too many doses of them in blogosphere, with better answers that cloud the mind even more. (And while finding all these links, I don't know why I can't access this blog. Such posts are aplenty there. )

I find myself at loss of words these days, or perhaps, I always did. There are too many thoughts I can’t express. But the silly poems that I write come as a good friend at times, for they express all I want, more than I could ever try, and sometimes, more than I did ever want. Mostly meaningless they are, but they’ve been a good time pass for years now. They’ve been the only rescue from the boring lectures and at times the professors have been deceived into believing that this always-awake-guy is quite studious (all this if (s)he doesn't think-"Have I seen him before in this class?" :P).

I love comments. I long for somebody to come and bash me someday for some silly post of mine. even as anonymous.

The only comment I hate is “cute post.”

Palake.n bojhal ho jhapak rahii thii.n jab kal raat,
dekha dekha sa koi chehra lehar aaya hoga nazar mein..
Yun to har subah hoti thi is subah jaisi hi magar,
har aankh na kehti thii-"badnaam hai tu shehar mein!".

She wanted to read those eyes.
Were they the same as before?
Was her picture in them still bright?
Or the water forced it to fade.

And finally she got the chance…

She looked in.
cautiously.

Her picture shone as bright as ever.
She didn't look happy.
She wanted it to be faint.

And suddenly she had to look away.

Those eyes were trying to read her's.
What if the reflections be transparent?
Can the transparency reflect?
If yes, what? And how much?

She looked up.
Eternity was over.

Pure hearts.
Pure eyes.
Pure water.

I read 'that' again
and again.
Oh, no!!
Blogging demands restraint.

“This week has been awesome and awful at the same time!” Well, ok, this is an exaggeration, for my life does never vary that much. But yes, this week has witnessed quite a variety.
This Monday, while the impractical guy’s eccentricity was at its peak, he walked out of a practical class, decidedly sure that he’s not going to do this course this time around. He has got gutsy enough to face the repercussions, or perhaps he hasn’t got in him the ability to face things the way they stand. Whatever! (What’s it with me that whenever I write about those incidents in my life which I would’ve rather liked not to be in, I tend to replace ‘I’ by ‘he’ or ‘you’.)
The same Monday night saw me in the birthday bash of a friend, quite different from the usual ones I’ve been in. Loved it! Absolutely loved it! The continuous grin on Mr. Ashiq's face was a bonus treat (though there was hardly anybody who cares to go deep into poetry, and so that wasn’t the right platform my friend! But then, you were actually forced.), while I saw Mr. Cool shed his you-know-why-girls-love-me poise for a while. After an hour or so, he asked me one of the most difficult questions anybody can ask you- “Tell me at least one thing you don’t like about me.” Well, well, well, I haven’t got anything like that, seriously; may be I don’t know you enough.
Recent days have also seen the love for orkut suddenly running high in the blood of some of my long lost friends. A hope-u-remember-me from the ones you so obviously remember can surprise you anytime. Equally great is to find out someone yourself and say- “Wow! He/she is here!” A few of them have made some no-comments-visits to this blog too! Suddenly orkut has started making sense! Glad that I didn’t delete it!
Bathing in negligibly-hot water in the evening 2-3 days back, has pushed me into the unfortunate cycle of headache, sore throat, a mild fever etc etc. Nothing can be worse than a sore throat, you think, when the phone rings and you know your parents are on the other side. So I was too happy not to pick it up yesterday! And today when I picked it up (there’s a limit, isn’t?), the “Hello” was enough for mom to know it all. All the inevitable advices followed, though (I think) I was able to convince her that it’s a sore throat only, not accompanied with anything worse. I was told to gargle and I was like “It’s so kiddish. I won’t. No way!”
A few minutes later, phone rang again, on the other side was a friend complaining why didn’t I call back on his missed calls! O my friend, this is the day when I’m thinking twice before even picking up the calls that ring for minutes!
Then, had a few words with another friend of mine whose marriage is scheduled later this month- the first one from my batch in school to marry! I always wonder why a well-educated guy should marry this early, but then, there are reasons which tell me I shouldn’t wonder. Anyway I've got another justifiable reason to bunk classes in a semester which has already seen too many unjustifiable bunks from me! (Did I say ‘too many’? This should be a positive sign!)
And again, the phone rang, yet another friend. Ask me how much I hate receiving ladies’ calls when I’ve got a sore throat; I can’t even chat online with them in this state! But having been already at the receiving end of some angry words for not picking up the calls (or for not calling) twice earlier in the day, I hardly had any choice. She couldn’t make out any difference in my voice at first (thankfully), but as soon as I told her, she realized she is a doctor in the making- “Gargling would be the most effective thing in this case.”

This was a war not for
being alive, but dead
It was deep inside you
It was well in your head

It was the pure, transparent
and unadulterated salinity
Chosen by youself to take on
your already-in-ruins sanity

It was the illusionist’s show
you’d only two reasons to see
Either to let go the control, or
To find if you’d hold on to be

There is such a great similarity
between confidence and a high
You can dare shake a leg
for the first time in public eye

When the war is within you
wars of the world are forgotten
Escapist is the word for you
Funny was your momentary fun

Jabse mein haath mein jaam nahii.n leta
Dost kehte hain tu akl se kaam nahii.n leta

Mujhko jamaane ki hai parvaah bas itni
Kehta sab hun, bas.. uska naam nahii.n leta

Dabdabaai un aankho.n se dayaar na baha hota
Pehla vo katra agar main thaam nahii.n leta

Diljale aashiqo.n ki bastii mein rehta hun
Main haseeno.n se dua-o-salaam nahii.n leta


(Could somebody suggest a title for it?)

The last time I felt satisfied after writing something was You and U, and before that it was :).

Then why the heck do I post so frequently? And that too when almost all the bloggers I enjoyed discussions with have gradually disappeared or have limited their presence. It's really no fun anymore. The blogs I'm used to reading have all gone almost dry, and I don't feel like reading any new ones. I wish somebody erase the password of my blogspot account from my memory. I surely won't take pains of creating a new one! OK, just kidding! (Am I?)

From now on, you will see less of me, but at the same time, better of me: mostly poetry!

(Don't know how less frequent I would be. I'm just giving it a try. This is not a resolution! But it'll be good if I stick to the decision, because I know there are many other things I need to put time into.)

This is the fourth time in last two months when I am feeling like writing something similar to what I'm finally writing today. Each time I delayed, and the impulse died.

First, it was our so-called forefather Manu's writings, a part of which I got a chance to read last semester (obviously, for academic requirements). Though it was a nice read and I can whole-heartedly agree that Manu was a great Indian philosopher, I couldn't resist myself from ridiculing him for what he has been hailed for centuries and criticized for years. So here I quote our so-called forefather, though not in his own words, but a translation (not by me):

"Hybridisation destroys the basic material of the human being. It is one of the major causes of the decline and destruction of State and society"

Certainly, Manu is not talking about inter-species sex. What he is doing is to create species within species (and hence letting none be human). Oh, now I understand: He is indeed the Forefather, he produced not one, but four species and millions of sub-species in Hindus (And he didn't need an Eve!).

The concept of sub-species is such an intelligent work. It ensures that each sub-species has at least a few other sub-species to look down upon and hence console itself. And the 'lowest' ones who don't have any sub-species to 'hate' would only be a thousandth fraction of the population! Kudos to Manu. The 999/1000 fraction of the society is happy! Ignorance is bliss.

Second time, it was on a train where I found three female teachers of some secondary school talking about everything from their paychecks to castes to women empowerment. (I just wish 'sound' were a thing you could hear only when you are being spoken to. I was so sleepy that time.) Anyhow here are some excerpts from their wisdom :

"Wo to xyz (some caste different than her's and, of course, not the same as that of other two teachers) hai. Uska kya bharosa"

"Men still don't understand. Women are rising; take it on your chin, guys."

"Pataa nahin kya bura kiya tha bechari ne pichhle janam mein. Three daughters and no son yet" (Not to mention that this is the same speaker who declared the rise)

So the young minds of this nation are in good hands.

Next time it was the newspaper when I was back home this december. Every other day I could read:

"A Panchayat of some 22 villages sat to decide on the punishment to be meted out to the couple who were found guilty of an inter-caste marriage"

"All members of groom's caste in the village are to be socially boycotted- the Panchayat unanimously decides. Situation tense. SP says enough forces are deployed there to control any unwanted incident".(Are the things done by the Panchayat not 'unwanted' in the first place?)

"No church shall be constructed in the town- Maha Panchayat decides. Moreover the christians involved in the construction have to leave the village" (And the police again was reported to be in control of the situation!)

What the hell! Is there any law in this land of ours or these panchayats are the ministries of the so-called God? If these are the decisions they are going to continue making, we should consider doing away with them. (I know. I know. Please don't enlighten me with the lecture on benefits of panchayati system you read in your junior high school!)

Moreover, what these hindi newspapers think they are doing when they mention the names of who's who of the panchayat? Fuck them. TOI is indeed better, I must say, now that I've found there's more crappy stuff in print media than DT's page 3.

And the latest thing that forces me to write is the Big Brother Bakwaas. We the sons and daughters of Manu are hell bent on taking not only on the individual who made some racist remarks on Shilpa Shetty, but also on Britain and the West in general (as if this country of ours has some deep-rooted tradition of equality(!)- this's what I wrote while commenting on a friend's post on the issue.)

We aren't racist. Britain is. (After all, colour is the criteria that defines racism!) And that too because somebody from that nation didn't treat our 'celebrity' well. Tell me something better to laugh at.

While I'm talking about racism and things, I have some vague recollections of this nice and simple poem:

"Dear white fella
When I born, I black
When I grow up, I black
When I go in sun, I black
When I cold, I black
When I scared, I black
When I sick, I black
And when I die, I still black.

You white fella
When you born, you pink
When you grow up, you white
When you go in sun, you red
When you cold, you blue
When you scared, you yellow
When you sick, you green
And when you die, you grey.

And you have the cheek to call me colored????? "

(Well, Google is such a great thing! Kills the vagueness of the recollections! It also says the poem is by some African Shakespeare.)

And how could I not mention this statement by a now-retired Indian cricketer: "A loss to West Indies doesn't hurt that much. They are like us."

Why????