Just another day, while brushing

Reality TV

To,
A Listening Ear

Do the resumes for your show look like this ?

Previous Experience -
1. Reached the interview stage of Roadies.
2. Runner up Teen Diva.

Skills -
1. Can don a two-piece bikini and a one-piece sari with equal non-chalance and gracelessness.
2. Perennial peeping tom and cunning opportunist.
3. Can swear in eight different languages.
4. Clueless and can look the same on TV.

Strengths -
1. No general knowledge.
2. Can cry, weep, wail about, throw tantrums, fall in love, fall out of love, hate at will without and with script.

Career Objective -
Modeling career, TV publicity, 2nd Grade Films more or less in the same order.

From,
Just Another Guy

I am no judge – neither qualified nor inclined to be – yet Is reality this ?
I think I deserve better. I may sound like an age-old crib, but Bournvita Quiz Contest was a better reality show than yours, anyday. Cheers.

Pyaasa

मैं दूं भी तो क्या दूं तुम्हे आए शोख नज़ारों .. ले दे के मेरे पास कुछ आँसू है कुछ आहें

And it left me wondering if there could be a better start to a movie. A poet in pain as a shoe kills the wasp that lovingly adored a flower .. wondering what is it that he can give to this world but suffering! There is a sense of detachment evident from the first scene itself that haunts the movie throughout. Guru-dutt in a poised and restrained performance symbolizes the struggling human, fighting against a set-in-its-way family, a cold society, practicality and realism. The story revolves around his writings and his tireless stubborn efforts to make his place in an out-of-place world. The irony grows as he earns well-deserved acclaim and following after an apparent death, that is disregarded as he claims what is his. Selfish ignorance of talent and its use for petty benefits is so in-your-face, a sense of guilt knots and unknots in the stomach. And as the protagonist poet succumbs to idealism once again, the movie ends in an arrogant betrayal to the world !

Go watch it.

Avi Speaks

1. It unfurls ..
“I have a last name. My identity is complete. Have you ever felt hollow on the inside. Lonely because you don’t share the name the connection with the people you share a roof with. I felt that all my life. Each of those days is livid in front of my eyes. I don’t know why my folks never gave me a last name. I feel they never gave it a thought, I feel they never gave me a thought.”

I paused for a second. The silence was growing on my mind and I felt submerged in it.

“Avi Sharma. Ecstasy ! I can’t hold it in myself. It feels like exploding, I try to control it by counting the revolutions of the celing fan. Against a white background, the black blades of an eternal rotation.
One .. two .. three.
His face is clear, I can see it across the scarlet night lamp’s glow briefly interspersed by the fan blades. He is smiling at me, happy that I am content. The room is a lovely white, the rose petals on the bed complement the rose on my cheeks, in the parting of my hair and the blood red on the bed sheet. A conjugal bed, a calm night, a silent mind and a loving husband bedside. Life is turning for good.
Four.. five.. six.
Sleep is rare when the heart leaps, the thud across my chest is so loud I fear it will awaken Aru. Try to calm down.
Seven.. eight.. nine.
I look at the wall clock. I always loved doing that. Awake till mid-night, just to look at the date change. It can give you a feeling of both desperation – to catch the day you just wiled away – and a sense of achievement at the same time for having survived it. It is this mixed exasperation and delight that draws me to it and I stare at the clock every single night as both hands overlap as if a communion of the beloved – long awaited unfulfilled desire coming true, just for a minute though. And yet, that second of closeness, proximity and passion is a defining moment that justifies the day, gives it an existence, a present a past. And this consummation conceives the future, the next day – thereby completing the cycle of time – the cycle of life.
Ten.. eleven.. twelve.
A slight shadow across the window attracts my attention. The tulsi plant outside our window is shivering in the windy delhi night. Our window, our tulsi, our night. The transformation from I to we, my to our, is beautiful and completing.
Thirteen.. fourteen.. fifteen.
They say orgasm is the best gift a man can give a woman, I feel it’s the identity, a self-belief and the whole life falls into perspective. As the hands separate in the clock, Aru falls into a deep slumber. I grope around for my pack of cigs. They say smoking feels great after sex. It is not there. Let me look at his side of the bed. Got it. As I light one up, the dark of the night weighs on my heart like an unfinished story and an unfinished story it is, my life. Its our first night together after marriage.
Sixteen.. Seventeen.. Eighteen.
Marriage .. it feels strange to think about Aru and marriage in one thought. Puff … I like the haze it leaves in front of my eyes. And as my mind clears .. my eyes haze out slowly, into a trance, a tranquil sleepy haze, that starts in the mind and takes me back, back to the day I first saw him.”

All eyes were transfixed on me. I anticipated the adoration in their eyes. The voice continued.

“It was not love at first sight. In fact, I did not even know about love at the time of that sight.”

I thought – corny one liner. I don’t even know about it now. He smiled with the gaze.

“I like to think of love as a potent sentiment that can arise from stagnant emotions for a need of dynamism, growth – a selfish engrossing need to identify oneself with another being. It can start from concern, sympathy or even hate. And it grows on your persona ever so slowly, like a creeper that needs the supporting stem when it begins, but afterwards the existence of the support is defined by the creeper itself, as the plant capers over and engulfs the very personality of the support and transforms it into a plant itself.”

There was an appreciative murmur in the crowd. Bah! Humbug, the pseudo-intellectual in me .. ! I will get to it in due time. Let the storyteller stay behind the story for the time being.

“Anyways, I felt like it was a dream or is my mind conjuring up lovelorn pictures of a first encounter, I don’t know and I will never find out. Nor do I intend to try. I am happy with the ironies, the contradictions of my love story.”

My mind was racing ahead of my voice. The thoughts and the story were becoming one.

“Sometimes, I feel as if, we – as a race – are dreaming a collective dream and this whole world is an apparition in all of our minds. It started with befooling others and then the lie became so convincing and it cast a spell, a web around us. Aru was such an apparition only, beautiful, disturbed yet calm and unwillingly I was drawn to him the moment I saw him. But, again I like to believe that it was not love at first sight. Love at first sight has a sense of desperation attached to it. It signifies that I was looking for love in the first place and found it in him and accepted it undeniably, unquestioningly as the final truth, as the meaning of my existence or the existence of my meaning or both. So, the story as I tell it is not love at first sight. The story really is not in my hand. I keep putting thoughts ahead of facts –feelings ahead of incidents – self ahead of the story. I really am a selfish author. (Sheepish Grin).”

The hall burst into a deafening round of applause. I suddenly felt very conscious of a perspiring throat. As I looked around for a glass of water, I could sense the nervous twitching beginning once again. It happened always – amidst the applause, the guilt surfaced yet again. I looked for the calming face, it was there, as always. He handed the glass of water to me. I gulped it down in one go, my gaze transfixed on him, all the time. He wore the customary white chemiz with black trousers. I could not remember a time when he had seen him wearing anything else. It was as if he was born with it and the clothes just grew with him. I smiled at the thought. It was reviving. The crowd was still applauding the excerpt. It had been years in the making, these claps, these appreciations, the looks and now, as it materialized in front of me, I could not hold back the tears, howsoever hard I tried.

“Great reading Ma’am. You were exquisite.” The familiar honey tongued Gullak.
“Were you expecting something less …” I replied.

He fumbled for words as always. There was an unusual wily air about him today, more self-assured than he normally seemed. And yet, he groped around for words. I always wonder why such a good manager as he was he was lost for words – maybe he just thought too fast and was unable to match his tongue. His name is not Gullak, but for the matter of the story, we ll let it be. I am Arusha Virmani, I am just returning from the first reading of my debut novel.
“No Ma’am, umm not at at all” Gullak fumbled once again.
“Call the driver. I want to go home.” Home. A wondrous word indeed. There is such closeness, a sort of intimacy in the pronunciation itself.

2. And then furled
The slow brooding tobacco-breath more than the knock on my desk woke me up from my slumber. I looked around for a cover.
Something, anything.
Nothing.
Sigh !
It is impossible to escape the wrath of a Machine Drawing professor – intent on putting you through the grind of having to draw a grinder from all sides – especially when found sleeping in a class on tolerences.
It brought a quirky smile of my face yet again or so I thought.

“Such behavior will not be tolerated in my class.” – He screamed at the top of voice.
“But it is a class of tolerences, is it not?” – I almost half blurted the stupid thought. I am quite self contained though and will always be proud to have held it in.
“I am sorry sir.” – is what I finally said.
“Sorry. huh! The audacity to sleep and then you don’t even respect me enough to stand up while responding.” – And he proceeded to strike out all my attendences from the register none-the-less.
I could almost hear the slushing sound of all the got-up-at-7:50-puffy-eyed efforts going down the drain.
Gush, gullup, gullup, phissh!

I am not Arusha Virmani, but for sure I want to be – despite needing a sex change. I have been dreamy always – I never could figure out why I dreamt of myself as a lady though – but never have the dreams struck me so hard where it hurts most. As I tried to get up in a panic-struck moment of insanity, my innards squashed against the table. I half-hoped the resulting expression would melt the prof.’s heart. Anyhow, that is my story as it starts. A devoted engineering student at your service.

3. Who the hell is this Arusha Virmani ?
“You were just so laid back in your ironies, just too self-un-involved. Always going round-about about and about .. again and again .. It was I who made life a challenge for you. I gave you direction, a way forward, I brought you face to face with reality, with truth ….” She cribbed twirling the strand of hair on her finger absentmindedly. I sort of loved that about her. She could be serious about everything in a playful way. And whenever I tried that, I got stuck up being .. stupid .. to put it mildly.

“Truth is just a sequence of random ideas, coincidences life throws at you, especially you, that you try to put together and see a bigger picture. The truth is that there is no truth. It’s all perception, your or mine, and mine says fuck the bigger picture ! I bask in the glory of my insignificance, I don’t matter and so I don’t care.” I blabbered wondering if this was the last line before she got up, and left. It hurt me though – that I was more concerned about the 18 rupees I would have to shell out for her Maggi in case she did that – than my love life going down the drain.

“And the bullcrap begins again. You really don’t give a shit to life, do you?”

“Life, aah! How strange it sounds coming from you, you just suck the juice out of it, churn it about and .. “

“Cut the crap, Roh.., there really is no worth talking to you. You don’t care about those who care, you don’t ..” – It was the ambition, I was sure..

“All I can say is, here we are celebrating the uselessness of a man, barely a man, in your supposed bigger picture. But to see the picture, you have to step out of the frame. That is what I am doing, when no one sees you, you see everything. I am just cleaning the lens, and for that the glasses have to be removed. I can go on and on with the metaphors as thats all I want to do … you need not bother.”

“I need not bother! All you ever do bothers me, bothers all of us. You are dumb, not suited for the world, our world.”
“Or maybe, the world is not suited for me. All I am trying to do is find out.”
“And what good would that do?”
“Why do you breathe?”
“What the fuck .. you are just …”
“No, no please answer. Why do you breathe?”
” Because you ass, if I don’t I will die”
“And if I don’t find out, I will die.”
“I guess that would be better, atleast for you.”
“Well, what can I say? I will find out.”

“Waiter, Bill please.” And I heaved a sigh of relief and in a gentlemanly way, pretended to put my share of the “treat” – a coffee and 2 smokes – but she won even that .. The 50 rupee note glistening on the table.

And that was our last conversation or so I thought. I thought it on all our dates these days. As the days of placement and suit wearing and interviews and GDs and tests and decision making began, our thoughts and our gestures had drifted apart. I was walking through the gallery by blue lagoon a puff in hand, a whistle on the lips
- Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya,
har fikr ko dhuein main udata chala gaya …
That day was crystal clear in my eyes, I wondered if I was imagining it or was it happening all over – the smoke making me hazy – 31st Decemeber ..

4. This day that year
The watch just kept ticking. A desperate stare at it again. I looked at the glass door pretending to be in deep thought.

A female silhouette – alright, a white jacket – she loves white, the light .. come into the light.!!

She returns the utter What-You-Staring-At look. Someone else. How many times, How many. I look at the watch once again. The lines from our chat running through my mind. It was __ PM. ______’s. 31st .

2006.!! Godammit yes. !! So, what was it. The waiter comes around again.
W : Anything else for you, sir.
I : No, I am waiting for someone.
Oh No, it’s the thoughts again. As if he is playing mind games with me. Yes, the crooked smile. Why doesn’t he ask. Why the hell.
The red appareled monster walks away returning the hostile stare.

A birthday party at the table in front. Oh, how mushy she seems – The girl in red top and black denims. Is she going to look like her ? or Her friend in black pullover? The one with the grey bag? Oh, how I hate it ? and them. So happy .Go celebrate at your home. I still manage the unfelt smile as the birthday girl looks at me. The nod – ‘Happy Birthday, unknown girl’. She nods too – ‘Buzz off, bugger’.

And that is when I realize how different how different .. just leave it. When will she come? And goodness, it’s been just five minutes I’ve been here. And that fat woman has eaten 3 pastries. Yes, the fat lady with the cute kid. And goodness gracious me, how blue are those pastries. As if all the blues that I can feel have been baked and served cold. Cold-hearted. Will she be fat? Is there a she?

I just avoid the cuddling-cute-couple with utter disdain, again. A total ab-use of time. I mean, what are you talking about. What on earth, that you haven’t looked up in .. in .. in the five minutes that I have been here. Me and the Red-Clothed waiter, I bet the same thought runs through his head too. And he threw a smile at me. I just ducked away. The hostile look is back.
I prepare for the speech and the look, that would save me the embarrassment – what would I say ? should I even go back home? Do I have enough money to make a living in Bombay? Aunt shelly would keep me till eternity? – staring past the window into the horizon. Have I been stood-up? Is this … is this oh, just leave it.

She smiled and said Hi. I could just muster the wave, the wave of the hand that blew the blues away. The fat lady, the birthday troupe, the waiter, the couple .. all smiling. The world is wonderful.

—-

Disclaimer – The names are fictitious. Do not look them up in google. Also, if you bear one of these, do not sue me, please. Any resembelance to living or dead people or animals is coincidental and unintentional.

No More

When I look at the sea,
The waves, the sand, the palm tree
I don’t feel the calm inside
All I see is the nearing end
I know to it .. there is a shore,
Because I am a kid no more ..

I see the ground under my feet,
There’s no feel to it but heat.
It doesn’t feel like running around,
And I stay back A.C bound.
All seems like a daily chore
Because I am a kid no more ..

I watch it as it rains
From the window, spell bound
Afraid to go out and get drenched
All I do, is turn around ..
The rain seems like a tale of yore
Because I am a kid no more ..

Oh, grow up why I had to
The sleep is not sound,
The sky not a bound,
The fun is not around,
Not Anymore, Not Anymore ..
All Because I am a kid no more ..!

A Sneak Peak With Your Permission

I love status messages. I religiously read all of them whenever I login. And I reflect upon them to figure out the what and why of it. And I am shameless enough to ask. There is a voyeuristic streak to it with a dash of detection pleasure. It is intellectually stimulating and helps form a connection with the numerous friends you find limited time to talk to. And I owe a lot to these status messages for the free entertainment.

In this post, I will try to feature the interesting ones as and when they come. The best ones will float to the top and I do plan to give monthly awards once recess – period of recession – is over.

“If vodka was water nd i was a duck, i wud sink to da bottom nd neva cum up…but vodka’s not water nd i m not a duck, so slide me a bottle nd shut da FUCK up!!!” - J

“Simplicity is the best sophistication ” - Pedro

” http://www.phdcomics.com/comics/archive.php?comicid=988 ” – Gigoo

“I was better before…till the moment I started trusting my heart ” – Bhandu

“Psepho” – RP

Love .. Power .. Revolution

I was hooked to Gulal, the moment I saw the first trailer in the beginning of Dev D. I devoured all songs till the lyrics completely occupied my mind. The lyrics, the music, the tone .. the whole feel of the songs is brilliant and the underlying story exceptional. I was eager to see it and today I did. Below is what I think about it. It is not a review, its an adulatory remark. Hail Anurag Kashyap.

Gulaal is sheer ideological portrayal of contemporary currents underlying the generations of India. On one hand, there are the first-hand witnesses of partition, to whom it feels like a deep wound and they are cynical of the current state of affairs. They are hellbent to twist the word and the world around them to suit what they feel is the common interest. There is a second class of these witnesses who have seen the corruption of power and turned their face away – to west, to despair, or inwards to an innate madness. On the other side is the simpleton, unaware of and unworthy of the change this world demands. And then there are the numerous pullers, who are power-hungry self-satiating in-betweens.

It is the ego struggle between these ideologies that is translated to an exchange constantly etched on celluloid in the form of Gulal. The exchange of hate, love, jealousy, desire and ambition. What is beautiful in the portrayal is that the exchange is raw, unadulterated, free and human. What makes it special is the feelings and the strong performances that sketch these feelings on the screen. It has strength, beauty and in-your-face reality. There is a near-poetic margin in this ideological disarray, the wit and sarcasm that completes an outstanding page of human emotions.

Gulaal is Love .. Power .. Revolution and much more. If you have the libido for it, Gulaal is your intellectual orgasm.

Gulaal

I absolutley loved hindi poems in school. I read, wrote, recited and learned them. And that is why I adore the music of Gulaal. The songs have been playing since morning and completely haunt me now. Sample a few of the notes ..

… जिस कवि की कल्पना में ज़िंदगी हो प्रेम-गीत, कवि को आज तुम नकार दो
… ए बुझते हुए चाँद बासी चिरागों, तुम्हारे यह काले इरादों की दुनिया
… जीत की हवस नही, किसी पे कोई वश नही, क्या ज़िंदगी है ठोक्रों पे मार दो
… आरंभ है प्रचंड, बोल मस्तकों के झुंड
… मन करे जो प्राण दे, जो मन करे सो प्राण ले, वही तो एक सर्व शक्तिमान है
… खोने की ज़िद मैं ये क्यूँ भूलते हो, की पाना भी होता है

And the best of them all

.. जैसे देश के टावर मैं घुस गये रे एरोप्लेन

It is probably the first time I heard songs that are metaphoric, inspiring, intelligent, thorough, witty and deep, all at the same time.

I am dying to see the movie ! Anurag Kashyap strikes gold again.

Hey Kala Bandar

It is a typical Saturday morning. I am sitting in my bed-room savoring hot coffee and Times of India. The neighborhood computer plays the album “Dilli 6″ in the background. The smell of fresh uttapam wafts in the air around. And as I cuddle in my beloved blue blanket wondering while whistling – What more could one ask for ?

And suddenly, I hear the ruckus.

Cook – Bhaiyya, Bhaiyya !!
I – What happened? (Leisurely getting out of the blanket)

And as I lift my half-opened unspectacled eyes, there it is – just at the door of my bedroom. My heartbeat is rising. I can feel the thump against my chest. The seconds start passing ever so slowly. I can see a look of confidence in its eyes. And I imagine the panic in mine. The growl turns into a smile at my helplessness. I am cornered, befuddled and terribly afraid. The time flows like water through a block of wood. Ever so slowly – as if the hero and heroine are running from infinity till eternity in a movie. It senses the creep setting in .. and inches closer towards the door. And all of a sudden, my class VIII teacher’s lines echo in my by-now-completely numb mind. As she pointed to the picture of a monkey – supposed to be an ancestor to our species – she said.

“The brain is what differentiates us .. that is how we evolved, our brains grew.”
“But, Rohit has been left behind.”

And the whole class laughed as I awoke to my name.

Anyhow, after I established superiority in my mind, in a flash, I picked a slipper and threw at it. But, it was hellbent on proving me wrong. It ducked and growled. I picked another slipper and this time, aimed at the door. The door inched slightly on its hinges and hid me from his view. I self surprisingly summer-saulted across the bed and closed the door. Now, I shrieked from the balcony to the security guy. Apparently he knew and I didn’t know that he knew. He just turned corner as I shrieked without even a look of reassurement. I shouted again

I – Bhaiyya, bhaiyya ! Main Gate khol do ..

And our cook bhaiyya opened the gate. By the time, it had traversed two of the four rooms and left its mark in one of them. The computer is playing “Hey kala bandar” as I wipe our weekend’s first visitor’s “marks”. The lines of the song echo against the walls of the room, the meaning echoes against the walls of my heart.

*True story of my life as it was half an hour ago.

A Log, not a Blog.

Here it goes.

7:56 PM
I am getting too used to the creature comforts .. beware !

8:15 PM
Subtle when sober, awesome when not ! I need to get ..

8:17 PM
I tried to merge truth with beauty, and probably that is why I failed.

Whoever shall try to find patterns of beauty in life shall miss the beauty of life, To find calm in chaos is what life should be .. and yet its the chaos that I have managed to get embroiled with, further adding to it.

Forgot that even a perfect imperfection is an imperfection.

The rat race has consumed the rat. – Smiled the cat.

I was late to realize that truth can never be beautiful .. Yet the pursuit goes on, it will either be a dead end or a dead man.

8:59 PM
Self imposed fake mediocrity tends to well-deserved arrogance ? Is it a virtue to stay low or is it just not possible ? I don’t realize what I mean by all this. Maybe it’s just an excuse for underachievement. Yet in any case, it’s a good excuse.