She said it once, I just could not follow...

‘She is not my crush, but a concern indeed’
I wouldn`t dare ever to cause this delate.
Urging myself before my own folks,
I feel like stitching down an infinite chelate.

The reaction was not fast at all when first glimpsed her.
Thoughts were shielded by some porky rumors
As were a million mouths against her,
The path towards my auricles became fumer.

Each of her in-sights got ensued with
Strokes of perplexed and repelling sighs,
Until one evening in the heart of partial gloominess,
I happened to see through her glasses, those adorable infant eyes.

Happiness did prevail the monotonous waves of solitude
When she lit the house with her occult smile.
Why did I regret all of a sudden when I did recall
I wonder, I did sabotage that occult once a while?

I`d heard in person scarce words from her cord,
But over the line she poured alchemy through her innoxious voice.
The allegations were rough, some baseless canards,
And relieving them from my personal caravan not my choice.

Annotations from the end of the eternity sometimes
Made me question myself the most obvious denial.
‘Was I falling for her?’
Those were the times I feared crossing even the dry aisle.

There follows a myriad of questions, each with an answer along,
‘Why do I wish for a protective hand over that fragile thing?’
‘Why do I wish her every engagement to be a perfect drift?’
‘Why do I wish her to smile through every spring?’

She confines my every fall, she doesn`t have an idea.
As every other human has his selfishly vital need,
This self is too, very much concerned about life, as I speak,
‘She is not my crush, but a concern indeed ’.

She said it once, I just could not follow: If you can`t give someone a day worth smiles, you have no right over even a single drop of his/her tears.

Speak up...

Do you know that an average human being be it from any village in India or somewhere extreme north or right in the middle of an island of solitude or some awing paradise somewhere in the pacific in an average state of mind does 80% of self talking. Whether be it the million pin-holes the Govt. responses, the evergreen energy issues, the even more happening green house issues, the domestic intra or inter family issues, issues concerning relations currently unacceptable to the society, issues related to an intelligent forecast about the year 2012 being the last of the earth`s history and its aftermath (very common among school children), overlapping waves between friends and other issues that I failed to specify, people need to talk about and they consciously or unconsciously find their ‘selves’ the most resonant to talk to.

Some of us might find it disturbing to realize this fact, as for most of the mortals this fact passes unnoticed throughout their lives and they never feel a block wind to think about. Some of us might also refer it as to any abnormality or a diseased condition that requires medical or psychiatric help. But what to do when the doctor and the psychiatrist are also suffering from the same ‘disorder’!

When related to a college student in India the scenario is worse than ‘just worse’. Almost 80% of students of a regular college with a decent internet facility are way away from the real world. Spending their days and nights in front of the TFT`s and LCD`s, watching millions of hours worth of a thousand T.V series, some less millions of hours worth of movies, living a monotonously progressing virtual life online and a couple of hours worth of reading before the exams (the story you used earlier to get your personal box), they`ve confined themselves to a mere7000 words a day against an average of 16000 words for those lacking the entertainment packed box. They`ve reduced their sleep, their appetite and crucially their social strings with family and friends.

Just think of those short telephonic conversations with your dad. Some answers regarding your studies going very well, your recent trip to Nainital or Amritsar or Shimla, your finances. And that`s all. You might remember his birthday every year but have you ever realized that he turned 52 this year. His shoulders have turned a little more loosely, his sight a little more weak, his hair a little greyer but have you ever talked about anything else but you. Your old man also needs a bit of humor, a bit more of care as you do. He`d never tell about the hardships he`s facing today, but are you blind! Can`t you sense what his wrinkled face is trying to say!

Indian fathers spend their time worth life upbringing their children, protecting them even from the slightest hardship taking away all the sorrows that nature set for you. They`d never discuss with you the severity of life they face every day trying to shine with your finest delightful future. They might not speak up their minds saying they ‘love you’, they don`t want emotions to be the boulders in your path to success. But this doesn`t mean that they lack or hate emotions. They express their love by executing parental duties but with such care that the geNext is blind to see. And what this geNext does in return is ‘teach them how to behave in front of their friends’. Their love still persists, I wonder how ‘the trainer becomes the trainee’ and doesn`t utter a single word.

No doubt there still happens a community that respects their precursors, but the question that candles up next is ‘do they love them’? If yes then ‘why can’t they express ’? There are no less than a million in this country who call themselves the most ferocious players in the battle for ‘love’ that they don`t shake even an inch turning their backs on ‘who’ loved them for years for ‘whom’ they loved (or may be attracted to) since the last few weeks. Attracted much to the culture of the west, they developed love for the pizzas, the electronic world, the latest fashion, but not a bit of it for their own blood. There are hunks in this country, call themselves educated, don`t understand a slice of the national language and feel pride not knowing it. A different issues though but still a matter of concern. They gained from the west the practices that maintain a reputed status but if they are that educated and that ‘not blind’ why can`t they see that people from the untwined west still love their old generation and never hesitate a wing ‘speaking up’.

There is never an end to the ‘enlightening defects’, so why not cut the crap and think the real. It`s never that late. Can virtual lives ever extend an arm at the time of your last breathe? Can ‘they’ wait that long to hear those few words that they`d wishes all their lives while you`ve already made a separate family for yourself? 'Words' are the only stars that shine when you are distantly away from ‘them’, that comes back every night when the darkness prevails, that assures ‘them’ that you are somewhere near their hearts when they need you the most, with an extended hand that keeps awake the ‘life in their lives’.

Isn`t it awkward...

A girl I saw today, I`ve seen her before

But not with the centers I`ve had that sand.

Insomnia followed that night, nerves jumped,

Only then I decided to write, emotions pumped

With hefty waves, no sight of nigh land.

Was rehearsing a song amidst all, standing queasy;

Her throat gave out blister pulses at times, when she smiled.

Bearing all others` fake grins, she muffled like a shoal petal,

Amongst a flock of beagles, she remained as the cutest fetal,

I whilst exercising work felt as going away whiled.

I`d heard a lot `bout, pictured a quite rough portrait,

Till date had just flown along with the wind, never had liked her.

‘Attitude’ being the top priority, haziness followed the next;

Exaggeratedly though I civil led her the prime suspect

But today that portrait appeared as a grievous cloud of blur.

Behind the glasses were her eyes, the most selfless ones;

Got no idea if it was a change or I`d ignored them earlier.

The way she said ‘sorry’ after each of her vocal commotion

Made me one of the gold fishes among the king of the ocean,

And indeed the waters now appeared very clear.

Rays met, expressions commuted, greetings delivered

Through the winter air, but as a tree I stood still.

Winds streamed past, echoed the sounds round the room;

There she smiled once and bowed the bliss before her gloom.

I blinked a bit late, only then could feel the chill.

She looked towards the ground lost in some thought

When a hair fell over her right lash, couldn`t be any prettier.

She stuck it behind her ear and looked back for a while

And she phoenixed back with confidence, her own charming style;

But in my visionary limelight still glowed her fairy hair.

On my way out, I eyed one last stare, no racy intention,

I could see her eye-balls moving as my feet, rayed bluer.

Was she trying to convey or it`s just my illusion?

Was it just another heart beat or hers into me intrusion?

Took the air away with the breaths growing deeper.

We don`t talk that usual, I couldn`t directly ask her what!

Considering one another just a formality,

I`m not a friend yet, nor though a lover,

I`m an atheist thus not a very good follower,

But this was the day I acquired morality.

With a ceding gesture I kneel ever since, before

A conjectural ‘no one’ for the existing ‘no one’.

It was necessary...

Experiment: Random Observation

Aim: To make a girl unlock the door of a train belonging to the Indian Railways.

Pre-environmental conditions:-

(1) The train had just arrived at some random unexpectedly small, rarely lightened railway station with 1 minute halt time somewhere in between Howrah and Tatanagar.

(2) It was the third hour of a chilly December morning, things are not clearly visible.

(3) Despite being a Sunday, subtracting the daily morning passengers comprising mainly of the 9 to 5 working class, there was a substantial number of heads seen in platform no. 2.

(4) Both the adjacent doors were packed with passengers going up and down, the only option available was the door just in front on us. Unfortunately it was locked.

(5) We asked the only girl sitting sleeplessly in the side lower berth right next to out targeted locked door. All the other preferable male passengers in the vicinity were in their deep mid-sleep.

Procedure followed by the girl eventually:-

(1) She looked shocked as if Brad Pitt himself had asked her to marry him.

(2) After a 10 second delivery of that surprised look, she finally took some action. She managed to place every streak of her hair in the right placed.

(3) Another 10 seconds had past. We knocked the door even harder to make sure that she is well awake from her wedding plans with Brad. She finally rose from her seat.

(4) As soon as we got a slight ray of hope, she started managing her clothing, her kurta pulled to her knee length, her overcoat pulled down accordingly to match well with the dress.

(5) 10 more seconds gone. The rush from others doors was reduced considerably. We looked out for our adjacent doors but some invisible force changed our mind and we decided to give her one more chance to save the entire female community to be called dumb.

(6) Finally she made her first attempt before we knew it was supposed to be the last when she opened her mouth, ‘How does this thing work?’ She was not a science student; we derived, and as she was not aware of the fact that sound could rarely travel through a 3 inch thick glass, moreover even if it did, a person fully loaded in an early December dawn break could never hear a word.

(7) After that she stood there like a goat who didn’t know what to eat next. That’s the moment when we resolved that is was indeed a goat. We looked out for the adjacent doors which were now opened but busy.

(8) I gave her a last optimistic look before leaving the front door, still goatish! The train started gaining pace when we hurried. No female creature with us caused us any apologizing eyes innocent as a baby. I felt like screaming immaturely ‘God she is cute’.

(9) I couldn`t do anything else other than smile even though was not in a very humorous mood after I was awaken up early that morning after a late hour sleep. But we definitely arrived at our conclusion after we`d given her a decent time to save the tag over her community.

Conclusions:-

(1) Cute girls are Dumb.

(2) It`s hard to deliver abrasive words to such girls no matter how crucially they deserve them.

I realized...

Realization of the present had been a regular event in my life lately. There is not a single day when I don`t get lost into deep thoughts, leaving everything else in a trash aside for a moment, wasting my precious time which earlier I used to utilize doing nothing. I spend enormous amount of time sitting in front of the computer screen with an earphone into my ears, just staring an opened webpage, no clicks, no chats, no typing, absolutely nothing. I have no idea about the tracks enlisted in the playlist. Sometimes the playlist gets over and the media player stops, I still keep looking into the screen, expressionless, until someone enters into my room and shakes me vigorously.

It feels like ‘The paranormal activity’ when I get back my senses back from the heavy ‘thoughtful sessions’. Ever since I`d left home, there had been a number of new dramas being started in life, none of them being the ‘happy ending melodious’ type. People either disappeared constantly or opened apart so widely that their physical presence became unperceived. I tried searching for a person with whom I could share, but failed each time. Secrets started accumulating inside, some of them being really dark that my soulless shadow sometimes felt scared.

Today I find myself quite comfortable talking to machines more than man. They never reply back though but are really safe as are leak-proof unless the reason includes some kind of human intrusion. I remember first time I blogged, it was not meant to renovate myself into a serious blogger, covering recent controversies, pointing out black holes in our education system or maintaining a personal dairy pubic to all. It was just an immature attempt to recall some of the qualities of people around me that could make them smile a little, which it did.

I made some more attempts though all got ruined in a way or other. But it gave me a dump-yard to lose some of the dark ones and experiences that I couldn`t share with a bunch of human beings. I figured out complexities in one`s personal file that observing or reading from another file, analyzing it and present a report is not of question today. That`s why the machines. And that`s how I eliminated ‘choking to death due to over loading of data inside me’ as a possible reason for my demise.

Today I start my day not with a small pray to God but getting a level up in ‘Mafia Wars’! I open my eyes, get my glasses over my nose, un-sleep my laptop, and get online; the next 30 minutes or so in front of screen and ultimately get off the bed. And the following day I spend seeking for gifts, boosts, energy packs or a couple of level-ups. As long as other activities are concerned, I utilize my time again in front of the screen with unfinished poems, articles, stories, mainly from personal experience like the present one. But the important thing is that, if I`m wrong by any chance, getting my life into fishy hell, I find nobody to stop me `cause what I find in every other room in this institute is nothing but just another ‘me’.

Unmarked wounds...

We shouted and shouted loud but nobody listened,

they kept blabbering but we with utter composure, attended,

but behind their backs when we conspired,

they kept thinking they were the kings and we the surrendered.

We ran and we ran fast but our hands nobody held.

Some of us trembled and hit a sudden halt,

the rest never stopped to look behind through the broken links;

but they kept blabbering, adding to the unmarked wounds some more salt.

We talked very little but as we did, every time we talked work;

never knew each other`s life, knowing oneself was out of the static.

confusions aroused and were solved right away within the community,

but they never stopped considering themselves as the most dynamic.

We played but every time we played to win;

stepping on each others` heads, aimed for the uncommon goals;

Directing us to the right heads, smash them,

they indeed succeeded proving us to be their soles.

We ate and we ate worse than a beggar,

strayed here and there, didn`t have anyone to ask for from;

while we ate the inedible, the gross,

with the acknowledgements, they toured from London to Paris to Rome.

We slept some nights but we slept like a kitten;

Papers over the face, books over the chest made breathing difficult,

read forty pages in a night`s time for a test the next day

and still they announced from each direction ‘Irregular study is your fault’.

We showed our faced 14 times of the 20 and they made us public,

transferred the entire lifestyle to the old people back home,

threw us at places, taking out sheer pleasure out of the act

as if from a bunny-sack, we were the pieces of foam.

‘You have indecent behavior’ they crowed for the full four years

One way or the other, never missed a chance to screw up our lives,

but the day we managed to create our own financial support,

the shameless creatures were the first in the ‘feel proud’ row.

All these years, we kept shouting but nobody listened,

they kept blabbering but we with utter composure, attended.

‘Swallow and vomit’ was the only lesson they ever taught,

And still they call themselves with dignity ‘The Heads of Departments’.

He had an aim...

We see a bunch a people of various stereotypes- a female child with a baby in her hands, old man with long and dirty grey beard, man with a decent dress-up that includes a tie and a black hand bag, woman with a huge bag and a child holding her hands, a young woman with a yellow slip in her hands (may be she couldn't speak) and many more- at our doorsteps in a hope that that they get something they needed in some form or another. But most of them are sent back without even opening the door, without even listening to them. Some of us even bring the word ‘Police’ in between in case it helps.

These people are treated this way mainly because they usually interrupt in some of the unavoidable jobs being done by the very punctual people inside. People can’t afford to miss the break-up scene of a couple in a daily soap neither some of them can lose a life or two in their favorite computer game. It’s a fact that mainly of these door-knockers are fake, but this has become a common conscience that all of them fall in the same category.

Later this morning, a door knock interrupted my deep sound sleep. I lazily managed to have a glance at the clock hanging just over me- 11:30 it said. Dad was out to his office, Mom probably in her class with some science geeks and my sister in her own class- I was the one who should have turned the knob. But it was too soon for me to get out of the bed on a cloudy December morning as it seemed outside the window- there was no considerable noise except that knock with a constant frequency. I calculated all sorts of possible people who might be the door knocker, eventually arrived at the conclusion that he mustn’t be any important person, any possibility of ‘he’ being a beautiful ‘she’ who could spend the rest of her life with a geek like me was out of question. So I ignored that knock till it stopped permanently which I regretted later.

In the evening I heard about what actually happened earlier this morning. The knock was not exclusive on my door, similar cases were observed by other people in the locality as well. That was a young boy in his early teenage asking for financial help from people so that he could complete his education. He told people that his mother, who worked at people’s house to earn her livelihood, had somehow managed to get him into a private school so that unlike his father, he might not end up being a drunkard and eventually end up his life under a running train. He further told people that he also did his level best to give her a hand by selling groundnuts in the evening. He also had a genuine identity card and a written permission from his school to try his luck with the people of India, spending their precious time doing precious things- enjoying a daily soap break-up with the whole family (children less than 12 included), while he had an exam the next day. People called his school to confirm that he was not of the regular type of knockers. His principle gave detailed information about his life, and supported him with his ‘eagerness to learn’ as his strength and his ‘hope’ from people like ‘us’ as his optimism. This helped him raise some amount at least from those who opened their front doors.

Later that evening I sacrificed some of my precious lifetime to think. That was the time when I realized that I was actually thinking and it broke one of my greatest misconceptions that I used to ‘think’ all through my life. Things were definitely moving around me; air, motion pictures, sound waves, living beings, but I was sure I couldn`t feel any of those, I felt everything inside me to be absolutely motionless all of a sudden. Though that didn`t last too long but I could feel thoughts coming in, going out of my tiny brain.

I realized the potential barrier faced by that category and eventually developed a sense of respect of those young ignited minds. I also realized my life to be merely aimless despite having all sorts of comfort and opportunities at various stages of life which I’d ignored one after another. Now whenever I remember that incident, each time I hate myself more.

My mind changes with a blink of an eye. I cannot hold it anymore. Neither can I ask it to make me do what I want. I think of buying a toothpaste, I get inside the shop and start searching for some good wafers, buy a 3-in-1 pack of soap, displaying ‘save Rs3/-’ in catchy yellow and happily get out of the shop. I think of getting my hair done, the next moment I find myself with my folks deeply involved in some gaming zone. I think of devoting some time to the Newspaper that knocks my door every morning without any slip, and the gaming zone is there again. I decide to quit gaming, the next moment I am in front of the screen again, enjoying a classic Hollywood movie, when finished, I`m back to the zone with a bang. I decide to have my dinner in the mess, save myself some bucks, and I end up trying out different cuisines in restaurants I`ve never been before all seven days of the week. I talk to my mom, it takes me whole lot of time to answer to “Why were you not picking up the phone last night?” that to in my native tongue.

Do I need to start the ‘Baba Ramdev stuffs’ this early or is there any scope I can return into a normal state! Although he guarantees ‘Mann ki sthirta’ and ‘Aatma ki shaanti’ sort of things, is there any possibility I should be going through all those! One moment I think that every human being at this stage of life has to face this phage more or less, early or later and the next moment I start feeling blue, ‘Why the hell can`t I see others behaving like I do?’.

Two days before the exams, I swallow the books like I`m the biggest foodie ever. I decide to continue the spirit for the rest of my college, acquiring something useful, something worth that time, some knowledge, something that I can refer to as an achievement. In my living dream, I want to know everything. As the judgment day passes, I am done with all the vomiting over the answer sheets; I come back to where I actually belong. The books stare at me saying ‘Can`t you give me a look at least once a day, else keep me somewhere safe, away from the spiders and the lizards’.

I haven`t talked about it yet but I know what people will say. So I prefer to have a silent tongue. Though I felt it since a long time back but couldn`t think (though thinking is out of my league now) about it much. It actually slipped away with just with a blink of an eye each time I started. Baba Ramdev is one my last options. I like to search for answers but this is one of those rare mysteries where I don`t even know what the mystery is.

The swallowing time is back. The judgment day is near i.e. tomorrow. As far as I remember, I was in bed a moment ago. I seriously don`t have a bit of idea how I ended with this crap at this hour of time! That’s my mind.

It wasn`t a dream

It wasn`t a dream cause I was not asleep.
In the middle of the road, I felt like a sheep.
All my life ahead and my way behind,
I`d decided not to cross the line.

We shared the room, we shared the food
We shared the time in the heart of foggy woods.
It was the time when he spoke a lot
And he finished all just in a single shot.

I t was a mistake to lose my soul,
It was a mistake to see him as my ultimate goal,
It was he, for who I got into my first fight,
I t was he who left me aside.

It wasn`t a dream cause I was not asleep,
In the middle of the road, I felt like a sheep.
I broke my promise and I crossed the line,
Now I am all by myself, in my hands there lies a new life.

When he was gone

28th Sep, 2009.

Have you ever heard about the phrase-‘hole in life’? I`d only heard about it in movies and some poems from some abnormally sentimental artists till the present day…

It was very similar like the daily routine. I was sitting in front of my desktop enjoying some random online games, simultaneously chatting with all different kinds of strange humans, receiving good wishes for the ceremony. I`m amongst the only few exceptions who were staying back even during a 10 days` break.

Suddenly my phone rang. Its screen flashed ‘Dad’.

“Hello”.
“Eldest ‘dadu’ is no more” said the voice from the other side. “I came here directly and all the rituals have been done” the words that followed meant no more to me.

In my hostel room sitting, I felt like screaming the hell out of me. I felt something missing in life. I couldn`t see it but I could feel a black spot in front of my eyes.

(1) Never fear ‘The wrong’ and ‘Death’.
(2) Never waste your tears for no reason.
(3) Always feel free to write on a piece of paper what you don`t want to share with anyone else. It will always be your best friend.

These are some of the words he`d said to me once when I was little. Without thinking any further, a thin streak of water rolled down my cheeks.

On my way back

It was October, and I was on my way back from Delhi, having some nice pieces of photography I’d done in the rare outskirts of the railway station. The two seats in front of me were occupied by two ladies in their late teenage, most probably heading towards the same destination as mine. As we left the ISBT (inter-state bus terminus) Delhi, everything seemed to be so normal; Delhi was facing the routined day-end quiet early, the month being October. Coal-burn-smoke could be seen through the window.

The bus was not yet full the seat next to me was still empty. So I thought of having a nap, as I was a bit tired of the photography stuffs throughout the week. There were disturbances, horns, the shouting conductor while he managed hanging, with half of his body outside the bus`s entry. My nap was not a deep one though, I woke up every now and then as the bus vibrated, looked here and there for a while, checked out for some new passengers, expecting them to be coetaneous females (As I was still inside the Delhi-Territory) and again went back to sleep.

The two ladies I specified earlier began their chit-chat which started gaining my attention. As we moved and as the sky went reddish, their conversation went really interesting. They talked about guys, their interests, food, and some science. Now when you hear science from gals, there are two categories of reactions that usually come out of normal people:-

(1)Annihilating frustration followed by an intuition that might end up donating a tight slap or a further intuition of a suicide due to ‘why am I still listening to them’ phenomenon.
(2)Remembering the exact sentences used and sharing them with your friends, which might end up changing their perceptions about you and you getting the throne of the funniest person in the group.

Their innovative talks about ‘The various shopping spots in Delhi where you may find some smart and rich guy who may afford you for the whole evening and who don`t have the guts to ask for your phone number’ and ‘What to wear in which weather’ let me figure out that they were typical Delhi locals. Around 30 minutes later they had nothing more to talk about. So one of them took out her iPod and the other kept looking out through the half opened window.

My eyes opened when we were at the midway halting for some refreshments. I went down to have something for my stomach as I hadn`t done my lunch that day and was terribly hungry. It came to my notice from the driver who was smoking his brand 101 bidi, that we had been halting since the last 10 minutes and were about to leave. I decided to carry along some packed stuff. Thinking about the available options, I headed towards the dhaba. I saw those two sitting comfortably on the chairs, relaxing. I kept thinking why didn`t the driver tell the same thing to every passenger. I got a pack of lays and two packets of chocolate cream biscuits. I looked at my watch; I had a safe and clear 7 minutes in hand before the bus was to leave. After getting my change back, I heard the conductor shouting, calling each passenger to board the bus, requesting to every one of them in the most modest way possible and then I heard the two girls ordering – 2 pav-bhaaji, 2 patties, 1 chowmein and 2 softies once the rest of the order had come.

Re-Union

Once I`d said and no one believed, “Closeness is inversely proportional to the distance and the time we spend away from each other”. I still remember my last day at school, the bid-farewell-day. People having mixed types of emotions, guys hiding out their tears, blinking their eye-lashes in an abnormally frequent rate, maintaining fake smiles and rushing to the wash-room each time their eyes overflew. After all they were the studs of our school. Gals getting their scrapbooks and stuffs filled by the teachers and other fellow mates, spilling out the excess (though it had no limits) amount of water off their eyes each time a teacher wished them for their futures. After all they were really good at that.

During our final touchy moments, after the function was over, we found out that there was not a single camera we`ve got to capture that first time when none of us had any reason to argue (It seemed quiet awkward though), but each one of us made a promise to stay in touch for life.

But now after 5 years, when I see some of the re-unions in my neighborhood, I see two groups standing in public, one of the guys and the other being their once most hated species back in school, facing each other as if an interrogation is in progress. Parents are aware that their children have entered a critical stage of life and are required to be kept under continuous public supervision. One of the teams throws some general questions on the opposition, hard to sort out who is its final destination. The answers come diplomatically from people some of whom searching the sky for fascinating images, don`t seem to be much interested.

That`s what happens when you talk to someone after a long time, when you never called during all those times before this day and after the day you made a promise.

Some of the general questions I heard:-
(1)So, how is it going?
(2)How are studies?
(3)What about your brother/sister/uncle/aunty?
(4)What will you eat?

Some of the answers I heard:-
(1)It`s fine
(2)Study`s good.
(3)Yeah, they are all fine.
(4)Anything! What all stuffs do we get here?
No, I`ve eaten already (actually they are ashamed to say that they are under a diet).

The re-union ends up peacefully after a silent meal and everyone greets each other again making the same promise of being in touch for life.

I remember the days when we used to hang out in someone’s terrace, pulling out someone out of his/her house, banging him in the 12th hour of the night during those birthdays, going out on long walks to an unknown destination, each ending up with an hilarious little story…….

I still want to close the refrigerator`s door with my foot in their houses,
I still want to keep my legs stretched out over the coffee table when we watch cricket,
I still want to talk to their parents about the kind of soul mates they are going to have,
I still want to help myself down in their kitchens.

I still want to get into a fight with a gang, their siblings bring in,
I still want to select dresses for them to be worn at parties,
I still want to spend my nights talking to them, when they are in hospital with a broken leg,
I still want to be picked up by them at the railway station when I return home.

I still want to fight with them whenever I’m bored,
I still want to tease them over the person they like,
I still want to read secretly their personal diaries,
I still want to give them some self-defense tricks in case someone tries to harass them,

I still want to talk to them all night even the one before the final exams,
I still want to go out for those awesome December picnics,
I still want to have my birthday cake cut at some uncharted location,
I still want them to be near always.

Alone in the dark

I still remember the day when I saw Anindita cry for the first time. It was the year 2005, the day of our traditional annual picnic, we got late and it grew dark. I took a step beyond the line of limits which is not to be crossed ever, so much involved in my mischievous amusements, I forgot she was Achluophobic. We left her alone in the jungle, thought she would scream at her normal pitch, but......

28th December, 2005
07:45 PM
Jatanpur,

Hey you,
Each time you cracked a joke on me, I laughed.

Each time you left me waiting, I din`t even say a word.

But I am afraid of darkness, don`t know what to do here....

I don’t want to walk alone in the dark
Hold my hand until I breathe some air in.
Don’t go too far, stay close
Give my heart the strength and the courage to beat.

Talk to me,
Keep me away from all those contrasting frequencies.
Talk to me more,
I`ve always waited for these moments, just you and me.

Come close,
That I can hear your breathes, every single incoming,
That you can hear my heart beating at double the normal rate,
That I can feel the warmth, every single outgoing.

Look straight and deep into my eyes,
That I can`t see the scary images in the cloudy sky,
Let my eyes speak the words for me,
That I haven`t been able to since so long.

Let me feel safe into your arms,
That no soul on earth can hurt me when you are around.
Let me lie over your heart for hours,
Let me sleep in peace.

Walk with me,
Till the light touches my eyes.
Stay with me, for better, for worse,
For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Till death do us part.

This was the diary entry she made that day. But now when I find this page along with the rest of the diary in my school bag long after the incidence, I feel scared.

Stay away

There are some things which we never want to notice but they get themselves enlightened with the spontaneous flow of time. These are some of the words that came out of that guy I recently met in a book store searching for a decent, thick novel that could be my any time-personal roommate during my stay in the college campus for the rest of the summers, who too had the same intention as mine, to get one as his companion all his way back home and suggested ‘The Afghan’, a novel by Frederick Forsyth.

This campus had been my home for the last 4 years. When I was leaving my place for this new home, it was brought to my notice by some of the friends of my elder brother who`d been in similar campuses about the abnormal sex ratios in the IITs. After my stay in Kota for the coaching stuffs, I already had a rough idea about the abnormality people occasionally talk of. But as the days passed, I observed some abnormalities in the abnormality I had the idea about. This led the "females" to "non-males" ….

He stated some of the similarities and some distinctions which create an environment of confusion between the males and the non-males-

Similarities-
(1)Both of the species have similar varieties of hair: long and short.
(2)Both have an extended portion of the hair all over their cheeks and the space between the nose and the upper lip, which is generally given the term beard/moustache in case of males.
(3)Both have a very strong intuition from time to time that something`s going the wrong way.
(4)Both of them find the synonymous gender relatively comfortable to talk about the other.
(5)Both avoid skin-to-skin contact with their counterparts even for a second.

Differences-
(1)The non-males get the perks and privileges of receiving all sorts of condolences from the respected professors.
(2)The same species has a unique quality of getting their work done by their counterparts whenever required.
(3)They are least involved in any kind of fun-related activity, there do exist some exception though.
(4)They have an extreme and incomparable power to mug up things, which make them deliver exceptional academic performances.
(5)They usually speak of equality, but whenever in a state of complication, they follow the quotation of naari-shakti and perform the call-the-dean operation.
(6)They are packed with tremendous volumes of supernatural egos, which are habitually overflowed in the form of sophisticated jealousy within the same kind, which comes out as a source of entertainment for the other.

Now that fellow moved his lips so frequently that I can`t recall each and every word he said. Actually he had his train at 1900 hrs, so we had our way back into the campus to his hostel. During the last convocation in front of the main gate, these are the words from him--“ stay away from them”.

I wish

It was the day in the month of August, when it was raining outside and I was alone at home sitting besides the window watching each drop as they passed by, some of `em declining diagonally sticking to the glass. It reminded me of the day way back in school, raining very similar to the present day, and that bunch of girls having the photo-session in front of the shopping complex. It was the first time when I saw her in a black top, green capris and almost transparent flat sleepers, under a pink umbrella. She had khol in her eyes which was supposed to be resistant to moisture with her hair loose and wet. Her wide, open, perforated smile made me sit by that window with thoughts flowing all around.....



I wish
I were a drop falling from the clouds,
Passing through each altitude of attitude
To its ultimate ground zero.

I wish
I were a snail crawling up a rough trunk,
Fetching each of the ups and downs
Conquering every single tremble.

I wish
I were a stone lying at the edge of the road,
Watching each footstep, numbly
As the seasons change their colours.

I wish
I were one of the legs of the table,
Always standing still with the other beside
Confronting each of the charging tonnage.

I wish
I were a note of the Sargam
Incomplete without the rest of `em
Bringing smiles each time I shiver.

I wish
I were possessing all these roles concurrently,
I wish
I were in love.

Its almost 5 years now since then, I still retrospect those eyes dipped in that thick layer of khol and I regret having that first glimpse of her way back in the school.

Renaissance

How he gay-ed

It was a hot and windy evening when Cwong woke up astonishingly from his routined 2 O`clock sleep after a heavy stuffed lunch in the Bhawan`s mess mess, bunking the afternoon classes. It sometimes makes me think why does he even ask every now and then, the reason of people calling him a Tondu. His immediate words were, "abe, maine bhoot dekha". Coincidently it was that 57 year old, white haired, short, pot bellied young man`s class having a very thin moustache which was still black. So more than 80% Janta was not in that monotonous class as that fellow never took attendence. He seemed no less than a lady who`d just delivered a baby.

His description was something like this, ''There was a face outside the window next to the door, with red glittering eyes and blood drooling out of its mouth. The face was attached to no body, instead it was floating over blood. I had closed the left sideboard of the wide window and had left the right one open, but now it`s just the reverse way. I`d been listening to the song Writtten in the stars (Greenday), and now when I woke up ........''.

We searched for that unapprehended, unascertained, uncharted, unrevealed thing starting right from the underside of his bed, all through the pathways, even inside the water-cooler, over his window-shed, found two suspicious pigeons but to our surprise, their heads were intact and there was not a single sign of blood. Even in this chaotic situation, Cwong never lost his original, accustomed conformation and kept repeating the incident to each and every individual who came along his way, to mess, back from the mess, throughout the stairs, every room he stepped into, even to a senior who met him once in the railway station.

The same evening, when there were 3 metal-heads in his room, having some chill-pill, sharing some fictitious horror stories creating an awkward unwanted environment, listening to some typical numbers, his laptop suddenly switched off automatically. Anticipating for an overheated processor shutdown, I pressed the power button. No response. We kept it upside down to go through a natural cooling process, and gave a try again. But all in vein. Cwong`s expression started to stiffle, as if some haunted spirit had started entering his body.

That night he never showed up even near his room, maintained atleast 30 feet distance, slept in the same couch as mine, kept doing some CENSORED actions all night. The next day, with the first ray of sun, he shifted in with me, same room but different couches this time. He also explained on demand, the CENSORED unconscious actions which he`d been doing since his early teenage whenver he dreamt of something breathe-taking. Now this lappy-less fellow spent all of his daytime, wandering and all of his night-time ........
He moved out only when the Finals arrived for the rescue of the angelic, numb fellow, making him feel like a Renaissance.

PS :: All characters in this post are purely imaginary. Any resemblance of names and/or location is purely coincidental.

When I revisited my birth ....

As the years of my life passed, I realised that Newton had once said very truly, "Everything that goes up must come down". My journey started just from the very moment I was born.

(0) Hey, I`m not out yet.I was sleeping.
(1) I cried.
(2) I spoke.
(3) I walked.
(4) I learnt how to play.
(5) I learnt how to go to school.
(6) I got some people who also just had learnt 'How to go to school'.
(7) We started dreaming a common dream.
(8) We made ours teachers run after us.
(9) We pee-ed together into the school`s front garden.
(10) We made our teachers pay for their local-wooden-scale again and again.
(11) We learnt how to study.
(12) We learnt what to study.
(13) We learnt why to study.
(14) We never studied.
(15) We studied hard to keep our parents` heads up.
(16) We fell in love.
(17) We failed in love.
(18) We got into college.
(19) We played computer games.
(20) We found girls to spend all our money on.
(21) We got ourselves out of those girls` hearts and then from the college.
(22) We dreamt of being a Roadie.
(23) We managed to get a job.
(24) We smiled watching our parents` smile/whisper.
(25) I got married.
(26) Everyone else laughed at me .
(27) I fell in love.
(28) I had a baby.
(29) He cried.
(30) He spoke.
(31) He walked.
(32) He learnt how to play.
(33) He learnt how to go to school.
(34) He got some people who also just had learnt 'How to go to school'.
(35) I had another baby.
(36) She cried.
(37) She spoke.
(38) She walked.
(39) She learnt how to play.
(40) She learnt how to go to school.
(41) She got some people who also just had learnt 'How to go to school'.
(42) I was found out to be a diabetes positive.
(43) I got a Life Insurance plan.
(44) I started believing in God.
(45) He got into the IITs.
(46) He got himself occupied in some Top-Secret projects.

(47)-(60)

I worked hard, got them into good colleges.

Their frequency of talks with us reduced drastically.

They started avoiding us.

Our presence in front of their colleagues embarrassed them then.

I got them married.

I became grandpa.

(60) I got retired.

(61)-(81)

Finally I got some life with my life-partner.

(82) I died.

It is now when I realise that those were the first and the last twenty years of my life which I actually lived. Life resembles a chemical reaction. It has stable ends at both ends. Only the reaction occurs high.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time there happened to be a guy who lived somewhere in the untamed region of middle India, concealed and insensible, that some of the gifted individuals of north india, who surprisingly happened to be what people called CBSE-district-toppers of their times, had never heard of the state to which this place belonged. At an age when he couldn`t play his all time favourite game, cricket, his routined timepass was to visit his one of the neighbouring aunty`s (kaki-ma`s) place when all the uncles (kaku`s) were out for work, fortunately all headed for a single destination (so their common back-home-timing was known). It was one lazy night, the clock on his, what people say, study table showing 2:55 AM, when history just tickled through his thoughtless mind.

He rolled back his eyes 12 years past, where he saw the backyard of a quarter which resided at the corner of the road which headed towards the main shopping complex (main enough to have atleast a hair-cut), That road contained numerous quarters, brimming out people each evening. The same corner was accompanied by a badiminton court followed by a quiet awkward shaped playground having two working night lamps, which was supposed to be the only one of its kind then. It was the court where all those historical cricket matches used to be played with all those gossiping aunties as very delighted spectators. The playground was used as a get-together venue at night, by aunties as a chit-chat point and by kids (age below 5 or above 22) as a regular hang-out place.

He could revive the evenings, which used to make him laugh, no doubt donating tears sometimes. Suddenly that face appeared before his eyes that once taught him how to laugh. To his surprise he remembered every single stretch, every single crease, every single depression of that character.

(1) The dimples in each of her cheeks.
(2) The shoulders hopping every time she laughed.
(3) The shoulders hopping exactly the same way every time her eyes overflowed.
(4) The narrow neck occasionally made him think how she was able to take enough of the oxygen.

(5) Her deep, watery, shining eyes with quiet dense black eyelashes.
(6) A perfect zero-wrinkle face, even when she was or seemed to be what people say, angry.
(7) The shoulder length hair slightly curly at the bottom.
(8) Legs resembling broomsticks, he wondered how she managed to run that fast then.
(9) Her presence of mind to use her nails and teeth efficiently each time he used to pick her teddy up. Though he wonder if that was a teddy.

(10) Such a high-pitch voice that he sometimes thought of her being an X-man.
(11) She never tried anything beyond those knee-lenght frocks with flowers printed all over. All credits goes to her mum.

The guy had a recent thought then, whether he was dreaming ! Then his common sense told him that he couldn`t write a blog, sleeping. But as soon as he was out of history he wondered "Was it really 12 years !!".