Road

Ram Gopal Verma is a kind man , so I steal the title of his movie for my title to this post. Now for the post. The day began just the same. The same wonderfully “appetite-killer” breakfast which was an insult to the hen who laid the eggs that went into its making. If that hen tasted that omelette , she would spit it out and ask the cooks, “you killed my kids to make this piece of crap ? ” . Even the newspaper was the same. Man kills wife. Woman kills husband. Then both of them kill themselves. The same old Hum Vs. Tum battle, but without the songs and the happy and safe , Saif – Rani ending.

And then I came to know that Nidhi, who is just like a sister to me, had rammed her kinetic in some kind of school bus a day before. The kids got late for their classes maybe. And the little girl landed up in a hospital. Apparently, she is relatively ok now. Some bruises and scratches . And an improved knowledge of the way the underside of a bus looks. Get well real soon , sister .

I used to have a bike when I was in my engineering college. My dad and me had made a kind of pact – “I get into an IIT. Dad buys me a bike.” I could not get into IIT. Dad still bought me a bike , though it was not presented in the “Kodak moment” manner , where dad comes up from behind and covers my eyes and asks “guess what?” and I say “bike ?!”. It was a more practical manner , where dad was like , “Ok , Ok , you bugger ! Now eat your lunch and stop slamming every door in the house.” Emotional blackmail. Harmless and effective. Try it. Girls already use it. Boys can make a start now.

So I got it , and used it for almost four years of my engineering , after which it was sold .So these days , the poor thing works hard to carry around Mr.Bhatia , Mrs.Bhatia , their kids Jaspreet -Manpreet and some particular woman from Mr.Bhatia’s office , whenever Mrs.Bhatia is not in town.

But I have never been involved in a big accident . I have driven into a vegetable cart , into a bicycle , into a group of college going girls , into a stupidly parked scooter , into a thick sardaar ji whose idea of asking for a lift was jumping in the way of my motorcycle in a rather sudden manner. But no buses or trucks. On a personal note , driving into the pack of girls was most embarrassing but most enjoyable too. Sardar ji episode comes a close second , just due its impressive score on the enjoyment barometer. To listen to abuses in a pure punjabi accent , it was good and pleasant .

But I have seen a friend spend a year in bed , when he should have been studying in USA. He chose the wrong night to test his bike’s capabilities , and spent many a night regaining his own physical capabilities.

You have seen those advertisements on doordarshan. Use iodized salt to prevent swollen necks , feed ORS to munna when he shits a lot , wear a condom all the time , and the rest .You know how boring those preaching advertisements are. So I won't make this into another “drive carefully , your kids and your dog are waiting at home” advertisements. Just that to imagine a bruised and hurt nidhi makes me feel like doing a traffic policeman act . So whenever you take out your car / bike / scooter / moped / bicycle / truck / bus / auto onto the road , just remember that a lot of people want you to return alive , primarily , all those guys whom you owe some money .If you drive some vehicle , please drive it carefully. It takes a moment to ruin everything. Do not allow that moment to happen .

And just as a little sidenote , I know the “To be continued” still waits uncompleted. And I owe you that one. But trust me , I would have done it if I could. I am really sorry for this.But believe me , I would rather marry Mamta Banerjee than acting pricey.But I got a reason this time .How is “Due to unexpected and unavoidable circumstances” for a makeshift excuse ?

And as far as my experiments with accelerators and clutches are concerned , a new chapter beckons when I start work next year. Again , me and Dad have made a pact – “ Son gets a good job. Son gets a car.” In case I get a good job , it shall be all peaceful with dad handing over the keys to me and white doves in the background. Else , emotional blackmail. Harmless and Effective.

Nidhi , wish you get well soon . And please deliver pleasant newsflashes to make my mornings more eventful. Till then , I can try to love hen-insulting omlettes and murderous spouses.

Bunny , your memories shall live on.

Hey ! How are you doing ? If you are doing great , that's great. If you are not doing great , do not make me fall into some depression by pouring your sob story , and just keep quiet. Ok. My exams are over.I do not have anything to do.Not even a dog to take out for a walk. By the way , talking of depression , do you think animals fall into depression sometimes ? I mean , would Johnny the parrot fall into some depression if Julie the sparrow broke up with him after their romance and all those songs they sang in the trees ? Or would Bruno the stray dog fall into depression thinking of all those french poodles who are bought dog food from supermarkets , get a sweater to wear in the winters and are carried around in big and swanky cars by their owners ? No ? You think animals do not fall into depression ? Then why is bunny the rabbit trying to kill himself here !

"Uhm.I flunked my physics exam.Dad would feed me to the dogs.So I built this to kill myself.Tell mom I love her .And tell my physics teacher I hate her"

"Mom does not let me watch TV.I am killing myself.And see , I got the remote now"

"Eee.I hope this won't be too electric a way to die."
"No one loves me.Happy Diwali"
"Aah.This post is too stupid.How do you survive this blog ?I don't wanna live now".


I am sorry.I sound like some three year old , right ? Maybe even a two and a half year old . And if you are really frustrated by this stupid post , you can punch some wall , or yell "aaaarggghh" real loud , or call your ex girlfriend and tell her she is crap or just send me some hate mail with scary lines like "I am coming for you" or "You are dead" or " I am cleaning my rifle". But please do not fall into depression.Do not be another bunny the rabbit.

Say No to clothes ?

Flashback – I write the last post , do not complete it and scoot off into the sunset with the words “ To be continued”. Flashback ends.

No , don’t give me the “Cruel guy of the Month” award yet. I know I have been cruel , something like Hitler and Mussolini combined. Now I know how difficult it is to leave something hanging with the words “To be continued”. It’s like , you write “to be continued” and go back to work but this thought stays at the back of mind – “man , I promised to complete that , I gotta do it , god is seeing me , I gotta complete it.” My sympathies to Ekta Kapoor. She got a tough job.And my apologies to all of you for making you come back to check and think – “ Ok. He has still not completed it.I want to chop him into 836 pieces now ”.

You seen the Bajaj Avenger advertisement ? Where the guy says “ I forgive them all. I feel like god”. Here is your chance to feel somewhat like god , by forgiving me. I am really sorry. And you know the best part ? I still haven’t completed the last post. Ok . Thank you for the “Cruel guy of the Year” award now. But in the meantime , my exams got over. And I found this picture somewhere.

“Hi.I am Mallika Sherawat. Remember Murder , naughty boy ? As you can see , I have been made to wear a saree , and that too with a “pallu” as big as a curtain , which is covering most of my body. This causes me a lot of mental agony. I hate wearing clothes . Even when not in the bathroom. But this photographer won’t understand. I wish he clicks the camera now so that I can take off this damn saree and get back to my natural and open state ”.

In the photograph , Mallika Sherawat is actually wearing something which could be called decent. And it is more disturbing than the fact that I have screwed my exam so bad , that the only way I can pass it is that I kidnap the wife , daughters , aunts , and grandmother of the professor and then call him up and growl “Don’t flunk me or else….(sinister laugh in the background)”.


But my mental /physical/social/economical agony pales in comparison to the pain Mallika aunty must have felt in posing for this picture. I mean , anything more than a bikini , and she feels over dressed . I wonder what made her wear a proper saree and on the top of that , pose for a camera too. That can shred her image , which she has pain stakingly built wearing shreds of cloth.

Now now now , I am not the type of guy who hates too many people. I don’t hate many people. I do not hate our neighbour , Mrs.Kocchar , who drove her maruti van into my bicycle when I was seven. I do not hate the senior who made me sing “Kaliyon Ka Chaman” , complete with belly button thrusts and gyrations , as a part of my ragging. I am the sort of person who finds traces of cuteness in even a Gulshan Grover with all his evil activities. But I don't like Mallika Sherawat. Boom Boom. Those were the hand grenades lobbed at me by “Mallika Fan Club” members.

I mean , in all her movies , she does three things , in a loop. Get in bed , be in bed , get out of bed. Repeat loop. And at the alarming rate she goes around kissing , I wonder why haven’t her lips fallen off by now. So when I saw this photograph , for me , it was like I had spotted a snake in my soup. Mallika in a saree. I was like “Man. Someone needs to record the exact time .This is a historic moment. I saw Mallika covered up”.

They say she represents the “maadern-bold-indian woman” , who is unafraid of expressing herself and flaunts the “in-your-face” attitude. They say she is unafraid of being bold. Bold ? What does she do , wrestle with crocodiles or chase criminals or something ? To my underdeveloped greycells , she is someone who uses her body to achieve what is meant to be obtained through more decent means.

Girls are like “ Whoa ! Those Shiv Sainiks ask us not to wear short skirts ! What is this , the stone age ?” I mean , women liberation is not in women being like “See , I am taking off my clothes now. And you can't stop me.Got that ? See , I am taking off my clothes. I am the liberated woman. I have the power to do what I want.”

I feel women are made by god to be much more sensitive and mature and complete than men. And that’s their beauty.They are elegant and caring and have this delicate sense about them. And their liberation lies in being able to do what they wish , but not in disregarding the modesty and elegance which is the essence of feminism. I mean , if a girl thinks her freedom is in wearing minimal clothes in public , she needs to see the thousands of ordinary girls all over India , who wear cotton salwaar suits and may be termed “behenjis” or “orthodox” , but have an inner confidence to go out and work as teachers and nurses , instead of being a Mallika .

I must explain my position. My exams ended a few hours back and its almost 4 in the morning and I am real low on sleep and I feel like a log of wood right now. So in case you are wondering why I am typing what I am , even I do not know.

But to think that Mallika is just all over , from the cover page of cosmopolitan to the movie with Jackie Chan to interviews on CNN. That makes me feel strange. I don’t hate many people.I don’t even hate the spammer guys who leave comments about their health insurance sites and bike repair sites and ceiling fans sites on blogs. But I don’t like Mallika Jee.

I hate post titles

Ok.Now , I am not so bad usually.But I was at home and I did not have a computer there.I know that makes it look like I stay at some remote village in Bostwana..But that is why I did not complete the earlier post.I know , its not like the issue of my incomplete post was covered on NDTV or something , but just for the handful of people who asked , I would complete it right after I handle my exams now.Thats it.I am not so bad usually.

Me , grandpa and girls

I am going home.Wait.I am "flying" home.Aeroplane.I am so kiddish and stupid.
I would be there for some eight days.And thanks for the wishes.You people just add to my belief - Life is good.People are good.World is good.

Now for the post.It really happened to me , once.

********

Scene 1.

"Shall we meet ?" - The words appear on the screen.

My eyes shoot out straight.My tongue falls out.I do three and half somersaults in my chair. And then the golden words of my grandfather resound in my ears - " Munnu beta , ladki ko jyada bhaav nahee dena !.I remember my grandpa , calm myself , then type back "Umm..im not sure..ok , ill try..".She types back -" Ok , if you are not free , we can meet up later".I wish my granddad was with me , because I really want to tell him "Sir , your theory sucks like a vaccum cleaner".I hit the damage control button.I type back - "Ah..not really..I think I can make it. Sorry , grandpa".

****

Man Man Man , I am meeting up with a girl I met on internet !This is it.This is "When Harry met Sally" happening.Uee ma , I am Sally , she is Harry..err..I mean the other way round.You see , I am so excited , I hardly know what I am saying.I am just so excited and flushing..err..blushing.

****
Ok.she wants me to turn up at Music World at 1 pm.That is romantic.Grandpa used to say " Munnu beta , a girl has a very unstable mind.She would always keep changing things".Grand dad ,what do you know.Now she wants us to meet at 2 pm.It is still great.Of course , grandpa can be right sometimes.Now she wants me to turn up at a Metro Station.It is fine.I really love the idea of waiting for her sitting at some metro station , surrounded by sweaty office goers , paanwallahs and urchins in striped chaddis.It is so close to real India.It is all right.I am feeling ok.And grandpa can be right sometimes.

*********
Scene 2.

The Metro Station

I stand leaning against a big pillor.I knew I should have been a little less eager.I reached the station 45 minutes before the appointed time.And after half an hour of waiting amongst screeching metros , rushing people and a stupid TV which is belting out stupid bengali songs which would put a bus full of hyperactive three year olds to sleep , I am feeling not-exactly-euphoric.But just 15 minutes more , and a cool breeze will come breezing into the station , white clouds will waft in and float around my ankles magically , rose petals will fall from above , four well fed violinists will jump out of a metro and start playing "My heart will go on" and then she would walk in , with the breeze playing with her hair and a shy smile on her lips.Suddenly , my grand dad crops up in my imagination.He is wearing a white kurta pajama and has a dull brown shawl wrapped around his shoulders.He is sitting on a rocking chair.He looks at me with a deadpan face and says "This kinda stuff happens only in movies".

No way grandpa.What do you know about girls.Ten minutes to go for the violins and clouds.

*********
Scene 3.

It is time.She should be here any moment.I stand up straight , check if my clothes look ok , if my shoes look ok , if I look ok.Nothing looks ok.My tee shirt is crumpled after I had to sit between those gorilla clones in the metro on my way to here.My shoes have got so dirty , it looks like I am just back from playing soccer , and scoring two goals too , in some african mudland , and I dont look ok due to natural and biological reasons.I look around for a beauty parlour and a plastic surgeon in this metro station.Grandpa zooms back in my imaginations.His back is towards me as he waters the plants in some garden.Then he looks back and says "You look like god's mistake ,munnu".

Grandpa , you just dont know .Girls dont fall for looks.They dig inner beauty.I am a Miss.Universe , internally.My intestines and kidneys are beautiful.

*********

Would munnu find love again at this station ? Is this the start of yet another love saga ? Can munnu prove his granddad wrong ?

( To be continued )........Am I watching too many of those "to be continued" soaps now ?

I am dumb.Real dumb.

The distance between the moon and earth is pretty long.And the distance I have to go , before I can be called a "responsible member of the society" , is longer than that. But still ,one thing which is pumping in some kind of meaning in my life these days , is some work I am doing for the Indian Institute Of Cerebral Palsy (IICP) , an NGO here. It's noticeably better than downloading data about the textile market of Indonesia from the internet , and putting it together to make some report and submit many such reports and getting an MBA degree at the end.

Yesterday , while returning to the campus from IICP , I stopped by at Cafe Coffee Day.And sitting there and chomping on a vegetable sandwich , I looked around at all the "couples" who sat around me.Holding hands.Shy smiles.Loud giggles.People in "love" maybe.

Love. As in , the "boy-girl" love.Ok.ladies first.As in the "girl-boy" love .

If you shifted to earth very recently , its another matter.But if you have been around on this planet for anything more than 15 minutes , you would have heard this word.

Love.It is as overused a word as a public toilet in a dysenteric locality.For a bollywood director , "love" must be the greatest invention ever , right next to fire and wheel.To spot a UFO while on your way to office tomorrow is easier than spotting a movie which does not involve the deadly trio - boy , girl , love.A typical bollywood director can do without his underwear under his pants , but not without "love" in his movie.And if you missed the love component in movies , its usage is quite abundant in real life ,as is the usage of guns in Iraq.

My friend says he is in "love" with the girl who works at the second floor of his office.I am told the punjabi girl in my class is in "love" with the hairy south indian guy in the next class.The other day , I saw the boy who hands out the food in our hostel mess , with the girl who does the dishes.Maybe , they are in "love" too.Even the cyber world is bustling with desperate flirts who hope to find "love".

And then this boyfriend-girlfriend thing.Its like a toothbrush.You got to have one.

" Hi , I have brain cancer."

Thats ok , we all gotta die anyways.

"Hello , I got limphoosirkoma of the intestine."

Chill , Rajesh Khanna in "anand" had it too.

"Namaste , my house burned down last night."

Arre tension nahi yaar , these things happen.

"Hey , I dont have a girlfriend."

What ! Why did not you tell me about this ? Oh poor boy , everything will be fine.God can be real cruel sometimes...

So love is like the neighbourhood gossip .Everybody knows about love.Talks about love.

And the way this "love" word is used with the abandon of a drunk monkey , leaves me feeling strange.

I feel there are two different aspects.To love someone.And to be loved.It is said "to be loved" is a natural need.And for me , its a need and not love.As long as you want this person or need this person , you dont love her , you love yourself and want "to be loved".Love is not meant to be a selfish thing.Love is much harder and selfless than that.To love is not to wish for someone to be with oneself , but to give up oneself for that someone.Love is not in sharing coconut water on some beach, but in staying thirsty if it helps her.Love is not in her coming to you , but to care for her when you know she would not come to you.

For me , true love is not about the scene with your lady , where white clouds float around your ankles , and a cool breeze flows across the screen , well fed european guys play violins in the background , and you do a salsa with her and kiss her.For me , love's beauty is in being so consumed with it , that you forget your pains and smile , just because she smiled somewhere , aware of your existence no longer.

Love is not about wanting her , but wanting her happiness , with you or without you.

I wonder if the word "love" is used as a sweet cover for selfish desires , needs and wants.Its like dressing up osama in a monk's robe.Its like putting up a "St.Mary's charitable clinic" board outside a tantrik's camp.

I am no authority.I am no love guru with the sagacious face and the halo around my head.I am no headmaster of the "Institute of Love Matters" ( ILM.doesnt sound bad ).Infact I am more like someone who flunked thrice , was demoted for two years and then thrown out of ILM.But the way love is seen as some "coochie-coochie-valentines-gift-holding hands" concept leaves me feeling funny.Love is hard.Love is not a punishment which leaves you restless.But it is something which makes you feel a bliss in a punishment , just because she is happy.

I am not looking at any roses placed between yellowed pages.And I do not wish to insult anyone's feelings.Just that I feel, that to love someone is supposed to be something very deep and heartfelt, that when you say "I love you" to a girl , realise the responsibility and commitment it stands for. Its not about you anymore.Its about her.And I am not trying to preach anything here , please.Just that I felt something ,and wrote it.And if I dont make sense , and you wonder what's the problem with me - see the title to the post.