Saturday, July 30, 2011



I am sleepy, tired but not drained. My body can feel the gravity pull. Every muscle wants to fall on bed. The plastic chair keeps me airborne. 
Office has reset my time clock in such a way that natural light is only a passing affair in my day. I experience warmth of the sun while riding to work.
Dark forlorn lanes and black and white streets tease me as I drift back to my room.
There is will but there is no way I can wake up in the morning. Its only in the late afternoon when this dude opens up. There is light but style glosses over substance. Yellow coolers for UV rays.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011



Exhibit A-Movie plans canned after friends ditch; exhibit B-eating a fruit after ages; exhibit C-leisure time. The evidences, milord, suggest  that the accused here -- life -- is guilty of normalcy. She must be sentenced to life imprisonment. It is still worth living. The show has so much to offer.
Ladies and gentleman please give it up for tonight's entertainers -- Internet, TV and Colleagues. When I was told to have fun, I partly blamed Chennai for gloom. After the defense mechanisms trundled to halt, I rediscovered the utility in wasting time. "Why do you stay back in office?" they have not figured it. A person with common sense would have known that the third item on my show is official. 

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Couple of singles


The surface is polished. The hair is entrenched around the rear half of the skull. He frowns at the CV for the seventh time. "Where do you see yourself in five years from now?" the chief copywriter of ‘Creative,’ asks. “I see me working on the 12th floor of ‘Creative,” he darts back. “Why ‘Creative?” “Because it is the best and I live here,” he looks the 2nd panelist in her eyes. She radiates a maternal smile. “You have worked in Tamil Nadu, Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan, why do you want to dock your ship now? I bet you enjoy traveling," the head of Media Department stretches her smile. “Yup, I do but I miss my mom and sister. I have skipped her teenage and don’t want to miss her grow up,” he sifts her eyes for the glimpse of motherhood again. This time though, she is business like, "Ok then. You will here from us, if we think you are the right candidate for this job." She wanted him vulnerable; he realizes that as he places the last certificate back in the folder.
Gulu has spent 3 years away from home. He is not half as bitter or mean as he considers himself. Mom typifies the ideal of selfless motherhood; little sis hides her loneliness and acts like a big sis. Any human would feel like a brat around angels. When mom’s call comes during busy hours, guilt pangs his heart for ignoring it. 
Chennai has given him an adventure. The unfamiliar culture, language and people have been significant in making him a man. Now, he wants to go back. After all, home is home.
“Why do you talk so much? You are desperate for speech like a Rajashthani for water. Is that’s the reason that you like staying away from home because they can’t bear your tittle-tattle,” Kaushik, his roommate rests his case. Kailash ratifies it with an inebriated and an amorphous “Yeeaaah.”
He stayed back in office today to hang out with colleagues. A foggy regret now gnaws him for making that decision. This is not home, the city sleeps early. Kailash raises his thumb for one desperate last thrust. A genial face asks him, “Where do you want to go?” Kailash sheepishly: “Golden Flats.” Gulu’s grin widens and stops an inch short of laughter. “Ok, Hop on,” he says and they take off on the activa.
“Thanks, I was looking for a bus but at this hour all odds are stacked against me,” Kailash regales Gulu with self-pity.
 “So what’s your name?” Gulu asks. “Kailash,” he reveals. “I am from Delhi,” he entertains Gulu’s forays into his life. “Oh, I am from Bombay,” and the butterflies try to break their cocoons.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011



Gun metal finish. The sky is heavy. Somewhere on the stultifying umbrella, light peeps through slits. Lopesh sights the sun. Instead of reciprocating the admirer, the star lights up his misgivings.
"Why are you pissed off? what is wrong with you?." Nobody is concerned about Lopesh as today someone feigns sorrow to hog all the attention.
Today someone patronizes him. Today someone snubs his inquiries. Lopesh sips tea and broods over his misadventures in slow motion.
He didn't score any goals but still played a decent game. "Good strike," even the other team's player applauded his 40-yard effort on goal. "Dude, you should throw us a treat, you scored a hat-trick and even scored one for the other team," Lopesh bantered his teammate in the morning. Overall he was in a fine mood. The football match exhausted him but it flushed his body with endorphins. He was happy.
Ear-splitting laughter, colgate smile, there was nothing to suggest that this boy was on the edge.
With two pillows, two mattresses and two slits on his wrist, Lopesh lays in an overcooked grave. He failed to cut his veins the first time after he managed a shallow cut with the tremoring knife in his hand. The next time he did not think much; just yanked the blade across his arteries.
"Lopesh, sorry dude, we were just playing a prank on you. I told them that we will all ignore you today just for fun," his voice mail answered.
Only if he had mulled over it, the star was on its way.

Monday, July 18, 2011



Meena was sick. She had caught cold. Last night at Kanta's she chugged the whole bottle of beer.
"When are you filing that story?" Sarjeet inquired. "Tomorrow," Meena shot back.
Tak-tak-tak, the subs tinkered the pages on their computers. Meena drank from her bottle, took one deep breath and dove into her story.
"Yeah I know that I have to file this story in the next 30 seconds. I will do it don't worry. Yeah I know how important is the story." Her hands began to hit the keyboard like bullets from a sten gun as thoughts tried to drown her. She was trying to cheat her deadline; but it seemed that she was trying to cheat a time bomb.
The buzz from last night's orgy, however, stood her in good stead. She could swim.
"Sir, I have saved the story in arch-scan-sport," she meekly submitted to her boss. "Teekh hain," Sarjeet grated.
She finished her assignment two hours before the stipulated time. Not a fantasy, no delusions, no appreciation; she never expected all that.
An eye-contact, a sliver of a smile but all she got was curt "teekh hain."
There is no one in the house. Friends have left. "I wanted to go to the beach," she carped. "Hey I'm going to crash now, good night," the last of her comrade headed back to the barracks. Time: 06:30 HRS.
She took refuge in men's best friend -- laptop -- for a while. She fidgeted with it and blogged a lousy post.
"The descent of this hoary atmosphere must be for a reason," she thought to console herself. Her cell trilled. "The deadline is today," her colleague reminded her on the phone. She found a reason.

Saturday, July 16, 2011



There are good and bad things about being high. The good thing is that you trust everyone, like everyone, accept everyone and at the same time it is also a bad thing.

A week of slogging, however, can even justify Kyunki Saans Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi.
I danced on MJ's thriller, laughed at every instant and made a new friend. We played killer, which is a boring game. However, if I told you about the person, who suggested it; it will all make sense.
We were too drunk, one girl was on the brink of throwing up and another was in deep freeze. Thus, we charted the mysterious world of Dumsharez. The same person's idea again.
Flailing hands, bent thumbs and a heart-wrenching performance by my Bhaijan were the highlights of the game. As expected this game was sucking our brains in pints. After all, whose idea was it. 
We suffered. We all suffered. One soldier just stared the glass on the cane table and  yours sincerely was made to stand on his feet throughout the mental marathon. 
I enjoined the rulers to play it low, play antakshri but when have the mighty heard our prayers. The beach plea was also dissed.
Our Saturday night began on Sunday morning and stayed there.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Who is the Enemy?


Who is the enemy?
Ruler plies terror,
Thrives on insecurity,
Fear of freedom forever.

Religion full version,
No demo,
One community faces media damnation,
Ethics on the memo.

Hope is the only hope,
Beauty lives happily ever after without the beast,
Rome wasn't built in a day, it was no dope,
One step to another led Mayan pyramid to topless zest.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Giving gives


There is something satisfying, even electrifying about making others happy. Like me and Anmol did today -- 12th July. We were two santa clauses, who were desperate to buy present for the kid, who almost slipped our mind. And it was Christmas eve already.
Hoho. The moral of the story is that if you look for one you will find one. No, I don't mean moral, I say story. Hoho.
As always, We saddle up on my Activa. Cut to CCD. Camera gauges the shop, hopes for a miracle -- a cake. Camera is shown the fridge. There is nothing. Not even a doughnut.
The camera is buoyant, irrepressible. He ducks the half-closed shutter of creamy inn. No luck. He has almost given up. Still, there is some severed vestige somewhere alive. French Loaf.
He barges in. They are open and welcoming and they have it. Hoho.
We put the icing on the cake -- Happy birthday to Sundari, pack it, wrap it and Merci. Camera is happy, it realizes that he actually gatecrashed a staffer's birthday party. As the soft strawberry cake collapses under its frame, the realization sinks in.
The End.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Bumping into friends


Lights branching out from unknown walls cast the shadows of doubt. Puddles stare back like black holes.

I wade through the chiaroscuro on my scooter. Behind me sits a doll, who talks, talks and talks. I wait for her till she is ready for her final stop. She gets milk and toothbrush from her house to ease her stay in friend’s abode.

I ignite scooter’s engine and it trundles along at 30 mph. There is stillness as I take in the sights of nature. And ripples burn the water as she talks, talks and talks. I take in the sound of her speech. Natural, after all. I try to feel her fun.
Now I am on my own. The back seat can breathe easy. For a moment I miss her company and in the next I create one. 

Monday, July 4, 2011

Happy Birthday To Mama's Boy


Its that time of the year. The month of rain. Monsoon has always brought warm memories in the literal sense. I was never a pliable kid. Rains triggered me to dive under my velvet blanket and switch on the torch to light up the dark craters of the blanket. Many a torch has been wasted and so have many a request to sleep.
It is also the month, when I particularly enjoyed mom's closeness. Certain images are still fresh in memory; alive in their smell, touch, motion and shadow. Mom would rub Vicks after I would finish my splash in the puddle championship.
And my birthday also falls in the same month. First of July; when I was a kid I'd celebrate my birthday with the vigour of a vixen.
Knocking on every friend's door at night to invite him, decorating home, anticipating a wide range of present -- these little things made that day very special.
Ever since Dad passed away, the fun and frolic also faded. I reconciled myself to a little placid childhood. Few notches down from brazen doting. Believe me the descent from doting to pampering is a steep decline.
 "You need to grow up," folks said. The advice though didn't help as I had sneaked into my rebel phase.
So the first of July, which was denied any cake for a long time, saw sugar rush on this first of July. Thanks to my colleagues, I had a ball. They bought a chocolate truffle, "Happy Birthday To Jash," was the icing on the cake.
Well, there was a post-party party at friend's place. We had beer till we lost it, played cards, joked and how could any jamboree start without my Gaand being whipped.
Love you all for the kick-ass time.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Yeh Zaidi Hain Ziddi, She is Ziddi, Hain Ziddi



'Known Turf,' authored by Missus Annie Zaidi, a Frontline reporter, is a book where she condenses all her field experience. She has been all over the place -- from bandits to analysing government's One-Time Settlement scheme (OTS), tailor made to waive loans taken by India Inc.
Reactions and observations, that must have faced stone wall in editorial policy, death metal growl throughout the ensemble.
Zaidi, who I like to call Ziddi (stubborn) for her views, which carry a distinct waft of certainty; also give me a chance to play on her name. Sorry Annie.
The opening pages are about her encounters with bandits. When the farmers are asked to vacate their homes because Mr. Nani wants all the sources for his AATA Steel Co., well they get pissed off. When a woman is raped of her honour by the first class villagers, she reposes her faith in the barrel and Phoolan Devi, the bandit queen rares her head over the hill, on her mount.
Goondas Act, the arcane piece of legal pooh, which finds no mention in the book, actually has a lot to do with their persecution. I say 'persecution' not 'punishment,' as the latter can be justified.
Infer or glean, Zaidi tells you that bandit is not an outlaw but he is the last hope of justice in the lawless wild west. Oh and another thing, UP has always tantalized me to take on its treachery with this a la Texas charm. Alas, someday I will report from there.
Moving on, Annie is not surprisingly from Lucknow, Eastern UP and she devotes some print to it. How men gawk at women, eve-tease, molest, Annie has put up with all of it and made an attempt to deflect the "eyes that hem in" the ladies. Frankly, stuff like this makes me guilty of being a man, of belonging to a community that has some lumpen elements but then which community does not have a few of those? It is not an excuse, just a thought.
If you plan to read this one, fasten your seat belts for the roller-coaster ride. The book shifts gears with different subjects.
One chapter connects the dots between Sufism, Punjabi Dalits and the upper caste Punjabis. Those who took interest in the clash between Shiromani Gurudwara  Prabhandak Committee and the Dera Sacha Sauda will learn more from this segment. Deras cropping up in Punjab are actually rallying points for the Dalits  to form a community, unite and break free from the caste system.
Overall it is worth the read and Zaidi deserves special praise because not only is she intellectual but she is also pretty.

Saturday, July 2, 2011



‘Tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanam,’ trills my roommate’s cell phone. He wanted a pleasant something in the background as he is studying after a long time. Than I have another roommate, who is an insurance agent. However, using speech as a weapon against human ear drums, is his obsession.

They pass the HDFC levels -- Human Decency For Carnivores. 

He is my inspiration ...... so enjoy.

PS: If you guys happen to read this, am just playing. :)