Don't read if you wish to smile!

Tie me up. Tape my mouth, sack me in a gunny bag and throw me over the wall of a bridge. I swear to the lord, I will not utter a squeak to voice disapproval of an act as benevolent as this. Tear me to shreds and I will oblige. Kick my soul till it dies in me. I deserve no more than a dead soul. Look for my brain, if you find it, look for the part that has some dreams stored in it and pull it out. Now hunt for the memories of a past day or even a year. Please remove it and destroy it so no one can find out how happy I was (and in effect, prove my potential of being happy even now). Use a pair of tweezers if you like, but pick out the little remains of smile from my face, my eyes or even my forehead. Every time I smile or have smiled, I have been on a secret mission. Undercover, if you will. I was told to blend in, to mix into the crowd and look for secrets hidden behind those very smiles. I know they are all disguises. Sometimes the mirror too, lies. I don’t want to be a part of that mission anymore. I have become one of them… pseudo-artists. Masters of the ‘you-will-not-find-me’ clan. The year always ends on a note that jolts me out of reality, or into reality, I don’t know which. I want to slink away in my couch and watch life on a fourteen inch screen. Somehow that is more believable than what I see around me. Every day there is more bright lies and brighter smiles to cover the lies and I hate wearing the glares on the last day of the year. Every bloody year.

Have a lovely new year all ye unfortunate ones who read this disturbing piece, while I find my remote control and bag of chips. Well, Titanic is a good movie after all.

:-s

A weird thought was expressed yesterday. I was speaking to Karishma, a very old friend who is pissed at me for not having kept in touch, and she asked me about some relationship and girlfriend issue. Her thought is that there are two kinds of relationships… dating someone is never the same as loving someone. She was convinced about this and I don’t know if I should be, but I was close to being convinced. I really found it funny in hind-sight that a friend first gets to know the other person and then probably starts dating when there the show of slight interest. If things do go well, they fall in love. Otherwise, two people meet, fall in love, start dating and then things just go right. Another alternative, people meet, start dating, know each other and fall in love or maybe two people fall in love over the phone, meet and then start dating… whatever it is, I doubt they are mutually exclusive concepts (dating and loving). Then again, dating is more frivolous, according to Karishma; and loving someone is a total different ball game. The next link in my chain of thoughts was… have I not grown out of this rubbish yet? Have I not understood that it does not matter what you call it as long as you consider a person to be special and more important than others? Is that not just it? It is! To love someone is nothing but to consider the person special. It could be mother and girlfriend alike. So what’s this ‘dating’ and ‘loving’ business?

All this thought was about thirty seconds worth of my time. I then started watching a funny movie on HBO and pretty much left the thought unthreaded. I just wrote this because I had not posted for a while and I was bored this morning. Do not think too much of it, I would suggest. Cheers!

On a different note, I have had some great times in college. Party sharty, project voject, good fun. There are some random pictures I would like to post. Providing with details would require time and energy… don’t have enough of them both as of now, so hang on till I feel like writing again… Muhuhaha!!!

Catharsis

Have you ever felt like you were never born? There are times when I want to ask my life why it even exists. There are times when I want to ask God to pick up this ‘strip’ of a few days and cut it out of the ‘reel’ of my life so the smoothness is not spoilt. Imagine, you sleep on Tuesday night and wake up on Wednesday next week; and all because the week was going to be a really pathetic one. I don’t know how to complaint about things happening to me when it is not even my fault. Innocence and thoughts of self respect are all questioned in times like this. No, if you are waiting for me to blurt my issue, I will not.

What I have learnt in the process (and this is the most important part) is that taking responsibility is a job that demands responsibility. Stop frowning and twisting your face… you know EXACTLY what I mean. Sometimes it never pays off to be the one doing the entire math. A friend of mine told me, “It’s a thankless job to be a responsible person taking charge”. Now, it’s different when you are running a company or a business because there, you are paying the buggers and they jolly well listen to what you say. But in a class of individuals where each is as important as the next, you can’t be bossing around. The funny part is, you take initiative and if the idea that you took initiative for falls flat on its face, you are blamed. But if the idea works, it qualifies as a ‘job profile’ of the representative. If you do something nice you get three individuals (from amongst those who know you and love you) to come and say, ‘good show’ but if you screw up… fifty faces frowning at yours and fifty voices (which sound like seventy) shouting in your ears about ‘this-is-not-done’ things. It’s not like one gets paid to hear this crap, right? And there are no privileges either. I still have to submit assignments with the rest of the class. I still have to get graded on the shoddy job I have done because I was busy fixing dates with the faculty who could not make it on a Saturday because his aunt’s third cousin’s elder son ran away from home. I still have to be in time for lectures because the attendance is going to be taken by me and it doesn’t matter how late the rest of the class comes because they can shoot their numbers out like I was there to play housie or bingo or something.

Oh forget it! There is virtually no point ranting to a keyboard. No offence to you, dear reader, but in front of me is only a keyboard. I just had so much brewing that it spilt over. I guess, “With great power comes great responsibility”… actually it’s the other way round… but then again, who came first, the chicken or the egg?

From the attic

I mined through my drawers again… lo and behold; I find some of my old poems, again. It has been years since I wrote any of this. Actually, I have just lost that urge to write the way I did but I still look back at these works and wonder if it really was me who managed to write this way… no its not about my ego being converted to a blimp but I just appreciate the fact that I ‘voiced’ my feelings in different ways vis-à-vis others. Probably, I never had a good enough outlet that I could trust but what it manifested into was quite a memento that I could treasure and refer to in years to come.

This one, for example, was written for that one “perfect” woman who I could spend my life writing about. Strange (and still true), I feel the same way even today. For the records, this was written about six years ago. No, I was not seeing anyone then and did not see anyone for years after that. But today, I feel this has come as close to reality as it can… one of my favorite creations dedicated to one of God’s favorite creations.

NATURE AND YOU

We’ve walked a long distance in the sea-wet sand,
A while singing, a while moaning, we’ve walked hand in hand.
Your praise seems so little all the more it’s said,
When you walk on open roads they are like carpets red,
The day would threaten thunder when you hide your face and cry,
When you look up and smile the clouds clear the sky.
When you speak to nature the blue bells ding-a-ling,
When you stand in the open, the mountains seem to sing.
When your fingers slide through your hair,
Giving them a brush,
The dark night would sigh,
The waterfalls would blush.
The moon watches you sleep, the stars staring too,
Would you be dreaming of nature while nature is dreaming of you?

Ah! The sally of youth…and the gifts thus found…

:-)

Lego: bring on the brief!

We were made to write a creative brief. (what?!?!).

Explanation: in the world of advertising, when a client (the advertiser) meets the client servicing executive (the guy representing the agency to the client) and takes notes on why he wants to advertise and what is he expecting the agency to do for him, is called ‘taking a client brief’. The other department, ‘Creative’, requires to know what kind of an advertisement they are to create for the client. When the CSE converts the client brief to a sheet of paper which gives the creative department the relevant information, it is known as ‘the creative brief’.

Our assignment was to write a creative brief for an ad already made. In effect, work backwards to know what influenced the creator to make such an ad. The ad was that of Lego.

The ad:
Two cars (limos if I am not wrong) roll into a compound and black suited men step out in regal style. They make their way to a room and open it with utmost care and walk in. they stare from behind dark glasses at the activities of a five year old who is sitting on the floor playing with his toys. A lady dressed formally (probably the boss of these men) walk in while the men make way for her to come up front to the child. The child looks at her and hands over a simple white box. The apprehension builds and the lady looks at the men before she anxiously opens the box. Just a peak and the light through the box delight the people watching. They are impressed and the next thing you know is this child being hounded by press reporters. He is made to sit in a press conference with a hundred mics in his face and camera flashes all over the screen. He is being loved and respected by the entire country. His picture is in every magazine, on every news channel. He is shown parading through what looks like London, in a sedan and with guards in front and behind.

The screen now has a Lego logo on it and the punchline that reads: "every idea begins with imagination".

Now I might have killed the ad for those who have watched it but that’s the best I could do, so, sincere apologies.

Everyone had their own way to draw up the probable brief. Some wrote poetry and some wrote three lines as their assignment. I don’t know how many others have done what I did. I recorded a speech and gave it some music; something like ‘Sunscreen’, if you have heard the song. It’s a pity I can not play that brief but I can post the text at least. So this is what I said:

I once asked a child, what is your dream… what do you want to be.
He said, “I want to be an engineer”.
On asking him why so, he replied with eyes that had the glimmer of a creator, “I want to build the world”.

Children have dreams, when they grow up they have aspirations. The difference between the dream of a child and the aspiration of a grown up lies in the fact that the child has no preconceived logic in his dream… no rationale… no inspiration from that which has already been created. It is independent of logic, of gain, of selfishness, of winning the race against humanity. The dream to create resides in the area of impossibility and the truth of the dream has more credibility in his mind than the credibility of matured logic in the mind of a grownup. I once saw a child play by himself. He was talking to the floor, to the air, to the light, to the sky, to himself, to the fictitious man who in his imagination was the hero of the world. He was pretending to be the partner of this superman and went around saving the world. He had his own flying car, his own speed bike that could turn into a robot, his own light saber, his own jet that spoke to him and obeyed his commands, his head quarters from where he operated. As I watched our young messiah answer a call on his very own voice activated computer, he jumped up and shouted out to his car. I was watching him as he strapped on his jet packs and took of to the crime scene. Then I watched him as he blasted the bad guys with his specialized ray gun with proton beam mode and then I watched as his mother took his hand and dragged him outside the room to feed him his boiled vegetables. The words I heard from her tore me into shreds. “you look crazy when you keep jumping around shouting to yourself. Don’t be such a retard, you are ten now.”

I stand by it; no man can think like a boy. If each dream that a boy had, was given shape, if each child was given a tool to make his dream a reality, if each little brat was given a chance to be heard, the world would have found ideas that would make these children take over the government, the business, the people… the world. We can not be those dream weavers but what we can do is to give the child a gate to take his imagination one step closer to reality. We take children seriously because the world is built on bricks of thoughts and all thoughts are built on ideas but all ideas start with imagination.

The track I used is called Ave Maria. It’s an old Celtic kind of a song by a composer who’s name I forget. This particular exercise really opened my mind up to possibility. I have always been a nice observer but this is the first time I put it to some creative use. What I was proud about was the fact that I actually managed to pull it off well, all by myself and I like this piece of literature I typed out with no predominant consciousness or any particular reasoning affecting my flow of thought.

Oh well, the grades should be up in a while so, more then, or before that, if I have any other ‘proud works’ to display, which I sincerely hope I do.

Weave your dreams with a strong thread and they will become reality, and this time around, for once, a reality you can possibly handle and take responsibility for.

Cheerio!

So I Learn…

For I stand to watch the fire burn,
I stand to watch and maybe, learn.
I stand and see why they fret to find,
The hidden lessons in the flames of time.

I see the mild blow of destiny in my face,
I love divine affection and grace,
I hate the scorch of human hate,
And I keep learning as I wait.

I smile at sorrow for he is my teacher,
I call on angst, my homely creature.
I look up to see the moonless sky,
The stars are clearer so I wonder why.

I cry when I hurt that, which I love,
I cry when I hate the heavens above
And ask them Gods their reason to test,
My choice of what I thought was the best.

I bundle myself in pain as I see,
My freedom being taken away from me,
And when I find my space in time,
I can open up and begin the climb.

I worry for those that worry for me,
My faith but lost in false company.
I seek answers and question them too,
Who am I? Who are you?

They seem to see no sign of sense,
In watching me sitting on the fence.
They feel I can not judge the world,
And then at me, a question is hurled

“You only see the black from white,
And never see the grey inside,
And never loath or love you show,
Forever saying ‘let it go’”.

“There is balance”, I do reply,
“In every step of the walk, through life
And when you see that balance go,
You will find yourself fall and so…

Know that not all are the same,
And each one plays his own game.
And for what they do, we are none to judge,
They may balk when they want and budge when they budge.

We should give each one their space to learn,
For each ones road takes its own turn,
And why be pointing at the passers by,
When YOU can’t be perfect, however hard you try”.


Then they say that the world is going to be mean to me
And I’m just too naive to see,
That some things need the skeptic’s eye,
For not in everything does goodness lie.

I never have seen just the goodness in all,
There could be faults in things, big or small.
But all I want the world to know,
Is “SEE” the dark but “WATCH” the glow.

‘Cause there is not just good or bad,
‘Cause no sadness is completely sad.
For there is failure in every try,
And in every stone does a crystal lie.

So live your life a moment a time,
For the niche is found in each step you climb.
And there lies beauty in every person you meet.
A different smile each time you greet.

So, I stand to watch the fire burn,
I stand to watch and maybe, learn.
I stand and see why they fret to find,
The hidden lessons in the flames of time.

Party On!

I always held ‘cousin weddings’ in utmost contempt. I always hated the idea of ‘plastic smiles’ that were a mandatory requisition for any such function. I hated old aunts that I last met in 1761 and now they talk to you as if your mother was less bothered about your future than she was. I almost throw up when your most distant cousin wants to keep you company for the entire time that you are in the said party and not step out of the circle measuring 3 cm in radius, around your body.

But surprisingly and fortunately, last night was a different story. In fact, this cousin who is getting married is one of those who I respect as a person because he and I are similar on many counts. So I did want to voluntarily go for some of his functions (three out of ELEVEN bleeding functions that the rich family has organized, to be precise). The good part is that these were three very well thought out programs that only money could buy. One being a sangeet night… now on a normal day, a Sangeet night is one where the kids of both families dance and their steps have been choreographed by professionals. It usually takes place in a nice hall with food and drinks. But mama dear, went and booked The Grand Intercontinental out… the entire hotel. Then he invites Falguni ‘the Dandia Queen’ Pathak to come and perform with her band there. A good twenty, thirty lacs blown up. Nevertheless, it was a lovely party. The energy was tremendous and the performers loved it. The next one was where he booked out an auditorium in Bandra and invited the entire team of winners at the Great Indian Laughter Challenge to come and perform. Now these guys (for those ignorant of such shows) are a bunch of stand-up-comics who compete to win the crown of the Laughter Champion and do so by audience poll. This was a mind-numbing show. It was the first time that these guys were performing for a private audience and they went on for four hours. It was so hilarious, people were rolling off their seats. The third, which took place, last night, was not an innovation as such but a good break from the normal eat-heavy-food-and-die-of-acidity scene. He organized a “DJ Night” at The Club in Andheri. It was complete with a DJ and booze and psychedelic lights and masks (like the one used by Zorro). I discovered that my mother was a great dancer. I mean, when was the last time you went clubbing with your mother? The old aunties were scantily clad, to much shame, and the uncles that were otherwise pious looking souls, were found grabbing a glass of Smirnoff and Pepsi every thirteenth minute. I had never seen my father shake a leg before this… my cousins and close aunts and uncles looked (as much as I hate to admit this) cute! The sad part was, all the hot women around turned out to be my cousins so I pretty much gave up gazing around for visual-feasts. It’s strange how such parties bring out the dormant devil inside each one. I mean my 110kg aunt was dancing so beautifully on Dus Bahane… I also jived with my mother… How cool is that?!!

So we have come to a verdict, not all relative oriented parties are bad. One should arrive at the scene, sense the energy, examine the food (how could I miss that?), and if any of the above are acceptable, stay; or complain of a stomach ache and scram. Oops! I am not supposed to blurt these views out aloud now, am I? :-p

Clickety clack

We have learnt the fine art of holding a camera…

I’m not being sarcastic there… cameras are not easy to handle. Think about it, we have spent about eight hours in a classroom trying to understand what is the purpose of a bloody camera and why is it more important a tool than being a box that captures memories. Eight complete hours of understanding what a ‘good picture’ is. Eight hours to know how a camera works, how to operate in conditions that are unfavorable to the photograph’s beauty, or shall we say, potential beauty. I have been a half-decent photographer for a while and have loved capturing frames that seem slightly wasteful to the Scrooge who wants a family member in every photograph clicked. But this program just gave all those funny frames a meaning, a name even. Concepts like composition, symmetry, light angles, geometry, pattern, color composition, the rule of the one-thirds, color temperature, sharpness, blurring, focus… a million things that go into making a picture perfect. My recent trip to Raigadh, with friends, was one hell of an experience and gave me a lot of scope to explore this sublime art with a twist. The other three with me, looked at me funny and whispered amongst themselves, doubting my mental state, as I bend over a patch of grass with stones and stare into my camera lens for a while before clicking an absurd composition. They were quite cynical about my new found hobby and kept asking me indirect question so as not to hurt my feelings, while expressing their subtle disgust towards wasting damn good snaps. But let us not digress. I always used to wonder why photographers are gaga over some monster of a camera called the SLR. It is a digital age and the era of ‘smaller and lighter’ but these professionals or aficionados were always swearing by SLRs. It is only after this session that I want one for my own and trust you me, I am ready to part with my savings for it. The kind of things one can do with a Single Lens Reflex is only a figment of fantasy till you actually hold one in your hand. It is fantastic to be able to manipulate a natural frame in your mind and then actually capture it the same way you pictured it. I am so thrilled by the fact that this module on photography is actually making me learn a new form of art and in turn appreciate it too. I was so shocked the day I was standing in an art gallery with my finger on my chin making sense of pictures taken by a professional in a heaven like place called Kashmir. I was with fellow classmates and I caught myself staring a a picture scratching my cheek as I said, “the depth of the picture is so amazing. The pattern of the v right here in the center is totally giving an amazing dimension to the whole frame. Oh and check out the juxtaposition of the red and yellow, amazing!”

I am quite disgusted by the fact that I have been using a Yashika single shot, no frills camera all through my life and now a Sony Cyber-shot that belongs to dad (which is also not good enough). I want an SLR and I want it now! Any one ready to sell me one or give me money to buy one? I also accept gifts with a lot of gratitude.

Excuses to squander and how...

Mumbai has officially gone insane… I don’t even know where to begin. This evening of November 1st, Van and I decide to take a ride to either of the sea faces to watch the fireworks on Diwali day. All is nice till we pick up our parcel of pans and start riding to Marine Drive. Now, there was name calling happening. The traffic thickened like milk to butter. The cars just looked like they were on a mission to block roads up. Once we entered the Chowpati area, the only expression on my face was, “what the F**k”. The traffic grew and the crackers sounded like WMDs. To add to the noise were the constant horns. I swear, Van and I felt like we were in the middle of a war. Rockets zoomed past our heads, hit cars and people on the side-walk lit those sparkle showers in the middle of the bloody road. The entire area was like a time bomb ticking and ready to blow. I was worried about the cars getting it in the petrol region and if there is the slightest leak, I don’t want to think about what could happen. The minute we found opening, Van zoomed as fast as possible and we finally made it to the Sydenham lane. There too there was enough traffic to keep the honking alive. I couldn’t hear myself talk. I couldn’t think straight because the crackers were so loud. The sky looked like it was being shot every second and it bled thirty different colors and screamed and wheezed and did not have anyone listening. We had to move to a quiter place or I would have got a migraine attack. We found some peace at Charmichal Road where we stood and spoke about this very insanity that the city is dealing with. The number of fireworks was mind-numbing. I mean, you might as well pick up a stack of hundred or five hundred rupee notes and set them ablaze. Why bother giving that money to some poor who can’t afford a sweet for his family on Diwali. Blow it up instead. Why donate a hundred rupees to a blind school when you can see five hundred rupees being shot into the air to display colors that lasted three seconds. Ridiculous to say the least. If not donate that money, get yourself a CD player, or cake or chocolate or have a booze party with friends or just drive around in the city for the equivalent in petrol. But this is downright insanity. We crib about the roads being unkept. We crib about them being dirty. We crib about flyovers not coming up. Traffic, pollution and Mumbai wanting to be Shanghai… where does it all go when nights like this come around? You should see the roads the next morning… breathe the air and I will lose any amount if you don’t catch a cold or cough your lungs out.

I know it’s a matter of likes and dislikes and all the jazz about subjectivity in democracy but this night defied all logic in its basic form. It gave a whole new meaning to the word, ‘waste’. God bless all. Happy Diwali to you too.

If only a sigh could have said it...

I like nit-pickers. I know that’s the most absurd way to begin a post but I do. May be not nit-pickers who are irritating but those who are touchy about small errors, faux pas, if you will. The kinds that love to read a beautiful poem written by an amateur and smile while reading it and suddenly jump and point out their index to the small comma and say, “that is wrong, it should have been a semi-colon!”. The ones who comb their hair/ tie up a bun like it were a ritual and if the sacred geometry was moved by an inch, the gods of symmetry and perfection might never forgive them. The ones who carry two kinds of tissue napkins (course and soft) for cleaning hands and wiping face respectively. I love to watch them clasp their wrists while their eyes move on black words on paper in front of them. Sometimes they look down upon the book in a tone so condescending, as if to say, “be glad I’m reading you, you little insignificant thing” and their backs propped up and neck perfectly aligned to the spine, legs joined at the knees and feet, heel-to-toe, perfectly parallel to each other. Their gorgeous language that can sound sweeter than fresh sugarcane juice and if well read into, can cut like a sward burnished in cold blood of many that fell prey to it unsuspectingly. Fastidious, nastily demanding and still making one feel it were their honor to give them what they are asking for. Those, who can not stand the thought of catching a cold. If the thought does dare to surface, the fortress of cotton ear-buds and socks and mufflers and rugs is built in a matter of seconds. I love them, when they tilt their heads and smile while listening to the most irritating man on the planet and say nothing more than “I see… oh Good God, is that true…?”. The ones who sheepishly laugh at a sarcastic statement they have made and has not hit home as far as the incumbent is concerned. I love their politeness and diplomacy. Ambiguity that is clear and clarity in their ambiguity. Exactly like the sentence you just read. The fact that they wash their face after every three and a half minutes of exposure to five dust molecules that might have settled on their flawless skin, is not only fascinating but so arrogant and royal. They don’t wear perfume but the smell lingering, is their shampoo and conditioner and in all probability, the aroma of the candles that they had lit while having their bath: a two and a half hour one at that. I love to see them sitting out in the sun on a cold winter morning, watching sparrows and other fowl peck on their grains or on the flowers planted in their garden. I love to hear the deep throated sigh when they are actually convinced that the world has a few more nice people than they suspected. When they laugh they sound like little babies chuckling at the bright colors of the world and if you know them well enough, you know that the laugh was the loudest one you heard in a while and that he/she was really, really happy. I love to watch them walk. Their steps are measured as if with a scale and each one resting itself on the floor like it did not want to disturb mother earth while she snoozed on a dull dreamy Sunday afternoon. And when they stop to admire the much forgotten nature, they seem to stop time, dead in its tracks. When they stand with their hands folded in front of their torso and legs perfectly straight, their hair playing with their thoughts and the wind playing with their hair, they seem to be commanding the heavens to descend immediately or the Gods were in deep trouble. Their concern woven in their wisdom and their affection glistening in their eyes like snow flakes on the window sill of a wooden cabin, somewhere in the Alps.

Ah well, I can probably go on forever and come across as a ‘wanna-be poet’, but its true, I have finally had the pleasure of making these observation from someone I am proud to know. Let’s leave it at that now, shall we?

Exodus

I have been hooked on to my class like a limpet on a rock. The much awaited sabbatical has arrived and the out-of-towners have fled home. Friday was a mellow one. The individual excitement of each outsider was overshadowed by the cumulative effect of them missing this city. What can you blame? Afterall, this city is addictive. That day I felt closer to them a lot more than ever and so did most others (as they vouch for, in so many words). I have had the tightest of hugs and the warmest of handshakes from almost all those who were off for the next fortnight. There was a four hour presentation session and not one of them felt any nervousness or complained about any ‘midnight oil’ getting to them. The mood was low, dim would be more apt but it all seemed positive. I don’t know why I am trying to explain this feeling in words, but it was so palpable that I felt like trying to lock that feeling up in a jar and preserve it for future gaze. This was the closest I could get to doing it. A few friends and I have decided to hook off for two days to my place at Khandala, so expect some reports in a short while. Maybe some photographs too, since we have an assignment on hand. I cant believe this course, you have to take a vacation to do an assignment… what more can one ask for?

On a different note, this is something I downloaded a couple of days back. I used to listen to a lot of Ghazals in the days of yore but somehow I lost touch. I got into the mood for it recently and this ghazal by Mirza Ghalib took my fancy. Prima facie, it looks difficult to understand but if you give it a closer dekko, it makes so much sense. “If you want to be a writer, show me your wounds”, says George Bernard Shaw and I couldn’t agree with him more. Rendering it in English was quite a task but nevertheless its still got a flavor one can taste from words that could fill only Ghalib’s genius mind and cloud ours. Who else could do it more justice other than Jagjit Singh? I love this ghazal.

Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi…

Hazaaron Khwahishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle,

Nikalna khuldussir aadam ka, sunte aaye hai lekin,
Bohot be-aabroo hokar, tere kuuche se hum nikle.

Mohobbat mein nahi hai farq jeene aur marne ka,
Usi ko dekhkar jeete hai jis kaafir pe dum nikle.

Khuda ke waaste parda nakabi se uthaa zaalim,
Kahin aisa na ho yunhi, wohi kaafir sanam nikle

Kahaan maikhaane ka darwazaa Ghalib, aur kahaan vaayiz,
Par itna jaante hai, kal woh jaata tha ki hum nikle

Hazaaron Khwaishen aisi ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,
Bohot nikle mere armaan lekin, phir bhi kum nikle.

A weekend with not-so-weak end!

Saturday was an odyssey to be recorded for life, in books that can be read out to the generations of the 60 students who awoke to a morning of hell - unbound. It was a day filled with tension, unreasoned causes of migraine, violent thoughts on the verge of manifestation, critical overload and frustration personified. For the first time ever in the history of our four months of XIC education, we had a presentation at an unholy 10 a.m. People worked the night out and just about managed to drag themselves to college and not die in the process. But I receive the first call of the day from the lecturer who was to take the presentations, an hour before d-line. In a very husky ‘I-just-woke-up-yawn’ voice she tells me, “can we keep it at eleven, I don’t think I’m going to make it before that”. Excellent, there goes the temper of sixty zombies. And I am the ‘harbinger’. So how much more could I ask the lord for (grumble mumble!!). Sure enough she walks in at 11.15 and we start presentations by 11:30. There was no chance in all hell that she would finish twelve groups in three hours. I had to decide something fast because we had a guest lecture at 3:00 and we also would require a lunch break. Nothing clicked. Then there was a deep cry of remorse from someone behind me who said, “Cancel the next lecture man” and I, almost as a reflex action, picked up my cell and called our lecturer. I requested her for a twenty minute extension which we got, so now our lecture would begin at 3:20. But no, the woman had to talk to the group for ten minutes after a fifteen minute presentation about how they DID NOT do what she wanted them to. Sick! She went on till 3:35 and I was shuttling between a pissed off guest and an unprofessional blonde who did not realize that what she was doing was wrong. The icing on the cake (I wish we had some that day) was that no one would get a lunch break now. The technicians were pissed, the faculty was bored, the blonde was unaware, the students were losing it and I broke a pretty Chinese fan that belonged to Binita who was in turn mad at me and the day alike. After the blonde is done, in comes the regular marketing faculty who had brought in the guest to talk about market research. She fires the people who longed for a lunch break and threatens to give a C grade to those who didn’t return for the lecture in ten minutes. The attendance drops to thirty nine. So anyway, we went on with the lecture and the lecture went on till eight. I had nothing to eat and a few glasses of water were the only intake for the day. Post the lecture (which I personally did not like) we had a pre-planned get-together at my place. I had last counted ten odd people but I was not surprised that the number shot up to twenty. Nineteen of them stayed back and Viraj had a doctor’s appointment so had to go.

A night of revelations and long talks ensued. It was amazing, the way people gelled like never before. Quite frankly, the only reason I wanted this party was because the term was closing and people would have been on their way back home. In the past few months, no one has gotten around speaking to each other beyond their group projects and I just wanted the not-so-close people to get to know each other. Not that they have a closed mind but there was an opportunity lacking to have them open up and let their hair down for a while. My purpose was served. Booze flowed in small quantities but I promise, everyone was high. That was the best part. I had Van and Ankit join in and was not sure if they would gel in fine. I was pleasantly surprised that they mingled in minutes of their entry. The legendary game of truth or dare followed the sit-down-and-bitch-about-the-world session which is another amazing way to get to know people. The music was curtsy Rakshit Bahadur, (yup, I have a friend that has my name, at least one who has a weird name like mine) and it brought in the required life. I felt really nice to see all my rooms filled and balcony choc-o-bloc with classmates who spoke their hearts and screamed their lungs out (some smoked their lungs and drank their guts out but that’s how it should be). Since we had a Divya ‘the nightingale of adma’ in the house, we began to sing some oldies. Poulomi took over the Hindi bit and Pankit went all out on Sher-o-shayri. Man, the night grew younger by the minute until three or four in the morning. The moon lit the sky in white and navy blue. Clouds refracted the moonlight to give the moon an aura-like halo. People talked like never before. Some slept like they would never get up. The following Sunday started off as lazily as a Sunday could possibly be. Most left and what remained was nine individuals who were too bored to go back home. A plan to lunch out at shiv sagar materialized abd a walk at the beach and ice-golas brought the day to a fitting end. But my highlight was a bioke ride home and I was Rakshit’s pillion. The most dangerous thing I ever did in my entire life was when I dozed off on the bike and I dozed for nothing lesser than twenty minutes. Damn, it was scary when I woke up. Little did I know that my friends from Sydenham would call me the same day. After a long time we met at Barista and watched Monster-in-law. A perfect day I would say.

Its interesting to note that something that misbalances you is only there for you to try balance it out again. Case in point: the lousy day at college. Everything seemed to go wrong but it all added up for everyone and from ten guests we had a 100% increment to twenty frustrated souls ready to loosen up a little. If this would not have been the number then the party would have added to the fatigue and that would solve no purpose. Have a look at some crazy people here.

Thats Van sleeping through the chaos

Revti sleeps with her legs sticking out like pegs from a barrel and the other fellow would be Devang

Melroy massages Pulak massages Pankit. Talk about our ansestors being monkeys... we might be going back to basics.

Pankit sleeps during a lecture. Who would blame him on aa day like that Saturday.

Thats Gaurav from Sydenham at Barista. what a brilliant day.

Collage in progress

Vignette 1

I love the wind in my face, wind in a pace enough to make my eyes shut themselves into a dreamy trip. Which is why I love traveling on bikes. Thanks to van, this happens every second or third day. last night was just one of those short trips to a pan shop and then to a sea face. Endless conversations, meaningless, inane and disjointed. If you have ever visited marine drive and sat at the end point of it, opposite the NCPA premises, you will know what I’m going to be talking about… we realized that the Queen’s necklace was so semi-circular from that perspective and so straight when one is actually traveling on the road that shapes the necklace. And this thought lead to a revelation: we are so small… one little spec of dirt. I know it’s a known and understood fact but the ‘gotchya-off-guard’ type revelations hit you where it hurts.

Vignette 2

Finally got a DVD burner… it is the loveliest feeling for this time I put in my money that I had saved and had not taken any permission for it. I also got fired for it by dad and I was hurting all night after what he told me (which I will not go into, lest I dampen the excitement) but all in all, great feeling man. Bring on them DVDs…

Vignette 3

Holidays are approaching fast. 22nd of this month is when they begin and I am in half a mind to run away to some city. Any suggestions on what one must do in such free time? I am quite annoyed with the fact that I will kill days like a ruthless, homicidal convict out on parole. Going to a place unvisited by me shall top the ‘to-do’ list but need backups.

Vignette 4

Recently, (this Sunday to be precise) a group of friends from college managed a trip to Mocha at Churchgate. The journalism people hosted a nice party which pretty much fell flat on its face for the lack of attendance, post which nine of us felt like sitting around and not do much. At mocha, that night, we dwelt upon one another’s strengths and weaknesses and as far as I am concerned, it was a trip to reality (with a little icing and sugar nonetheless) which gave me a chance to have an insight about certain issues that need immediate attention. It was a brilliant time spent and invested if I may say so. the good part was, we were people who have not really had a nice time together outside the campus and this made a lot of difference. Not to mention, we succeeded in coupling up a few people for god-alone-knows-whatever reasons. Here’s one…

Saket and Chitra.... Chow chweeeeet!

I’m sure I had some more stuff to write… damn, I’m growing grey in the head… what the hell, they are still vignettes… you get the ‘picture’ now, don’t you?

A night-in-gale (blown away)

Have you ever felt like God has dosed off and instead, Murphy is watching over you? If not then please know… IT HAPPENS!!

I had a lousy yesterday. The day opened with a shrieking alarm that reminded me of a Monday morning and still, it was a Saturday. I had animation classes (the ones in 3D if you recall from a frustrated post a while ago). As I drag my oversized body to college I fear getting late, coupled with a statement that rings in the heads of all who are zombie-fied at unholy hours; “screw the class, who care, BED, PILLOW, SLEEEEEEEEP!” All ok in the class but then starts the ordeal of some godforsaken term called ‘brainstorming’. Another project, another group effort where group works to the extent of opinionating and balks right there. Then the onus falls onto three or four self-actualized individuals who take the driver’s seat to actually execute this plan. Needless to say this post is filled with self-pity and empathy for all ‘drivers’. So the group goes back home and I get all lazy and not in a position to work, and then my guilt machine goes off. By now I want a drink. “TAVERN… OH GOD, TAVERN!”

After inane conversations with Van and constant persuasion, the plan to go to the ‘temple’ for some ‘prashaad’, is formalized and we also have a Sachin and an Ankit to go along with. We meet at 11 and set out to relax our minds down. I picture all my pressures being washed away by a sea of beer. The customary homage of white ‘incense’ was purchased en route and we were encountered by various temptations to just sit around at all other places except for Tavern. We some how discarded all options and headed where we were supposed to. Enter the corridor of Farias and I get a call from a group member. Harrowed and disturbed, she was resorting to the final option of giving in and dying for the night. All was justified and I felt bad that I had an option to get out and these others did not. Maybe some chose not to get out and have a drink but I was the only one running away. The rest are standing in the lobby waiting for me to hang up and walk in. I signal them to carry on and I shall join later and Van shouts “it’s shut you ass!”… I, in a complete state of awe and disgust, continue talking to a bothered friend. Once I hang up they say one word that breaks all dreams into pieces smaller than sand grains… “DRY-DAY”

After a short trip to Symphony (regular panwala) we drop Sachin to his abode and head straight off to the sea face (Worli). The remainder of the incense are lit and puffed with joy and tea and coffee consumed in small quantities add to the beauty of the night. And ofcorse some there are some biscuit packets lying in the car that served as ‘bites’ with our ‘drinks’. The sea roars, the moon hides, a quaint plane flies past at a great height and an even more inane conversation about the plane follows it. Bitching about life and its definition of ‘irony personified’ continues into another smoke filled night-sky. Deep sighs of remorse and acceptance of a downfall of hope in the Saturday evening of much too many desires are breathed and all head back to respective residences to sleep off the regretful night. I have no idea why, but it was the first time I was that pissed with fate. Sorry, but it’s not done. I ask for beer and they gave me coffee…

God should party more often on Saturday nights and let Murphy take a break. Honestly.

Taking a break and still at work!

Its ironic sometimes. My class managed to piss a lecturer off a week back and we salvaged our reputation by offering him a presentation of the topic he was then dealing with. So the class goes all out and starts working on some kick ass presentations. I am pleasantly surprised with the amount of effort put in by each group. We were nine of us who did an amazing presentation on Powai. What’s more, we went to the place and had some awesome time there. What follows is a photo blog but a brief on what we did…

Binita ‘I redefine perfection’ Kuruvilla made the most amazing host ever. so our trip begins with lovely filling lunch, followed by a mind-blowing cappuccino ice-cream and the most amazing Swiss chocolate ever. Imagine eight people on a brilliantly dressed table with warm food and Simon and Garfunkle playing softly in the background. We began to move through the Hiranandani area via the woods and then to different places from there…

from left clockwise: binita, pulak, paresh, rakshit, khyati, chitra at nirvana park

Nirvana Park

pulak and me

Left to right: Paresh, Khyati, Devang, chitra, Binita and pulak (being gagged)

Tere are more but u get the idea dont you? It wasw a fabulous day out and a lovely presentation ensued this trip. oh darn, have to get back to some other mundane, stupid, silly, boring work now... cheers!

Skeleton in the closet…

It is so much fun to clear the old drawers. I was on a total cleaning spree a day or so ago. I did not spare a spec of dust. All redundant papers were brought to justice. Every ‘un-needed’ reminiscence of painful memoir was removed out of existence. But I stumbled upon this one piece which I had written then. I don’t remember when was ‘then’ but it was in the last year or so. it was a song I wrote, for a band recording, for a “Break Dust” come-back and it was an acoustic wonder. I had conceptualized its music first and then on approval by my colleague, I wrote these lyrics. They are rough and not my best work. I liked the feel of the words simply because it went well with the music. If you do bother reading through this song, DO NOT judge anything about my state of mind from what the lyrics say. I had my share of angst but this is a slightly ‘exaggerated’ version. It was written on this little piece of notepad paper. A 3x5 inch rectangle. All I mean to say is, the piece written was nothing great but just digging it out of its grave and reading it was a pleasure one has to experience to know. The song was never recorded but I guess I shall ask my other music-aficionado buddies to help me do the same. I want to render it, for the sheer joy of vintage value that I associate with this song. Read on… constructive criticism is always welcomed but hey, euphemism is a nice word too! (kidding, go ahead, rip me apart…)

BLAME

They say I lost my sensation,
They found me behind my smile
They asked me why was I in so much pain,
I had been that way for a while.

I cried my eyes dry every night
And climbed the roof-top to laugh,
It felt like I left myself alone,
As one half killed the other half.

But I knew it was not so bad somehow.
I knew it could not be.
I could not have pained you ever,
The only one to be blamed was me.

I saw my dreams drifting away from you,
I lost the smell of your skin,
I could remember no taste of your lips,
Lost our night as the dawn broke in.

I promised myself to stand up again,
No whiskey could ever knock me out.
I will never trust you to take care of my heart again,
Never put myself under doubt.

But I knew it wasn’t so bad somehow.
I knew it just couldn’t be.
I could not have pained you ever,
Cause it wasn’t bout you,
It’s all about me.

Anime... in 3D

When I had posted a couple of weeks ago, I had mentioned how ‘kick-ass’ our animation would be… [buzzer!]… WRONG!

Animation sucks… it’s an awesome software to work with (3D Max) but it’s too much to remember and recall when working. You have a certain object in your mind and by the time you figure out how you should create it, you lose track of what you had initially decided. To top it all, we have some fixed number of sessions with fixed hours per session and it all has to be taught and done with in those many hours. Practical impossibility. So, we have to design this logo of our own and then animate it in three dimensions and then give it motion and make it move around. Yeah, Right! Oh, and if that is not enough, the college does not give us the software to take home and practice. It is huge, and I mean HUGE when I say that. So we have to scout around for it ourselves. When we do get our hands on it, it is a version lower then the one at college. Sheesh!

But its fun too. If I do manage to have a shape of my liking, I jump with joy. I managed making a wine glass the other day; gave it some body and texture and gloss, set up lights to reflect off its surface and then gave it some refractive index. Nice job, even if I say so myself.

Our sir made a hilarious statement the other day. In the middle of the fourth session which essentially meant eight hours of the class were up, he asks us if we have done photoshop. The class blinks at him like it was a scene out of a Japanese animation flick. Few shrug and say “Erm… err… NOPE!” To this the dear teacher reacts… “Then why the hell are you learning 3D max?” Now this is where we all feel disoriented and redeemed at the same time. Redeemed because we as a class had not been digesting anything he was teaching except for the fragmented knowledge each had on an individual level, which when put to collective use made up about ten percent of what he had taught. Sure enough, the man makes the statement about the management going nuts because you cant teach 3D to people who have not worked on 2D and then gets right back to the teaching bit in a split-second. We were too sleepy to hear what he taught after that.

All in all it has been one heck of a challenge to tackle this course and if we are given enough time to practice under guidance, we shall do well I presume. I always wanted to learn some flash animation though, wonder if they will have that as a part of their syllabi.

Ahem... Going Places...?!

So this week was my claim to fame. Lets run through it shall we?

Sunday, 18th Sept 2005

Venue: TV18 studios
Channel: CNN
Show: CNN connect (Dialogue for peace)
Panelists: Imran Khan, Praful Patel, Humayun Akhtar Khan, Shabana Azmi, Mia Mansha and Nasil Wadia

The discussion was nothing out of the ordinary but was very crisp and still jumped a lot of topics from all over. I did not get a chance to speak (like 75 others in the audience) but was good fun listening to them having a chat about improving relations with Pakistan. Good show overall I would say.

Shabana Azmi and me after the show...

Tuesday 20th Sept 2005

Venue: MTV studios, Lower Parel
Channel: MTV
Show: * not really sure*
Topic: Relevance of Mahatma Gandhi in today’s world.
Panelists: Anupam Kher, Boman Irani, Urmila Matondkar, Ashok Pandit.
Hosted by: Cyrus Sahukar.

This was a more exciting show and it was nice to have people from Delhi and Banglore, connected via satellite and all spoke their mind on the topic. It was an excited debate to say the least and the panelists were thrilled by the fact that the youth just spoke their mind and were so forthcoming. It was a lovely experience to converse with this fabulous bunch of Indians. Good fun overall. Not to mention the lovely lunch and a great class with Rajiv Chavla at the end of the day.

that would be Boman Irani and the rest of us...

Waiting for more such encounters with the biggies.

What? Whats that you said?

Random chatting on the net with certain people bring in so much of perspective in ones thinking. I was just having this conversation with a friend from college who is probably the youngest in the class and is constantly reminded of the same by one of the oldest. Now what happens is that the young lady feels a little upset, notwithstanding the fact that if we stop considering relative age difference between them and start seeing the absolute values of her age and his… it reveals that she might be younger than most but not the most immature of the lot; which I agree with, totally.

I don’t know if it is really that difficult to practice this so called “fine art” of selective listening. My take on the subject is that one should ignore the words that don’t matter to him/her and that have no purpose of existence other than annoying the very life out of his/her brain. I can do it quite well to say the least and I never knew that having such ability was really worth a mention or even a consideration as strength. To my surprise, in these recent days, I have encountered people who are suffering from a deficiency of this ability to throw out what they can’t take. I have caught myself telling them (those who have confided in me with their dissonances with the world around) not to listen to things that put you down. “No Rakshit” they say, “it’s not that simple man. People are out to get you. All that they want is to bring you down. I don’t like him saying such things to me. I don’t want him to judge me. Why is he constantly drilling unfavorable thoughts in my head?” and so on. Now, tell me, what is the simplest solution to this? What can be easier than shutting down all receptors and staring back at the person yakking away, making him feel as if he is talking in Chinese, and blinking like a Barbie? Once the person is done jabbering, nod and say thank you and not have any more recollection of the talk than a bad hangover on a Sunday morning. Really, try it the next time without having any detestation for the orator. It works like a charm.

Having said that, you might as well have skipped this piece all together, don’t you think? Try it. Go back to the top and read the first few lines and say ‘bah, screw it…” and skip onto the next blog. Should work.

:)

I could not have related to this piece written by Ruth unless I went through it myself.

Ok, frankly, it is not all that bad but it is close to what I go through these days. Have been a little sickish these past few days. Changing weather I suspect.

Didn’t have anything in particular to talk about except for the fact that I died laughing while reading Ruth’s blog and had to mention it.

elvis has left the building

In the past few days, I have been scooped hollow. I have been with some friends for eternity now but there is a mass exodus happening.

I have written about most of them but a recap never killed anyone now, did it?

Muffi: left early last month or so for the states
Mickey: died last month
Soniya: killed herself

And now for the additions

Manas: old college friend since junior college days, left for London this week.
Atit: left for Dubai this week for business.
And yesterday, Saurabh: again, for Dubai but for studying.

A note on Saurabh Kothari: he joined Green Lawns High when we were in the eighth standard. Standing at six feet odd and weighing a good eighty Kgs this man was tenderer than coconut shake. One shy, timid little mouse sitting in the corner seat managed to make no friends in the early days of school. I had a rather sad social life where school was concerned and I finally found a partner in crime there. We managed to exchange a few words and shifted places to sit with each other and then chatted till the cows came home. I never knew anything could shoot out of this little chat up but I was so wrong. Soon in the vacations, the school took a trip to Mauritius and we both signed up. And then with the journey what began was a relationship I can not forsake for life itself. We enjoyed every spoken word with each other. In fact I was amazed at the matured sense of humor this man had at times (meaning to say, most of the times he cracked himself up with these sad one liners and poor quality, downright pissing off jokes…. They worked like a charm I tell you!) We have ever since been the best of buddies and, at the cost of sounding damn blah-dee clichéd, have stood through each others thick and thin. He was one of the few who believed in my ability to make it big some day. He knew inside him that I am going to excel and God knows, he still feels the same. He never says it out but he will lecture me on the smallest of mistakes and make sure I take note of it if not follow his advice like gospel. The night before last, I was dead tired with some work at home and still I went to his place and decided to stay over so that I could go drop him at the air-port. I swear I was cut to half when I saw this man walk away with his oversized luggage. I lost a part of me. Even though there are chances that the fellow will come back in a year but still, a year is too long. After Mickey and Soniya, any moment is too long. The man loves the sea and loves winters and rain; sad part is, none of these are available there. At least not where he stays. Ok the note overshot but so have my feelings at this point. I can’t imagine Worli sea-face without his long talks about ‘getting serious in life’ or ‘ice-cream is bad at snowman’s’ depending on the mood of the day. So varied, so damn flexible. Sure miss the bugger. All the best pal!

Spoken Silence

Another song that I heard recently over the radio had me ticking…. I mean, it told a lot about our nature, our tendency to miss out on the ‘unsaid’. Little whispers in our heads are either killed or they die a natural death from asphyxiation. Voices suppressed and made unheard. It could vary; compunctions, euphoria, fear, philosophy, guidelines, orders, ethics, denial, disbelief, belief, choice… and what have you. The predominance of a psyche is a murderer. We refuse to turn around and sit back and listen. A movement of the eye, a gesture of the fingers, a turn of the head… touch… all just walk by us and we sleep through it. Funny part is, when we get into trouble we ask for miracles to bale us out of the crap; pay attention asshole. There were Divine interventions to help you not get into the damn mess in the first place.

But digressing from digression… this particular song is about hearing beyond the spoken word. It happens with people who are close to you and those who seem to be far away but are really not. It could be mere co-incidence but in the past few days I have felt myself listening to voices with a little more respect. I know it is something a lot of us do but I also know that most of us don’t. It was a thought in my mind and this song comes along and plays itself on the radio… see what I mean, confirmation of divine interventions. Haha.

When You Say Nothing At All

It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word you can light up the dark
Try as I may I could never explain
What I hear when you don’t say a thing

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes sayin’ you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all

All day long I can hear people talking out loud
But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd
Old mr. webster could never define
What’s being said between your heart and mine

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes sayin’ you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me
There’s a truth in your eyes sayin’ you’ll never leave me
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall
You say it best when you say nothing at all

No title for this... creative block!

So many things that have gone wrong over the days. So many, that have gone right. So many, that never register. God knows, life is moving faster than I can recall any of it. May be it is relative but it still is so damn fast.

A friend of mine has gone and done a stupid thing like committing suicide. I will leave it there. I don’t feel like talking about it. Returning to egotistical tendencies, I am as usual buried in work. But this is worth a mention. I had to submit this project on any subject provided it was a power point presentation. That’s where I chose myself as a subject and decided to make a CV (I mentioned it in the last post I guess). So anyway, I hand over these few pics of mine to Najeshda, and ask her to do some art work on it… and man, this sea of creativity, just makes an awesome collage. You can find it here.

Have been spending whole days in college recently. All thanks to animation in 3D. Interesting class but the damn thing starts at nine and ends at eleven and the lectures are at four… projects pile up and group discussions take place for a precise ten minutes. Then what? Eat drink and be merry. Day before yesterday though, we had an awesome four hour jam session with lovely Indian songs dashed and sprinkled with select classics from the west. Incumbents in question: Kavita with a number of years of training backing her voice, Chitra, maybe not trained but a lovely voice none the less, Abhishek, a master at strumming the life into old songs and new Hindi rock. Then there was an Austin who plays the blues and classic rock like no one else. Binita, Khyati, Tanaya, Amruta, Devang, Sana, and Amisha, all fans of music joined in every song and sang aloud in a way I have never heard them. Was such awesome fun. The beauty of it all is when you get back home, there is something new to think and smile about. When one looks back at the day and thinks of all the people one has met and known, it just adds another name to the list of a well lived life. There is guilt in having spent a non-productive day but it is so trifled by the feeling of having achieved a new friend. And dear lord I sound like a desperate housewife or something so I better balk right here.

Considering the kind of write-ups I’m posting these days, I have decided to entertain guest-posts. If the humble readership of this web-page entices any of u, kindly mail me anything you would like to post.

rakshit.doshi@rediffmail.com

Up-Dates

A week or so gone by since I last wrote. The reasons being, lots of project work and lots more of project work. Unaccountable hours spent on the chair, staring at the screen, coordinating the motion of the hand that holds the mouse with the eye-movement. The mind rattling off ideas, the gut discarding many while the limbs are still working with those ideas that were filtered through all tests of logic and intuition.

I have come to realize that the field I am in requires a lot of intuition. Recently we studied the methodology of de-layering an advertisement. There are a number of steps that go into doing so. But then again, behind each of the methodically theorized steps, there lies an element of intuition. Like, if we are to judge the objective of the ad, there is no way that a judgment made by two individuals will concur. This is where the intuition kicks in. Paradoxically; the intuition only works when you have enough experience in stripping ads down to its element and getting it right. Conclusion being, you might not get the damn thing right for the first few hundred ads, but you will get there. Or so I would love to believe.

Anyway, back to project updates… there is a film marketing project which I am not allowed to talk about (G14 classified!) since the film is in its making and we are to design the marketing plan for it. That’s about all the information I can dispense. Then there is an assignment where we have to work on consumer insights using certain techniques called laddering and collage (and no, I’m in no mood to explain its working. If interested, call me.) Another kick ass project is to make a power point presentation about any subject. This is obviously for the power point training sessions we’ve had over the past six weeks. It has finally come to an end and what comes now is even better… animation. How cool is that?! So, the presentation topic I have chosen is, very narcissistically (pronounce that correctly in one go and I shall bow down and pray for thy tongue), ME! Trying to make an innovative kind of a resume. Let us see how it works.

Oh, I almost forgot, this weekend the class is going to Kune, a hillock between Khandala and Lonavala. It’s a ‘self-actualization experience’ trip, but haha, we know better now, don’t we? So definitely looking forward to that one. I have half-a-mind to go to my place in Khandala, ‘while we are at it’.

Went to Tavern this Sunday. Van, Ankit and I. It was quite obvious we were missing Mickey but more so, Muffi, our regular buddy at Tavern. He now resides in the land of opportunities… the States. This chap would not spend a moment without howling at the lead guitarist of Queen and head banging at a U2 track. Right hand holding the butt of a dying cigarette, left hand high above his furiously nodding head, his index and pinky stretched to the extent of breaking the skin in between them. Man, Tavern felt empty. Just while we were discussing this, Van’s cell goes off and there is Muffi at the other end! What can I say? It was a surprise for a second but somehow, it faded into the obvious. It always happened with Mickey and me. He would call to rescue me from the tightest situations and depressed evenings by just landing up at wherever I am and calling me and saying… ‘Come down man, I’m outside your gate…” Always! He always would be there when I wanted to get out. Sigh!

Work beckons and I shall answer the call. Have some presentations to make this week and wind up before we set out of the city. Cheersh! :)

A Night in Heaven

As the silent night presides over the meetings of the stars and watched the moon perform, the heavens lit up in celebration for an evening given away to the request made by one of its fans from the planet down below. The noise of the impatient ocean takes but a while to fade itself out as the guests of the ‘fan’ arrive to greet the night with ‘spirits’ most called for.

Humor takes turns to bless the spoken words of each individual and the laughs adorn the mouths of the rest that hear the one speaking. Jokes fly around and giggles and chuckles transform themselves into mind-numbing laugh riots as a bolt of spirit trickles down the throats of them that were present there. From the closed room to the open balcony. The crowd of few (six or so), moves in and out frequenting the high of the spirits consumed (inside the closed room) and interwoven with an admiration for nature’s ultimate creations (in the balcony). The night still feels no older than it was two hours ago. The ignorant owl and a bat or two fly past not understanding why the good humor is fading and bouts of emotional anguish are taking over. Some moved to tears and others to empathy and all moved from mood ‘happy’ to mood ‘what the fuck, am I here for?’ An arrival much less expected but still well made sends all of the (moods) above in a tizzy. Otherwise an acquaintance of the host, she meets all and normality makes its way back into the wary interiors of the flat. But little did the ‘fan’ of the heavens know that his little dream had been granted and even as he downed another glass, he grew on to the night and the guests.

As a voyeur cloud floats past, it smiles at the couple locked in an unbreakable bond of facial expressions. The heat of two bodies coming closer, raise the temperature of their thoughts and feelings. The first sensation of a tender peck on the mouth and the desire to feel it again takes over. The desire manifests itself in actions now no more governed by the conscious mind. The spirits or the desire itself, one may blame it on either, but the fact remains, that what followed was unprecedented. The fingers on the sides of the waist crept behind the body as the arms took their place. They gently smiled as the noses rubbed and the breath of one intoxicated that of the other. The lips were sealed, mutually, but once again and no room was left for questioning this numbness. The time flew past and yet stood still as the embrace loosened for a while, only to be a little tighter the next time around. The fluid still flowed, the smoke still continued to blur the images of the mind and reality itself was no less of an illusion.

The night stretched like a tired housewife who has just about finished her chores and is craving to lie down and yawn as she delves into the deepest slumber. The moon, sets in the sky after wishing a magnificent good night to the two who lay on the bed and even as they watched it cross behind the great coconut palm, they thanked the stars for being around, while they held each other. The world could possibly come to an end but the two lay in no regret even if it did. The sense of living was complete. The pride in dying would be a bonus but the musing soon faded out as the day faded in. The reality of the world beckoned them to rise, and follow the day as it progressed. The only hope one had was not to let this night be just a page in the enormous history of eventful logs. One hoped in hell as one would soon find out, it was a night only to be written and forgotten about… forever.

A dream is not to be lived; the beauty of a dream lies in the fact that it is not reality. For the one time that it did change forms, it now remains as a memory of the dream, which is even more beautiful.

Back To Nostalgia

It has been months since I went back to my engineering days and remembered anything from there. Abeer, though, has an awesome post on ONE of the MANY incidents and activities that have taken place on the other side of ‘the gap of Mankhud’. Albeit, this was after I left the engineering clan and shifted to a humble graduation in commerce. This is a post I had written when I was surrounded by the memories of Nerul and I personally love this piece for its sheer honesty and expression. And there are these conversations that keep comeing back to me like sunlight through rainy days. I really want to post this one with Abeer. It probably has faded through his memory but it was a turning point in my life and I bloody well remember it.

DISCLAIMER: the words are close to what they actually were, though modified to make its reading more… erm… reader-friendly?, if I may say so myself. Plus, I had written this some six months back, and it just reflects the fact that I will never regret the decision I had taken then.

Revert

I stubbed the cigarette and gave out the last puff of smoke high above my head only to blur out the bright, shiny moon. The air was crisp, motionless and even unforgiving cold. The guitars of David Gilmore cried softly in the background. The solo of “comfortably numb” had reached the part I loved most when Abeer’s voice broke through annoyingly. “The bugger can really play man!” he said with a tone that even priests could swear was something they never heard of a true devotee.

“Ya, you bet, he’s a god”

“Are you through with your assignment work?”

“No, got a little frustrated with repeating the same drab over and over again, just came out for a smoke. How about you?”

“Almost done. I should get through with it by four in the morning.”

“Its already 2:15 pal, you’re quite fast I must say.”

“No my dear, you’re slow! What is it with you anyway man? You seem to be all annoyed a lot more than usual, why?”

My roommates and I shared a strange relationship. We never spoke to each other about our personal lives. Some times we made it seem as if we had nothing to talk about besides our daily routine. But within ourselves we knew we all had a story. Not necessarily dark and unpleasant but still something that was not suitable to share – at least that’s what I would like to believe. But still, it was not true that we did not care about one another. The four of us made a good team. A perfect example of spaced out closeness. This probably was one of the most rare moments when someone bothered to ask why the other was not upto his optimum. Most of the times it was left unnoticed and sometimes even the person were left undisturbed but no helping hands offered to the drowning… never… until now.

“Tell me this, why did you choose to be an engineer? What made you pick it up?”

“Oh for F$#% sake, don’t even start with this…”

“No tell me, why an engineer…?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. I took it up because I had to. It was providence if you will”

“Humm. I want to go back. I don’t feel this is anywhere close to my future. Not the one that I picture at least”

“Dude, I think you need some sleep, you’ve gone mad!”

“No, I’m serious, I don’t feel at home, it’s so uncomfortable”

Abeer had this weird question mark on his face. It did not make him look lost, just surprised. He could relate to what I was saying but he just wanted a clarification before he jumped up and gave me a lecture about not being a quitter, or so I was expecting him to do.

He spoke with a calm voice but a mellowed feeling of anguish in it. “You cant just quit, its two years, its just a bit too deep into the quicksand for you to pull yourself out now man… do you realize the consequences?”

I waited for him to finish and even after he had finished. I had never heard him speak that way ever. It took me a while to digest the beauty of the concern before I replied. “What’s the worst case Garg? I lose two years, that’s all, right? And of coarse a lot of money but what am I gaining here? You can see me struggle, can’t you? You know the kind of marks I am getting. My term papers to be rewritten are way more then the number of subjects that are there in the term. I chose a path, I failed, and I want to turn around. Can I not?”

“Man, these decisions can not be made over a cigarette and some music in a night. Take a few days off and see how you are going to direction your life… correction, redirection your life. It’s a tough one but if you pull through this phase and actually get out of the muck, I’ll respect you for your courage. It takes real balls to do this and it wont be easy on your parents either.” he patted my shoulder as a soldier would when he bid farewell to a fellow who’s going home for a vacation and he, going on the line to fight the unyielding enemy.

I could see him from the balcony. His head buried in the piles of papers and graphs and files and lots of black words scribbled on the white papers. Words that made sense neither to the person who wrote them nor to the many who copied them as they were. I then turned to my pile of similar words and resented each sheet that fluttered in the coldness. I felt lost, distressed and maybe even misguided. This was not for me. This was not my war. I was in the wrong frame. It grew stronger, the feeling of damnation and horrific guilt. I wanted to run, to move faster then the death of my future that was following me. It was gaining on me and I had to divert. For a while I saw no other option but to leave two years and all the mistakes committed in the two years behind me; start afresh.

Then it hit me like a brick. I realized I was not the only one involved in this kind of a decision-making. I had a predicament called parents and an impediment called family. I had to go through a rigorous test of patience and understanding and at the same time enhance the power of explanation, for the task at hand was one that was going to strain the very fabric of my skill to justify my action. I had to be patient if I had to bring this through. And I was, somehow, ready for it.

A strange rebuke also shouted itself out in my head. I kept hearing words like “coward” and “loser” ad infinitum. The voice tried to psych me out and it succeeded but only momentarily. I knew it was wisdom and not cowardice to stop following dogma and to pursue dreams. I was not clear of what my dream was but I knew I would find it out in a matter of a few days. First things first, the nuke had to be dropped at home.

Abeer’s lights went off and his pile was cleared. Mine still repulsed me. I stared at the empty streets and saw nothingness at its very best. The riot in my mind grew dimmer and the sky that hung above me grew brighter. The sun broke the string of thoughts and the alarm in my cell phone cried out loud as if it wanted to do its job of waking me up and then go back to sleep after doing its job. I had a submission that day… I did not go, was “sick”, you know!

The Hand That Feeds

I was to write this a while ago. It had been on my mind but it just traveled to the back of it. Read Lall’s post and remembered this phenomenal man’s story.

Anna, the Xavier hostel’s MES owner and cook lives in Ghatkopar. The fateful Tuesday evening when the rains took a toll on the city, there were about 500 students stranded in college and decided to stay there for over a day. This man with his team of four or five, cooked meals for all the residents (temporary and permanent) and probably a few hundred liters of tea and coffee. For two full days, this man stays in the canteen and does this service, when he has no idea of how his family is and the fact that they don’t know he is safe in college (no phones stood the test, remember?) On the third day, this guy somehow goes home and not much surprise, finds his ground floor house submerged in six feet of water. His wife and children were safe in a flat above theirs and the neighbors helped them salvage some precious belongings and bucketed out some water while Anna was away. They knew he would have stayed back and they had not lost hope. When Anna reaches home he does the little saving he can and is quite unable to restore his life’s earnings and savings. Come day four and Anna is back in the college canteen, serving the meals to the students/hostelites. He narrated the whole incident on insistent asking by the students, and smiled a bit in complete disapproval of life.

“Your wife and kids are home alone today also? Why didn’t you just stay back and straiten things out?” asked worried faces of the students.

Anna smiled again, wiped the sweat of his face with a towel on his shoulder and said; “agar mein ghar pe rahega toh mera do bachchalog khaana khayega… agar college ayega toh mera sau bachcha khaana khayega…” he picked up the plates and walked out. What was left behind were startled faces that had no way to react to this; and rightly so.

A few days ago, Binita sang us a beautiful song in our half-hour break (which was actually an hour on that day, we had been spared early…) and it was a song that I had heard for the first time then.

Well, the lyrics that I shall post at the end of the rant are good enough to speak for themselves and not to mention, that is the kind of a mood I’m in, and these are the thoughts in my head even as I type. Games, that’s what life keeps playing with you, and it has a bloody good stamina to go on playing incessantly that way. Just when you begin to understand what is black and white of the current situations, pop comes in a dark shade of maroon, not to mention the dash of blue and green streaks across, probably thrown in by life for 'kicks'… the number of colors are directly proportionate to the complexity of your perspective on life itself. Some people chose to take on the palette and paint the canvas the way they want. Some make the most of the shades, mix them up to give a better looking shade and brush away. Others look for the right shade to set in and then pick their brushes up. And a select few who decide to pick the damn colors up from the box and make the mixes themselves. I personally like to paint with the primary solid colors that are there in the tube. If there is a wet patch on the canvas (wet from a previous stroke) the shade will form on the canvas itself, and I am happy with whatever it is. If I know that a blue looks good with a yellow, I really don’t care about that little green that showed itself up at the intersections. Yeah, that’s it! That’s how I think of life; that’s the way I can get the closest to having a philosophy in place. But then again, you never know when and how some clumsy oaf comes around and stroke his brush to try and make your painting look slightly better. Trust you me, there are a plethora of such ‘freelance painters’ around the place who have no canvas of their own but only a brush and a desire to ‘screw your painting up’. That’s why we call life “ironic”, that’s the song Binita sang and this is where I let you in on the lovely words of a new favorite song of mine… thank you Binita.

IRONIC (Alanis Morissette)

An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery and died the next day
It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
Isn't it ironic ... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought ... it figures

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids good-bye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
'Well isn't this nice...'
And isn't it ironic ... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought ... it figures

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face

It's a traffic jam when you're already late
It's a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic... don't you think (my favorite lines) :-)

A little too ironic... and yeah I really do think...
It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought ... it figures

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out

Good Deeds

This Sunday, the group of friends (Mickey’s nearests and dearests) decided to have an amazing day, in his fond memory.

Ricky, one of his closest buddies, had flown in from Madras to pay his homage and was here for a day or two. Sunday morning at 8:30 or so, we (friends) met up at Mickey’s place for breakfast. A stunning meal of sandwiches and lots of sweets (as is madu typicality) was laid out and the bunch of us ate to our hearts content. Most of these were menu items that tickled Mickey’s taste buds and as I have mentioned earlier, this guy was a total food-freak. Mellow walk down the memory lane and the recent past all made for good table conversation and the good part was, no one was critical about the misfortune. The shock had subsided and what remained was an empty space which will remain that way for a while now. Only time can tell.

There was a sudden roar about getting late to go to Matunga, to Don Boscow School. Mansi, a close friend, had her in-laws arrange a meal for some poor children and aged individuals who could not afford meals. It was the most wonderful experience I have ever experienced. There was this chapel close by that was resonating the prayers of the Sunday mass and these two long rows of hungry starving people sitting and waiting for a meal which they did feel they deserved but could have never afforded it. We were seven friends and each one went around serving these people their delicacies; Sweets, samosas, rotis, daal and rice, humbly accepted and thanked for by each one.

I have made a vague attempt at capturing a glimpse of some faces on my cell phone and it was heart-wrenching to see them eat like they have never eaten for years or something. Usually, the organization that is involved in this kind of charity, fed about 300-350 individuals every Sunday but this time it was 500 people for reasons unknown. We prayed for the soul of Mickey and even went to the chapel to thank the lord for having given us the opportunity and the resources to have had this charity done.

I don’t know why but the entire incident left me satisfied with myself. I know it was not the contribution of money or the physical presence that was making me feel good; it was the sheer joy of seeing a smile on a well fed face. At that point, I knew Mickey approved. I could feel him smile. We drove back home and enjoyed every minute of the ride. Somewhere we all knew that we had to enjoy life in the here and now. Somewhere Mickey left us thinking and more importantly, he left us a legacy; a legacy that taught us to appreciate life as a gift and be ready to part with it at any given point in time.

That evening, Van and I decided to go somewhere and we landed up at Tavern. Our favorite hang out. The DJ played “wish you were here” and I could barely control a filled throat and a tear that cried to let itself out. I could not let it go for it would bring more behind it. So I smiled and Van made a very very apt statement then, or may be before that, I don’t remember… but he said, “We should not moan Mickey’s death, we should celebrate his life”. So we do. We drink to Mickey.

Wish You Were Here (Pink Floyd)

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell, Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

I take A Bow!

I realize I have had the first thousand hits on my blog from the time I had installed the counter. Hence I shall take this moment and opportunity to wave my hand at the dearest visitors and send my humble “thank you” to you all.

No seriously, its been a brilliant experience to have been read and the fact that most of you’ll come back, is sheer inspiration for me to write and rant some more. I always look forward to a comment or two and I am generally not disappointed. So again, thanks to those who have been commenting quite regularly and for those who don’t bother… START COMMENTING… :)

See you around…

Happy Birthday Ayesha

Ayesha

I am guilty as charged.

Today was the birthday of my little munchkin of a friend, Ayesha. Little because she is about six years younger to me and munchkin for reasons that are for me to know.

A note on Ayesha: A Sydenhamite ever since her junior college and now in the BMS faculty, Ayesha has lived up to be beyond a typical Sydenham-girl. She is a fantastic communicator and a brilliant mind at planning and leadership. An avid reader and a mistress of good diction, she has been a case study for me and in her words, I have been her ‘mentor’, but I would say I have only been a guide most of the time. (The world looks different when you are looking up to it.) She has been an active entity with the Annual Magazine Committee of Sydenham and has worked her way up to being the next chairperson of the committee in nothing more than two years of her being in there. On a more personal note, she has been one of the most matured and ‘before-her-time’ individual, I have ever come across. I truly admire her honesty, respect and empathetic nature to boundless lengths and I really love her for her take on life, its teachings and its earnestness.

Here’s wishing you A Happy Belated Birthday. I love you kiddo and may God shower you with all that you want, love and most importantly deserve. :)

A Tribute

You know what the worst experience in life is?

To hold up the dead body of your best friend on your shoulder, carry him to the funeral alter and set him ablaze. Yesterday (2nd Aug, 2005) was the longest and I hope the worst day of my life. I lost my best friend Mickey to a sudden heart-attack and the worst part is, none of us still know why it happened. A healthy, well built, handsome hunk who loved life more than anyone I can imagine, lost his most priced possession-his LIFE and we lost our most priced gem.

I have been a friend to Mickey for almost ten years now. The school days where we had an estranged childhood, the both of us, bonded well on that front. We were the only friends the other had. Universally disliked or may be just never ‘in the group’, we had our own fun in school and this guy transformed once we were out of school. He was the most kind, understanding, and extremely giving person. Someone who taught me that life is not for worrying your way through it but to live it the best we can. He taught me how to dance, how to dress well, what perfumes to buy, where to save money without compromising quality, and most importantly, how to be a nice guy and smart all at the same time. An over-enthusiastic party animal, a major movie buff, and a hard-core foodie. This chap was a one-man party package. And all of twenty-three. He had three dream; owning the fastest bike, having the fastest car and making shit-loads of money. On the face of it, these are the most common desires of all young individuals, and that was what was special about him. He was just another young blood and he admitted to it in style.

I’m not in a condition to talk about him too much, especially in the past-tense. I can not digest that this one heck of a healthy bugger is no more going to be eating out with us, or just meet up for half an hour for his dose of smokes. I can do but little to pay tribute to him and this post is a prayer to have his soul rest in eternal peace. You beat us to it once again man! God bless you!

Mukesh Bihani (12-01-82 to 02-08-2005)

…ONE SWEET DAY (Mariah Carrey feat. boys-II-men)

Sorry, I never told you, all I wanted to say.

Now it's too late to hold you.

'Cause you've flown away, so far away.

Never, Had I imagined, yeah, living without your smile.

Feelin' and knowing you hear me.

It keeps me alive.

Alive!

And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven,

Like so many friends we've lost along the way,

And I know eventually we'll be together.

One sweet day.

Picture a little scene from Heaven.

Darling, I never showed you.

Assumed you'd always be there.

I took your presence for granted.

But I always cared

And I miss the love we shared.

And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven.

Like so many friends we've lost along the way.

And I know eventually we'll be together.

One sweet day.

Picture a little scene from Heaven.

Although, the sun will never shine the same,

I'll always look to a brighter day.

Yeah, Lord, I know, when I lay me down to sleep,

You'll always listen, as I pray!

And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven,

Like so many friends we've lost along the way,

And I know eventually we'll be together.

One sweet day.