Most of my friends around me are either married or going to be in the next half a dozen months. Just about a week ago, one of 'em was going to be a proud 'Papa-to-be'. He was googling for baby names. I was shitting in my pants for I know my time will come. I wanted to hum 'Heaven can wait', but I know hell wont!
And why do I feel such? I have been blessed with the best girl I can ever spend me life with. If luck may, I would want to be marooned with her on an desolate island with my Cessna crashed down a dune of rocks and I would not even sandprint for help to the scarcest eagles. So far so good, but whats next?!
I took me a jolly good 6 week interval to write the next line. And this is no publishable material. And if my Lady were to read this, it would be no more than gallows for me ;-p
So what could the reason be? Dunno that and I am ready to bet a million rupees that 98% of all the guys go through this. So I aint alone and thats a breather that its only normal. Maybe, this mellows in a couple of years but this is a fact.
Marriage...in-laws...kids...diapers...vaccination shots...eeew! If these were the scheme of things behind a marriage, I wonder how a "live-in" works. And why does it work (if it works, that is). There is the man and his lady (okay for all your fairer sex - there is the lady and her man...happy?!!) and there is their house around them...maybe their nosey neighbours (depends upon which part of the world they reside). So all in all, what I am trying to put forward is (in case you are already confused as I am), is this whole matrix of relationship management that comes to the fore when two people intending to spend life together come forward. And with whatever I have seen around me, it is a tough one like any other. Moreover, it also has a lot to do with the personality type. What holds true for me may be an absolute nonsense for a lot of people and vice versa.
But still, one day, may be 5 years from now all this will be routine and cool. I would probably be scoffing at this piece then along with my wife and may be my kid at my lap. And believe me you, given a chance, I would really want to scoff at this. Such is life! Phew.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Friday, December 07, 2007
Home 'Street' Home
Cut to the inners of a cargo company where the lone ray of sunlight filters in through the gaps in the asbestos roof to lighten up the darkest recesses. Roam around in an invisible garb and you will discover everyone with a smile on his or her face. These jolly folks seem to be very satisfied with life that they want no more, and all of them are very much indebted to this man who magically seems to have altered their life forever. Their acknowledgement and credit of their success and achievement revolve around this faceless personality to such an extent that the flow of biography begins from here. Each one of them take turns to explain his part of the story of their godfather, Ram Jaiswal who has been integral in building up a stature to which they belong to.
A story that carries all the strains of a ‘rags to riches’ theme is effortlessly portrayed by these young men who dream to be like Ram one day. A cascade of events in flashback follows to depict the life story of Ram and his valiant struggle efforts throughout; The story of a nondescript boy, who ran away from home because he was denied education. The boy who escaped the savages of a hardcore Mumbai, who resisted all the paths that could have led him to doing petty crimes and the underworld, went on to become an entrepreneur and employ individuals who had experienced how it feels growing up as street kids. Today, he is happily married with two kids and had adopted a girl from the streets. He in his capacity has tried to do something for this class of society that has often been looked by oppressive and scornful eyes.
But you just cannot escape the reality - the fate of various other street kids who do not grow up to be Ram Jaiswal – with reality shots and the society’s feigned ignorance to their plight, shots of someone harshly warding of an urchin who begs since he has not eaten for days, a street child who is into doing drugs just to escape the harsh realities of life, another who is exposed to the dangers of STDs and of course out Page 3 celebrities appealing ‘plastically’ to the public to make their contribution
A story that carries all the strains of a ‘rags to riches’ theme is effortlessly portrayed by these young men who dream to be like Ram one day. A cascade of events in flashback follows to depict the life story of Ram and his valiant struggle efforts throughout; The story of a nondescript boy, who ran away from home because he was denied education. The boy who escaped the savages of a hardcore Mumbai, who resisted all the paths that could have led him to doing petty crimes and the underworld, went on to become an entrepreneur and employ individuals who had experienced how it feels growing up as street kids. Today, he is happily married with two kids and had adopted a girl from the streets. He in his capacity has tried to do something for this class of society that has often been looked by oppressive and scornful eyes.
But you just cannot escape the reality - the fate of various other street kids who do not grow up to be Ram Jaiswal – with reality shots and the society’s feigned ignorance to their plight, shots of someone harshly warding of an urchin who begs since he has not eaten for days, a street child who is into doing drugs just to escape the harsh realities of life, another who is exposed to the dangers of STDs and of course out Page 3 celebrities appealing ‘plastically’ to the public to make their contribution
Die-tanic!!
Some souls come together to build a liner, name it ‘Titanic’ and claim that it shall never sink. And it sinks and makes news that is etched as one of the horrible sea disasters of the century. Armed with this fact, almost ninety years later, someone interweaves a tragic love story between two beings who probably would never have met in their whole blissful lives and makes a film and it goes on win the greatest accolades to be won. Absolutely pristine and nothing to be changed, it is almost certain that Cameron himself would have changed nothing, if at all he were given all the money needed to make that masterpiece again. Although this would entirely be different news that, if at all the film were to be made in Hindi, Jack would have been Jagga and Rose would have been Gulabo; Alka Yagnik would have sung instead of Celine Dion.
So when it comes to so much that you are made to stand along dire straits, and some wise guys across the pipe hang a bait, not only is it freaky but I feel like going on air prime time and shout live, ‘Hey Mr. Cameron, you now have competition’ and just for the sake of pulling out some loose wires, I shall make a rule book called ‘The Titanic Ten Pointer Rule Book with the help of which ‘smarty pants’ inner voice says that I can cook this up.
1. ‘Corsets are not fashionable any more except in case of an injury. Unintentional ‘close encounters’ may be a hindrance’.
2. The Titanic measures almost nine storeys in height and it has been fitted with whale slicing rotors. Falling from such a height is similar to falling head-on a concrete ground. Even if you escape unhurt, those rotors will take care of you. Think before attempting a suicide ‘Am I the child of the lesser God to die such a death? It is really pathetic when no one is around.
3. ‘No standing on the deck especially with partners. Spreading arms is strictly prohibited’.
4. ‘No spitting in the ocean. Plainclothes Greenpeace activists aboard the ship may prohibit you from future voyages’ for such inexplicable behaviour.’
5. ‘Voyeurism (under the pretext of art) is strictly prohibited. No painting nude women. You are no Da Vinci and don’t act as one, even if you used to sell your paintings at the evening markets for ten bucks a piece’.
6. ‘No sex in the cargo area especially inside cars marked for shipment; Automobile companies have all the right to sue you for the mess.’
7. ‘Contraceptives could be of great help if you ever leave on a long voyage. You shall also at least attempt to clean yourself after the ‘act’.’
8. ‘No kissing in public (except in case of emergency mouth to mouth resuscitation). You can be booked for criminal charges relating to intentional activity to cause purposeful distraction of people on duty and thus triggering endangerment to the lives of your co-passengers’.
9. ‘You shall share the life saving equipment in any form among your co-passengers irrespective of their gender, for equal interval of time periodically in case of emergency and shall not act selfish, until rescue arrives’.
10. ‘You shall not act as a nincompoop as to throw away precious stones in to the ocean. Vaults are a better place to store them and you shall be rich any time’.
Here are these pointers that can really distort and skew the original story to such a dimension that no one would actually not want to have a look at this pickle.
So for the concession, I can only relax the pointers numbered one, three, five, six, seven and eight. Go ahead and enjoy the trip with Rose or Gulabo aboard the Titanic. But be sure to reach the other end safely. Tuck or slip in a solar powered non de-flat able satellite navigated foldable boat with space for two and other provisions in to the ship. (Hey wait, am I scripting for 007!!) Use it in case of an emergency; save your sweat heart and yourself and live happily ever after.
But I wonder, that if the engineers ever had a slightest inkling of that fact that the ship may in some probability pose a huge risk as it did to its passengers, ‘Die-tanic’ would have sounded better!!
So when it comes to so much that you are made to stand along dire straits, and some wise guys across the pipe hang a bait, not only is it freaky but I feel like going on air prime time and shout live, ‘Hey Mr. Cameron, you now have competition’ and just for the sake of pulling out some loose wires, I shall make a rule book called ‘The Titanic Ten Pointer Rule Book with the help of which ‘smarty pants’ inner voice says that I can cook this up.
1. ‘Corsets are not fashionable any more except in case of an injury. Unintentional ‘close encounters’ may be a hindrance’.
2. The Titanic measures almost nine storeys in height and it has been fitted with whale slicing rotors. Falling from such a height is similar to falling head-on a concrete ground. Even if you escape unhurt, those rotors will take care of you. Think before attempting a suicide ‘Am I the child of the lesser God to die such a death? It is really pathetic when no one is around.
3. ‘No standing on the deck especially with partners. Spreading arms is strictly prohibited’.
4. ‘No spitting in the ocean. Plainclothes Greenpeace activists aboard the ship may prohibit you from future voyages’ for such inexplicable behaviour.’
5. ‘Voyeurism (under the pretext of art) is strictly prohibited. No painting nude women. You are no Da Vinci and don’t act as one, even if you used to sell your paintings at the evening markets for ten bucks a piece’.
6. ‘No sex in the cargo area especially inside cars marked for shipment; Automobile companies have all the right to sue you for the mess.’
7. ‘Contraceptives could be of great help if you ever leave on a long voyage. You shall also at least attempt to clean yourself after the ‘act’.’
8. ‘No kissing in public (except in case of emergency mouth to mouth resuscitation). You can be booked for criminal charges relating to intentional activity to cause purposeful distraction of people on duty and thus triggering endangerment to the lives of your co-passengers’.
9. ‘You shall share the life saving equipment in any form among your co-passengers irrespective of their gender, for equal interval of time periodically in case of emergency and shall not act selfish, until rescue arrives’.
10. ‘You shall not act as a nincompoop as to throw away precious stones in to the ocean. Vaults are a better place to store them and you shall be rich any time’.
Here are these pointers that can really distort and skew the original story to such a dimension that no one would actually not want to have a look at this pickle.
So for the concession, I can only relax the pointers numbered one, three, five, six, seven and eight. Go ahead and enjoy the trip with Rose or Gulabo aboard the Titanic. But be sure to reach the other end safely. Tuck or slip in a solar powered non de-flat able satellite navigated foldable boat with space for two and other provisions in to the ship. (Hey wait, am I scripting for 007!!) Use it in case of an emergency; save your sweat heart and yourself and live happily ever after.
But I wonder, that if the engineers ever had a slightest inkling of that fact that the ship may in some probability pose a huge risk as it did to its passengers, ‘Die-tanic’ would have sounded better!!
Bus kya!!
The rain clouds gather for one more pouring. Shanta has to quickly do away with her chores. Cursing the rain, she washes the utensils. Every time it rains for a couple of hours, the adjacent nallah overflows to her shanty and it stinks really badly. Her mumblings fade against the gruesome noise of the Borivilli local.
Ever since Ganpat, her husband died in a mill accident, she makes her end meet by working as a maid. Her only son Krishna whom she affectionately calls ‘Balya’ is not home yet. She murmurs ‘Chatri bhi nahin lekar gaya’. Rain drops playfully dance on the surface of the water stored in the leaking pail.
Balya has to find some work now. He has to support his aging mother. He has been an average student and he gleefully says ‘HSC pass’ to every one who enquires about his educational status. He knows he has to earn some money. The money that comes in won’t suffice. Rent or ‘bhada’ as Jagga says, has to be paid every month for the portion of the slum they occupy. They used to stay up in the worker’s quarters prior to Ganpat’s death.
Jagdam or Jagga as his people call him is the local ‘daada’ with strong local political connections. Some of the local traders insist that sometimes he extorts money under the disguise of festival celebration. But come fire or storm, he is the messiah.
The rain has finally decreased to a drizzle and today the nallah has not overflowed. This has saved her pain of cleaning her place. Just then, Balya rushes inside with a cut out of the local evening paper. He is dripping and his clothes stick on to his body. Shanta starts to dry his hair using her pallu. ‘Aur bheeg, bheemar ho gaya, toh daacter ko deena ke liye paise nahin hain mere paas.’
Balya showing the newspaper cut out, replies ‘Paise nahin, Rupaiye aayenge. The cut out is actually a recruitment drive on behalf of BEST, Mumbai city’s public transport service, seeking drivers. They seem to rejoice for a moment that there actually is light at the end of the tunnel. But Shanta sighs ‘Par apna pahunch nahin hain’. Balya is quick to react ‘Jagga!!’.
The next morning, Jagga comes for his monthly collection, and that is when Shanta asks him for help. Jagga at his usual panache is assertive. ‘Bade sahib ko kharcha paani dena padega’. Shanta agrees and the deal is made.
Within two months, an appointment cum training letter from BEST finds it way to Shanta’s kholi. New uniforms stiched and Balya is now a BEST driver, a government employee. You should see the sparkle is Shanta’s eyes. Now her only dream is to see Balya married.
She’s all of praise for Jagga, who is at his modest best to ensure that everything happened according to His will.
A few months in to training, Balya receives a progress card and confirmation letter announcing that he has been posted on Route. 405.
Pedas are distributed and Shanta claims ‘asli ghee se bane hain’. The next morning on the first day of his actual job, Shanta performs a puja. Balya seeks blessings from his late father and leaves for his new job. ‘Chalta hoon,maai. He calls her ‘maai and today it felt as he was leaving on a long journey. She sends him off with a satisfied teary eyed look.
It is dusk and she’s awaiting Balya. Just then, Pandey the neigbourhood grocery owner yells that there has been a bomb blast in a Mumbai bus. Shanta’s heart misses a beat. She begins to tremble. More news flows in. ‘Route 405’, ‘40 killed, including driver’. The world in front of her blackens and Shanta collapses to the ground.
Jagga looks skywards and sighs ‘Bus kya!!’. There is no answer.
Ever since Ganpat, her husband died in a mill accident, she makes her end meet by working as a maid. Her only son Krishna whom she affectionately calls ‘Balya’ is not home yet. She murmurs ‘Chatri bhi nahin lekar gaya’. Rain drops playfully dance on the surface of the water stored in the leaking pail.
Balya has to find some work now. He has to support his aging mother. He has been an average student and he gleefully says ‘HSC pass’ to every one who enquires about his educational status. He knows he has to earn some money. The money that comes in won’t suffice. Rent or ‘bhada’ as Jagga says, has to be paid every month for the portion of the slum they occupy. They used to stay up in the worker’s quarters prior to Ganpat’s death.
Jagdam or Jagga as his people call him is the local ‘daada’ with strong local political connections. Some of the local traders insist that sometimes he extorts money under the disguise of festival celebration. But come fire or storm, he is the messiah.
The rain has finally decreased to a drizzle and today the nallah has not overflowed. This has saved her pain of cleaning her place. Just then, Balya rushes inside with a cut out of the local evening paper. He is dripping and his clothes stick on to his body. Shanta starts to dry his hair using her pallu. ‘Aur bheeg, bheemar ho gaya, toh daacter ko deena ke liye paise nahin hain mere paas.’
Balya showing the newspaper cut out, replies ‘Paise nahin, Rupaiye aayenge. The cut out is actually a recruitment drive on behalf of BEST, Mumbai city’s public transport service, seeking drivers. They seem to rejoice for a moment that there actually is light at the end of the tunnel. But Shanta sighs ‘Par apna pahunch nahin hain’. Balya is quick to react ‘Jagga!!’.
The next morning, Jagga comes for his monthly collection, and that is when Shanta asks him for help. Jagga at his usual panache is assertive. ‘Bade sahib ko kharcha paani dena padega’. Shanta agrees and the deal is made.
Within two months, an appointment cum training letter from BEST finds it way to Shanta’s kholi. New uniforms stiched and Balya is now a BEST driver, a government employee. You should see the sparkle is Shanta’s eyes. Now her only dream is to see Balya married.
She’s all of praise for Jagga, who is at his modest best to ensure that everything happened according to His will.
A few months in to training, Balya receives a progress card and confirmation letter announcing that he has been posted on Route. 405.
Pedas are distributed and Shanta claims ‘asli ghee se bane hain’. The next morning on the first day of his actual job, Shanta performs a puja. Balya seeks blessings from his late father and leaves for his new job. ‘Chalta hoon,maai. He calls her ‘maai and today it felt as he was leaving on a long journey. She sends him off with a satisfied teary eyed look.
It is dusk and she’s awaiting Balya. Just then, Pandey the neigbourhood grocery owner yells that there has been a bomb blast in a Mumbai bus. Shanta’s heart misses a beat. She begins to tremble. More news flows in. ‘Route 405’, ‘40 killed, including driver’. The world in front of her blackens and Shanta collapses to the ground.
Jagga looks skywards and sighs ‘Bus kya!!’. There is no answer.
“When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go”!!
The mercury was adamant and kept rising. Just when I thought it would rain for good, another bead of my body sap rolled down by my left cheek. I was working hard and so were my sweat glands. These things just happen to me. Every time.
SSC&B was at lunch, RSCG asked for an appointment letter and Abhijeet was busy with Piyush. Flies played touch and go at the O&M lounge and the Monitron guard wore the ‘You’re irritating me’ look. It began to get on my nerves and I moved out.
“There’s just one more” I said, as I walked. The bight yellow Publicis lion stared me right in the eye. But something else commanded my attention. I shifted my frame to a gleaming red monstrous 4 X 4 neatly parked under the tarpaulin roof. It roared ‘Toyota on steroids’ and consolations cried ‘Not everyone’s Bharat Dhabolkar!!’
At the Publicis waiting area, thanks to the cool air the air con was throwing, sweat pores began to close. There I was, not even with my resume to probably meet the creative director and to coax him to keep me as a trainee writer. Just for the occasion you may call it the exuberance of youth but that‘s the way it was.
The beautiful lady at the desk was kind enough to give the CD a call. Minutes later, the CD sprinted down the stairs. Pleasantries were exchanged; points made, advices galore and shortcomings were realized. And then the copy test was offered. A piece of paper with questions whose solution would land me as a trainee in the Creative Department.
Even as I sit at my desk racking my brain for ideas to compose a story involving a gamut of things from a yellow MIG 29 to a bicycle with a flat tyre, from Madhuri Dixit to Dhirubhai’s nephew, to ostriches and masala dosas, only thing I can hear someone saying is “When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go”!!
SSC&B was at lunch, RSCG asked for an appointment letter and Abhijeet was busy with Piyush. Flies played touch and go at the O&M lounge and the Monitron guard wore the ‘You’re irritating me’ look. It began to get on my nerves and I moved out.
“There’s just one more” I said, as I walked. The bight yellow Publicis lion stared me right in the eye. But something else commanded my attention. I shifted my frame to a gleaming red monstrous 4 X 4 neatly parked under the tarpaulin roof. It roared ‘Toyota on steroids’ and consolations cried ‘Not everyone’s Bharat Dhabolkar!!’
At the Publicis waiting area, thanks to the cool air the air con was throwing, sweat pores began to close. There I was, not even with my resume to probably meet the creative director and to coax him to keep me as a trainee writer. Just for the occasion you may call it the exuberance of youth but that‘s the way it was.
The beautiful lady at the desk was kind enough to give the CD a call. Minutes later, the CD sprinted down the stairs. Pleasantries were exchanged; points made, advices galore and shortcomings were realized. And then the copy test was offered. A piece of paper with questions whose solution would land me as a trainee in the Creative Department.
Even as I sit at my desk racking my brain for ideas to compose a story involving a gamut of things from a yellow MIG 29 to a bicycle with a flat tyre, from Madhuri Dixit to Dhirubhai’s nephew, to ostriches and masala dosas, only thing I can hear someone saying is “When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go”!!
The mind things a million thinks! (sic)
All work and no play make Raj a dull boy. So let’s play a game. Clues shall follow about a thing to which you shall be making a guess in an attempt to find the thing, I am talking about. So here goes:
Clue 1: It usually sells by the dozen. Unbelievable it may sound, but I have come across a vendor selling a real bad pack for 50 paise a dozen.
Clue 2: It is long, curves out a bit, hard at times. (Pervert minds, withdraw all your attempts)
Clue 3: It has to be peeled before use. Some animals do not go through this procedure.
Clue 4: It comes in an amazing range of variety (sub species) and is a main produce of sub tropical climates that includes south Asian and south American regions.
Clue 5: It is a powerhouse of vitamins and is used by sportspersons for instant energy.
Clue 6: It is probably among the rarest of things that cannot be refrigerated. (Some things are not cut out for good things in life)
Ah! I never thought I could make life this tough for some one by playing a simple game like this. Okay, request accepted. A breather now:
Clue 7: Guys, it is a FRUIT!!! And yes we are not talking about cucumbers here.
Clue 8: This one could liven things up. Some ladies of ‘that genre’ use it to relieve their carnal pleasures. That’s it. Censored.
Clue 9: Some dependent states in Central America are called after this fruit!!
And for the record, you local ‘teleh-wallah’ could have won this round easily for this many number of clues. Just because, this is running long enough to beat a 100 overs cricket match, I think I should give the answer.
Answer: It is the banana. (Canned Sighs)
Clue 1: It usually sells by the dozen. Unbelievable it may sound, but I have come across a vendor selling a real bad pack for 50 paise a dozen.
Clue 2: It is long, curves out a bit, hard at times. (Pervert minds, withdraw all your attempts)
Clue 3: It has to be peeled before use. Some animals do not go through this procedure.
Clue 4: It comes in an amazing range of variety (sub species) and is a main produce of sub tropical climates that includes south Asian and south American regions.
Clue 5: It is a powerhouse of vitamins and is used by sportspersons for instant energy.
Clue 6: It is probably among the rarest of things that cannot be refrigerated. (Some things are not cut out for good things in life)
Ah! I never thought I could make life this tough for some one by playing a simple game like this. Okay, request accepted. A breather now:
Clue 7: Guys, it is a FRUIT!!! And yes we are not talking about cucumbers here.
Clue 8: This one could liven things up. Some ladies of ‘that genre’ use it to relieve their carnal pleasures. That’s it. Censored.
Clue 9: Some dependent states in Central America are called after this fruit!!
And for the record, you local ‘teleh-wallah’ could have won this round easily for this many number of clues. Just because, this is running long enough to beat a 100 overs cricket match, I think I should give the answer.
Answer: It is the banana. (Canned Sighs)
Now thats below the belt! ;-D
Classified Information – MI 6 internal ONLY.
Date of Release: **Retained**
In what seems to be a classic example of an incubated idea of the century and an indication of the improvisation of new age terrorism techniques used by terrorists and extremists in their war against the world, the British Intelligence have unearthed an unusual fact that could possibly beat all the attempted genocides culled from history.
Based on input from the ground forces in Afghanistan, our MI 6 agents unearthed an underground warehouse funded and built by al-Queda, virtually shielded from the outside world that houses mass production mechanisms used for manufacturing condoms which would put a Durex plant to shame. The literatures unearthed from this warehouse suggest that these neatly packaged consignments of contraceptives were to be shipped to the West in large numbers over the years.
Continuing investigations over the unusual facts and seized videotapes, our officials have been startled with amusing facts that could possibly have turned ‘serious’ if the idea were pursued with a vengeance. Apparently, these condoms when used could turn men into infertile piece of meat; an insane idea born out of the brain storming sessions purportedly attended by osama bin laden himself. Made from instant skin acting aphrodisiacs, these condoms are also laced with chemicals that induce infertility, when used more than once. al-Quaida were in talks with an export firm in South Africa to market these contraceptives to Western shores, who amusedly did come up the bold idea of using Laden’s name and his picture on them which allegedly would suppress any doubts of its association with the group. The SA firm has even devised an interesting tagline for its venture – ‘From Tora Bora: With love, for love’.
Bin Laden’s new weapons are amusingly dangerous. Only if they could find their way.
* This is an absolutely crazy work of a wannabe writer with infertile imagination. Any resemblance to reality is pristinely coincidental!
Date of Release: **Retained**
In what seems to be a classic example of an incubated idea of the century and an indication of the improvisation of new age terrorism techniques used by terrorists and extremists in their war against the world, the British Intelligence have unearthed an unusual fact that could possibly beat all the attempted genocides culled from history.
Based on input from the ground forces in Afghanistan, our MI 6 agents unearthed an underground warehouse funded and built by al-Queda, virtually shielded from the outside world that houses mass production mechanisms used for manufacturing condoms which would put a Durex plant to shame. The literatures unearthed from this warehouse suggest that these neatly packaged consignments of contraceptives were to be shipped to the West in large numbers over the years.
Continuing investigations over the unusual facts and seized videotapes, our officials have been startled with amusing facts that could possibly have turned ‘serious’ if the idea were pursued with a vengeance. Apparently, these condoms when used could turn men into infertile piece of meat; an insane idea born out of the brain storming sessions purportedly attended by osama bin laden himself. Made from instant skin acting aphrodisiacs, these condoms are also laced with chemicals that induce infertility, when used more than once. al-Quaida were in talks with an export firm in South Africa to market these contraceptives to Western shores, who amusedly did come up the bold idea of using Laden’s name and his picture on them which allegedly would suppress any doubts of its association with the group. The SA firm has even devised an interesting tagline for its venture – ‘From Tora Bora: With love, for love’.
Bin Laden’s new weapons are amusingly dangerous. Only if they could find their way.
* This is an absolutely crazy work of a wannabe writer with infertile imagination. Any resemblance to reality is pristinely coincidental!
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Digital Diaries!
1010101010...the binaries zip up all that is tapped on the keys! And actually that come from some part of the repository in our brain. The tiny notepad metamorphosed in to a word pad which in turn became the e-mail and now the blog!
The human ass is blessed for it now no longer moves. Or maybe it's nice the way it is. And boy oh boy, i never mentioned the latest entrant in the circuit: the cool dude - SMS! Aha, there he is! There isn't any pessimism when I say all this. I use most of them, infact all of them and with gusto. But nevertheless its happening! And how.
The airwaves have emerged triumphant and the cell sites outnumber the frequency spectrum. So you might be a celebrity in your inbox, you are still guessing who lives just two apartments away! The postman is no longer awaited with bated breath and the telegram no longer asks for anxious moments.
Of changes and all, this renaissance is not that bad too. It might have sped up things, hastened a few emotions, upturned a few moments, pulled out the sweetness of the lover in waiting, made a mother in the down country realise that her son is safe near the barbed wires, a few hours sooner but and a big but of all things it has made life easy if not comfy.
So until the human race is overtaken by something as revolutionary as say may be telepathic communication, thumbs up to the current scheme of things. Let the Digital Diaries clog the mammoth of world servers. Let the Digital Diaries refresh the human memories for eternities to come.
The human ass is blessed for it now no longer moves. Or maybe it's nice the way it is. And boy oh boy, i never mentioned the latest entrant in the circuit: the cool dude - SMS! Aha, there he is! There isn't any pessimism when I say all this. I use most of them, infact all of them and with gusto. But nevertheless its happening! And how.
The airwaves have emerged triumphant and the cell sites outnumber the frequency spectrum. So you might be a celebrity in your inbox, you are still guessing who lives just two apartments away! The postman is no longer awaited with bated breath and the telegram no longer asks for anxious moments.
Of changes and all, this renaissance is not that bad too. It might have sped up things, hastened a few emotions, upturned a few moments, pulled out the sweetness of the lover in waiting, made a mother in the down country realise that her son is safe near the barbed wires, a few hours sooner but and a big but of all things it has made life easy if not comfy.
So until the human race is overtaken by something as revolutionary as say may be telepathic communication, thumbs up to the current scheme of things. Let the Digital Diaries clog the mammoth of world servers. Let the Digital Diaries refresh the human memories for eternities to come.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Melancholy Boulevard
Spread over 2500 square feet of mellow ultra modern penthouse ambience on the seventh and eighth floor of Isle Heights adjoining the sea face is where the Shenoys stay. The wheatish-golden rays of the sun filter through the Paithani drapes adoring the windows in their bedroom. The light filtering through the magenta of the curtains fills the room with a hue of sorts and it could happen only when Nature plays artist. The alarm begins to sound and Krith fidgets and finally manages to put in to its silence. Kaavya looks a lot more beautiful, the pale innocence does not leave her face even as she sleeps; and Krith is even luckier to have a partner as her. It was during their formative years, did Krith and Kaavya find that they had become the inseparable of friends. Marriage happened and Kaavya became a part of the Shenoy family.
Krith is the creative director in one of the largest advertising agencies of South Mumbai, The CultureBind Company. Interestingly, Kaavya is the lead visualiser in the creative department.
It has been a great week at CultureBind which has been pitching for a big account and actually won the pitch. Going by CultureBind’s legacy, the event would be celebrated. The notice goes up and it is party time. Dance, booze and great food. All this, at the most happening place in the town.
Krith prefers to stay at home due a head splitting headache. He presses Kaavya to go ahead. Kaavya dons on her best party gear and drives off to the scene. Krith is conspicuous by his absence. But the party has to go on.
Denzil asks Kaavya to drop him at his place. Denzil has been working as a copy supervisor with CultureBind. Known for his inane ways, he was always a ‘lady’s man’. Known as the stud, he was a charmer.
Kaavya obliges. He invites her to his apartment over a cup of coffee and she reluctantly agrees. Denzil plays one of the instrumentals of Kenny G. Soft music and coffee together are known as the best aphrodisiacs; and I have a feeling that this story should have an untimely twist.
Coffee and some conversation revolving around the party and this is a great situation to have a twist. The conversation seems to gradually lessening to a whisper and except for the music, I can hear nothing. This is something so tender to be out of human comprehension. Denzil suddenly moves over to her and softly kisses her and she reciprocates. Seduction wins again in this unfair game of love. They end up making love.
Caught in a thin line between guilt and incidence, Kaavya just wants to term the episode as passé. She shops for the pill and everything is forgotten.
Not many months after, things aren’t the same when one day he chances upon to accidentally eavesdrop Kaavya calling Denzil over her cell phone asking Denzil to forget the whole episode. There’s a sharp negative when Krith confronts her. The whole situation is very unfamiliar for Krith. Kaavya was never like this before.
There is a realm of uneasy flavour floating around and Kaavya seems to be confused about her life. She still loves Krith and that fling with Denzil happened in a flash. And Krith knows something is amiss. Kaavya is not his same old Kaavya anymore. He can see her turn in to an inexplicable uneasy qualm every time there’s a call from Denzil or for that matter every time there is the slightest mention of his name. But I know, the character Kaavya, that I created shall die rather than spill out the beans.
And true to this date, she is worth her tag. Krith does not know the missing link. He has tried talking to Denzil but help did not arrive in any form. Denzil would never say to him that he actually slept with Kaavya. And as of Kaavya, she is silent as ever.
She still walks the Melancholy Boulevard.
Krith is the creative director in one of the largest advertising agencies of South Mumbai, The CultureBind Company. Interestingly, Kaavya is the lead visualiser in the creative department.
It has been a great week at CultureBind which has been pitching for a big account and actually won the pitch. Going by CultureBind’s legacy, the event would be celebrated. The notice goes up and it is party time. Dance, booze and great food. All this, at the most happening place in the town.
Krith prefers to stay at home due a head splitting headache. He presses Kaavya to go ahead. Kaavya dons on her best party gear and drives off to the scene. Krith is conspicuous by his absence. But the party has to go on.
Denzil asks Kaavya to drop him at his place. Denzil has been working as a copy supervisor with CultureBind. Known for his inane ways, he was always a ‘lady’s man’. Known as the stud, he was a charmer.
Kaavya obliges. He invites her to his apartment over a cup of coffee and she reluctantly agrees. Denzil plays one of the instrumentals of Kenny G. Soft music and coffee together are known as the best aphrodisiacs; and I have a feeling that this story should have an untimely twist.
Coffee and some conversation revolving around the party and this is a great situation to have a twist. The conversation seems to gradually lessening to a whisper and except for the music, I can hear nothing. This is something so tender to be out of human comprehension. Denzil suddenly moves over to her and softly kisses her and she reciprocates. Seduction wins again in this unfair game of love. They end up making love.
Caught in a thin line between guilt and incidence, Kaavya just wants to term the episode as passé. She shops for the pill and everything is forgotten.
Not many months after, things aren’t the same when one day he chances upon to accidentally eavesdrop Kaavya calling Denzil over her cell phone asking Denzil to forget the whole episode. There’s a sharp negative when Krith confronts her. The whole situation is very unfamiliar for Krith. Kaavya was never like this before.
There is a realm of uneasy flavour floating around and Kaavya seems to be confused about her life. She still loves Krith and that fling with Denzil happened in a flash. And Krith knows something is amiss. Kaavya is not his same old Kaavya anymore. He can see her turn in to an inexplicable uneasy qualm every time there’s a call from Denzil or for that matter every time there is the slightest mention of his name. But I know, the character Kaavya, that I created shall die rather than spill out the beans.
And true to this date, she is worth her tag. Krith does not know the missing link. He has tried talking to Denzil but help did not arrive in any form. Denzil would never say to him that he actually slept with Kaavya. And as of Kaavya, she is silent as ever.
She still walks the Melancholy Boulevard.
Friday, March 26, 2004
Ekdum filmy, total masala - Bollywood ishtyle! ;-D
The Story
Vikram is to be stationed for his new job, in a virtually unknown place that is alien to him. Obviously for anyone who knows nothing more than Ajnala or the bigger Amritsar, Kozhikode would only mean a tongue twister.
‘Where is Kozhikode?’ Vikram asked, attempting hard to get the pronunciation right. ‘This place is in Assam’, replied Jagmeet paaji, the ‘Mr. Know-it-all’ at New Punjab Roadlines. Only he knows how right or wrong he is. Prod him more and he will probably give you the latitudes and longitudes of Kozhikode!
Vikram prefers to investigate himself. Mundu, the attendant with the Mehras for years cannot help him better. ‘Vikram – has already left for Assam… new job’, he tells everyone at home. Down comes the world for Parminder, Vikram’s mother. ‘You are responsible’ she yells looking towards OP Mehra, Vikram’s father. OP Mehra always wanted him to be the next boss of New Punjab Roadlines. Vikram’s choice of an engineering degree or job after that did not go well with him.
Everything falls silent when Vikram calmly walks in. ‘I had only been to find out about Kozhikode, - to the headmaster’s house.’ Mundu swallows hard. All the eyes in the room stare him, but he saves himself with his trademark grin. As an effort to manage a truce, OP Mehra allows Vikram to go. ‘But Mundu will also go’ he adds. Mrs. Mehra agrees.
‘Papaji, you cannot be serious’, thinks Vikram. But Mundu is happy.
‘Platform 5, S5, berth numbers 5 and 6’, Vikram whispers to Mundu as he gets off his truck. It is very hard for Vikram to keep Mundu away but a wrong coach number and a wrong platform number easily does the job! Vikram is relieved.
On the train, Vikram browses through a literature copy by Kerala Tourism Board. And all of a sudden pantry men sporting a dash of sandal on their forehead with their waysti folded up to their knees serve idli and sambar, his co-passengers have their meal on a banana leaf and some pour their coffee from a height out of a tumbler in to another and all he can hear is the sound of the mridhungam playing hard. ‘No’, Vikram lets out a huge cry. And everything returns to normal.
Kozhikode is a ‘jack-in-the-box’ for Vikram. The company driver does not turn up at the station and the rickshaw drivers swarm Vikram like bees. He does not understand what they say. Neither could they when he tries. The local phone is out of order. The railway police take his baggage after it lay unclaimed. The rains drench him and the lorry driver sloshes him with Kozhikode muck.
‘Bail out of Kozhikode as soon as possible!’ Vikram mutters.
Vikram is put up at Mrs. Batra’s residence. This Punjabi lady could yak on for hours as if it were a talkathon. She would even brave the stench from his socks to complete her story. Vikram couldn’t endure. Nor his own socks, neither her talks!
Vikram pushes for a transfer and how good it would be to forward your transfer application to your boss on your first ever meeting with a unique gift – a tender coconut neatly wrapped in a transparent polythene carry bag. At least Radha, his boss’ daughter is amused, if not impressed. She smiles, ‘So cute’ and winks at her mother. Vikram chuckles ‘It’s working!’
Ravi is also put up with Vikram at Batra’s place. It always feels great to have someone like Ravi as a friend, if not your roomie. Talk to him and struggle to match his one-liners. He is simply straightforward and so frank that you would never want to play chicken with him. Play some heavy metal and he will treat you to a Scotch. Gradually, Ravi and Vikram hit off well with each other and soon Vikram becomes Vicky, courtesy Ravi.
During their booze parties, whenever Vicky is on his special Punj high and picks up a fight with the locals, it is always Ravi who plays the referee. During once such post booze session, Vicky in his usual high, scales a coconut tree almost up to half its height. And when he realizes the vertigo he comes down only when Ravi comes to his rescue.
Radha is the guide whenever there is an outing. Backwaters, palm trees and the scenery are a treat. Ravi and Vicky always pit against each other in the boat races during Onam. Fish curry coupled with tapioca at the roadside stalls was their favourite, although sometimes Ravi would prefer uptown restaurants. This motley crew of three would have a whale of time knocking cashew fruits off trees, using catapults borrowed from the locals around. Fishing was a favorite sport for Vicky who never had seen a water body during his entire life. And even more fun were the campfire dinners they would have along the banks, cooking fish they had netted earlier during the day. The antics of Ravi added more fun but when he came down to his eerie anecdotes about witchcraft and voodoo dolls it would scare the daylights out of Radha and Vicky.
It is during many such outings that Radha and Vicky nourished a special relationship. It was a rare kind of bonhomie that they share but cannot define it. So much so that, whenever his boss would depute Vicky to find out about Radha’s prospective bridegrooms, Vicky would misreport, even when the facts would favour Radha. He would simply complain ‘He and his parents are complete jerks!’ Only Ravi knows what is going on but Vicky would not accept the fact.
Once when Vicky discovers snaps of semi nude hunks under the mattress, he is overwhelmed. Ravi declares, ‘Yes, I am a gay and I do not prefer women’. Whenever Vicky feigned reluctance for the occasional bear hug or slept on the floor even on cold nights, Ravi would nudge back ‘By the way, you are not even my kind of man!’ Eventually, Vicky accepts Ravi as he is and would detest you hard if you think Ravi is unusual.
Vicky begins to feel good about this new place and he opens up to all the situations of life. He evolves gradually and Ravi plays a huge part.
Bad and sad things come together. ‘Congrats Vicky, you’re going back’ his boss said one fine day. His transfer request is accepted. Vicky cannot believe his ears, nor can Ravi. Vicky flies back to his place, Amritsar.
Back in Amritsar, Vicky misses on the fun that he used to have within an environment of his own people. He often reminisces the good time he would have with his gang during the training days. Vicky starts to be within his orbit remaining aloof for most of the time. His level of interaction wears out and performance levels marked in red begin to show. Phone calls and e-mails don’t substitute his actual presence in Kozhikode and soon he can take it no longer. He now wants to be back again, to be with his friend Ravi, to tell Radha that he loves her more than any other girl in the world.
‘She is the best bahu you can ever get’ he tells his parents. Vicky goes back even if it means losing his job.
Later, Vicky marries Radha. Ravi is still on the look out!!
~~~
Vikram is to be stationed for his new job, in a virtually unknown place that is alien to him. Obviously for anyone who knows nothing more than Ajnala or the bigger Amritsar, Kozhikode would only mean a tongue twister.
‘Where is Kozhikode?’ Vikram asked, attempting hard to get the pronunciation right. ‘This place is in Assam’, replied Jagmeet paaji, the ‘Mr. Know-it-all’ at New Punjab Roadlines. Only he knows how right or wrong he is. Prod him more and he will probably give you the latitudes and longitudes of Kozhikode!
Vikram prefers to investigate himself. Mundu, the attendant with the Mehras for years cannot help him better. ‘Vikram – has already left for Assam… new job’, he tells everyone at home. Down comes the world for Parminder, Vikram’s mother. ‘You are responsible’ she yells looking towards OP Mehra, Vikram’s father. OP Mehra always wanted him to be the next boss of New Punjab Roadlines. Vikram’s choice of an engineering degree or job after that did not go well with him.
Everything falls silent when Vikram calmly walks in. ‘I had only been to find out about Kozhikode, - to the headmaster’s house.’ Mundu swallows hard. All the eyes in the room stare him, but he saves himself with his trademark grin. As an effort to manage a truce, OP Mehra allows Vikram to go. ‘But Mundu will also go’ he adds. Mrs. Mehra agrees.
‘Papaji, you cannot be serious’, thinks Vikram. But Mundu is happy.
‘Platform 5, S5, berth numbers 5 and 6’, Vikram whispers to Mundu as he gets off his truck. It is very hard for Vikram to keep Mundu away but a wrong coach number and a wrong platform number easily does the job! Vikram is relieved.
On the train, Vikram browses through a literature copy by Kerala Tourism Board. And all of a sudden pantry men sporting a dash of sandal on their forehead with their waysti folded up to their knees serve idli and sambar, his co-passengers have their meal on a banana leaf and some pour their coffee from a height out of a tumbler in to another and all he can hear is the sound of the mridhungam playing hard. ‘No’, Vikram lets out a huge cry. And everything returns to normal.
Kozhikode is a ‘jack-in-the-box’ for Vikram. The company driver does not turn up at the station and the rickshaw drivers swarm Vikram like bees. He does not understand what they say. Neither could they when he tries. The local phone is out of order. The railway police take his baggage after it lay unclaimed. The rains drench him and the lorry driver sloshes him with Kozhikode muck.
‘Bail out of Kozhikode as soon as possible!’ Vikram mutters.
Vikram is put up at Mrs. Batra’s residence. This Punjabi lady could yak on for hours as if it were a talkathon. She would even brave the stench from his socks to complete her story. Vikram couldn’t endure. Nor his own socks, neither her talks!
Vikram pushes for a transfer and how good it would be to forward your transfer application to your boss on your first ever meeting with a unique gift – a tender coconut neatly wrapped in a transparent polythene carry bag. At least Radha, his boss’ daughter is amused, if not impressed. She smiles, ‘So cute’ and winks at her mother. Vikram chuckles ‘It’s working!’
Ravi is also put up with Vikram at Batra’s place. It always feels great to have someone like Ravi as a friend, if not your roomie. Talk to him and struggle to match his one-liners. He is simply straightforward and so frank that you would never want to play chicken with him. Play some heavy metal and he will treat you to a Scotch. Gradually, Ravi and Vikram hit off well with each other and soon Vikram becomes Vicky, courtesy Ravi.
During their booze parties, whenever Vicky is on his special Punj high and picks up a fight with the locals, it is always Ravi who plays the referee. During once such post booze session, Vicky in his usual high, scales a coconut tree almost up to half its height. And when he realizes the vertigo he comes down only when Ravi comes to his rescue.
Radha is the guide whenever there is an outing. Backwaters, palm trees and the scenery are a treat. Ravi and Vicky always pit against each other in the boat races during Onam. Fish curry coupled with tapioca at the roadside stalls was their favourite, although sometimes Ravi would prefer uptown restaurants. This motley crew of three would have a whale of time knocking cashew fruits off trees, using catapults borrowed from the locals around. Fishing was a favorite sport for Vicky who never had seen a water body during his entire life. And even more fun were the campfire dinners they would have along the banks, cooking fish they had netted earlier during the day. The antics of Ravi added more fun but when he came down to his eerie anecdotes about witchcraft and voodoo dolls it would scare the daylights out of Radha and Vicky.
It is during many such outings that Radha and Vicky nourished a special relationship. It was a rare kind of bonhomie that they share but cannot define it. So much so that, whenever his boss would depute Vicky to find out about Radha’s prospective bridegrooms, Vicky would misreport, even when the facts would favour Radha. He would simply complain ‘He and his parents are complete jerks!’ Only Ravi knows what is going on but Vicky would not accept the fact.
Once when Vicky discovers snaps of semi nude hunks under the mattress, he is overwhelmed. Ravi declares, ‘Yes, I am a gay and I do not prefer women’. Whenever Vicky feigned reluctance for the occasional bear hug or slept on the floor even on cold nights, Ravi would nudge back ‘By the way, you are not even my kind of man!’ Eventually, Vicky accepts Ravi as he is and would detest you hard if you think Ravi is unusual.
Vicky begins to feel good about this new place and he opens up to all the situations of life. He evolves gradually and Ravi plays a huge part.
Bad and sad things come together. ‘Congrats Vicky, you’re going back’ his boss said one fine day. His transfer request is accepted. Vicky cannot believe his ears, nor can Ravi. Vicky flies back to his place, Amritsar.
Back in Amritsar, Vicky misses on the fun that he used to have within an environment of his own people. He often reminisces the good time he would have with his gang during the training days. Vicky starts to be within his orbit remaining aloof for most of the time. His level of interaction wears out and performance levels marked in red begin to show. Phone calls and e-mails don’t substitute his actual presence in Kozhikode and soon he can take it no longer. He now wants to be back again, to be with his friend Ravi, to tell Radha that he loves her more than any other girl in the world.
‘She is the best bahu you can ever get’ he tells his parents. Vicky goes back even if it means losing his job.
Later, Vicky marries Radha. Ravi is still on the look out!!
~~~
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