Idler Express

Surviving long vacations is truly an art. Here at home, I have so much of idle time at my dispense that I am hard pressed for ideas on how to pass it. True, I count myself among expert idlers, something I recollect I have proclaimed on this blog on an earlier occasion also. Idling is good fun only in the company of fellow idlers; and my stay at hostel ensures I never fall short of such company. Now, however, with these vacations dragging at snail's pace, I find myself doing the most eccentric things I never thought I'd do. I wash my face a little more frequently now, hoping every time the washing away of the soap layer will uncover a hitherto hidden Tom Cruise; or keep fiddling with my mobile's camera without rhyme or reason just like Tendulkar's always fiddling with his abdominal guard, though I have a faint suspicion that one isn't without rhyme or reason. But here is what takes most of my time, or, to put it aptly, helps me pass most of my time - exemplifying foolish meticulousness, I follow every ant I can find trying to imprison it under a transparent pen-cap, and wait in vain to observe how it behaves on beginning to choke. Only that I always get bored before the ant gets choked and pull the cap away myself. The point, but, is that I don't get bored of trying this experiment on some other ant then; I don't know what tells me the next ant is going to be the perfect apparatus for my experiment. Lately, I have progressed to Stage Two - it's harder but I get two ants under the same cap. I just hope they turn out to be of opposite genders, I want my experiments to reap tangible results. So far, well, this too has been an exercise in futility.

Also, I've found a new interest idling around on the internet, that of cyber-pedantry. And like other pedant friends, I am also willing sportingly to be a prey of this pedantry, as much as I like being the poacher. So I request readers, if there are any, to please bring the linguistic errors, and there'll be many, you find on this page to my notice and get a thank-you in return.

Yesterday was a very special day. I met an old friend, Sumit, after a long long gap. But obviously, what made it special was that it was the first time in my life that I drank a tiny cup of coffee obnoxiously priced at ninety Rupees, and for a moment it did feel like - 'now that's some achievement'. Sumit, meanwhile, was busy taking pictures there, pretty depressed that no permutation of views from our table could accommodate him having a sip, and the Barista trademark in the background, simultaneously. He's got a thing for taking snaps in places he's usually not supposed to be found. Also, I was quite tempted to try their exclusive one which was priced at around double this amount to take the sense of achievement to unparalleled heights, but my wallet ensured that I avoided such misadventures for the time being. Post placements, hopefully.

Birthday Blog

At this time of the year, three years ago, I had started writing on this blog. I realise I never noticed when it turned one and two, and that I noticed it at this time of its having completed three years is also entirely a matter of incidence. But however much I may be forgetful in observing its anniversaries, I unabashedly claim that I value it as much as any of my prized possessions, and that I love my conversations with this blog more than I'd probably love conversing with the most beautiful women on earth.

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One colleague of mine tells me one needs to just dump the 'be yourself' principle if one is to have any chance of achieving success or popularity. I resent this not, not on his face at least, for he is absolutely entitled to having his own opinions. But I ask myself, supposing his opinion has a dash of truth in it, if being lesser-known or only-mildly-successful is a price too big to pay for the freedom that we enjoy on being ourselves. But then, he might retort with an argument questioning the value we should place on freedom vis-à-vis popularity, and then again we shall be on two different sides; so I think I did the right thing by passing it off apathetically in the first place.

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In the aimcat, I did pretty well. Darn it! I wanted to do outstandingly well. If there were no internet, I'd have known the scores only of my friends and acquaintances and I think I would've been terribly happy with myself on having exceeded everyone; but alas, there is internet and it has a knack of keeping you down when you most want to jump.

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The training is going good, and the experience is worth it. A light work load, still ample learning, but the cake is that it has served to evoke that long forgotten childlike curiosity about learning new things. Pumps, and boilers, and fire-fighting - after studying about them superficially from the textbooks, understanding their working live is gratifyingly complementary. Strange, but it has actually changed my perception about things I deemed utterly boring.

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I sometimes think how Mummy-Papa don't seem to take any note of how I have drastically cut down on hanging out and all. I think all that this has served is upping the benchmarks. Now if I get back to old ways, probably that will instantly be taken note of. Oddly enough, I don't quite miss old-ways all that much. H'm, sometimes I do.

Lives, media, society

Normally I don’t touch upon sensitive issues on this space. There’s no special reason for it, probably I am just not sensitive enough. The one sensitive issue that has created quite a stir of late is the enigma surrounding the murder of Delhi schoolgirl Arushi Talwar.

And then, there are the very active internet as well as light-a-candle campaigns which want the girl’s case to reach its right conclusion and pray for her soul to rest in peace. Very noble indeed, and it does show people do come together if there’s a reason for it; and doubts about neo-solidarity are only figments of a few pessimists’ prophesies. I pray for her peace, I join them in their campaign, I so wish it hadn’t happened.

Infact, what I want to write about is not how bad what occurred was – I don’t need to say what happened was very unfortunate; as for whodunit - I think I should better leave that to more able authorities the kind of which I believe there are many; and whether her Dad was or not the man who did it – I don’t know shit about it.

I don’t even remotely intend to take sides. ‘Papa, mummy ya Police ?’ is the kind of coverage that suits only the IndiaTV people. Nor am I the sophisticated NDTV who said they won’t cover this case until something concrete comes out of it. Their reasoning being the mental turmoil that the girl’s family has to cope with, due to this very public undressing of a very private affair.

The only point worth raising that occurs to me in fact is not one that stems from the murder, but one that stems from the hoopla that followed it. At the risk of sounding cynical, I want to put up a few questions. Have we forgotten that there was one Hemraj who also died that day? Why does it have to be called Arushi-murder-case across all TV channels? Why haven’t we prayed, at least as visibly, for the peace of Hemraj’s departed soul? How come Hemraj’s family, we never thought, is also equally capable be feeling turmoil?

After all, what determines the relative importance of one life against another? What does? Is it again – money?

My stance is evident from the questions themselves. Just in case.

Accurately Random

Rain Rain go away

Come again another day…

Isn't it raining like crazy? I mean, are we in Cherrapunji or what? An odd shower once in a while is great, but this! They haven't ceased falling for ages now! These days, when I leave my room for taking the exam, I press my last-minute notes close to my body even as I scroll through them restlessly. Some of these exams have been surprisingly tough and unexpected pattern per se. After so many years of routinely taking exams though, no surprise is surprising enough. A sort of mechanical urgency serves the purpose, and serving the purpose just about serves the purpose.

Quite unusually, I feel a little tired now. In what was behaviour highly uncharacteristic of me, two hours before today's exam I didn't feel like reading a word more for it. It obviously wasn't over-preparation. That I was under-prepared would be an understatement. How else, but then, can I put it? That I was thoroughly under-prepared would be an oxymoron. Anyhow, with two hours to spare and with ten hours worth of studying ideally still remaining to be done, how I could feel like setting it all aside is something beyond me. The exam, on top of it, wasn't much of a cakewalk - just to understate again. Though with the kind of pretext I just described, that's as much a surprise as the arrival of bhoots in Hindi horror films precisely at the opportune moment when the heroine hits the bathtub.

The fourth years are sticking it out here in the campus even after so many days having completed their exams. Perhaps it is nostalgia or one of its close kinfolk gripping them. I make no guarantee, but from how I feel, I think I'll run myself out of the campus at top speed the moment I write the last letter on the last test of my eighth semester exams. They, however, have taken much revived interest in having fun with their juniors. Though in this context, having fun refers to slapping obscenities at juniors. As a matter of chance, I have hitherto been out of this seemingly funny affair. I was never much in awe of any of my seniors, and this latest hobby of theirs just corroborates my stance. Having said that - one of the lines one of these seniors uses when a junior smiles uncomfortably while being 'interrogated' is a real gem: "saale hamare saamne daant mat dikha yaar, hamse toot jaate hain." Power Packed!

For pressing keys

It’s a good long twelve hour sleep I’ve just woken up from. Sleeping just seven hours a day for the last seven days, this one was inevitable. And for no particular reason, I felt like putting fingers on keyboard. Perhaps only because it had been a while I had felt the pressing of keys on my fingertips. Still, I can’t be entirely sure of why I am here. A cluster of newspapers lies unattended in front of me. HT City, I see, has altered its layout. It’s a pleasant change from The Hindu that I get in my room, whose supplements are all filled with classical musicians when they talk of music, theatre stalwarts when they talk of acting, or P Sainath and the league when they talk of the media biggies. You read it for a few days, and you just might become oblivious to the imposing presence of Shakira, Shahrukh or Rakhi Sawant, all of whom are otherwise all but ubiquitous. In a way it’s good too, the ‘The Hindu’ style of doing things, for it’s no national secret that our traditional folks – those carrying the weight of Indian culture on their shoulders by means of cinema, music and the likes – hardly get any popular representation on newspapers or TV. But then poor me, not having HT for days on end I had almost forgotten there is one Paris Hilton in this world too, who must have had some seductive antic up her sleeve by now, while I was busy reading about a nightingale Meeta Pandit in a stuffy room on the outskirts of Delhi.

I’ve had my share of fun of the key-finger milan for now I guess.

The Online Ennui

An atmosphere of dissatisfaction surrounds our present day social setting. And this is particularly true of the setting that exists only virtually, inside our very own fluffy computer set. Not all of them are fluffy though, especially now that sleek and stylish notebooks and laptops rule the roost. The new idiot box that it has come to be regarded as, together with internet – its enduring companion, would have us think that nothing’s really working for anyone. If life were a zero sum game as some game theorists would have us believe, then ‘it’s going trashy’ for a hundred people should translate into ‘it’s rocking’ for an approximately equal number. But from what is apparent, it is trash all over the park. Have we ever stopped to wonder why it’s a desert of woes with an occasional oasis of hope and not the other way round? If the desire for ‘other way round’ is foolish optimism, we could at least settle for a fifty-fifty which was so true of a time not long gone, couldn’t we? Even with that yardstick, the existing equation is alarmingly lopsided.

The trend can be seen amongst a wide array of people, cutting across boundaries of age, religion, location and gender. The young most prominently fall in its line, but the old and middle aged are not far behind. Everyone cosies up to their virtual avatar on the internet to seek solace and reassurance. It is available without much hardwork, and works in a way strikingly similar to our good old analgesics. Instant gratification notwithstanding, it makes one forget, even if fleetingly, that he’s any less, or that he’s not worth. The catch however remains – it’s virtual.

On social networking websites, on blogs, and on discussion forums – the writing is on the wall – we’re not very happy the way we are. It is a particularly intriguing category of gloom, the one that appears most widespread on the web. It is not a sadness of loss of job, it does not reflect an epidemic or extensive medical illness, it doesn’t give a picture of a hard-up man struggling to make ends meet, and no dear, it’s no love lost either. In fact, it is no clearly visible crisis, this one that seems to be ailing scores of us. As a basis, it is this absence of a distinctly defining explanation of this category of gloom, which sets it distinctly from others. Dissatisfaction comes close to describing it appropriately; boredom comes closer, and loneliness closest. But none of them quite captures it comprehensively.

As a case in point, consider blogs – although the content holds equally for other realms of the internet. Scores of amateur writers and hobbyists turn up regularly to give text to their thoughts and publish it for everyone to see. As has become a practice, one goes and appreciates fellow bloggers’ work – which, make no mistake, can at times really make the day for the one being appreciated. For he might never have guessed that something he mumbled out of sheer boredom and angst, something that took two minutes to prepare and publish could be hailed as a masterpiece or compared to the prudence of thought reserved as a label for the likes of William Wordsworth. The veracity of these lavished praises will however remain doubtful as long as the possibility of a hidden motive of being appreciated back on the part of the one who showered the praises can not be eliminated. And, umm, well, ok, it can’t be eliminated. Scratching backs is completely sanctioned here, and goodness, it’s rampant. Citing a personal experience here, the first and only time I went to a particular blog and commented on it off the cuff, the first thing I got back was an invitation to be part of their mutual appreciation circle wherein they shall appreciate whatever I write, in return for me appreciating theirs. The ‘invitation’ came in a tone of humorous disguise though; the one that signals: “If it’s taken positively – great! If not, then it’s just a joke.” This delusion, as I increasingly discovered, is getting so firmly embedded among avid netizens that they no longer consider how absurd receiving an admiration would be when you already know it’s under a contract, whether or not you want to acknowledge it. What kind of fulfilment can be derived out of it is beyond logical understanding, but it’s welcome as long as it comes. There, you see, is an anomaly, and it's only the proverbial drop in the ocean when seen in the larger perspective.

The one logical backing that I can think of for the thing I just referred to as an ‘anomaly’ is the neural circuitry that says ‘applause garners further applause’. People with a sub-urban and rural grounding would appreciate this principle more than others, for they must have seen halwais and street-food-hawkers deliberately getting bogus customers to surround their stalls, so that wandering souls would come flocking too, thinking of their stall as a popular food-haunt. This precept might have one tempted to beg, borrow, steal, or ‘make arrangements for’ some applause initially in the hope that more of it would eventually follow. Often it does. But quite often it doesn’t and we’re back to square one – more dissatisfaction and dejection, and higher levels of despondency than before. Even when it does the desired there still remains an iota of suppressed conscience trying to outburst, which even though might forever remain unable to actually burst out, but carries out the task of spoiling the unblemished gratification (that true appreciation otherwise gives) pretty effortlessly.

Now let us move out of the web for a change. Even though a leading radio station would want us to accept a frivolous report that considers Delhi-ites amongst the happiest people on earth, you don’t need to be a social scientist to be aware that in India’s capital city, cases of suicides have risen exponentially ever since the new millennium dawned on us. A more sombre fact that concerns is that for every suicide committed, there are nearly twenty attempted. Psychiatrists never had their bank accounts this bubbling, and spiritual healing has mushroomed into becoming a full fledged industry in itself. The problem however is that all this isn’t showing the results. The situation is only getting grimmer by the day, and it is there for all of us to see and fret. Don’t fret. Chose to ponder and make a dignified way out.

I would like to sneak in another personal experience at this point. Recently, a company that rewards the students it appoints with an initial remuneration of around Rupees Forty Lacs per annum, short listed one from my class for the final selection. Far from being proud or wishing that he makes it, their must have been a hundred silent prayers going up the heavens from my class-fellows themselves, all wanting that this guy doesn’t make the cut. Just for the record, eventually he didn’t. However, this leaves it very clear, that the students measured their own success based on how successful their peers are. Ponder closely, and you will find how absurd this line of thought is. The forty lacs dream job, for which you were already out of reckoning, will now not go to your mate who you also rivalled all these years. Reason to be content, it seems. But it won’t come to you either, and it will certainly go to some other guy now, only that you don’t know him. You’re still going to get your four lacs an year, but your mate didn’t get forty either congrats, but it’s not as though no one’s going to get it now, someone who’s not your mate is going to get the forty. Figure an anomaly here? There it is. Another drop in the ocean, one into which we must save ourselves from drowning. As long as we measure how rich or popular or accomplished we are according to how rich or popular or accomplished the guy we envy is, we are doomed to languish in our self made cocoons of frustration, grief, and general ennui. Because, at the end of the day, the guy we envy is invariably going to be better than we, isn’t that the reason we envy him in the first place ?

Bicycles

When I rode a bicycle as a child and then as an early teenager, I saw a lot of bicycles around me. When I rode a bicycle, bicycles were important things. I saw a large number of people riding their own, it made me wonder why the elder people don't ride it swashbuckling swiftly the way I did. Probably they underestimated their bicycle's thrill value, was what I often concluded to myself. Then I stopped using one. And before I could realise, or more appropriately, pay any heed, they were gone. They weren't to be seen in schools, or in college streets. They weren't even thought about, except in irritation when some sluggishly moving bicycle with an old man on top of it, or a trembling one ridden by a kid, either hindered my speed or blocked my way for a second; and I thought of them as mere nuisance for those, like me, on their respective vehicles out for some real, valuable, get-things-done work. So, effectively, I didn't want to think about them when I thought about them, and for the most part I actually didn't think about them. They were as if they were not. Today, as I was walking down a road after my own assessment of people having had stumped me, I was quite unsure of myself, actually still am. For a while it was as if all strong opinions I had formed in these years were falling down on me after having completed their way up against gravity. I was unsure of the wisdom I always thought I was only too comfortable with. A bomb alert at that time wouldn't perhaps have diverted my mind from my own perplexity, but after I sat down on the pavement I saw a bicycle travel inches from me at great speed. I somehow felt that this kid looked like I did, but was even more sure that this feeling would also turn out to be another absurd figment of my chimera, that I had started trusting over these years. Lazily I turned my head towards it when it was already three cricket pitches from me, and frankly I hardly cared. I turned back again, and a few bicycles passed over again. I stood up, and about-turned to see as far in the horizon as I could, to figure how many more are there coming at me, and there were scores. More than the cars, or the motorbikes. I could instantly see that they were always there, had always been. I could sense that I had grown oblivious, though 'grown' wouldn't be apt to use here. Whilst my cultivated wisdom should have made me more aware, it made me slightly the other way. And I wish I don't become oblivious to bikes when I graduate to cars. Being unsure, ironically, has always taught me more than being sure and confident.

That night at the masseur's.

Training at college has come to an end. A weird end it was. On the third last day, a staff guy saw a game of solitaire being played on my computer while I was reading the newspaper. It was my partner for the computer playing that game. I saw that he saw it. I was expecting a remand. It didn't happen. The next day, this partner of mine goes on leave. And when the professor came, he was told of games being played on computer no. 7. He called me in. I was screwed for around 45 minutes and then informed about subsequent 'fails' I should be certain I'll get. All that for playing a boring little game like solitaire in the three hour slot in which we had absolutely no other task to complete. All that for playing a boring little game I never played ! Not that I don't play games while in training hours, why should I pretend to be such a good boy I am not. But its true that on that occasion it wasn't me. Its also true I never play solitaire, I play only need-for-speed, and its also true that I never get caught. But tell the professor these truths and he makes such frightening faces, and saliva gushing out of both the ends of his lips as he scowls, and all he can think of that moment is 'suppli suppli suppli, chahe jis se bhi keh dena, HOD se, principal se, sab mujhe jaante hain main kya cheez hoon'.

It's another thing that about half an hour later he aggresively asked me if I, like other students in the past, am gleefully willing to offer them a party at the close of the training month together with more students from my class. As he changed tracks, the flowing saliva rushed back on his tongue while he visualised smelling the dishes he will be served, and then overflowed again as a result of excess of visualisation. It was a classic example of high pressure - low pressure - high pressure sequence of fluid flow. He is the fluid dynamics professor, so you know how much pain he takes to illustrate his topics in a real setting. In this new mood, his expression changed swiftly from one scary Sadhu Yadav to one smiling Rajpal Yadav. And he promptly remarked, ' tum to mere bete jaise ho, mujhe kya achha lagta hai aise tumhe punish karne mein he he hu hu ha ha ha'.

In one other development, one helluva kewl rocking sexy dude ( this data from his previous orkut testimonials ) offered to add himself to my orkut fanlist if I wrote him a testimonial that would make him win over his Pinky and eventually give him his first kids. And before I could answer this much, in negative or affirmative, he, presuming I cant decline this helluva offer, starting giving me exact directions along what lines I should keep the testimonial - ''thoda banda bond bhi lage yaar samajh raha hai naa, aur intelligent bhi, matlab studious nahi, bas gifted type ke intelligent nahi hote vaise, aur vaise poora harami bhi hai, tu samjh raha hai na kaisa likhna hai'', he knew exactly what he wanted, a quality often attributed to fine film directors. Overwhelmed by his offer, I told him I was willing to wash his undergarments for the next 3 months for that, leave alone a mere testimonial. He didn't persist any more. I think he got the gist. Smart boy. So I wrote him a testi - " SMART BOY ''. Ofcourse he didn’t accept. And didn’t become a fan. I cried lakes of tears that night. And then I thought - why not take a bath in it, as it is its been so many days. I wonder how some people survive months without bathing, I get itches after every two weeks and then just can't resist taking a nice long bath.

Don't mind the title. Nothing to do with the post. Couldn't think of a more seductive one.

Haughty is not naughty

Something has seriously gone wrong with people. I have written about it here and there but in bits and hilarity. But somehow, the excessively frequent recurrence of such ridiculously wasteful attitudes among a hell of a lot of people my age has really vexed me up. I would usually not use negative adjectives for other people, be it in generalisations or particularly, more so at a public vent such as a blog. This outlook is largely because of my upbringing which repeatedly asked me to not consider myself superior (or inferior for that matter) to others. We do not have to be all equals for this world to become a better place. Rather, behaving and carrying ourselves as equals would suffice, I used to be told. And this is why I would not say that the person X is doing that thing so he got to be a fool or a person Y is rubbish if he makes a statement Z. Because I do not consider myself as any sort of a higher authority on wisdom. Because in the final analysis I was very comfortable with the thought process that says what's right according to me IS what's right 'according to me' and NOT the 'absolute right' for the world. It isn't any sort of confusion because to lead a life I would like to live I just need a set of values which are right 'according to me', which are right 'for me'. As long as my conscience is clear to me, its more than fine to lead a life according to my set of values.

As I wrote all that I wrote in the preceding paragraph, it looked all right and good and great to me, I can't say for others.

But I won't say - I don't give a damn what people reading it think. I would not at all say - I don't give a shit what people reading it think. And I would never say - I don't give a fuck what people reading it feel. And saying all this is precisely the mindset prevalent among most people my age that has vexed me up. This is precisely the reason why the first paragraph of this post was perhaps the most self contradicting set of words I have written as far back as my memory takes me. This is the attitude that has somewhere forced me to divert from my own outlook before I become a social misfit. Getting the topic now ?

Sceptics can rest. Nobody has told me on my face - I dun give a shit to what u think.. Neither has some X person told some Y person - I don't give a damn what S*****t thinks. In fact, to be very candid, I wouldn't have been this concerned had something of this manner occurred. Because, there is nothing to read deep with concern in statements like this, these at the most will suggest a personal discord of person X with me. Not any alarmingly unpleasant arrogance of youth.

The thing that worries is that the most visible of the youth, by and large is too stuck up in its own arrogance to create something worthwhile, to try something new, to think something constructive, and most importantly to learn something good.

Another observation that I would love to put down here is almost every time I hear or overhear the 'I-dun-give-a..' statements, it is said in defence of activities like boozing, neglecting-duties, using-foul-language, and other such noble activities. Hardly ever, if at all, have I heard these statements in defence of things like starting-your-own-business, giving-monetary-help-to-a-poor-guy and other such futile activities. And these are also things, though good in intent, that people generally object to, but why don't I ever hear the 'I-dun-give-a..' statement in response to these ones.

Another observation which is in bad taste is that these statements of people are largely targeted at people who'd care about them, wish good things for them, advice them for their good. What's tragic is that these statements are even targeted sometimes at their own parents, family et al.

Yet another thing that hurts is that what all this reflects is that people don't want to learn, they are not open to ideas, they are not receptive. Renaissance wasn't about closing all doors to traditional wisdom, it was just about questioning its pros and cons first. It was rather about getting through with most knowledge that people that time could - then question its righteousness - then accepting it and being happy if it was indeed right - or delve into greater depths to arrive at the crux of the matter - and be happy again at the end of it. I am sure everybody reading it knows all that but I am writing it because all this resistance to learning is coming from people pretending to be dressed in uniforms of renaissance flag bearers.

As Sir Conan Doyle famously wrote in the 'Valley of fear' , "Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself while talent instantaneously recognizes genius". Alas, the people I want to ponder over all this will rather say - "I don't give a shit to what Doyle *£$*&* says". I just want to say - let us rise from mediocrity. Let us open our eyes.

If the preceding text has made you think I am really pissed off with things, that’s not the case. I am not upset, I am just concerned. To put it as accurately as I can - I could no longer remain indifferent. And feeling a little sleepy now. But before I stop, I have something soothing to say to the 'I-dun-give-a..' club.

*Learning is not compulsory :) :)

neither is survival…

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*Just to give credit where it is due, this last one was from Mr. Deming - a famous business writer of the previous century.

Tagging - Vagging

I was thinking about writing a post for long now, but in the absence of any internet enabled computer and idea, there was no way I could. Yes, there is a wi-fi ( or is that hi-fi) computer centre available to us at the college, but I hate the idea of waiting for long periods for a computer to get vacant, and at the end of it when you finally get one, some dukhi aatma sort of a guy, looking more dukhi than prince's mother was when prince fell into the 52/55/60 feet(52 feet was reported by zee news, 55- ndtv, 60- star news) bore, plus I just cant describe the sort of fulfilment I experience when I get up , and his facial expression ( I never seem to remember how my facial expression was when I was hunting for a vacant computer) changes and reminds me those of grasshoppers and frogs when the first rains of monsoon come. And I suddenly feel I have done a great Karma which has taken me a step closer to moksha. All these factors put together never allow me to put more than 10-15 minutes on the net. Considering my typing speed is just an inch faster than a leopard (when he's sleeping, of course), I could never find time to post. But now that I am home, I have time, and idea has been given to me by Candid Diary, its time to complete the tag.

I am thinking about marrying katrina kaif…I just hope sallu bhai will be kind…he'z a real bhai..i just hope he remains one … and adds a behn.. Katrina. Plz visit http://www.bhaibehn.com/ … popularly known as the orkut killer.
I said see mom…govinda…patla..patla govinda…dekho naa….actually I was watching 'Swarg' right now. Seems to be a loose copy of 'Baghban'…the clever director released it ten years earlier though.
I am gonna sleep right after writing my share of crap for the day.
I want to flaunt……….only if I had a killer physique.
I wish I knew the difference between 'I want' and 'I wish'.
I love money…I always did…I realized just recently.
I cry –bachao bachao every time I see my warden.
I hear – or try my best to hear, the telephonic conversations of young coochie coochie couples…oops, is that called hearing or overhearing
I wonder – if I would be able to marry katrina kaif, how many SMSes will sallu send me…will vivek oberoi come to my rescue.. But why'll he.. I haven't even seen any one of his umpteen 'attempts' ( at acting, yaar) .
I regret – answering the section 'I am thinking about' in the way I did…god plz help me..my mobile has just received an SMS, and I hope its not his…give me the courage to open and see it.
I confuse salman with vivek…hmm maybe I confuse abhishek with vivek…not sure ..hmmm.
I dance a little better than sunny deol, OK add his dad too.
I sing 'tum to thehre pardesi' by the one and only, the illustrious, the dynamic ALTAF RAJA…I swear I sing it every day .. Even our barber does..actually that’s how I and our local barber became friends..by rocking to Altaf Raja tunes…now he gives me a ''5 Rupaye ki BHAARI CHHOOT''.
I am not always thinking about marrying Katrina kaif, I have plans about kareena as well..and yess this time no fears…shahid kapur ko to main dekh loonga..
I write crap…and love reading it..
I need to Stop now.

....Retrospection

Festivals, it seems have lost the vibrancy. As a young kid, I was always ultra-enthusiastic about all our festivals and considered it my must-comply duty to do whatever that can be done to bring alive the festivity. That was, alas, as a kid.

At 6-7 years of age, Janmasthami for me began at 5 A.M. and lasted till 2 post midnight. I woke up, bathed and waited, quite restlessly, for others to get up, and that included everybody in the joint family I then lived in. like a man ( 7 year old though ) possessed I'd make a list of things - lord Krishna idols and jhoola(swing), G-I-Joes, chalks, funskool toy cars, sand/mud both red and grey, paints, brushes and more -that I'd need to create a 'jhanki'(model of scenery) of lord Krishna that no other boy in the locality would even think to match. Then my brother, myself and my cousins would put our 'Nari Contractor' like architectural mind to work chalking out a blueprint-on-paper of how the 'jhaanki' would finally look like. While all this was happening, in my conscience, I always assumed myself to be the man-in-charge of the process as if wanting to write at the bottom-right corner of the jhaanki : "by: S*****t and rest".

We then went out to hunt for rait(sand) both grey and red. Grey would be the majority flooring and red path from the 'gate' should lead to 'lord Krishna on his jhoola'. As I am watching the gully from the balcony right now, I don't seem to see any lump of rait. On those days, I don't know why, but there would always be a building under construction nearby and we'd pick the rait and bajri( red sand) from there. "where there is a will, there's a way". Maybe.

I remember that the task of asking for money for our 'experiment's apparatus' was invariably left to me, maybe they thought that like this we will be more generously given money. The fact that it was always me who had to ask for money gave me a strange feeling of pride. 'had it not been for me, you'd have just managed a portrait and some mud', I would brag.

Hindsight, today, seems very very pleasant.
Today, it seems, is not even a spot on those wonderful days.

Today, I woke up lazily at about 7:30 a.m. and even that was after my mummy told me to, yes, 3-4 times. I was still lazing around and reading HT as mummy began her 'pooja' preparations. Dad asked me, 'will you fast today'. And I plainly answered : no. I think there was a time, not so long ago infact, when a straightforward NO as an answer was a big misbehaviour both by my standards and my Dad's. today, I didn't think twice. And Dad didn't say anything.

I had always been a somewhat lazy fellow. Today, I feel lazy in a disturbing way. Today, I feel guilty in a very disturbing way.

And I wish to take back the first sentence of this post because 'I don't know whom' has rightly said : "there are no uninteresting things, there are only uninterested people".

'I don't know whom'! what the hell! I don't seem to know anything...

55-year-old's RDB effect . . .

For the uninitiated, this goes for info-indispensable, that by RDB, I mean Rang De Basanti ……now I don't expect anyone to ruminate over what's Rang De Basanti. Right.

It is about yesterday, August 4 2006. After a somewhat hectic day at college, I was bursting with 'delight', when the classes ended at 5'o clock in the evening. Friday it was, and I was craving for the trip back home, especially after the 3 hour long machining workshop I was tortured to. Though college and home, both are in Delhi, the word 'trip' would still make sense, considering the journey duration being 130 minutes including changing modes of transport (RTV -> metro -> pvt/dtc bus ) two three times and most importantly the sheer volume of vivid experiences associated with it.

So there I was, as soon as classes ended, I hastened to get out of the college premises to catch the RTV. To maintain honesty in writing, adding that the 'delight' was all but gone after the 20 odd minutes in the RTV cannot be done without. 'Delight' as I mentioned in the beginning, was absolutely out, and sweat, strain, distress and pain were in. Air conditioned metro gave some respite though.

OK OK, enough of the prologue, it shouldn't get lengthier than the real content.

So here's for the real piece. At 1825 IST, I board a pvt bus from Cannaught Place. After about 15 minutes of journey, a traffic policeman on the road yells at the sight of this bus. Bus stops. A 'mujhe-haath-laga-ke-toh-dekh' type of man ( not traffic policeman ), shouts at the driver, " rak ibb(ab) bhaar(baahar) likadne(nikalne) ku(ko) bhi bolu ke(kya)."(don't know Hindi? It means "should I also ask you to get out now, sir?" ;sarcasm of course intended) Driver, otherwise no less a 'bond' himself, looks worried. Gets out of the bus. A minute later conductor leaves too. The seventy-eighty passengers in the bus are getting annoyed. Various reasons : getting late; its hot; unsure whether they'll have to change bus now; unsure whether ticket amounts will be refunded ; and meanwhile its getting hotter. Suddenly a 50-55 year old bhaisahab-banarasi, sitting with me gets heated up. Must say his hindi was pretty 'Ramdhari Singh Dinkar' type , full of JOSH. Plus his vocabulary would've put even Dinkar to shame.

He begins, 'kya vyavdhaan utpann ho gaya'? (whats the problem)

'yeh log (referring to traffic police) sabko aise hi pareshaan karte hain.' (they irritate everybody like this)

' in se hi desh ka sarvnaash ho raha hai' (they are ruining the nation).

Suddenly a sound of slap is percieved by my ears. By everyone's I think, infact. I glance out through the window. This time I don't just hear but see. One more tight slap at the pimple-ish cheeks of the conductor.

Bhaisahab gets angry like hell. A scene of Sunny Deol screaming in 'Ghaatak' reels across in my mind. He gets up. I ask, "kahan? Uncle jee"(where? Uncle.) Bhaisahab: ' bete tum vyarth ho, padhe likhe jawan ho kar bhi haath pe haath rakhe baithe ho.( 'You're useless fellow, educated but worthless'.)" Abhi salon ki khabar leta hun" (now I'll teach them a lesson).

He gets down. Agitated, I follow. Impressed, others follow.
Now twenty odd of us are down along with a driver, 2 conductors, 3 traffic policemen. Here the policeman was fondly remembering driver's mother and sisters…I'll add although I feel there's no need : gaalion ki bauchhaar ho rahi thi.

Bhaisahab enters the conversation, "kya baat hai..aap apni apni shaktiyon ka durprayog karenge kya" (whats happening..u think u can misuse ur powers.)

Policeman : re tere pet mein ke darad pad ra hai. (but why r u complaining stomach ache..we're dealing with the driver).

Bhaisahab : theek se baat keejiye, challan katna hai to challan katiye, chahe 50 rupaye ka ho ya 50 hazaar ka, par yaatri kyun vyarth mein peedhit hon ? Hum kya jaante nahi ki aap yahan apni jeb garam karne ki vyavastha kar rahen hain…yeh nahi chalega" (talk with respect give him challan, amount doesn't matter, but don't create problems for passengers. Don’t we know, u're irritating us in order to fill ur pockets)

Policeman 2 : manne ke teri poochh paadi hai…rak bawli tared chup baith ja, na dun tere bhi… rak tu hai ke be?" (what wrong have I done to you, shut up and leave, what do u think of yourself).

Bhaisahab : main tera baap.(I'm your dad)

Me: (shocked & scared) uncle chalo please bus mein .. Aa jao..driver aa jayega 2 minute mein.( uncle lets leave..driver will come in 2 minutes).

Bhaisahab : are ruko, ( takes out the phone ) .. .(now to the police) ..abhi tumhare baap se baat karata hun… tabhi tumhe akal ayegi ( pretending he's gonna call their commisioner ).." (to police: come talk to ur big daddy).

Police out of its wits …snatch the mobile phone in haste… policeman 3 says : (to the crowd), jao jao ho gaya…(to the conductor)..ja ja bus le ja tawli..chal. (go, go its done, to conductor: go go take the bus ..fast ..go)

Mobile phone respectfully returned, "sir aapka mobile."

Police: relieved, bhaisahab: on cloud 9, driver&conductor : in seventh heaven, me : confused like I'd never been, frankly never thought someone from among us would do such a thing .. And never ever thought ..that it would work. Phew.

Finally, all of us back, bus faster than a cheetah, hot weather turns pleasant… bhaisahb states rather loudly( referring to traffic police), "main inka paani bhi
Nahi peeta, aap log yakeen karenge"( I don't even drink water at their place, will you people agree? ). Bus seemed to roar with 150 hands clapping. And excitement soaked me that very instant.

Never dreamt I'll get to witness Rang De..effect from a fifty five year old. Never expected so much thrill in a journey of ticket worth Rs.7 … for which I bought a Rs.5 ticket… ha ha ha ..yara da tashan dekh lo.

A finishing without this won't do :

Khalbali hai Khalbali
HAI KHALBALI !!!

Delhi metro's matchless passengers..

Though I stay at the extraordinary ( hmm for beginners extraordinary::1: entities/people which/who possess extra qualities as compared to the ordinary variety of their respective species; 2: entities/people which/who possess ordinariness in extra quantities) hostels of Delhi College of Engineering, I have to make frequent (twice a week) metro rides commuting to and from home during weekends. These metro rides gave me experiences that, perhaps , 3-4 years down the line, will traumatise me when I sit down to write my gmat exam. But don't you think I 've grown into distress already, because u see, it pains far lesser when the blood is still hot. I now feel like sharing my experiences and observations of the types that grace the metro. By the way , before I forget, it was the definition no.2 of extraordinary I was talking about, I knew you'd have guessed it already.

Here I go then, take your pick.

1. the just-out-of-gym-hunks : hmmm they are generally a busy lot, not having much time to talk to strangers. In a crowded metro though, they might arise a few wrinkles on your forehead my friend, as how packed the metro may be, they do and will take as much space as required to flaunt the right cuts, the exquisite formations and to present the most macho appearance to the girl sitting in front of them ( and reading 'history of cherrapunji') .
The song they sing ( those of them who have an equally good voice …rare though ) : " kuch hum mein aisi baatein hain jo sabme hain kahan"……from , u guessed it, the one and only, the stupendous 'Aap mujhe achhe lagne lage'.

2. the super-sophisticated-Stephen's-studying-lass : so I just wrote about miss 'history of cherrapunji' girl in the first part. Yess, she's the one I'm talking about now. This species while going till vishwavidyalaya has something about it that catches my imagination every time. They are either 'very confident of changing the society for the better' or 'let the society go to hell with all its hypocrisies' types. When some no-harm-intended-fool like me approaches them, scepticisms galore in there mind of such magnitudes that the CBI wouldn't have doubted chhota rajan's intentions so much, on second thoughts, infact I dun think CBI doubts Rajan at all. Coming back, at perceiving a faint sound of 'hello' from people like me, their eyes roll up in disgust, as if asking,' I know what u r upto, u cheapster from shyam lal evening college … reach college in the morning itself …keeping your parents in darkness'. And then after a moment, says, 'whats the matter'. The last time it happened I said, 'someone just lifted ur purse' she, at first, was more upset about me using the word purse and not handbag, until she realised a few seconds later what she had Lost.
Their song : must be something in english, but this evening college cheapster doesn't know many of them. Sorry, make it 'any of them'.

3. the newly committed 20something duo : invariably prefer the 2 seat set next to the train doors, where there's nobody else close enough to poke his/her nose. Clearly discomforted by the sheer number of commuters, they hardly look in any direction other than each other's face, apart from an occasional stare at the lafadi they notice has been staring at them for five minutes. There advice to the rest of the world , 'live and let live', pretty noble hmm.
And now for their song : ' yeh armaan hai shor na ho bas khamoshi ke mele ho, is duniya mein koi nahin ho hum dono hi akele ho', and yeah its from kamal hassan's 'Sagar'.

4. the security person : though seen in the metro trains just a little more often than camels in the Himalayas, I was among the select ones to witness them, as the security had been tightened considerably after the diwali terrorist attacks in a few Delhi markets. Leaves the task of observing passenger behaviour to lafadis like me, too much immersed in his own domestic problems. A 5-yr old kid sitting adjacent to him, suffering from loose-motions was persuading his father to get down at the next station, for obvious reasons. The yelling of the kid annoys this security man and he stares at this innocent in ashutosh rana style. Father jumps in to rescue, says, 'aahhh bete ko loose-motion hai'. Security man smiles quite mysteriously as if askin himself , 'should I be more worried about his loose-motions or my piles', and after further thoughts, says, 'I'll pray to god gimme his illness'. Kid's dad was all tears for his kindness.
And his song…..'mere pyar mein…mere intezar mein…sach sach kaho tumne kya kiya' from 'ram lakhan'.

5.the lafadi (include me here)- with nothing better to do, no muscles to flaunt, no books to read, no gf to be busy with, no illness to fight, these keep themselves busy with observing people and commenting on them to fellow lafadi. As there self proclaimed representative, I can proudly say we're the ones with the least problems. The only one I face in metro is people staring at me as if I am some militant when I board the metro with the cylindrical engg drawing sheet case ( luks as if it contains asla barood), and (this time not their mistake) the gun shaped drafter in its cover……..
Their song ? The Jagjit Singh classic…'samajhte the magar phir bhi na rakhi dooriyan humne'

6.7.8…. Aur bhi types hain agli post mein bataunga…..

Chalta hoon phir