The fables of the one legged rider - Style

It is early hours if the morning, with a slight mist in the air. It is the month of january in a north Indian city, and those of us who have witnessed it, this was no time to be outside the warmth of one's bed.

A lonely auto-rickshaw, the only means of communication that available at this hour, was moving briskly along a clean, smooth and deserted road. One side of the road was the state university, silent and huge. On the other side were the houses of people who could easily be classified in the upper strata of the city, with multiple sedans standing in the open parkings that people prefer in these regions. The houses themselves were nothing short of princely bungalows.

The rickshaw driver, after taking a few extremely sharp turns, that apart from scaring the wits out of the passenger, also managed to amaze him at his own competence, though he knew he would not have dared any such thing if the roads were not deserted; he reached the lane the passenger had asked him to move to, and with a few further directions from the passenger, they reached their destination.

The rider, handing the driver his promised Rs. 40, got his luggage down with amazement in his eyes. He was expecting a locked gate, instead he found his entire family coming out, ready to leave for somewhere he definately didnt know. His first reaction was of shock, and worry, because it was quite uncharacterstic of everybody to be up together so early, but a close look at their merry faces had told him that nothing was wrong, but then, where were the headed?

He soon find out, that he happend to drop back home, at one of the Holy days, and everyone was headed to the nearby temple. Not to much of a relegious person, the rider weighed whether to go along or not, and finally decided too, just to be with everybody.

With continous chit - chat on the way, the rider moved inside the temple feeling it was a little too close to their place. All of them entered the magnanimous campus, most with their hands folded.

A special prayer had been organized by the Pujari Ji, and there were quite a few people present to attend it. Not being a very relegious person himself, with a much greater belief in science, which automatically contrasted with relegion, the rider soon lost interest in the prayer. The fact that he didnt understand much of it for it being in sanskrit might have added to hi disinterest. He started off with his favorite activity of observing others.

The group consisted of all kinds of people, of different backgrounds, age groups etc.
There was a mother holding a small baby in her lap, sitting in her corner. The baby seemed to be awake but peaceful, the mother smiling. A small lean kid, was moving around the campus, lost in his own merriness, and could not have cared less. There were old men and women, in their sixties and seventies, mostly retired, with grey hair, and lost in memories. Then there were not so old people, working men, women, housewifes, incharge of their households, all dressed smartly. There were also a few younsters, like our rider, some a little disinterested, others greatly devout. This was as vivid an assortment of people as any.

While the "pujari ji"'s prayers were about to come to an end, a few regulars at the temple went about distributing a few musical instruments, a "dholak" etc. A typical indian instrument, two metal plates tied together with a string which gave a distinct ding on striking upon each other, was in such abundance that within minutes, almost everyone had one.

By the time the prayers were over, the man siting with the dholak started playing it, and singing a popular hymn which was known to everybody in the country. Moments later, he was joined by a couple of ding sounds. Soon, a few other joined the chorus of the hymn. Withing minutes, everyone was in on it.

The rider, could beleive the effect the symphony was having on him. Although he didn't have any intentions to, he couldn't stop himslef from joining in with one of those instruments.

The rider thought to himslef, once the hymn was over, that what amazing effect it had had on everyone around. The baby was smiling wildly in his mother's lap, the kid was also looking at the deitie's idol, inspired it seemed. All the other grown ups, which the rider felt included him, were so relieved of all their worries, problems, issues, everything, by merely being able to come together in such a fashion.

With the proceedings over, he started walking back towards outside, amazed. He suddenly remembered that he was limping, the limp being much more pronounced than in later years, as the wound was still quite fresh. It is then that he realized, that astonishingly, he hadn't even remebered his pain during the hymn.

He wondered at the power it had possesed, turned back, looked straight towards the idols, and said in his mind," Kuch bhi kaho boss, maan gaye, Style to hai aap me!"

And with this new definition of style in his mind, along with his family, he rode on!!

The fables of the one legged rider - Choice

The rider, is sitting in a local train, moving from one suburb to another, of the fastest city in this country, our financial capital as they call it, our dear Mumbai.

The crowd is so immense that the rider can see little more than the sweaty shirts of the two people standing in front of him and the train's roof.

His station is about to arrive, and he manages to reach the passageway between the two doors, getting to hear some not so pleasent words on his way, because of having acccidentaly pushed so many people, not that it was possible to reach there without doing so anyway.

Without worrying about the pleasentries, and happy that the tough part was over, he stood, waiting for the push to come.

And come it sure did, as it always does in a local, where you never have to get down, the crowd makes you do it for you.

Amidst the thousands of people rushing out of the station, the rider, a small notebook in hand, started moving towards an automobile plant nearby that he had been visiting for a few days .

Inside the plant, he went about finishing his work, as this was his last day here, and he was ready with most part of the report he had to submit a few days later.
In the last hour or so, with his work done, he was sitting on the floor , in a small clearing on the plant floor, amidst the loud din that goes on because of the machinery, so that no one can talk to another human, even if they wanted to because there was no chance anyone would hear him. He was looking at all the workers, going at their tasks, faithfully, without fail, again and again and again, for as long as he could remember.

At the same time, he thought of the fishermen, who go to catch fish, day after day, casting the same nets, in the seas around, enduring all the waste we throw in near the costs. The women who sold these fish, sitting all day in that uncomparable smell., the janitor, who cleans our office floors everyday, taking all the dust in his nostrils, doing the same thing..again again again, taking the tiring local to their jobs, with less free space than a fly would need to pee in, again again...forever.

The rider had once heard someone say, that with time, these people get used to it all, and actually started liking it. Well, that someone hadn't been to any of these places more than once for sure, so the rider thought.

Listening to the din, the rider wondered, there was no way anybody could ever like this, or even get used to it. That much he had realized working in the plants for the limited period he had. Then why do these people keep on going at it??

The answer came to him when he saw a worker's son sleeping in a corner. These men had made their choice, the choice to have a family to go back to, to try and provide or them, and "live" whatever semblance of life they could manage. And these jobs, were the best opportunity they got.

And in this huge country of ours, many dont even get that, and so these men are happy they got atleast this!

The rider just then got a call from his boss, that its time to go.

Wondering that was it really a choise these people got, and what of those who were worse off, he "rode" out of the plant.

Weird Thoughts - Continued

Weird thought about a bookmark
I had just finished a book called Wheels, while on my way back from work, and was wondering where to put the bookmark "in" now.

I kept it aside for use in my next book, and it is then that I wondered, what would it be like, to be a bookmark.
To be in touch with so many books, for such long periods, and then part, the moment the reader is done with the book.

I believe every book would leave a certain kind of mark on it, a small scratch, a little fold, an ink mark where water had spilled on the book with the book mark in it.

How would the bookmark feel, while looking back at all it's marks it had collected over the years.
And then I wondered, isn't a book mark a lot like us??..

We meet so many people - our books, have relationships, become friends, create memories - our marks, and then move on in life, without knowing when we will come across the same books again.

Or may be a bookmark is like a philanderer, who has small - term relationships, with many women (or men at times, if you know what I mean), and then moves on, with no marks, no guilt, no feeling whatsoever. And may be someday, the reader would forget it, inside a book, and that would be the philanderer's marriage, and it will stay there forever if that book was never retrieved.

But such a bookmark, would always look anew, since it would have no marks from the books in the past.

Ans somehow, I have never seen a used bookmark, which looks anew. The marks are always there.



Weird Thought about Buses and Bathrooms

What is common between buses and bathrooms, apart from the facts that they both start with a "B", and that in both places, people are often present, sitting in a relaxed manner, and some are known to fall asleep in both places.

I figured it is the fact that I keep getting all of these weird ideas in these places only.

But you know, it might have to do with the fact that my head is idle at both these times, since one doesnt use it much while sitting alone in a bus, or well you know, at the other place :)

The fables of the one legged rider!! - The Rider

A maroon rickety mini-bus, a S- shaped crack running across it's windshield, merging into yellow coloured lettering at its top, in a local dialect, unreadable to an outsider, meanders to a stop on a road which would make our normal road bumps feel like a chocolate does to a woman.
A tall man, dark, heavy, climbs down, along with a few other locals, carrying a black backpack. The man walks with a slight limp in his right leg, noticeable to none but a highly trained eye.

In this little remote village, where most people make their living out of coal mining, life is just as it always is on any Thursday morning. A train loaded with coal is moving at a snail's pace alongside the bus stand, and a few skimpily clad children are running along it, seemingly enjoying their routine game. To the man's right is a "thadi", an assembly of a few bamboo poles, a mesh of unused fodder supported over a rickety structure of discoloured bricks. Two men, in yellowish vests that originally would have been white and dhoti are having a reddish drink in a small plastic cup. The drink incidentally is a mix of tea leaves, salt, sugar and hot water, and only those who have tried it will be able to tell you that it is worth every penny of the 2 Bucks it costs, and much more.

On a small platform ahead, in front of closed shops, a small kid, wearing unkept clothes, his nose running is toying his way with a cycle tyre and a stick, as many have and will after him, on Indian streets. The shops are closed, because in this part of the world, holidays happen on Thursdays and not Sundays. Our man from the bus, manages a small conversation with the kid. not understanding his language, to ask if there was any place around where he can sit for a while.

Once the tall fellow has found a seat, he opens his backpack and takes out something mysterious to all others around. For a while, he sits and fiddles with the mysterious thing, tapping its fingers at it as though by doing so, suddenly that little mysterious thing will respond, and in some ways, it does.
He seems like he is just about done tapping when he looks up and realizes that everybody who was doing anything around him is surrounding him, and it takes him a while to realize that the reason is his mysterious possession.
Amidst all this ruckus, one of the yellow vested men, having a glum look on his face, manages to utter for words; " Ye laptop hai kya?"
The man agrees, and lets him have a look at it, which results in a grin on his face, and a queue behind him.

By the time the people around have lost interest in the mysterious "thing", another man arrives, carrying a backpack, dressed in formals quite like the tall fellow. They greet each other, and decide it's almost time to move on to work. But before moving on, the new guy stops for a smoke and the tall fellow looks on, at a weird murky off white drink being served in one of the many "thadi"s around. He tried his luck on insistence by the locals, finds out it has run out, as the drink is nothing to his taste, and the locals, for them it is a part of routine breakfast, share a laugh about it all.

Over the next two days, the two men finish their work in the region, which incidentally is also the home town of the second guy.

At the end of the second day, the tall fellow is standing at the bus stand again, with a book in his hand, reading. A school kid asks him if he is an English teacher. He shakes his head negatively, but secretly wonders that may be, just may be, he would be, someday!

The rickety bus arrives, and people start running towards it. The "thadiwallas", who have become his friends by now, usher him to run too, and he runs, with his backpack and book, or rather manages to run, trying his best to hide the limp. Miraculously, he also manages to get in the bus ahead of everyone else, which seems to have been the purpose of all the running as there are limited seats and only one bus that goes out to the city.

He waves his hand to all his new friends, and the bus starts meandering again, alongside the coal train. Minutes later, the ticket collector arrives, and acknowledges, as by now, he also is friends with the stranger. After a little banter, he moves on, collecting his money. One old man, frail, wheatish, greyed hair, lines on the forehead is sitting in one corner of the bus. When the collector signals for money, he hands out 11 Rs., upon seeing which, the conductor asks for another 2. What ensues is a tussle, which is almost as routine in these parts of the world as waking up in the morning. The old man keeps arguing that the fare is only 11, while the ticket collectors arguments are just ugly rants, conveying he won't settle for it.

The tall fellow has been looking up from his book and observing the two. At one point, he figures he could just give the collector the 2 Rs. and end it there and then. But the moment he is about to do it, he realizes that this would hurt the old man more than it will help him. To him, it is just not about 2 Rs.; it is about justice, fairness and above all pride, of having earned that money, working, even at this age, pushing his frail self. And it is this pride that is upheld when he fights with the collector. When the Collector moves on, the old man and our tall fellow, look at each other, and the tall fellow, nods, trying to communicate that he understands why the old man did what he just did. Though languages are many, communication can always find many ways. The old man smiles back.

The tall fellow, sitting in his corner, wonders, what all one gains in one's lifetime, relationships, experiences, these little smiles, those friends at the bus stand he may never see again, the people in the queue, the yellow-vested fellow whose reputation in the village would have grown, because he knew what the mysterious "thing" was and a lot more, and how quickly does all that get left behind. He wonders, if this is what life is all about.

This tall fellow is our rider.
Riders, there are many, of cars and trains, and the others. But there are few, who travel in buses, wander in markets, amongst people, observing them. These are the ones that find a place in fables, because though they ride no machine, these men ride on time, which takes them to newer and stranger places, amongst still stranger beings, such as all of us are.

The rider descends from the bus, in a busy market street, and rides on!!

The tomorrow that never did come.

Once, in the deep wilderness,
there was a small town called "Hackalunool"
there, on a little road crossing through the dwellings,
was a horse with a golden harness,
pulling a buggy returning from school.
and amongst it's members, was our little Miss Jennings.

Our little Miss was only of seven,
living in her own little heaven,
Merry as every other child around her,
Around soch little pleasures, about which grown -ups failed to bother.

She had but one little wish,
that she conveyed to her old man wise,
that they go together once to fish,
and on the banks, watch the sun rise.

Her old man gleefully had said,
"Dear, i'll take you tommorow"
and merry as a christmas chant,
But a month later, lying in her bed,
dear Miss Jennings was in sorrow,
cause they had never went.

Reminded him she had often,
but he always said "tommorow"
wondered she, The day will come when?
or will they ever go?

An unknown time later,
all kids in the town did gather,
to discuss their woe,
that there came no tommorow.

Is it true that the adults forgot,
many promises, little occasions, important events
in their busy lives,
Or may be they did not,
but just kept them on postponenet,
because of their busy lives.

Miss Jennings and her friends, wished and wondered,
if that the adults sat for a while, and pondered,
will The tommorow ever come?
and they felt a little lonesome.

Waiting, for the tommorow that never did come,
the tommorow that never did come.

Fantastic Contraptions

If ever there was a trick to get ur grey cells going...


http://FantasticContraption.com/?designId=2608481

http://FantasticContraption.com/?designId=2611500

We win: Score- 50 to Nil

Its approximately 2:30 in the night. As a routine affair, a bus that had started from a small town known as pink city at 11:30 stopped at a midway on its route to the National capital. There were 36 people in that bus including the officials.

After a fairly routine break, 35 of us were back, one wasn't.
His companion was asked to call him. Within moments, amongst widespread confusion, the companion ran away, even leaving his shoes behind.

In the face of events that have happened in this region of the world in the past few months, this was a cause of worry. All the remaining 34 people got down.

They tried to check if anything is wrong, the didn't find any.

Now the big question, whether to get back on the bus and move on with our journey or not?

comes a voice..."Jo chk karna tha kar liya...baki bhagwaan apne saath hai"

34 passengers one by one...each of whom could have been terrorised, scared to death of coming anyway near that bus, climbed back in.

People of all religions, all castes, all sections of the society.

That is straight 34 goals in the match against terrorism. They fail their basic purpose. They cannot scare us. They cannot stop us from believing in our Gods.

BAM!! We are 34 - nil up!!!

There was one here, who was found smoking rite outside the bus. The people of the bus confront him politely that its 3rd of october 2008, which means u cant do that here. He understands and the fumes are gone.

We are progressing...they cant halt us...!!
We can think about our social progress even in such times...

BAM!!..that another 10 goals to them...

We are 44 - nil up!!!

There was a bunch of drunk kids at the end of the bus. Not one of the other passengers sought to voice his opinion that they were anything other than just that. A bunch of unruly kids.
They can't rid of our trust for our chidren.

BAM!!..that another 5!!

49 - nil up

For the remaining 2 hours of travel, not one accusatory glance. Rather, people look at each other and give that faint smile, which says...we still believe....
BAM BAM BAM..that's a big one..
We Win...50 - Nil...all the passengers reach safely and go to their homes...

Everyday, in every part of the country, we win many such matches against those who commit these acts of terror.

They coudn't stop life in any of our cities....mumbai, delhi, jaipur.....yes...unfortunately, the list is endless....but it talks of our grit..

They might scare us, they might kill some of our deared ones, and for them we shall grive, but they won't ever terrorise us...

We as a nation, will win every such duel.....always...
BAAAAAM!!!!!!

Catching at 23

An year ago, a wrote here about my catch at 21...
what is it about being 21 that makes us an adult??....i guessed if i knew, i probably would have been an adult by then...

Last week i turned 23....
I had one of my best birthdays ever, with fewer kicks, an awesome cake, some great fun....and of course the most important....friends...

I might have not resolved the catch...but i did realize that i was still a kid..who loved the cakes and the attention and the parties...who would still go out on one leg to party against all responsibility advice....so i came to this conclusion...being an adult has nothing to do with your age....at least not till 23...I guess I will wait another year to find out more...

They call it history.

Warning: You may not like this.

I would like to mention that this is not an attempt at any sort of blasphemy. I just strive to bring forward a new view.

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a King, respected even by the Gods for his bravery. From his three queens, he had four sons. The eldest of his sons was a very harsh dictator and thus had to be sent to exile along with his brother. The dictator took his wife along to serve him in exile like a servant. In the same times, there was a supreme devotee of God, whos eldest son was blessed with extreme wealth, the younger ones each with extreme power, extreme comfort and extreme wisdom each. The eldest of his sons was too engrossed in his wealth to think about anything else. But his younger brother, blessed with extreme power, set forth with his brothers to rescue this women. He had her brought to his abode, by tricking the dicatator, following which a huge war was fought. Many sacrifices were made in this war, the blessed fighter lost his brothers in it, but at the end of it, the dictator was vanquished, and to this day we celebrate this event as the biggest festival of our relegion.

And the story goes on.....

We all know Valmiki's version of Ramayana. Let us for a while imagine that there was a scribe in Ravana's court too, which is a safe enough assumption.
Now, what if Ravana would have won that war, on that titsy bitsy chance, and thus it would have been our assumed Scribes Ramayana or probably Ravanayana that we might have been brought up to respect. It would have gone something like what goes above if not very different...

The point I am trying to make is this:

Lord Rama was a Great King and Worrior as our history says. incidentally he was also the winner of the War.

Lord Krishna is known to be the greatest of all times. He himself too was a part of the winning sides. Even the loosers names were changed in the modern version to "Du----" from "Su----". (Duryodhan from Suyodhan). I am pretty sure all of will agree no mother would have named her son like that.

Cut to modern history: The allies were good and hitler was a dictator: Incidentally, He lost.

In the cold war, the US was the liberal, the russians facist: Co-incidentially they too lost.

In India: The british rule was hell, and what our fighters got us today is better. Again, the british arent ruling us anymore anyway.

Take any war, somehow history tells us that the Good side won. Always.
My 23 years have taught me differently.

Thus, though they do call it history, it seems more like moral science to me for obvious reasons, and if not, probably in history, The good is synonymous with The mighty.

Mumbai!!....Love it...hate it!!

The Manhattan of the east, some call it. Probably a couple of decades later...Manhattan would be called the Mumbai of the West....

LOVE IT: There are a lot of reasons why one ought to love this city. The beaches, the monuments, the corporate towers, the ever famous cuff parade, the seemingly unending list of delicacies from the Dabeli to the specials at the restrobars, the host of eating joints, the pace of life, the cars, the bikes, the money....oh...what not...

HATE IT: For the murder of humanity. The sheer number of humans in the city has made the essence of being human insignificant. The value of being a Homo Sapien is non- existent in this city.

People who love Mumbai, talk about the life in society, about living with people always around you. I say, yes we love to have people around us, but so bloody many of them??.....

They talk about the great money that comes with life in mumbai, i ask them, can they buy a home with it??..how many of them live in small room, in a dingy colony...how many travel on the overstuffed local they call their lifeline??...

Yes, it is the city of dreams, miracles happen here, but the thing is...to lead a happy life in a city like this, what u need is nothing short of a miracle neway...

"Geeta Saar"

Monday, that dreaded time of the week had arrived again, and here i was, up late because of a headache and heading for office at lunch, cowering from the upcoming review. I ask a cab wala, "worli chaloge", and he says something in the native marathi out of which i can only comprehend his denial citing that there is a lot of traffic on that route today. Aghast. i look up to the auto wala who had just come out of my compound, and i as him a similar question. HE says, " haanji bilkul chalenge", and thus starts an interesting encounter. Melodramatic all of us Indians are, and no less was my friend the autowala, an old chap of something close to 60, started by asking me why did the cab wala refuse to take me on my course, which, in my innocent unawareness, i recited to him.

"Jhooth bolta hai , babuji". lambe raste se leke jaana chahta tha. Meri jagah koi aur hota to abhi pakka aapko lamba rasta chala deta." Followed by an immensely long lecture on why one should only take this route and not the other and how any body else in town would have taken me for a ride and parted me of a lot of extra cash. Here is an extract from the enlightening chat that followed.
" Bhaiya, student ho aapko sachi baat batata hun, GEETA SAAR main likha hai, kisi ka bhala na kar sako to kisi ka bura bhi na karo.
Upar wala chahe to har kisi ke khane ka intezaam kar deta hai, isliye paap ki bhi kabhi nahi khani chahiye........kabhi bhi nahi..., bagwaan ke likhe ke aage kuch nahi hota...aur aakhri main usi ko jawaab dena hai.....bla bla bla..interspersed with a lot of shloks"...... As a kid unaware of the intricacies of the geeta, i thoroughly enjoyed the conversation, contemplating the mundaneness of the daily life.

We reached my destination in some time, and i read the meter, and realized that i need to pay him 35 rs. With a little slight wink on my face, and a little mallice in my m ind, i asked him, " Bhaiya, Kitna Hua". The reply comes, bhaiya bahar se aaye student ho , " Aisa karo 45 Rs. dedo. ". Unseemingly, the smile on my face broadened, with the thought. " 10 rs. for a gyan of the Geeta Saar, and a minor addition to it, Yahan pe kisi pe bharosa mat karna." With that, I hand him a 50 ka note.

Icing on the cake, he replies bhaiya, teen rupye lelo, chutte nahi hain. I reply, Bhaiya, upar wala bhi dekh raha hai meter main 35 hain, apna "saar" use bhi sunana. And walk off. A loss of little cash, but worth the knowledge and the look on his face.

Forward and Backward

From School to Computer Science Engineer to a Mark – Ops manager, in a short span of years, life sure seems to have moved a lot forward, and well, let’s be honest, I am glad about it. But the thing that really makes me glad is that as life has moved forward, my bench in class has moved backward.

From the typical nerd in school who could not think beyond algebraic formulas and the various forces acting on a body in free fall, and to whom matters of the heart meant being elated to the extent of jumping in front of the class and humiliating himself because he had scored a hundred in a maths test, to a guy who is despised by all his teachers in an MBA institute (Yes, that very famous illusive eureka, that most kids today dream about but don’t know shit as to what it actually means) because they know wherever the seat me in the class, the distance of the bench from the teacher not withstanding, I shall exercise my birthright of sleeping profoundly in their faces and react weirdly if they even think of disturbing me. Well, I sure have come a long way, and that’s just a little part of the story.

I came into the untowardly world of the “Tenthies” in the fortunate year of 2001 and was thrust upon with the burden of my first ever board exams. To be honest with u people, my parents luckily weren’t as pressing as those of some of the less lucky kids in my class, and the only thing I had been asked to achieve was to get enough marks so that all subject options are open for me to choose from. Trust me, being from the state of Rajasthan where anything below 90 is considered ordinary at best, (for a fact, for consecutive 7 years now, that very state has had the maximum selections in JEE) my parents gave me a treat (which according to somebody was the epitome of weirdness) for my 87 as I had overshot my measly target of 80 by 7 PER CENT. But then, that doesn’t exactly imply that I was a cool chap in school who didn’t give a damn to studies.

Let me help you understand this, the education cycle, at least in my times, went like this. There was the jovial kid phase where one was ignorant to all worldly influences and would only follow their own hearts and dreams and would secretly call themselves the ace sportsman, super pilots of UFOS (that’s particularly true for me) or what not. Only thing that truly mattered in those times was that how many “Tazos” I had?

The above mentioned phase lasts until your parents are bitten by the BUG. The BUG is the phenomena wherein some bitchy distant aunt of yours would come and tell your mother about her neighbour’s brother’s sister and law’s uncle’s grandson who had gotten into one of the IITs a couple of years ago and had now got a job in some company you couldn’t pronounce properly and who were paying him a blasphemous amount of money and sending him to some God forsaken lands your aunt would always refer to as “PHOOREEN”.

When the BUG bites, GOD help u. In my case, he did. He turned me into a NERD, what with being the oldest son in the family, the obedient one of sorts, a little (very to be honest) dumb. Perfect nerd material so to say. So began my journey forward into life, from the first bench engrossed deep into trigonometric ratios as opposed to the back bencher friends devoted to Books( I m not talking about the good ones :P), movies, cars and the girls college right behind our class window.

Anyhow, as life moves forward, so do I, move backward. I think it was almost the end of the fateful year of 2002 when the next development in the cycle happened. I had been working my ass off for more than a year and half now for that charisma called the IIT – JEE, when I realized what the hell, I could have had so much more fun for these two years, and so I moved towards the benches at the back. This is the beginning of the Rebellious Kid phase. But old habits die hard, and so by the time I graduated yet again with a 87 percent (I think the work I put in for 2 years payed off here) and also got into an NIT (luckily not an IIT) and somehow earned the approval of all the aunts and the uncles to be a decent child. Unknown to the elder generation, beneath the calm demeanour, I had developed into a complete brat, and that was unleashed when I reached my college.

Imagine this. A kid, who is a giant for all practical purposes, 6 feet 2, 44 Inch broad, weighing close to 90 Kilos, wearing a round grey hat, black leather jacket that’s extremely wide, carrying a long steel chain around his arm, looking for a fight almost every other second, mouthing abusive superlatives like helping verbs. I guess you get the idea. Scared anyone??

I had a couple of fights soon into my first year, and soon realized this ain’t working out. And the nerd that I used to be, I finally settled into the next stage. The GEEK stage. Studious, nice fun loving energetic enthusiastic guy, always pretending to not care about studies, still working hard for it and getting good marks, known around college, into college activities, a typical middle bencher. Not disliked by all my teachers, barring a few AD- HOCS, (yes, those cranky headed freaks you suddenly seem to realize are teachers rather than students of some weird local college), and cruising along in some of the happiest years of my life. Yes, I had definitely moved backward from the nerd. Be careful, don’t be mistaken, this is still part of the rebellious phase, or should I now call it the independence phase. This is the phase when a kid starts moving out of the shadow of his parents and what some people coming into his own. The relationships formed with friends, seniors, juniors and even teachers at this level last forever, because these are the ones you value a lot. Also, you miss the place almost as much as you missed your school when you left it or even more.

Before I move forward, I would like to draw your attention to two very important facts. One, if you ever get a chance to be an engineer, don’t leave it. Those four years are the golden years of ones life. Studies are only restricted to exam nights, that too if you want good grades. If all you want is a degree, boy a boy, trust me, heaven shall descend to your abode. Secondly, since I am talking about the rebel phase, I would like to motivate you to rebel against that idiot called Arjun Singh, who ironically, being as inhuman that he is, has been given the charge of the Human Resource Ministry in our Gods own beloved Country (I call our country God’s beloved, because that’s the last hope we have. Only God can save us from the wrath of Maniacs like the aforementioned fellow). What he has basically done is that he has divided our student population into three types, Namely the OBC s, the ABM s, and the pretty much helpless kids like us. ABM here stands for Admitted By Merit. Thus after those who get into great colleges courtesy Mr. Arjun Singh, and those who are studious and intelligent enough to get in by our own merit, are left people like us (if you fall into any of the first two categories, how come you are still reading this) who as a fact actually drive this nation as most of the first category are incapable of doing so and most of the second kinds go out of this nation. On a more serious note, although I said only God can save us from this wrath, he can only help us if we do something about it ourselves. Here is a call to the fabled youth of this nation to take up this challenge.

Anyhow, moving forward into my journey backward, I graduated again with a degree saying something like 87 % (Some consistency right? Don’t be baffled, getting marks in a grading point based engineering college is almost as easy as eating pie, or even more may be.) And from there I came here, to My MBA College. And I can proudly say, I have now moved the farthest possible from the front bench, being a consistent pain in the neck of my teachers, and committing quite a few acts I wouldn’t mention but what I would mention is that life is the best here, and if you do not believe me, you should look at the competition some of us have for acquiring those. It really doesn’t matter how much you scored in that nth quiz you took, in the end, only thing that matters is the person you are. Be yourself, sit back and live life. Hail Backbenchers!!

Life is an ice-cream, have it, before it melts!!

Weird Thoughts

Weird Thought 1: Are we humans getting so used to alarm clocks that we are evolving out of there influence and something new on the lines of "Kick on the butt" needs to be invented soon enuf to maintain the sanctimony of the institutions of days and nights....or probably we started from chimps and are now moving towards owls...blurring all the boundaries....if i m still making sense to u...man...r u an alien...thats utter crap!!

Weird Thought 2: Aliens haan...now that we have come to that...most of us have read these books about them coming down and taking one of our breed to trips which sometimes turn into horny fantasies or scary beatdowns....and for those who haven't acquired the reading talents so far...u must have seen some of that in the movies....
My point here is...Are they anything else but a figment of our imagination??....i mean lets think of it the other way round...imagine we find out another planet where there is life....and boy...we sure as hell are going to run out of space on earth pretty soon...hence the need to invade there dwellings....
And against all what good old Darwin said...we assume that they look like weird contractions of us humans with a few extra limbs sticking out of weird spots...which would serve no purpose but to differentiate them from us....
nehow.. u really think we would choose as a race....to fornicate our way into their population...(i know what some of u r thinking...NO..that is not a possibility...Go get a life !!)...or may be kidnap them to beat them to shit...i know we humans are unpredictable.....but common we are better than that...
So the fact is...probably they would come...probably they are allready here in some way....but i guess we can let the freaks at NASA think about that ....and enjoy our fantasies....though may be we cud work a little on the quality of them....

Beyond

I often sit and wonder, because thats what headcases like me generally do.and thus...in continuation of my mundane insanity, i am at it again.....

There are so many things i have always wanted to rite about ...but somehow i never get around to doing it....probably becoz i m such a "lazybum" as someone would say...who cares..right??...

i know i have titled this one "Beyond"..and by now( if u r still reading that is)..u r wondering that what the hell is this actually about....

well....when i was giving my CAT...ya i sought to bell it too...like many other rats in the race...i had always wondered..what would it be like beyond graduation...how would life be?..i mean all the general stuff....and more...

the thing is....technically i have been in "The Beyond" for around 7 to 8 months now....so i thot may be i wud look at all the things that have happened in the Beyond......

So basically after my engineering was over....i went home for a gud summer vacation after a looong time.....put on some weight..became a little more lazy( if thats possible)...basically...,my dream sabbatical....keep ur ass put in front of the tv all day with loads of gud food served to u...n when u do manage to get around....well..u still get good food!!...

nehow...after that...i landed at this place...IMT.......and the first five days were one hell of an experience...it was the so called orientation...

basically an excuse for the seniors to enjoy at our expense...thats just a mild way of putting it...they called it the PDP(Personality Development Program)..bullshit!!

so we were supposed to wake up early..go for yoga sessions( i hated the first one so much i bunked all the rest of them)..and nehow...who wants to be put into all imaginable and some unimaginable weird positions early morning...if u cud spend the same time comfortably sleeping in ur bed......but u know..thats easier said than done....those seniors would screw my case royal in the evenings for doing so...but i guess running around the field shouting unheard off obsceneties...was definately better than waking up early.....

i always thot the teachers were a part of the conspiracy...
coz they would keep us up all day listening to their crap which most of them themselves cudnt bear!!..whatever....5 days were over...the ordeal ended with a cultural function...i was a part of it too...but thats another story....

nehow...amidst all this chaos... i had also managed to make a few friends....one of them happens to be my rommie and is after my ass right now that i have an exam tomorrow morning and i shud study...so ill continue this later...for now...bbyees...

woopsss

Its become a sort of a ritual aint it??...i come here....bugger off..and come back...eh?

il try and stay around for a while this tme..hopefully....
trying to get things back on track again....
lets c...where we get this time!!

I dont know who!!

It was just the other day,

Dear Uncle fell down in the alleyway,

Because, in the alley, to his dismay,

A Banana peel got thrown away.

Every soul in the block did say,

Find the one who did, if u may!!

On another of such dreaded times,

Whilst I was looking for a word that rhymes,

I looked up to the ringing wind chimes,

Instead the sound was of falling dimes,

And again, the chorus wines,

Who left open the box of collected fines??

Life was again moving at its regular beat,

A little child was playing in the street,

Unaware of the fate he could meet,

If the flying urn that fell at his feet,

Had not suffered all that heat,

To name the hand that it hath just greet.

On occasions such and many more,

That someday may become part of the lore,

Sit and wonder is all I do,

To look for the one did it all who,

Left the peel, to close the box forgot,

Threw the urn and GOD knows what not??

Cause all that ever came here were but us,

One of we it had to be thus,

Or may be each one had,

Now or then been equally bad,

And thus the outcome we all fear,

Of being the one who would the blame bear,

And hence we would never know,

As to who really did so??

Since answer the question we always do,

By saying “I don’t know who”!!

P.S. I know its weird!!

Help me!!...Please read this before reading the silver hawks

This is just the first draft, just wanted to pen down an idea I had and this is how it has started to shape up. I don’t know if it is worth the effort or even if it is worth reading once, but I do wish to complete this, though frankly, that might take ages. What I have done here is just introduced my primary characters with a little backdrop to the story. If even one person is able to grasp the characters as I perceived them, well, ill be more than glad.

This isn’t the first chapter in its full but the basic essence is there.

Feel free to tell me I suck at this, but please also tell me ways to improve the story, help me with this, and yes, this is my first shot at writing anything, so please be a little merciful

The Silver Hawks

This chapter is going under minor changses..ill post it up next when it is completed..
for neone who is interested...the second chapter is called: The Race on the moon [:)]

Nostalgia

never goes away does it!!.....
when u r walkin by a garden...u see somebody and have a fleeting impression of a friend waving at u...and the next moment, the impression may b gone...but it does leave u with a faint smile....
Its not been long..as in...i just left college some 3 months ago...(GOD..3 months!!)...n i m still in college technically albeit a diffeent one..but the thing is....in some way or the other...it just stays,...
since i m in a college..i m around so many people...n since this is mba....probably i shud have moved on...but the harder i try..the tougher it seems to be...the people out there were in a very unique way..my folks...my own in a manner...to them i was able to attribute something of myself...
may be these things cant b put into words...but as i m trying to gain a footing here...the remorse of loosing mine there...n the fear..that even if i make one here...20 months hence, again i shall have to depart...sometimes draws me into that solitary state..n then only words i can think of are
If Only
if only u had a pause button in life...life cud have been so much happier!!

Catch 21

Note: This ones been coming a long time...n probably will undergo a lot of edits...ne comments are welcome!!
Also Note: This has nothing to do with Mr. hellars catch 22(though i do admire the book)...so dont ask me fr ne connections!!
Here I go...cheers!!

I remember the night so vivdly like it was yesterday. The night of the 24th of september 2006. It was a sunday. As was usual in those times, i had spent my weekend in chandigarh (i love that city!!). Took the 9:00 clock bus that night which meant i wud b back at college(engineering college that is) at 3. Those of u who have read my profile might recollect that next day wud b my birthday...
and here i was...looking at the watch..waiting for the watch to strike 12 (i know clocks are supposed to do the striking part, but i only had a watch [:(] ) sitting beside a gud old fren (dear muchu, for those who must know) who was snoring loudly into the night. The notion that was bothering me was..."Hel, ill be 21 in a few hours !!". I had always known that u r supposed to become adults when u r 21 but the gravity of the situation hit me at that very point.


Terrible thought: I must admit i was a little scared, i didnt know what all was expeeted off an adult, was i supposed to be somebody else, overnight, somebody much more respomsible, thoughfull and all that crap adults are..(no offence adults...pls)... i mean i was still a kid...a huge one yes..but a kid all the same...y did i need to be all that..i was happy being what i was....i still wanted to enjoy my life....i still needed to work on it..(apart from everything else, i was still single..[;)] )....
Nehow..somehow i managed to solace myself into an understanding...

Next terrible thought : " Such a momentous occasion in my life and i m spending it in a weird bumpy bus with a snoring fatso..(sorry mucchu, but fact hai!!)...hell...wud neone even remember....does neone even care....

More terible thoughts: M i obssesed with myself, m i a narcissist, y m i thinking so much about myself, cant i just cool off, its only a birthday for GODS sake, its not like it comes only once a year....hold on..it does..doesn't it??..GOD..help me...!!!

Weird Thought: Does everyone who turns 21 think like this....does becoming an adult mean becoming all weird like this..( seems like quite a high probability)....come to think of it..WHAT DOES ONE THINK WHEN HE/SHE (or may be i should just rite he coz m not so sure females can think, atleast not at the age of 21...[:)]) TURNS 21!!....what is it that makes them an adult...??

Weirder Answer: If i knew, i wudnt be 21!! CATCH 21..

Conclusion: Its Been almost an year of being 21...i have learnt this....
NOTHING.
.CATCH 21 eh??..

But then...lets face it...who the hell gives a damn...ill b an adult when i want to..as of now...Lets Party!!

What Happened next: I got a call from most of my frens, muchu( ya the snoring fatso) also wished me , and so did my parents. I was in quite a merry mood hence and devoid of ne more weird thoughts. And for ne females that did call me the following day, for a change i did not use any ideas which could possibly be mentioned in dummies guide to talking to females. May be being 21 does change u a bit.AHHHHH!!

P.S. I always wanted to say this..if u r a fren n did wish me that night...even if u thot of doin so..thanks a tonne..probably it meant a lot..

Again Note: There is no book called dummies handbook to talking to girls...dont go lookin for it!!..
and ya...i did mention that i was single....but dont take thae otherwise..[;)]

and ya people...no offences meant!!