From Singh is King to him being Bling

Today was the first day when I realised what an awesome song Tung Tung Baje from Singh is Bling is. It was the first thing which I heard on radio while getting ready for the office today, and it did stick with me for the entire day; in a good way way, of course. I researched a bit, and got to know that it did feature in Coke Studio 2012 edition. The song didn’t seem like an Akshay Kumar’s movie song anyway.

After work, when I thought about it in my apartment, I realised that Singh is King came in 2008. Exactly 7 years and a month ago.

The reason why I remember Sing is King so distinctly is because of the first lecture of a particular course in IIT Delhi. The professor was a surd. Now I won’t name our respected professor because he was the one who got all my CV points approved in my management school. I’d be eternally grateful to him for that. But for the sake of reference, let us call him Mayyar Singh (If any IITD batchmate is reading this, they’ll know why chose this particular reference name).

As is evident so far, Prof. Mayyar was a surd. Lest you shun this, let me tell you that no stereotypical joke is coming your way. I am just not like that, not anymore. Anyway, so it was his first class of advanced machine design course (No, it isn’t a cliched engineering school joke too). Out of courtesy, and trying to be highly pertinent to the course, the professor asked the class that what were their expectations from this course – as is the norm in any college. The first thing which the class uttered was – “Sir, ‘Singh is King’ ke tickets ka jugaad kara do, mil nhin rahe hai”. The professor immediately regretted asking this question, and conveniently ignored, moving on to other mundane things.

It might not sound very funny now, but it is one of the most funny stories which I can recall from my engineering days.

Just to put things in perspective, it was the time when Virendar Sehwag scored 201 not out, in this test. It’s his third best innings (not in terms of runs scored, obviously) after this and this. The one at Mumbai is best batting I’ve seen so far. If you don’t believe me, read this. Having followed cricket since 1996 and wishing the best things for Kumble and Tendulkar, I never thought I’d miss Sehwag the most. But I do miss him in Indian cricket the most. More than Dravid and Kumble. Dravid saved the tests, Kumble won it for us, but it was always who sat up the platform for the win. When Sehwag failed, Dravid’s task was infinitely harder. And Kumble had no role to play.

It was also the time when The Dark Knight was released. On 18th of July, 2008. But I chose to see Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na with a friend who is married now and is working with Asian Paints. (I’ll not name anyone.) But when I did see The Dark Knight on 31st of July (I remember the date precisely because it was right before my birthday) with my would-be girlfriend (who is now a bitter ex), her then boyfriend (I never did care for him anyway) and another male friend with whom I haven’t spoken in last six years (I stopped caring for him a long time ago). It was a wonderful day at PVR Saket. I saw The Dark Knight twice after that. Each time with three different people at three different locations. It was also the time when DevD’s shooting was going on Delhi, and I happened to have a crush on choreogrpaher of the movie, who happened to be a friend of mine, and with whom I saw The Dark Knight for the final time in theater and afterwards I confessed having crush on her in United Coffee House at CP. I was wearing a very stupid kurta and she wore red sleeveless chicken kurta. She looked cute, and I was a little embarrased after telling her this. Her reply was nonchalant and stereotypical. “Girls always know such stuff.” She was living with her boyfriend in Mumbai then, and working on DevD.

I also distinctly remember one of my hostel mates playing ‘Uccha lamba kad’ from Welcome around the same time on endless loops in blaring volumes. I guess he had just bought new 2.1s.

And now there is Singh is Bling.

How time flies.

Write Drunk, Edit Sober – Peter De Vries

बारूद की महक को कब हाथोँ से जाने में वक़्त लगा है,
वक़्त तो उनके दिये ज़ख्मों को भरने में लगा है।

तुम मानते नहीं हो, शायद मानोगे भी नहीं
समझते तो हो ,लेकिन समझना चाहते नहीं हो

अब और कैसे कहें,
कि दर्द -ऐ -हिज्र क्या है।

A Car Accident

Imagine yourself walking on the footpath, like a good responsible law abiding citizen, and suddenly a car comes and hits you out of nowhere. For next couple of months, you’re in the hospital, recuperating; and in the mean time also loosing that precious thing called time. MBAs will call it your lost opportunity cost; a more seasoned MBA will call it the cost of disease or accident. Anyhow, while you’re recuperating there in the hospital (or in your home), what do you think of the people who were driving that fateful car?

Let’s start with the simplest of scenarios and add on to complications as we progress.

In the most basic of cases, the car hits you and runs away. You never got to know the drivers, all you knew was that it “might” have been an honest mistake on their part, and you were just utterly hapless to be there – at the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, what if it wasn’t an “honest” mistake, rather, it was just a mistake, and the people who were driving were drunk and were having fun? Although, the accident which happened was unintentional, yet it could have been avoided had they been a little more responsible. Would you not curse them and feel that this should not go unpunished and that their karma should catch up to them?

Please note, that in any of these cases, the people sitting in the car were absolutely unharmed. Even their car had no superficial scratches whatsoever.

Now let’s say that the people sitting in the car did what they did intentionally. Being drunk or sober doesn’t really matter in this case. Although, as in the previous case, here too, the people sitting in the car are complete strangers to you. How would you feel about them now?

Finally, consider the case where the people sitting in the car did it knowing fully aware of what they were doing and why they were doing along with the fact that they were not complete strangers to you. These people knew you. Not just “knew you” knew you but they have known you for last 5-7 years, hanging out with you on a daily basis, getting involved in marathon carousing sessions with you, asking for your help as and when they required it; and you, being such a morally upright ass that you have been throughout your life, did whatever you could for them. In fact, when such an accident happened a couple of years ago to one of the people sitting in the car, you distinctly remember him saying that he wouldn’t hit anyone like this. And even earlier than that, you have been there for another such person who was also in that same car in a similar kind of situation. They were certainly more than friends with you. Or, you thought so.

The person who was driving the car was your girlfriend of four years and seven months. The person sitting next to her was your closest friend.

Oh, and instead of breaking your bones (which would have been far simpler to deal with), they broke your heart. Just like that, right there. Never visiting you in the hospital, because apparently…

The Wall

He was lost. This was the first time he was travelling alone. He had had friends, but this time he didn’t want them to be around him. And anyway, he had been to these mountains before.

He was lost, though not technically. He had been trying to locate the place where the magic happened the last time he was here with people whom he doesn’t want to be here now. However, he was pretty sure that he was standing at the right place. Yet, something kept on insisting him to not to trust himself, anymore. He wasn’t really sure what it was, and there was no one to check with.

He was lost, again. After all these years, he now knew that he wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes, of trusting people the way he did. But sometimes, you don’t want to be logical. And clearly, there was no such thing as learning from past, for him, apparently. He took the wrong turn, and there it was, the dark green, overwhelmingly vertical mountain wall, with no pinnacle in sight, which seemed so near that if he extended his hands just a little bit, he could touch it. Only that, he can’t. Yes! This was the place the magic happened the last time he was here with people whom he doesn’t want to be there anymore.

He was lost, in hindsight. Sometimes he wished he shouldn’t have done the things he did. But then, who doesn’t? And he was also only human, may be more human than all the humans he had known. Or so, he’d like to think himself to be. Nevertheless, should that even matter?

Why then, was he lost?

White Cotton Tee

It was an after rain morning in August, the sort which gets misty as the day progresses. And by late afternoon, you’re in a fix if it’s a late august in northern plains of India or early winters.

She was wearing a plain cotton tee.

When she stepped out from her home, it was pretty humid. An old worn out cotton tee is your best bet in Delhi on such a day. Little did she know that she’d be protesting at India gate later in the morning. And by the time she was there, it was already drizzling. Delhi had witnesses another rape in a moving vehicle, and it was barely eight months after what happened on the night of December 16^th, 2012.

She was a strong, independent woman. The sort usually found at northern campus of Delhi University. Probably, because she believed in Neitzsche and Camus. And a little bit in Beckett, which made her quite callous, socially.

But she had her friends. And cats. She didn’t need much.

But on that late rainy misty morning, she was wearing a worn out cotton tee, with a white brasserie. Little did she know that that would be a curse.

It rained heavily that day, and the media was more interested in her worn out cotton tee instead of what she was saying. She noticed it, noticed it more than obviously, and yet she was helpless. This wasn’t Gurgaon. It was India gate. The national media was there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Fucking shit!

It was only her first monsoon in Delhi, but she knew very well why she wouldn’t want to be there in the next.

Cheatings & Teachings

It wasn’t long before she started taking her clothes off. What started as an innocuous study session had turned into a steamy tale of infidelity.

Intermittently, the words such as “cheating”, “disloyalty” did pop up in her mind, but the pain between her legs was too sweet and strong to let her think of such things more holistically.

The fact that she realized it very early that she couldn’t stop what was happening to her –more aptly, she didn’t want to – wasn’t helping either.

So she gave in.

But she couldn’t give in absolutely. Committing to the moment completely wasn’t achievable for her. So she thought of analyzing it. Why, after all, was she doing it?

He was not handsome. Nor was he mentally, or physically, well endowed. And although, she has been toying with the idea of sapiosexuality, she wasn’t entirely convinced of it either.

Then why, oh why was she doing it to her macho husband?

May be, that was why!

He was too macho for her. And she had always wanted someone docile and malleable. Someone ‘soft, someone who will be dependent on her. How she loathed the idea of patriarchy and machoism.

She was the sort of strong, independent women by whom the media swore. But her husband had always challenged her character – emotionally and mentally. Shameless, typical patriarch!

Oh Yes!

Silence. Only hard breathings.

Click of the lighter and exhausted ring of smoke.

“Shall we start all over again?”

The Problem is Sex

The problem is/was/will be that women can get sex any time they want to, and with whoever they want to. Well, mostly. This is simply unacceptable to a society where the man is seen as the lord of everything. Which is why they need to have so many rules for women. Which is why you have to tie her modesty irredeemably with her sexuality. Which is why a family’s “honour” is so unscrupulously intermingled with only women. Which is why Rape is not as heinous a crime as murder. Which is why her character is termed “loose” if she is sexually proactive. Which is why the legal definition of rape is only vaginal penetration by phallus. Which is why Sodomy is not even a thoroughly recognized sexual offence.

And which is why the authorities believe that fellatio can’t forced. Groping and pinching in crowd can’t be avoided. Because, when you’re in a mob, your hands develop a carnal instinct of their own.

Manu knew it all along. He sure was a visionary.

And so was Nietzsche when he believed that morality is just a fiction used by the herd of inferior human beings to hold back the few superior human beings.

A task excellently done!

Deconstructing Delhi Rapes

16th December is a very important date, for a gamut of reasons. And – I hope – from now on, it must be a shamefully important date in recent history of Delhi, at least. It was December the 16th, in the cruel year of 2012, that a girl was raped in a moving public transport in the early hours of late night. And she was, wisely, with a male friend. I mean, how much more circumspective can it be?

Up until very recently, all my female friends thought south Delhi to be the safest part of Delhi, generally. Suffice to say is that the myth has been broken. A carefully cultivated myth it was, nonetheless, by the PCR vans patrolling (by patrolling I mean parked on the red lights of flyovers, over which such things were happening) on the inner and outer ring roads. And a couple of days ago, on Arnab Gowsami’s show, Additional Commissioner of Delhi Police, Lt. Gen. Tajinder Luthra, kept insisting on the fact that in 2005 there were 100 PCR vans, the number stands at over 600 presently, and they’re in the process of taking it up to 1000 and more. Mathematically, the PCR vans have grown up by over 600 percent since 2005. The crime rates should have been reduced proportionately, presuming there is some feeble correlation between the former and the latter. However, not so surprisingly, the growth in crime rate has outpaced the growth of PCR vans! How does one go about in explaining this baffling anomaly? Oh, I know! If you use the words “useless” along with “absolutely”, things start falling into place. This line of argument is entrenched infallibly by Delhi polices’ conduct in general. And let’s not even talk about their mentality and upbringing or societal background. So, in short, it’s time that we stop pretending that we believe in the charade of Delhi Police. We’ve always wanted to, though; told ourselves as well as our near and dear ones repeatedly the same lies, hoping that they might eventually turn out to be true. But mother of all ironies! It hasn’t, so far. And considering the ongoing travesties of law and order, it’ll be hopeless naivety to believe that it will, in some point of time which any of us might be able to see.

We’ve been following their recommendations almost religiously. More, out of the fear of our own safety than the respect for authorities, however. When will we realize that it has never been about the time, place, company or what was she wearing. The reason why we have had no substantial answers so far is because we’ve been asking the wrong questions. The questions should have been directed towards him, and not her. But someone, at some point in time messed it up royally then; and repercussions have been ripe ever since. Many of us must have seen the movie Daamini (this is just one name which pops up in my head right now, there must a score of other such movies) where the female protagonist is subjected to despicably vulgar cross questioning by a very-well-acting Amrish Puri. But nobody thought of cross questioning the accused. How drunk was he? Were his parents or guardians informed of his late night shenanigans? What do his mother, sister and other of his close female relatives have to say about the allegation? And if he was such a macho man, why didn’t he attempt the rape all alone. You see, rape is not about masculinity. It’s about mob mentality. The same mob which nearly raped the girl outside the bar in Assam, but for the presence of camera and other media personnel.

I believe that rapes in Delhi are exponential functions of untapped sexual energy and unsatisfied lust. And the violence is sadomasochistic, which is a corollary of lust. And such things have no distinction of economic class. This is the reason why there are almost no reported crimes of burglary and mobbing of citizens in dark alleys. How many Delhites are actually worried about such things as- a couple of thousands of cash, credit cards, smart phones, watches and jewellery while they are out late in the night? No one is bothered about such things in Delhi anymore, because Delhi has upgraded to a higher class of criminals. All we are worried for is the security of our female friends when we are out. This is so not the case when we are hanging out with all guy friends. There is almost no worry involved then. Why should there be such a difference? Be it 3 AM in the night, while you’re smoking up along with whiskey out on the ring road. Or drinking in your Car. It’s all good. Just don’t get females out. Because then, you’ll be beaten up. Because we’re going to molest them any which way. I think I speak for all the rational males when I say that we can’t be involved in a brawl if there are any number of horny guys with iron rods and guns. We do realize that we’re not living in an out and out commercial movie. In fact, we, as a single entity are utterly helpless and completely benign. That is why, there are only gang rapes in Delhi. The bachelors live in houses or PGs where women are not allowed. Which explains the fetish with moving vehicles. Actually, the fetish is more of a constraint, but we have learned to enjoy it. And the alcohol. Delhi government has made sure that you will have a continual supply of liquor, irrespective of the economic strata of the society to which you belong to and irrespective of whatever time of the night it is. The Delhi police sure do collude in this. You see, the government is working. Not working in the right direction, but never mind that. Work is all that matters. Hence, Gang rapists under heavy influence of alcohol.

The solution is not death penalty or castration. There is a stark distinction between us and them, and it must be kept in place very firmly. Because what will violence begetting another form violence will teach our future generations? And making the litigation swift will be a short term solution; not that it is not needed. The long term solution is changing what our society believes in, their mentality and their mind set. But that will take at least a generation or two. Apparently, we can’t wait for that long. What can be immediately done is that we flood the streets of Delhi with women all night. We stop telling them by when they should be at home. We stop telling them what they must and must not wear. We start accepting the fact that they might smoke and drink with you, but surprisingly, won’t sleep with you. It should be a normal sight to see a woman alone at 3 AM in the night. Then fascination with the women will be a little subdued then. What really needs to be done is that make it totally normal for women to step out at any time of day, in whatever she feels is comfortable, with whoever she wants to, and whatever she wants to.

Delhi police and youth are surely not taught any of this in their trainings and schools and colleges. But the institutions do teach them about egalitarian society, the fundamental rights; including the right to live with dignity. Don’t they have this much of brain to see that this is exactly what it is, and nothing more. There is no regressive mindset at play here. It’s plain simple matter of convenience. Tomorrow, if a woman sees a man reliving himself shamelessly in front of her, and if she kicks it really hard, will the police say that he was asking for it? The day our authorities answer that in affirmative, is the day we should be striving towards.

The Other Side of Violence

Why are men violent? I mean, domestically.

And why so, with their wives and not (mostly) with their girlfriends? It’s because they’re afraid. Emotionally weak and vulnerable. More than the aggression, it’s their defense. Something like you’d do instinctively upon seeing a potentially poisonous snake.
With that, we arrive on a more important question: Is that justified?

Ofcourse, like truth, justifications are subjective. No matter how much we try to put in objectivity in any of the men-women relationship, the bitter fact is that, we simply can’t. Somethings are not meant for that. And that is what -I think- makes them more complex than they already are.
But: there are two things in which I firmly believe in. One, everyone must have their own point of view on this. Two, none can’t live with them and without them. Black & White. Yin & Yang. Batman & Joker. Nature, most certainly, is a sadist.

The Death of Hope

To born again, first you have to die. So says Rushdie Sir.

Is this my death we’re talking about? Am I supposed to be born again?

A joker might abhor me, but me too do not like things when they doesn’t go according to “the plan”. Because that means that then I’ll have to come up with a new plan. And that requires a lot of meticulous work on my part. But -like every other living thing, and me being no different- don’t want to do that.

We live in difficult times.

When the Electricity Played Spoilsport.

It’s been more than an year. 366 days, to be very precise, ever since I’ve not written. Well, ever since I’ve not written here. Otherwise, I’ve written a lot. A lot of it in the office, with a real pen and paper, during the long -and insanely sleepy- afternoons of the unbearable summer which seemed to last forever.

I’m kind running against time, and this was so not planned. I’ve a train to catch in about two hours from now, and right now, it is terribly cold. Just the way I like it. While we are on that, the electricity is not here anymore. So I will have to stop right here. But this is not over. Not so soon.

See you all soon, really!

Back from the Dead

It feels a bit awkward to pay for net. Kinda like how you feel when you’re asked to pay for water [mineral or whatever] at a restaurant. No? Well, ever since I’ve known internet, I’ve known it to be free. Something like accommodation, up untill you’re living with your parents that is. Then you step out in real world. And wham! Which, by the way, partly explains why it took me almost 5 months to get it. The other reason is much simpler: I never really felt the need of it.

Imagine an overfed child, suddenly being forced to not to eat. Or an excessively social person put to extreme solitary confinement. Or lovers, separated overnight. Too many analogies! Or may be, it’s over-accumulated urge to blab here; after all, it’s been 13 months.

Thirteen months is a long, really long frame of time. Picture yourself 13 months ago, and you’ll know. So many changes – I know! Some for good, others for bad; but you’ve to accept them, nonetheless. Calvin says it the best, “Little by little, nothing seems to change, but nothing remains the same with time.” More precisely, “Nothing lasts forever, even cold november rain”, as Axl Rose puts it.

****

Wiki Leaks and Radiia Tapes have uncanny similarity. Particularly, in the modus operandi of the respective authorities in trying to curb them. Whatever may be the final outcome of these overwhelming phenomenons, one thing is for sure, I’ll never read an article or believe in any news piece as before. There is no going back. They’ve changed things. Forever.

****

Delhi is in desperate need of its own Dark Knight, so that all the women may wander at night without any concerns. Expecting Delhi’s men to change is futile. And too far fetched. Just like expecting Vivek Oberoi to deliver a solo hit.

****

All I want right now is India to win this test against South Africa. Which again seems too far fetched. Lets just pray before we sleep. Or after we wake up.

All Will [be] Well

The way I see it, life is never as fair and just as much I fancied it to be.  As the college nears its inevitable end, I can’t help but realize that those were -effectively- the best days of my life, and the road ahead is so not smooth. Considering the fact that I’m such a complicatedly manufactured specimen of human race, the predicament seems a million times worse than it actually was/is/will ever be. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars But in ourselves, that we are underlings. May be. May not be. It was supposed to happen like this, I know. But then, why does it hurt so much? That I’ll never know.

I always believed that life is a very continuous series of crests and troughs, arranged in a very neat fashion. Like a simple sine wave. But I really can’t recall even one single moment when I felt genuinely happy ever since I’ve been in college. The occasional once which came had their little baggage. But I never really cribbed about them. I kept consoling myself that there must be a better plan for me by Him. I hope there is. I seriously hope there is.

Novembers used to be the best year of the month for me. I used to look forward for them every time when Decembers came. For twenty two years, they just kept on getting better and better. Then came the twenty-third, and November is no longer the most cherished month of the year! Thinking about the last November, I also realize life changes so much in just a span of twelve months. Like right now, I’ve no idea where I’ll be in the next November. More importantly, how I’ll be.

I’ve almost stopped listening to music these days. More or Less. But there is this one song from 3 Idiots– All izz well. The song is not great or something per se, but there are these lines from the song which made immense amount of sense to me. Henceforth, they’ll be my facebook status for a long time to come.

Scholarship की पी गया दारु, गम तो फिर भी मिटा नहीं,

अगरबत्तियां राख हो गयी, God तो फिर भी दिखा नहीं.

I don’t know. Prasoon Joshi, is it? Too lazy to do a Google search.

*****

I’ve a feeling, that my Godot will come. And I’ll prove Becket wrong, individually. But then, the feelings, the aspiration, who the hell cares about them anyway? Isn’t the world much simpler, absolutely non-layered, right? If Only.

V for Virginity

I do not write to intend this as a novel [or a story for that matter]… This was how my story was supposed to begin. Before anything else, let me be very clear that in this blog post, all forms of interrogative, inquisitive comments are strictly proscribed by the author [which is none other than me]. Colloquially, no How-What-Where-Why-Who et al.  Bromidic as it may sound, but all this which is about to follow in italics is purely a work of authors abjectly rich imagination. Ergo, even the slightest resemblance with any person living/dead is [un]fortunately coincidental.

So without any further delay, let’s get going with it.

I do not write to intend this as a novel, but sometimes the need to communicate gets all transcending and utterly primordial. And this [almost] carnal desire to communicate is the raison d’atre for this present fable. I’ll begin from the beginning.

The entire engineering fraternity [The reader is hereby pleaded to take note of the word ‘fraternity’ with full heed. The author has used this with utmost deliberation, carefully shunning ‘sorority’ for reasons which will get obvious as he reaches towards the fag end of this sentence.] is notorious for it’s obsession with fairer sex – and sex, to be more specific- mostly because of their [it’s] sheer paucity in this profession. Sequestering all the chronic contentions, allow me to take you all to a point which is important here without giving you -and me- the sweetly indulging and obviously titillating luxury of digression.

I never lost my virginity. I knew exactly what I did with it. And this is an unabashed [albeit, an honest and carefully non-vulgar] account of what I did.

The first time I had a girlfriend, I didn’t even touch her. We barely met. The fling was primarily on phone. I thought lust is for animals. Love is something which is pure. And hence, it can’t be intermingled with love. How insanely stupid must I’ve been back then; and what a bitch must she have been to dump me for someone else!

The world hadn’t seen much sunlight before I was into another [even more] serious relationship [if possible!]. I was fast this time. We held hands! And that was pretty much it. But before things got really serious, we kinda broke up. That, or we were on an indefinite break. Whatever! Implies the same. I didn’t even try for anything before I was into my third super-serious relationship. The only difference being that I was much more relaxed and nonchalant about all the ‘relationship’ stuff this time. I was kinda ‘been-there-done-situation’. Irrelevant, perhaps. Boisterous, definitely. Also, I moved to the ‘next’ level too. But as it turned out to be, the girl was too ethical. ‘No ding-dong before you sing a song’. What the fuck! I can’t marry at 21! I mean I legally can, but pragmatically I won’t. And this gave me my smoothest break-up ever.

By this time, I was done with girls. Not forever, but yes, for the time being. I strived to strengthen my male bonding [in an absolutely non-gay way]. I paid attention to academics. Tried improving my grades, with little or no success in the long run. That was a period of self-abnegation, for no fucking good reason. If you subtract the word ‘good’ from the last sentence, I think it’d have described my situation more aptly. To put it most simply, I was just not being me. This was unacceptable. And un-natural. I knew I had to revert back to my old ways. Sooner or later. And sooner, I did. I was back doing what I do best. Well, definitely it wasn’t ‘the best’ coz had it been that, I wouldn’t have been…

Now I’m the kind of guy who learns from his mistakes, as well as from other’s mistakes. And I never repeat the same mistake. I really take utmost care so as it won’t get repeated. But the problem with me is that I get so engrossed in avoiding the previous one that I just am not able to foresee an unprecedented one coming. To sum it up, I never repeat a previous mistake; I always do a brand new one. Why did I tell all this will be apparent in a matter of few lines.

I was careful enough not to have my fourth girl as one of the previous three. Now I honestly don’t know how many species of human females exist on this planet at any given point of time. I think that number will be highly debatable. Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. All I knew by now was those previous three were not of my type. Therefore, this one should be of completely different type altogether. Fair Enough. I started praying for a nymphomaniac in morning/evening prayer. Oh, before that, I started having morning/evening prayers. And as Paolo Coelho says, if you really desire for something, the entire universe conspires for you to get it. And get her, I did. But then, as the saying goes ‘Be Careful for what you wish, coz you might just get it all, and then some you don’t want’; and I wished for too much. I realized it pretty soon. But not soon enough to mend myself. Redemption was right there, but the correct path is not easy and sins are always tempting. Taking the higher moral and literal ground  -like all great authors do- our author here too won’t get into the gory details of the act. Suffice is to say that on a very hot Sunday afternoon, in an air-conditioned room, with no electricity, amidst seas of sweat, I lost something to gain everything.

Right then, I had what alcoholics call as ‘moment of clarity’. And in that moment, what ranged in my head was this. ‘Women are stupid. But if women weren’t stupid, the world won’t go round’.

One of the novelties of being human beings is that we can almost never do what we set out to do.

And that was how the story was supposed to end. It didn’t make much sense to me though. It might make sense to some of you. There is also a tini-tiny problem. What I feel is that this [the fiction] might be offensive to some feminist kinda people. Now I don’t have particularly anything against them, but then I’m also not too fond of them. So in case you’re one of them, I do apologize sincerely.

Kaminey Kritics!

I don’t remember any movie in a long time whose pre-release fuss was so much. Honestly speaking, I get a little excited and little more curious with all this kind of stuff. Ever since I saw the trailor of Kaminey in march [when I was watching Pink Panther-2. No! I don’t want any comments on this, coz this post isn’t about that] for the first time, I knew I’ll be seeing it as soon as it gets released. My only tiny apprehension was regarding Shahid Kapoor. Just that, he really can’t act. But I convinced myself, coz the movie bore the tag of Vishal Bhardwaj. That was March.

Aah! The notorious bollywood strike was here. April. May. June. July saw the unveiling of the music of  Kaminey. And also, the very famous Dhan Te Nan. So far so good. Then there were the tracks Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai and Raat ke dhai baje. Things were looking better. We’ll get to see an intelligent movie; probably the first one after DevD.

Two days before the release of the movie, I read this review. Things haven’t been so good ever! I was super excited. I couldn’t wait for it’s release. I’ve lost count on the number of attempts I made to book the tickets. Online, Offline. All Failed! Because, my ATM Debit Card is neither Visa or Mastercard. But I was content. I was watching it on saturday. Not too shabby for me. And I already had plans to watch it again sometime in the coming week. Yaayye!

Saturday, 15th of August. This was the first time I was not watching a movie in PVR in Delhi, attributed to apparent unavailability of tickets. Duhh! We were at 3Cs in Lajpat Nagar. The movie hall was good. The company which I had was even better.

Cut to the movie. The movie [almost] began with a very sensual lip-locking between Shahid and Priyanka. Very realistic! Very passionate. Instantaneous turn-on. With respect to the movie, ofcourse. 😉 Half an hour into the movie, there was just this one chasing sequence which got me to the edge of the seat. And I wanted to be on the edge for the rest of the movie too. I was glad! Finally, the movie is really ‘starting’. Little did I know that it’d be last time I’ll be on the edge in a 3 hour long ordeal. Well, ‘ordeal’ would be a little too harsh word to use. It was a nice movie. When I say ‘nice’, all I mean is that it wasn’t bad. Definitely not good. The disappointment which I felt after the movie was over was not because of Vishal Bhardwaj [or even Shahid Kapoor!], it was because of the reviews and the hype.

The movie had nothing which the critics claimed it did. You can compare Vishal Bhardwaj to Quentin Tarantino in a very broad sense of word. But you just can’t compare Pulp Fiction with Kaminey. So Not done, dear reviewers! I’ll never understand why Guddu stammered, or why Charlie lisped, or why Shahid wasn’t made to dance [the only thing which he is really good at]; probably not till I am alive and in my right senses. And I’m very sorry Priyanka, I didn’t fall in love with Sweety -like we did to Geet in Jab We Met– simply because she was hardly there in the movie. Apart from the hand-held camera work, there was nothing extra-ordinarily brilliant about the movie. It is so not the most well edited movies of recent times. Let’s not talk about DevD, but even Gulal was much better edited. Vishal Bhardwaj ji, I think you had too-much-to handle in one go. Go Charlie Go was good. But not Charlie, or Guddu, or Sweety! Gulzar sir did justice, and so did the music director in Vishal Bhardwaj. But that was pretty much it.

This review, is more like a review of reviewers rather than of the movie per se. I think I’ve lost faith in you people. May be, me and my friends should start our own reviewing service.

I Never got Past ‘The Past’

I happened to visit the place where I lived from 1989 to 1995. It was a chance encounter, the visit I mean. I didn’t plan it. I was passing by that lane, and almost impulsively, I took a left turn instead of going straight.

I don’t know about other people, but I can recall my childhood pretty vividly. The labyrinthine lanes seemed so pregnant with past. So much so that it almost gave me goose bumps and involuntarily, I started returning. I had to coerce myself not to. The lanes had a proper road with tar and all [as opposed to the bricks which they used to have previously]. They were so not the same as they used to be, and yet I had a striking familiarity with them. It also reminded me of all of the childhood friends which I had. I lost touch with them as soon as I left that place, and I’ve no idea of even their physical appearance now. I don’t think I’d be able to recognize them with their face anymore. Just a moment, I think I should name them all here. Who knows one of them might see this and get in touch. The names are [as much chronological as possible]- Mohit, Golu, Ekta, Ashu, Nishu, Chhotu, Betu, Prateek, Little, Mini, Garima. This is pretty much it. I really don’t know their proper names, so pardon me for that. The dusty ‘park’ where we used to ‘play’ now has a 4 storey house.

Then I saw the home where I used to live when I didn’t go to school. Astonishingly, it was still the very same! Superficially, nothing had changed there. That was some sight. Plastic Ball Cricket, the first day at school, my thumb nail getting squished, getting drenched in rain, bathing in sun light during winters, the doordarshan, death of Rajiv Gandhi.. these are some of the things which I remember with utmost clarity. My reading habit started from the newspaper report of assassination of Rajiv Gandhi. It was such sensational news of its time that I thought, damn.. only if I could read and understand everything written on that boring and awkwardly ‘huge’ newspaper. [No, the newspapers didn’t use to be any bigger than they’re now, but I was too small for them :P].

Our landlord, Gupta ji [who was almost a grandfather figure to me] is no more. The name plate was engraved with the dreaded letters LATE. I think I felt a lump in throat for no good reason.

I never knew I’d be so connected with my past, but as it turns out.. Apparently, I am. And much later, I realized that this what I’ve been wanting to do for quite sometime now. Sometimes, living in past is not such a bad idea at all.

Connecting People

Alrite. So this tag wasn’t as much fun as I fancied it would be. On the contrary, it was a little embarrassing at times; which -frankly- made me a little uncomfortable.But still, I did it coz I haven’t done anything here in a long time. Do it at your own risk.

By the way, take a moment and think about the evolution of phones. From Alexander Graham Bell to N97s, iPhones, Blackberrys n ol, they’ve come a long way. Haven’t they? No wonder why I keep wondering then Next is What?

1. What Color Is Your Phone?
Black

2. Who’s The First Person Who Comes Up Under The Letter P?
Papa

3. Who’s The Last Person You Called?
Neetole

4. Who Was Your Last Missed Call From?
Neetole [She called me, but I couldn’t pick up the phone then, so obviously I had to call her back.]

5. Who’s The 2nd Person Who Comes Up Under D?
Deep Mala Bharti.

6. Who’s Speed Dial 2?
None! I’ve never used this feature of my phone.

7. Who’s The 3rd Person Who Comes Up Under J?
Jatin Kalson.

8. Who Was Your Last Received Call From?
Some unknown number. But I know who it was.

9. Who’s Speed Dial Number 4?
Refer #6.

10. What Is Your Background?
Wallpaper which says- Parental Advisory. Explicit Content.

11. How Many Text Messages Are Currently In Your Inbox?
Oh Come On! Do they really want me to count them? There must be around 100. But it’s dynamic. I keep on deleting text messages frequently.

12. Who’s Speed Dial 1?
Refer #1.

13. What’s The 5th Message Say In Your Inbox? From?
Sorry. That couldn’t be revealed here. The user demands privacy. 😛

14. Who’s The 1st Person Who Comes Up Under B?
B. Mama.

15. Who Was Your Last Text Message From?
Neetole. No one sends me SMSs anymore L

16. Name Every Person You Have Text Messages From
The list won’t be too long. But again, The user demands privacy.

17. Who Is The 2nd Person Under A?
Aditya Deorha.

18. Who’s The 9th Person On Your Missed Call from?
Kritika.

19. What Does The 6th Message In Your Outbox Say? To Who?
I don’t save messages in Outbox.

20. Who Is The First Name In Your Phonebook?
Abhineet Bhandari.

21. Who Is The Last Name In Your Phonebook
Vivek.

22. Do You Have A Camera Phone?
Hell Yeah! J

23. Who Is The Last Person Under G?
Gopal Lal.

24. What Does The Last Text Message Say In Your Inbox? From?
Sorry, Again.

25. Who Is The Second Person Under K?
Kanika.

26. What Is Your Ringtone?
This is the new shit- Marilyn Manson. [Simply because it’s loud :D]

No Rain

Rain Rain!

When will you come again?

Come, and wash away this pain;

Which has been making us all SO insane.

Let us not complain,

About NO Rain.

Now show us some brain,

And don’t be more inane.

We don’t want you to disdain.

Just don’t be the cause of all our bane,

All we want from you is to be a little more sane.

Please be our exuberant mundane.

O Mighty Rain!

Push n’ Pull ;)

Of late, my mind has become insanely – as some would say, others would agree- dirty. I really have no idea whehter I had always been like that subconcsiously and that all that is coming into forefront presently.

Arguably, the so called “theory” which I’m about to present here would be frowned upon by many, and I’m totally okay with it. Although, I’ve a tiny plea- please endorse my creativity before abjuring me absolutely.

Okay.. I don’t know how to put it in decent words. I don’t know how [and from where] to begin. Tersely, all I can manage is this- Have you ever thought of a T-shirt saying ‘Push’ in the front and ‘Pull’ at the back in big block letters? Well, that is it. This is my Push n’ Pull theory.

Smoking Works!

If you’re going to be insanely rational, please don’t read this further.

A little while ago [well, I don’t exactly remember how while ago], I used to get spams which roughly had something like this in their subject – Older women looking for Younger men. You know, ceremoniously ordinary event in life of an average netizen. What I saw today in my spam was the exact opposite of what it used to be. [!] And then, it struck me.. I’ve grown. If not in anything else, then definitely numerically. Which, isn’t too comforting a thought. 😦

***

I didn’t had 150 bucks in change the other night to pay for auto. I had a 500 rupee note, a 100 rupee note, 3 10s and a 5. And some cigarettes. I gave the autowaala 135 in cash, and 3 Marlboros. He was glad and satisfied beyond explanation. Smoking Works! 😉

***

Tweet Tweet!

Breaking News- Twitter is killing Blogs! Is anyone listening?

That is the reason why this -and I’m sure, many other- blogs are well on the way to oblivion. Blogging is like a test match. You need insane patience, you never know how long it would be and most importantly, whether it is worth the efforts putting in. Twittering, is more like the T20 game. Latest, Innovative, Improvized and Miniaturized version of an previously popular game.. which is set to take over it’s predecessor. I didn’t find Twitter much appealing initially, but lately I’m finding myself significantly hooked to it. The story of my life. Like today, I had this sudden and almost indomitable urge to tweet about my feat in achieving 0.00 balance in my phone. Sad. Lame. Sadly Lame. Lamely Sad. Go ahead, I won’t stop you from judging me. I surely don’t have any discretion after saying that publicly.

***

Facebook is the new Orkut. I’ve been considerng to change my home page pretty soon to Facebook. My orkut is dead. Or would be, in a month or so, if the things didn’t change drastically; and I see no possibility of that in near future. So.. Dead! This phenomenon of social networking sites, some people will never understand. And by “some”, I mean people in their thirties, mid-thirties. It’s one of those idiosyncracies which our generation will boast of in future. You know son, I met your Mom on Facebook; which is really a remarkable and unique paradigm of interfacing, because facebook never supported strangers interacting; unlike Orkut in it’s infancy. Fancy that!

****

The oscars are out. Slumdog Millionaire is clear cut winner of the tournament this year. It’s a good movie. One or Two oscars would have been more than sufficient to honour it. But Eight! And just Two to The Dark Knight? For me, this marks the beginning of total disbelief in Oscars henceforth. Most certainly, bollywood has churned out some better movies than this one. I’m not saying it’s a bad movie. Just that, we’ve made better, which deserved to be acknowledged; but were not. It kinda feels like some charity-cum-conspiracy to placate. Just because the movie is based on India, lets give it oscars. Coz China and India are the forces to reckon with currently.

For the ‘best movie’ category, I think The curious case of Benjamin Button was miles ahead of it, notwithstanding TDK. Oh, and by the way, TDK wasn’t even nominated in that category! Here is an interesting fact- All the 5 movies nominated in that category did a combined business of $270 million [approx]. The Dark Knight, on the other hand, is only the fourth movie in the history to cross $1 billion mark.

I finished Watchmen. Perhaps for the first time, I didn’t find something [especially in this genre] as much appealing as I had expected. I guess Alan Moore messed up the ending. It was good while commencing. It became better in the middle. And just when my hopes were raising, it crashed them down flatly.

There are bad vivas. There are worst vivas. Mine was embarrassing today.

*****

Education is an admirable thing. But it is well to be remembered from time to time that nothing worth knowing can ever be taught.                                                                                                                                                                                ~ Oscar Wilde.

The Sins That People Do

Pride. Envy.

I don’t know about the people people, but I do happen to know me. And these are my sins. Notwithstanding the romances of my future, I can almost vouch for my repentance in past.

The problem with these sins are that they are not outrageously apparent to naked eye. Unlike Gluttony or Sloth or even Greed, for that matter. Neither they are satiable. A glutton can eat, slother can sleep.. But what possibly could an envy-er do? Not be jealous? Well, dear reader, had it been so simple, there wouldn’t have been an Othello! And this post too..

I think I also cited Pride. To be truly true, it just makes up for 20 %; in my case, that is. And you thought devil’s favourite sin was Vanity? It should be Envy. There is nothing more haunting than Envy. To make it worse, it’s insatiable; inconsolable. Retribution-cum-Deprivation being the only salvation of this abjectly lost cause.

***

This city is afraid of me. I’ve seen it’s true face.

–Rorschach, Watchmen.

Random Lamentations

V-Days have never been good for me. Notwithstanding the fact that I’ve perpetually being without a valentine on every valentine’s day, rather, there is more to it than just mere and supremely overwhelming phenomenon of being single. Let us just not open that door yet.

Somehow.. Anyhow.. Everyhow.. I end up messing it up on this very particular day. Each time, any time, every time! Ironical? It’s such a meager word to use. Had that been the worst part, I would have been far more content right then. But as they say, things are never so bad that they can’t get worse.. Which explains my circumstances and me, wholesomely and most pertinently. Things just keep on getting worse and worse and then some more worse. Ad Infinitum! It feels sick deeper within, when it’s entirely not your fault. Just how “bad” someone’s luck might be? I think, I might be the cornerstone from now onwards, against whom one can measure his/her bad luck and be all happy and gay and content.

Happy Belated Valentines’ Day to all of you out there.

***

After all, the great MK Gandhi said- If you want to be happy, see the people below you.

The Departed

.. And then, She went!

Sans me being Content.

This, apparently, is not The End.

But I just don’t want to Understand.

Or May be, there never was such a thing

Only Dreams, Fantasy and more of Deceivings.

May be, we never Met.

We never Felt.

Then Howcome-

This Beautiful, Pregnant Essence?

Reality is such an Illusion!

Perhaps, I’d rather endorse Deceptions.

At the least, they do not wreck Sensations.

All I ask for..

.. is Redemption

This is the End..

Well, I think it’s enough. The theme, that is. It was good. It went nicely with my blog. I got appreciations which can only be attributed to it. But then.. like everything else in the world, this too had to end at some point of time. No matter how good or bad it is/was. And I think this is the end of it.

So here is the new theme. Not that any of you care about it. I just thought it’d be nice to let you people know. [As if you don’t have eyes and stuff 😀 ]

***

This is the End, my only friend.. The End! I’ll never look into your eyes, Again..

-The End by The Doors [Do listen to it, if you can]