For me when it comes to a bike, I should be able to take a glimpse of it and feel the oomph! None is felt when I look at either the Mahindra MOJO 300 or the Honda VTR 250, althought I definitely find the VTR better looking. Considering all the hype that was created around Mojo, I'm not really pleased with the final product. They definitely could've made something better looking while maintaining the goodies they've provided on the bike.

However one look at the specifications of the Mojo and I gradually feel that the oomph is definitely there, albeit sitting under the fuel tank. Those specs are really good. Fuel injected, liquid cooled 300cc single, 11:1 compression, DOHC engine sounds really good. Apart from that, there are other goodies: inverted forks are a welcome change from the rest; they reduce the unlaiden weight and therefore improve handling and performance. Tyre specs are impressive as well. Top view reveals the aerodynamically optimized body, monoshocks and disc brakes are impressive as well and there is no doubt in my mind that this bike would perform really well. I hear that it was designed in Italy (REALLY!! they actually designed that ugly toad there?) Maybe they should've consulted Moto Guzzi, or maybe talked to Ducati about the design while they were borrowing their fuel injection system! I really haven't come across an ugly Italian bike or at least one that even looks like the Mojo.

Having said that, it seems like on road, it would be a head turner owing to it's size and sound (hopefully). I sadly christian it "The toad of the road" although a very agile one, a very strong one maybe one that grows on me someday but for now, if i have 1,75,000 Rupees (ex showroom Pune) burning a hole in my pocket, I'd head straight to Royal Enfield (it's slightly low on power but way ahead in terms of torque and hey...it's a 500cc powerplant...and what the heck, if fuel efficiency is your concern, it's fuel eff is nearly 40% more than the of the Mojo's) and buy their 500 Classic and save the remaining 50 grands to go for a long long ride; It looked pretty 50 years ago, it still looks beautiful. Technology will always evolve in mobikes but the "beauty of the brawn" is a very very important factor. When I saw Mojo's pictures, I was stunned...about the fact that this is what I was waiting to look at???!! Oh No! The twin headlamps look ugly on the bike, totally contrary to what such twins look on a Triumph Rocket-3 (Tri-oomph Tri-oomph oomph)!

However I like the bike's profile and the rear (but somehow for me, it really doesn't go well with the front end which is downright UGLY). The fuel tank is such an important aesthetic feature and it's such a downer on the Mojo, at least it looks like that in the pictures. Shucks! Nice engine wasted! OK! OK! I'll go with the fuel tank but the headlamps...Yuck! I think the Malaguti MR 250 which inspired the Mojo is such an awesome looking bike and the only outer difference between the two is the headlamp-meter assembly, which on the MR250 resembles that of the Yamaha FZ and looks great. Mojo?? I dunno what came over the designer to shove those two blobs into the front, almost pointing away from each other (though I'm sure that will provide a wider beam area but still man!). You can sit and design the best performance oriented ugly bike, the trick is to keep the performance and keep the bike beautiful. If I cover the headlamp though, I love the rest of the bike for sure.
But with those headlamps, I christian the Mojo as the Motor-Joker! A well built Joker! a Joker that can grapple bad terrain, a joker that can beat others on track, a joker that can probably even jump the highest but at the end of the day, you look at it and go SHUCKS! It looks like a joker. At the end of the day, if I'm gonna shell out that much of money, I'd wait and see how the VTR is priced rather than ride the mojo feeling embarrassed about people gazing at me with a question mark on their faces and an obvious question in their mind...WHAT THE HECK IS THAT??

But between VTR and Mojo, I'd go for a VTR if it's of a comparable price (even if a wee bit higher). It's definitely a prettier bike and carried the Japanese reliability along with the V-Twin engine.
Given below are specs for both the bikes (taken from bikeadvice.in, bikedekho.com and hondampe.com.au)

HONDA VTR
Model Name VTR250
Engine Type Liquid-cooled 4-stroke DOHC V-twin
Power: 22kW/10,500min-1
Torque: 22Nm/8,500min-1
Bore & Stroke 60 x 44.2mm
Compression Ratio 11 : 1
Displacement 250cc
Ignition: Computer-controlled fully transistorised with electronic advance
Carburation: PGM-FI electronic fuel injection
Starter Electric
Transmission 5 speed
Final Drive O-ring sealed chain
Dimensions (mm) 2,070 x 725 x 1,055 (LxWxH)
Wheel Base (mm) 1405
Seat Height (mm) 775
Ground Clearance (mm) 155
Fuel Capacity (litres) 12.4 litres (including 2-litre reserve)
Front Tyres 110/70 17M/C (54H)
Rear Tyres 140/70 17M/C (66H)
Front Wheel Z-type cross-section 5-spoke cast aluminium
Rear Wheel Z-type cross-section 5-spoke cast aluminium
Front Brakes: 296mm single hydraulic disc dual piston caliper and resin mould pads
Rear Brakes 220mm hydraulic disc with single-piston caliper and resin mould pads
Kerb Weight (kg) 161kg (F: 77kg; R: 84kg)
Warranty Period 12 Months
Max. Carrying Capacity 336kg
Loaded Weight 340kg (F: 114kg; R: 226kg)

Mahindra MOJO
Overall length x width x height in mm 2100 x 830 x 1270
Seat Height in mm 820
Wheelbase, in mm 1450
Minimum ground clearance 150
Kerb Weight 160 kgs
Engine Type DOHC Single Cylinder, Liquid Cooled, 4 Valves – Direct Drive, SI
Displacement 292 cc
Bore x Stroke 78 mm x 61.2 mm
Compression Ratio 11 : 1
Maximum Power 19.3 kW @ 8500 rpm
Maximum Torque 24 N.m @ 7000 rpm
Starting System Self Start
Ignition System ECU (Electronic Control Unit)
Fuel Tank Capacity in liters 15.5 Ltr
Transmission Type / Gear Box Constant Mesh, 6 speed
Frame Type Twin Tube Exposed frame in Steel, Shining yellow painted;
Diamond Frame
Wheel Type Alloy Wheel
Rim Size (Front / Rear) Front 2.75 x 17”; Rear 4.00 x 17”
Tire Size (Front / Rear) – Tubeless 100/80 – 17” (Front) 150/60 -17”
(Rear)- radial
Brake Type (Front / Rear) Disc 320 mm (Front); Disc 220 mm (Rear);
Suspension Type
Inverted fork Telescopic hydraulic-damped (Front);
120 mm stroke Horizontally mounted Mono Shox; air + hydraulic damping(Rear)
Battery 12V, 9 AH; Maintenance Free
Head Lamp
Twin Beams; 35W / 35W X 2; Halogen Bulb (Multi Reflector Type)
Marker / Pilot Lamps 4 LED’s each side, above twin beam Head Lights
Tail Lamp LED based (with 12 LED’s)

Proselytizing scientific bigotry

scary!

The weather's gone berserk.
This has to be some of the loudest thundering I've ever heard and there have been quite a few very very loud ones.
Either lighting's striking here and there or these are actually bombs being dropped on our city.

....and now everything's gone uncannily quiet...pin drop silence!

Flip

Bike troubles have turned me into an investigator of another level. I’ve been in touch with Pete Snidal, the author of the famed "Bullet-Manual", via emails and he’s been sharing ideas with me and giving me his take on my ideas and troubleshoot strategies. It feels awesome to be discussing this issue with someone older than my dad and a veteran in the field.

I can’t believe a month ago, I had marriage on my list of things-to-do. That topic has vanished into thin air and I can breathe once more. I’ve never been so spooked in life, the way I was when everything became so real. A trip, which could’ve otherwise been fantabulous, turned out to be nerve-wrecking one at the thought of marrying my travel buddy. I realized that I didn’t know her so well and couldn’t connect but somehow… In hindsight, I feel that I’d been the best example of a jerk. Anyway after getting such a big fright at facing being almost-married at such close quarters, I feel if such an event repeats, I’ll be glad to never tie the knot. I felt like an underage kid being forced to get married; can’t believe I felt so strongly for it when I’d left for the long journey.

Anyway, it’s helped me understand the meaning of something I never knew of “clean-cut”. It’s just that it’s such a shame that someone had to undergo pain in order for me to learn that. It makes me sad and does give me serious headaches every time I think of it but it’s still a relief. I am just not mentally prepared for marriage and I don’t know if I’ll ever be!

I do have a Royal Enfield and a bicycle that I love and that’s the only thing I know and care about. To hell with my love life!

It Hurts

Yes it hurts, it hurts a lot. My arm, the swelling's travelled down to my forearm.

I remember the first time I got stung by a wasp, I was in 2nd standard and as a 7 year old, knew enough to keep away from the sunny-wings. I'd seen "swollen" friends but the second hand experience couldn't prepare me for the time, I was waving at my friend at school and this aggressive beast landed on my fingers probably taking my waving hand as some kind of a threat, I tried to jerk it off but...POKE!!! EYEEEOOOWW!!! you freaking monster...Aw!! that hurt!!

Over the years, I've had near-sting experiences but somehow always managed to dodge the needle-ass. Till one day some 10years ago, I decided to throw all old books outta my room. I stacked up the books and took them out in sets (big sets). I held them in both hands and supported the stack on my chest and held them from above with my chin (some big stack eh). I kicked open the door without realizing that a couple of wacky-wasps were having a good time on the door. Rest is history, two wasps landed on my lips and decided to teach me a lesson I'd never forget and POKEY POKEY...YYYYEEEEOOWWW!!! up went the stack of books flying everywhere as the beasts flew away after doing their job. I ran to the bathroom to see the damage in front of a mirror. Pain was intense and shooting through my head, I could see my veins around my head pulsating from the adrenalin rush I'd just experienced. The freakin stinger was dancing in my lips and I swear I've never been so badly attacked on this part of my body (maybe apart from one other time but that wasn't a wasp...almost one). I roamed around for a few days with HUGE pouty lips and it was embarrassing. It was like every person I looked at, I was asking for a kiss!!! YEEOOOWW!!!

This year has broken all records though, I've been stung 4 times in 8 months. 3 of these occured at the same time. Some two months ago I was riding to my institute singing loudly on the bike, AH! what a beautiful morning it was till I rode through a dispersed swarm of very angry wasps. I though I'd dodged them till I felt a sharp pain on my neck near the larynx...yeow!! then another one below it...yeow!! then another on on my chest...YEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! WTF...I reached my lab in great pain till one of my labmated decided to rub the area with an iron ring (to remove the sting I guess). Stangely this one recovered by the evening with nothin more than a mild itch and redness.

But no reaction was as great as yesterday's (i guess the latest pain is always the most painful of all). It was another happy morning till a freakin stupid wasp banged into me, I was at high speed and didn't wanna react, I brushed it aside but it didn't go far, I landed on my bicep, close to my shoulder and through my shirt it stung me with a fury like I was her sworn enemy. This one planted it's sting pretty deep, I saw her sting me, she almost dug her whole ass into my flesh, as hard as she could, the shirt for her was non-existant, she wanted to punish me. It hurt so bad that I howled on the bike, it hurt so bad that I started laughin loudly swearing at the top of my voice. The stinger danced in my flesh for eternity and all the time I was on the bike, I laughed out loud (it seemed to ease the pain a bit and also helped me accept that I couldn't do anything else about it). It's been a day and a half and it still hurts. The area upto my wrist is swolled (that means the entire length of my inner arm). It's tender to touch as well and there a mixed sensation of pain and itch. Also there's pus formation on the exact area of the sting (I guess the sting is still buried in my flesh)

Oh This Hurts but not as badly as my heart!!! Why'd I grow up!

wobble wobble

Got fork gaitors (front fork covers) installed at the agency. These guys did a crappy job of fixing the shockers back on (they didn't tighten the screws equally and I didn't know abt it back then). Over a period of a few thousand kms, the front tyre got worn out unevenly. Wobbling developed and I couldn't figure what the reason was. I went mad at the new advice that every new mechanic would give me. I replaced swing arm bushes, got rear wheel balanced till the guy refused to entertain me anymore (he thought I had OCD...which I almost did), got sprockets replaced, got new rear tyres (got swindled in the process). I always looked at the rear for the reason and could've never believed that it was originating from the front wheel till it became really serious on one trip up the hills. I barely managed to get back home, such was the wobble and finally found that it was originating from the front. I got disc brakes checked, got new steering bearing and greased them and got a front tyre. After more than one year (and trust me a couple of thousands of rupees down the drain), I am riding a bike that doesn't wobble.

Tyres are a big problem if they aren't "fitted" properly and not all puncture-walas know that. The tyres can have inherent manufacturing defects in the sidewalls that make them uneven and cause wobbling.

Wobbling "can be" a very complicated issue (not always) and requires a double check of a many parts of the bike.

rot my brain

As if the ad-mad world of Skin whitening creams wasn't already culpable of promoting racism in the form of color discrimination, I found another gimmick in the form of this Promo of Vaseline's skin whitening system on facebook that asks you upload your picture which is then "digitally" "whitened" and "enhanced". They want you to see "how different you are" from "what you can be". Anyone remembers Mungeri Lal ke Haseen sapne, wow! what a great episode of sarcasm could be added to it in these day.

Screw such social acceptance and for such a society I can just say one thing "Sit in it suckers"

They're not promoting a cream, they're promoting mental filth that is already abundant in our society. Hey, it's not their fault, they're just cashing in on the garbage in your skull.

Shaadi.com blunder

Situation: Someone expressed interest in my profile on Shaadi.com. I read her profile and it turned out that she's a writer. I searched for her on Facebook and sent her a message, she replied and then I replied.

The following is purely for reading pleasure. I hang my head in shame and agree that my first mail was very weird and any sane woman would be alarmed to read it. My second mail to her is NOT a victory banner, I'm sure the lady will get back to me with a whack-ass reply and I'll add it to this post whenever that happens. I'm taking no names and with all due respect to the bright intelligent lady (she is so freaking talented that if you would ever read her profile on shaadi.com, u'd be left with a hanging jaw...no kidding) who was sweet enough to leave room for an explanation to my first mail. If this is anything, this is an example of how stupid some men (like me) can be at communicating things and then how wily they cover up for it later. READ ON and LAUGH (but only at me):

Jesse Sebastian Samuel 20 June at 01:11
hi, I wonder if u recognize me...Shaadi.com? How are you doing? I'm afraid I've just kept that profile on due to parental pressure and really don't plan to marry for another 3 odd years but does that stop us from being friends? I really hope you don't find this to be offensive.
So you're a writer and that's awesome. Was wondering if you could give me tips about how to start writing a book (that i already have ideas in my head about what to write). I've been writing a blog myself for sometime now and have published a few articles in newspapers as well.
So? Friends?
Jesse

XXXXXXX (Name will not be disclosed) 20 June at 15:34 Report
you are right.. I quite don't recognize you? WHat is your id?
If I'm not wrong, you must 30+ odd years and are you telling me that you cannot stand up to your parents and tell them that you don't want to be married for how many ever years.

Don't you think that you are on the wrong website to be making friends? If this was the case, why did you not tell on Shaadi.com but you manage to find me on Facebook to send a mail?

Something is not right about this whole thing unless you convince me otherwise.

Jesse Sebastian Samuel 21 June at 01:27
Hi,

Apologies; I didn't quite mean to incite such a reaction but it is quite understandable, considering the contents of my previous mail that I'd typed in a hurry.

If the first line of my mail sounded cocky, plz forgive me and allow me to explain. I am SH58620208 from Shaadi.com and you'd expressed interest in me on 9th June 2010.

I am not on Shaadi.com to find friends but indeed to find a life partner. I'd let the spacio-temporal aspect of that be my prerogative. However, I've taken note of your concern and have now mentioned on my profile that I do not wish to marry soon.

Even if I wanted to communicate with you on this matter (tips on how to write a book) on Shaadi.com (wouldn't that be more weird?), i couldn't because I'm not a paid member yet and since facebook is free, I thought I'd approach you here on the matter.

If I would've communicated with you about this on Facebook without referring to our shaadi.com, you would've found out about that connection sooner than later and probably raised your eyebrow higher up.

However it was on your shaadi profile that I read that you’ve authored some books (I checked out some of their blurbs and outline). I therefore I gave the reference of the shaadi.com. However I should've probably put it together in a better way than I did; sorry for that.

I was instantly excited about the fact that I had the opportunity to communicate with an author. I believe I got carried away and went gungho about it; another fault.

Like I said, I write too, in my own small way. True, it didn’t take much to find out if you existed on Facebook; just a name search.

I greatly appreciate the fact that you write and at level that you’ve published your own books. I plan to write one myself but I guess I'll manage without tips from a pro :)

No hard feelings,
Kind regards,
Jesse

Shall we?

Scared of marriage. Why? I might totally be in love with her but...

Firstly about the kind of person I might marry: will she like me or the false image she might create of me? Same goes about her. I hope she's not a pretender...doesn't seem like.

Will being from a different place make a big difference?
I love independent women but will she be so fiercely independent that she'll find it difficult to think of us a family?
Will she love my simple folks?

I guess finance is the next important subject. I've been foolish enough to not have saved anything but since I have started to save now, will my monthly stipend of 18 grands suffice? I guess it should with us having a house of our own. But I still need to save some amount and quickly so.

Won't it be just amazing to be married to someone so lively, creative and honest. Someone of my age but one who still believes in love. Man! i think of it and it brings a big smile on my face. But shouldn't I get to know her better first? Sometimes I wonder if that'd make a difference.

Repeat

Just another man, just another woman
Walking through life and wondering
Who’s best to share it with?
Who will understand who you are?
Then boldly hold your hand,
Accept the things you do
and for those that you stand
Accept your past, both bitter and sweet
Who is this person and when will you meet
Did you not think you met the last time
Or the time before that,
You sit and recall those special moments
Times that you cherished and thought,
this is it
you fell in love, like you’d never before
you held each other’s hands and you were sure
of walking together forever and ever
Such times always follow the bad ones
Trails that test your bond
You hate one another, yet are bonded by love
You rant and rave
about the mistake that you made
Till one day everything’s fine
You’re walking together again,
Sunshine or rain
Then you start to plan the future
Of a time that never comes
“we” wither and die
You open your eyes
Your vision is clearer
But you realize that
you’ve turned into a wayfarer
then you do what wayfarers do best
you walk on
and wonder if this is it
and you leave the rest

Sunday

God rested on the last day after he had worked hard to create the world in six days, so says the holy scriptures of some religions. Surely that’s the way it should be for anybody; relaxation and rejuvenation after six days of work.
I was born on a Sunday too, at 5:05am in the morning. I’m sure that was one Sunday my mother would’ve relaxed through the day after some months of carrying me around. When I was a kid, I wanted to have my Sunday to myself. I’d wake up in the morning with hot breakfast waiting for me in front of the TV just before a series of my favorite cartoon serials would start. I didn’t like being taken to Church though, especially Easter, always being a Sunday and a very hot one. Food, TV and rest were always the Sunday’s forte. As a lonely teenager, Sunday was a time to connect with my paraphernalia; I’d spend hours listening to my favorite music, gawking at interior décor magazines and fantasizing of a dream house that would reflect my essence in some way. Of course I never realized that all the things I wanted to do required money and only later did I realize that “money was so expensive.” Growing up made me realize that a Sunday spent cleaning up the room was Sunday spent better than building castles in the air; there’d be time for it, we’ll see then.
However, as I grew up, life started to take its toll on my Sunday and it hardly remained what it was meant to be. Many years spent either in preparing for professional exams, the unending series of exams that promised to secure my life once and for all, and the increasing discomfort of whether this was the life I actually wanted, ruined many Sundays of my life. I wrote many an entrance test on Sundays and such Sundays were anything but fun.
God knows how I ended up being where I am now but this work too stole my Sundays from me. This was so till I my girl came along and we started to spend the Sundays together either roaming around places in the city or going for long rides. This went on till one Sunday I realized that I’d had enough and my Sunday wasn’t mine anymore. This in turn had a domino effect which ended up in me ending up single again.
Here I sit at my computer punching keys to tell the world that I’ve reclaimed my Sunday, at whatever cost. Today I woke up late, watched a few episodes of Wind In The Willows, ate breakfast while watching another episode of Sherlock Holmes and then slept off again. I woke up two hours after the alarm set by me and headed straight for another meal in front of the TV. I could’ve saved a day if I worked today but why should I save a day to sacrifice my Sunday. I believe I’ll be happier and more productive man on Monday if I enjoy my Sunday.
Who knows what course life will take and what the years (howsoever many there may be) will bring. Maybe many Sundays might be spent working, if there’s no option that is, or worrying, God forbid but who knows the future. I’ll probably even get married on a Sunday and surely I’d want a relaxed, cool, non-crazy ceremony for the same. I’ll probably spend some Sundays doing crazy stuff, long rides, playing with my kids or even grand-kids but whatever I do, I’d surely want my Sundays to be fun-days.

Thanedhar

Boss had left for France for a few days and we planned our trip alongside his, of course without letting him know of our plans. I left the bike at IMTECH and Anuj brought it to my place in the morning while Harman and I were ready to move off. Unfortunately I accidentally carried to key to the instrumentation room with me and therefore we all had to go back to IMTECH to return it. I had had a glass of milk till the time we reached Solan where we had a cup of tea. A funny incidence occurred here. Three ladies were walking past us hauling a good amount of luggage. No sooner had they neared us, one of them let out a terrorised shriek, left her bag, ran and took cover...from a harmless little cow that just happened to be heading their way. We laughed so loudly that the cow got scared and quickly moved away from us. Embarrassed at first, the ladies joined us in our laughter session. Past Solan it started to feel hot and it was no surprise to find Shimla quite hot, just as we’d been reading in the papers. We kept riding nonstop till we were stuck in a jam near Kufri. This is a fairly common occurrence. The engines were quite hot from the constant climb and we’d covered more than a 120kms. Here we stopped as Harman felt his bike was overheating. This place offered no respite from the heat and we stopped at what looked like an ancient tea shop. The walls were dirty and muddy. The wooden benches, stove, kettle and other utensils could’ve passed for ancient relics and the owner, who walked in a little later could’ve passed for a comic character. Slim, straight, wrinkled, weather-beaten face holding big gaunt eyes, his hair were grey and eyebrows jet black. We chatted with him for a while and he told us that of late there was an intense water shortage in the area and he didn’t even have water to sell tea. He said he only made sweets of late and they sell quickly. Judging by the condition of his utensils, I reckoned that if they didn’t sell and were consumed very very quickly, they’d probably cause food poisoning. We moved on but soon my bike started to give off strange vibrations that I could sense on the foot peg. Earlier too I felt like something was wrong with the bike as I sensed strange vibrations in the handle and thought it to be some problem with the front wheel. We stopped and sat down to diagnose the problem, took the chain cover off and it became better but something wasn’t quite right and it was most irritating to convince the other two who weren’t actually riding my bike but had all the opinion in the world about how I was hallucinating. Anyway, I thought it best to shut up and move on and just wait for an accident it was in the offing. My biggest fear was of suddenly losing control on a turn or while crossing another vehicle...hell no! on these roads losing control could mean serious trouble in any situation. Thankfully nothing happened. Narkanda was cool, but we thought it was boring so we moved on while asking people of what lay ahead of us. It grew quite cold by now and despite the leather jacket, my naked fingers weren’t happy at the absence of gloves. The road grew from bad to pretty bad but the picturesque milieu made us let go of our apprehensions. We reached a place called Jarol after a very steep climb. This place had a small lake and surrounded by dense conifer cover, it looked very beautiful. There was quite a rush at this place, almost all of them localites. There was a fair in progress and we could hear a ruckus from behind the trees. We decided not to investigate; anyway all the local lads were consuming alcohol and taking drugs right in the open everywhere. We decided to go off road and rode up to a village, then past it till we stopped at a place where we could park the bikes. It was cold and cloudy and we could clearly see the snow capped Himalayas on one side. Harman thought it was a great idea to camp at that place. I thought not because firstly we were ill-prepared for the cold and secondly, I’d never stay outside without having the details of the local fauna. Later we came to know that the place was inhabited by small bears. Small or large, a bear is a bear. We rode down from Jarol and took a improperly paved road that moved into an inhabited area. Here we kept inquiring about a place to stay the night but in vain. People were really nice but owing to the Village-Fair all guest houses were booked. We then stopped to click picture of the setting sun; it was a beautiful surreal sight and we let our cameras lose. Realizing that the sun would set in a 15-20 mins, we set off on our room hunt. We tried the PWD and other guest houses but without luck till we ended up at a hotel that was locked from outside. There was a house close by and we inquired about the hotel owner from the inhabitants of that house. Indeed they had his number and called up to the hotel. After much haggling, we settled at 900bucks a night for a small but decent room. We settled in and the view from the balcony was fantastic. The sun had set and darkness was falling. The sky wore many shades ranging from deep red, violet to black and the hills were dotted with lights. We clicked again. It was cold and we opened the bottle of gin and had a few. The sumptuous veggie dinner was served by the hotel owner himself, his aides were on leave. We went to bed and must've slept for 3 odd hours when the sound of tap water in the sink woke me up. Anuj, thirsty from alcohol had woken up to drink water. Harman woke up too. Before we knew it all three of us were wide awake, though still huddled into the heavy quilts, in the pitch-black, cold, breezy room with the open windows. I don't know what came over us but we started to crack jokes, a make believe situation with the three of us as Haryanvi Jaats named Ombir, Rajbir and Satbir. It was like whose-line-is-it-anyway. Somebody would say something and another person would carry the situation forward and what turned in to an unending series of dirty dirty jokes. I laughed till I felt anoxic, it was terrible, I was gasping for breath but couldn't stop laughing. My lungs, diaphragm, abs were so fatigued from laughing for so damn long but I couldn't stop; hysteria ransacked the room. God knows when we slept but I woke up early next morning to the sweet sounds of the birds. It was still a little dark. I went and stood in the balcony and took deep breaths as if trying to absorb all the beauty of the place into my body. It was quite cold but I braved it for a few early-morning snaps. I went back to bed and was rudely woken up after a few hours by a volley of almost-hard hitting punched on my back and chest; Anuj, who we didn't let sleep the previous night, was taking his revenge.
We all took a shower and went riding to Saroga, three kms of which was a steep, unpaved path. We reached a dead end and came face to face with a local woman guarding her apple orchard. We talked to her for a long time and she told us that she worked hard to send her son to Chandigarh to study but he wasn't doing well in studies. She told us that she had to regularly drive away very persistent and dangerous troops of monkeys and occasionally bears as well. She stayed there alone in a small shack during the day and hired Nepali boys to guard the place at night. She asked us many a time to sit with her over a cup of tea but we politely declined. However we did walk into her orchard and got up close with the baby apples. We found an orchard on the way that still had cherries on their trees and enquired about the price. We bought a few boxes of high-class cherries, ones that aren't sold in the market but sold to big Hotels.....

Sleep-me-ness

28th may 2010

they say before a storm
there’s a lull
I’m tired but full
I’m weary I’m dull
It hurts
at the base of my skull
My the eyelids draw closer
I try to see what I can
Time goes and then space,
Till slowly, all is null

As soon as I

26th May 2010


I will “do it” when I wake up
As soon as I’ve slept enough
I will be nice, I will be polite
As soon I’m tired of being gruff

I’ll settle in, I’ll stay put
As soon as I’m tired of riding
I’ll appreciate
As soon as I’m done chiding

I’ll smile soon
As soon as I’m done crying
I’ll be honest
As soon as I’m done lying

I’ll reveal myself
As soon as I’m done with pretense
I’ll be sane, I’ll be humble
As soon as I give up overconfidence

I’ll help others
As soon as I’m done being selfish
I’ll serve you too
As soon as I finish my own dish

Sooner for you could be later for me
Time is freedom but still a trap
I’ll do something at least
As soon as I’m done writing this crap

It’s good to not be bad
but being nothing at all; that’s most sad
Oh! And I’ll stop procrastinating too
But I think I’ll start in a day or two

Bye Bye: The Sequel

10th May 2010
Today I met Ekta for the last time (at least for a long time to come). Ekta Bajaj, a figure from the past, more than a decade and a half ago. The three years I was in St. Stephens’ I must’ve probably said no more than “excuse me” to her. She was a stranger to me frankly and yet in latter part of last year, I received a comment on my blog from her that said “never knew way back in school that you could write so well”. I carried so much of pain from the memories of school years that for some inexplicable reason, this comment meant the world to me. I wanted to post the comment as a post on my blog but felt that people would think I’ve turned into narcissist.

I talked to Ekta two or three times on the phone and then met her once last month and we talked like we were great friends from the past, shared so many things about so many people from school, things that formed a bond of great friendship between us. Then in between our plans to meet again didn’t materialize one or two times. After that, we only got to meet today evening.

We talked and laughed non-stop so loud as soon as we met that the massive Sunday crowd at the lake constantly gawked at us but we couldn’t care less. And then she said, “I have some news I wanna share with you.” And this has happened so many times before with other ladies that I just responded by saying, “CONGRATULATIONS” I just knew she’d been fixed up with some guy for marriage even before she said it. I have this effect on women; they meet me and soon find their life partner. MAN!!! It’s strange but true. She inquired about what happened between me and ex to have parted to my first reply was the usual, “Shit happened” before I actually told her the real thing. Sitting at the lake always reminds me of the two most beautiful and special times I spent with my ex there: the surreal morning and the surreal night…just a quick passing thought and then I told her about it like I tell it to almost anyone who accompanies me there. Anyway I was really happy for Ekta, we carried on with our talks, much of which comprised silly anecdotes, jokes and make-believe situations that we almost literally fell off the bench laughing. Then one of the better compliments I’ve received in life “You should get married Jesse, you’re a nice catch really.” Ah!! MADE MY DAY!! What thirty-nothing and single guy wouldn’t just love to hear that coming from a girl.
She’ll be shifting to Singapore with her husband after their wedding. It got quite late and she was extremely sweet to have stayed back that long. I walked her to her car which happened to be parked some distance away towards to the village end of The Lake.

Today when we hugged me just before parting, my heart almost sank (just for a second) at that fact that this was goodbye. I was sad but I smiled and joked as we parted. Man! I’d just made a great friend and lost her so soon. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the walks and talks with her and was so happy also at the fact that she was someone from a distant past. What do you know about life? Had someone told us way back in school that we’d be great pals one day after 14-15years and so suddenly, we both would’ve said “Yeah! And pigs will fly.” This evening she opened my eyes to a new possibility in life. I was no short of shockingly amazed at her struggles in life. I couldn’t help but marvel at the efforts she took in life to reach where she is and am so happy that she’s found this amazing guy for a husband. Surely Ekta’s life is a one that I find most enchanting and inspiring.

Anyway the long walk back alone was filled with fear for my bike's safety because it was parked in some pitch black area. It was dark and I totally confused the place where I'd parked it. I found it after a long search and the first thing I checked was the fuel pipe. The last time I parked it there was the time I was with my ex-girl and someone stole petrol. I felt so sure that this was the person I was gonna spend the rest of my life with. I so fell in love with her again that night. BACK TO REALITY! If it were to happen again, it would be a lonely ordeal. It was pitch dark and secluded but my bike was safe. There was no company this time, just a soft kick to the pawl, the engine’s roar and off I went riding alone. I concentrated on the road ahead while breathing in the fragrance of the eucalyptus trees in that area.

Dirty Hands

Every time I turn them around
Seems like I’ve been digging ground
I love em clean but what a pain
These hands are dirty yet again

I was in bed till midnight
Thoughts aloft and none quite bright
girls n’ booze n’ other neuronal spike

But none makes me as happy
like the thought of my good ol’ bike
burned more with the iridium plug
she could now race a big fat slug

enlarged the air filter and messed the specs
carburetion was the new bottleneck
opened the pipe, wasted more money
did nothing but raise the cacophony

I threatened, I begged n’ sustained the fret
Till I laid my hands on the big main jet
finally they came to life, these wheels I love
They now take my soul to the heavens above

And while I cruise through wind and rain
I turn them around, Oh! They’re dirty again
I ride, I ride I love my machine
helped me see things I’d never seen
the plains and mountains I’d never known
the abyss and skies I’d never flown
the good, bad, ugly…not to forget the clever
some I’d remember, other erase forever

I look at them and feel a special bond
with these ten grimy magic wands
I love em clean but what a pain
These hands are dirty yet again
Indefatigably maneuvering me into new lanes

The sage's locks

I’m suffering from chronic as well as acute procrastination. It’s been a week since I returned from Rishikesh and I haven’t written a travelogue on it. So here's a general description of our trip.
Anuj stayed at my place the night before we left. We savoured bhindis cooked by ma. At night we behaved as clownish as we normally do, consequently two nights of inadequate sleep, this night and the night before, showed its effect in the long ride to Rishikesh in the blistering heat. Dehradun traffic was horrible and as luck would have it we got stuck in a jam soon after that horrible traffic had ended and the road was beautiful and empty for a while. I was sick of this and decided to go off road and cross the jam. That happened till the off-road ended too. There was a pit in front and a very small path, sufficient to move the tyres on but just that. Anuj thought it would be foolish to try but I couldn’t wait any longer. So he got off the bike and guided me as I crossed the path and then it happened…I crossed the path and reached the other side and just then, next to a another pit, the engine stalled. I responded in a twitch and jumped off the bike the safer side but the bike was just too heavy to stop, it fell into the pit. My shins got bruised and grazed in the process. Anuj rushed to me in horror and we both instantly hauled the bike up. People in the jam on one side of us had a good time watching the action. By the time Rishikesh was 12 kms away, I was nearly asleep while riding. It was very hot, hence the water we were carrying in the side boxes was extremely hot too, notwithstanding we downed as much as we could to prevent a heat stroke. It took a hot cup of tea…umm! No the hot tea didn’t help much. My drowsy eyes, couldn’t take the beating of the glare and the baking dry heat and were shutting off till I ate the extra sweet jam biscuits. A sudden surge of glucose in the blood popped em outta their sockets. We were parked next to an overturned truck! By the time we reached Rishikesh, my system was shutting down and try as I may I couldn’t explain it to Anuj who was still fresh. We “managed” a raft. We were somehow unable to go to the appointed destination and were forced to take the shorter rafting trip which lasted nearly three hours. The sand and rocks were so hot that I had to pour water on my naked feet to walk on the ground. When the water touched out feet, it was a shock, it was cold! After being instructed by the guide, we jumped into the raft and hence started the most adventurous time of my life. The first rapid was a level one. It kinda scared me. Then came level two and scared me even more. Then, with Anuj in the front, came level three and scared the shit outta me (and as was evident, the others as well). Then it was my turn to press down the front of the raft in the next rapid. It was a level two and after level three, I kinda enjoyed it. Then I was ready to leave my position and go back but no one came forward for the position and neither did the guide make me shift place. I was alarmed when I heard that the next rapid was a level four. I saw the two rafts in front of us, heading into it. One raft disappeared behind the waves for a second and then popped up on top of another wave. It was evident that I needed to prepare myself mentally for this as I knew it was going to be scary. Just before we hit the rapid, we all roared and shouted to buck ourselves up. We fought the big waves, they came like a monsters and did their best to topple us over. At one time, our raft was nearly 90 degrees and of course I, pressing the raft down in the front was almost standing straight when this happened. It was scary but we were all shouting and doing our best to not get thrown into the water. It was great fun. Jumping into the river wasn’t. It took me far away from the raft and I had to shout for help. I was rescued in time. I did get spooked by this event. So I forced myself to do cliff jumping, to get rid of the fear, which I otherwise wouldn’t have. I saw many people getting terrorized and running back away instead of jumping into the water when ordered by the instructor to JUMP! I shiver ran down my spine when I jumped. What the heck it felt strange, I was falling, falling falling and then SPLASH! When I opened my eyes, I was inside the water and my feet had stirred up quite a bit of sandy bottom into the water. On then we boarded our raft again and set off for Rishikesh. We sang on the way after crossing the last rapid. We also made new friends from Delhi. After we came out and got dressed, my system started to shut down again. All the adrenalin had made me active through the rafting and jumping but now the reality took over, I was under-slept and very tired. The 1km ride to the eatery was an ordeal. I hogged down a ton of Rajasthani food. We found a room to stay in and as soon as I lay down on the bed, I lost my sleep again. I saw Anuj on the border of dreams and reality, so I picked up my pillow and beat the shit out of his dreams. Now we were both sleepless and kept chatting. Just when sleep took over again, Anuj thought it was the perfect time for revenge…I was sleepless again. We started chatting again. God knows when we slept. I just remember waking up first for I can’t sleep late into the day. I woke up at 6:30am. I waited till 7:00 before putting loud rock music in my cell phone to totally destroy Anuj’s peace. We got dressed and crossed the Laxman Jhula on the bike and stopped for tea on the other side. It was great sitting there and enjoying tea and watching myriad colors of people’s attire and the deluge of different kind of people from different places in India and abroad. We then set out for Herbertpur and as we crossed Dehradun, we stopped at many places to try the different street food. It was a Sunday so the traffic was easy too. The girls at Dehradun were a treat to watch and mildly flirt with. We had fun. After Dehradun, we stopped at a few places to have Ganne ka juice and citrus juice at roadside thelas. This’s something I dread otherwise and since childhood it was the first time I actually did so. I reached my sister’s place by 12noon. Sarah, my niece had arranged flowers for me but was too shy to talk to me. I was also very happy to see that Jeri, my sister’s Je(sse)-Ri(ti) cocker spaniel, was doing well. We stayed at my sis’s place for quite some time. I chatted with di and Sarah and Anuj kept Danny busy. We ate light lunch, filled our bottles, clicked some humming birds and started off for Chandigarh in the hot hot hot hot weather. It was dry and very very hot and windy; we call this wind “Loo”. We sped off through Paonta and just when the hills started, the bike started to wobble; we had a flat. There was jungle on one side and when we stopped in the isolated place, monkeys gathered at a distance. Anuj asked for lift to the nearest puncture shop but returned empty handed. The shop owner refused to send any help and said that if we needed any, the only way was to bring the bike to the shop. After dragging the monster for a distance, Anuj had a great idea. He filled air into the flat tyre with the pump and I rode it as far as it would go and then wait for Anuj to reach. We kept doing this till we reached the shop. I was dead tired and so was Anuj. All the cheese and bread that we thought we needn’t have brought, was made short work of. The sun was about to set when we started again. I sped off as fast as could through the hills and reached to other side. We stopped at Black Mango eatery (just after Kala Amb where T and I used to break our journey) and had tea and namkeen…we ate it all. Then started the most daunting leg of the journey, the rest of the riding was in the dark. The oncoming traffic was on high beam most of the time and I could only guess what lie ahead on the road, a pot-hole, a bullock cart, for I could see nothing in the glare. It was a close call nearly thrice. It was night but what a bloody hot night despite the absence of the sun. We reached IMTECH by 9pm. I downed half of Anuj’s beer and rushed back home.
In the thirty four thousand kilometers I’d ridden before, I’d never faced a flat!! I realized that I was exceptionally lucky to have never run into a technical problem all the time I was riding to desolate places with my girlfriend. That revelation really spooked me in retrospect. I cannot imagine what we’d do or what’d happen had something like this happened, the umpteen times we were exploring places. Today morning I accepted that I was moving without a flat on borrowed time, in fact this trip was an eye opener. Thankfully it happened in the best possible situation; I wasn’t with a girl and I wasn’t alone, in fact I was with a great guy who stabilized me and eased my burden in the emergency. So today, a week hence and before I rode long again, I went to the motor-market to learn how to fix a flat (I’ve written about that experience as well elsewhere). This trip was a fulfilling one for me as a rider. On the one side, it had a crash, a flat, the avoidable night riding, sleepy riding, extreme hot weather, hill driving, heavy traffic driving whereas on the other it went through beautiful roads with breathtaking views, had a great company, even met my sis, try things I normally never would, had the best adventure till date and boy oh boy…it was TOTAL FUN!
And boy oh boy what a productive Sunday it has been, I cleaned my room, watched eons of TV, went to the lab, joined a biker club and made new friends, exercised, wrote two posts for my blog and ate great parent cooked food. It’s a beautiful life and it’s great to be thirty nothing...heck! but there's are tons of things still left to do.

Release

23rd may 2010

It’s 1:30pm and I just returned from the motor-market. I’d gone there for a class to learn how to disassemble the rear tyre and tube from my bike. At first I didn’t feel like going out of my cool room as it was blistering hot outside but then I thought of the experience of a flat tyre that Anuj and I had on the return leg of the Rishikesh trip exactly a week ago. I was dumb enough to have witnessed the act of fixing a puncture but not registering it very carefully. To people who’ve done it umpteen times, it’s a piece of cake, to others it’s totally avoidable and I happen to a member of the latter group. We were lucky that day that the jungle had just started and we somehow, despite the great ordeal, managed to get the bike back in civilization to fix it. The thought gave me a jump start and I picked up a bottle of water, tools and headed to Ashok Wheel-wala in Sector 48. This guy is a veteran with balancing spoke wheels. He started at a young age of 12 and is nearly 40 now. On a previous occasion, I’d requested him to help me learn how to fix a puncture and he had agreed. I called him and reminded him and he told me come over.
It was a torment I tell you. Firstly to loosen the #24 nut, that that silly goose in Nahan had over-tightened, tested my shoulders, back and triceps to the extreme. I’m not used to sitting Indian-potty style and most of the job of removing the tube has to be done in that position. On such occasion, unexercised legs get fatigued and start to shiver non stop for quite some time. The job is not as easy as tightening or loosening a nut either. It requires a degree of practiced skill, keen eye and a high degree of caution; you don’t wanna know what a careless person’s face looks like after a tyre tong gets projected on it by slipping tyre, also a careless fit can damaged the tube. Ashok-ji, the expert, showed by a deep scar on his eyebrow that was the result of such an accident, thankfully his eye was saved. After the ordeal was over, I was sweating profusely and my legs were quite fatigued. I laughed at myself for thinking that it wasn’t going to be so difficult. Anyway I need to get tyre tongs made like the ones that Ashok-ji has and practice this a exercise a couple of times till I master it. Ashok-ji was extremely helpful and dedicated quite a bit of his time and energy, not to mention lent his tools and pressure pump and smiled at the many times I got stuck during the protocol and on one particular occasions said “ishi liye Guru ki zaroorat padti hai.” (That’s why you need a Guru).
While leaving I felt I couldn’t thank him enough. It’s nice to appreciate all the skills that people acquire in their jobs; surely no job is too small in this world.

what is love then?

I’m not a movie guy. This is kind of strange because it’s not like I dislike movies totally, I just find the act of planning to waste 2 odd hours and money for something that might not turn out to be entertaining throughout and that even might have subject matter that might antagonize me, abhorrent and that without the option of just flipping the channel to watch something else. I like TV better and rarely do I ever watch movies on it. I love watching TV and most of what I watch is centered on a few news channels, Discovery, NGC, AP and History. I even dig Shaun the Sheep and Spongebob on CN and how could just forget to tell you how much I love Jay Leno’s The Tonight Show. Basically I’m saying that I watch a lot of TV whenever I can.
However my views about movies are changing. It’s been a very gradual process and started when I tripped over a second hand book titled Close Imagining, written by a celebrated literature teacher Benjamin DeMott. We bought it at a book sale at the Parade Ground in Sector-17. It talks about how to read literature in the sense that how to make sense of literature. Anyone can read but it trains you in a certain way about the approach to understand the text. Somehow the training, whatever sense I could make of till now, also got extrapolated on to my interpretation of cinema. I’m still reading that book since I’m a very very slow and irregular reader and that is another thing I generally don’t like doing, reading. But I’ve grown to like that book and like picking it up once in a while and being bowled over by the poems and stories and parts of classical literature that form the examples of the book. In almost 10 odd months, I have watched four or five movies—apart from the ones I watched at the movie club of IMTECH—most of which I actually liked. It’s 1:15am and I just finished watching a movie on HBO (I think it was some other channel) a few minutes ago titled A lot like Love.
I was just surfing through the channels when I saw Ashton Kutcher (Oliver) looking rather silly in long hair then I saw a rather weird looking girl Amanda Peet (Emily) and paused to watch what was happening here. I was rather pleased to see that the movie had just started so just kept the remote aside and watched on. I liked what I saw, it was rather silly but I still liked it because I could really relate to this story; the craziness of the initiation all too familiar. The surreal time when you live in a sort of a dream with a stranger in sensual and fantastic world; you can either freeze it there and move on your separate ways or get to know the person and burst the lovely bubble. In the movie, it's frozen and thawed time and again. Of course I raised my eyebrow more than once at the silliness of the story at times when there’s a gap of two years and sometimes three in the story—people really do move on and don’t have those feelings anymore—but what I found to be nonsense was really a figment of my imagination and in a certain way, this really was possible, why not? It was put together well. I found Emily to be a little too complicated in the way she has the preconceived notion about what things should be like to work out—till the very end—but then it suddenly dawned on me that Emily, after all, was a girl and all of them are like that. If I can’t accept it then I’d just have to turn gay. Emily, I believe, is also a very passionate person which is reflected in the fact that when the story starts it seems like she’s down in the dumps and it really seems like Oliver is the guy who’s gonna make it big in life, but it really turns out the other way round. Her passion of photography, which she starts of after Oliver gifts her a camera the second time they meet (three years after they first met), brings her success. Anyway I felt really sorry for this Oliver guy who makes such big plans in life, is so confident and almost reaches there but doesn’t. Broken and broke he finally realizes that he should at least express the love that he feels for her, which she never allows him to speak, but it’s too late by then as Emily’s already engaged to some other guy. By the way, they both date and breakup with many people in between. It’s sad to see him at that time for they both have had such amazing moments by then in between those six years but they’re so fragmented to fully reveal the gravity of their value to each person. But deep down inside I believe they do…but it’s very deep I guess, hard to reach kinds. Though they realize that they’re in love, they never speak up about it. She never lets him say it as she feels that it was she who made the first move with him and doesn’t let go of it till she “finds out” that it was actually he who made the first move…umm! Six years ago. Now that is something I found to be extremely stupid but then again with a woman, it’s such a real possibility. Anyway when she realizes, it’s too late on the other side and just when I thought this sweet story would have a tragic end, it doesn’t. It was pleasant and I must admit that Amada Peet’s face just grew on me and by the end of the movie, I admitted that she was beautiful; something contrary to what I thought at the beginning of the movie but even then I loved her big bright eyes.
And by the way, I find the new Batman costume in The Dark Knight such a downer.

Is this goodbye?

I just woke up to my ringing cell phone. I thought it was the alarm I’d set in it but realized that this was the ringtone, not the alarm-tone. I got hold of the phone and saw that it was a call from the Sisters. I didn’t know what to expect and quickly took the call.
“Good morning sister” I wished without knowing which Sister it was.
“Good morning Jesse. Jesse we’re leaving.” said Sister Annie.
“When? Where?” I shot back
“Our provincial has decided that enough is enough and we need to be out of this place. You know how difficult things have been for us here. God knows if Father Sebastian will appoint some other Sisters for this place. We’ll pray for the children here but really we’ve been pushed to the limit here and cannot take the way the treat us anymore. It’s better that we go away.” she confessed.
“where are you going?” I asked
“Don’t know yet Jesse. It could anywhere even Nepal.” said Sister Annie
“Oh!! How will we ever meet again? But I understand Sister, it’s been very hard for you here. By what date are you planning to leave?” I asked.
“We will leave by 15th of May, though it hasn’t been decided.” she said
“Well…ok then sister. I’ll come and visit you as much as I can till you’re here” I said unsure about what to say next as a million memories started to flash past my mind. The memories of three years and the thought that Riti just last evening, said that she planned to spend a whole Sunday with the Sisters soon after her exam a month away.
“Sure Jesse. Do come. Ok then bye. See you soon.” She said
“Bye Sister.” I replied and we hung up.
Then the thoughts crossed me: What next? Shall inform Riti first? Or shall I expedite the long delayed help that some people had offered to the kids because I might never be able to get into the Children’s Home once the sisters leave? Shall I talk to the sisters about how we can sustain the outside help to the kids even after they leave?
I picked up the cell again and frantically started to type a message to Riti…but I deleted it as I didn’t wanna be the harbinger of bad news. I knew the Sisters had probably either called her already or will call her right after she talked to me. I just waited for Riti’s message which did come in a while.
We both plan to visit the Children’s Home this evening.

Circles

I thought I’d massage my arid scalp with some coconut oil today. Absentmindedly I picked up the blue bottle and headed for the microwave. Why? Because for me, the bottle of coconut oil was still living frozen in the winters, when I’d last used it. Suddenly I the liquid moving inside and for good reason; I was just wearing shorts, why would the oil be frozen. Oh God! I’m so baffled at the things I do sometimes. Then I went to the kitchen for some midnight snacking. I was confused about whether I was hungry or thirsty. Instead of just drinking water and finding out, I set out to fix some snacks which comprised of four slices of bread with butter, a substantial quantity of dal, stir fried in butter till dry, and an egg white dropped on the dry dal! You might be wondering what kind of a dish that’d make and the answer is “Filling”. As I ate it I could easily discern the filling combination of the buttery dal from the tender egg pieces. The butter lying on the table first turned soft and then gooey. Alarmed, I rushed in the fridge before it melted and flowed out on the table. Suddenly my eyes caught one of the newspaper headlines, Rain brings down minimum temperature (TNS). “Bloody hell when did that happen. Is bad weather just following me?” I thought as I wiped the sweat off my brow. I twisted my head to read it again clearly and yes, it was Chandigarh news.
Then I shifted my vision some more to the right and saw the date February 24, 2010. “Ah so much for respite”, I thought.
I picked it up and read on, it and I quote
“…winter is far from over.”
“People will experience a cold spell again. The Tuesday morning rain will bring back the chill soon.”
“The weathermen have predicted partly cloudy sky with a possibility of thundery development in the next 24 hours in the city.”
I don’t clearly remember what I was doing on 24th February but 10 days earlier on the 14th, I attended Dog Show with my girlfriend and her friend, and I remember that it was quite hot in the morning. Ten days hence must’ve been hot alright. What bliss must this news have brought to people back then.
The heat is growing unbearable and I wonder what hard times lay ahead; electricity cuts, water shortage, the discomfort of commuting on a two wheeler in an even hotter city will soon follow. It’s difficult to place these roads as the same ones on which I traveled wearing a warm jacket and gloves and still feeling cold. I can just think of them as blast furnaces on which I travel alone.
“…People will experience a cold spell again…” what prophesy. What a paradox that I experience it to such a degree in this heat. The winters were so warm and the summer is so frozen in spite of itself. I know there will be respite like there’s always been; within the gamut of the choices I can make. My truth was different then from what it is now but the real truth is that I’m writing so much these days and it all comes down to the same thing.

Good Mourning everyone

What a start to the day, I couldn’t sleep well last night because of the tenacious mosquitoes and the fluctuating electricity. I swear by ODOMOS, the mosquito repellent cream but yesterday night that did little to deter the mosquitoes that were probably hungry from all the days of Odomos barrier and decided they’d had enough. My forehead is swollen and I look like a big brained alien. I spent the night switching between ceiling fan and AC because the electricity supply was flipping between the two. In a semi conscious state and when the electricity completely failed in between, I turned into an unwilling audience for the talks of the big family/friend gathering in the adjacent house and the father-daughter duel downstairs; sometimes living in a flat sucks. I woke up at 6:30am and try as I may to convince myself that I’m well rested, my body is behaving otherwise. I washed my bike off last night’s dirt that accumulated on it when we rode through the rain and a certain amount of disgruntlement. However you end up thinking that if there’s a chance that what the other person’s saying is true, it would be outstandingly crass on your part to not understand. How selfish but hey, before you throw stones at someone, think about how many times you’re in their shoes. Affection doesn’t require too much of effort to develop between like-minded people but understanding requires effort and some degree of selflessness.
Anyway last night I grew up a little more. I recalled the time—the only time I crashed my bike—when my girl accompanied me. Of the three of us, the bike, her and me, she was the only one that got hurt. However it didn’t show on the outside and since she never spoke of it and I was too busy concentrating on riding and reaching Dehradun, taking a detour to Herbertpur and reaching my sister’s place before a more severe tragedy struck us that I never asked her how she was. She didn’t show one sign of being hurt and I presumed she was alright, just like I was, for some reason, despite the bad fall on a downhill slippery road, I wasn’t hurt a bit and the engine kept running; but the whole psychological trauma suffered due to the same led her to brand me insensitive. We roamed around in Dehradun and had lunch and not once did I sense that she was hurt; for me she was fine, just like I was and just like the bike was. The extended act of sullenness that almost demolished our relation on the return leg of the journey made me brand her illogical and laid the foundations of the bomb that was built up over months and months and despite the love, it was set alight. It didn’t explode loudly, it just poisoned and killed.

Last night’s experience, coupled with memories of that fateful time in the past, was a revelation to me. I was in the other shoes and someone else was in mine. The revelation made it easier to forgive, both this person and myself—for the past—and understand that sometimes things aren’t the way they appear to be.

But hey wait, let’s see what appears in the newspaper’s front page today:

I see Manu Sharma’s plea’s of freedom being rejected: You can’t kill people in the open, imagine if he would’ve used his head, gone hidden behind a bush, aimed and… Shit! These are incriminating thoughts.

I see the handsome Shashi Tharoor walking away from the media hounds; I can almost hear him say “Leave me alone you camera wielding cattle”

I see dejected foreigners stranded at the Mumbai Airport: Iceland’s ash causes air-travel hash.

The local news says that yesterday was a black Monday with a string of armed robberies, an immolation, conning and killing: Ah this is my city beautiful but how safe is it, I think it’s a topic to mull.

Dantewada massacre’s been relegated to…umm! Somewhere inside I guess, if at all. They howled, they barked, bared their teeth…at each other and then they slept waiting for something else to happen.

Over and out
Have a nice day!

Surge

Some things end in a flash
Others smolder slowly
before they to turn to ash
Day’s left me ached to the bone
A nap’s snapped me out
Of the red zone
Slowly I crawl out of my bed
Wishing I could jump out instead
My room is in such a mess
The sight adds ten quids to my stress
When suddenly I wanna play
I wanna play the game
So life’s not the same again
Wanna run and catch the verve
that’s seeping down the drain
I wanna soar away
To a place where
they don’t know my name
Wanna shout out with joy
Even if they call me insane
I wanna jump high
And reach out for another plain
I wanna do more
And not have any excuses lame
Ride fast those curves
Even if sometime they
confuse my brain
Dive in so deep
And watch my freedom
stick to no lanes
So what if the day’s nearing an end
So what if there’s nothing left to defend
I guess I’ll just live the moment
that’s slipping away
For who knows that in it
I might just “live” my day.

Seeking Solid Solitude

*
My institute is located in an isolated corner of Chandigarh. It has big trees on the boundary such that hardly any sound from outside penetrates the campus. Inside, Orkut, Facebook, Twitter are all inaccessible.
I must concentrate on science. I must concentrate on my work.
And then there are days when I’m lost in what I do and I love what I work on and crazy ideas bombard me from all sides and I’d never trade my work for anything but such days are few and far in between. I think they should send me inside a dungeon to practice science; I need more isolation from this crazy world.

Maligned Malik

*
*
WOW! Shoaib Malik lied.
I am most apologetic for what I wrote about Ayesha Siddiqui and have removed it from my blog. But what an amazing foresight of this woman who, as some reports say, had saved some of her clothes from the times they had physical intimacy. I have mixed feelings about this. But who cares man! like I said before, the topic is jaded.
And like I said before "Sania don't waste those hot legs of yours....concentrate on tennis."

Kiss me not, piss me not!!

A British couple in Dubai might face imprisonment for kissing in public. An Emirati woman sued them for the same because she was accompanied by her children when they came face to face with the perpetrators. I am sure what prompted her to go to the police was her children’s curiosity about what they saw. Ha ha ha poor kids probably were oblivious to the act of kissing living in the UAE. I guess they don’t consider it appropriate to touch and fondle the apparatus of your body meant to speak and ingest food with that of your partner; HEY WHAT’s WRONG WITH SHAKING HANDS?—they’ll probably ask. Hey!! Isn’t this the place where they have flashy cars, humungous hotels and all that money can buy and you can’t kiss in public? O HO!! I’m sorry I forgot, you can’t do so in my country either. If you’re caught kissing in public, you’ll face the bastinado. Both police forces are sensitive to the sight of touch; the moral police and the city police who think you’re soft targets to extort money—Oh please don’t call up my folks or all hell will break lose. If for some stupid, ‘unnatural’ reason, you end up kissing your girl outside and get caught, you’re doomed unless you have some money to stuff in the police-wala’s mouth. It’s perfectly alright to kill women for dowry or other pretext—of course, wedding also gives you the 007 licence—but dare you show affection in public, it’s gonna be taken a very very serious offence. The choice for us is simple right, between love/affection and hate/scorn, the latter is always more conveniently pleasing to us. I wonder why I was surprised at the Dubai news after all, the same would’ve happened in India as well and even worse treatment could’ve been metted out at the couple.

Besharam-wati

So what else? Mayawati admonished the RTE and said that the state doesn’t have money to educate so many children! Mayawati doesn’t have money? She lacks grace, decency and concern for the masses. In fact I thought that money is the only thing she and her band of brothers have. She was greeted with Rs. 5 crore (??) garland in front of some of the poorest people and that did not make her tremble with shame; she’s unconscionable. Maybe she’s scared that if people would get educated, they’d actually realize how shameless she is. This vile woman says that she doesn’t have money to educate poor children; we all know what kind of money she possesses, she should be debarred from contesting elections.

Nikah Triangle

Shoaib claims that he has never met the Ayesha, whose photo was sent to him for nuptial approval and Sania claims she knows everything. Ayesha actually turned out to be the girl who claimed to be the so called Ayesha’s elder sister! Yikes!! Oh no!! So this wasn’t the hot and sexy Ayesha (sexy name anyway) that Shoiab was dreaming of. I’ve seen fat girls who’re beautiful but this Ayesha isn’t one of them. Every time I see her on TV I feel like pulling her cheeks and saying “Aww you mischievous Vixen! Now look what you did to li’l Shoaib. Ummm! Naughty knotty”. If what Shoaib is saying is true, he’s an incredible idiot and if what Ayesha is saying is true, he’s still an incredible idiot. Ayesha says that she has people who will testify of her and Shoaib spending time alone in a hotel room.
Shoaib was dim-witted enough to take nuptial vows on the phone—arre shaadi hi to hai, to kya hua, baad mein talaaqh de doonga—and bizarre to now be saying that the same action doesn’t solemnize a marriage. How dumb is that! Correction, how shameless is that! Sania don’t waste those two legs of yours sweetheart………concentrate on tennis (heh heh heh what were you thinking). That Ayesha in picture was sexy, Sania is sexy; Shoaib you are a sexy maniac. Ah! Pardon me, who doesn’t want a beautiful bride. Shoaib you’re such a bloody paradox personified that you should be ‘punished’ with celibacy….and no non-marital sex either, you sexy maniac.
Well I’ll just put a cork on this already jaded controversy.

passing thoughts

Once bitten, keep your gun ready.

Once bitten, bite back.

Bite first and make them twice shy.

Beauti-fool day

1st April 2010
I pushed myself overboard. I returned home feeling tired but convinced myself that I could so some exercise. The weight loss regime has worked beyond my imagination and I’ve turned thinner than I would’ve liked. I am desperate to put on some weight. After all “log kya kahenge (What will people say)” syndrome affects me as much as the others. How will I explain that I’m scared of growing fat at thirty for I know it’ll be very difficult to lose the flab; I must be just-right. Who decides that? The society in which I live! My legs were limp so I started to exercise my triceps lying in bed. After four sets I fell asleep and woke up with a start, confused about my position. It took a few seconds to come to terms with reality. By then, I was more tired than before, now my hands refused to move as well. I dragged myself out of bed with a great difficulty, walked to the drawing room and fell plop on the sofa. I watched a documentary by Nilanjana Bose on honour killings in our country. I wasn’t surprised watching the interviews of Khaap Panchayat members justifying honour killings from every angle of unabashed stupidity. Of course my views would incite a similar response from the Khaap were they to find out what they are. Honour killings are also happening in the West and not surprisingly in Indian and middle-eastern immigrant families. There are just so many people in our country, so many uneducated, also so many educated but unaffected by education, also so many educated high class scoundrels, all trying to avoid the “shame” that their children might bring to them. “Values” must be taught with rigour and from an early age. ‘Educating’ children to differentiate “us” from “them” is quintessential to our society. What a shame that some iconoclasts just don’t imbibe the ‘good values’, break the shackles of ‘limited freedom’ and commit sacrilege; maybe education is actually bringing about the needful change in a few. By the way, talking about education, starting yesterday, another fundamental right has been introduced in our country. Every child from the age of 6 to 14 has the Right to Education; three cheers for The Government. Hey but what about schools where teachers do not come to teach but draw their salaries, what about the dilapidated buildings, what about the broken benches and boards. Private schools will be directed to accommodate 25% students from economically weaker section. How the school will bear the burden, that’s their own headache. But this still is a good move now let us wait and see the next, and the bigger problem being solved; implementation. Is this order going to be meet the same fate as the government school in my sector; big and grand when built, almost non functional in some time for ever and ever till the term “47-Model” brings to mind an unkempt building where the locals go for casting votes during elections. Really? Is that a school? A Model-School”? Paradoxically, for us in Chandigarh, the term “Model-School” brings to mind such buildings in tatters with a fake promise of educating children. Of course there are exceptions to this as 2 or 3 Model Schools do live up to the meaning of their name but most others do not. Let us all take hold of one main-road each on which we see kids begging and count how many children go off the streets and are shifted to schools in three months time. Talk about counting, the government has started the new census that will go on to count and fingerprint the billion strong. Now that’s one counting I could never do. So we’ll all learn to read and write but when will we learn to differentiate wrong from right? How can I cerebrate on the problems of my country when I feel that I’m neither true to myself nor know how to be. Aha! Maybe there is no problem at all; it’s just a figment of my imagination. Ignorance is bliss and it’s a Fool’s Day after all so let us celebrate by not doing anything. Sigh! Why should I anyway.

THIRTY-NOTHING

You, in many bits and pieces, lay scattered in my room. You were just the breeze that blows and ceases, as and when it pleases. I was cleaning my messy room and I found something that belongs to you. You forgot your kerchief here, I don’t remember when you left it. I think it was last year or the year before that. Sorry, I’ll just dust my shelves with it.

Three decades gone and tomorrow’s another day to live. In search of a mantra, to my own self, what do I give?

Loneliness, fatigue, silence and the weather attack me from all sides, but somehow it feels just fine.

Thirty feels strong, way more than twenty nine.

But I’m thirty and I’m nothing; what a waste of prime.

I’m a thirty nothing and I’ve been late at everything, when the match is over I’m playing first innings.

I’m thirty-nothing, I am the joke in town, I’m thirty-nothing, I feel so let down.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I don’t have a bank balance, I’m a thirty-nothing in my own secret parlance.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I have a guitar, I’m a thirty-nothing, from my goals I’m still far.

I’m a thirty nothing, I live with mom and dad, I’m a thirty-nothing, and all the girls think that that’s so sad.

I’m a thirty-nothing, but some still love me so, god knows if they will, when I am thirty four.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I think life’s unfair, I’m a thirty-nothing when I think so I lose more hair.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I drive a big bike, I’m a thirty-nothing, I dread the fuel price hike.

I’m a thirty-nothing, only seldom do I rhyme, glad to be in a world where this is not a crime.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I get dumped now and then, they say you’re thirty-nothing, what’ll you feed our children?

I’m a thirty-nothing, all my friends drive cars, I’m a thirty-nothing by the time I can buy one, mankind will shift to Mars.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I work in a lab, I’m a thirty-nothing, I’d be richer if I’d drive a cab.

I’m a thirty-nothing, everyone around me is younger, I’m a thirty-nothing striving to curb my paunch and hunger.

I’m a thirty-nothing I have a good smile, I’m a thirty-nothing, I’ve learnt to fake it once in a while.

I’m a thirty-nothing I had dreams as child, I ended up a thirty-nothing, for they thought they were too wild.

Thirty-nothing, even dad to me is rude, for I’m thirty-nothing and I’m not even shrewd.

I’m thirty-nothing I spend the evenings in my room, I’m thirty-nothing, don’t fancy being a groom.

Thirty-nothing, I hang old gifts on walls, I’m thirty-nothing my cell don’t get no calls.

I’m a thirty-nothing I walk the miles alone, I’m thirty-nothing, I like being on my own.

I’m a thirty-nothing, I was a good lover, I was doing just that till half my life got over.

I’m a thirty-nothing I’m trapped in a block of houses, when I go and stand outside, they cover up their spouses.

I’m a thirty-nothing but with sovereign views, I’m a thirty-nothing, but for many, I’m just bad news.

I’m a thirty-nothing but I must comment on world affairs, since I’m thirty-nothing, can only voice them in prayers.

I’m a thirty-nothing, climbing up a hill, I’m a thirty-nothing I just feel no thrill.

I’m a thirty-nothing I know not what’s on the other side, I’m a thirty-nothing I’ll face it with my thick hide.

I’m a thirty-nothing slowly turning into an ass, I’m a thirty-nothing, hoping This Too Shall Pass.

A love like that

If ‘The God Delusion’ discombobulated me, the Czech ‘Romeo and Juliet’ left me with a very heavy heart. Firstly I must admit that I’m not a movie guy but I enjoy most of the movies played at Cineastes.

There have been many romantic movies made on the topic of ‘romance during holocaust’ but this old movie really encompassed the human emotions of compassion, care, self-respect, love and even cruelty in a captivating manner without the use of complicated sets or even blood and gore that generally form a part of such movies. All that was to be said was done so by the dialogues and expressions that the minds of the audience decipher without necessarily registering them consciously and it is these subtle elements that can make the same storyline appealing in one movie while making another avoidable. Now the reason for the absence of complicated sets was probably the time during which the movie was made; it’s an old movie.
The movie starts at the same scene where it ends; a room with an open window and door through which a strong breeze is blowing flipping the pages of a book lying on the table. A terrorized young man comes running inside and picks the book. What happens in between kept me glued to my seat.

There is a backdrop of victim’s fear and the tormentor’s unreasonable hatred and the desperate attempts of self-preservation by those caught in between. In such a situation, out of compassion, a young man, Pavel rescues a young Jewish woman, Henka, from the jaws of death and hides her in a room that he uses to develop pictures. Henka, the daughter of a doctor who has been sent to a camp and never heard from afterwards, is confused about whether she wants to live or die. At times she resolves to leave the attic where she’s hiding. She does appreciate Pavel’s efforts to save her but at the same time is averse to the idea of living on somebody’s sympathy. Pavel, who despite being nerve-wrecked because of the announcements that those who shelter Jews will be executed alongside them, leaves no stone unturned to give Henka a happy life in his attic room. He rejects Henka’s statement that he’s an Aryan and she’s not by saying that such things were mere inventions of a few crooked minds.

Pavel is in love with Henka but she misinterprets it as his sympathy. It’s when out of sheer frustration when he finally says it aloud that he’s in love with her, does she realize that all his efforts were out love and she accepts his love. They both manage to spend some time together and hide from prying eyes despite the growing suspicion. They sit and look at the stars from the window of the room. They dream of how life is going to be like when this nightmare is over and yearn to live it. Just outside the little room of love is an atmosphere of terror where people fear for their lives and Pavel’s mother is no exception to this. When the beans get spilled, she goes up to the attic room with food and money to request to ask Henka to leave immediately because she fears for the life of her son but the sight of Henka melts her heart and she becomes double minded. Henka, who doesn’t want to bring any harm to Pavel, defends his actions and takes the blame on herself and gets ready to leave but in the chaos, others in the locality spot her just at a time when the soldiers are out raiding homes looking for hidden Jews. Henka runs out so as not to bring harm to anybody in the locality not in the least to her beloved Pavel. A bewildered Pavel runs out to stop her but she escapes from the main gate of the locality which gets locked up as soon as she exits; Pavel is left behind and cries and beats wildly at the gate to find a way out but it’s too late, there are gunshots outside; the hope is gone and the dreams are shattered. The last scene is also the first scene, like I said; an open window and a door and a strong breeze flipping the pages of a book that belonged to Henka. That is a very superficial overview of a movie with great dialogues and acting that was an absolute treat to watch (though I wish they both could’ve escaped to America or someplace and lived happily ever after).
Then the inevitable happens; I start to sob in the auditorium (Damn! Sad movies always make me cry). I kept consoling myself by saying “hey it’s just a story”. But I couldn’t help but think of the many people that must’ve actually suffered similar or far worse tragedies in the holocaust or in pogroms even in our own country. It takes so much to love and so little to kill. I wish we humans had a brain that had an inferior ability to hate and discriminate. I believe it is totally in our capacity to hate less but so many times we choose otherwise.

Shera

His name is Shera and I’d met him before once or twice when I accompanied Rekhi Uncle to his farmhouse where he’s the keeper and lives with his wife and kids. However I was oblivious to him being severely alcoholic. He’s a short, 30 something, extremely skinny guy with unkempt hair and I wonder if his liver is functional at all. He grins and laughs a lot, in this fashion: first the facial muscles around his nose contract, lifting his upper lip and then he lets out intermittant gusts of air through his vocal chords which make him sound like an old diesel engine being cranked.

Shera was in Sector 47, where I live (and so do the Rekhis, a house away), to take care of the stuff in the community centre where arrangements had been made for meals and stay of the guests for Harman's (Rekhi uncle’s son and my friend of more than 11 years) wedding. I was asked to help with the procurement of some stuff for which Shera was to accompany me on his rehra (small tricycle cart) and haul the stuff back to the destination. Suraz and I reached the place at 7pm and a very drunk Shera followed on his cart, dodging the traffic and escaping possible accidents by whiskers. The stuff was loaded on the cart and Suraz and I proceeded to some other destination redirecting Shera back to the community centre, lest he’d reach somewhere else. While the stuff was being loaded I instructed the men to dust the articles before loading them and whatever I said to them, Shera repeated in a slurred manner grinning at me and oscillating to and fro from his mean position. Only God knows how he rode that cart back. Anyway at dinner he was getting on my nerves because he was trying to be extra nice to me and kept bugging me with enquiries about my well being. He did a resonable amount of work, bringing all the food and arranging chairs, all the while swinging wildly left and right but he never dropped anything. This despite the fact that if you’d get a glimpse of him standing, you’d bet he couldn’t stay that way without falling down. That was something I appreciated a lot but he just annihilated that appreciation by approaching me with that silly grin and asking if I was alright yet another time. I steered clear of him from then on.

Then next day, I heard that he got a sound beating from Rekhi uncle for some escapade of his, again in a very drunk state. Perpetually drunk in the three odd days he was there, be it morning, afternoon or night. Shera told me of his horrific previous night at the community centre when he was all alone and mauled by mosquitoes. I wondered if the mosquitoes enjoyed the alcohol in his blood and hence had a cocktail party on his body. He told me he didn’t like being alone and swaying with joined hands he begged me to send some people over at the community centre so that he had company. I had no clue what to say in response to that request.

His outdoor services were required again and in the afternoon, Shera followed me on his cart. The place was closed and I called up the owner who asked me to come an hour and a half later. Shera was irritating me as usual with his silly questions. Since I was to go elsewhere, I told him to return at that stipulated time. It was very hot and he was perspiring heavily and with a stupid grin and a garbled manner he asked me to accompany him again. I told him it wasn’t possible and that he’d have to do it on his own but he repeated his previous sentence like he hadn’t heard what I’d just told him, though this time with pleading eyes. Suddenly I was filled with sympathy for the guy. There was a human being somewhere in that living wineskin and he knew how helpless he was trapped in this snare of alcoholism. He probably knew that only death would liberate him. My temper eased and I tried to explain it to him that he’d have to make the trip on his own. An hour and half later I checked with Rekhi uncle if he’d sent Shera to get the stuff but he told me that Shera didn’t have a phone. I went to the community centre and looked everywhere but could only see the cart; Shera had disappeared. I went looking in the kitchen and the cooks directed me outside while they laughed hysterically. As I neared the door, I saw a hand covered with flies. I was aghast to see Shera lying in a corner with flies covering his face, including lips.

“Is he dead?” I thought aloud. But then he opened his parched lips that made a few flies take off. He took a few deep breaths, smiled and then turned to one side and continued sleeping. I shook him, pulled at his hand, legs but to no avail, he was sleeping under the influence. I went inside and brought a big glass of water and poured it on his eyes, that only made the flies go away; Shera was asleep and there was nothing I could do about it. I went alone and hired a rickshaw to do Shera’s job. This rickshaw puller was a very sweet guy and was so keen on doing his job right that he didn’t bother that a part of his rickshaw broke as the stuff was being loaded. Cheerfully he hauled the stuff to the destination for which I tipped him. I thought of the contrast between the richshaw puller and Shera. Both were poor and had to do manual labor to make ends meet, the former probably worked harder but wasn't drowining himself in alcohol.

That night was the cocktail party but it was just another night for Shera. He downed a full glass of neat whiskey in a gulp that set everyone laughing. Of course he was quite drunk before he did that. Despite the sight of him, I felt more remorse for him than contempt. It’s understandable when people mock him or just ignore his presence. I feel sorry for all those who indulge in excessive drinking. There was a point of time when I too indulge in excessive drinking and even paid a price for it.

Shera’s doomed unless he’s pulled out from this quicksand. I wonder if his drunken world is more pleasant than the real world. I wonder if he perceives people as appreciating him when they’re actually making fun of him, I wonder what dreams he sees when he goes to sleep after downing a one too many (as usual), is he a star in his dreams, does he have palaces, cars, women and all that money can buy…not to forget a humungous bar with his choicest country liquor. Is that the reason he smiles when he’s asleep? Only he knows the answer. The real world’s too harsh for him.

Doggone time

16th march 10
11:30p.m.

As I typed the name of this month, I was surprised for a second that MS-WORD did not capitalize the name automatically, and then I realized that march has other meanings. Strangely in the previous line, march indeed has been underlined in green. That’s odd! It should’ve been so in the date 16th march 2010. Anyway another such example is May. May happens to appear in dismay as well, albeit not as an independent entity. Dismay is one word I’d type on my Facebook account’s “What’s on your mind” title, if I had one that is. I’m too desi for it (as people say) and prefer Orkut. I treat my Orkut account as my baby. I am very attached to it because of the time I took to write all the stuff on my profile that I kept deleting and rewriting time and again. I gained quite a bit of popularity amongst my friend circle because of it. The situation was similar back then, I was just out of a relation, though unlike now, I was spewing out the hurt in the form of words under the title “from my past relationships I’ve learnt” of my profile. I got really creative and comic satire flowed out of my finger onto the keyboard like lava. As I wrote, “friends of friends” started to visit my profile (possibly recommended by friends) and started to copy my original work onto their profile without so much as an acknowledgement or a thank you. You see, if I put up a quote on my account, I mention the writer and expect the same. So I deleted all that I’d written and put up some brilliant situational quotes by Ashleigh Brilliant, and of course I acknowledged the writer. Now you probably are thinking that I’ve become too high headed just because I got a few (ok I can’t use “few”, it’s just three) articles published in an online newspaper. It’s a good paper and the articles these guys publish make for interesting read www.heraldofindia.com. Anyway I was talking about this copying of creativity thingi. You see that’s plagiarism, that’s cheating. That’s trespassing on my property and claiming it to be yours. Cheating, I hate it. Why? Because I’ve suffered a lot because of it, that’s why. How? Well just my excuse for not getting good grades in school. Though I never cheated despite watching some of my classmates go for the kill and attain great marks. Needless to say there were others that were hones, intelligent and hardworking. I’m not claiming that that’s the only reason they all scored good marks and I was just above average but because it corrupted some of them. Some intelligent ones that is, and they still carry both the intelligence and the dishonesty with them. When kids of affluent families cheat and steal and those from a distinctly lower stratum, managing to study alongside them and just growing like wild-grass (me, me I’m talking about me yes) aren’t doing so, you must accept there’s something wrong with moral-values being taught in big families. I am talking about boys in particular. Is that how daddy earns the big money? Daddy himself doesn’t know what to teach! Girls are always better than boys in most aspects; women versus men, is a different story.

Girls, you’ll find one that’ll earn the title of girlfriend. They come and they go. It’s like a guy’s some kind of a pass through material, women come, pass through, and leave, gaining a lot of intelligence in the process. It’s all about killing time in street-play practice till the curtains of theatre a drawn after the wedlock and I must say I’ve had a lot of practice but never ever made it to the theatre. I guess I’m some kind of a professional street artist.

Street! Oh the streets of Chandigarh aren’t safe to drive a mobike anymore. Today I nearly met with an accident. I was going straight, at the roundabout this car overtook me from the right at full speed and suddenly turned left…but hey they guy couldn’t negotiate the turn fully and came to a dead stop and in a split second he was parked 90 degrees to my direction of motion and I applied the brakes full on. The bike skidded quite some distance but held ground and after an almost unending screech, I stopped parallel to him, we never touched and I didn’t fall. That was followed by a bout of foul language pouring from my mouth. Bad words I hadn’t used in years just flew like millions of pigeons rushing out a pigeon hole. Adrenalin surged through my body and I was ready to fight (I could take that guy down ;) unless he knew martial arts or something). Well he didn’t know any form of martial arts so he just chickened out. I was dumbfound at the man’s stupidity for I could’ve been seriously hurt had I not been such a good driver (oh please don’t frown). That’s how my day started. I don’t know whether it was the after effect of adrenalin or the lack of sound sleep last night but after I returned from work, which I didn’t have much anyway, I was tired to the bone.

Sleeplessness is basically caused by the ten million stray dogs that gang up and rough up loners and sexually harass bitches through the night. In the process they unwittingly also keep me awake but the crying doesn’t incite my chivalry to save a bitches/loners from the pack. Phew! Bitches just act pricey initially and concede soon but there are just so many of them that the noise is unending. I guess that’s the way dogs like it. But I really wish that dogs could talk like us and not bark, I would be so much well-rested. Go up to the bitch, grin and say “hey sweetie, smells like you’re in heat. Umm! I was wondering if we could go behind that bush and get cosy and do some doggy-stuff till the time Big Bruno’s out marking territory.” Come to think of it, what if we humans had no language and could only bark. I can’t imagine winning a girl pushing her around and barking wildly at her, baring my teeth at the same time; would that be sexy to a woman? Maybe in such a world, it would.
Anyway, I was just punching at the keys to kill time till I was a little sleepy. Yes, the dogs are still barking relentlessly. Man’s best friend my foot! You couldn’t get more efficient enemies. I swear they’re taking the life out of some weak loner there that’s shrieking and howling like crazy. Now I know what they mean when they say that “the world has gone to the dogs” and the other one that says “it’s a dog eat dog world”.

And yeah, I’m kinda sleepy now so I guess I must apologize for wasting your time. Why all this? You see there are people you run from, just because you don’t get time to yourself or because you start to feel that “hey! I’m ignoring myself and there are other people in my life that I’m paying no attention to.” Then one day, you’re all alone, you do all you want to, you read, study, sing songs till your throat is sore, play guitar till it hurts, ride your bike till you have no money left to fill fuel in it and you realize that there’s still so much time left!! Then you socialize, till meet more people that you wanna run away from. Then you meet people you like and you realize that they wanna run away from you. So you sit alone and start writing bullshit, like this post hoping someone will read the whole things and not curse you (bullshit you, even if you would).

The whole thing can be pictured as the like Brownian motion of dust particles as seen in a beam of light. There’s chaos, commotion and collisions and repulsions. And when you start to see too much of it, it’s time to switch the beam off! Good night! And what did that woman say…ummm “Tomorrow is another day”.

Yeah it’s 1:20 a.m. and they’re still barking and mauling some dog!

Convoluted labyriths of perception

Some dreams are so bad that when you gradually wake up and sense the real world isn’t that bad, you’re thankful. Somedays you wake up you sigh and say, “What the heck! Another day’s dawned, now I have to live through it!”

Living through half of today (till this minute as I punch at the keyboard) has convinced me that I’m going to mess up any work that I undertake today. There were two tubes lying in my ice-bucket and I sweeped the whole lab looking for them. I even looked into the ice bucket but couldn’t see them. I freaked out totally; I wasn’t gonna start doing the three-day experiment from scratch now.

Then I made some tea for myself, took deep breaths and told myself “I’m not dead yet, I gotta manage my stuff”. Lo and behold, as I returned to the lab and opened my ice-bucket, I saw my tubes smiling back at me. The mutant DNAs that I so lovingly made to clone into vectors. It was a big relief but my mood was still low. I don’t know why, maybe I do know but what the heck!

It’s not easy to estrange or be estranged to someone you’ve loved. But hey! I guess the reality is better than wishes and I gotta get over it. It reminds me of the Eagles’ song Get over it but that it’s not the same context. I’d lost interest in music for many a month, or so I felt till I heard a couple of songs. Two hindi songs have captured my attention like it hasn’t happened in ages: Tu jaane na (I liked it better till I hadn’t seen the video. Movie: Ajab prem ki gajab kahani…interesting name) and Hai Junoon (Movie: New York). Hai Junoon struck just the right chords in my heart and last night while listening to it, I couldn’t help but reach out for my guitar, dust it, kiss it and say “hi buddy, it’s been a long time”. My fingers (soft again from the non-playing) couldn’t take the string torture for long and are still hurting but what the heck I was playing “hai junoon” and junoon it was till my throat went sore from the high pitch singing.

Also these days, there’s a new found love for compositions of Eagles and Mr. Big. Alone, curtains drawn, feet tapping to the beats or maybe even dancing and the music filling me from my top of my baldness to the tips of my toes. After The Thrill is Gone by The Eagles and Going where the Wind blows, Twenty-five Years by Mr. Big at songs that I relate to these days.

Sigh! Just the very though of the exhilaration I feel at such times has begun to alleviate the melancholy right now. I know what I gottta do. Take a few minutes off the lab-work now, sit outside alone in the warm breeze, listen to the rustling of the leaves and watch the birds and insects and humbly accept, “what a beautiful world” (in 10-15 minutes that is).

I’m glad to be alive and to witness the myriad complexities I see in creatures, objects and people around me and in my own self.