Not A Nice Person To Know

Aisa Koi Zindagi Mein Aaye

2006-01-05T06:38:00.000-08:00

Lamha lamha umar baant le,
Meri tanhaiya kaat le,
Har ghadi bas mera naam le,
LaD-khaDayun jo main thaam le,
Mere saare sapne sajaaye,
Meri palkon mein ghar banaye…

Aisa koi zindagi mein aaye,
Jo zindagi ko zindagi banaye,
Thodi khushiyan ho, thode aansoon ho,
Aur zarra zarra pe muskuraye!*

Sometimes it really gets heavy...dont worry too much about the post, just kabhi kabhi yeh khayal aata hai that aisa koi zindagi mein aaye! Today was just one of those sad days.

*Abhijeet and Alka Yagnik in Dosti-Friends Forever; Lyric by Sameer; Music: Nadeem Shravan

Do Do Do

2005-10-22T07:28:00.000-07:00

When in Rome do as Romans do,
When in doubt think a thought or two,
When in pain say something true,
When in love what do you do?
Din mein bhi chamke jugnu
Aankhon se tapke khusbhoo
Sapna hai ya jaadoo
Jaanu main na jaane tu...

Mann sona sona hua
Kya jaadoo tona hua
Lo ho gaya hai humein
Woh pahle jo na hua
Chalti hai hawa chhu chhu
Yeh poochhe hai kaise tu
Mere sang chalta hai
Koi mujhsa hub-a-hu...

Chhanv kosi kosi lage
Dhoop paali posi lage
Chaand baaten waaten kare
Raat soti soti jage
Kya hai yehjustju
Kyun hai yeh guftgu
Kya hai jo chhup chhupke
Ho raha hai rub-a-ru *

The above lyrics are nothing great, often resorting to 'tukbandi' and an obvious attempt to ape Gulzar-style imagery; but somehow the situation, picturisation, tune, and words have meshed into a complete whole to make the song entertaining love song. From the sad 2005 film music, this is definitely a better number. I like the 'Do do do' refrain also at the mukhda end. The 'red' font part indicates female, and 'blue' denotes the male voice.

*Lyric: Munna Dhiman; Music: Vishal; Singers: Suresh Wadkar, Alisha and chorus Film: Ramji Londonwaley

Identity

2005-10-18T23:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was talking to my bestest friend over phone, and we discussed many things as usual, apart from some senti-stuff, but a post on YM -topic was particularly where we stopped. We might like the ease of the 'chat without facing', but there is one more aspect to it as well: identity hiding.

Today, whether I am in India or Nepal or wherever, know one can know unless I tell that person. I could be sitting in Mumbai holding hands with my love, and chatting with people claiming to be elsewhere.

Sigh, technology is such a double-edged sword. And it sheaths so many identities as well - does anyone know really know the real 'B'asis of a 'K'arismatic girl's life!

Current Songs

2005-10-11T03:13:00.000-07:00

Daur-e-junoon mein kya kya soojhi, kya kya humne kar daala
Khud hi gareeban phaad liya hai, khud hi gareeban seete hai
Jeena humko raas na aaya, hum jaane kyun jeete hai
Kya saawan kya bhadon apne, har din rote beete hai...*

Hum jis chaman ko sajaate rahe, hum sajaate rahe
Ussimein humein zakhm khaane pade, khaane pade
Aur ab khizaan ko gale se lagaake, bahaaron ke maatam manane pade
Khabar kya the, khushi ke jaam ke badle
Zeher gham ka peena padega humein
Kabhi humnein nahin socha tha...**

Motiyon jaise taare aanchal mein hai saare
Haaye re phir kya maange re bhikaaran raat
Roj akeli aaye, roj akeli jaaye
Chaand katora liye bhikaaran raat
Roj akeli aaye, roj bechaari jaaye... ***

Yeh gham kabhi khushi ka armaan banke aaya
Hanste hue yeh dil mein mehmaan banke aaya
Ghar se isse nikaalo, iss gham ko maar daalo...
Din ko tadapte hai woh, raaton ko jaagte hain
Naadan hai bade woh jo gham se bhaagte hain
Hanskar gale lagaalo, iss gham ko maar daalo
Hum ko bhi gham ne maara, Tumko bhi gham ne maara,
Hum sabko gham ne maara, iss gham ko maar daalo...****

Dil ki tasalli ke liye jhooti chamak jhootha nikhaar
Jeevan toh soona hi raha sab samajhe aayi hai bahaar
Kaliyon se koi poochta hansti hai woh ya roti hai
Aisi baatein hoti hai, aisi bhi baatein hoti hai
Kuchh dil ne kaha, kuchh bhi nahi...*****

Pahla sa rang nahin, kaliyon mein teri
Nahin woh mehak galiyon mein teri
Raani teri raat ki woh kahan kho gayi
Haaye ri tu aaj kya se kya hogayi
Kaahe ab ki ae bahaar pheeka hai har khumaar
Tujhme jo baat thi woh kahan kho gayi... ******

Wafaa ke naam pe dhoke hi diye jaate hai
Todne hi ke liye waade kiye jaate hai...
Koi apna na hua saari zindagi ke liye
Bahut hai pyaar jo mil jaaye do ghadi ke liye...*******

Dena na yaaro, yaaron ko mauqa
Varna woh denge yaari mei dhoka
Yeh satta kaise, ban gaya ikka,
Kya khoob toone badla hai patta
O bekadar, bedardi, sadqe tere jaan kardee... +

Na poochho ke pyaar kee jo humne haqeeqat dekhi
Wafaa ke naam pe bikte hue ulfat dekhi
Kisi ne loot liya, Aur humein khabar na hui
Khuli jo aankh to, Barbaad muhabbat dekhi
Sab kuchh luta ke hosh mein aaye toh kya
Din mein agar chiraag jalaye toh kya kiya...++

Ajeeb hai dil ke dard yaaron na ho toh mushquil hai jeena isska
Jo ho to har dard ek heera, har ek gham hai nageena isska,
Zeehal e musqin mukon baranjish, Bahaal-e-hijra bechaara dil hai...+++

Matlabi hai log yahan par, Matlabi zamaana
Socha saaya saath dega, Nikla woh Begaana,
Begaana - apno mein main begaana...++++

*Jeena humko raas na aaya from Raat Aur Din; Singer:Lata Mangeshkar;Music:Shankar Jaikishan; Lyric:Shailendra
**Kabhi humne from Lalkaar; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Kalyanji Anandji; Lyric: Indeewar
***Roj akeli aaye from Mere Apne; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Salil Choudhry; Lyric: Gulzar
****Humko bhi gham ne from Aas Paas; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Laxmikant Pyarelal; Lyric: Anand Bakshi
*****Kuchh dilne kaha from Anupama; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Hemant Kumar; Lyric: Kaifi Azmi
******Kaahe ab ki ae bahaar from Nargis; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Basu Chakraborty
*******Koi apna na hua from Gul - E - Balkawash; Singers: Lata Mangeshkar, Kishore Kumar; Music: Rajesh Roshan
+O bekhabar bedardi from Desh Premee; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Laxmikant Pyarelal;Lyric: Anand Bakshi
++Sab kuchh luta ke from Ek Saal; Singer: Lata Mangeshkar; Music: Ravi; Lyric: Pradeep
+++Zeehal-e-musqin from Ghulami;Singers:Lata Mangeshkar,Shabbir Kumar;Music:LaxmikantPyarelal;Lyric:Gulzar
++++Socha saaya from Begaanah ; Singer: Kishore Kumar ; Music: Anu Mallik

Moving On

2005-10-05T22:06:00.000-07:00

I was just visiting my old posts (on the other blog); the comments were less at that time. But strangely, none seem to be blogging these days. It looks as if they have moved on in life. Some more met me during the past one year. The link on the side is testimony to that. But from them too, lots have gone, or stopped writing. A few - like Hima, Lazy Lump, Kneejerk- really wrote brilliantly. They were a good source of inspiration for me.

Those were the initial days of blogging. The interaction was restricted to posts and comments. Now, there is a lot of interaction beyond blogs. I dont know if its good or bad. But somehow, I miss those innocent initial blogging days!

Home Alone

2005-10-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

Loneliness - I love you
Loneliness - I hate you

The Week Gone By

2005-10-02T00:22:00.000-07:00

I avoided posting on Friday - deliberately. It is Sunday today. Am standing at another week's threshold. Let's see what this brings.

The past week, as usual, slipped by without creating any flutters. But, I am sure, it would have inconspicuously sown some seeds for the following week. Let's see how it goes. Another trip by boss is on anvil. I still have to get his booking and reservations done. Aaah, laziness, lethargy stand over me- lemme shake them off.

Happy Birthday

2005-09-28T04:06:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Lataji ... You have made life sweet and worthwhile. Thank you for every song.

Friday - What Makes Me Write On This Day?

2005-09-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

I am unsure why I have written these many posts on Friday. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that it marks an end to yet another week - it's a subtle time-slotting. Here, I stack another utterly mundane, dreadfully plain and tastelessly soggy week on the time-shelf.

Last week I went back home. The insulation of feelings has reached a stage where I felt nothing - neither excitement at reaching, nor sadness at leaving. My mother did shed a few tears lamenting I had come for a very short time. Even then I was devoid of any feelings. I have become a wound that has dried and hardened. The pain is somewhere beneath the crust, yet the touch does not yield any sensation.

Due to the heavy rains the top management colleague was unable to arrive in Delhi. His aircraft got diverted to another city. It was a small relief. I was ill-prepared for the review. And I will not hesitate to add that all throughout the flight home I was inwardly praying for it to get postponed. The heart thumped throughout the day as latest news of his awry flight schedule trickled in - while the rains showered with an hitherto unknown fury over Delhi skies. At that time, it seemed as if my chest was in a tight clamp; an odd sensation within; a fear, a coldness.

Well, between my boss and myself, a new person has been introduced - 'to help, guide and lead' as I was told. Translated to plain English it meant - 'Dude, you have screwed up badly there, so we are giving a new person the charge even though you might continue for sometime'. This new person and the boss were here for a short while. The boss left early, the person stayed back for a day more. Till now, we are still enveloped in the cloud of 'polite' introductions. Soon, this will evaporate and the residual reality will stick out in its putridity. Primarily because I dont really foresee myself adjusting to this new development; more, because the end product, the company as such remains the same. That sucks. And I cannot fall in love with it. Compromise, yes - but done that for a year; anymore, the effort is painful. So, once again I await for that providence and luck to bail me out.

Strangely, with this one tier in between, and the 'polite introductory stage' morphin taking over, I am lulled into a sort of comfort-ness. That strong fear is dulled. I am not really feeling sad or morbid. This gives rise to another scare - if I am not sad, does that mean that sorrow is just a step away? It usually is. I must feel haunted. I should wallow. I can't be comfortable. It is not right.

Well, as I said, another week went by. Let's see what the next brings. Am I allowed to hope for the best?

When Will This Deadlock End?

2005-09-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

One year completed in this city and country. One year that I got into an impossible deadlock which refuses to open up or cave out. Horribly, the situation is just sucking in even more irretrievably. Reprieve is nowhere in sight.

Two days back I just thought of giving life a push - leave the job, this city and country. Return home, and probably search for the track that got lost somewhere two years back. But, sadly did not muster up enough courage. Mainly due to the expectant faces of parents. Did not have the heart to tell them that their son has failed yet again. I know they would understand, I know they would rally around me, I know they would care. But it is all this which hurts. Their love and care and concern would kill me internally. How often will I fail? How often will I stumble? How often will I not achieve my goals?

Please, God, please - give me my path back. I beg of you. The pain is unbearable now. Impossibly unbearable. I am now scared what this pain will lead me to do. Apni vahshat se darr lagne laga hai ...

Enough...but is it enough!

2005-09-12T10:01:00.000-07:00

Today morning I woke up and resolved I will not be sad. I stepped out of the room. Took deep breaths. Looked up at the skies. Absorbed positive energies from the skies. Told self - all will be well. There will be a good news. There will be positivity. I got ready singing loudly. I worked diligently, pushing mind off any thoughts. I attended several meetings. Did not think. All will be well. It's a great day. It is sunny also today. God is looking at me, smiling. He will do something great today. It went off well...

...yet it snapped. When evening came. And nothing else did. No good news. Another problem, though. The night settled in. So did the heaviness. It was a same day like the past. Only, I had fooled myself. There was no innate happiness in it. I just covered it with a suffocating polythene of false happiness.

No...this is not enough. I dont want to pretend that all is well, and then claim that all has actually become well. I want intrinsic happiness, even if it comes from the materialistic things that I crave for.

Gaya phir aaj ka din udaas karke mujhe...*

* Lyric from film Dil Ashna Hai

Lost

2005-09-08T04:27:00.000-07:00

Remember I told about some development that will see me through. Well, that has also got stuck. No response. No replies. Now what? Believe in myself? Have Faith? Hold on? To what!!! To whom!!! Forget it, all these are words, platitudes and simply ineffective balms. I am lost and gone!!!!

If I am not dead by now, it is only because all means of suicide are painful, and I am scared of that. It has nothing to do with courage or the spirit to fight.

How are you?

2005-09-01T22:29:00.000-07:00

Ever since one learns grammar, it is taught that 'How are you?' is to be replied with 'Fine, thank you'. Since the past few days this automated response has been pricking like a needle stuck in soul. Whenever someone calls/chats/leaves a message, I feel like screaming - 'No buddy I am not fine.' But I know that even that would elicit some more questioning, and I just dont have the replies for that. Most of them are my own undoings. Even to family (whether through calls or chats) I simply mumble the standard reply. They wouldnt understand. And I cant explain. Which actually leaves this place as a last resort to spill the bile out. Not that it helps. But still, it feels that I am talking to someone without being cross questioned.

On my other blog also, the mood has changed a bit, even though I did not mean to do it. I guess, the blog and the blogger cannot be separated; and, often what the latter feels comes through sub-consciously on the former.

Life is overall a complete stand still right now. Any effort to push it brings myriad dreams but no single realisation. I have stopped doing that now, till the time someone comes and shoves me.

It is strange that for the past two years things have gone so woefully off track that I just cannot find my bearings. Even the mantra of living a day as it comes, and to find happiness in small things is taking its heavy toll. I cannot continue doing it.

Sigh - its another weekend around the corner. Monday brings boss here. I have no good foreboding about his visit. Even though I await it, I just hope the shove is not here this soon. I am not really ready for it. Or am I?

Early Morning

2005-08-28T21:50:00.000-07:00

Today morning I woke up at 4:30 am - I dont recall whether it was due to a dream or otherwise, but it felt awfully painfull: you know, the sort of dull fear that drones somewhere inside you, like a distant rumbling of an oncoming storm. I paced the room and peeped out of the window. The dawn was just about to crack open; a few eager roosters had started there wake up calls; the sky looked foreboding as if challenging the sun to rip it apart. Alas, how would the sky know that the sun would tear its cloak into shreds just minutes away. Instead of thinking, I focussed on completing a few pending mails and a couple of other things. It sort of worked. Closing the laptop, I lay down, switching off the fan. It was a bit cold. My eyes again fell on the crack between the curtains - the day had begun. I closed my eyes in an effort to get sleep, and built castles in the skies of the darkened eyelids. Sleep eventually took over, and the next thing I know is my mobile's alarm ringing...and an ache in the entire body, especially the legs. The climb to a 213-stair tower a couple of days back was demanding its own pound of muscle!

It is my nephew's birthday, and I realise I had set the alarm at an earlier time than usual to catch him before he leaves for school. I call him up. And as I type this, I dont recall a single strand of conversation that I had with him. The log in my mobile shows I had called the number, else I am even ready to believe it was all in a dream. Since there was time, I lay back and closed eyes till it was my normal wake-up hour. I dont know when I slept again, but when I woke up it was way past the usual time. Guilt - get off my back!

2005-08-23T00:58:00.000-07:00

If things cannot be bettered can someone up there stop fucking me and making it WORSE!

Weekend Blues

2005-08-22T22:06:00.000-07:00

With a Rakhi holiday on a Friday, I got a three day weekend. Of course, since head office was open, calls from there came on incessantly.

Sometimes interests take an obsessive form within me. I had recently discovered that a software could convert LP records/audio cassettes into MP3 files. Spent at least half a day trying to figure that out. Downloading is a pain here with abnormally slow connections. Anyways, since I do not have a tape-player also, I left that aside; and concentrated on getting software to rip DVD's. This time, I left downloading aside, and went off to New Road, a market place that has many shops for computers, accessories, CD's etc. Bought a pirated software CD called 'DVD Genie'; it sounded interesting. After a dull lunch of 'special Paav bhaaji' (awful to say the least), I returned and put on the CD. Every software was a 'trial version' - at Rs 100, I shouldnt have expected any better. Chucked the CD aside, and put on my music. Like always, watched time move, guilt gnawing that I should do something productive. But zilch. Both the heart and mind were paralyzed and the day ended.

Saturday woke up with a terrible back pain; it took a better part of the day. Again, a haze enveloped me; it seemed the entire hours were passing in some sort of cocoon, from where everything was muted and subdued. It was dreamlike - sorry, nightmare like. And to make matters worse, I also had a nightmare! The pain became unbearable by late afternoon, so I tried to call up the Ayurved Health Center to fix an appointment for massage. The number did not work; their web site also was defunct; probably they have closed shop!

Sunday was quite similar to Saturday; the parity of days has lost meaning with me now. In the evening, shaking off lethargy, I went to a famous temple. As soon as I reached, it started to pour cats and dogs. I got drenched. It felt nice - the shirt sticking to the skin; the jeans falling heavily on my waist; the feet squelching in the puddles. I stayed there till sun-set. And even took a walk in the 'Shivling-maze' - probably, sub-consciously, I was challenging God. Or probably, and more practically, I was just trying to play a martyred hero from some c-grade bollywood film! On the way back, picked up two DVD's. My DVD drive on laptop has really conked off badly - neither of them worked. Rs 500 washed away! A fear clenched me - I was also running short of money; and payday was still some ten days away.

Hardwork, Destiny, Confidence, Failure

2005-08-17T03:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes its not about success per se. It is about confidence. Self confidence, rather. Today I feel I have lost it. I have sunk deep into a hopeless quagmire. The slush around me is dark, deep and ominous. Coming out needs efforts. The energy is sapped. Since the effort is not full fledged, more failures come by. Another failure and the barometer of confidence plummets further - nearly fatal levels - it is a damning vicious circle. The alarm bells are ringing, psychedelic panic lights are blinking, nagging vibrations are buzzing. All this only aids to elevate than alleviate the problem.

Yet, at another level it is not about hardwork alone. There is destiny somewhere around. It tugs and tosses humans in random motions. It is like the tide that can tosses the boat anyway it pleases. After success reaches you, it is easy to brush off destiny. Every successful person does it. It is not right. Success is a combination of work and luck- in even proportions. One wrong ingredient, the concoction is failure. And till the time you swim in murky failed waters, you can feel destiny's hot and vile breath on your neck - wringing your collar, strangulating your life-force.

Sample this - I give a proposal to a company. At this stage it has become 'the' deal. Everyone is watching me to close it. But, it is stuck. Will two visits a week move the deal, rather than one? Maybe. Maybe not. Why cannot it come through on its own, considering that my portion is over? Why do I have to do these 'rigorous follow ups' - and dammit, its more than six months now. I guess my one-half ingredient is fetid. Fragrance of success will elude me some more.

Anyways, no more cribbing. I have lost it. And given it up. Now, the point is how to put it across to powers-that-be. Maybe, the need will not arise. I talked about something developing. Perhaps I will find an easy route out. Hell, again I have to rely on the same destiny. So, it means that development will not pull through? If not, then why was I shown that dream? Can someone up there stop showing me dreams that will not see reality? I did not go out looking for that dream. Thank you, it was sent to me. On my gmail account. Now, if it has to be fulfilled, can someone up there please hurry it up also?

Destiny - trust me, I love you. And please be with me. I am a weak person. I need successes to carry on. Else, the pain of holding my disintegrating self together is killing me!

Just Checking This

2005-08-05T04:13:00.000-07:00

This is neat. Blogger allows to change dates. I am typing this on 17th August. But I have changed the date stamp to 5th August. Let's see.

I am alive

2005-08-04T04:04:00.000-07:00

Well, not much of a title, but could not think of anything better. Cool, I realise another month has gone by since the last post. And have we inched forward one bit? Seemingly yes, actually no. The crazed deal I talked about is still stuck. Even the powers-that-be back at head office have dropped all notions of propriety, and demand an immediate action or explanation. I have neither. The other deal got nixed due to approval hassles; it wasnt my fault, so I was safe. Instead, I have got an alternate plan working; it seems to be going good - at least till now, it is. The applications have not returned except for one odd still-birth. Time has suddenly lost essence. Each day simply passes. It will continue to pass. When will it start to breath again?

Again A Friday

2005-07-01T02:09:00.000-07:00

It's again a Friday. Another week swept by. In fact, another month also has vanished. I am back here after nearly three weeks, I guess. After two weeks of travelling , I had thought I had stirred myself up enough to last awhile without writing on this space. It did not last beyond a day.

I have avoided coming here; I have avoided dipping myself in the caustic sauce of self pity for a week; today, I could not resist myself. Seven days of unproductivity. One week of guilt and helplessness. Just in case anyone did bother to keep track of the last posts, the deal is still stuck; the mail boxes still empty (or rather, devoid of the mails that I want!) - and either way I see no light at the end of the tunnel. Worse, even it does come, it would be of a rushing train, for I can almost hear the rumblings in the distant.

Have I burnt my bridges again? In my overzealous display of devotion I had sort of vowed not to eat non-vegetarian till the time the deal came through. I did eat. At a lunch. At a dinner. At a party. Because I was weak enough and did not say no to the hosts/peer who were with me at that time. Is it all over that means? Is my punishment on the way? Has the sharp blade of retributive guillotine started its journey to pierce my neck?

Anyways, the week has gone by. I have not worked, as I said. Just whiled the office time away. I wish I could find a job that suited my sensibilities and the money that this one is giving. I can forsake a bit of the money, but seriously, I need a change of job, a change of country, a change of scenario!

When was the last that a miracle or lucky coincidence happened in my life?

Thank God, Its Friday...But Does It Matter!

2005-06-10T01:32:00.000-07:00

Time is still. Inert. Stuck. Yet, I look back, and half the year has gone by. I look back, and one third of this month has slipped by. I look back, and three-fourths of this day has knocked off. But that is the conventional measure. Time is not about the fine divisions of seconds, minutes, hours, days or months. That is wrong. My time has stopped. Like my wrist watch, that fell and cracked and grins hideously from its bright yellow but stained and strained face. The arms are paralyzed; the heartbeat stopped; the wrinkles marked.

It is a dull day. A boring day. A useless day. A pathetic day. A hot day. A silent day. A Friday.

The Fourth Day of The Week

2005-06-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday already. The week (at least the working one) will end tomorrow. Time has inched forward with such dreadful slowness that it would even make a snail's gait look like a PT Usha on the tracks. Nothing has happened. The deal is still stuck. The new one is still in a limbo. The boss is still not very happy, though to give him a fair credit, he did send a small encouraging note a couple of days back. The last Tuesday meeting that happened had set a few balls rolling. Exactly from one and a hour from now, some fresh impetus would be imparted to it. The rains lashed the valley intermittantly, as if too bored to even wash it with their full energies. The temperature swings from the hot to the cool like an uninterested child's yo-yo. The conversations and the meetings happen and proceed with the passion of a dull drama. The mail-box pathetically opens its sad arms to heartless mails that will never return, akin to a desert awaiting its parched rains. The food that I cook tastes bitter. Anger within me boils over at the slightest of flames.

Overall, things are status quo.

Astrology

2005-06-06T23:06:00.000-07:00

I read the following on an astrology site, after entering my date of birth:

The Inner You: Your Real Motivation You are a freedom-loving, strong-willed, and independent-minded individual, and you insist upon living your own life as you see fit, even if that means ignoring convention and tradition. In personal relationships you cannot be owned or possessed, and while you are willing to share yourself with another, you do not always adjust easily to the emotional give and take of a close relationship. Though intellectually open, you can be enormously stubborn, opinionated, and inflexible on a one-to-one level. You have strong convictions and feelings about fairness and equality, and you try to live by your ideals, but your ideals about how people SHOULD treat one another don't always take into account human weaknesses, differences, and needs. You probably dislike sentimentality and traditional gender roles and "games"

Mental Interests and Abilities :You are more of a poet than a rational scientist, for your mind does not function in a strictly logical, linear fashion. The language of music, art, or poetry is natural to you, and you are also able to think in highly abstract and symbolic terms. Translating your thoughts and impressions into concrete, everyday language may be difficult for you at times and consequently you may appear less intelligent or at least less quick-witted and verbal than others. This was especially true of you as a child, and you probably daydreamed a good deal also.

You are intuitive and are able to sense what others' thoughts and feelings are, even before they say anything to you. You often form an opinion about a person or situation without much factual knowledge of them, and your impressions are usually correct. You can be somewhat absent-minded and you become so immersed in your own thoughts that you overlook things in your immediate, tangible environment. You are extremely open-minded and believe that anything is possible. Intangible or spiritual forces seem just as real to you as anything in the concrete world. Your imagination and your sympathetic understanding of other people are two of your greatest gifts.

On refining it further with my time of birth, the following paragraph was thrown up:

Cautious, prudent, and rather self-contained, you are a person who approaches life realistically and who is not inclined to take foolish chances or get carried away by the overly optimistic or idealistic schemes of starry-eyed dreamers. In fact, you frequently have a jaundiced view of such things. You are rather worldly-wise at a fairly young age, even something of a cynic. Often the world doesn't seem like a safe, friendly place to you, and you tend to approach life in a guarded, conservative manner. You are generally calculating and careful, and are rarely spontaneous, fluid, open, and childlike.

You are a freedom-loving, strong-willed, and independent-minded individual, and you insist upon living your own life as you see fit, even if that means ignoring convention and tradition. In personal relationships you cannot be owned or possessed, and while you are willing to share yourself with another, you do not always adjust easily to the emotional give and take of a close relationship. Though intellectually open, you can be enormously stubborn, opinionated, and inflexible on a one-to-one level. You have strong convictions and feelings about fairness and equality, and you try to live by your ideals, but your ideals about how people SHOULD treat one another don't always take into account human weaknesses, differences, and needs. You probably dislike sentimentality and traditional gender roles and "games".

(The last is somewhat a repetition, and I guess generic to someone born on the date born as me.)

Rambling On

2005-06-06T03:04:00.000-07:00

Well, its mid-noon; lunch is over; I made some pathetic curry that I had to wash down with umpteen glasses of water. The end result? A few more visits to the washroom. How irritating! Anyways, I am not in much mood to work; dreadedly (is that a word?), the dull feeling of not doing what I am supposed to do is seeping in. Yet, the heart refuses to budge from its obstinate position. I have nothing to write on; however, I am getting this urge to write. So, I have no clue where and how this post will lead. Perhaps, like life, nowhere!

As a beginning to any non-conversation, the much-beaten topic of weather invariably springs up faster than the jack-in-a-box. I will begin with this brain-bashed topic. The weather is marvellous right now. The sun is pretty much wrapped, and I doubt it will be able to win the battle against the grey clouds today before its time for it to finally pack up for the day. A feeble breeze squeezes through the tight gauzed windows. The front door, slightly ajar, allows for another slim stream. As the branches get caressed, they sway in mild intoxication. A few drops are sprinkled by the laden caskets of the clouds; very soon, the cork shall open completely. It's the kind of day where one would like to wrap his hands around a warm glass of tea, and look at the falling droplets, and hear them get absorbed by the wetted earth.

Yesterday I saw a film. It was boring and atrocious, but it left a nagging thought relentlessly scratching the brain. Can I ever leave all this up and walk the path of my dreams? I had tried it once, but it was not exactly the way to my dreams, it was a run-off from something that I was not liking. Two negatives do not make a positive. So, even though I had run out, I had made the mistake of not looking as to where I was headed; instead, I just kept staring behind me to see the release from what was behind me. Because of that act, today I cannot do anything; my hands are tied. I am answerable to my family; I cannot explain another journey into the unknown. My practical mind, and my conventional upbringing will detest admitting this; I have typed , deleted /retyped and re-deleted /re-retyped (if there is any such thing). I have gone outside, watched the rain, made a couple of calls and come back. Yet, my fingers tremble to type it out. Is my calling the film industry or the publishing world ? Or, am I being too stupid and too naive in my dreams? Do I really have the talent to write, or am I being carried away by the polite praises loaded onto me on the other blog in the comments section? My experiences tell me that the publishing world looks for some very high-grade of talent;I have been inundated by numerous rejection slips; but, people tell me that if Chetan Bhagat could be a bestseller, why not you? Oh hell, after my self-pity, I seem to wallowing in my vanity. I shall stop right here, today.

Another Monday Morning

2005-06-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

Sigh! Yet another Monday morning! Another talk with boss! Again, a mood dampener. Nothing seems to be falling in place. On the contrary, everything is falling apart. Planned things go awry at the final moment. Responses that should be immediate are muted into ear-shattering silences.

What is worrying is the fact that no replies ever come to the applications that I send. Where am I going wrong? I do not have the slightest clue; I can correct something that is wrong. I cannot alter a thing that I do not have the vaguest idea about. It is like groping in carbon-black darkness for a support that may or maynot be there. Alas, this carbon is not producing any glittering diamond.

I have to get out of this country with a secure job somewhere. But, how?

Dil ki tasalli ke liye, jhooti chamak, jhoota nikhaar,
Jeevan toh soona hi raha, sab samjhi aayi hai bahaar,
Kaliyon se koi poochhta, hansti hai woh ya roti hai...

-Kaifi Azmi, in Anupama; Music: Hemant Kumar; Singer:Lata Mangeshkar

Another Song

2005-06-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

Raat andheri, door savera
Barbaad hai dil mera...

Aana bhi chaahein, aana saken hum
Koi nahin aasra,
Khoyee hai manzil, rastaa hai mushquil
Chand bhi aaj chhupa
Raat andheri...

Aah bhi roye, raah bhi roye,
Soojhe na baat koie,
Thodi umar hai, soona safar hai
Dega na saath koie,
Raat andheri...

(The favorite lines are colored)

Music: Shankar Jaikishan
Lyric : Hasrat Jaipuri
Originally sung by Mukesh Chand Mathur for the film Aah

Bade Rangeen Zamane The

2005-06-01T00:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I confessed yesterday too, I do so today as well, the wallowing in self pity will not serve any purpose; it never does. No one else can come and help me till the time I get up myself. But how do I do it ? From where do I get that strength from? Scraping the bottom of an empty well will not fill the bucket ever; it will only give a desolate hollow scraping sound. These sounds are my posts here.

Khoi sab pehchaane, Khoye saare apne,
Samay ki chhalni se gir gir ke,
Khoye saare sapne... (1)

The sieve of time has only left a crunchy and tasteless residue, a portion of which I have splattered on the blog here. As I said in my last post, it seems ages ago since I actually laughed openly, but I did laugh. I was not the 'not a nice person to know' till a few years back. It seems from a different era, from a different life altogether, from a different planet. I close my eyes, and try to relive those moments, those days, those years. Yes, there were years of happiness. And innocence. The days of college, and the trip we made to Mount Abu, in a third-class compartment, making noise, disturbing fellow-passengers, singing at top of voices, standing by the door, feeling the sharp wind as the train chugged along on the narrow gauge track.

Then, there were the college canteen sessions - discussions, and arguments and debates. Of course, the minor squibbles of keeping our precious notes away from wastrels; the 'male-gang' rushing off to see a re-run of Jaanbaaz, and telling the home and the girls two different stories; the endless rounds of hot tea on biting winter mornings in front of the college gates; the wait for the seat to get empty on the U-specials; the silly jokes at the expense of the bald professor who taught us Blake, and his embarrasment when something oh-so-non-vegetarian came up.

Then came the MBA classes; a new set of friends, another group, another round of fun. The first time we bunked classes and went to see the atrocious Anil Kapoor starrer Andaz; the look on the faces of the girls as they kept a straight one as one after another vulgar joke unfolded on the screen; the resolve to amend that and another bunk and ending up watching another pain called Anjaam; the pass of slips and notes sitting in the back bench and giggling away to glory; the impromptu parties organised at friends places who stayed alone; the ruckus we created when a pipe leak happened and the sewer water flowed back into the class room; the trip to Manali, when all the girls chickened out at the last minute, and the boys ended up enjoying alone better; the joke at the expense of a fat guy who asked for a 'pitthu' there, and a curious onlooker replied, 'nahin chahiye' thinking him to be the pithu-waalah.

All this, followed by the jobs, and the assumption of that serious look, with the tie and smartly ironed pants bought from expensive Van Huesen and Louis Phillipe showrooms; the meetings, the presentations; cut the bad five months, and another joy ride in the bank.

Yes, that was also part of my life only. Only, like a bogey that gets detached, it has been left somewhere behind, while I have moved ahead...nay, I am moving ahead, and that bogey still stands there, getting hazier by the minute, looking at me with forlorn eyes. It does not seem it was ever attached to me, but it was. It was mine. Those days were there!

Bade rangeen zamaane the, taraane hi taraane the
Magar ab poochhta hai dil, woh din the yaa fasaane the
Faqat ik yaad hai baaki, bas ik fariyaad hai baaki
Woh khusiyan loot gayi lekin, dil-e-barbaad hai baaki
Kahan thi zindagi meri, kahan par aa gayi
Woh bhooli dastaan lo phir yaad aa gayi
Nazar ke saamne ghata si chhaa gayi (2)

Just a tattered memory, just a feverish prayer, just a pale of saline water; today, even as I reread to check for the odd spelling mistake, the above paragraphs look like mere stories; I am not sure, were they there, or is the above piece a figment of dreamy imagination.

Outside, the day is sunny, bright and marvellous. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. A step away from me, no one knows what I am going through. Is this the ground-zero that I had read on someone's blog? Perhaps, yes. Better, it is the sub-zero level. I have burnt my bridges, and now I am scared of the flames that come up to devour me, and do not have the strength to build new ones.

Gaya jaise jhonka hawa ka, hamari khushi ka zamana
Diye humko qismat ne aansoon, jab aaya humein muskarana...
Woh dekho jala ghar kisika, yeh toote hai kiske sitaare,
Woh qismat hansi, aur aise hansi, ke rone lage hum gham ke maare...

Hain raahe kathin, aur door manzil,
Yeh chhaya hai kaisa andhera,
Ke ab chand suraj bhi milkar
Nahin kar sakenge savera
Ghata chhayegi, baahar aayegi
Na aayenge woh din hamare,
Woh dekho jala ghar kisika... (3)

Those days shall never return, true! The arid and scorching desert which lies sprawling in front of him is sans any oasis; the hot winds gnaw and gorge the eyes out; the gritty sand blisters my feet; the mind is numbed; the heart is broken; and yet, I walk on, walk on , walk on...

For those reading this blog, kya kahun...

Hum apne aansuon mein chand taaron
ko doobo denge
Fanaah ho jaayegi saari khudai
aap kyun roye
Jo humne dastan apni sunayi
aap kyun roye (4)

Credits

( 1. From, 1942-A Love Story ; Music: RDBurman ; Lyric: Javed Akhtar
2. From, Sanjog ; Music: Madan Mohan ; Lyric: Rajender Krishan
3. From, Anpadh ; Music: Madan Mohan ; Lyric: Raja Mehdi Ali Khan
4. From, Woh Kaun Thi ; Music: Madan Mohan ; Lyric: Raja Mehdi Ali Khan

All the songs are sung by Lata Mangeshkar. God Bless Her, mai toh ro bhi nahin paata if it hadnt been for this lady!)

Aaj Socha To

2005-06-01T00:16:00.000-07:00

Aaj socha toh, aansoo bhar aaye
Muddatein ho gayi muskuraye

Har qadam par udhar mudke dekha
Unkee mehfil se hum uth to aaye
Aaj socha toh...

Well, not that I have not been thinking, but today, it just struck me with a bolt: when was the last time I laughed openly, heartily, wantonly, fearlessly. I have been fooling around, making jokes, and pulling legs with friends, but there is always that undercurrent of fear and hopelessness which refuses to go.

My favorite lines of the ghazal sums up the situation:

Rah gayi zindagi dard banke,
Dard dil mein chhupaaye chhupaye
Aaj socha toh...

Ten words, and they simply sum up what I have been trying to convey in the past few posts!

(The ghazal is written by Kaifi Azmi and tuned by Madan Mohan for the film Hanste Zakhm, and is sung beautifully by Lata Mangeshkar)

The U-Turn

2005-05-31T04:24:00.000-07:00

*Ninety applications in a day; nearly the double in the week, and not a single
reply.

*No sign of 'the deal' coming through.

*Another deal which sounds aborted before it has started off.

*A bad meet , with lots of shocks.

*No love.

*Away from home.

*Bad habits galore.

*A body that is unshapely; a face that is ungainly.

The U-turn should come now, and things should start looking upwards. Hope it happens fast!

Work-3

2005-05-31T03:59:00.000-07:00

The meeting was supposed to be casual, carefree and curt. I anticipated no longer than fifteen minutes.

Two hours later, as I stepped out of the three-storied building, and lit a Surya, I had no clue what had hit me. With a deep baritone, and passionate theatrics, the man listed things upon things that were wrong with our company, and which were not helping in furthering his or our cause. He admitted to some other things, that I listened with wavering sense of shock and fear. I like this man; he is smart, witty and intelligent, and he has done precisely what he felt was good for his own self.

I have to report about the meeting to my boss now. It hurts. For the things he admitted, it has no direct reference to us, yet indirectly it points to a surreptitiously dangerous breeding grounds that might nurture wrong power equations. I have been caught napping. I abhor being caught unwares. Yet, was I fully at fault? Could I have stopped it? Did I not sense it was coming? Whatever I feel about the answers to these questions, it is immaterial. The bottomline (and that is in bolds, and yes, with an underline) is that I have been caught napping!

I handle a product which does not have its full utilisation at one end itself. There is an other portion to it also, which does not come under my purview in anywhich way. I cannot control it. Yet, it is my fault. Because, I do not have the capabilities or capacities to push the other side. I cannot everyday phone that person. Its not in me. I am too shy for that. But , yes, that is my failure. The worse is that whenever I do, generally I end up doing most of the work for that person also. Yes, those are the kind of people who survive! Scums like me are bound to be wiped out, and rightfully so!

The meeting has chalked out an action point which I am going to hate for the next one month for sure. Thank you, for a wonderful beginning to the mid-year month.

All the best, Mr. Good For Nothing, God Forsaken, Unintelligent, Melancholic, Failed, Loser!

The Taxi

2005-05-31T03:54:00.000-07:00

In this country which God forsake after endowing it with the maximum natural beauty, I hired a taxi today. Balancing a near-torn polythene bag of heavy diaries in one hand, and another equally laden carry bag of calenders, I asked the driver if he was ready to go to the destination. He nodded. With the load in my hand, I tried to open the door. The diary-bag nearly gave way. Helplessly, I clutched it from the top, along with my elbow giving it support from below. With the other hand, my fingers clasped for the latch of the door, but missed them, as the bulky other carry bag came in way. All this while, as I did the aforementioned pantemomime, the driver sat on with a blank, dumb expression; till the time, I nearly screamed out, "Can't you help?" Only then did he move from his zen-like stupor.

Loser!

2005-05-31T03:47:00.000-07:00

Recently a bunch of our friends played 'antakshri' - with a difference. Instead of singing songs ending with the last 'akshar' of the previous number, we were to sing the songs of the previous ditty's actor/actress paired with someone else (ie, different from the song already played). Due to this, we came up with the oddest of pairings to flumox the next candidate to find another pair for that vague actor/actress. Lots of stars came up who would probably had done only two/three films in their entire lives. Our term for them was - 'losers!'

Even while playing, and as I laughed overtly at the jokes and called these bunch of actors the same, I was thinking, 'ain't I one big loser myself?' Only the profession and industry is different, but the success ratio is equally deplorable, perhaps worse. At least, we remembered their names. Who would even know my name in the industry that I am?

Loser! Big Loser!! Pathetic Loser!!!

The Pressured Cooker

2005-05-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

I had assumed that this web-place was a printed version of my thoughts; a sort 'gasket-release' system which allows the steam to go out, taking off the pressure from the cluttered confines of my brain. To think of it, the brain is much like a pressure cooker, wherein thoughts move around rapidly in random disorder. Often, while cooking, when the steam lets off, there is a wonderful aroma of the food cooked inside it. Alternatively, if the vegetable/pulse is not of the liking it can give a distasteful smell. After reading the posts, I realise that the inners of my brain were not exactly the stuff that gourmets would savor with delight.

There is too much whine and crib in the posts. There is too much complaint. There is too much grumble. It is not right, and thank God, not many people are reading it. Actually, only one very nice lady is, if I am not mistaken. I wonder what she makes out to be. If I were to read a blog/space/page which had this much of negativity, I would have immediately assumed a high moralistic ground and shaken off the man and asked him to get real!

But, the fact is that all this is, well...a fact! Life is not too good. It continues. Listlessly. Unceremoniously.

I wonder what I am searching for, in the first instance. I wonder what I had started to cook, and what a burnt dish I have become.

Monday Morning Blues

2005-05-29T20:33:00.000-07:00

It is Monday morning. Another dreaded day starts. Another week begins. Another month is to initiate soon.

God Bless Me!

Do Pal

2005-05-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

Do Pal Ruqa Khwabon Ka Kaarvan
Aur Phir Chal Diye Tum Kahan Hum Kahan
Do Pal Ki Thi Yeh Dilon Ki Daastaan
Aur Phir Chal Diye Tum Kahan Hum Kahan

Yeh zindagi thi ya koie sazaa
Humne kaati isse kyun bhalaa
Yeh roshni thi ya koie balaa
Dasti rahi humko to yeh sadaa
Yeh mausam tha ya koie dhuan
Jisme ghut gaye saare armaan
Do Pal Ruqa Khwabon Ka Kaarvan
Aur Phir Chal Diye Tum Kahan Hum Kahan...

(From Veer Zaara; Lyric Javed Akhtar; Additional Lyric: Not A Nice Person to know)

Career Decisions - 2

2005-05-29T01:00:00.000-07:00

When I re-read the previous part, I felt that I had been a bit too unfair to my parents. After all, they had suggested a course of career which they felt was right, and about which they had knowledge. It was my lack of strength or will-power that did not make me put my foot forward strongly for the stream that I thought I was cut out for. Perhaps, I am only finding a hook to hang by overburdened overcoat of failures.

Anyways, the job rollercoaster ride began. I wasn't exactly a rip-roaring success in the corporate world, but I was not a denizen of its nether-world either. Like my marks in school, I was average. I lasted four months in the first one, and four years in the second. But failure was just round the corner.

The company was in doldrums. Retrenchment began. I got the axe. Five months I was without a job; five months of a harrowing experience, wherein the parents' sympathies crystallised into an uneasy bitterness. The soles of my shoes rubbed against the heated Delhi roads as I made the rounds of various consultants. I was sacked, I couldn't tell them. No one would believe that it was not due to my fault, but just because the company wanted to shut off and was slowly shedding off expensive burdens. But it was still a company that existed, and if I was the first lot to go, I must surely been a bit too of a burden. So, I fed stories which were not even convicing to myself.

Five months of hell, I got a job; in a prestigious bank. Looking back, that was the time I could have made a career switch; I was young, more idealistic, and less cynical. I did not , because the desperate tag of being retrenched stuck its tongue out at me with disdain. The bank was good, it had name, and it would never shut down. But it was the same line, the same work, the same product. I grabbed the opportunity.

Things were not hunky dory; the bank had weird and stringent policies that could get itself nowhere in the cut-throat Delhi market. People who had joined with me started dropping out; I also thought of doing so, but did not for the simple reason of being overtly lazy, and given to the inertia of carrying on with the flow; fresh blood came in; suddenly, the weather changed; and I found myself as a sort of a 'veteran' in the scheme of things (despite being only a year or so into the job. Being the oldest in the team, and having the experience of seeing the initial policies, and giving vent to build fresh ones, I was in a coveted position. There were changes in the top management also, and they relied on me for providing them inputs. I gave all that I knew, and through them got the changes done that were required. The team grew, and as more new people came, the more senior I became.

A bizarre idea was sounded off; but I saw a spark in it. When officially offered to me, I took it up. And began to give it shape. Before I realised, the new concept was working. The numbers grew every month; the profit figures looked neat; the team was happy in my leadership. I had the freedom to do what I wanted, and clearly the results were showing. My bosses were pleased, and those were the two years that I thoroughly enjoyed in my entire ten years of career. The late nights, the extended weekends, the thrill at the tingling numbers gave me a hitherto-unknown adrelanin rush. I was at a peak, I was invited to top-management functions and discussions; I gave trainings to fresh management recruits; the head of the bank knew me by name; colleagues from the department envied me; other departments praised me. I also got the slot in the coveted Six Sigma project - a foregone conclusion. I was satisfied, I, even lost touch with my writing. For nearly three years, I did not pen anything, not even a letter-to-the-editor for Filmfare; and I was not missing it either!

But then, things snapped. It was like a giant wheel ride that had started slowly, and gained speed, but it did not stop at a steady pace, it just simply went on to a dizzying pace. I was giddy. With everything that was going correct, something had to go wrong. I had trusted my luck too far. It did. What goes up, has to come down, and my downhill tumble began.

Things began to fall apart.

At first they were small, and I ignored the signs. But they began to pile up, and I was burdened under their weight. The going that was great, began to grate. The motion gave me no emotion. Everything looked odd and strange and hurtful and hateful. Also, in the corporate world, when a project gets unwarranted success, everyone wants to be a part of it. Suddenly, I found thwarted by mindboggling policies and procedures. Approvals were required at every small step. The very basis of the success, my freedom, was chained. Approval for rates, approval for recruitments, approval for advts, approval for sales-promotions, approvals for this, approvals for that...and yet, the responsibilities were all mine. Anything wrong, it was my neck that got jammed. That was one part; but the bigger one was, I lost interest, I lost the will, I lost the inclination. How and when, it is difficult to decide, but it just snapped. Kaput!

My marriage came and went. The divorce added to the sense of directionless. The final straw was the fraud that happened in my department. I reached the nadir of hopelessness.

I decided to jump off this giddying giant wheel ride. To a close friend I offered partnership in his business. He agreed. I jumped off that giant wheel, and what a jump it was! The bruises are still blue, the pain still continues, two years after the time I resigned from the services of the bank.

The partnership was a disaster from the word go. Good partners might be good friends, but the vice-versa is not always true. Before long, I got sucked in a quagmire of deep shit, coupled with a waist-load of debts. The partner did not help, the friendship disintegrated; money, which was never discussed between us, became the centrifuge of shouts over irksome telephone calls. I was slipping into the quicksand faster, and there was no rope in sight to pull me out.

When the rope did come, it pulled me out; and it pulled me out so harshly that I came out of the quicksand but did not land on my feet; instead, I fell headlong into this country. Though I cannot thank my present employers enough for trusting me with this job and giving me an opportunity to regain my lost ground, still, its a job that I have no clue about. Yet, I cannot leave for the money it provides; slowly, over the months, I have wiped out a huge burden of debts. If I last a bit longer, I might even start saving some money.

Ten years have passed; now I am on a higher rung in the corporate ladder; switching is tougher. And switch to what? Does that small germ of journalistic ambition still survive within me. I cannot say. I cannot decide. Decisions are painful for me. Everytime I take one, the other side assumes greener hues.

Though I do get a lot of appreciation from the readers of my blogs, but where it matters the most, has always given me the 'rejection slip' time after time. I know there is a saying 'try, try and try again till you succeed'. It's a good one. It helps you sail through.

But, why can't I get a lucky break, on the own! Why can't I get through and perhaps give the hard work once inside, instead of rubbing off my ass just to get through, and probably burning myself out once I am in!

When I read interviews of some of the successful people that, 'a chance meeting with so-and-so gave me the break', I wonder, why these chance meetings do not happen to me. Why doesn't by chance a publishing house honcho read my blogs (the other one, especially), and decide to print my stories?

What triggered off this post today, after ten years, is an incident. I have been waiting for an important deal to strike through. It seemed a cakewalk. Till the time negotiations began. I sailed through that, and the commercial angles were smoothened out. But, now it is stuck at a legal step. As bouncers after bouncers are thrown at me, I do not know how to bat them off. The heat from the head office is growing; everyday, impatiently, my boss shouts about the deal. It is not in my hands, seriously. It is with the government of this country. They have their own bureaucracy, their own lethargic speed, their own way of things. Yet, everytime I talk to my boss, it seems as if I have not followed it up correctly or thoroughly. He asks me to take them out for dinner; I admit, I am bad at that. How do I tell a senior person in a department to come out for dinner? I mean, it looks odd, and strange, and that's where I curse my introvert nature. I have been to the higher levels, and tried to convince them. Today, I was to get a call on the same. It did not. So, I called up the legal personnel. He avoided the phone for two hours. Now, when I finally got through him, he has thrown the fiercest of googlies ever, and I am dumb-struck. I was sure of the deal to fall through today. I had given hints to my boss about it too. I was to go back to Delhi for a meeting, which I cancelled due to this call. And now, I am stuck with an empty hand. Another problem. Another issue. And this time, I don't think there can be any solution to it. I dread tomorrow, when my boss will call asking for it. I do not know what to say. It's another failure, another let-down!

This is where I wanted GOD to step in, and provide that lucky-moment. This is where my work finishes off, and providence takes over. But the baton is not passed on to Lady Luck; it slips, and falls, and it lands thunderously on my feet. There is not much to show by way of successes to my boss, this was one thing that I could have showed off, and strutted about! Please, GOD, Please Help Me!

And as I had waited for the call to come in, the entire career life had relayed itself on my mind's silverscreen, each failure sharply etched and each falling clearly visible.

Till a few days back, I would have dismissed the following lines as an ode to self-pity. Today, especially now at this moment, I feel these words, and the pain that they carry:

Jag ne chheeena mujhse, mujhe jo bhi laga pyaara
Sab jeeta kiye mujhse, mai hardam hi haara...

I am a failure in life! Absolute failure!

Career Decisions

2005-05-28T22:03:00.000-07:00

When I was very young, I had to write an essay on "My Ambition in Life" for school, or some such topic wherein one had to tell what career options I wanted to take later in life, and the reasons for the same. It was scary and strange; I had no ambition. My father threw out a few 'safe' career options like engineering and doctor; and I recall, I wrote something about civil engineering, for no other reason than the fact that my brother in law was one, and I had some idea what civil engineers do.

Years passed, and I somehow squeezed myself out of the tenth boards; the marks were horrible, and for days my parents were pissed off with me. Again, a choice stared at me with an evil smirk. Since it was safe, and kind of the 'in-thing' at that time, I chose the 'science' stream. Thankfully, however bad they were, my marks were decent enough for the school to allow me to do so; it was a simple logic - boys chose sciences, girls went for the arts/humanities. Even though I was not clear on what to go in for a career option, I was pretty sure of what not to be! And that was, a course in medicine. I cannot stand dissections. I feel nauseous. So, the only other option in sciences was the Engineering Drawing section. (Computers were in their nascent stage; I gave it a skip).

Tough two years followed; physics always gave me the shivers; chemistry was ok, but the teacher was a pain; and mathematics left me as cold as a lady sleeping with a foul-smelling drunkard! All the subjects relied on logic, and this was something which God had forgotten to endow me with. It did not excite me at all that two plus two should be four only; in my dream world, it made more sense for it to be twenty two at one time, or five at another.

Curiously, at that time, some sense of my calling started to take a vague shape. Writing interested me. It gave me freedom; and in this, I could create a world of my own which was not governed by straight jacketed logics that ended with smug QEDs! I picked up 'journalism' as my 'extra-curricular' subject. The faculty coordinator was the best that I could have; she had taught me English in tenth; she encouraged me; she corrected my mistakes; she was patient in reading in my stories and offered valuable insights and thoughts; I learnt about editing, proof reading, reporting and packing a punch in the articles.

Eleventh passed; and the crucial twelvth came on. I continued with my journalistic side-subject. Surreptitiously, I continued with my love affair with journalism. My parents were not aware; they dreamt of their son taking up full fledged engineering, and settling to a cozy job; forms of entrance examinations started to come my way; my father did all the ground work. Even though my heart was not in it, I filled them up, and also attended a few coaching classes. Caught between the tug-of-war of the safe and the bizarre (as my mother put it, when I once told her about my journalistic ambitions), I was still unsure. Since my parents or my sisters were not encouraging enough, I was not sure whether I really wanted to be a journalist. That raging fire of ambition was still missing. In retrorespect, I think it was a small flame, that could have been fuelled on; alas it met a cold wave of apathy from family.

At school, when the all-important time for the 'prefect-ship' came on, I forwarded my name for the post of 'School Magazine - Editor'. In the 'journalism' class ( which the students of all the streams of class XII took together), I had a fair chance. The teacher coordinator was favorable, and the competition (two girls) was not that strong. It came as no surprise to me, when I was selected.

The designated day for the ceremonies came on; it was a hot, sunny summer afternoon as the students gathered for a 'Special Assembly' at the basketball court. The principal took over the mic, and started his announcements. I still recall the extravagant pride which overtook me as my name was announced as the Editor for the school magazine that year, and I marched forward to the dias, to take the certificate and the badge.

That afternoon I rushed back home with a special spring in my steps. Impatiently, I pressed the doorbell. When it opened, I rushed inside to the cooler environs of my curtained house. Guess what, I screamed. I have been elected as the editor of school magazine. Proudly, I showed the badge hanging on my shirt pocket. The stares that met me were frozen and frigid accompanied by a heavy stillness and an oppressive silence.

That's all that I remember of that afternoon!

School got over; I cleared the boards; I failed all entrance examinations. Being a day-dreamer, I did make exquisite fantasies of clearing them, but hard work was not my forte ever; and the time that was supposed to spent in learning was wasted in forming 'hawai quilla'.

The marks in the Board examinations were decent, much better than my tenth ones, quite above the averages, but still way short of the coveted nineties that was the buzzword of those days! Worse, my English marks were nothing to write home (or anywhere, for that matter) about; I got the 'see-we-told-you' stares. I was not good for being a journalist if my English marks did not even cross the 70's threshold, that too in the easy-and-scoring CBSE board exams! Perhaps, they were right, I conceded.It was just a whim. I was not cut out to be a journalist. In any case, what did I know about the profession - zilch, zero, shunya! To our family, they were the obscure breed that wore khadi kurtas with the ubiquitious jholas, chasing the politicians and stars relentlessly, an image fossilised by the myriad Hindi films! Plus, what side of journalism? What other interests did I have besides films and music? I was pathetic at current affairs and politics, which constitute a large chunk of the stream. I had no interests, I had no vision, I had no knowledge, and was just clinging to this word 'journalism' as a savior to show that I could have an ambition, without really anything great to show barring a few odd stories and articles that a few handful had appreciated.

Another choice, another crossroad. The day I forwarded my choice for English Literature in college, all hell broke loose. What will you do after three years of college? Why dont you re-appear for the entrance exams next year ( I had failed all, including SPA)? Why dont you at least take sciences so that you are in touch with it? Eng Hons is for girls, they argued! But, this time I was adamant. Two years of PCM were enough for me! I did not want to be burdened with something that I did not want to do at all for another three years. Thankfully, my father was by my side. In between, a career in govt. services (following my father's footsteps) was a choice. But for that, one had to be a graduate; English did help there in a small way. I played along that, thinking that quite possibly a secure job would be my calling some day.

As a rough shot, I did apply for the Delhi College of Art and Commerce's Bachelor in Journalism course, which was probably in its initial years at that time. I flunked the entrance badly. And the point was driven home with lots of force that I was not meant to be a journalist; I did not have the capability or capacity to be so. By merely writing a few stories here and there, and editing a school magazine, I was being too big for my boots. Get real! I did. Though inwardly, I felt that it was just an entrance exam I had failed ( it was all current affairs based ) , and it was unfair to me. Leave the entrance criterias, why can't I just join it, and prove myself. This always got my blood boiling. I was subject to a stupid system; it's not the entrance exam/interview that should matter, just get me in, and see how I will shine.

Well, that was not to be; and I resigned to the fact that perhaps I was not cut out. Maybe, they were all right. I had better concentrate on the Eng. Hons, and see what best to do next.

With the 'safe' options like medicine and engineering out of the way, I was again unsure of my future. The half-baked idea of becoming a journalist was also nipped;the IAS entrance exams (at later date) did cross the mind quite strongly, but again the effort for the studying put me off totally.

Three years of fun! Three years of uncertainty! They passed all too quickly.

Now what? A simple graduate hardly guarantees a job. A simple graduate in English, guarantees it lesser!

For the sake of doing so, just for the lark, I applied for the written entrance exam of the prestigious Institute of Mass Communication (JNU). It was an interesting paper; it concentrated more on writing skills than mere knowledge of what constituted the Third Front in politics!

I cleared it.

But the elation was shortlived. Seriously, you do not want to do this, they all exclaimed. This is not right, this is not done. On the day of the interview, I kept pleading that allow me to give it a shot. There were 'hurrumphs' and 'grunts' and we were at my sister's place, not even talking about it, and I had an interview after two hours. I faced my father, and told him that I had to give the interview, however bad it went. Grudgingly, he relented. We went to the campus. No good lucks, no 'meetha' given, no smiles, no aashirwaad. I failed.

I had tried for the entrance at CAT; well, 'tried' can hardly be the word. Let's say I just appeared for them, with the time that was supposed to be spent in studying for them gone waste in day dreaming (as ever).

Dreams do not come true in my case. There is not that chance, or luck, or that special moment when everything falls in place. Those are best found in stories (or other's lives), not me!

My parents even went to the extent of finding contacts to pay 'donation' to get me in IMT, Gaziabad. The contact did nothing, the money was (thank heavens!) returned; this time, again, I failed, but certainly not because of my own cause.

Without any concrete plan of action for life, and without any more options really left, I just entered the MBA course being offered by one of the many mushrooming ones in South Delhi. It was not great, but they guaranteed placement. And at least, I would have some post-graduate tag. I took it up, and I sailed through the two years; and I got a job at the end in a tin-manufacturing company in Sahibabad.

Since then ten years have passed!

Prayer

2005-05-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

Before my boss could blow off his lid, I managed to complete half of the stupid work mentioned in the previous post. The report was submitted, all of the 40 pages; it was untidy, haphazard and absolute balderdash. I cringed when I saw the print outs; but neither was there inclination, nor the time, to re-edit it further. It's gone, and hopefully, now in some cans where it was ultimately to go.

With this, it will give me some breathing space, before he asks for the second part. I am saved for a week at least.

But it is another scare that looms large in front of me. I wonder if its with me that happens or does everyone go through the same tensions and nail-biting hours, when something big is to happen. I am confident others go through the same process; but the vital difference is that while others would work and then go through the tension, I just procrastinate and idle, and then get the dull ache inside me. I should not be at this place, and writing this piece, but doing something about the immense workload. But that's the way I am - a lazy, good for nothing, idiot, prone to enjoy the luxuries of life without working hard.

It all comes back to the same thing again ; I have seen people who have never set foot inside a temple, or praying, gain the successes. I am jealous of them. Maybe its the past karma, maybe its their diligence, maybe they are plain lucky. Why can't I be so ?

This is repetition; but still, have to pen it down. God, if You are omnipresent, if You really exist, if You have ever got a true prayer for me even for one mini-second, if You are within me and reading this as I type it out, please give me the success that I crave for. That one thing will ease life a bit, I think. And yes, please God, do not give it with some sticky strings attached. I know You have strange ways of fulfilling wishes, but this time please do it sans the sense of humor or tricks. Its a plain, honest prayer to You, please reply in a plain, honest way.

Work-2

2005-05-24T10:01:00.000-07:00

I hate the puerile and pathetic work that I have to do as part of my duties. For four days in a row I have avoided and procrastrinated a stupid work that I have to complete. I have given myself a thousand excuses, and ready to give a thousand more to my superiors lest they call asking for it. For the past four days, as the fear of an unfinished task weighs heavily within me, I have lent myself to several pasttimes, but with an irritating ache gnawing my heart. I know it will go only once I complete it, however badly I do it! Yet, getting myself to do it is becoming in itself an herculean effort. Hence, I while away time, and the fear deepens. The term 'vicious cycle' could not have found a better usage!

Incidentally, I am not in a strong position to just call up and tell my superiors that this is something I do not enjoy doing. I am on a weak wicket. I hope I survive here long enough. Else, I might be soon on the job market again!

God ( yes, I still Love you, despite the idiotic post below), please do bless me with Your Infinite Strength and Kindness. Though I understand that in the overall scheme of things everything is transient and momentary, still, this once I need to prove that I am worth it. Please Help Me, O Lord. Please return the success streak that was mine.

Just Another Random Thought

2005-05-24T09:47:00.000-07:00

With fear, I observe that I am losing touch with my other webspace. In horror, I see a lost interest there. The half-finished story there remains just that - half finished. Earlier, I would never have left a story incomplete.

Suddenly, I find writing on this blog easier. Partly, the fact can be attributed to the sense of anonymity that this blog gives. More importantly, the interest here lies in the fact that I can pen these meaningless diatribes against anything and everything without the botheration of justifications through comment boxes. Also, I can publish these small, no-value posts here which have become difficult there. Maybe, this is actually becoming my e-diary : a place to pen down the thoughts and emotions, without bothering too much on the grammatical and language correctness.

This is in no way to mean that I do not value the friendships cultivated through the other blog; on the contrary, I cherish them with fierce intensity and would never trade that for all the goodness that this blog gives.

Yet, there is something missing. I cannot pinpoint immediately. Perhaps, I did take that blog a bit too seriously, and am now weighed by my own popularity, something that I craved for when I started that blog. What a messed up creature I am, indeed!

Anyways, found these lines at a blog a few days back. It sort of sums up my feelings.

Its that feeling of loneliness without being lonely,
Hundreds of people around and yet I am the one and only.
I have everything, if you must count I say
Then why this melancholy, why this dismay?

Thank, 'K', for writing out what I feel everyday!

Life

2005-05-23T07:36:00.000-07:00

When Shakespeare wrote about life being a meaningless drama enacted between the womb and tomb, he couldn't have been more correct, ever. What a useless piece of time is a life, day in and day out, month in and month out, year in and year out. For what purpose? For what gain?

If, as said in the Bhagvat Geeta, everything has to end in God, and Man has to choose his ‘karmas’, is the entire creation a sort of cosmic video game for God, where the creatures gain points with their acts and go up the next ‘level’ (just as in any game) of evolutionary hierarchy? In a small unknown movie, Shukriya, the character played by Anupam Kher argues mocks at the outrageous idea of ‘mukti’; he questions that if he had to be liberated why he was even given this ‘bondage of love and relationships’ called life, in the first place. Was this idea some sort of a sadistic pastime of God?

And, when God can proclaim with so much pompousness that “I am the One whom you have to meet”, “I am the Beginning and End”, “I am There”, is it a small wonder that Man, supposedly the most perfect and closest to God in form, also full of “I” and ego? Also, cannot God come and meet all its creatures; why does he wait for the creatures to take so many births to reach human form, and then gain Him? Is he so full of ego that He cannot himself walk down and liberate all? Why does He sit back and enjoy the drama unfolding before him, which only makes my question of all this being a video game for Him all the more credible? And, when Liberation was the end result, why did he create life, with happiness and sorrows thrown in between- some pastime for him? And, if by some strange mystical mistake, this ‘karma’ cycle was created, is He not All Powerful Enough to wipe it off, and assuage the pains of the millions of his creations?

Questions, questions, and more questions. Though many answers have been mooted by various faiths, none have been very convincing in their theories.

In all, indeed, life is a meaningless drama, a noisy farce, and here I play the role of a not a nice person. Let's see how long the part lasts, and when and how the director decides my exit.

Anonymous

2005-05-20T05:02:00.000-07:00

I have removed my name from this blog completely.

Not that it will be difficult for those who know me to find out who owns this blog. For one, the list on the right hand side is an exact replica of the one that is there on my main blog (I own another space in the cyber-world). Second, many of my regular readers did come here in January to read the now-shelved "The Last Lust" ; I have not changed the URL. Lastly, the template on my main blog is a ditto copy of this one.

Beyond them, it will not be easy for anyone to relate to my other blog; that is, if they have been there as well.

I had started this blog as a mirror-blog for my other one. At that time the hosting service there had faced a severe crisis. However, I could never re-publish the posts written there on to this page. The pathetic net connection was one reason, but a more potent one was that I was too lazy to do so. In any case, the hosting service of the main blog resumed its functioning perfectly well after that.

Anonymity does not come easy to me. I did mention that I have an 'exhibitionist' trait within me. Yet, I am enjoying the new-found hiding. I said I was childish; this is a new toy for me. Let me play with it for some time; let me enjoy this freedom of 'not being known' for some time. Once I tire of it, which I am sure will be pretty soon, I will come out.

All said and done, this anonymity has made me pen four posts in a row; thoughts that I was too shy or scared to share on the main page have found their birth. Let me raise a toast to this!

The Man

2005-05-20T04:32:00.000-07:00

Opposite the west gate (I think) of the Palace, stands a man. He is skinny, scawly and dilapidated but wears impeccably ironed and neat white-and-black national outfit of the country. He stands with the aid of the crutches. His narrow and old eyes do not waver from the gate on the opposite end of the road. He is oblivious to the rushing cars in between. His lips tremble, or perhaps, he mumbles a prayer.

Over the days, I have seen him stand on the same spot. He does not move an inch. Why is he there ? What does he do ? How does he survive? What time does he go for his lunch ? From where does he get the strength to stand without even the slightest movement or shift of the body weight ?

Lots of questions run my mind whenever I see him. I have not got any answer as yet except for the mumbles from my over-active, over-fertile brain. Perhaps, he is devoted to the powers that live within the palace. Or, maybe he is a spy in disguise to observe and look-out for any trouble maker at the palace. I do not know. But, I do wish to know. Some day, I shall find out.

Some day...

Work

2005-05-20T04:15:00.000-07:00

I wish I could do a work that I could relate to in a better manner. A job where I do not have to worry about targets and sales and month-ends and bottom-lines and plans. A job where I could sit at home and work on my laptop throughout the day, as and when I want to (which would not be much, anyways), and not have to worry about the reports and printouts that the boss wants (or wanted, as of yesterday!)

People say that they get bored by doing nothing, or rather, 'not working'. I belong to that rare breed who cannot be bored by doing nothing. Trust me, I can live a better and fuller life without worrying about the next promotion, the next deadline, the next notch up on the sales graph. I do not think it will give me any sort of elation if tomorrow I am made the vice-president of the company. Although I have managed to come up the ladder of the corporate heirarchy, it's not been so much of my own efforts, as it has been the natural flow of doing the work just to avoid any confrontational situations with the powers-that-be!

I should have been born in some royal family, or should have been scion of a filthy rich family, wherein I could have splurged the money earned by my parents. Yes, my ego and self-esteem can be quite accomodating!

But since it will take a huge amount of time to reach that level (come on, I will have to die, do penance and 'tapasya' to get a re-birth in such a family), let me modify the want a bit. Perhaps, I could be happier if I had two best-sellers behind my back and their royalties to enjoy, and then I could take life easy, write at my pace, spend time on the net at my pleasure, watch my kind of films, and if I had to worry then it would be for the next scene that I need to put in my story/novel, and not about the looming business plan.

Sigh! The images of the various 'rejection slips' from various publishers imprint themselves on my mind's photographic plate. I am not talented enough to be a writer. The fact is infuriarating.

Yes, delusioned is another adjective that you can add to me now, after melancholic, depressed, introvert and juvenile. I did say I am not a nice person to know, didn't I?

People

2005-05-19T22:39:00.000-07:00

Today I read a short story in which a sentence caught my attention. It was about a house-wife, and the author had mentioned about the 'love-hate' relationship that she had developed with her loneliness; so much so, that the lady in the story started to get irritated by the presence of her own husband and children on weekends. Yet, on the weekdays, she pines for the same company that she shuns on those two days. Split personality,eh? Not really. Loneliness can be a devilish bed-mate to have in life. It is foul, uncouth, dirty and obnoxious. At the same time, it is addictive and habitual.

I suffer from the same.

The purpose of the post was about 'people', as mentioned in the title as well. 'People' are the anti-dote to loneliness; or at least, they are the best ones. A uni-logue (my word, as opposed to a dia-logue) with a book or a song or a TV show can assuage the same, but the affect is short-lived. Often, it can only elevate than alleviate the disease.

Despite being in the marketing/sales line (the sharp difference between the two is lost in our sub-continent), talking to people comes to me as naturally as turning vegetarian comes to a lion. I could not have chosen a worst career decision ever. Yet, given my laziness and lethargic demeanor that was the easiest to do. But more on that later sometime.

I can have a thousand conversations running within the stifled confines of my brain. But the same get woefully weakened as soon as they are brought out into the open. Small talk ( a must for any one in the field that I am in ) is something that I detest. I cannot do it. When I try to force the gush of the conversation, it ends up in the weak stream which would even make the trickle of Rajasthan desert taps look like Niagara Falls. Often, I have watched with awe (and envy) at people indulging in small talks, bringing up myriad topics and keeping the conversation alive. One of my superiors is a master in this. I try to learn from him, but I guess my disposition is a very bad pupil. It fails all the time.

Out of the professional realm, people have a strange effect. I cannot open to them the way I want to; certainly, not the candid way that I am doing it here on this page. Yet, once I have opened myself, I cannot retract back. Often, I come on them strongly; or, perhaps cross the threshold of friendship's propriety. Admittedly, I do cross this threshold, only to be whisked away by the deadly Ravan of shamelessness; my heart, brain and soul scream out the cries of help but I keep flying against the harsh winds bruising my ego, ultimately to be thrown into a fantastic but lonely garden of solitary confinement; the person will ultimately object to this sudden onslaught of attention, quite naturally. Perhaps, I am childish and juvenile. I have crossed thirty, but the mind stays on at thirteen, where the novelty of a person or thing attracts forcefully, to the extent that I can discard off my duties and responsibilities!

In all this, there is something else that gets missed out. Trust. One cannot bind anything with water; one cannot bind with another without trust. Yet, trust is in a negative balance in my life's account. It could be because of the lack of trustworthy people that have stepped into my life. But, to say that all of them have not been so sounds hard to digest. There has to be something wrong with me, no? Either I expect too much (again, the 'coming out too strong' syndrome) or I get too less. I reckon the former is truer.

I wish I could set the control button to my emotions and feelings and thoughts and conversations and jokes and tantrums and expectations and trust and faith and attitude and friendship and care to a 'medium' button.

Is it possible?

I am trying. The luck has been hard till now, and I have completed more than 25% of my life (the average life span of an Indian male).

I hope I succeed. Without any more bruises, that is!

Lost Thoughts

2005-05-19T05:42:00.000-07:00

If I had to choose my middle name, perhaps 'melancholic' will suit the best. Without sounding too derisive, it sums up the recurrent semi-depressed and semi-sad state that I slip into every few days, sans any tangible source of pain or hurt. It is probably something to do with the planetary positions, or perhaps due to some past incident simmering like molten lava within the crust of my existence, or maybe due to the fact that I am this way only...well, I am past the age to analyze this. In any case, no amount of analysis will yield any purposeful result. Suffice to point out that today I am feeling morose, dull and extremely vulnerable. At the cost of giving off my Achilles heel, let me say, at this point I am as tender as the wound that can erupt with its stark red life fluid at the merest touch. The ominous thunder of the impending storm wrapped around the overcast Kathmandu skies further compound the grayness within me. The reasons for writing this piece here are two fold - one, I have a story on at my main page ( I do not know its future, if I can come out of this mood fast, I will surely complete it). Second, too many people 'know' me up-close on that blog. It is next to impossible to explain that I can be sad without any specific reason. Another (and a more logical option) would be to type this in MS Word, vent out the spleen, and move on. Why publish it on this other blog? Well, another strange facet of my strange personality is the crave for exhibitionism. I will not publicise this blog, but I will not keep it exactly in anonymity either. Yes, I will revel in the few sympathies that unfurl over me.

The day has nearly set. There is a very faint hint of dark twilight. The electric bulbs and tubelights have taken over charge from the sunlight. The roads have almost bid farewell to the rush-hour traffic returning to their cozy nests.

Through out the day, as the sun traversed its oft-repeated and monotous course, I sat idly. There was an immense load of work to be done. But nothing got started. Nothing got completed, either. The fear of the piling workload increased its hateful weight; yet, I did not do anything about it. I sat on, clicking a few sites here, a few pages there, but not reading them, or if I was, not understanding any of the black-and-white formations there (which everyone calls 'words'). A strange inertia had taken over. I had meant to finish off the story (on the main page) also by evening. I could not. Not that I did not want to, but somehow, I just could not bring myself to do it. Suddenly the attention span developed a spasm; I would start listening to a song, then leave it mid-way, move on to the next, only to discard a minute later. For sometime, I looked out of the window yet, I was not seeing anything. Curiously, I was not thinking anything either. For all practical purposes, I was dead. Conscious death. Is there a medical term like this? I doubt it. But, I guess I am unique, strange and different.

Now, I push away this piece. I am tired of writing it. The attention is lost. I hope I recover soon. I always do. I will. Good bye.

The Last Lust

2005-01-09T04:40:00.000-08:00

Episode Two

She switched on the air conditioner, pressed the remote of the television simultaneously, and giggled into the phone. Her friend, Suman, on the other admonished, “Stop laughing…I am telling the truth…it was hilarious in class.”

Reena flipped through the channels, as she continued to chuckle at the latest funny incident from her school friend Suman’s class. It had become a daily routine to check out on each other’s college details. Reena sat on the mini-sofa at the side of her room, placed a pink cushion comfortably on her lap, and slided back to watch the fast moving channels on her television, while she got the updates from Suman; they knew quite a lot of each other’s college friends as well. A large teddy bear, with pink ribbons and flashing brown button eyes, sat beside her.

“Waise, how is Mohit?” asked Suman.

“First class, jumbo and pakka haramzada…” giggled Reena.

“Koi chakkar wakkar to nahin chal raha?”

“Arre na…he is just a friend…you know, poori toli hai hamari college mein…Lalit, Rajan, Rahul and the gang. They are good fun, that’s it…achche log hai…and all from influential families…kaam aayenge kabhi toh!”

“Yeah, that’s true…”

“Aaj apna sadhiyal maar khaate khaate bacha hai mujhse…” she said.

“Sadhiyal?”

“Arre..Rahul yaar…his face is such as if he has just come after having a spanking from his mom!” – again a round of giggles, as she went on to describe yet another incident that she had with her bete noire of college. Though inwardly she had to admit that Rahul did have an unconventionally very handsome face- a sort of raw attraction in those deep black eyes, and a very attractive unruly mop of hair that fell on the lined forehead. But, she never got along with him, despite his being part of the 'gang'... “Sheesh…there are floods again in Bihar…so sad, na!” She made appropriate sounds of disaster, without given any thought; it was expected of her to say these words, she said it! From the other end, she received an equally made up regretful sound!

Her fingers continued to harass the remote control, and suddenly she exclaimed, “Hey Suman, HBO is showing The Mexican…I have to see this now. Brad Pitt ko poori attention deni padti hai, na…bye and will catch up with you tomorrow."

She heard a squeal of delight from her friend and the two exchanged mandatory pleasantries; Reena threw the cordless on the bed, curled up her legs, and paid her ‘undivided attention’ to Brad Pitt! Her room created on demand at her choice was a tasteful assembly in light grey and pink...the plastered walls were light gray, while most of the accessories, including the sofa on which she sat and the curtains, were in baby pink. The sofa was on the furthest end from the door, almost near the attached bathroom. Behind where she sat was the windows draped in expensive curtains, and in front of her, on which she stretched her legs, was the large double bed. Beyond the bed, were the cupboards, again in matching grey and pink, with the dressing table adjascent to it.

Before long, she realized that she was not alone in her room; her grandmother had entered, wobbling a little by the arthritic pain in her left knee; she had entered quietly, and sat on the bed, a forlorn lonely expression lined along with the wrinkles. Seeing her, Reena felt a gush of love for the genial lady, and throwing away the cushion, rushed to hug her and sit by her knee. Before reaching the lady, she pressed the 'mute' button on the remote, and dropped the remote carelessly on the bed.

“Oh daadi, love you so much…” she said, hugging the lady’s knees and planting a soft kiss. The lady placed a soft hand on her head and start massaging it.

“Love you too, my child” her grandmother replied, and kissed her on the head.

Often Reena wondered at the bond that she felt on seeing her father’s mother. It was a unique tug of war within her- between the urge to rebel and the need to succumb.

“Beta…I hope you are not angry with me!” said the old lady, in her cracking voice, which gave the tiniest hint of dignity and strength that had once held fort there as she had been in control of the household, raising her seven children single handedly, in an era when the modern amenities were not available.

Reena gurgled like a baby and cooed, “No…you are my sweetest daadi…but why do you always have to treat me like a baby…I am grown up now”

The grandmother continued to lovingly pat her. “You are only nineteen; I am seventy eight now. I have seen the world fifty nine years more than you; it is not what it seems. One has to be careful…especially in this fast world, where the slips are more!”

“But I do understand the good and the bad. And you also know that life is journey that needs to be taken with the full heart, else we will lose out”

“That’s what you think… don’t pretend to be older than what you are; it does not suit you, it does not befit you. In the end, it will only hurt you…you have only stepped into the journey; you have not seen it fully as yet! Don’t talk about life and death like an adult; enjoy this youth but with full caution. You are nineteen year old; you should remain like a nineteen year old only; and I know that some of the things that you are doing is not fit for a nineteen year old. I am scared for you”

Reena looked up, into the sunken but radiant eyes. “But daadi, at nineteen you were already a mother!”

The tug of war was beginning again, and Reena felt the urge to thwart the need to succumb.

“My child, I never said that what we did was always correct…but, whatever correct things we did, at least follow that. In the end, I assure you, you will be happy!” She pulled the girl down to her lap and hugged her.

************************************************************************

The “auditorium”, a compact white structure, at the end of a busy market, was a favorite haunt of many aspiring musicians; built by Mohit’s grandfather originally as a community hall, the same was converted into a small theater cum recording center, once the communities divided and get-togethers reduced. NDMC found the profits dwindling as people started preferring the hotels and banquet halls with ready made catering and decoration services more convenient for the marriages and parties. The structure was pulled down and the swanky neo-architecture with steel and glass came up a couple of years back, eating up the green space around the hall that had seen some of the finest weddings in its heydays, including that of Mohit’s parents.

At the end of the building was the large practice room, where ‘the gang’ practiced for their new music album; the recording for most of the songs was done. The room, with its high-ceilings, and tall windows, had a polished wooden floor, with posters and photographs of major foreign pop-stars adoring the walls, beneath slim brass horizontal lights. On the center of the room were large decorative tubelights that were on, and adding to the heat of the room, which the three forlorn airconditioners were trying to desperately clear. A dull smell of cigarrette smoke lingered.

Largely empty, a few chairs were carelessly strewn, with a small table with glasses of water and a purifier standing on the right side of the entrance. On the opposite end, where Mohit, Rajan and a girl stood discussing the next note, stood a sophisticated synthesizer, on its bright shiny steel stand, right next to the huge drum-and-cymbal set behind which Lalit sat carelessly playing a few strokes. Next to it, on two joined mini-tables, was a hi-fi music system. Against one of the tables, an electric guitar stood, dazzling in its blue metal. A cluster of wires and leads intertwined and jumbled near them.

“Ok, you got the next step, Deepa?” Mohit asked the girl; her reactions told she did not, yet, she nodded, her mouth chewing furiously at the bubble gum; she placed a hand on her hip, just over the free space between her checkered skirt and her loose white top that ended in a knot below her breasts.

Mohit looked at the knot; disinterestedly, Deepa’s eyes moved from his face to the knot and then to his crotch; a bulge was distinctly visible; she smiled…these men! All the same…at the same time her chewing speed increased as she realized the wetness below her- yeah, man, it would be interesting to get fucked by this guy!

Lalit gave a few knocks on the drum, looked at the combustive eyes of Mohit and Deepa, and smiled inwardly- there, one more conquest for our stud! He looked at the other end of the room; Rahul was smoking a cigarette, blowing away the smoke out of the window that he had partially opened.

“Hey, Rahul…what’s up? Why so sad?” Lalit called out.

Rajan who was trying to fix up something on the system, crouched next to the low table on which it sat, turned and said, “Maybe Sharma took his ass yesterday!” A low laughter ensued. “Or maybe Reena gave a blow…not job, but on the head!”

Rahul smiled, and called out, “Bastard!”

Deepa walked past Mohit, her hand lightly touching the rising mount on his jeans; he smiled…the bitch! She will be under me tonight!

“Hey guys! Cut the crap out, and first tell me what this shit song all about is!” called out Deepa, her pout prominent, a twang in accent audible, and walked up to Rajan, and stood in front of him, “And what the hell are you doing!”

Rajan looked at the deep brown chocolaty legs extending up before him. “I had recorded a piece yesterday, just setting it up…and this song, I dunno a shit myself about it…dad was listening some days back…found it good…ok…just two minutes more”

Lalit laughed at both. “You guys are nuts! At least know the song that you are remixing. It’s from a new film of apni Ash baby…Raincoat…and the song is Mathura nagarpati kaahe tum videsh jaao!”

Rahul called out. “Bahnchod, Its not ‘videsh’…”

“Whatever!” Lalit replied back. “At least I have heard the original seriously once!”

“Yeah, whatever…” chewed Deepa, staring down at Rajan, who looked up and winked at her.

“It’s done…” and proceeded to snap a few keys, on the system, and then got up; as he did so, he nearly brushed past the extended mounts of Deepa.

He rubbed his hand, and said, “Yeah, it’s a slow song, and I have just jazzed it up to suit everyone. And its traditional…so Deepa, in the final shoot, you will be in a ghagra choli…just the sexy horny doll from the village, right!”

“Ghagra choli” squealed Deepa, “How exciting…” Her twang was even more prominent as she drawled out the words.

“Ok… get this now. Lalit, you give the beats…Mohit, the keyboards please…and Deepa, when I sing ‘mathura nagarpati’ you gotta push out your chest out like this…” He made an obscene thrust forward, “there is a loud ‘hey’ here, so raise your arms, and now see my hand movements as it goes to ‘kaahe tum gokul jaao’…ekdum traditional movement, picked it up from a programme on DD yesterday” He made a ‘bharatnatyam’ style mudra and moved it towards his crotch, parting his legs, and then giving a pelvic thrust forward. “Then you turn, and sit down with your leg stretched outward, and look out with your bosom thrusting out…I will ensure a good shot when we do the final shoot tomorrow!”

Mohit shouted, “Jhakaas man! Deepa if you get this step right, we shall put it on the promos as well…guaranteed sell out, I say!”

Rajan smiled, pleased. “Ok, Rahul…the guitars please!”

Rahul latched the window, walked back to the gang, and picked up the electronic guitar; Lalit adjusted himself on the seat, and Mohit played a few introductory notes on the keyboard.

Rajan moved back to the system, and Deepa towards the centre of the room; she gave one quick shrug of the shoulders. Rajan called out, “Ready, one two…start!”

Immediately, Lalit started the beats, and Mohit played on the keyboards with Rahul providing the guitars, Rajan started to sing the song, and Deepa gave the exact movements and much more…her breasts seemed to be on an independent dance, and her legs, when stretched out had an unusual gymnast’s flexibility; but the best she gave was the ultimate horny look, her eyes intoxicated, and her dark tan brown face shining under the lights!

As soon as the finished the piece, Rajan pressed a button on the system…a strange sound, like a dog’s howl, but much subdued came full blast from the amplifiers!

When it ended, Rajan pressed the ‘stop’ button and looked at the gang expectantly. “What say? Isn’t it the perfect sound to place here after the first lines?”

“But what is it?” asked Rahul, skeptically.

“My mother fucking bitch was howling away yesterday, so I just recorded that…” Rajan gave the explanation, beaming and smiling at his ingenuity, “and changed the tenor and sharpness and added the beat to it on comp yesterday night…it will sound mind blowing, I say man!”

Deepa picked up a hand-towel from a chair, and came forward wiping her face. “You got some brains, man!” she said, and stopped near Mohit, who stood leaning on the keyboard, and placed her arm on his shoulders. Her eyes were, however, on Rajan, who returned her knowledgeable look.

“Hi Guys!”

They looked up, and saw Reena entering the hall. She wore tight jeans, but this time with a pink T-shirt, and as she walked up, everyone in the room noticed the small, round peak of her nipples pointing forward; she walked with a deliberate 'cat-walk' style movement, accentuating the sexiness that was not only oozing out, but spilling out! Her eyes froze as she saw Deepa leaning over Mohit.

“Hi Deepa!” she called out, steely.

Mohit noticed the sudden frosty tone, and distanced himself slightly from Deepa, and welcomed her with a grin. “You looking wow today Reena!” he remarked, as she came forward and shook hands with him. Their eyes arrested in a sharp look.

“So, how’s the practice going, guys?” Reena asked, looking away from Deepa, who had noticed the gap between her and Mohit but did not say anything and continued to chew on her gum. Bitch, she swore under breath.

“Hi Reena…so you got free from Mrs Kamla finally…” laughed out Lalit.

Reena growled, jokingly, “Don’t talk of her, puh-leaaase! She ate my head up with her bakwaas; but ya, got her work done fully…see, me is such a sweet girl otherwise” As she spoke, she looked at Deepa with disdain.

“Whatever!” drooled Deepa dismissively, and went up to Rahul, and said, “Nicely played, Rahul!”

Rahul, who had been tuning the guitar till now, aware of Reena’s obnoxious presence now, suddenly jerked his head up, and looked at Deepa- a praise from her was the most unexpected thing; but seeing Deepa’s eyes still on Reena, he realized the reason behind it…these two girls will never get along ever, he sighed! And, he knew the reason for the chilled behavior – Mohit’s attention. Sometimes he wondered whether Reena beneath the cool ‘friendship’ tag, was Reena secretly falling in love with Mohit? But, alas, he would never know…there was ‘no friendship lost’ between them...He could never fathom the reason for Reena’s dislike ever; but, it had now crystallized into a worse kind of cold war, where even exchange of pleasantries had ceased.

Politely he excused himself, and moved out of the hall; behind him he could hear the gang discussing the next day’s ‘party’.

Stepping out into the strong sunlight of the mid-afternoon, Rahul took out a Gold Flake, and lit it, throwing the match carelessly on the stone courtyard, behind the flower pots that lined the wall.

Even before he could finish a quarter of the cigarette, he was joined in by Lalit.

“Hey, Rahul, baat kya hai? What’s wrong between you and Reena…itna ke, you just walk out when she enters!”

“Nothing yaar…saali samajhti kya hai apne aap ko? I was damn pissed off yesterday- the way she spoke in class…”

“Jaane de na…she’s not that bad in heart- probably immature!”

“Then she should get mature fast…chut mein land ghusa sakti hai toh bheje mein akal bhi ghusa le…” he spat!

Lalit patted his back, “Cool it yaar…aisa toh nahi that you are jealous of Mohit…”

Rahul looked at him sharply. He started to speak but kept quiet. It was quite impossible to judge how and when Lalit could come with such scathing comments, unknowingly, unwittingly. He puffed on the dying cigarette, and threw it away with a strong force, and wondered if this was true…no…he decided, this was not the truth. He was not jealous because of the fact that Mohit could be sleeping with her, but perhaps…

************************************************************************

“Api Chedsi Papebheye Sarvebhaye Paapkrittam, Sarvam Jyanplenaiv Vrijinam Santarishyasi…” said Dadi, and stopped, looking at the forlorn face of her granddaughter. Reena sat on the carpet of her room, while dadi was reciting the Geeta, sitting on the bed, crosslegged, with the holy book open on her lap, and the thick spectacles perched securely on her nose.

“Beti…in this the Lord says that once you have the Knowledge with you… the Knowledge of the Infinite, the Knowledge that the Sages know of, the Knowledge that will eradicate all the past and all the lust in you, and the Knowledge of the Lord…then, even if you are the biggest sinner of the world, you shall still, with this boat of Knowledge, cross the river of your sins…The way the fire consumes the fuel, the same way Knowledge uses up your lust…”

Reena looked thoughtfully. “But what is this Knowledge…what is this sin…what is this lust?”

Dadi smiled. “Beti, anything from this world is lust. We have been sent to this world so that we can understand the Biggest Happiness of the Universe- that is meeting with God. It is God’s way of putting all of us in an agni-pareeksha, so that we can come to Him, who is the Purest, in the most Pure form as well. That is why we must always bow to him, and seek his path.”

“But, I always pray in the morning…and I can’t become a nun at this age, can I?”

Daadi gave a low chuckle. “I have seen you praying; your one eye is on the telephone and the other on the idols! And, the Geeta never states you to leave your path, your doing! It says that you must do your ‘karma’ as it suits your age…so, you are a student now, you should study hard because at this age, this is your duty. No one is asking you to become a nun…least of all the Bhagvad!”

Reena shook her head; it was all too much for her. As of now, the only thing that was running in her mind was the ‘knowledge’ of the fact whether Mohit was romping away with that bitch Deepa.

“Dadi…why is life so tough?”

Dadi closed the holy book, and placed her hand lovingly on her head. “Life is not tough; we make it tough with our thoughts and doubts and confusions. See, if you take your mind off whatever you are thinking and as of now pray and reminisce His name, life is so simple. This is all that God is asking you to do. Just tell me one thing, you go to a beauty parlor every week, don’t you?”

Reena looked up, a trifle suspiciously at dadi…was this start of another lecture on the waste of money? She nodded slightly.

“But what if you don’t go for a few weeks? Would your hair or facial happen on its own? Would the beauty parlor walk up to your house? No, na? So, the same way, we have to go and seek God…”

Reena closed her eyes, and placed her head on the grandmother’s lap…yeah…she had better go now and call up Mohit…was he alone or with Deepa? She had to seek this truth out first!

To Be Continued

The Last Lust

2005-01-08T07:38:00.000-08:00

Episode One

“How much do you charge for a night?”

She looked up, distraught at the question. The room, a small ten by ten cell, with a single, chipped, wooden table, was getting stuffier as the lady before her lighted another cigarette and let out a thick smoke.

Reena did not answer, and frantically continued to dial the number on the old style, rotating dial, black telephone. The call did not go through; she placed the receiver back on the cradle with a force, and looked up at the burly woman pacing in front of the table, puffing away a Gold Flake.

“Kyun, tera yaar nahin mila?” the lady asked, dropping the ash on the ground, her raspy voice cutting through Reena. The lady, wearing a plain khaki gruff sari, stopped in her track and faced her squarely.

Instinctively, Reena cringed, seeing the cold large eyes, with a faint streak of redness around the iris and a dark, perceptible spot on the whites of the eyes. “I will give you one more chance to call! And then…”

Reena shivered at the threat; her hands and feet felt cold.

***********************************************

Hurriedly eyeing the books to check the correct ones, she dumped them into the bag, and started for the dining table, picking up her pen lying carelessly on the side drawer, along the phonebook; reaching the table, she picked up the glass of milk, and started to gulp it down, and from the corner of the eyes noticed her grandmother, sitting across the table on knitting a sweater, her eyes covered with thick frame of glasses. The room, adjacent to the lush drawing room was tastefully decorated with the large glass topped dining table taking up most of the space; a marble statue with a lamp at the top stood majestically in the corner, next to the side drawer that boastfully displayed some expensive crockery through its branded glass exterior. Just beyond the room was the hallway, across which was the kitchen, from which she could hear the clutter of utensils as her mother prepared the lunch for all before leaving for her own office.

Stopping midway to take her breath, she observed the grandmother peering closely at a wrong stitch that she had obviously made. Reena shook her head; she never knew why her grandmother would always knit, when no in the family was interested in wearing her handmade sweaters…certainly not in an age of Monte Carlos, she thought! And it irritated her for no comprehensive reason that in the rush hours of the morning, the old lady was the only one who sat quietly doing nothing, and knitting away for no rhyme nor reason!

“Ma…I am leaving, and will back a little late!” she called out to her mother, “You just take care of packing papa’s blue checked shirt; he looks nice in that!”

“Fine, beta!” called out her mother, “And you don’t trouble dadi by coming late; we shall call you when we reach Hyderabad”

She finished the milk in the second huge gulp, and noticed her grandmother admonishingly looking at her…no, she realized that the old lady was looking at the small white chiffon top of hers, which had got raised as she drank the last drops of the milk, by holding the glass up; the midriff was more widely displayed.

A cold stare was exchanged; Reena placed the glass.

“Ok Ma…happy journey and enjoy yourself! I am late!” she quickly called out, and started for the drawing room, through which led the door to the outside.

“Thank you, beta…even I am late today!” she heard her mother speak out, as another utensil got dropped irritatingly into the wash-basin.

Reena picked up the bag, and as her routine, walked past the table, to her grandmother, and cursorily bent down to touch her feet; it was a routine, and she did it with the same enthusiasm as one would do any other daily chore; normally, her hands never went beyond the knees.

“Those boys…be careful” the old lady said, placing the half-knit sweater on the table, and raising her hands to bless her. Her wrinkled, rubbery face, with eyes sunken and hidden behind hideously large black rimmed glasses, looked worried.

Reena froze in mid-air, and sharply looked up at her grandmother. “Dadi, please do not ever again listen to my phone calls!” she hissed.

And walking back, she pushed her black partially curly hair haughtily off her face, and started for the main door, at the farthest end of the drawing room. She was shocked and afraid as to how much her grandmother had heard. The boys were Mohit and Rajan, and she could not fathom what her grandmother meant to be careful of them…they were her friends, dammit! She was not running off with them… and they were not some thieves or crooks! She took a deep breath and shook her head in irritation; sometimes, she felt so angry at the peering piercing looks of her grandmom that she could have told her on the face, but her inherent good manners stopped her for creating a scene. She could not in her wildest dreams think of talking back to the old lady.

As she stepped into the room, her foot stuck into the carpet, and she stumbled forward. Raising her arms she tried to gain balance, but had to take a few hops front-wards. Her grandmother who was watching her leave in the haughty manner, immediately cried out, “Watch your steps, child!”

Gaining balance, she turned towards her grandmother. Their eyes met.

**********************************************

“You are welcome, madam” said Mohit, as he handed over the last of the vegetables to the lady; she was in her mid-fifties, and was coming from the vegetable shop across the road, when her ankle had turned in, and the polythene bag slipped from her hands. She had looked on helplessly as the vegetables rolled over the pavement, but, thankfully, Mohit had seen her plight and had rushed across to help her.

She walked away, placing the brinjal into the packet, thanking his help once again; and Mohit walked back, in a self-confident swagger, to his group, standing at the entrance of the gate. They stood, idly, in all various stages of slump, resting against a shiny red Maruti Zen. They were on the edge of the parking lot, just facing the main entrance gate…Behind them, the looming red-brick building of their institution stood sprawling in its vastness; they stood observing the entrance and exit of students…again in various stages of lethargy and energy.

“Chal yaar, ek sutta pila” he called out to Rajan, his classmate, who was nearly lying on the bonnet, with his hand on his eyes, shielding against the sharp sun.

“Bahnchod, jeb se nikal le…saali garmi bhi itni hai ke phatti jaa rahi hai…how can you smoke in this heat!” drawled out Rajan, without stirring.

Mohit placed his hand into the pocket of his friend, and groped for the rectangular packet, and took it out; before that he noticed another square piece of cardboard; curious, he just pulled it out slightly to have a look …a bright red and white pack, with two naked bodies entwined together, photographed in shimmering black-and-white, smiled back at him.

“Saale…college mein condom leke aaya hai…what’s the plan, man?” he asked out, laughing. The other two, Rahul and Lalit, who had been engrossed in their own discussion, looked up inquisitively at Mohit, as he spoke out. They had small smiles plastered on their sweating faces. Rajan did not stir, and stayed wrapped over the bonnet.

“Plan? Teri maarni thi, isliye condom laaya tha…asshole!” spoke out Rajan.

Mohit took out a cigarette from the red Classic packet, and placed it between the lips, and searched his pocket.

“Matches?” he looked around.

Lalit placed his hand in his trousers and took out a red Ship box, commenting, “Saale, get something of your own also…kaun kahega tu MLA ka beta hai!”

Mohit took the matchbox, and lighted the cigarette, and simultaneously, spoke “My father is an MLA, minister ka beta to yeh baitha hai, condom leke… so, I am the poor little rich son, and by the way, kamine, itna bhaashan for a 50 paise matches…bahn ke… anyways, guys its time for class…nahin toh wo budhha Sharma phir princi ko complaint kar dega”

A groan came out.

The group, or the ‘gang’ as they used to call themselves, was in the third year of college: Mohit, Rajan, Rahul and Lalit. The foursome, that sat on the back benches of the B.A. Pass course. Apart from the meager studies they did, they were part of the band of the college, and were on the way to cut their remix album…having influential fathers sometimes helped!

Mohit took a puff, and observed the gate…a slim girl in a tight skirt entered, her eyes shielded with fancy glares, and her slender, waxed arms holding a few books next to her chest. Her cotton, florally designed skirt, had a deep cut neckline, through which the beginning of he luscious curves were clearly outlined. Mohit’s hand stopped mid-way to his lips, and he stared at her, unblinking.

Rahul, who saw Mohit’s look, squirmed, and said, “Mohit, please yaar…stop staring that way; it seemed you will take off her clothes with your eyes itself!”

“Bahn ki … clothes? I am already fucking her!” He looked at Lalit and Rahul, and signaled towards her, “she is in physics second year…kya chikni hai; lene mein mazzaa aayega…look at her boobs man...they are literally bouncing and wanting to come out of her dress!”

Both Rahul and Lalit twitched, a bit ashamed. Lalit said, “Haan..zaroor…as if she you are a stud and she is gonna just lay in front of you!” Though he spoke with a non-chalant dismissive tone, inwardly, Lalit admitted that Mohit did look like a stud- six foot tall, in a figure hugging bright blue T-shirt that displayed his gym toned biceps, and a faded jeans, again tight, and sticking on to his long, slender legs! A neat jawline, with sharp black eyes over a slender perfectly proportionate nose, added to the charm.

Observing that the girl had noticed their stares and was self-consciously rushing past them on the driveway towards the main building, Rahul tried to change the topic, “Come guys, let’s go…waise bhi, you guys will just keep talking shit; hone waala toh kuchh nahin…”

Mohit puffed at his cigarette and followed the girl with his gaze, and said, with a thoughtful look, “Aisi baat nahin hai… arre, karne ke liye toh yeh bhai sahib bhi hai…condom lekar aaya hai haramzada, madarchod…” He gave a half-scornful, half-jesting stress to the last two profanities and gave a friendly kick on the shins to Rajan, who got up from his reclining position, with a sharp, ‘ouch!’

As they gathered themselves and their books and bags, a voice shrilled out, “Hiiii guys…”

Turning, they saw Reena standing near the gate, waving…Rajan eyed the midriff, and focused on her navel; Mohit looked at the button of her small blouse that was open at the top. Rahul and Lalit looked at their two friends…

*********************************************

She felt someone writing on her back; her eyes opened with a jerk. Her eyes searched for the clock on the opposite wall; the shadows were lengthening and she could notice the darkening summer day out of the window; it was around ten past seven, and immediately turned to face Mohit, who was playfully writing on her lower back with his fingers.

“Mohit, stop it please…and I got to go now, nahin to daadi will start off again!” she said, and got up to leave; she pulled back the bedsheet, and sat up, looking for her rubber band on the table at the side.

Mohit lay back, his arms placed beneath his head, his one naked leg lying loosely out of the carelessly wrapped bed sheet. He stared at the roof of his bachelor’s pad- a one room, one kitchen apartment on the top floor of South Extension, a posh locality of Southern Delhi. He pushed the red printed cotton bed sheet further down to his torso, revealing his smooth tanned sinewy body, a result of the regular shaving off of the unwanted hair.

“You are scared of your daadi?” he asked, raising his head slightly, eyeing her as she pulled her hair back in swift business like motions and caught them in a thick pony tail behind her.

She held the rubber band between her lips, and spoke through her clenched teeth with the band flapping as she spoke, “Not scared…but she is old, and alone at home…aur phir, I do respect her…though often she gets on my nerves with her constant mollycoddling…” She secured the rubber band securely on her hair.

“And your parents? They don’t say anything to you?”

She looked at him, and winked. He looked at her well shaped breasts and felt an erection between his legs. She flicked off a strand of fallen hair from the crevice between her breasts. “Naah… mom is damn cool; dad gets hyper sometimes, but then he has to get time to get hyper often…toh chalta hai…” She looked up, and saw where his eyes were going. Playfully, she hit his cheek and turned his face away, and got up to get dressed.

“You mean, to say that they don't ask ever?” he asked, his face turning back, as she searched for her panty in the pile of clothes lying on the tiled floor. She found it, entangled with his shirt and underwear and her bra; for a brief second she looked lustily at the skimpy VIP Frenchie navy blue speedos; dropping it, she sat on the edge, and pulled on her own dull pink undergarment and stood up to wear it. Mohit noticed the fair globes of her derriere as they got curtained by the semi-transparent clothing. "That means, they won't mind if they see you here?" he continued.

“Are you crazy?” she said, her voice heaving as she picked up the brassiere, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you think any parent would? To be honest, even I wouldn’t be comfy seeing my daughter…but then, that’s ok…I know what I am doing is not wrong, and perfectly safe as well…plus, you are a dear friend, no?”

She turned back to secure the hook and smiled at him. She looked soft and divine as she half turned her face towards him, her hands crossing behind her fumbling for the hook, her hair tied back neatly, her sharp but shapely nose twitching as she struggled, and her lips curved in a radiant half smile.

He smiled back. “Of course, we are the best of friends…”

She felt a heart warming feeling rush through her; it was fun with Mohit- the jokes, the ribaldry, the studies…and of course the sex; she did not even recall how and when it happened the first time; it seemed so long ago; but it was good, and he was gentle…at least, he had a sense of humor even while fucking her, unlike Rajan, who was such a bore in bed. She was once curious to ask him whether he knew about Rajan…but left it…you never know with these males, she thought! They might just take it the other way…not that she was in love or anything with Mohit, but then, she did not want to lose out on the fun…anyways, Rajan was over and done with. At least, she ensured that they never slept once Mohit came into the picture.

She took up her white top and straightened it out. “But daadi…she is different and sometimes weird! You remember that school sex scandal some time back…the girl who was pregnant and was found out by the school sick bay?” She placed her hand into the left sleeve of the top.

“Ya? What of it?”

“Arre..you should have seen the way daadi started her bhaashans on me after that incident…ek toh Star News and all seemed to have nothing better to show during that time, and dadi was just glued to it… and she went on about aurat ki sharam , haya and aaj kal ke bache and what nots!” She rolled her eyes, and shuddered and made a sound of irritation. “It was so stupid to see her go on and on and on…as if I was some kid. I felt like telling her that dammit I am 19 now, and educated and not dumbo like that kid of school! And that this is the 21st century…”

Getting up, she started pacing the room; in just a top and panty, she looked luscious with her long shapely carved and waxed legs! She went to the sofa chair, and picked up his jeans…and as she did, her eyes flashed a naughty grin at him, and she kissed the jeans at the crotches!

“Now where are my jeans?”

“Sweetie, you took them off in the bathroom itself!” he replied.

She walked past the end of the bed, and he raised his head again to have a look at her; yes, it was fun with her, he thought. She seemed so cool and collected and extremely uninhibited. Rajan was correct in his analysis on her. “So what did you tell her?” he asked.

From the bathroom, she replied, “What could I tell her? I told her that I am no longer a kid and I understand what is right and wrong for me!” And that, I do not need to be spoon fed on sex and knows the ways and means to be safe and happy and cannot take sex the way the generation before her took it, were some of the other things that Reena wanted to add, but at that time could not.

She came out of the bathroom, her jeans on, and sat on the edge of the bed, next to his feet, and bent down to wear her sandals. He raised his foot to wriggle it up her back. She turned sharply, “Stop it, na!” she smiled, and teasingly pulled back the rest of the sheet and moved her hand up his leg. “My God, you are some horny bastard!” she squealed. He gave a small yelp as her hand touched his penis, pushed her good naturedly away, and got up from the bed. Picking up a cigarette from a table on his side, he lit it, and proceeded towards the bathroom.

She stood up, and collected her bag, and looked around one last time to ascertain that she was not leaving anything behind, and started for the main door, past the bathroom. She heard the trickle of his urine falling into the commode water.

“Ok Mohit, me’s leaving…see ya in college tomorrow, good night!”

“Bye sweetheart…hey just a sec…” She stopped her hand on the door knob.

He came out, and stood leaning against the door, and blew out a long puff of smoke, “Are you coming to the party day after tomorrow?”

“I am not sure…as you know, mom and dad are in Hyderabad. So, will have to check with daadi…” she shrugged.

“Do try…the entire gang will be there…”

She grimaced…of the gang, there were a few ‘characters’ as she called them, whom she detested.

“Anyways, will let you know in college tomorrow…see ya” She opened the door and walked out.

To Be Continued