Another Mortal Life

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!
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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.”
……………………………………………………………
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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.”