The Social 'Me'dia

Did something good today? Please put it up on Facebook, or Twitter or Instagram or it didn't happen!
Got married?
If you don't drown your friends in "happily ever after" pictures of you and your better (soon to be bitter) half then you guys are still happily unmarried.
The Me Syndrome has bitten us all to various effects.
For some it's about showing their friends what they will poop the next morning. While some distinguished folks set upon a journey to selfify every place they come in contact with. The bathroom has been the most spotted in those pictorial autobiographies of these legends.
There are those who who like like  to  to reiterate reiterate their their thoughts thoughts time and again time and again.
See, that works!
Note- Thoughts here could mean anything from Status Updates to Profile pictures.
Some, like me, choose to crib about all of the above through Tweets, Facebook posts, Blog posts etc, and then wait for the Likes or RTs to pour!

Waiting...

Still waiting...

In conversation with myself

It's 'come home to an empty room" o' clock. You switch on the lights, and find yourself in a parody. The 4x4 you call your room is as accepting as the child who's been denied a pacifier.
Sometimes the most daunting task is to face yourself, uninhibited.
It's scary. Falling short of your own expectations; looking back to find failures and shortcomings tutting at you. Tomorrow looks as unsure as the present. You are reminded of  a bug, unloved, an unwanted, lying on its back. It can't expect its friends to come to help and flip it over, can it?
Then why are you so expecting, you think to yourself
!
You try and talk yourself out of your self- inflicted pain. Cliches, the silver linings and the glintless dawn, they can't exorcise your demons

!
You try the pills instead. There is a certain comfort in slumber. 
You have your dreams that none can take away from you.
 At that precise moment, when you are trying to wash them down with a mouthful of beer, you see a book. 
The cover is battered; you reach out to it... 


To be continued...

Me Speaks!

While the bus takes its own course, I let my thoughts take their own. Sometimes all you need is a bus full of strangers, a mind full of questions and a wallet devoid of money for your heart to do the talking!

Survival story

                 

I never understood what Karina Kapoor meant when she said: “When you were leaving me, I felt as if I was missing a train” to Shahid Kapoor in their reel love story ‘Jab we met’. Though I take pride in calling myself a romantic ,I could never see the point in comparing your love with a train!! Little did I know that my wish would be granted so soon! It was the fateful morning of Friday the Eighteenth 2010.Oh! The thought of going home after so many days was painting so many sanguine pictures in my mind. Dreaming a thousand beautiful dreams I slept a sound sleep the previous night. The idea that something can go terribly wrong never once crossed my mind.

I woke up to a frantic call by my mom the following morning .After which I realized that it was 5:15 in the morning, and that I was left with just 15 minutes to get ready for the journey. And I also realized that the alarms set by me were not at all responsible for the misfortune that prevailed, but it was my right hand that had pushed my phone to the depths of darkness and that too literally. Oh yes,I haven’t told you I happen to have two phones one that does not have a charger and another whose  speaker isn’t working.

I quickly counted the minutes I could afford to spend in getting ready. So, ablutions were sacrificed as I dashed towards my neatly arranged clothes that had impatiently waited on me till now. They bore a vengeful look while I mercilessly tossed them in my wheeler.

Okay, so I was already sensing all the wrong signals that dear god was sending me as warnings about the bigger catastrophe that was about to happen. It was 5:30 and I had still not gotten any taxi. My dear roommate (who was dragged out of her comfy bed the moment I realized I couldn't pull it off on my own) and I were running in all directions to get hold of a taxi.

The dogs of my street who were in general a peaceful lot but that day even they were swearing at me through their barks.

Finally at around 5:40 a giant looking taxi Walla agreed to take me to the station. I was very pleased with his stature and kept telling myself that his height is directly proportional to his speed.

He took exactly 10 minutes on that rain-kissed road. He grinned at me and wished me a happy journey

Now the only remaining task was to find the platform where the Shatabdi Express stood.

The red walls of the station welcomed me with its usual discrepancies.

I pushed my wheeler like a winning trophy and looked at the

My train was on platform 22 while I was standing on Platform no. 1.Platform no. 22 was at the newer railway station while I was standing at the Old railway Station. Hopefully both the stations were joined by a footbridge. I had exactly ten minutes to board the train. I climbed the stairs with full vengeance and some of the choicest curses that I directed at the taxi Walla who had proclaimed Shatabdi express departs from the Old railway station.

I also promised myself to travel light from the next time. By the time I reached platform number 20 I was panting and was covered in sweat.”7 minutes to go! ” my wheeler pleaded. It hardly had a chance to strut its four wheels of late.

Platform no. 22 was like any other platform in India. Platforms are the only places that do true justice to India’s fertility. Where people seemed to be emerging from everywhere pushing shoving and swearing their way through. There it was standing like a .The train that would carry me home. 

Only thing was that I was not aware of the fact that Shatabdi standing before me had an addition to its name .The train that stood before me had Jan Shatabdi written on it in bold.

A closer look told me this train was going to Patna. That is when it hit me ; while looking at the list I had somehow missed the “Jan” part and no the hottie I was staring had no role to play in it.

I risked standing there with a blank expression for a few seconds after which I was reminded of the conversation with my parents that was to follow.

That was reason enough for me to become the combined selves of a few bollywood heroes.

Five minutes to six and it felt like a lifetime.

Right below the footbridge was a passage way that connected the old and the new stations but it was only used for the movement of freight.

Hopefully the passage way was open and looked deserted. I leaped at it.

My heart was racing faster than my legs. Someone shouted at me to stop. I did not listen. He proved to be faster than me. He was running alongside me now. He was a guard. He tried to scold me for what looked like a trespassing I pleaded with him in half-finished sentences.

India might be a patriarchal state but the patriarchy goes kaboom at the first sight of a woman’s tears.

Only a minute to go. The guard was now running with my wheeler while I followed him. He shrieked at people to keep them out of the way.

We were one platform away. The train looked like a giant serpent on one of its lazy crawls.

The guard leaped onto the train,helped me jump aboard; a maneuver that would have made me a natural choice for the desi version of Lara Croft.

The guard smiled at me and with one swift move he was gone.
The rest of the journey was spent in trying to play non-existent to the lady sitting next to me who was trying her best to make me fall in love with her son.

Breaking Stereotypes

I was at the National Library, devouring books for lunch, when I saw her. She calmly walked to my table and sat across from me. She was drawing bewildering glances from almost everyone present in the vicinity-not to mention even I was one of them.

And her sheepish demeanor was enough for me to understand that she was quite aware of those gazes. She kept looking at her feet and I kept on looking at her. That is when the girl, who was accompanying her, brought a few books for the lady.

The book list comprised  of a very English literature, world history and all such books that are strictly related to intellectuals-people who are immaculately dressed; people who look well-read and well bred.

Sadly, our lady looked too naïve to be labeled an intellectual. Her sari that was demurely draped around her wasn’t doing much toward helping her making the cut either.

She looked like those women, who are expected to be nothing more than homily goddesses. They are expected to watch mind-numbing soap operas and know nothing of ‘The cultural revolution’, ‘The Great Depression’ or ‘Che Guevara.’

So that day when this plain,drearily dressed woman threatened to uproot all our stereotypes ,I was smiling .Smiling at the thought of this women’s feat. How easily she 

Such harsh and demeaning rendition of a character, isn’t it?

Sadly, this is what we do the second we see someone.

We consciously or subconsciously, make every living entity in sight, fall into stereotypes

So I can be a foodie and still be a martial arts enthusiast, I can be a mediocre singer and still sing out loud. I can be fat and still love to wear whatever I feel looks good on me,I can be a writer and still know a lot about Architecture.I can pronounce a word wrong and can ask

A pause

I sit and think about all that we've had .It all dances in my mind in a flurry of emotions .Sometimes they’re as cold as the cement on a January morning; sometimes they erupt like the brightest red flames.
It’s been hours since I started thinking. Does it make me smile? Does that make you frown, the image of me thinking about you?Is that a question every time I ask you if I love you, or does that make me feel more secured each time I look at your lips quivering to say that precious yes?The questions are many .They come cascading .Do you make me possessive. Do you spoil me crazy with your caring ways? Do I hurt you with my obnoxious ways? Am I pulling too hard at the string that binds us? Does the string still exist   ? Does it hurt your fingers? Do we fight for questions that don’t have answers? Do the answers mean anything to us? Can we see our self-conceited egos laughing at us?Can we look beyond the hurt? Is this the end? Is this all rhetorical? Can we never change?Do the differences that made us now break us?Do you know what I asked? Do I know what you would say?And will that mark the end of a beginning so well?

A loser's plight!

Study table saw what you hadn't read
The dishes sighed for you didn't touch the bread
The closed windows cried as the lone clock chimed
The curtains called you their tears now wiped
Through the  chambers of black and white,
But you looked on ,without a sight!


The dusty keyboard had to wade,
Through the words you had silently said!
Morbid hours that stood in spite,
Of the memories of your respite
"A life so fallen,a life so trite !"
As you looked on,into the night!

Passion was a word which you  said,
Had no meaning in the life you led.
Now when you look back,it stands astride
The dreams you said were not on your side
Is that the reason you look so slight ?
When you step out into the bright !


Life is a journey that can't be led,
By a heartless mind that has no stead!
For summer comes as the spring passes by,

When the air gushes past with a vengeance inside
The angels you blame have no such might
Indispensable lies the loser's plight

This n that

I let my mind ponder
And they said ,
"Oh my! What a blunder !
Do not tread ,a path so dead
For there can never
be peace in thunder."

Still i let my mind wade,raging unafraid
Amidst the bawling plunder
And they yelled ,in their voices so plaid
Banishing me for my sinful wonder

Blessed Be!

The Bountiful Earth and the Brave New Moon
They speak to me through the ancient rune.
The words of air,fire and the merciful tree
Blessed be! Blessed be
!

The cycle

Simplicity was like your mother. She's everything for you when you were a kid. Your heart always returned her love with the same intensity .You clung on to every word she said as if they were little pearls of wisdom. You wanted to be like her when you grew up .You needed her. You cried for her whenever trouble hovered. You could not let her out of your sight .You were scared she'll never come back .You listened to her lullaby with rapt attention and travelled with it to lands that were too simple to be real.
But then you started growing up, you read books and understood fairy lands existed only in your mother's lullaby. You learnt there're different forms of love and they're meant for different people. You found out a world that was bigger than your mom. Full of people. People who had not spent nine months of their lives on you. You were not a part of them and so you also learnt that you were not entitled to a bountiful of unconditional love .
You got hurt and cried and ran to your mom when the world was mean to you.But eventually you started returning the meanness in the same fervour .You cursed, cheated and fought to work your way around the meanness.You now no longer ran to your mom when you were in a mess.You wanted to show the world you were brave and didn’t need your mom. You had your first round of pimples,fought with your mom on things that were not in her control such as those pimples. You had your first crush, your first cigarette and preferred friends to mom.
You admonished books but burrowed yourself into them when exams came calling.
Thought you loved your friends like they meant the world to you but hated them when they performed better.
You fell in and out of love quite a lot of times never quite understanding it well.
You found a job that paid you well but you were never satisfied .You wanted to earn more and that never quite was enough.

You still continued to be the center of your mom's existence though.
Finally you decided it’s the right time to marry and you did with a lot of élan. Everybody came, everybody saw and you conquered them.
You saw the first grey on your temple and dreamt of rooms full of giggles.
You had your first kid.
You felt yourself in his/her breath. You wanted to protect him/her from every danger. You saw heaven in those lovely eyes.Your life had a purpose now -to live,love and die for your child.

And the cycle went on.

The dreamy Doordarshan days.........

Lookin' back on how it was
In the years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed
Wish you had remained the same(a little improvising)

The lines from the wonderful song by Carpenters unlocks that familiar yet desolated chamber of memories of that precious childhood-the dreamy days.
And a gust of memories surges past me.Memories of paperplanes,paperboats,Tinkle comics,Panchatantra,Toys,chasing butterflies,lizards,frogs and evry harmless reptile one could think of, but the most reverberating of them all is the memory of "Doordarshan".
During the early when 90s cable television had yet to spread its wings and internet was still unheard of,doordarshan was the undisputable queen of Television.
That was the time when a kid was still treated like a kid and not some potential wiz kid,reality star,a multibillionare manager et all.
That was the time when a kid's imagination was allowed to fly free devoid of the modern day obstacles.And Doordarshan like Alladin's magic carpet helped one in one's escapades.

Shaktiman was the reason many kids .including me,faked tummy aches and risked getting beaten up so that they could watch their brunette and revolving superstar take on Kilwish and romance Geeta.
There was also that 9.30 pm movie every Friday that witnessed many a kid-dad tiffs over watching the movie till midnight.That was still the era when mid-nights were still an unraveled zone for kids.
That was the time when people had the power of Doordarshan.That was the era when soap-operas were meant to infotain. A Dekh Bhai Dekh episode was watched for its fun-filled moments,a day in the life of Reporter was full of some spectacular nail-biting and nerve-wrenching moments.

Doordarshan always makes me reminisce the innocence of my childhood.
Wish I could still wait eagerly for summers so that I could watch another season of chutti-Chutti

But my grown up self is now more prognostic of the perils of summer,so much that it overlooks the sunny side of it.


And while I dive into another episode of the naughty Swami on you tube and type away my feelings on blogger,i can't really complain about my present,can I ?

Copy that smile,please..........

There is a new drift in her walk.Graceful as a samba dancer.
Her smile is back to winning hearts.
She now greets herself with a wink even if the mirror is an unfriendly tot.

She has finally found the way to la-La Land.

Where ads are conceived over stimulating cups of ideas.

Where stuff like washing a pig,quite literally, is the key to making good copies .

A place where life becomes a fairytale storyboard.......

I just want to write .......Dammit

"Does it always have to be a purpose that would make me write ?"
"Why can't I just write and stop thinking about how that would make me look?"

Summers,hell I can write about that obnoxious season that makes the whole world install goddamn ACs in their rooms and make the planet hotter.
Yes I am associated with Greenpeace.

Well just writing about this godforsaken season makes me sweat through my eyes.
Love could be a nice topic but when you have something in abundance you don't feel like writing about it cos that just makes the feeling commonplace.All I can say about love and my love is that they make me smile everyday ,and I should mention it's a really difficult task ,pleasing me.

So that brings us to square one.

How about dreams ?
Last night I saw the world being attacked by gigantic zombies who also doubled as aliens.They didn't kill us but forced us to go underground.And then our psychiatrists found a way to hypnotize them into making slaves to us (That's sounds like out pan-universe oligarchy). I know I disappointed you,you might have expected a little more action but blame it on the movie I watched yesterday.Vampires and witches and spirits should sound like scary no ?
But it had me in splits for a good part of the movie,even in parts where the movie makers didn't intend on making it funny.



Maybe I should just go to bed.


Will try and have an objective from tomorrow.

:(

Comatose

Cold memories drenched in the dark of life,
As I strolled past the memories from midnight,
Veiled desires kissed me numb
As I lay seething at the altar of love


Curses of past like barbed wires,
Cobwebs of dreams that were never set on fire,
Visions of ruins that were once sublime
Lay emblazoned in the memoirs of time

Trying my hands at photography

Halt!Or thou shalt die.

Imagine what would happen if you were to get house-arrested for no apparent reason?One fine day you wake up to see that you are under house-arrest and you have to take permission from the not so friendly Men in Uniform even to move around in your own house.
This is what is happening to the Kashmiris.Their heaven is under seige.Their land has always been an innocent bait in the dirty game played between India and Pakistan.Kashmir has been wronged since the time of Indipendence when the then King of Kashmir gave away his state to Delhi without even knowing the wishes of his subjects.Kashmir has been ambushed ever since.The state has been plagued by one atrocity after another.Her dwellers always been depicted being on the wrong side of law.Their cry for freedom slammed as an unjust cry for war.
So today when I switched on my T.V and saw yet another innocent Kashmiri being reportedly killed by the Indian Army because he didn't stop when he was asked to,I didn't bat an eyelid.I like my other non-kashmiri counterpart would have termed it as another routine encounter killing.But what unnerved me was that the Chief of Army was unbashedly lying infront of the camera when he was asked the reason of the killing.When asked the reason of that man's plight,he calmly remarked that he should have stopped when ordered to and that the army men didn't intend on killing him,and he was shot in the legs.Surprisingly,he knew nothing of the medical report of his death ,that clearly states that both his legs and back were severely injured.
We praise ourselves of being a democratic and sovereign country;we take pride in our solidarity and our so called secular mindset.But then why and how can we sit back and sadistically enjoy the atrocities being carried upon in the place which we so vociferously call as our own ?
We praise the people of Egypt for standing for their rights.Our government solemnly swears to be by their side .But then why wasn't our government encouraging the kashmiris when they were fighting for justice ?Why such prejudice ?

The eternal sunshine of the blissful mind

You smile when your mind starts listening to your heart.
:)

Dearth of an idea

One can suffer from the perils of numerous forms of poverty ,but what according to me is one of the most tenacious of all, is the poverty of ideas.
Ideas that should be the harbingers of change; ideas that should enable people to act; ideas that can unite people are sadly given up ; Ideas that are looked away from, even when they are just round the corner in the grey alleys of our mind, patiently waiting for us to hear them out. And so, in order to enhance my thought–process a little more, I tried to analyze the factors that lead us to give up on our wonderful ideas.
One of the answers lies in our will-do-later attitude. And I can confidently say that most of us have come across this omnipotent, omnipresent bug.As all bad things are, to say the least, tempting to a t, our bug is no different.It is way more alluring than our facebook accounts, which we solemnly use everyday to cheat on our partners.As for me,I have seen this bug’s exploits everywhere, from this country’s crippling socio-political system to the student whiling away the precious hours of his life in chatting and facebooking(I belonged to that group untill recently ,but then my pathetic performance in an entrance exam forced my good sense to intervene).Our bug's dexterity is most conspicuous at the parliament where the ideas that run our country are brought alive but hardly without the help of this bug. Be it the issue of our country’s crumbling safety and security, or rising prices of essential commodities from onion to petrol via tomato ,all add laurels to its resume.
Wish if we could only take cue from the bug itself,that works meticulously every moment towards making sure that we are devoid of ideas.

The Silent Indian National Anthem