Sunday, August 28, 2005

sending abhinav.exe to home.bmp.

Ladies and gentlemen.......Ladies and gentlemen ? This sounds like I am going to announce some business plan on how to increase condom sales in the state of Xanadu.
Hey buddies !
1.I am going home.
2.My dad thinks I am so lazy and irresponsible and non serious.
These two points combine.And I am subjected to a number of instructions which is slightly higher than the number of instuction a three year old kid needs to perform an open heart surgery.

My dad's battery of advices and instructions ,is unleashed in all its pristine glory just before I have to travel home.Some specimens of our phone conversations during these tantalising times of pre-travel preperation.

Dad : Munnu , remember to lock your room when you leave for the airport.
Me : Yes dad.
Dad : And for god's sake , dont leave the keys lying in the room after you do that.
Me : It is tough not to do that.But come what may , I will not leave the keys in my room after I lock it.Trust me.
Dad : Munnu , what are you wearing right now ?
Me : Huh ? Dad , I am wearing a bright red bikini with yellow stripes.Pure Cotton.
Dad : When will you learn to act like a human ? Tell me , its important.
Me : I am wearing a tee shirt and pair of shorts.
Dad : Remember to change into trousers before you leave for the airport.
Me : Dad , it is real good you told me.I was planning to leave with only cactus leaves covering me.
Dad : Did you keep the ATM card in your bag ?
Me : I am sorry.I just donated it to the Mumbai Dance Bar girls relief fund.They have given me a couple of passes to the "Blue Moon" dance bar.You free this saturday , dad?
Dad : Some things need to be taken seriously.Keep the ATM card in the bag.And do not announce that you have it.
Me ( yelling ) : Hey people , I got an ATM card in my bag , right pocket , inside the black case .Rob me ! No guns needed.No knives needed.Just ask.Lets make robberies with a smile , a reality.
There are lot more.I love to act whacky when my daddy dearest is trying to act serious.:)But I have to pack my bags now.So I will be going off the cyberworld now.For some time to come.I may meet the sweetest air hostess , propose to her when she brings me the candies , marry her on flight , hijack the plane and take it to switzerland , build a little cottage over there , and stay happily ever after with my airhostess wife to never come back.Or I may meet the same old air hostesses who dont respect my love-filled plans and land at home and stay there and come back all right.
But before abhinav.exe emails itself to home.bmp , I would copy paste an "travel advice" offliner my didi , who is in a different city from my family's , left on my messenger.And even though she thought I would travel by a train , with a didi like this , can anything go wrong with her chotu brother ?
"Travel safe.Donot talk to strangers - donot accepts chips/toffees/5stars/etc etc from strangers- count your belongings before you get into an auto/cab and after getting down the auto/cab - check it again all the night - handover to someone when you go to the loo but carry your importane stuff like wallet/cellphone/cards with you - don't oversleep - remind TT to wake you up at your station - donot try to get down at other stations - donot board or get down a running train - once again count your belongings after you get down from the cab/auto at your home - hug..oops.....bend, touch their feet and take blessings from your parents - donot tease your younger sister - donot entertain brides as yet - and do not give lifts to unknown girls on your bicycle - and be a good kid when you are at home - help your mom in the kitchen - donot overeat (indigestion) - and check your ticket both for the date and the time and the train number and board only that train - arrive at station a well hour ahead of the scheduled departure - check your ticket before you board the train - do not hand over your return ticket to the TT after you get down at delhi/gurgaon - keep your return ticket seperately and check a couple of days before your scheduled return ........ , chill out with your family ,mere hisse ka bhi khaa le (don't want to put on weight, am on diet you know ) , and tease choti sister as much as you can ,and convey my regards to all at home.CYA.Love, your sweetest didi"

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Fillum Faarmooolas

Do you see a Steven Speilberg in me ? A Sanjay Geela Bhansaali ? Abe dhyaaan se dekh ! Accha I will come a little down , do you see a Mahesh Bhatt in me ? I think you do not.No one does.Not my mom , not my dad , not my dentist , not my professors , not my friends.No one.But when I see in the mirror , I see a couple of oscars sticking out of my ears and six filmfare awards resting on the top of my head.I reallly think I can be a biggy director some day.And this desire of mine has nothing to do with the casting couch.And I have been working hard to be a director too.I have watched a mega number of hindi movies , belonging to the "churidaars-tight pants-eastmancolor" 1960s , the "bell bottoms-angry young man-smugglers" 1970s , the "disco-trying to be western-more disco" 1980s and the "overacting-shahrukh-chocolate-underworld" 1990s .And dad says , everything teaches you something.
I have been writing down some "this-surely-works" formulae which have been adopted universally across the hindi fillum industry.Now I hate to share some of these "faaarmulaaas" unearthed after "Barson kee mehnat" of watching movies.But then I guess you anyways do not have a steven speilberg in you to make any use of these.
-- >>The hero falls off a balcony , or slips in the bathroom , or is beaten by some goons and has to be hospitalised.The little red bulb over the "operation theatre" sign flips on.The heroine and the hero's parents are waiting outside with the looks of constipated camels.The little red bulb goes off , a tired looking doctor comes out , slips the stethoscope off his ears .Then , according to formula no.49 , the doctor should say " Hum ne unhe to bacha liya.But unkee yaddashht jaa chuki hai ." Common cold may be common in real life , but "yaddasht khona" is the commonest in reel life.
-- >>The extra goons are shot at by the hero , they die instantly as instant coffee.Not a sound.Just a little yell and they drop to the floor.One of the good guys is shot at.Then according to formula no.8 , he falls to the floor.Then someone rushes upto the dying person.He takes the dying person's head in his lap and shouts at the top of his voice "Main tumhe marne naheeeee dunga ! Main tumhe haaaspital le jaungaaa!".The dying guy asks him to shut up and then croons a proper three minute farewell speech where he asks the other dude to take care of his sister , girlfriend and dogs.And then the good guy dies.But take note , he would never die with closed eyes.His eyes would remain open.This allows the other guy to close the dead guy's eyes gently and break down with some heartrending music in the background.
-- >>The heroine's pink "dupatta" is caught in a gust of breeze and blows away smoothly.Now technically , this dupatta may get caught in the electricity cables above or land in a pile of cowdung or land in a public toilet or land on gulshan grover , but rule no.15 says , that it will keep flying poetically till it descends magically and wraps itself around the hero. Some real aviation fundaas at work there.
-- >>The hero has been hospitalised.The doctor has mouthed the customary "Inhe dawa naheee , duaa kee zarurat hai".Now the formula number 62 kicks in.The hero would have a Sardaar buddy , a muslim buddy , a christian buddy and a white saree clad mom.The sardaar would run off to his gurdwara , the muslim to masjid , the christian to church and the mommy to a temple , preferably Mata ka mandir.The mommy will yell something like "Tum mera beta mujhse naheen cheen sakti" and proceed to slam her forehead against the temple's main bell repeatedly.And amongst shots of a praying sardaar , muslim , christian and a ketchup-on-my-forehead moomy ,our sonny hero would sleepily open his eyes and whisper "Ma".I think this formula needs more research.It holds mind blowing potential for medical science.
-- >> The hero meets with an "accident" , and his body goes missing , or maybe you find a body which is charred beyond recognition.But a watch is found on the body which makes his mother identify the body as that of her son and then faint. According to rule no 81 , after a few years , the hero will appear with a beard , right on the day when the heroine is going to be married to another guy.So the heroine should promise to marry a second guy , but she would not have to , because the missing hero is going to appear in tattered clothes , on that very day anyways.So the moral of the story - if the body aint found , or maybe found as burnt as a burnt sandwich , he is not dead.
-- >> The hero is a little kid still.His dad is a school teacher , named something like Master Deenanath.Everything can go on smoothly .The hero can grow up and his dad can be go on to be the school principal.But formula no.25 says otherwise.The very fact that dad is a "Imaandaar" school teacher makes it imperative that the dad would die.He would most probably stand up against some big builders who want to raze down the school and build a five star hotel there.And then the goons come home and murder mr.daddy and mrs.mommy while our little hero hides behind the flower pots and makes a mental note of the killer's faces.He has to ,after all , grow up and avenge his folk's killings .But that will happen right at the climax.
Well , there are some 838273 more of these in my "filllum faaaarmoola notebook".But I cant type in more.Got to go and sign up Shahrukh for my first movie.And sacchi bata yaar , dont you see a director in me ? Dhyan se dekh na !

Friday, August 19, 2005

Miss Sis

Help ! My crush wants to tie a rakhi on my wrist !
(By the way , this emotional picture was sent to me by anu chachi , my aunt staying in Jhumri Talaiyya)


"Are you really Abhinav's sister ?"
" Yes , didi."
"I mean , Abhinav , the one standing there , the one with the green water bottle and the wierd hair , his sister ?"
"Yes , didi."
"Real sister ???"
"Yes , didi."

That was 1988.The place was the playground of my school.The interrogator asking all those questions was Sagarika , class V - E ,The Air Force School.I studied in class V-E , The Air Force School.The one saying those little timid "Yes Didi" was my little sister , Aradhana , class II - B.
Sagarika could not believe that Aradhana was my little sister.But that was nothing new.So could not my school bus conductor , my school peon , my class teacher , Aradhana's class teacher , my drawing teacher and the maid servant at our home.
We were as similar as Uma Bharti as Catherine Zeta Jones.If somebody calls me fair skinned , that man needs help crossing the road.And my sister was fair skinned .And she was green eyed.In short , she was the angelic baby of our house , while I was the dark boy who could be easily mistaken for a domestic help , even by a polite guest.
Whenever we went to functions as little kids , my sister was the apple of all eyes , while I was more like the 'worm-infested apple' of all eyes.Young aunties lightly pulled her cheeks while I stood around with a "Somebody please pull my cheeks" signboard around my neck.Old women with incredibly dark dyed hair commented how pretty she was , while I considered plastic surgery for myself.Of course , mom loved us the same way.But the moment we went out of our home , it was like she just needed to breathe to be noticed , while nobody would notice if I was being electrocuted.
And any elder sibling would appreciate how trying it can be to be an elder sibling.She used to hit me real hard.She used to hit me on the head .With her biggest doll.Oh, she is your little sister , munnu , dad would say.She is just teasing you , munnu , dad would say.He would even smile at her when she hit me with her biggest doll.Sometimes , she would hit me and laugh , and dad would laugh with her.And even if I slapped her lightly on the head , she threw down her doll , open her mouth large enough to scare away a dozen hippopotamus and let out a super sonic wail.Dad would come running to her , mom would come running to her .They would check her head to see if there is any bleeding.They would tell me that I am very violent.They even named things like Brain Damage and Memory Loss which can be caused by hitting on the head too hard. My pushing her was like pushing her off a cliff and her driving a truck over me was cute.
And my "violent-dark-elder" brother disadvantage continues to this day,with rather added features.She has grown to be almost my height.At functions,where she wears heels, her friends look at me and mentally think "ohh , Aradhana's brother is shorter than her " while I try to put on a "small-is-beautiful" smile with disastrous consequences .A couple of years ago , I almost cut off the heels on her sandals with an electric saw.
But in spite of all this , I think I do not hate my sister.Umm...ok...I think I like my sister.Ohk , now I have to admit it , even though she once tore my favorite comic into some 51 bits , even though she caused permenant handicap to my He-Man toy by brutally pulling off his right arm , and even though she has to always watch Star movies when I have to watch ESPN , I love my little sister.

And to Sow didi , Shipra didi , Teju and Nidhi.I know just words dont make anyone a good brother.But I hope to prove myself a good brother some day.I am so sorry about this "low-on-cash-below-poverty-line" boy being unable to send all of you gifts this time.I am so broke. I am collecting rain water to drink.I am so sorry.:(. But by next rakhi , I shall be drawing a salary.Tell me what color of mercedes you prefer.
And every brother loves his sister.But I guess sometimes brothers tend to chide sisters a tad too much to really let them know that .So lets be good and polite to our sisters for a day.It would be like Saddam Hussein taking white daisies to the US armed forces.
And in response to a comment to my previous post , which hinted at me being a girl-chaser , as reflected by the "girl-infested" sidebar on my blog, i would love to have all of those ladies as my sisters.Including the person who put that comment.:)
And a very joyful Rakshabandhan to all of you.Sisters are great , even if they hit brothers on the head.With their biggest dolls.
Added later :
The courier guys decided to take their time.I still have not recieved the rakhi my real sister sent me.And then , right on rakshabandhan , the courier guy delivers a rakhi and a gift , sent by my didi whom I have never met , but know only in cyberspace.Thank you didi. A rakhi is tied to my wrist now.Thanks to you.
Added much much muchhhh later :
Ok , mummy always says I speak too much.And aaj , after all these years I agree ! Abe 8 cars ranging from mercedes to Indica have already been booked by a battery of sisters.In view of the important fact that my second name is not gates or Bacchan , the offer to hand out cars stands suspended now !
No more gaddi shaddi bookings ! Ek ek chawanni bacha bacha kar jeeena padta hai yaaar ! :P

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

My santa deserves a proper cap

I am beginning to mess around too much with sleep patterns.The way things are going , I will soon grow big round eyes and a little beak and become a perfect owl in a week.Right now I am feeling like a baby monkey who has been air dropped in a chemistry lab.So I have no idea what this baby monkey is going to do.So , I have no idea what I am going to write.
But at 3.45 in the morning , i am too useless to do anything but write.So let me think.
Its said that when most guys think , 80% of the times , they think about girls.I think that is wrong.When most guys think , they think about girls.From the Anna Kournikova wallpaper on the desktop , to the coochie coochie late night talk with the third girlfriend in the last four months , there are more girls than grey cells in a guy's head.And I do not understand it.And I do not get why a guy needs to go gaga over girls.I hate only two things.One.Kareena Kapoor.Two.Guys who change colours before a girl.And I see these guys all the time.
In class 4th , I had this boy, Anoop , in my class.I used to think he is one of my good friends.I used to share my lunch with him.Even when I got bread rolls for lunch.I saw Sholay.I saw the "Yeh Dosti Hum Nahi Todenge" song with Amitabh and Dharmendra on their bike.I used to think I am Dharmendra and he is Amitabh and our friendship is like theirs in the movie.One day , during the drawing class , I asked him for the red crayon from his new crayon box.He gave me the red crayon.And then the little girl , Radhika ( I still remember her name !) asked him for the Red Crayon.He took it from me and gave it to her.And smiled at her.I was coloring Santa Claus's Cap at that time.The half filled sheet lay before me as he snatched the crayon from me and passed it to Radhika.It broke my heart.The psychological scarring it caused me leads me to hate every squirming guy dying to impress girls.
And there are a lot of Anoops around still.
Me : Heyyy Rahul , yaar please explain me the 17th chapter in economics.The exam is tomorrow , and right now I understand the chapter as much as our college security guards do.
Rahul : My dad just had an accident.My mom just had a heart attack.My sister just attempted suicide.I am sad.Leave me alone.
Deepika : Heyyyy Rahul , I hope we are meeting for coffee at the canteen in the evening.And please explain economics chapter 17 to me over the coffee.....pleaaaaaasse
Rahul : Oh sure , I am willing to stick carrots in my ears and paint myself orange and come riding on a donkey to teach you economics , Deepu ( whatever happened to the name Deepika).
Me : Heyyyy Ajay , you seem to be going to the hostel , I guess I can get a lift on your bike.
Ajay : Man my bike suspension is real shaky these days.And the pen in your shirtpocket looks real heavy.Sorry.
Priyanka : Heyyy Ajay , I was wondering if you could give me a lift till the academic block.....
Ajay :Oh priya ( say the complete name dumbass ) , I can carry you on my shoulders ( priyanka weighs 84 kg , by the way ) and run all the way to afganistan .What are friends for yaaaaaaaar ( notice the extended pronunciation)
Me : Heyyy Gaurav , I am broke buddy.I need 200 bucks yaar.I will repay you by evening.
Gaurav : My dad's name is not Dawood Ibrahim or Bill Gates man.I am real low on cash too. ( no extended pronunciation)
Richa : Ohhhh Gaurav , my dad is beginning to scold me for spending too much these days.
Gaurav (pulls out his ATM card and stuffs it in Richa's mouth) : All yours Richaaaa.
Ok.Things are a little exaggerated here.No guy is so desperate.But guys go extra soft around girls , and I do not know what for.Even here in the blogworld.A girl starts a blog and there are "sweet blogggg , cute bloggg , cool bloggg" comments before she clicks the "post it" button.So any guy who goes extra soft around girls is Anoop.I like good people who teach economics , give rides and lend cash. But be good to all.Good people should be good to all.Bloody , my Santa Claus still sports a half filled red cap.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Murder at the washbasin

Warning : Absolute No brainer.Its not even funny.But to be frank , I do not care.I enjoyed putting it down.And that what I wanted.And I am not drunk.I am plain crazy.
Beep.Beep.Nothing happens.Beep Beep.My left eyelid sleepily pulls up like the shutter of a shop being pulled up.Beep Beep.Beep.Beep.Yaaaaawn.I sit up on the bed groggily and reach out to switch off the alarm in my cellphone.I try to feel the cool breeze on my face , try to smell the flowers , try to feel lucky to be alive and try to think something on the lines of " Wow.This is a beautiful day!".But nothing of this sort is felt and I look back at my pillow and imagine myself sleeping open mouthed.My imagination changes channels and I see my professor waving a big pink coloured "F" wrapped in yellow ribbons.The threat of getting the F grade makes me decide i have to get to class.I fish out my toothbrush and toothpaste. ( commercial sidenote :Close up gel toothpaste.Kill bad breath.Grab the close up confidence ! Now a 200 ml tube in just 12 rupees ! ding dong.) I walk upto the bathroom on my floor.I get to the washbasin.I stare at the mirror.I think I resemble Shahrukh Khan in a way.I lean in closer to the mirror.Look at those eyes.I am cute , I whisper to myself with a smirk.

"Never heard a girl say that to you though."
Huh ? Who said that.I turn around.Nobody.I know I should not have watched back to back movies last night.It does strange things to my hearing.
"And now don't brush too hard , lazybum....and dont look around like you have woken up on Jupiter , I am here , right here in your hand.Soft hands though , I must say."
I look at my right hand.I have my fingers curled around my toothbrush.Ok.I have never seen Michael Jackson reciting the Hanuman Chalisa.I have never seen George Bush singing "Roop tera mastaana" on CNN.And I will never see a toothbrush talking to me.These things are impossible.
"Now dont look like you have just seen Laloo Prasad Yadav in a Bikini.Its me,your toothbrush."
Me : Gosh.I feel like I have seen a Laloo Prasad Yadav without a bikini.How are you able to talk ?
Toothbrush : Just shut up .Lets talk about the Book meme you have been tagged with.
Me ( "caught-while-stealing-eggs" expression ) : Err...ahem....what book meme ?
Toothbrush : Now do you want me to jump and stick my bottom in your nose ? Its the stuff where you have to write/talk about the books you have read and all.And you have already been tagged by Deepti , Priya and Vidhi.
Me : Shit.was your daddy brush used by the CBI director ?
Toothbrush : Interpol chief.Now for the book meme.
Me : See.You can expect tendulkar to play for the Indian Kabaddi Team.But you can not expect me to talk about reading.I mean , I have minimal reading habits.Even my illitrate grand mother would have read more than I have.
Toothbrush: Shut up.Lets get started.Total number of books do you own ?
Me:Man,this is gonna take some counting.Lemme count.One.Two..Two...yeah...Three...umm...Three...Threee..Threeeeee
Toothbrush :Man , you are pathetic.I hate that I have to enter the mouth of someone as ill read as you are.
Me ( looking at my feet ) :Yeah...I know..actually I got my comics on rent , never bought them , you see and...
Toothbrush : Cut the crap.Last book you bought ?
Me : Ah , I know that."101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush."
Toothbrush ( suddenly looking up):Wha... Wow, that was scary.My bristles are trembling.Last book you read ?
Me ( with a wicked smile by now ) : I read the same one.
Toothbrush ( in a slow and cautious voice ) : You mean "11 ways to eat a talking toothbrush?".
Me ( with a "gulshan grover" lecherous expression ) : 101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush.You missed 90 ways.
Toothbrush ( voice a with a shade of trembling ) :"Huh...Bah ! ....I ...I once bashed up a shaving brush.And killed a shaving razor that threatened to shave me....he ...he he....Dont you think I am scared......Five books that mean a lot to you ?"
Me ( eyes fixed on the brush , smacking my lips , deliberate voice) : I wish I had some ketchup right now.About the 5 books..My experiments with toothbrushes , To kill a mocking toothbrush , The monk who ate his toothbrush , Harry Potter and the Half eaten Toothbrush and....
Toothbrush ( Eyes as wide as a toothpaste tube's cap , voice as choked as the paste in six year old toothpaste tube) : ...and ?
Me ( husshed voice ) : 101 ways to eat a talking toothbrush....
Toothbrush suddenly clutches its plastic chest , lets out a little cry , sheds off its bristles , and collapses in my hand.It is dead.Of a heart attack.
Me ( looking up at my image in the mirror ) :Man , I knew this book meme tagging thing would end up ugly.
There is a young woman in Singapore.Her husband has been taken away frm her and forcibly detained in Cambodia by his own family.I read this here --
I do not know how you can help her.But atleast pray for her.If god exists , he may just answer it.Its very painful to be away from a loved one.No one should undergo this.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Musically Handicapped

My head bobs lightly to the strings of "O sanam" sung in the chocolate voice of Lucky Ali.This guy's voice is so chocolaty , listening to him for too long can get you cavities in your teeth.But this is a blissful time.Past midnight.A hot cup of coffee.No one planning to beat me up.A chocolate bar lying on my table.And my name managed to crop up in the Times Of India supplement a couple of days ago .And even though the playlist has started with "who let the dogs out" after kicking out "O Sanam" , life is fine right now.
The media player on my computer must be ready to file an over exploitation petition by now.I study , and it plays.I sleep , and it plays.I am in the bathroom , and it plays.I go the class , and it plays.If media player had fingers , all ten of them must be pointing towards the cross on the right hand top corner of its face by now.

But to be honest , if lack of knowledge of music is a handicap , I am paralysed with both my arms and both my legs missing.You need to understand my upbringing.No cable connection at home , till June 2004.My parents, who are both doctors , are the type of people who would wonder if K.L.Saigal, which sounds a familiar name , is the name of one of their patients.And if asked on a bad day , they may even identify Elvis as being the president of cuba.In short , they are as interested in music , as a fish would be in "how to swim" lessons.In shorter terms , they are not interested in music.
So all I had even remotely related to music was 6 audio cassettes of Jagjeet singh ( Dad's music "collection") , chitrahaar and Rangoli and some other Countdown shows on doordarshan , and a radio -cum-cassette player which , with its perfectly rectangular face and the plastic handle on its top , looked like a little suitcase.Of course , dad used to sing in the Bathroom , that too only on Sundays , but lets not count that.
So i grew up with minimal exposure to music.The early years were fine.Little kids anyways sing only "Jack and Jill" and something like 'Ring-a-Ring-a-Roses" , If I remember right.But by the time I stepped into the teens , Cable TV had entered most Indians home , with our home being a silent exception.And my classmates had begun to watch MTV and such things.Suddenly , humming to the tune of "Sardee Khansee na Malaria hua , Lovaria hua " from "Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman" was no longer "cool".When I was in class 11th , a girl in my class asked me if I listened to Bryan Adams.I told her I listen to mom only.During our school farewell , a bunch of boys got terribly excited.They formed a little huddle and shouted "Alice.Alice.Who the f**k is Alice ?"And i looked at the guy standing next to me and said "Do you know her ?".It was learnt later , that these were the lyrics of some "angreji" song.
Now in my engineering college , I got a computer.The old radio-cum-casette player was given a proper burial and the gleaming new HP pavilion was unveiled to me in a dramatic fashion.The two speakers standing on either side of the screen seemed to blaring to me "La la ...of your ignorance this is the end , listen to moojik my ra ra".

It sure ushered in a little music revolution in my life.But I was like getting on a bicycle when most others were driving a car .So now when others are flying around in planes , I am driving the car.I am still very much "Desi" in my musical habits.Lucky Ali.Silk Route.Junoon.Bollywood songs.Remixes.Not Anu Malik ( "Do me a favourrrrr, lets plaaay Holeeee" , now that was too much for me too).So I am not really a part of the so called "cool" gang which understand that Pink Floyd is not a shade of pink but a music band.I still have to focus real hard to get the lyrics of an english song right.I have made quite a few attempts to like english music.But trying to make out what the guy is saying amidst all the falling utensils leaves me pretty exhausted by the time it ends.So while music is meant to relax me , trying to decipher english music makes me feel like I am writing the IIT JEE chemistry paper in a pair of jeans 4 inches too tight for my waist , and all this while a stove is burning beneath me.
So I keep reverting back to Hindi Music.While the room to my left blares 'Shaggy' and the room to my right drools 'Aerosmith' , its a ingorant and confused Hrithik Roshan asking questions about love and then crooning "Na tum jaano na hum" from the movie "Kaho Na Pyar Hai" in my part of the world.And its all right this way.But if someome asks me "Hey , how do you find Linkin Park ? " ( Its another music band ... I think) , you may just hear me saying "Cant say ..never been to this park ..where is it ?".And I am still confused if its Led Zeppelin or Zed Leppelin.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Using the moments

"I think you are a loser and whatever shred of guilt you feel should be compounded by a loveless marriage. You sad, pathetic SOB."
Please relax.Not to you.
This comment is directed towards yours truly , Abhinav , left by someone as a comment to the previous post on this blog.And this post is in no way to "hit back" or ridicule him / her.I swear.My intention is not at all to belittle him/her by any strange use of words and my little vocabulary of expletives.
Wait.Let me address the person who wrote this comment as "him".It may be a girl.I just use a "He" as I wont have to write a "He/She" everytime.No male vs female discrimination may be seen in this.Anyways.
He just expressed an opinion , which was that I am a loser , and a wish , that I go through a loveless married life , and a parting piece of information , that I was a SOB.For my innocent and 'untouched by the hard life' friends , SOB stands for son of a bitch. Now , I do not want to hit back , irrespective of whether i can actually do so or not.And I do not want to hit back , because ...let me analyse this.
First the opinion - Abhinav is a loser.
Now , "opinion" is the keyword.That is an opinion.What he thinks.I have a gazzilion opinions.I think the chewing gum in my mouth is manufactured in switzerland.In reality , it is manufactured in Bombay.I think I sing well.In reality , I will be doing a social service by trying not to sing in public.Someone thinks I am a loser.In reality , I may be a loser , I may not be a loser , or I may be somewhere in between.
So you see how insignificant an opinion is , unless that is the opinion of your wife or boss.And how removed from reality it may be.
Second.The wish.May Abhinav go through a loveless married life.Amen.
Now , this is a wish.I wished I make it to an IIM.I worked for it , and I am in an IIM.I wish the guy shouting in the corridor outside would shut up.But the fact ,that he visits the gym five times a week , stops me from doing something about this wish of mine.Someone wishes that I have a loveless married life.But he can do something about it only if I marry him , maybe.So you see that a wish is nothing in the absence of the required resources to convert it into a reality.
Third.The piece of information.Abhinav is a SOB.
I do not even want to talk about this.We have been taught that mother is before god.Every mother is respectable , for the sheer unconditional love she showers.I would not say anything about the SOB part.Just to the person who left that comment , that I respect your mother too , because I am sure she loves her children in so pure a way , that only a mother can love.
Right.So I do not see anything in the comment which can harm me or any of my loved ones .Hence I have nothing to say in retaliation.
But I am not writing this post to say nothing.Silence if golden.But I think I will settle for silver and say something.I imagine the person when he wrote that comment.Must be angry at me.Irritated.Wanting to kill me.Hands itching to wrap themselves around my neck.Frowned forehead.Clenched teeth.I think so.He called me a SOB.So must be decently angry.Now , for those moments when he felt all this for me , all the beautiful and sweet things in this world were forgotten by him.The lovely ice cream he may have eaten , just before coming to my blog ,and its lingering taste were forgotten.He forgot about the sweet smileys his girlfriend may be sending to him on the messenger , as he read my blog.He forgot about the innocent smile of some little child who may be playing nearby as he typed that comment.For those few moments , he was seething with a hatred and despise for me , when he could have felt happy and blissful for all the beautiful things in this world. For those few moments , he was a demon who wanted me to have a wretched life , when he could have easily been a blissfully peaceful person.
So , the next time you curse someone , crib about something or ridicule someone , just know that you are spending those moments filling up your heart with hatred , anger and miserable thoughts .Whereas you could have used those moments to find a little more peace ,happiness and beauty in life.And most of the times , it has minimal consequences for the person your hatred is directed at.I am not trying to be sagacious.I am not.I am a selfish person.Who does not want to let these precious moments burn in the fire of hatred and anger.Just think about it.
And before leaving , a little word for the person who put that comment .You call me a SOB.But I see a love for you ,in the eyes of your mother , and I love every mother for being so pure , and just by thinking that , I feel happy.Now who used up his moments better ? You..or me ?

Thursday, August 04, 2005

A fear of myself

Once upon a time , I went home.....wait a minute...I am sick of this grandma style opening.Forget once upon a time.Lets restart.
Last october , I went home during the Durga puja.When you go home after staying at a hostel for months , everybody acts nice.Mom cooks what I like.Dad doesnt nag me about getting a haircut.Sister lets you have the remote.Even the neighbourhood Mrs.bhatia who is usually as grumpy as a crocodile manages to pretend a smile and coo "oh munnu , vacations ? How is calcutta ? any girlfriend there...haaaaaa".She winks mischeviously as she mouths the girlfriend part.That makes my tummy churn.But all in all , for that one week of October , life was as cool as 2 feet by 2 feet room fitted with 13 air conditioners.
One day , during those October vacations , I was sprawled on the drawing room floor.I was watching POGO channel on the Television.Ok.My parents dont read this blog.I was watching FTV.That stands for fashion TV.Its about fashion and clothes.I focus on the clothes , not on the pretty models wearing them.Trust me.Anyways , just then the phone rang and mom got it.It was mom's sister , my 'mausi'.Now dont you understand 'mausi' ? Maybe you grew up in California.Anyways , in our country , India , we call mom's sister "mausi".Namaste.
So mom and her sis caught up with all the normal talk while I watched Pogo , waiting for the call to end so that mom goes away and I dive back into the world of waxed legs and exposed navels on FTV.And then this happened.

Mom (on phone , to mausi ) : What ? ......why ?
Mausi ( on phone , to mom ) : ........( me to you) wait a minute , how am I supposed to know what she said from the other side ?
Mom ( on phone , again to mausi ) : He just turned 23...But why ?
Mausi ( on phone , to ..i dnt believe it ) : ....( me to you).I told you guys, I dont know !
Mom ( on phone , to mausi ) : What ! Oh no seema ...noh....he ..he...hehehe...hes still a kid , he has to complete his MBA...
It was about my marriage.Some friend of ma's sister had some daughter.It was like I had just received an email from god with the subject line 'from boy to man".I agree that 23 is anyways too early an age which makes marriage sound more like child mariage.But that was the moment when it first struck me that marriage is no longer something which happens to big brothers .Marriage is no longer something which I attend as a guest , it may just happen to me.Anyways , mom mercilessly drove the scooter of my first marraige proposal in a brick wall.I still dont know anything about that girl.But whoever she is , she is for me what a first ever customer is to an auto driver.
Things changed radically soon after that strange day in October.When I went home in the March of 2005 , I did not wait for any phone calls.We got home from the airport , and within forty minutes I had told my parents all about "her".
I have read 'Who moved my cheese?'.It says change is inevitable.So here I change , as I am tired of addressing "her" as "her".It makes things so complicated .I am typing about my grand mom and in the next line i somehow graduate to "her" and some people dont get the subtle change and end up knowing that I wanted to marry my grand mom.So for the rest of this post , "her" would be addressed as madonna.The choice of this pseodu-name stems from the fact that the guy in adjecent room is playing frozen by madonna.Anyways , I told my parents madonna was the girl i wanted to marry.For someone like me to say something like that to my parents , its like a tibetan monk asking for some beer at a pub.What followed were perhaps the most topsy turvy days of my life so far.I save the story for another day.
And now that she is a series of black and white photographs pasted in my "golden memories" album, I see my marriage as being an arranged one.We will probably visit the girl's home , where I would drink some coffee , smile at the girl and look at her stupid little brother.And I will tell her about my days with madonna , even if that makes my dad pull out a gleaming bazooka and blow my head off. If I expect her to share my life , she has every right to know my life.And in a way , I think my experience with madonna has transformed me from a bubbly and reckless boy to a slightly more mature and considerate one.My opinion of myself as a human being has taken a dent in the one moment I left her alone when I promised to be with her, and I want to improve this opinion by making the girl I marry feel happy every day of her life.I am scared of hurting people now .I know how bad and wrong I can be .And I want to prove it to myself that I may be weak , but I am not evil.
I gave her a lot of sorrow , but gave myself a fear of myself , a fear of me hurting someone ever again.
I am a 83 old guy seated on a rocking chair in home's bedroom.I am watching FTV on the TV.Then my 79 year old wife staggers into the drawing room leaning on a wooden stick.I am too old and slow by now to flip the channel to POGO the way I used to as a 23 year old.And she anyways is old and weak sighted to make out the difference between FTV and POGO.I get up with my aching joints , find my way towards her without managing to fall , hold her hand and walk her to the chair.I make her sit on the chair gently .And then she looks up at me , straining her eyes to have a good look and then says in a frial old voice "You know , I have had a good life with you".and If that happens, maybe I will know that though I was weak at some points of my life , I was never evil.I will always remember that last phone call to "her" , when I told her its not possible for us to be together and cried like a kid at a public phone booth.But if at the end of my life , my weak sighted and old wife thinks I helped her live a good life , maybe then I will know that I was not that bad a human being , after all.