Eid Mubarak

Dad is a medical practitioner. And till at least a few months ago, he would spend a couple of days a week at a village clinic, not very far from our house. The patients here were a funny lot. They would never pay the usual fees. But a few months later, they would show up at our doorstep with a bottle gourd, or a pumpkin. And a huge smile.

This occurrence was such a normal part of my childhood. I would open the door, and scream "Maaaaaaa, peshent party eseche" (the patient's family have come). Maa would emerge from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her saree, and talk to them for a few minutes. While I went back to doing whatever it was I was doing.

But one day, this is not what happened. It must have been around May-June, because I remember my summer vacations were on. Maa came to the door, and said something in a tone I knew she used when pretending to be angry. "Why will I take this from you? Is this how you will give to your family members?" She went back into the kitchen, and handed them one of her many steel tiffin boxes. "There's no hurry. Whenever you are coming this side again, I want you to bring it prepared. Okay?"

Confused, and also a bit scared to ask questions, I lurked around the dining table when Dad came back from work. Then I overheard Maa telling him, "They came with packets of raw vermicelli, milk, and sugar. So I asked them to prepare the dish and bring." Dad replied, "You know, they're used to us people not accepting food cooked by them. You did the right thing."

The very next day, the steel tiffin box came back. With seviyan kheer. And an even huger smile.

Eid Mubarak. Remember, hatred is taught.

One Year

You probably don't remember, but I do
That day from exactly a year ago
When we first met

I remember waking up to a phone call
And frantically travelling across the country, reaching
Hours late for our rendezvous

Yes, I was late. But in my defense
It was you who arrived, in all your hurry
A bit too soon

You probably don't remember, but I do
That a year ago, I wasn't there with you
At that exact moment

You probably won't remember, but I will
That a year later, I'm still not there with you
On your first birthday

Work From Home

Via an email right from the top, the team that I work for has asked us to stay at home, and not come to office unless absolutely necessary. And while I laud this step taken by the company in our collective fight against the Covid19, it kinda takes the fun away from playing truant.

C'mon, we all know what I'm talking about. Those mid-week treats you give yourself by saying - "soch raha hoon aaj WFH kar loon". Not the kinds where you email your boss stating the same. But the times you discreetly message a colleague - "aaj boss aaya hai kya?" Or, you log onto your messenger to track exactly when the dot against your boss's name turns from red to green or grey. A quick decision is made. A few emails are sent out with an all-important CC list. The rest of the day goes periodically checking your inbox, and praying that the said boss doesn't call you. And if all ends well, there's a sense of triumph at 5:00pm. That's what I call a WFH. Not this.

I guess WFH is the closest, albeit by a huge distance, that a responsible adult can get to the thrill of playing truant from school. Or, bunking, as we called it back in the day. That was a different ball game altogether. A rite of passage, almost. I know I'm gonna be super proud the day my son bunks school for the first time, although a bit disappointed that I actually found out. And then years later, when he's a responsible adult himself, I'll tell him all my bunking stories.

I'll tell him about the first time ever. When Debjit and I went to watch "Himalay Putra". Well, there was this other movie that the two of us intended to watch, one with the big capital A on the posters. But we chickened out when we saw the security guard staring at our school uniforms.

I'll tell him about the time Sayantan and I went to watch "Godzilla", and sneaked in to the theatre a can of cold beverage that wasn't age-appropriate. It opened with a loud hiss, and the person in front turned to look. Sayantan whispered to him - "surround sound".

I'll tell him about the time Chandradeep and I had already made plans to go watch "Josh", and his dad suddenly decided to drop us to school. But hey, a commitment is a commitment, right? We walked gingerly from the car towards the school gates, and then took the fastest U-turn in history.

I'll tell him about the time when almost forty of us, in different smaller groups, all in our school uniforms, found ourselves in the same long queue outside a movie hall, for "Mohabbatein". I can't remember why or how we all chose the exact same showtime, but then again, this was a Shah Rukh Khan movie and that was the late 90s / early 00s.

Okay, I'll stop before I implicate my best buddies any further. And you start thinking all I did in school was bunk.

Tomorrow onwards, I'm "working" from home.

Esteem

I have a second-hand DL registration 2007 model Maruti Esteem. And notwithstanding all the fun that has been poked at me for driving "a prehistoric set of wheels", I love my car. It's not like I've never thought of selling her and upgrading, but each time I have, something or the other has cropped up and I've postponed my decision.

Take, for example, this weekend. We moved to another city. A full truck-load of household goods was sent through the movers and packers company. Next, was us. Which in our case means the whole pack. The wife and I briefly discussed our options. Air was ruled out because there's just one domestic carrier that allows pets as cabin baggage, and while our experience with them has been very positive in the past, this time we weren't sure how to put a rescue animal, that's illegal to cage, inside a cage, when he doesn't live in a cage. Rail was ruled out as well, for the same reason, and because we couldn't get confirmed first class tickets in such short notice. Ergo, we had to do this by road. Plan A was to sell the car in our previous city, and hire a long distance cab. But that was turning out to be too expensive. Plus, the wife pointed out that we'll need a car in the new city when our eldest, the German Shepherd, comes back home, as no public mode of transport allows him on due to his size. Plan B was to drive down. In my second-hand DL registration 2007 model Maruti Esteem.

And so we did. Pune - Satara - Kolhapur - Belgaum - Hubli (night halt) - Chitradurga - Tumkur - Bangalore. 850+ kilometres. Just a man and his machine. And his beautiful wife, their nine-month old son, a full-time live-in nanny-in-training, an Indian ring-necked parakeet that can't fly, a doll-faced Persian cat that can't sit still, a large suitcase, a gigantic bag full of baby paraphernalia, a litter tray and feeding bowl (for the cat), two potted plants, a wall hanging, and a laptop.

A Little Goodbye

An hour ago, I was cradling my son's head against my chest, as he, through some mysterious sixth sense that only babies have, had perceived something was wrong, and wouldn't stop crying.

Right now, I'm sitting at an airport. Alone.

I've said a lot of goodbyes over the last so many years, but never have I felt this way about a little blink of those big eyes. I've traveled quite a bit over the last so many years, but never have I immediately checked return tickets while in the cab towards the airport.

The silver lining... it's only a few weeks that we'll be apart. But it doesn't stop the terrible guilt that surges through me.

This won't be easy.

Johnny Johnny...

When we were scouting for a name to bestow upon our firstborn, a very close friend of mine remarked - "Why bother? His pals are gonna call him something embarrassing anyway." Yea, nicknames. Sometimes embarrassing. Sometimes funny. And almost always makes you wonder "where did THAT come from?" Because each nickname is a unique story. A celebration of one very personal relationship. I'm not talking about those nicknames widely used, but the special ones. The one nickname that only one person (or a close group) calls you by. The one nickname that you feel inherently protective towards. The one nickname that you wouldn't allow anyone else to utter.

It's not the same with our "real" names. We all dream that our name will one-day spread wide and far. We all want our name to live on in history forever. And to achieve so, we spend a lifetime doing what they call "making a name for ourselves". But how about relishing the nicknames, instead? How about cherishing them, appreciating them, celebrating them? How about spending time with that one person (or that close group) who simply refuses to remember what your actual name is? Because your name may very well be forever, but your nickname lasts only as long as the other person does.

---
A very close friend of my dad passed away today. He was the only one in their group who called dad "Johnny!" I always assumed that's an intentionally corrupted form of my dad's name. Never really asked. Or even if I had, never really got an answer. I'd like to believe there's a little story hidden there, from back when they were in college. I guess I'll never find out. While speaking to dad over the phone, a few hours ago, he tells me - "Aar keu konodin aamay Johnny bole dakbe na" (Nobody will ever call me Johnny again).

Love Multiplies...

There will be a day
Long after you've gone
When everything that you called yours
Will be gone too.

Everything you bought
Everything you built
Every cat dog human you ever loved
Will be gone too.

Every word you wrote
Every note you sang
Every reason that made you once smile
Will be gone too.

Time will engulf
Everything around you
And every tiny proof that you did exist
Will be gone too.

But on that day
Long after you've gone
Only the love that you gave out
Will be alive.

Because everything else dies
Love multiplies.

One Month

Ushno turns one month old today. And in this one month, I have been asked umpteen times by almost everybody I've spoken to - how does it feel to be a father? And the response has always been the same - it hasn't sunk in yet. Maybe because I don't share my physical space with both mother and child. Maybe because I hardly spent any time bonding with the baby, before I rushed back to Pune. My life here has been exactly the same as it was before. I spend five days working and two sleeping. I haven't had to drastically modify that routine in order to accommodate feeding and changing times. As the biological father, I have done absolutely nothing.

I remember an old friend of mine, when I told him we are expecting, had said "there's no feeling of pure love and joy like the first time you hold your own baby". Sadly, I didn't experience that. The first time I held Ushno, the only feeling I had was of pure terror. The only thought I had was - don't drop him don't drop him. Over the next seven days that I was there, that specific fear did go away, only to be replaced in the weeks that followed by a deeper more persistent thought - what exactly does a father do?

Times have changed. Earlier, societal norms dictated that the father's job was only to be a protector and provider. But now, I'm sure his mother is more than capable of being the breadwinner AND the primary caregiver. Which basically means, I am obsolete. Like a home landline. You need one as proof of residence or something, but no-one actually uses it. Some of you might chuckle at that description, but trust me, it's just an attempt to cover up the abject trepidation of being actually useless.

And so, in the absence of having to do anything worthwhile, I spent the past one month doing the only thing that I do best. Reading. I read the articles on how the presence of an involved father can impact the child's emotional and social development. I read the studies that say paternal engagement leads to emotionally secure children, which in turn develops the confidence in them to go explore their surroundings. I read the advice columns. I read the instructions manual. But let's be honest, cramming all the theoretical knowledge in the world doesn't really make someone a good father. Which is probably why they're called hands-on dads. C'mon, ask me again - how does it feel to be a father?

Ushno, I hope someday you get to read this. The thing is, when you're old enough to understand all of this, there are chances I may not be around. On that day, I want you to know that while you were struggling to make sense of this new world, I was a struggling one-month old too. Shine on, you faraway angel.

Dokhin kothay?

Dokhin, like all cats I suppose, loved to hide. In an empty shoe box, behind my study table, underneath our TV cabinet, inside our low seating wooden box chairs. The tighter the space, Dokhin would squeeze right in, all snug and comfortable. And then he would give us a wide-eyed look of surprise when we managed to find him. After a good ten minutes of searching, of course. One of the recurring jokes that the wife and I shared, was that - in the past twenty months of our marriage, and the sixteen months of having Dokhin, we haven't said "I love you" to each other as much as we've said "Dokhin kothay?" (Where's Dokhin?)

We won't be saying that anymore. Dokhin Ray jumped over the rainbow bridge yesterday at 11:45am. He was diagnosed with FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), a fatal disease with no known cure. After three weeks of fighting tooth and claw, we decided to let him go. Dokhin was such a magnificent little tiger, it would have been unfair to make him live minus his dignity.

He was only one and a half years old, and in that small amount of time, he had filled our lives with affection. To those who don't like cats (and I would know because I was one of them), I must point out that you probably have never received the affection of a cat. They are very choosy about whom they love, but when they do trust you, when they do feel secure around you, when they purr as you lightly stroke their chins, when they rub their bodies against your leg, when they follow you around the house just to check on you because you're home alone, or even when they're fast asleep on your arm with their head upside down and belly exposed... there's no feeling of more contentment.

Good bye, son. We know you've found a better hiding place.

Lost and Found

It was her dark green handkerchief,
With an even darker perfume stain right in the middle.
She had put two sprays, like always, from her favourite glass bottle
And tucked it herself inside your shirt pocket.

Later that day, in between sobs and almost choking
On that lump in your throat, you told her how sorry you were.
That you didn't mean to lose her dark green handkerchief.

She laughed and laughed. "It doesn't matter, you dodo. I'll buy a new one."
But you just wouldn't stop crying, and just couldn't explain
That you weren't really upset about the dark green handkerchief.

But, for a few hours that day, from lunch till school got over
You couldn't smell Maa on you.
And that is the worst thing that can happen to a five-year old.

Or a thirty five-year old.

The Train

Found this on Facebook today. Such a beautiful expression of life and love. Some of you might not have had the chance to read Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's 'Pather Panchali', or watch Satyajit Ray's brilliant on-screen adaptation 'The Apu Trilogy', but I'm sure your own experiences have taught you, in some way or the other, that life is all about letting go. We are all Apu, on our own little journeys through an endless time. And along the way, we will lose a sister (like Durga), a father, a mother, a friend, a lover, a spouse, a child. We will thank them for joining us on our journeys. We will remember them through bittersweet memories. But eventually we will let them go. Because we're all meant to be chasing our own trains. Never catching it.

Chnachor

Around forty years ago, my grandfather bumped into a teenage boy at the railway station. He couldn't speak any Bengali, had run away from home, and was looking for work. After coaxing, scolding, and even threatening him to go back, when the boy just wouldn't listen, Dadu gave up and offered him a job as a porter-cum-handyman at his shop. Since that day, Bhorot Da became part of our family. He fell in love with Kalpani Di, our maid at the time, got married to her, moved into a small hut at the perimeter of our ancestral house, and raised two beautiful children.

In the years growing up, Bhorot Da was more than Superman to us cousins. He had a chiseled body, could catch snakes and giant centipedes with his bare hands, would bowl the fastest deliveries at us during our cricket matches, and at our annual Kali Pujo he would dance like a mad man, holding two lit anars that spewed fiery sparks in all directions.

But his pièce de résistance was the three storey tall chnachor or bon-fire that he built single-handedly on the eve of Kali Pujo. Villagers from far and across would drop by, just to watch this burning spectacle. As the flames licked the sky, we too would watch in awe, our little chests swelling with family pride, beads of sweat forming on our foreheads from standing too close.

This year, for the first time in a long time, Bhorot Da couldn't work on his chnachor. He's been very ill of late, and excessive drinking has paralyzed his hands. But family traditions have to continue. Someone else built the bon-fire, we set it ablaze and watched it burn. It seemed smaller this year, an indication of how time erodes everything.

Bhorot Da was there too. Kalpana Di and the kids brought him over to our house. I sat with him for a while, watching him wipe away his tears with trembling hands. I was holding my wife's camera, and wanted to capture this moment in a portrait, but quickly decided against it. This wasn't the Bhorot Da that I want to remember. And so, I took a picture of the bon-fire, instead.

That night, I realized Bhorot Da was our chnachor. For all these years, he burned tall and bright, lit up our childhood with memories for a lifetime, and then, let the night take over.

Love for a Lifetime

Say hello to Leelabati Basu and Gosto Behari Basu, my paternal grandparents, or Amma and Dadu, as we called them. In the years growing up, we hadn't seen a single moment that they weren't bickering and arguing, to the extent that we were reasonably sure they hated each other.

The day Amma died, which was quite sudden, given her good health at the time, Dadu was seen mumbling to himself angrily - "That old woman just had to take my neem tree away, didn't she?" - referring to the wood that had been cut down for her pyre.

And yet, the day Amma died, Dadu stayed on his favourite wooden chair and watched us go through all the rituals, one after the other, till we took her body away. He then came back inside the house, lay down on his bed, and never got up again. One and a half years of bedsores and dementia later, he too passed away.

Falling in love is all about the skip in your heartbeat, or the butterflies in your stomach. But when you love someone for a lifetime, you simply can't live without her.

Daadhi Badh Gaya Hai

The other day, I decided to take an auto to work. 

I do this a few days every month, whenever I don't feel like driving, and the guys at my nearest auto stand all seem to know me. Plus, it's easier than using an app to find a cab, coordinating with the driver for directions, and then staring at a little car icon on my smartphone that keeps moving away from where I am. Anyway, I digress. So the other day, I decided to take an auto to work. 

I walked upto the first auto in line, and asked - "Baasat chaloge?"

"Baithiye."

"Kitna loge?"

"Sir, baasat kahan?

"B block. Nokia building."

"Do sau de dena."

"Kya? Abhi toh pichle hafte yahin se auto lia tha. Bhaada badh gaya?"

At this point, he looks at me, and flashes a smile of recognition - "Oh sir, aap? Daadhi badha liye ho?"

This was in obvious reference to my beard that has grown considerably since, well, the last time he saw me. Now, I'd like to think there was a lot of traffic, but my wife says I'm deaf. Whatever be the reason, I clearly hear him say - "Oh sir, aap? Bhaada badh gaya hain."

And so, I reply - "Kya bhaiya? Kuch bhi bolte ho? Kab se badh gaya?"

"Sir, pichle baar aapka itna nahi tha."

"Wahi toh main bol raha hoon. Itna jaldi kaise badh sakta hain?"

(mumbling) "Woh toh sir aap ko hi pata hoga?"

(raising my voice) "Mujhe kaise pata hoga? Aap log kuch bhi bol dete ho customer ko."

(giving up) "Sir, aap baith jaaiye."

"Nahi. Pehle bolo kitna loge?"

"Sir, aap toh regular ho. De dena jo dete ho."

I sit inside the auto with a smug smile, feeling accomplished that I wasn't taken for a ride (pun intended). Minutes later, it hits me. But it's too late for clarifications. He drives me to office in stony silence. 

I'm pretty sure all the guys at my nearest auto stand know me. Now.

Dokhin Ray

In the country of eighteen tides, what is known to the rest of civilization as the Sundarbans, every morning, as the honey-collectors venture out to earn their daily bread, they worship two deities... Bonbibi, the guardian of the forest, and her arch-enemy Dokhin Ray, the demon tiger god.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet the newest member of our family... Dokhin Ray.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

If I Knew You...

If I knew you, when you were only six
I would have held your hand, and just for kicks
We would run around in circles, like two crazy best friends
And only stop when our mothers sent
Someone to look for us, coz it's getting dark
Too late for little kids to be out in the park

If I knew you, when you were thirteen
I would have been​ your first crush, in the school social scene
We would ignore each other all day long
And keep on wondering, did we say something wrong?
But everyday, I would have walked you back home
Acting all cool, with my blue pocket comb

If I knew you, when you were twenty three
I would have knocked some sense and asked you to choose me
We would sit by the sea, and kiss in the rain
And save each other from a whole bunch of pain
Our weekends would have been spent at roadside bars
Staying up all night, searching for stars

When I finally got to know you, you were twenty eight
And I do feel sometimes why'd it have to be so late
There's so many things we missed, so much catching up to do
So many unnecessary scars that need healing too
But I'm really happy we met... as they say, better late than never
Now we have the rest of our lives, to grow old together

Diamonds Are Forever...

This goes out to all the women who loved me. The ones I loved back, and the ones I couldn't. The ones I once hated for hurting me, and the ones I hurt along the way. Thank you. Thank you for everything. For the smiles we exchanged. For the laughter we shared. For the tears we couldn't wipe away. But most of all, thank you for your time. Thank you for letting me be a part of your journey. Thank you for joining me on mine.

This goes out to all the women, except one. The one I'm marrying tonight. You and I... we're like diamonds in the sky.

The Scar

She rode out to war once,
On a thundering horse.
Her hair tied up under an iron helmet,
Her sword glistening in the sun.

They fought for days,
But eventually lost that campaign.
She returned, lucky to be alive,
With only a deep scar across her arm.

She was quite proud of that scar, actually.
Because it reminded her
Of a time she was reckless enough
To jump headfirst into a losing cause.

You must cover it up, they said.
Who will marry you with that ugly scar, they asked.
And so she did cover up the scar
With ornamental ink, so pretty.

A few evenings later,
She bumped into Prince Charming.
Her heart fluttered,
As he stared intently into her eyes.

And then he said,
Pardon me, but
You look a lot like someone
I once went to war beside.

She wore an iron helmet,
So I couldn't see her face clearly.
But I must admit
I felt true love for only her.

Because of her scar.
You see, she had this fierce scar
Right across her arm,
And that's what made her, beautiful.

Tamaso Mā Jyotir Gamaya

A long time ago, before religion had been invented, humans lit ceremonial fires to celebrate. Fire, or light, has since time immemorial been the symbol of happiness across cultures, as has darkness been associated with gloom and negativity. Even now, for any joyous occasion, we light candles, earthen lamps, and little electric bulbs.. to decorate, but more importantly, to dispel darkness from our lives.

This picture is from exactly a year ago. I had just shifted into a new house, in a new city.. and was feeling rather blue. To be honest, I was regretting a bunch of decisions. After the movers and packers had left, I slept for God knows how many hours, only to wake up in the middle of the night. Disorientated, I walked into my balcony, and saw that my neighbours from upstairs had put up these fairy lights. A smile flashed across my face. I knew I'd survive this.

Kali Puja

Tucked away on the South Eastern railway line that extends from Howrah towards Kharagpur and beyond, is a small village called Kulgachia. I'm not too sure why my grandfather decided to make that his home, but he did, and it's been almost seventy years since. Here, my grandparents built their own house, raised six children, lost one, survived a bunch of extremely naughty grandkids, and breathed their last.

Kulgachia, to me, has always been my "desher bari"... of long corridors and paved courtyards, of bathing ponds and mango orchards... and of course, our family Kali Puja. Almost as old as our ancestral house, this annual event is what brings me back to Kulgachia every year. Kali Puja connects me to my roots, ties me up in nostalgia, and for one night, lets me be a child to his Mother.

Waves

For three hours last Sunday, we
sat by the sea,
and watched waves.

Each different from the other, yet
indistinguishable,
in their incessantness.

Isn't this how love is supposed to feel?

The comfort of knowing that, no matter
how today ends,
there will be tomorrow..

Crashing against our shores, slowly eroding us.

Good Things Happen to Good People

Throughout my adult life, for as long as I can remember, I have loved, laughed, listened.. cared, shared, repaired.. and forgiven. With so much good karma under my belt, it was way about time the universe started paying dividends. Yea, this sure feels like the start of something special.

shaadi dot com

A few hours ago, my friends and I were at the rooftop bar,
Drinking tall cocktails, crazy purple shots, and smoking cheap cigars.

They all left, soon after the last bell rung,
I decided to stay, for me the night was still young.

And now I'm standing at a crowded corner of the high street,
All alone among people, I'd otherwise never meet.

There's vomit on the pavement, the air smells of stale regret,
But we're all in this together, we're playing a variation of roulette.

Yes, we're all in this together, buying 'n selling dreams in polychrome,
You see, the last bus has left... and everyone's in a hurry to get home.

Forward Now, Forward...

A few days ago, an old friend of mine (you know I don't mention names on this blog) asked me whether I'm up for a weekend getaway to Rishikesh. Dying to do something different with my life, I said yes.. and we drove all the way from Delhi to Biyasi in my faithful Maruti Esteem. The first evening at our campsite was spent around a bonfire with Old Monk, a guitar and old Hindi songs. Early in the morning of Day 2, the both of us scrambled our way to Shivpuri, for a 16km white-water rafting trip that was included in our package deal.

This stretch on the tumultuous Ganga, from Shivpuri to Rishikesh, has famous Grade IV rapids like the Roller Coaster and Golf Course. As a non-swimmer, I was obviously super nervous, and yet never more sure that I wanted to do this. The next hour and a half was an experience I'll remember for a long, long time. Not so much because of the thrills.. to be honest, I've been on amusement park rides that are scarier.. but because of what our raft guide Rohit taught me that day.

When approaching a rapid, remember that the splashing water will try to push you over, and you need to counter that force. So, instead of holding on to the safety rope.. just lock your feet under the air tubes, sit on the outer rim of the raft, and paddle forward as fast as you can.

And that, ladies and gents, is now my Mantra to life.

Amores Perros

You're on your way home. On your bike. Slightly over the speed limit. But that's okay.

You realize you're losing control of the handlebars.

Your grip tightens. Everything blurs into slow motion. You just have enough time to think "Oh, fuck!"

You see people helping you up. They look concerned, and funny too, opening and closing their mouths. You can't hear what they're saying.

You look down. There's a rather large red blotch on your jeans, near your right knee. It is slowly spreading out. You can't feel it.

You remember. There was a dog. Crossing the road. You had slammed your rear brakes. There was sand too.

You look around. Your bike is all smashed up. You search for the dog. It's nowhere to be seen, probably ran away from the crowd.

You look at your bike again. This is gonna cost a bomb. You want to get angry. But you smile instead.

The dog is okay.

Happy New Year

I don't really publicize the existence of my blog, and so, if you're reading this, chances are you know me pretty well. I tend to turn to writing when I'm feeling rather emotional about something, mostly when I'm depressed. A simple per year post count will tell you that 2006-2007 and 2014-2015 have been the worst years of my life.

That changes today. I know I've made mistakes, but I also know I've done everything possible to make amends. And more importantly, I know I've learnt from each experience. You see, what matters most is not the first, or the second, or even the third chapter of my life, but it is the final chapter which will tell the world how well I wrote this story. Watch out!

Cold Cold Winter

So, here we are. Another failed relationship. What happened this time? Well, I can only tell you my version, which of course, won't be the whole truth. There's her version as well, which is as much true to her as mine is to me. Anyway, I'll keep this short.

Five years ago I fell in love with a girl who was headed for a divorce, legally separated. That fact aside, we were just another happy couple. But the court case took too long. We fought about it. A lot. One day, we decided to ignore the fact that there is a divorce happening, and instead focus on being together. Bad idea. That's when the distance crept in. She couldn't talk to me about the one big pain she is going through. I, on the other hand, spoke a bit too much about future plans. She changed cities, twice. For her career, she told me. I read it as she wants to be away from me. I followed her around the country, thrice. We fought. We spoke. We fought. Then we just got tired. And gave up.

Lawrence Durrell said, "There are only three things to be done with a woman - you can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature".

Text Messages

Every time we exchange text messages, every time, out of the blue,
I feel you reaching out. Do you not feel the same way too?

Here's a funny meme, that describes you so true.
LOL. Smiley face. So, what else is new?

Didn't you start work today? How was it? How are you?
The new office is good. Oh BTW, guess who I bumped into?

Ten minutes of conversation, and then the pain starts oozing through.
Five years of being together, and that's all we can make do.

Take care. Be good. Move on.. I say, but don't wanna hear no adieu.
Just tell me that you're reaching out. Because here, I'm reaching out too.

The Cardboard Box

There’s an old cardboard box in my room somewhere,
Probably a remnant of something I got delivered from one of these online stores.

Some days it is plain brown, with a fading blue logo I can’t read anymore,
On other days it has pink wrapping paper on it, and little grey smiling elephants.

Every night I put away my stories in that box... the good, the bad, and the boring,
And I’m careful to shut the flaps tight, so that they don’t spill out and fade away.

You see, this is the longest that we haven’t spoken to each other,
And I’m worried that when we do meet, we won’t have anything to talk about.

Because we will meet someday, maybe years from now,
Talk about our respective lives, a normal conversation without any awkward pauses.

I’ll ask you about your new friends, your music sessions, your dance classes,
Tell you about my job, my football practice, everything...

Just enough chit chat, to make you smile,
And keep me from saying out loud... I never stopped loving you!

Possessive Much?

Okay, so here's a thought.

Let's say you love someone. To me, that means you think that the person is a wonderful human being.. that she is capable of spreading positive vibes, such as happiness and joy and love. Ergo, there will be others who will think so too.. there will be others who will love her too. Right? So, what's this thing called jealousy that couples talk about?

A certain someone once had told me, "You're the world's least possessive boyfriend". And I think I had replied, "That's coz possession implies ownership. I never owned you. I'm just happy to know you."

Or something like that. I dunno. It was a long time ago.

Early Morning Flights

"Why do you always book early morning flights?", she asked in exasperation, her nose all scrunched up.

"Because then I get the entire day at my destination", I replied.

"No, you don't. You can't sleep all night because you're scared you'll miss the flight. You can't sleep in the plane because your legs don't fit in those tiny seats. Basically you fuck up your entire day. You're an idiot."

"I love you too. Now go back to sleep. I'll call you when I reach."

I Scream

My little nephew was coming home for lunch, so maa asked me to go get some ice cream. On the way back, maybe because I was dangling the flimsy plastic bag a bit too much, it ripped right through the middle. Eight cups of butterscotch ice cream went tumbling across the asphalt. As I bent down to pick them up, I see from the corner of my eye, an elderly gentleman walking up to the crime scene. Let's call him bhadralok number one. He stops right in front of me, and exclaims to an unseen audience "the plastic has ripped". Enter bhadralok number two. He says "eeesh, yes indeed, the plastic has ripped, and the ice cream has fallen out". While I try my best to gulp down a sarcastic retort, bhadralok number three announces "polythene bags should be banned, they are harmful to our environment". There's a collective groan of approval from the crowd. Oh yes, a crowd has formed by then. And all this in the span of less than a minute, mind you. Then comes fat sweaty kakimaa, wiping away the extra talcum powder on her neck with the edge of her saree. She looks into her big shopper, pulls out a bunch of plastic bags, throws one at me, and walks off. Before I can mumble a thank you, she's gone. And so has the crowd. Dispersed into the city called Kolkata.

Work Culture

Ten years ago, on an October afternoon, a bunch of kids fresh out of engineering college were bundled into a bus, and asked to report at the Tech Mahindra (then Mahindra British Telecom) Chandivali office. We reached Mumbai late, greeted by the heavy rains that this city is so famous for. It was after office hours, and our point of contact from admin had left for the day. Drenched, confused, and tired, we struggled for the next couple of hours figuring out what the hell we were supposed to do. But none of us complained. We were busy making new friends, gulping down vada pavs, laughing at the absurdity of the situation.. everyone a little too excited to actually be in the city that never sleeps.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again - if you haven't lived in Mumbai, you don't know what "work culture" means.

Thump Thump and Bump...

A little sparrow flew into my life once,
Well, not flew, exactly... she just nosedived,
Thump, thump, and bump.

Lost, hurt, and confused, she fit in my palm,
I fell for her barely audible nasal chirp that day,
And promised love.

Yes, like an idiot, I promised love,
My commitment, my attention, my time,
To a sparrow.

But sparrows don't eat from spoons,
One day, she found herself again...
And flew away.

And all I was left with was a song,
A song that still plays in my heart today,
Thump, thump, and bump.

Quarter Past Five

The blanket, fresh from the dry cleaners,
Because she gets cold at night,
And hates sharing.

The TV subscription, upgraded,
Because she needs to know we have all channels,
Even if she’ll watch just one.

The plug socket right next to the bed, repaired,
Because she wants her phone fully charged,
While it stays under her pillow.

The white bathroom slippers, the pink sleep shirt, the green towel...
They were all ready at 5:15pm,
Only you weren’t.

What Do You See?

woman, i've heard you dream a lot about the sea..
but in those dreams.. what exactly do you see?

do you see a setting sun spread dull orange flames across the sky?
do you see a few wispy cirrus clouds fading out as they say goodbye?

do you see a flock of unknown birds fly past in a mad scramble to get home?
do you see uninterrupted waves crash into the sands and spit out their foam?

do you see a lone crab scurrying sideways, seemingly unsure where it wants to go?
do you see that one broken shell, hidden, almost waiting to hurt your little toe?

woman, i've heard you dream a lot about the sea..
but in those dreams.. do you see me?

Tor Baba!

Bengali boys are emotional, sensitive, inclined to write silly poetry.. but what most people don't know is that they're rather creative when it comes to giving gaalis. Not the usual maachod behenchod for these young gentlemen, no... they specifically target each other's fathers. Nothing brings a hearty chuckle to those nicotine stained lips, than having his father insulted by a close Bengali friend.

I am lucky to have an entire gang of such friends. And, while today might be too soon... maybe in a month or two.. bhai, I promise you we shall celebrate the life of Uncle.. in a way only Bengali boys can.

Durga Pujo

A long time ago, this meant buying yourself a shiny new cap pistol.. being gifted no less than 5 matching sets of clothes.. keeping your heartbeat in check before that all night pandal hopping excursion (only to fall asleep somewhere between Mohammad Ali Park and College Square).. eating copious quantities of street food (followed by a spoonful of Aquaticotis as soon as you reached home).. and feeling a sense of irreparable loss on Doshomi as you watched your mother smear sindur on the Mother.

Now, it means taking a 15 minute break from work to stare at Kolkata on Facebook.

Alone Time

I've always been a popular kid. I enjoy being the centre of attention. I love public speaking, some might even say I'm pretty flamboyant when in front of a crowd. I'm an introvert.

There is no mind numbing paradox here. Every human being is different. And for the love of God, I don't understand why some people don't get this. I do not lack social skills. I love talking to people as long as I'm genuinely interested in the topic, AND the person. I hate small talk, I don't believe in social pleasantries, I will never fake a conversation. I love reading, I love thinking, I love solving little puzzles in my head. I need my alone time.

In conclusion.. please stop encouraging me to play badminton with you guys.. stop inviting me to a weekend getaway with your family. I'm most lonely when I’m with a group of people and there's nothing to talk about. It depresses me. And I don't like being depressed.

Happy Teachers' Day

Strip everything away, and the purpose of life is to survive... to survive and pass on.. not just our genes, but the collective knowledge that would help the next generation (and the next) survive.

Which means the only way to justify your existence as a member of our species, is to have taught a child.

Happy Teachers' Day!

The Door

One thousand two hundred and forty four days. And every one of those I spent struggling to open the door between us. I cried, I complained, I gave up, I gave in.. and then, when the door finally did come ajar, I realized I had built a whole new wall. And this one, had no door.

Bye Bye Dreams..

Everytime we say goodbye, I die a little
Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little
Why the gods above me who must be in the know
Think so little of me.. they allow you to go

~ Cole Porter.

Watching her push that baggage cart into and beyond the sliding doors, there's a knot in my stomach that tells me I'll never see her again.. tells me this is where we break the cycle. Funny how you always imagine such life-defining moments to be full of drama. But there were no violins, no slow motion editing. There was a quick glance, a silent conversation that ended two minutes before it should have.. and an even quicker hug, that never should have ended. As hard as I try to replay the scene in my head, I don't even remember what colour she was wearing tonight.

But what I'll forever remember is the sound of her laughter... and my dreams.

Teach For India

Do you remember the first time we met? I do. It was a Saturday morning in 2012, and your didi had invited me over to your school to spend the day with all of you. She had asked me to share something about my life that would inspire you to study hard. To be honest, I was a bit nervous. What is one supposed to say to a bunch of 10 year olds, I wasn't sure.

So, I stood in front of you and asked you to ask me questions, about anything you wanted to know. "Bhaiya, how old are you?", "Bhaiya, how much you studied?", "Bhaiya, what is your favourite colour?", "Bhaiya, who is your favourite hero?", Bhaiya, you like Michael Jackson?" - came shooting from all corners, much to your didi's annoyance. But in those 10 minutes and 300 questions, you welcomed me as one of your own. I had not seen such warmth of smiles in my entire life. And that kept me coming back to your classroom for more.

Today, your didi asks me to write a few motivating lines for you. But I can't. Because I have nothing to share with you, that you don't have already. Hold onto those infectious smiles. Even if life tells you to give up, just hold on a bit longer. And always.. always, always, keep asking those questions. Because that's the only way one can learn.

Thank you for being my inspiration. I love you all.

International Women's Day

Did we, for one day, stop looking at women
as nothing more than a piece of meat?
Did we stop suggesting that somehow it's all her fault,
everything, including the semen stained bedsheet?

Our little girls.. did we ask them to
sit properly, talk softly, eat slowly?
That young mother.. surely on this day we remembered
her name, and not just that she's a divorcee?

For one day, and one day alone, did we manage
to stop the criticism, the accusations, the discrimination?
Or did we just write a few trashy lines.. poetry,
in the name of intellectual masturbation?

Beat That..

On a late night drive to Alandi Temple (Sant Dnyaneshwar Maharaj samadhi), I had the most surreal experience in my 30 years of existence. By the banks of the Indrayani river, under a moonlit sky, there were not less than fifty young men practicing the pakhawaj. What was unique was that they weren't playing in unison, but each had a different routine, an individual performance.

Well, Almost..

1500 years ago, the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said: "To attain knowledge add things every day. To attain wisdom remove things every day".

All through my adult life, I've been busy removing things. It occured to me pretty early that everything around me - the people, the possessions - are only illusions created in time. And so, I've built a life meticulously pushing away things that I thought I'm getting a little too attached to. Why? Because I honestly thought this would protect me against pain. Has it? I wouldn't know. I've focussed on self preservation for too long.. I've lived within the confines of my comfort zone - like the proverbial frog in the well - for too long, to know the difference between heartache and heartbreak.

Speaking of wells...

Can you understand being alone so long
You would go out in the middle of the night
And put a bucket into the well
So you could feel something down there
Tug at the other end of the rope?

~ Jack Gilbert.

Change of Address

It's been five months already since I moved here. The city offered me a better career option, which I gladly took up.. the decision being fueled by my long standing itch to settle down in life. I should point out here, that "settling down" in my dictionary doesn't mean getting married and having babies.. it's about finding a place you can call home. When you've spent 12 years jumping cities all over the country (and beyond), all you want is home.

This is a nice place.. the local people have a quirky sense of warmth, which at times I quite enjoy basking in.. but it does lack the strong buzz that all my previous addresses had to offer. Paul Graham, in his essay 'Cities and Ambition', says - "Great cities attract ambitious people. You can sense it when you walk around one. In a hundred subtle ways, the city sends you a message: you could do more, you should try harder." Kolkata nudged me towards the finer things in life (which, of course, I realized only after I'd left).. Bangalore gave me that first taste of independence.. Mumbai taught me that hard work, with a bit of heart, trumps all.. Delhi showed me a whole new perspective to power... but Pune, nothing till now.

Maybe that's why I've started to love this city. With her complete lack of expectations from me, I now have the freedom to embrace my restlessness.

Punjabian Di Shaan Vakhri

Gurpreet Singh Bharmota.

You taught me how to smear that extra butter all over my gobi parathas. You taught me that it ain't a Patiala peg if the alcohol in your glass measures anything less than four fingers. You taught me the lyrics to "nadiyon paar sajan da thaana" while it blasted full volume on your car stereo. You taught me that no matter what the song, there's only one dance step. You taught me that being Punjabi is a way of life.

Delhi is not going to be the same without you. Rest in peace, my friend.

Quiz Time

Epic randomness at the Vasundhara Enclave Durga Puja.

Bored with the usual routine of getting drunk, I had gone there to meet a friend's wife.. this kaku asks "tomra quiz khelbe?".. we nod our heads.. get thrust on stage.. and walk away with the first prize!!

...or as Julius Caesar would say - Veni Vidi Vici.

Here's a Love Quote..

If you love someone, set her free. Then, instead of waiting for her to come back.. take a weekend flight to where she lives, have a massive fight, and just royally fuck everything up.. on your two year anniversary day!

Damn, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.

Sad Cafe - Eagles

I first heard this song in 2001.. from an audio cassette (yes, an audio cassette) owned by my best buddy. I remember sitting with his Walkman.. my left thumb gingerly placed on the pause button, scribbling down the lyrics on the last page of my notebook. Later that year, this was one of the three songs (the other two being from Def Leppard and Bryan Adams) that I had crooned while trying to woo the girl who went on to become my college sweetheart. The people have gone.. the Walkman is dead.. but things in this life change very slowly, if they ever change at all.

I Have a Bad Feeling About This

No, this post isn't about running gags in the Star Wars series. I have a bad feeling about her leaving the city. Granted that she got a job, but I can't help think that there's something deeper here. Don't get me wrong, I'm super happy about her new role.. for Christ's sake I was the one who helped her with the entire application process. But I'm beginning to notice a pattern where she keeps running away from family. From what she's told me, I know that her relationship with her parents isn't exactly normal.. and even though I try my best to stay away from being judgemental, I can now see that it's affecting us. She has always had this latent need to punish her parents for leaving her and breaking her trust. Considering what she's been through as a child, I would say it is understandable, but unhealthy nonetheless. In the past one year of living in the same city, I really did try to build her a whole new world. But now I realize I was stupid enough to think I'm Alladin. Her need to get away from that house far outweighs her want to stay with me. That's the truth.

To be honest, I'm scared I won't be able to do this anymore. Oh, long distance.. my nemesis!

Comfortably Placed

It was exactly one year ago, I was sitting on an old metal chair in the middle of a classroom... my plastic smile betraying the sense of discomfort I felt as three strangers stared at me with their piercing eyes. The two angry men in dark suits had the exact same look on their faces... a look that seemed to scream out – “how dare you have sex with our daughter?”... and the pretty young thing... well, judging by the way she was being mollycoddled, one would think she definitely was the daughter in question! Shit. My mind was beginning to warp. I knew right then I shouldn’t have stayed awake all of last night watching back-to-back episodes of Modern Family. I tried to focus on the present. The three people on the other side of the table had come from the global consulting firm X&Y, and this was my final placements interview. It was the kind of situation b-school fantasies are made of... and all I could think was – “I wonder what she’s doing now.”

Placement season is the craziest time in a management institute. As a fitting end to the two years of dealing with Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome that fucks up your body and mind, here’s an intense three day window of emotional turmoil that sucks out your very soul. Three days. A hundred odd companies, all looking to hire the best brains of India, descend upon the hapless students much like the Biblical swarm of locusts. As a run up to the actual event, an air of gloom seems to envelope the entire campus. Suddenly, the same people who acted like you didn’t exist, want to know what you’ve written in your resume... you become the competition. More often than not, the burden of living up to those expectations gets too heavy for our frail twenty-something shoulders. I’ve seen my classmates burst out in tears, indulge in substance abuse, and even contemplate suicide. The Lord gave David a choice of three punishments, and David chose three days of plague.

Let’s face it. We all had our own reasons to want to improve our lives... and the dark suits were our Messiahs. There’s no point complaining about the way placements are conducted in our top b-schools. Maybe there is something inherently wrong about our education system; maybe our entire social structure is fucked up. But we can leave the "trickle of positive change" (sic) to Chetan Bhagat for now. The way I see it – if an organization is hiring someone on a million rupee salary, they have every right to put us through hell. Not that we minded the torture too much, the lure of big bucks kept us all going strong. Scratch a little beneath the surface, and you would find that it wasn’t just the money. We all had that one thing for which we were ready to compromise on the salary. While most of my friends desperately wanted a change in their job profiles, others fantasized about working for a particular dream company. For me, I had my heart set on shifting base to Delhi – the city where she lived.

It has been exactly one year since I didn’t get the job at X&Y Consulting. But I did get another one. In Delhi. I no longer have to wonder what she’s doing now.

Lager Beer and Dry Chili Chicken

The other day I was catching up with an old friend over the usual lager beer and dry chili chicken. With the conversation fast drying up, we ditched the obligatory small talk and did what old friends do best... we started reminiscing how awesome college used to be. The next three hours just flew by. At the end of the evening, supremely drunk, we promised each other that we should do this again.

I understand there’s something inherently sad about the fact that these days my good times are spent not creating memories, but reliving them... but let's not go there. What really got me thinking the next morning was why do we all have this almost romantic fascination for college nostalgia? Ask anybody about their college, and you’ll hear a sigh... "ohhh, those were the best days of my life"! What’s the big deal about college life anyways, that, years later, most of our conversations still revolve around the experiences we’ve had during this time?

Well, the answer isn’t that hard to figure out. College was when we grew up... from little girls to ladies... from little boys to, well, smarter boys. College was our first tryst with the big bad world. College was our last dance with innocence. College was where friends became closer than family. College was where we found out what it meant to belong.

Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away. Talking about the "good old days" seems to activate my fondness for poetry. In fact, it was during college that I developed and honed my taste for all things beautiful. Though we never exactly gathered around in dark caves reading dead poets... my friends and I did everything else to "suck the marrow out of life".

Most of you have been part of this corporate world for a while now. Important decisions are being taken not by you, but by your deadlines and deliverables. Stop. Pick up that phone. Call an old pal. Because there’s only one thing that goes well with lager beer and dry chili chicken... your college buddies!

A Tale Of Two Cities

A new beginning isn’t possible without an ending. Sometimes these endings are abrupt, and you’re left wondering what the hell just happened. Sometimes you’re lucky to get enough time to say a nice goodbye.. like I did.. with Mumbai.

I’m all set to leave the city I called home since late 2005. In a few hours, I’ll be in Delhi.. a new city.. a new chapter.. a new beginning. This shift of base is all part of a long term plan. Like a snake shedding its skin, I needed to slither out of my slaphappy days. It was high time I took responsibility for my future. With this change, now I’m all set to reclaim my life.

I’m excited because I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. I have taken the leap of faith.. and from here on in, the possibilities are endless. Amidst all the chaos that crowds my head, there’s just one thing I’m sure of.. the reason why I’m shifting to Delhi.

Rabindranath Tagore said about short stories - "shesh hoyeo hoilo na shesh". This was my story.. it ends right here. The rest belongs to us!

She's Perfect

This is her first birthday since we started going around. And all that she has asked for is a blogpost dedicated to our love. She says I write well. But honestly, I'm kinda scared right now. I know she would be overwhelmed with anything I scribble. I've seen her eyes go wide with excitement when I made two chocolate bars appear mysteriously from under my sleeve.. I've seen her wipe away tears of joy when I walked her in a room lit with scented candles. For every simple gesture of mine, like a little kid she will hold my hands and thank me a million times. I know I need not be nervous. That's how much she loves me. And that's exactly why I want to make this gift absolutely perfect for her.

So, while the perfectionist inside me keeps on trying.. here's to the beautiful lady who has made my life perfect. Happy Birthday!

Sad Eyes

You say you're happy and you're doing fine
Well, go ahead, baby.. I got plenty of time
Because sad eyes never lie
Because sad eyes never lie

~ Bruce Springsteen

If photos could speak, her sad eyes would be telling me to be strong right now. But I can't push away the pain inside when I know there are tears being fought back.

Where Do We Go Now...

Too many people, too many questions. Everybody has been asking me to put some serious thought into this. But I’ve made up my mind.. this loverboy is going straight ahead with loving her!!

To be honest, it's not like I haven't asked myself why am I doing this. The answers have ranged from "she's super duper hot" to "I feel sense of protectiveness around her". I’ve played with all possible explanations.. and for a long time I hadn't been able to pin point the exact reason. With anybody else I probably wouldn't have done so much soul searching, but here this was important because I knew there'd be a lot of people waiting to pounce on me with same question. And then it occurred to me that there is not one single answer. This girl is one-in-a-million.. and I love her for all that she is. That includes respecting her past and recognizing the scars it has left her with.

True.. there’s a certain amount of crazy attraction involved here.. and my decision could be blinded by the instant headrush that she is. But somewhere deep inside she makes me comfortable being me.. and that's the girl I would want to build my future with. I understand there will be good days and bad days.. but I want all those days to end with my baby in my arms. My choice is right here.

Never before have I been so clear on what I want to do. It’s the how that bothers me.

Getting Down to the Nitty Gritty...

I got an admission offer from NITIE today.

Two years from now I shall be a proud alumnus of a business school that is recognized by the Govt of India as one of the 15 centers of excellence.

Not bad, huh?

I Feel Like God!

Is it possible to ride a bike for 4 days straight, through 2478 kms of dirt and grime with just 11 hours of sleep?

Go figure! Bangalore - Kolar - Chittoor - Tirupati - Nellore - Nayadupetu - Kavali - Ongole - Chirala - Macchlipatnam - Gudivada - Ellur - Rajamundry - Vizag... and back!

The road may end, but the journey lives on.

Dev D

Dev D. Another awesome flick from the maverick Anurag Kashyap. His cold documentation of the 1993 Bombay blasts in Black Friday made us wake up to non fictional filmmaking, his eccentric expression of our right to freedom of choice in No Smoking gave us our first tryst with Kafka.. but this motherfucker of a movie just takes the cake!!

This being from the same guy who cowrote Maqbool and Omkara, I had expected that the characters would only be loosely based on the earlier Devdas, with just the right amount of urbanization. But Dev D thrashed the alcoholic lover cum martyr into a sleazy self centred bastard.. it mutiliated the Bengali novel into a bloody mess of sex, drugs and Patna ke Presleys. Yes, this was ugly.. and that is why it was so beautiful. The pace of the movie smashed me right in the face and then slowly picked out my drying scabs. Emotional Atyachaar at its best. MMS scandals in a Delhi school, a rich kid on his BMW mowing down pavement dwellers.. the story was too close (to the world that surrounds me) for comfort.. and I haven't even spoken about the alcohol abuse yet.

As for the acting.. everyone was just brilliant. I've been a fan of Abhay Deol since his Socha Na Tha days. I can't see anyone else as Devendra Singh Dhillon. But the awe factor of this movie came in the form of the two leading ladies.. newcomers Mahi Gill and Kalki Koechlin. They stunned me with their portrayal of the new age Paro and Chandramukhi... vulnerable yet headstrong, crazy yet adorable. I'd definitely like to see more of them in the future.

I know this blog was not meant for movie reviews. But then again, so wasn't this movie.

CAT2008

I got my CAT scorecard today. Ninety nine point two four percentile. But no IIM calls. Obviously I’ll get through another top ranking bschool and live happily ever after. But somehow, this hurts. Which is funny because I never did expect an IIM call. In August, when I stood patiently in queue for my application form, I didn’t expect an IIM call. In November, when I was furiously sharpening my HB pencils, I didn’t expect an IIM call. And now in January, while I nervously waited for the website to load, I didn’t expect an IIM call. Yet, this hurts. Maybe a little part of me was secretly hoping for a miracle. I really did give this everything I had. Anyway, shit happens. I guess I'll never see an IIM emblem printed across my plain white tshirt life.

Farewell

The play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell
A moment yet the actor stops
And looks around to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task;
And when he's laughed and said his say,
He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that's anything but gay.

In exactly 4 hours I have a one way ticket out of Mumbai.

Free Fallin'

I put down my papers today. Though this might come across as a shock, the truth is I've been weighing out the pros and cons since about a year. The decision was taken, I knew I had to pull the plug... at the end it was just me haggling with myself on what would be the perfect timing. Adding two months notice to this date, I think the stars are aligned now. I'm scared that the next one year might prove me wrong. But there is only one way to find out.

Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts... I'm gonna build my wings on the way down!

Appraisal

They told me it was "an ongoing, two-way process involving reflection on an individual’s performance, identification of personal ambitions and planning for career growth."

Somewhere, in the labyrinth of office politics and management jargon... I feel left out.

So, does that make me a disgruntled employee jealous about the fact that others are moving on? I think not. Life had taught me a long time ago that even though we're all running, the race is only with yourself.

With my first (and only) job, I've met all my personal goals. I'm inches away from becoming a millionaire at 25. In the last two years and nine months, I've actually done amazing.

But still... I feel left out.

Ho, Ho, Ho... Merry Christmas!

You can call me Ebenezer Scrooge, but I'm not at all being my cynical self when I state that Christmas disgusts me. Bah, humbug!

I really dont understand why there's so much festive cheer around when you know that a big fat hairy old chap in red rags is going to break into your house in the middle of the night and steal all your milk and cookies.

Merry Christmas, anyone?

Phoolon Ka, Taaron Ka... Sabka Kehna Hai

She'll always be my angel, my best friend, my sister!

R I P

There are a few moments that remain forever etched in our memory not because of their colossal impact on our lives, but because of the innate connotations they bring along.

An old college friend died last night in a bike accident. The news didn't shock me or move me to tears, it's true I probably last spoke to him in 2004. But since that phone call came, I've been sitting at my desk doing nothing, a dull throbbing in my head continuously reminding me how fragile life is. At the tender age of 24 when you're bustling with ambition and enthusiasm, all set to spread your wings and conquer the world.. pain and suffering seem to be distant possibilities, they happen to others. In the past two years I have grown to accept that my life will never be all fun n games anymore, but at the same time I never did think death will cast his gloomy shadow so soon.

The sun has begun to set. This is one such moment.

Happy Birthday to Me!

A few hours back I was strolling aimlessly in front of St Paul’s Cathedral, London... my mind straining to remember exactly where I was at midnight on my previous birthday. Sadly enough, I still can’t pin-point the precise moment.

Determined not to let this snapshot be washed away in the sea of odd recollections that crowd my head, I decided to burst my lungs screaming out the Happy Birthday song... but suppressed the urge on second thoughts, too scared that I might wake Him up.

Come to think of it... does God follow Greenwich Mean Time???

Across Seven Seas and Thirteen Rivers...

Last night I was at my own farewell party, smoking cheap cigars and guzzling watery beer till I dozed off. Tonight I have no clue where I am, struggling to sleep as that familiar sting in my left shoulder keeps creeping up. Why is it that pain always makes you remember the one you love the most? Between fond memories and a damaged ligament, my brain is a tangled mess right now... everything seems so surreal. I think my body clock is trying to adjust to the fact that I’ve just flown across five Time Zones.

They say everyone is destined to revisit their birthplace... welcome to United Kingdom.

Comfortably Numb...

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I… have become comfortably numb.

Dreams don’t shatter like glass. They don’t crack through the middle, breaking into a million pieces.. each fragment identical to their mother, only uglier. No... they don’t crumble into dust. Dust, you can sweep away and forget about. Dreams curl up and disappear. And yet... loom all around your consciousness.. forever.

Life In A Metro

“Is shahr mein bas ek ghum hain, har ghar mein ek kamra kam hain”

This so aptly describes my plight living in this cramped city. A third of my salary goes towards house rent each month and yet the only space I get is the floor-area taken up by my 6ft-by-3ft mattress. With seven people staying in a 2 (matchbox-sized) bedroom flat, I really do miss my privacy… not to mention the other things that go missing like my socks and handkerchiefs. The only solitude I enjoy would be the first five minutes in the loo.. after which somebody or the other will invariably come banging on the door asking me to hurry up.

But I love this crowd... yup, I love all six of my flat-mates. There’s the Bengali intellectual who loves debating on whether true democracy exists, the Bihari gizmo-freak who stays glued to his new 17-inch laptop, the Oriya alcoholic who has a taste for bar-dancers, the Mallu communist who believes everyone should pay their taxes, the Mangalorian bodybuilder who has protein shake for breakfast-lunch-dinner, and lastly the Kannadiga hermit who nobody knows much about. The combined effect is 24/7 non-stop entertainment.

Funny how that sums up my experience of this city... even with our myriad miseries, entertainment is what we are best known for.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly present... the city that redefined masala and gave us Bollywood... aamchi Mumbai.

Mind Fucked

My passport now bears a stamp saying I can officially set foot in the UK and work there for the next 24 months. There's just one slight hiccup. The client quoted a price too less, and that’s why we are withdrawing from the project. Translated... me going nowhere.

Funny how our minds work... I’m feeling worthless now coz I didn’t get something I never wanted in the first place. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!

Had it all chalked out in November. Would have quit this job and gone for my MBA. I was even on the right track... gave my entrance exams, scored decent enough, and was looking for b-schools to apply.

Just then the devil snooped in and put in my head this brilliant career move. For the first time in my life, I decided to make a jump from Plan A to Plan B without a safety rope.

...and all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Revolving Is Okay...

Revolving is okay. What I can’t take is rotation!!!

I was made to revolve around the Sun. I’m always at a fixed distance away from her. I know she’s there for me and I also know that she won’t just cease to exist in my life all of a sudden. Well.. at least not for another zillion years, that is. I can feel her warmth, her glow, her existence.. all the time. The truth is.. I am because she is. And yet we are not together. We both survive as separate entities complementing each others presence. She breathes life into my continuation and yet.. we are not together. By some cosmic turn of events, we are spaced apart and this distance will always be there.

Don’t get me wrong.. I’m not complaining. All this shit is actually okay. It wasn’t always so, but I’ve come to terms with it. I mean, come to think of it.. what other options do I have? Either I could break free from my orbit and hurtle into the darkness of perpetuity.. or I could plunge into her fiery depths and burn out. Well, both don’t seem too appealing to me. I’m kinda comfortable this way. That’s why I state “revolving is okay”.

But why do I have to rotate at the same time? Peekaboo.. now I see you, now I don't!! My life is made of days and nights.. and they keep coming at me. It’s just not fair. We face each other in the deadly game of sinful passion, and our emotions get scorched in the heat of day. We turn away from each other, only to experience the deafening tranquility of night. It’s no fun oscillating between these two extremes.. trust me.

A Testimonial for Her...

"So when are you writing one for me???" she asked. "And when you do, feel free to lie blatantly, just like all the others have.”

But as I sit here now, staring hard at my monitor... half expecting a few magical words to materialize out of sheer nothingness... panic grips me. How could I possibly pen down what this girl means to me? How do I objectively list out what I feel about my heartbeat... when, from as long as I can remember, my existence has been intertwined with hers?

And then... she flits back into my thoughts.

She is my pillar of strenth, my only weakness... the cold voice that pushes me to dig out life, the warm bosom that cradles me when I falter... the only person who believes that I can change the world, the only person for whom I would ever want to change the world.

Chennai

During those 36 hour train journeys between Kolkata and Bangalore, I used to have a small stopover at Chennai. I would dump my bag in the cloak room and wander around aimlessly in the streets. Soaked with perspiration under the hot sun, I would listen to snippets of conversation in a language alien. For those couple of hours.. all alone.. I was free from the past that Kolkata wrapped me in, free from the future that Bangalore offered.

Three AM

Its three AM on a cold December night. The cloudy sky extends her arms to greet us, as our bus rushes towards the impassive darkness. I lie awake, not because of the bumpy ride... but to watch you, cuddled up against me, fast asleep. The soft blue light runs along your smooth cheeks and drips down your body. Through the slight parting of your lips, I catch a glimpse of your tongue... mocking me with enticement. I lean forward to listen to the sensuous sound of you breathing.

Suddenly, a cloud shifts... revealing the sharp moon rays, which scamper across the night sky to prick your face. You wrinkle your nose in silent discomfort. I slowly put my right hand on your eyes... to cover your fragile beauty, to protect your innocence. You let out a soft, throaty moan, as you snuggle up closer. Maybe, just maybe... I am in love.

On Loony Lyrics and Life

“Relationships are made of glass” said my eccentric roomie in one of his not-so-rare poetic moods... “they are difficult to make, but easy to break.”

Generally I turn a deaf ear to these cheesy lines from my lyrical friend... but not this time. This time I couldn’t help but muse upon his choice of words and chuckle. How wrong he was.

Point 1 : Making glass is not at all difficult. Ask any Chemical Engineering graduate who is worth his salt... and he’ll explain to you the entire process along with the Design Requirements and Thermodynamic Considerations. It’s just glass.

Point 2 : Breaking up is not that easy. Period.

We have officially called it off... our raisons d'être being too many. In fact, it’s been six months since we decided to crawl out of each other’s lives. Six painful months of consciously trying to keep myself from thinking about her... and I’m getting nowhere.

You see, breaking up is not that easy.

Five years ago... I fell in love with a goddess. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or worse... till death do us part.

Get On With It...

Ok, so I’m a software engineer... and as much as I would love to hold somebody’s head down under water, the truth is... I can’t. Like the many other things I’m forbidden to do… ignore the 6:30 a.m. alarm every morning... enjoy the feeling of sweat trickling down the back of my shirt… have a social life outside my cramped cubicle space. I can’t.

Am I complaining? No... the fat paycheck I receive on the 30th of each month forbids me to do that too.

Welcome to my life.

The First Step

Blog... short for weblog... can be defined as an online personal journal... a frequent, chronological publication of personal thoughts, reflections, comments etc.

To me, it is that funny sound you hear when you are forcefully holding someone’s head under water trying to drown him.

BLOG-BLOG-BLOG...

Silence.

ARCTOPHYLAX

Arctophylax, the guardian of Arctos, was the ancient name of Arcturus (as referred to in Psalm 96:13)... the name of the brightest star in the Great Bear constellation.

It is pictured as a man walking rapidly, with a spear in his right hand and a sickle in his left hand.

Behind, and seeming to urge on the Bear,
Arctophylax, on earth Bootes named,
Sheds over the Arctic car his silver light.

The Greeks called this star Bo-otes, derived from the Hebrew root 'Bo' which means 'come'.

For He cometh,
For He cometh to judge the earth;
He shall judge the world in righteousness,
And the people with His truth.