This is all I do

I was 12 then. That pressing of the round button with fingerprints of many fascinated me to the bottom. It was the machine people used to dream about. A huge calculator with Solitaire to play for free. You lose, you restart. You screw your first move, you restart. A word document brought a sense of sophistication to the calculator. The typing tutor software left a striking effect and forced my lips to utter those golden words, the words which would make me the wealthiest, mightiest, most popular person in this whole damn diversified, wide, sometimes flat, the world. I uttered “I want to be a software engineer”. 

When you are 15, you no longer want to ride a bicycle. A motorbike is the next everest you want to climb. So did I want to. A friend having an elder brother is next to god at this age. Himesh not the nasal one, held that prestigious position for me. He had a 115cc bike at his place. It felt like a bullet at those thin times. Himesh was riding pillion and as I am writing this now, was driving. Non-adults usually don’t care where the colony ends and a vulturous world, driving SUV starts to amalgamate. Every lane connects to a road somewhere down the line. And there did ours. White collared policemen are the one our country needs the most due to their inexistence, but the ones with white trousers too are always there to compromise for a 50 instead of a legal 100(500 now). We had no helmets. I got slapped as I did not have that 50 with me. On my way back, himesh told me about his cousin who never pays the morons as his uncle had a Batti(siren) on his car. That was the day. I decided to be an IAS officer. I was so determined that if not IAS, then at least IPS; for once if not IPS, then IRS at least; there is so much competition out there, so at least IFS.

She was beautiful. Damn these sub-urban beauties. Raw. Who needs polished ones by the way. She felt a sense of safety when he used to be with her. She came late, but with him, she felt protected from those cunning, tearing eyes. He used to pick her up, drop too. She used to smile sometimes when he made faces. He must have climbed the limits of satisfaction seeing her smile, her non-glossy lips taking the shape you can die for. That day I was determined, as strong as the white pillar of her house which she used to hug when winds caressed her and the rains touched her face, that I will get that lucky piece of mechanical miracle and drive her across the crowded lanes. I decided to be a Rickshaw Puller.

What I do now is not awesome. But someone has to do it. It all started with a good physique. I could have been a gym instructor, but I decided otherwise. I was really strong willed from the beginning. This matched exactly with the job description of the work I do now. I am not proud of what I do, but am proud that I am not proud of it. I hope Aryan does not come to know what I do to feed him. I am not illiterate but would like that Aryan gets taught better. I go late to my place as I don’t like anyone avoiding Aryan. My days are full of cries and then long silences. I don’t talk much. I don’t drink coffee because it does not suffice to eliminate the stress. Words don’t heal me these days. I don’t have many friends. I don’t have pizza parties at my workplace. All because I pull that lever.

Sorry Shaktimaan

Many tried to jump and spin as he did all the time on that idiot box. He was a craze for sure. Although I hate assessing the popularity of each and everything from the facebook, let’s try this one time. 12,058 people LIKE the Facebook page of Shakitmaan as of now and definitely will increase after many of you read this. This calls for a decent royalty.

We were fascinated to such an extent that worshipping him was just the very next level. He was famous without throwing Southey tantrums like Rajinikanth. No SMSes making him a hero were circulated. I didn’t have a phone that time (wooo..was there such time in our lives). He was so very famous wearing that dress as poonam pandey has become with her news of undressing. The TV show was not advertised as KBC is done. Everything was just so simple and elegant.

One sentence that was common to all the episodes was “Sorry Shaktimaan” when a poor little boy(why there were no girls, never) was taught some kind of a lesson on moral values by the desi superhero.

Many laughed and many were jealous on account of the blazing news that I met shaktimaan. Yes I did. Sorry Shaktimaan (oops, a fan can never forget this, sorry) for revealing this marvelous and the most wonderful experience we had together. I must do it now.

It was the day of Fancy Dress Competition at my school and I was dressed obviously like shaktimaan. A special dress that created a hole in the pocket of my parents and consequently making me complete. I could not have tolerated the school uniform had it been a little oversized, but I felt awesome in the oversized red dress which had a ‘chakra’ in the front. I was given a handful of money which we usually call as pocket money. I went straight from the school to nearby videogame shop (sounds familiar na…I know :)). Continuing my habit of spending all the money I got on Street Fighter, Mustafa, Mario, Contra and Tekken 3, I went to shop that day too.

A sudden blow of wind and here he came spinning and landing with perfection close to the delivery of tiffin boxes by the Mumbai Dabbawalas. He came close to me and gave me a big lecture which I could not hear because I was as fascinated as I would now be if Katrina would bless me with a kiss.

I knew well what I have to say. I said “Sorry Shaktimaan”.

You can go to a confession room in a church or can simply say “Sorry Shaktimaan”.

Still remember you like my childhood.

Samosa -> Idea -> Europe

I don’t like the idea cellular commercials except their tagline. “An Idea can change your life”. So true this quote is.

Now I got why Indians are considered so intelligent – if you disagree, let’s change the word with “good at work” – if you still disagree, sorry, you are not in that lot. The reason is – we’ve got Samosas.

Samosas – the precursor of almost all the arranged marriages in india. You get the samosa from the local sweet shop and oh, the girl made it with her beautiful hands. Way before Sheela and Munni were born, shalu was made famous by this charismatic entity called samosa. Our story – just like shalu’s - started with samosa. There was a challenge within my organization XXX(name not revealed on request of the CEOs :P ) in which you had to propose some innovative idea and the best amongst those would get a chance to fly to Germany for the finals which was to be decided on basis of multilevel elimination procedure. Sounds like the fake assurance given by a television manufacturer and spread by a hot actress. Who thought an idea can really change your life especially when Abhishek Bachchan claimed so.

It really did.

“Aah, it worked”.

First flight, that too international. AirHOsTesses.

An idea incubated while having samosas made its way to the finals and there we flew to Walldorf, germany. The sad and hectic part of getting a visa on a really short notice(which eventually shortened out 5 days trip by 2 days) is not discussed here to maintain the charm of the description :).

We had a connecting flight from Dubai. The airport smelled of crude oil and hard cash. The thing you find plenty on airport duty free shops is liquor. 

Germany was awesome. Clean as President’s place in our country would be (I hope). The short fences around the calm houses with garage and ample space for gardening suggested that you will not encounter personalities as we do here back at our home. Walldorf is quite a drive from Frankfurt airport. Cars at around 180 kmph and people respecting traffic rules. Shocking it was, for us at least. The office building was so gigantic that it had an ATM-look-alike machine to find the buildings. We reached frankfurt around 7:30 PM EST and the natural light was enough to put a thread in the smallest knitting needle. We reached walldorf around 10 PM and still one can put that thread. Bewildered were we.

Germans eat a lot. We had all our presentations after which we landed on the dinner table around 7:30 PM. We Indians are done with the dinner in about half to an hour for maximum. But they kept on eating till 10:30 when Indra – Our Indian god for the management of rains and thunders sent a few relieving showers and our dinner at the open restro came to an end.

Next day it was Heidelberg we moved on to. A castle, lake and some shops were all the place has got and is visited quite in numbers. Our search for the 1 Euro shop had just one search result “no match found”. Disheartened we got back to the hotel but were excited for the next day. The reason – France.

The whole Europe is run on trust. Nobody on metro stations to check for ticket. No checking while boarding an inter-country train. We went to paris on a bullet train. Wooo.

Paris – Just like delhi is. Unclean, unsafe, amalgamated, varied in culture, but so damn charming. You find such class in so very narrow streets. Paris is a liberal delhi. Planning is the difference these cities have. Paris is much more planned. The whole city is as symmetrical as they have made Connaught place now. Some attractions on our list were – Musee du Louvre – the home for Monalisa, Eiffel Tower.

I felt like Dan Brown standing in front of that crystal pyramid he explained so explicitly. I felt like a researcher who was looking for some clues – with the church’s and Christianity’s secrets concealed deep within him. I think I went too deep into it :).

There I was. And there was she. Just sitting before me with a glass protecting her from every evil eye or intention that might try to steal her just one more time. We tend to appreciate the things we don’t understand. Same is the case with Monalisa. Nobody understands, so do they appreciate. She got nothing special except a nice work from a genius artist to be so popular and enchanting. There were thousands of paintings and with much more effort and finesse. The point simply is – Leonardo Da Vinci himself quoted that it was his best work ever. We take your word – religiously.

Then it was Eiffel tower from the top of which the city looked so beautiful. Eiffel was the architect of the tower and hence named so. You find Indians virtually anywhere. I was standing in the long queue under the Eiffel tower. It was so cold that time. A man was selling Eiffel key chains and just like every salesman on this planet was repeating the same sentence over and again. He came saying "6 for a Euro" to every person. As he came close to me, he said "Ek Euro mein che le lo". I smiled, he gave me back that assuring smile which i will remember long. Finding an Indian abroad is like finding a friend in Indian Rail when the train is running late by 17 hours .

We got a chance to see the National Academy of Music - where the likes of Mozart, Beethoven had played. A street full of indian shops, right from south Indian saree to punjabi restaurants, you can find them all.

The climax could not have been more dramatic. We missed our return flight from Paris Airport. It was just a matter of minutes. 

Bus, train and now plane. I have missed them all :).

A Blind Date

Delhi. A city of maals (not malls, although malls are relevant too), totas (a sophisticated token of appreciation for the beauty).

Sarojini Nagar. You are sure to spot a good share of totas city has got.

Days are really hot these days. An evening at sarojini nagar.

There she came out of a Red city bus. She was so very beautiful. Not because she had a fair complexion plus nice features plus a reasonably dysfunctional brain. Because of her eyes. She could not see. When she advanced a few steps, she said “Excuse Me”. That was a general call to anyone concerned. Concerned is the exact word to use here when you talk about Delhi. It was really a call to anyone concerned. I then realized that she needed help. I went forward and lent her a hand to climb that platform they make at the bus stops which is symbolic of the fact a delhiite is well aware of. A fact that a common man is made aware of seconds past seconds, that Delhi is for powerful people.

 Let’s defocus the darkness and focus on the things delhiite savor. When she hopped on the platform, she said “I am looking for a gentleman, can u see anyone visually impaired here on this bus stand”. I looked here, there and there was where I saw him, sitting quietly with a white foldable stick in his hand, smile on his face, gentle as a gentleman should be, calm as a still river. I approached him and asked, ”Is there any lady supposed to look for you at this place”. He said, “Yes”, with a big smile on his face, a smile only a child can bestow. I held his hand and walked him to the lady and gave his hand to hers. He said, “Priyanka” and she said “Yes”. He continued, “Let’s go the Khandani Pakode Wala”. He asked me, “Do you know any Khandani Pakode Wala out here”. I knew of just one pakora shop at sarojini nagar and was not sure of such deep involvement of his family to the business. I thought of not bothering them with my half knowledge which could be dangerous, so I said, “I am not sure of this pakora wala and will ask someone to escort you to the destination”. I asked a man who was sure of such place and he helped them with hand of his. They said, “Thankyou”. I sat back and realized that it was a date. A Blind date, literally. Not like the ones they show on Bindaas or Channel V. A true date. It was way too amazing. The will, determination, attachment was just too prominent. She did not carry a stick as well. The trust she put in him, the blind trust. She must have felt confident, safe with him; so would have he.

The made me realize a few concepts we often forget of. Finding the small happiness around you.

Love has got no limits. Love can do wonders for you, you just have to follow it blindly.

Cherish what you have got and don’t let the things you haven’t got stop you from achieving what you want.

P.S. - It is a true incidence. Pakoras rocks.

I Was You

“I looked”.

 I woke up a few hours later. A hangover without a drink is as unusual as I am.

“But I could not find me”. I continued.

“What”, he said.

“ I looked for me but all I could find is you”.

“I know. That must have hurt”.

“What?”

“Finding me. That bang on your head when you fell down”.

“What hurt me. Finding you or banging my head”

“What hurts me is when you fell, I did not hear something hollow. I heard something not as hollow I am”, he said.

“But I love you and being you is…. is… what do you say….marvelous. No, its shocking. Its good.”

“I thought the same about you”

I sighed and broke him in pieces because his face was expressionless, featureless, as blank as it was in the bed time horror story when a boy met a person with nothing on his face, nothing like no nose, nothing, no eyes, nothing.

I loved him. Young and dynamic as autocracy is in a democratic country.

How could he love me. Am I not that worn out.

“I think I have started understanding you”, I said.

“Huh”, he laughed broken apart.

“No, really. I never thought of you this way.”

“I must not answer that”

“I hated you for that.”

“But I loved that”

“I know now”

“Too late to act but fine to consider.”

“Considerations are the hands of the god. Don’t hesitate extending.”

“I know now”

“……….”

“Don’t shout”, I said. “I could not hear you this way”.

“I loved what I did”

“Nobody else think its sane”

“Sinner does not always have sins in his account”, he said.

“Why do you always call me a sinner”

“Because that’s what I am. That’s what I have been called from the holes in the walls between the hearts of people. This I have been called by the mirrors who betray me every time I am in front of them.”

He faded. So did I.

You don’t know when you are right. You are right when you are not wrong.

Gray I Am

How hard it could be… In my view, everyone come to realize this, sometime or the other. I too had a share of this feeling. It is as tough as it would be for a poor to survive the chilly winters.

This is why I love rains.

This is why I love strong winds.

This is why I love to go to a discotheque and sit away from the music.

This is why I love masks.

When I watch out of the biggest window in the world, I feel like I am falling apart, I feel like it is tearing me apart. I feel faded. My face lost color. It is getting worse with each tick of the hand of the clock which runs faster than the others without realizing that it will have to go again on the path it covered and didn’t care about the lagging of others.

A great blow of wind and there goes away my head, falling down, smile on the face and eyes so well gelled. I see my face now. So many days went without me catching my glance.

This is why I love strong winds. It makes me feel incomplete.

I threw it out far far away from the grand window. I turned around. The next moment, the piece I threw out of my life came like the strong wind and found its place onto my body. And there I stand, shoulders down, tired, full of anger.

This is why I hate strong winds. It tries making me complete.

I sit in the rain. So strong that wherever it struck my body, left visible scars. I found it lovely. Days passed on, my eyes fully opened, rain must have stopped a day or two back. Jelly eyes. Nobody heard me. Nobody. Nobody heard me crying aloud.

This is why I love rains.

I can go on and do whatever my heart says, without worrying for me to get infamous. Sometimes I become michael jackson and the very next time father of that old church which still struggles in its churning situations through the winds and rains which gives me a strange mixed feelings. The church can fall down and the priest which fled from the temple to the church becoming father and keeping the absent idol stand there still hearing to all the deities.

This is why I love masks. I can be a father, a teacher, a preacher, a learner, a sinner, a lover. I can fool around. I can cry loud, louder like a baby.

I tried sweeping the gel out of my eyes. But in vain. It remained there to be with me. To remind me every day, every night, every moment, blurring every vision.

This is why I hate rains. I sit to cry, to wash away my soul, my body in that acid. But it comes back and that too with the dark, viscous gel.

I went to the house of sins and still could not prey. I went to the temple and still could not pray. I hit my head with the walls in the sin house but they turned out to be cushions. I hit my head with the walls in the temple and there went away the water I was filled with.

This is why I hate masks. It never changes your soul. I continue to remain in gray shade. A bit of white and a bit of black. A bit of love and a bit of hatred.

I know I am dark. Accepting this introduces some white, bright spots. I revolve around me. I am sun for the earth I am. I am universe for the galaxy I am. I am nothing of the everything I am.

A day at hostel

His hands are strong. If not 2.5 kgs, no less than 1.75 kgs. You wake up due to the deep sound produced by the thumps he makes on that door of your room. No 33. “abe kamine, poha khatm ho jayega”, these are the words you never want to listen from Kathu because he is way too possessive and crazy for the poha in the mess, and thus rush through the morning process. A breakfast abusing the mess secretary. Sometimes you imagine the great secretary made up completely of Rs 1000 notes, the money he saves for himself and his leisure from the contribution of tens of your sort.

The only person quiet on the table is Mahendra. A soul at rest. There were two sharmas in the lot. If you get to see the Rahul version of the Sharmas entering the mess, you notice his lips. Cursing the great secretary, he ensures to enter, make faces, leave with lips in motion of those chants you hear from every other living near you. Not to forget you, of course.

If you see Ranjeet(commonly, profoundly, cheerfully, forcefully  known as Rana) and Khatri(most of the people still don’t remember his first name, I do although) having their sunlight breakfast, you tend to skip yours. The voice and the content of the discussion can lead to a technical complex.

You come back, not to your room. Gather around and talk all about the social, political, sexual issues the country and you are facing together. After all this ‘gyan’ you may think of taking a bath.

They come chatting about the Prakash version of Jyoti, all the time. Ashish, Bikash, Santosh, Rishi. Their arrival marks that the lunch is ready, and if not, they are more than happy to talk more about their common love. Kadi in lunch and everyone of them is out of the mess.

Its not a necessary and sufficient condition that Meena would be coming if you hear abuses in length and ample quantity, the ones commonly unknown to people on earth. But not vice-versa. It’s a necessary and sufficient condition that you hear these chants if Menna is coming. Meena, the heart of gold and the body of John Abraham. To confirm the ‘body’ part, plenty of his semi-naked videos can be found on Youtube. Generally the videos are directed by the second version of Sharma, the Sachin one and produced by the Rahul version of Sharma. The person you see cheerfully waving and sometimes in action too, is Sanjay.

The ‘leave it’ became famous not after some great volleyball player, but Azim. His way of marking presence in the class is totally different than the peculiar style of Meena, which resembles very closely to the way Prerna marks her presence. When Azim is finished playing with his Linux machine, he would call his mate Punni(rarely known as puneet) an proceed to have his lunch.

Many people commented that they are gay. Usually, to disprove such allegations, people start maintaining holy distance, but they came even closer. Pankaj, the head of HR community of Kanpur and Banarasi(not paan, but sanjeev) are like two bodies and one soul. Talking about pankaj. He shared beautiful relations with Sachin version of Sharma and Kathu whom he teased with the one-liner “saala, kutta aadmi”.

Siddharth is the neighbor of Ravi, who once developed a great Time Table Mangement System along with Suprakash(uncommonly known as Joota-Light by Chamma who in turn is not known commonly, huh, chamma and his never ending fanatasies). The only person who could dare to take siddharth’s bucket is chamma, not pathak(I don’t remember his first name, may be Abhishek or so). I remember pathak had ‘Solutions to Let Us C’ which he was never able to take out from beneath his bedding because of us.

Sumit, Manish(my ATM partners) are very studious with respect to time and are on the lunch table, unlike Madhusudan who must be sleeping by now. He found his glory only after he reached the exam late and still was able to score decent marks, unlike chamma’s glory in Automata.

Evening snacks are at Uptron Chowk. The chaat at Uptron is the cheapest in the world which doesn’t mean it’s not tasty. Come Tuesday and there is a sure fight between the two great pundits. One at the Hanuman Mandir and other, the Rahul version of Sharma. The fight is over the content of what Hanuman should eat, shall it be boondi or ladoo. Please ask Hanuman also.

The day ends with an Ass-Kicking(literally) birthday bash. A team usually led by Sanjay beats the hell out of your cranking door and enters like you owe them those 20 bucks you pay not for the pastries and kurkure but for kicking the ass of every other you can find. Ass-kicking of birthday boy followed by Ratan’s cool dance followed by Ass-kicking of everyone except siddharth, ashish, Rahul. Everyone goes to sleep except the birthday boy who still have pain in the ass.

Days will pass, but the story will be the same. Characters will change, but the story will be the same. We find our characters not in what we are now, but what we miss we had been. Let’s be the same and keep that nonsense attitude we all have.