Some Random Crap 3

I should make this a habit instead of a one-off. There was a time when my thoughts and the corridor that leads to my laptop used to coincide. I used to think just to write. My blog meant introspection in words. I used to update it like people update their Facebooks and Twitters. 


But today as I sit and type this out I feel strange. Because I haven't been blogging or writing enough for that matter, it seems like meeting someone I have ignored for years. I feel reluctant, weirdly shy and at a loss of words.


But my random crap by design--to use a very collegey phrase--is crying out loud for randomness. 


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Kolaveri di. True, I heard it only after the whole world had downloaded it, made a million versions and moved on to other temptations. I quite like it. It's super peppy and I love humming it. But is it worth the hype? I don't think so. But people who know me will say that  I don't think anything is worth the hype.  


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Did I want to do journalism cos I wanted to change the world--I really thought I could, really--or because I liked writing? I dont know, but I think it was because I dont know how to do anything else! I feel a little lost between what I want to do and what I am doing. And then I suddenly want to be somewhere else doing something else instead of fighting deadlines and getting stuck in a time warp. 


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I've learnt that no matter where you work there'll be some madness. And a world of shit. It depends on how much shit you can take. And have the guts to let go of something you have created. Because after a point of time, cribbing about things that are not going to change wont help a fly.


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I went to Kashmir. :) It deserves a post, wont waste words here. But this needs to be said: It'll blow your mind away. And all those problems of the world that burden your tiny shoulders feel irrelevant. 


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I have traveled quite a bit in a year. But haven't had the time to blog about it. And that's a pity. Dubai, Hampi, Coorg, Lepakshi and a million stories between them. Wish I could write about them all.


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I had written half of this post many moons ago. In all its randomness, it needs to see the light of the day.

Tying the NOT

I am quite disturbed. And I know only one place to rant: Here. I dont want to get married. I will, when I feel like it. Simple? Not really.

My family seems to think its their duty to get me married off. It's my right to choose who and when I want to marry. I dont live in Afghanistan.

There's a ceremony going on in my house as I write this. Primarily to get me a groom, because apparently I am not getting any. Luck isn't on my side or I am not fortunate enough which is why marriage-god has been evading me. So I was asked to hold some flowers--and say stuff like "Please find a boy for me quickly," or "may I get married soon " --offer it to the nine planets to get me married off quickly.

Every situation, every gathering, every outing is based on this one thing: When am I getting married? When I am tying the knot? Its none of anybody's business. But mine.

 I am not able to digest being treated like I have a disease. Is my not wanting to marry such a big problem?

Every morning I have to garland Lord Ganesha--I have been doing this for the last two days. I dont mind doing it just like that, but I was asked to do it for 45 days to get a groom quickly. Am I nothing if I am not married? What the hell has age got to do with marriage? Yes, I am in my late 20s but that doesn't mean I should get married just because I am getting old.

We prostrate after and during every big ceremony. It's respecting elders. But the elders are biased. When my cousin and I prostrated they said "Get married soon!" but when my brother did they blessed him thus, "Do well at work, may you get promoted!"

Well, I need a promotion too!! I want to do well at work too.

There's too much anger inside me right now. I am tired of this marriage business like its the only thing that defines my existence. There are other people in my family, like my cousin in Mumbai, who's two months older. Nobody is bothered about her marriage, why? The don't have an answer.

I decide when I want to share my life with someone, let someone enter my private space. I love myself too much to give up this freedom to choose just because the world wants me married.

Some more marriage talk and more jokes about it, and I'll lose it.

This post is going to hurt my family but their actions are hurting me.Each passing day.

Out Patient Department

So here we go again. I've clicked on the new post tab millions of times in the past, not knowing what to write. But today I know what to write. And that comes after paying a flying visit to a few inspirational blogs. And a hospital.

I hate hospitals. They are depressing places. People hope to get back healthier, less wealthier and none the wiser. But it does teach you a few lessons:

1. Don't take anyone or anything for granted.

My paatima has been with me since I was a minute old. I am on the wrong side of the 20s and she is about 60 years older. She is always there when I get back home from wherever. It feels like home only when I see her. Yet, sometimes, I and the rest of my family--knowingly or unknowingly--have ignored her existence.

Until she had 8 large stones in her gall bladder. She had jaundice, UTI and all of life's complications. But she got past them all. And we got past them all too.

2. Money isn't everything. But sometimes it is.

The Doc said, "We need to mover her to the ICU. Your costs will shoot up like anything." Nothing moves without showing the greenbacks. Hospitals and the medical profession, like everything else, is a business. And profit is the bottom line. Somehow, unfairly, we expect docs to just do their jobs and not expect anything in return. But the doc we had was the best that come. He was honest and seemed like he knew what he was doing. And he did know. When I looked at the bill, which had put a price against oxygen (nebulizer) I realized, even breathing doesn't come free.

3. You've got to fight. For what you feel is right.

For hospitals, every patient is just another broken piece that needs fixing. Your time is of no consequence. There is absolutely no mercy for inefficient people who think they are doing a favor but forget we are paying them to do their jobs. On the day of discharge, billing took three hours and the junior doc came at EOD to give patient summary, That should have happened at 1 o clock when discharge orders were given. I waited for two hours, lost patience, gave them a piece of my mind and it all happened in half an hour. Just because they are the hospital, they don't have they have no authority to announce my time of death.

4. Family Counts. And your loved one.

You might be of no use but when everyone is together it makes a world of difference. I realized that the pain and the burden reduces to a dot. When family and extended family forget their feuds and stand together, even the silence, helps. And to have a loved one caring for you, it seems like everything will be alright. I never acknowledged it as much before.

5. Small pleasures are big.

Every small improvement in paatima's reports was equal to getting an unexpected hike (which I actually did). The laughs and joys we share in times of crisis stay for the rest of our lives. Cos they are so rare that you cherish them.

Hospitals are depressing places but everybody--including the patient--who steps out of the OPD is never the same again.

Not a Penny More

The guy came rolling our LPG in and thumped the bill in my hands. He was short, a little stout with a thick moustache, and doubly arrogant. I said aloud, " 360". He said "375". I was a little confused now. I looked at the bill in every angle possible, upside down, the behind, the front, up, down, everywhere. But there was no sign of the mighty 375.

I said, "The bill says Rs 360.55. Where is the 15 Rs you are talking about?" (Did they just attach VAT for cooking gas in the budget?) What was I missing?

The guy by now was getting irritated with me, he said, "Bill is 360, my money is 375." It was my turn to get miffed. "Doesn't the agency pay you? I am gonna give you 360 and nothing more. You came in your gas van, used the lift to haul yourself up. And there are wheels under our LPG holder. Nothing was any cause of inconvenience," I said, with all the control I could muster.

He got irritated again. "Its delivery charges."

"Says who? The bill doesn't say delivery charges: Rs 15."

He laughed, probably the first time in a million years. "Madam, 375 beku."

I walked to my room, got my wallet out. No cash. I checked my jeans I had 400 and some change. Gave him Rs 360.55, signed the bill. He was really miffed.

I said,"I am not giving you anything more. Please leave."

And he did.

This happened just twenty minutes back and I am so angry that I am shaking. When I told my dad he wanted extra, he said, "Don't fight with these people, what if they don't come? Thats' how its done, give them the money and be done with it."

Why? Isn't that corruption?

I refuse to pay. I refuse to pay auto guys one penny more than the meter and all my friends know that. They, and now B, say, "Its ok, lets go, otherwise they wont come. I'll pay the extra.."

Why? Isn't that corruption?

The point is, we are scared. Scared that we wont get an auto, we wont get a gas connection, we wont get admission, we wont get our passports, we wont get a phone connection, we wont get this, we wont get that. If we don't give, we wont get.

That's how it is. This is how the system works. Really? Who made the system?

So what do we do? Don't go down without a fight. Simple.

If you think it isn't, consider this: The people of Egypt ousted 30 years of terror in two weeks. For them, Mubarak has been around forever. They could have said, "It's all over the Middle East. This is how the system is, there's nothing you can do about it."

But they didn't. Because they decided to fight.

Giving the money is the easy way out. Of course, it happens everywhere. But that doesn't make it right. We need an Egypt against the auto guy, the gas fellow, Raja, petrol prices, food prices, inflation, government and everything that's wrong.

I just mailed Lok Ayukta. I am not giving a penny more.

I am Outdated

I don't like change. Yeah, I know it's the only thing constant and all that. I still don't like it. And I have changed this first line almost three times already! The contradiction that I am.

That's what happens when you become a visitor to your own blog (or you forget that you are a writer first and then an editor). This space was getting rusted like my template. I was getting outdated.

Speaking of changes, blogspot has a lot of cool new things, new for me atleast. But so much hasn't changed. Not on blogspot, in me. Take this post for example, it still isn't going anywhere!

I was thinking about nonsense yesterday and I figured that my resistance to change has made me someone stuck in the medieval era. My perspective about a world of things is still stuck in history. So are my likes and the undesirables.

Take cricket for example. (for timeliness sake, this). I used to be crazy about the game. A loyalist to the levels of fanaticism. But after Dravid and Ganguly exited and a new line cropped up, I lost interest. Appa watched India win the '83 World Cup. It's 2011 and he is still a follower.

I just cant watch the game anymore. The IPL ruined it for me. I still don't like the idea of players on auction, like talent on sale! Who the hell thinks like that?

So, I am not interested in the world cup. So much for fanaticism and loyalty.

Nonsense thought number 2 came to me when I was looking at the calendar and wondering how useless my writers at work are. They are all young and have absolutely no respect for deadlines. Or us. They do have a lot of time to log on to Facebook and change their profile pic.

And that really really gets me. I am sorry, but there is a difference between office and a cyber cafe. I fail to understand how you can chat merrily and watch deadlines fly past.

I know everyone is on Facebook, (my mother is the queen of online and if social media was a revolution, she would be it's Gandhi)

I know social media is a big deal, I know it's addictive. And I seriously believe that it should be banned at the workplace.

And I know I am not even on Facebook. Why? I like e-mail more. I mail to keep in touch.

See? Who the hell thinks like that?

I need treatment. Do you think?

Of 5 Ws and The H

"Virtualization?" I said.

The auto guy looked at me and blinked. He had every reason to faint, but this one belonged to Bangalore, nothing can ever shake them.

Not even my tech jargon. Reading a story late at night, I was all ready to edit it and give it a cool headline and stuff, basically I was just doing my job, but I was way too involved that when I went down looking for an auto, I told the guy to take me to 'Virtualization' and not Richmond Circle -- my 'real' destination.

Work, sometimes can get to you.

And other things like backache! My back is just killing me, which is another reason why I couldn't get my ass down here to post. My apologies.

I've been watching a lot of news these days, yes I know, its my job and I should be in-the-know.. and I also found how interested I was to know. Which I think is a great thing because it just makes our lives so interesting and because there are so many interestingly weird people out there, making a fool of themselves. Its a relief to know that I am not alone.

With the elections frenzy catching up, and jaago re campaigns doing the rounds, and everybody standing for elections from Mallika Sarabhai to Capt. Gopinath, this is gonna be fun.

And its also wonderful to see people wanting to get rid of the bullshit around them. I want to too.

But I am confused. I wanna vote, but not for Congress, nor for the BJP. Somewhere in me I wanna vote for Capt. Gopinath. He contested the Lok Sabha elections in '94 on a BJP ticket and lost. Now he is standing as an independent. I wanna vote for him.

And I think there are a few people like me, especially first-time voters, who are as confused as I am. We wanna vote, we want change, but its so important to select the right guy. How do we know when you don't trust anyone? By giving them a chance maybe?

I was watching an NDTV show the other day, it had Sachin Pilot who was eye-candy, of course, and very articulate. I liked the way he answered questions from the audience. He was quite confident of all that he said, the uncomfortable bit too. He is Congress! Why cant we make him the Prime Minister?

Are we narrow minded in judging people by the party they belong to and not as individuals? Because they carry their party's ideology?

And what about the majority of the 'janta' that lives below the poverty line? Shouldnt the Jaago Re campaign go rural? And what about those who live in skyscrapers, blissfully unaware of ground realities? Well, the Taj attacks should have woken them up. Hopefully.

I really dont know what I am so angry about! Politics, people or just me. I think I am just another confused, frustrated, angry Indian. But someone who wants to vote.

And someone who's glad to be on the other side -- asking questions.

Sometimes, way too many... maybe I should go back to virtualization.

So where was I?

Watch This Space

Every day. Everyday I would think I have to write, I tell myself life is so interesting, I should talk about it.

And thats all I do -- just talk to myself about it. When I used to be a 'frequent' blogger or should I say 'avid', words would just pour out of nowhere, like there was a part of me just made to write.

Tap, tap, tap on the keyboard, distinguished letters strung together making a meaningful sentence. I would read my old posts and smile. because that was me.

Now, when I go back in time, I feel like those stories were written by someone else. Like these were experiences weirdly mine, but not really. And I am dying to go back to the person I knew.

Have I changed? I don't know. I still want to tell a story, share an experience, write about stuff that makes sense, and more importantly, stuff that doesn't.

I WANT TO WRITE.

And I want to write well. Its something I've always enjoyed. I am so stupid to let go of it. I just stopped caring about something I love so much. Something that's second to none.

I WILL WRITE.

At least, one post every week. Yes, I will.

Like the ads in my magazine say: Watch this space! ;)

Few More Pages Left

Its weird. I have been wanting to write for so long, I know this is my oft-repeated phrase in almost every post, but this time it's not because of a lack of ideas for a great lead, but because this is weird.

What provoked me to write was not the usual bad mood or the unusual happiness. It was something I thought I had lost touch with. And once I lose touch I don't go back to it. Good or bad, thats me. This is quite surprising.

Now that I am hoping you want to know what it is that I am yapping about, I somehow seem to have lost track of what I actually wanted to begin with. I digress..(this is what happens when you don't blog and read your old posts and wonder if you actually wrote them).

Cricket. I want to talk cricket. I was flipping through the pages of The Week, getting stuck at the US presidential debate, wondering whether I wanted McCain or Obama and then when the author said Hillary is a great debator, I told myself I was never one.

Then I struggled past Kamal Nath's interview and then two pages of Godhra and the Nanavati report. And finally I came to the cover story: Kangaroo Catcher -- Sachin has a target, so do the Aussies. I know I could have directly gone to the cover story if I so wanted to read it, but I wanted to build the excitement for myself.

I read and I read and I read some more. I am not one of Sachin's greatest fans. Everyone loves him and thats one reason I don't. I admire him, I respect his talent, he is great no doubt, but while I was reading the article, one thought that crossed my mind was that I have read the same thing about him several times over. SEVERAL TIMES OVER. So much so that these reports are as predictable as a wrong umpiring decision!

Such is his greatness and what he has given to the game. The report had one full para on Dravid and what is expected of him. No I am not gonna talk about him. I want to talk about someone who will be covered 'exclusively' on every news channel, in every newspaper for the next few days, weeks and months.

About someone who I have rarely spoken about but I greatly adore. Saurav Ganguly.

And because I am part of the media, I will talk about him on my post. More importantly, cos he pushed me to write.

He is retiring. And so am I. Cricket without him is like Billy Bowden without his weirdness. (I know I am trying too hard) And now I cant write anymore.

Saurav is going and I will miss him. Period.

The off-side is never gonna be the same.

Fewer run-outs are depressing.

That dynamism and energy on the field, that magnetic effect that makes you want to want more of him: I wish.

The aggression that made a so-called timid Indian team realize its potential.

His stance: his stylish stance. Two legs, slightly outside the crease, and the bat comes down. He doesn't defend.

The attacker that gave birth to the killer instinct.

Shall be missed..

Few more pages left to be read..........

In Italics

I put down my book, look at it once more cos I always feel like it is asking me to spend some more time with it. My eyes roll and rest on the pillow next to me. I let myself be led to sleep.

As my head finds solace in the comfort of the pillow, I drift. I can hear the soft sound of the rain outside, a slight drizzle and then a little, slender downpour — like the sound of a pressure cooker, just before it whistles.

I can hear the noise down below, cars honking, autos accelerating, fueled by curses of another victim of inflation. My ears strain to listen to a song from the comp in the adjoining room, I satisfy myself with just the faint murmur of the drums.

And then I let my dream take over. It takes me back in time. Sometimes I feel, I dream just what I want to dream, like its a conscious process, like I am taking myself back to that happy place, to nice beginnings, to that space within me where I truly want to be. To a place that gives me joy.

And to a place where its just you and me and no one else. There is silence and an unsettling din, all too calm and yet chaotic, all too static and yet somehow, the world is in motion. Yes, its just You and Me.

I feel like I am walking with you, holding hands on your favorite lane, brimming with trees, beautiful darkness, broken by golden glints from the streetlights and that soothing breeze that whispers softly, but lucidly, that you belong to me. I smile.

I smile at what I feel for you, content with the fact that you feel the same for me, so what if we don't get to talk, so what if we don't get to express and, really, so what if we, sometimes bow down to circumstances — as long as we don't let the feeling die a natural death, in the process.

I wake up, half-dreaming, half sensing reality, half-wanting to go back to sleep, but in entirety wanting to be with you.

And I float in the happiness, of what I become when I am with you.

Its weird how a dream can make you forget the insecurity, the need for reassurance, the fact that one day we would stop feeling, the fact that you might not belong to me. An entire existence in that one moment.

And then, I wonder how it will be without you.

Will I have the faith to dream again?

As unsure as the 'I' in 'Italics.'

World's Most Boring Post

New Post. Blank page. Cursor blinking, waiting to transform into meaningful words. Something that seems to have become increasingly difficult. Nevertheless...
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I was watching An Inconvenient Truth last weekend. It shocked me. Global warming seemed like just another hot topic for people to discuss when they had nothing much to talk about. It became a part of those intellectual-pretentious conversations when the speaker and the listener both pretend to care. I was one of the skeptics. The documentary, which I consider one of the best, shocks the living day lights out of you. Makes you really think and that I think are signs of a brilliant documentary. We really aren't doing enough. It's definitely more than just a problem. Climate variations, weird weather transitions--cant blame western disturbance anymore. Has Bangalore ever been so hot? If we wait for the globe to wake up to rising mercury, we need to first switch off the lights in our part of the world. Like they say: 'Charity begins at home'!

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I have been working like a donkey. People tell me I am married to work. And that means I have the world's most boring husband! Not that my work sucks, I love it, just that I seem to have no life beyond it. I wish I had. The problem is, I think I have, but I am not doing much to go out there and explore possibilities. I do need a break.

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Cricket season. I am totally out of the 'league'. I used to love the game, I was what they call a 'freak'! But this whole IPL thing isn't as exciting as its being made out. I tried watching a couple of matches, dint appeal to me at all. I somehow felt like its too commercial and that it has taken the beauty away from the game. People owning teams and players on auction--sounds more like a bid-to-win reality show. Not working for me!

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Priyanka Gandhi met her father's killer, Nalini. Or did she? Does it really matter? Is that something worth debating? I am not sure. But I was thinking about all those kids who have seen their parents blowing up in Kashmir, or parents of children who lost their lives in the Upahaar tragedy, or those faceless killers that force farmers to literally go to hell. Priyanka Gandhi meeting her dad's killer is a big deal? Me thinks not.

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I am using my credit card like no man's business. I actually don't know what to do with my salary, so I spend on anyone and everyone who wants something! Yeah right, like I am Richie Rich.

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And right now, I wish I really had something to write about, cos this post is boring the shit outta me.

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Weekends are tiring. I prefer going to work. Well, I have my reasons for that! But then, there's just so much time that I wish I could travel. I wanna go to Hampi and Coorg. I wanna go to Yercaud. And I really don't mind going alone!!!! Simply cos, I don't know who would wanna come with me!

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I am reading this book called the Red Tent by Anita Diamant. Beautifully written. A story of betrayal and trials of women of a time many eras ago. (don't know if this sentence is grammatically correct, but love these words ;) ) Gives a lot of room for vivid imagination. Definitely a page-turner.

......................

I am also dealing with emotions that cant be a part of this world wide web. Before I give in to the urge of spilling the beans here, I shall shut up.

....................

I am sorry that I am so boring.

But...

Wanna travel with yours truly??

Its Only Words, And Words That I Dont Have

.... and ..... and some more ....!

I cant write. I am not able to string two words together, I am not able to make a sentence that's cool, that can make the reader go 'wow', that can make some sense, if nothing else. I am so disappointed in me. And therefore, I decided to let the world wide web know. Know that I CANT WRITE.

Not one idea, not a single idea. Was it the story or was it me? I thought and thought. Irrespective of the time of the day, irrespective of company, irrespective of the environment (yuck! environment?? See what I mean?) I only kept thinking, but no, goddess or god or whatever of creativity completely ditched me. I was sure I am gonna be thrown outta work. I wanted to go jump down the tenth floor! (even going to the loo, dint work!)

I actually gave up, well, not jumping, I really wasn't serious about that. I gave up on me. I gave up on the only thing I think I can do. WRITE.

And then I felt like shit. I cried. I know, its kinda whatever to cry. (did i just say whatever?) I pushed the story to my so-called immediate boss. And honestly, I dint wanna ever read it again. But I did, not once, but twice. What he made outta it was atleast readable.

I hate this sulky wordless post. But I had to get my writelessness out of my system. And the best way to do that was to WRITE!!

I dont believe creativity was on a holiday, somehow sounds more like an excuse. I dint try and thats that. Next time, no giving up, I guess. Cos trust me, it feels like, I dont know what it feels like. Actually I cant get the appropriate word... Damn! there I go again...

I want to suffer from verbal diarrhea.

Cluttered Output

Its been quite a while since I blogged. My last post was a month back, technically, last year! I was wondering what to write. I didn't what to do the usual year-end post, cos the year that was, was very very eventful and I wouldn't be doing justice if i were to write about just all that. And this is the worst opening ever!

I was just watching 'we the people' on Ndtv. The discussion circled around the impact blogs are creating in the world and in India as a nation. It was interesting, but there was nothing new. It was not informative in any sense of the word. It kept coming back to sex, being gay, and all those things. One of the panelists actually said "well there are some 'good' blogs as well"..so did she mean sex is bad? Hypocrisy is THE word.

I digress. its been a weird beginning, 2008 seems not so different from 2007. Not yet. I know it just started and stuff, but still.. Damn I sound like such a boring person, maybe I am turning into one. But I am surely turning into an A grade Bitch. I am fighting weird emotions, I am fighting me, I am fighting people. Basically, just not all that great. Why am I saying all this here? Cos I felt guilty about not blogging, about not writing, about not keeping in touch with a very close friend, about getting too close to someone else, about giving in to unwanted thoughts, about just not thinking clearly, about neglecting a lot of things, about being pissed with myself and the world too often.

Not over yet. About expecting too much. I watched Taare Zameen Par. I wont say it was great. It said a lot, it was different, it was moving. But, it was also dragging and too much effort was put in to make it off-beat, and it showed. Aamir Khan is a perfectionist, yes. But he is too much of himself in the second half. Darshan was pretty good, a natural actor. But again, it was a good movie, not great. The subject was worth exploring, though I felt a lot could be done.

I still don't understand men. At all. They all seem the same, but each so distinctly similar! what the hell.. I am also guilty of letting them affect me too much. I will NEVER learn.

I still don't understand if editorial is more important or marketing. is it ok to compromise for the sake of design? Why does the boss always decide how to 'cover' up the 'issue'? Cos thats why he is the BOSS?

I still don't understand how relationships work. Is being single more boring than being committed? Is it ok to flirt around? And then get emotional about it....?

I still don't understand why I listen to the same song a million times and then detest it cos i have heard it a million times..Or am I just really really weird?

I still don't understand why people talk to me and why I talk to them, why cant everyone talk to everyone else?

I still don't understand why I post something as stupid as this...

Anyway, not that my opinion will change the world, not that it is important but somewhere it has to be voiced! ;)

My journo Prof. always told me "a cluttered mind leads to cluttered output!"

Therefore... Pardon Me.

Something About Nothing

Someone asked me the other day, Tom Cruise or Matt Damon? I was submerged in Bourne Ultimatum so Matt Damon, I said.

Someone asked me, Vodka or Tequila,Vodka meant malaysia and madness, so vodka, I said.

Someone asked me, Rahul Dravid or Roger Federer, Rahul lives in my backyard, so Federer I said.

Someone asked me, apple or orange, someone else likes apples too much, Orange, I said.

Someone asked me, workshop or just work, workshop is hours of lecture, no head or tail, just mutually understandable yawns, so just work, I said.

Someone asked me, football or cricket, football is just 90 minutes of red cards and yellow, so Cricket, I said.

Someone asked me, office or college, Office is just work, work, work gossip and fun, so College, I said.

Someone asked me, tech writing or sports journalism, I cant write for long about stuff I really don't understand, so Sports journalism, I said.

Someone asked me, sunrise or sunset, sunrise is beginning of a new day, so sunset, I said.

Someone asked me, harry Potter or a thousand splendid suns, harry potter is brilliantly fantastic, so a thousand splendid suns, I said.

Someone asked me, late night dance party or a long walk, two left feet, so long walk, I said.

Someone asked me, facebook or orkut, gmail I said.

Someone asked me, Tiramisu or Dairy Milk, Tiramisu is yum, so Dairy Milk, I said.

Someone asked me, mail or msg, virtual is not real, so Talk, I said.

Someone asked me, boy friend or just friends, boy friend is not happening for whatever reason, so just friends, I said.

Someone asked me, single or committed, everyone is either single or committed, so OR, I said.

Someone asked me, something or nothing, I said well, nothing in particular, but I wish I could say something.

Truly Asia!

I know I know, I have been Malaysiaing to everyone ever since I came back from a four day conference from Kuala Lumpur. But I have only Malaysia to blame.

I was really neither keen nor excited about it. I actually dint wanna go. I was going through the-please-leave-me-alone phase. But that was not to be. Malaysia changed a lot of things for me.

So, the first day we land in KL and then take a two-hour bus ride to Genting Highlands which is 4500 mtrs above sea level. The roads all seemed not very different from bangalore, except that they were wider and cleaner. Cars and bikes would catch your eye for an instant. if you notice that is. We reach Genting and get on to a cable car which would take us to the First World Hotel (third world people in first world hotel hehe) It is supposed to be the fourth largest in the world with more than 6000 odd rooms. It was Massive! And people who are geographically challenged like me are advised not to venture alone.

The cable car was taking us deeper and deeper into the clouds, the green below was merging with the white above, at one point of time all we could see was mist! Pure white mist..Its so weird, we cant see when its pitch black and we cant see when its pure white...Naked truth of sorts!!

The ride over, the excitement, hardly. We are assigned rooms and told to assemble for lunch. we do as directed. I was hungry as hell. the minute we stepped into the buffet, our sensory organs started working overtime. There was food everywhere. P introduced me to this delicacy called 'Satay', its nothing but chicken on a stick, to be very very basic, doused in peanut sauce. YUMMMY...after I allowed it in, there was nothing else I wanted. It was heaven served on a stick!!!!

Post two days at Genting and a lot of work, we move to KL. Two hour drive again..We catch the glimpse of the Petronas! Beautiful..Read in papers, seen on TV, never thought I would be standing under it one day. Life!

KL has an amazing night life. I made full use of the anonymity the city gave me. Went clubbing for three nights, got sloshed, danced on the table, forgot the world..Just what I needed..

More than the prima facie experience, Malaysia taught me much more than anything else ever could. it made me question commitment in a relationship, it made me think about how true a person can be to himself and to someone waiting back home. How drunk can you get to forget or make the inebriated state an excuse to forget and give in to temptations? How can not being in control of yourself, give you freedom? What freedom?

How far would you go with a guy ( a guy you really are attracted to) who is already in a relationship? Is it just about the opportunity? The opportunity of him being available for that instant..I dont know.. I dont know whats right and wrong..do you?

Anyway, perceptions are different. Malaysia was an experience of a lifetime. On the flight bac, I brought with me a lot of memories and a few lessons learnt.

The biggest being "The most predictable thing about life is its unpredictability"....

Nothing is as true as that...

Nothing is as true as Truly Asia!

Picture Abhi Baaki Hai Mere Dost....

What happens when you go with an intention of watching 'Jab We Met', buy tickets for 'Saawariya' but end up watching 'Om Shanti Om'? You come back with a smile on your face.

OSO, as they call it, was not a movie I was dying to watch ever since I saw the promos. I thought Shah Rukh Khan looked too old with his six packs, Deepika looked too pretty, the set looked too made up and everyone seemed like they were trying too hard. I could not connect with anything. I read the review, like i always do, but I have never taken any review seriously, i have to watch the movie myself to say anything about it. And so i did!

I am not a Shah Rukh Khan fan. But he is a people's actor, he gives them what they want and he works his 'abs' off to do it! I admire him, and thats that. Or so I thought. His best performance to date for me is Swades. He was Mohan Bhargav and not Shah Rukh Khan.

Om shanti om in all its entirety celebrates Indian Cinema. Cinema with all its extravagance, illogic, cliched dialogues, manmohan desai style milna-bichadna, purely co-incidental, naach gaana, hundred costumes in one song, poor boy- rich girl, the maa and her dil, the kaash aaj tere pitaji zinda hote, the aaj se bees saal pahle (and beyond). The audience loved the 70s.

I have grown up watching a lot of seventies. So much so, that I can tell the name of the movie by just looking at a scene. I cant say the same about the 90s though. I am yet to come across an actor as brilliant as Amitabh Bachchan (Anand, Agneepath, Chupke Chupke, zanjeer, sholay, Deeewar), as natural as Shammi kapoor, not exactly 70s( Teesri Kasam,Junglee, Brahmachari, andaz) as romantic as Rishi Kapoor( khel khel mein, bobby,Kabhie kabhie, karz) , as versatile and effortless as Sanjeev Kumar ( you have to watch Koshish, Sholay, Khilona, Pati Patni aur Vo) as intense and as good looking as Vinod Khanna.

Not to forget the beautiful Smita Patil, Shabana Azmi (watch Arth, mirch masala) Rekha in Umrao Jaan and Khoobsurat, Jaya Bhaduri in Abhimaan, Mili, Guddi, Koshish and Sholay. Sharmila Tagore in Aradhna, Amer Prem, chupke chupke. Outstanding.

Also Amol Palekar with movies like Baton Baton mein and Golmaal. Naseeruddin Shah in masoom, sparsh and mirch masala. There was a bad bad villian, there was a too good to be true hero, then there was hero vs the establishment (mostly during the emergency) milna- bichadna still continues. Numerous love triangles, one very well made that I distinctly remember is 'Sangam.' My friends in school used to tell me, i need to go with the times. But i am a 70s fan and I love it.

Which is also why I loved OSO. yes, the dialogues could have been better, screenplay less dragging, but at the same time attention was paid to the details. In every sense of the word, OSO is an innovative movie. I felt it showed the routine re-incarnation drama with a million elements and that to me is intelligent cinema. You get the feel of that era, there is a subtle connect with Karz, only if you wanna see it. There is a lot of exaggerated play up of emotions, there is that trademark music.

Post-thirty years, running around trees is replaced by item numbers, the actor or the main lead has more say in the movie than the director himself. Cinema is more real but at the same time more plastic.

Arjun Rampal was superb. Deepika can act. Shah Rukh Khan looks sexy with the six packs. Shreyas Talpade's timing is brilliant. Kiron Kher's rendition of Nirupa Roy is worth watching.

Music was not bad either. The title track and 'ankhon mein teri' are songs you take with you. I also liked 'kaise naino se nain milaon sajna!'

OSO was a blend. The struggle of a junior artiste, a filmi mother, star struck Om, so much in love, the villain with his cruelty, pappu his best friend forever and the love for cinema. It was entertaining. It was colourful. I laughed till I cried. After a long time, I was taking back with me just the feel good factor. Happys Endings!

It was special cos I watched with one of my bestest friends. An evening I wont forget for a long time to come.

Tum bore to nahi hue na?

Thenks!

Shit Happens

Yes, I know. I know I have written this several times over and some more. But now its not for me. This is for a dear friend who is special in a special way, someone whose poetry goes beyond mere words, someone whose writing amazes me every time I read it and someone who I have grown to admire each passing day. But, this is not about her. Its about what she feels and what she feels is important.

This seems like its going nowhere, but it is. We always have questions, I have many, all the time about everything. Some of my questions hardly have an answer, when i cant find them, I write. I also write when I find them. Questions like why people meet when they have to part? Or why people decide that its time they parted ways? And when they do come back for whatever reason, what do you do? Welcome them with arms wide open or say screw you too?

No, its not about love. Not at all. Its about friendship and the love within. Ok that sounds weird, I shall rephrase. Its about memories, gathered, nurtured, fallen and gathered again. Enough and more to fill a life time. 'Memories' is not a plural of 'memory'.

What do you do when a friend walks out on you? A friend who meant more than life itself, who meant music beyond orchestra, who meant poetry beyond prima facie phrases, who meant all that and much more. You go back to all those songs that dint mean the same once. Those conversations that lasted hours, when time was just another word. So now are they all meaningless? Or had I forgotten that nothing lasts forever? Or was I expecting too much?

What do you say when they tell you 'I dont feel the closeness anymore, I have changed, not you?' without realizing that everything changes for the 'you' post-profound-statement... It happened to me, not once but several times over, it happened to her and I am sure it happens to you too...But only because something happens so often it doesn't mean life is like that! Or maybe it does, I don't know.

My best friends have walked out, moved away, without a warning, a sign or a signal. But if you know them well enough, you would understand that they have better things to do than making memories with you. Thats a sign, you choose to ignore. Well, I chose to ignore.

I was telling her, I cant write about this cos my wounds have healed or i have scratched them so bad that they don't bleed anymore. I am immune, or so I thought. Her wounds are fresh, mine don't seem any different. But i am only wounded, not dead yet! Neither is she.

Life goes on, people change, you change too. Sorry for sounding like an introductory paragraph of some crappy psycho book, but its true. What remains is the M word. What do you do with those?

For you, my friend I have only this to say:

'Meet and part is the scheme of life, Part and meet is the hope of life'

Shit happens. We need to learn how to flush, now and again and forever.

19, Dravid

1996: An eleven year old, young girl, surfs through boring TV channels, looking for a reason for the invention of television. She finds it. A ball running towards the boundary, a fielder hopelessly behind it. Camera moves, batsman in frame. Girl has never seen him before, cricket was still Sachin Tendulkar for her, like everybody else.

Things changed. He had arrived, but right now only for testing times. Scoring a 95 on debut versus England, he found himself replacing an injured Manjrekar. He was the new rising star. Not yet.

But for the girl, he was the new idol. What struck her was his silent aggression, his determination, his temperament and his way of silencing his critics. When he was on the field, only his bat spoke. In an age of swashbuckling, stylish batsmen, no. 19 jerseyed Dravid played all strokes in the book to perfection. Branded as technically sound but slow (BTW he is the fastest to reach 9000 runs in test cricket, breaking Brian Lara's record by one innings), he found himself splashed in sports pages of dailies, but couldn't find a spot in the one-day squad.

That was then. Batting at No. 3, 4, 5, 6, keeping wickets, even bowling, he did everything in his might for the team and some more. His batting hardly failed him, his gut never. Girl had a new definition for cricket. Rahul Dravid.

From being a 'defensive' batsman, to standing shoulder to shoulder with the best batsmen in the world, finding his name etched in records previously broken, made and shared, Dravid had become more than just another name. He had become an ambassador of consistency, grit and team spirit. Girl came to know him as the 'wall'. Girl doesn't like labels.

So, the 'Wall' that has now crumbled as they say, is the only player to have scored a century against every test playing nation away from home. First Indian batsman to have scored five double centuries, each bigger than the other. Girl witnessed all. A silent, but loyal spectator.

Waiting for a wicket to fall, just to see him bat, waiting for him to take on the field, snatching the ball from the air at a speed of naughts, taking the most amazing catches fielding at a spot known as the 'slip'!

Today, dropped from the side, he doesn't need this post. But, the girl needs to tell him that he is, was, and will be her hero, now and forever. He needs to know that he has been the teacher, the guide, the mentor. He needs to know that he has provided the game of cricket with a follower who wanted to be like him, but who realized that being Dravid is not easy.

Cricket is not going to be the same. Just not going to be the same.

No. 19 Dravid, will walk again, this time to prove a point to those in the selection committee. You say, its no big deal? For the girl, it is.

For the girl it is because the cover drive still haunts.

143 Really?

I have conveniently, and for long, avoided writing about something so close to everyone's heart, literally. Its a question that refuses an answer to itself. I am not going to ask that profound question, cos I am sure, none of us can answer. In these 22 years of inconsequential existence, I have experienced being in the four letter word. Probably i would never say it.

I have fallen deeply, head over heels. I have fallen miserably too. Like everybody else. I could never understand how a person can like two people at once, or why are there certain norms to be followed in a relationship. What is the difference between being close friends and being in a relationship? Lust?

It all seemed fake after a point of time. It seemed mechanical, i mean, a relationship should be respected, the 'other' should be. No matter what. Why I say it seemed mechanical, simply because of the way a relationship is perceived

"you have a boy friend ? or are you single?" (no I think I am double)
" So u like him?''
"when are you planning to tell her?"
" are you going out with him?"
"what did she say? rejected or accepted?" (like its a job offer)
" so he dumped you? you guys broke up?"
"what you gonna do now, i think you should just move on, you deserve better."

Thank you very much. I know I should move on, but who answers my questions? Can you? you wont know how it was cos you are not me and I am not you. The stupidest thing to say, once somebody loses the other, is 'get over'. I can fake it too and say yeah man everything is cool, its over and then reconcile saying it was never meant to be. really?

How does someone become so important that you forget the world? everything previously associated with something else, just goes back to that one person. why? I don't know. really.

The feeling with which everything started, loses its way to a truckload of crap all brought upon by the self. Do I regret falling for someone? I don't. It felt right then, it feels right now. i feel love like i feel everything else. Its a FEELING.


I was losing it. I wasn't living up to expectations, those that I have from myself. I have lost myself in the process, it is an evolution in itself. thats when I realized it probably is not my cup of tea. I can be in love, but never say it. ever.

Being in love is different for different people. you can be in it, but not necessarily be in a relationship. I can be in love forever, but what am i committed to? to being in love or the person? What exactly is commitment?

The feeling of being in love is exciting to say the least, its up to me to let myself loose or say no way, its not for me. But the question is do i have the guts or whatever it takes to think of someone as a prospective 'other'? probably not, I would prefer watching the action from the sidelines. Really?

I would be lying if I say, I don't wanna be in love. Really. Maybe I am, right now, maybe not. Anyhow the point is I don't have whatever it takes to say it. I 'really' don't.

1 4 3 is just a number. And love is just another four letter word.

This post in all its totality is nonsensical and therefore can be ignored.

But do 143? Really? but who is you?

I shall keep it to myself. Really.

F>R>I>E>N>D>S

A-5. My school bus stops in front of our apartment gate. Students step out into the scorching 2:30 pm sun, glad and tired after a day's work. I help my brother down and we cross the road with a bunch of other school mates. Ansari Bhaiya stands near the gate, envelopes in hand, doing his cutomary duty, that of guarding our homes.
"bhaiya meri koi chitthi aayi hai, koi courier, kuch bhi?"
Yeah right, like I am a celebrity waiting to read fan mails.
But he has never said no. Ansari bhaiya never says no. He nodded and I jumped.

"appa ke liye hai, koi bank se aaya hai. ye lo". He smiles and gives me water to drink. "bahut dhoop hai na, tum logo ko ye iskool vaale dopahar ko kyun chodte hain?"

"bhaiya kabhi to chodte hain na, ab iskool mein rehna kaun chahata hai?" He raises his hand at the mention of 'iskool', as I run away. He has helped me in more ways than one, bought tennis balls when we lost ours, fought with boys for us, conspired with us in fooling the boys on april fool's day! I have conversed with him about his family and his life as a security guard. He has advised me on several occasions to behave myself and act like a girl should, "varna tumse koi shaadi nahi karega, batadeta hoon main". All those moments remain in me.

Today, I don't know where he is.

--------
I leave office at a peak traffic hour. Cross one road, walk some distance and then stop. Bangalore roads have signals at the most bizzare places and four policemen manning a four lane road. Result: confusion.

From somewhere a hand comes and holds mine.
"baa maa" I obediently follow this blue sareeed old lady, wrinkled-hands of steel. We cross successfully, she beams at me like we have just crossed the english channel, I smile and walk away. She stops as she needs to cross another road. For some reason I turn and wave at her, she smiles and waves back, shouting "Nagamma". I am guessing thats her name.

Today, I don't know where she is.

--------

"sadhana! epudi irrukai ma?"( how are you) Nobody has ever called me so lovingly. He used to, unfailingly. Always. "you dont meet me these days, nor do you come this side, everything alrite?" He gets out of the car, opens the door for me to sit and there begins a rendezvous. Dorai uncle is the best Driver my mama ever had, he talks about my cousins and how they have grown up and spend less and less time with parents. Telling me in a way, not to indulge in the same. I nod. He looks at me and says, "you know when I was small....." his voice trails off and I am spellbound by his pre-independence tales...

Today, I don't know where he is.

---------

A broken knee, a torn jeans, a bag on my back. I stumble and stagger towards my college food court, the usual post-accident scene. I see him, pot-bellied, dark, white moustache. He takes my bag and helps me with torn papers waiting to slip out of my wounded hands. Subramaniam, my favourite security guards and one of the most valuable friends I managed to gather from Christ College.
He helped me all the way to the bloody third floor, (these people love to give our question paperson the himalayas) all my other friends were studying.

Today, I don't know where he is.

---------

"tibban aaytha ma?" (have u had tiffin?)
"aaythu" pause..
We pass the sixth floor. The lift moves, he says "too much traffic these days, how do you manage?" I just smile...
Evening arrives. I get back into the lift and he presses 0. He is buys reading the newspaper, I ask him, what do you do the whole day in the lift, going up and down?"
"nothing, listen to other people's conversations, heheheh"
"whats your name?"
"Kimraj. nimma hesaru?"
"sadhana"
"ah! monday ok? byebye"
I smile.

Today, I know where he is.

-------
Phone rings. A familiar name.
MT-"hello"
"hi, how are you?"

MT-"fine. so tell me."
"I am wearing a white shirt today"

MT- "so?"
"I thought you always liked me in white"

Call gets cut...
Me thinks does my opinion matter, did it ever?

Today, I know where he is....

Does that make a difference?

Today, I know where he is........

Guilty As Charged

I am angry. For several reasons than one, but I am really pissed with the way these people have treated our hockey players. I am using too simple words but this is anger speaking.When we say 'Indian team', its understood or rather is a given that we are talking abt the Indian Cricket Team. Yes we won the world cup, a couple of days back, yes it was a great match, yes I blogged about it. But I myself did not blog about the hockey team's victory, nobody I know did. What does this say about us? about me?? I am angry with me.

Indian cricket team beat australia by 15 runs, good job. India beat Pakistan in a bowl out(when there is a tie in the final scores a bowl-out is called for akin to shoot out in football), India beat england by 18 runs, India beat SA by 37 runs...All good wins, but close ones. Iam not taking anything away from the cricketers, I watched every match, without blinking an eye. I knew every player in every team, mostly, by heart. I can recognise them from the way they walk, stand or talk. Everything from batting line-ups to players unfit. Just about everything.

The hockey team (no 'india' here) beat the balls outta their opponents. India beat sri lanka by 20 goals, yes it means 20-0. Thailand 16-0. Pakistan 3-1 South Korea 7-2. I would like to mention here that South Korea is more than a formidable team. Its the Australia of hockey, its easier to understand that way isnt it? But is it good enough to earn the team 3 million dollars?

Not that ist not, just that they cant. Simply cos, the IHF unlike BCCI doesnt have sponsors, therefore not enough money. BCCI is the richest board in the world, maybe thats why members of the board and the politicians occupied the front row, waving shamelessly to the camera men, as if they toiled in the field.Yuvraj's six sixes got him a crore, a porsche car, match fees obviously and some more. This is minus the selling products campaign.

The whole Indian hockey team got just Rs. 50,000. A bonus of 1000 for each goal scored!! A huge hue and cry over that too... Sahara sponsors both hockey and cricket in India. While, the men in blue got a luxury house each, the hockey team dint even get a brick.Today, the Indian cricket team is back in India. A grand welcome. The hockey team is on a hunger strike, fighting for their rights. Who is gonna give them a morsel?

I cant, cos I am as guilty as the administration.
I had to google most hockey facts.

Guilty as charged.