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.