bundle of lies

Being Thaohatothao!

2011-11-11T12:12:00.000-08:00

Hi! My name is Thaohatothao. I do not remember when and where I was born, I was too young to remember all that myself. From as far as I remember I grew up in a school of my cast and all my friends coincidentally had my name as theirs too.

Those were very difficult days we had to share all the little food that was given and there was hardly any space for all in the school. But it was fun, we did not had much to do just talk, talk and talk all day. There were also kids from different cast they lived in a nearby school; they were all so black and we did not talk, we did not want to talk with black kids. There were other schools as well. Hey, most interestingly there were so many other schools in the neighborhood and all of them had so many fancy colors; ours was the blue school and we elected Thaohatothao- the giant, as our leader (if ever we had to fight with the pink School black kids, we made hundreds of deadly plans for every school around us).

It was not long before I was taken to the High school; High school was not fun at all. It was at the eastern corner of the very busy shopping complex. There were a lot of people and lot of noise. What I hate the most was the dirt; it kept falling and falling all day, it just never ceased falling. High school was different from school it was bigger and lesser number of kids- we were not kids anymore though. But it was equally strange place some rooms were only for the same cast kids and some were not. I was put up in a class with a black kid, a kid with small eyes, a kid with large eyes, a smart short kid, a long dumb kid, a silent kid, a noisy kid and a beautiful red kid and she was a girl too. There were the others!(those kids that kept coming and going and a few died). I learned a lot in High school and we had to fight a lot with the others. Finally the kid with small eyes had to leave us and go with someone named Mr. Fitcher. The very next day I had to leave High school, it was kind of sad though Mrs. Daichie was very loving and caring; she was my new guardian. I do not know what happened with others.

Now my new guardians got me a brand new apartment- not so big but awesome place. It did not have edges like High school and no thin walls like School but it was round and strong and good interiors. But guess what was the best part- I had to share it with hot Latino girl. Twicti was from near the Amazon (that did not matter much, what mattered for me was that she is a girl and she is so hot and I have to live with her…WoW!) and she wore strips of white and black, looked great in those. I was kind of shy and did not talk much, I only talked with Twicti in my dream and we talked a lot. But we had lunch together, dinner together and also breakfast together. These good days did not last very long, Twicti had some disease, and she had to die one afternoon. Mrs. Daichie came that day, Daidai was very fond of Twicti and he cried a lot. Daidai is Mrs. Daichie’s second son but I only like Daifee, her fourth son. She has a first son and a third daughter too, I have not seen them much. Daifee always bring the food. We were very good friends, he always told me about his school and after school, his new toys and girlfriends, I even had the honor to audience his School band, they were all so cool. They played ACDC.

I did not live alone for long, by the time Gogolu and Mikakam came to live with me I was only about to feel lonely. Yes, yes Gogolu- the small black kid and Mikakam- the small eyed small kid they were from different cast but came form the same High school as I. I did not hate the black kid anymore instead I loved their company, we talked a lot and Daifee was always with us after his school. Thank God, I did not have a lonely life. I will now grow old and die one day but I exercise daily that keeps me healthy so it will take me some time before I die. I do miss Twicti sometime and when she comes in my dreams I do not talk with her much, I am afraid of ghosts.

I liked everything here, I love my life, I love this place. I even gave it a name I call it The Grape- sweet and juicy; it’s also my favorite fruit. Daifee calls it a Fish Bowl, Mrs. Daichie calls it a Fish Bowl too and so do Daidai and the others. But thats Ok with me' after-all I am sky blue in color, I have white dots all over and have fairy feather like fins and I am a fish and my name is Thaohatothao.

running in the rain

2010-06-26T10:24:00.000-07:00

Looking at the ticker makes me hate time more then ever, find myself crouching in a stance lost in middle of an already crouching crowd. I sometimes hate rain more than time, it has been an audience to all eventful time of my life, mostly bad times. It rained on 21^st June, 1987, when the whole nation was under a shining sun it rained in Cheerapunjee all day, all night, all men were wet, all women were wet, all kids to school were wet, all animals under the trees were wet, all roof tops were wet, all hill tops were wet, I was also wet though not in rain on my zero’th birthday.

Now look at this puddle of stagnant water left by the dirty rain that just passed by; right, right in middle of my way. Shall I plunge and get myself a dirty wet foot or shall I tip-toe my way across the soft mud over its left edge thus rubbing shoulder with that wet brick wall? Or shall I just take a big leap to land on the other side!

“The other side” …a strange feeling just crept into my mind; just like my diddering dark shadow over water made by the last street light that I left few steps behind. A shadow as dark as the other side of this pool of mine, Ah! Murky life of mine. Schooling was never interesting, College was just another mess, after-College made me bitchy and my life miserable. Friends are empty beer bottles, drink, get drunk and throw away when done. Family is another name for a cashless ATM station, I hate them all; yet I miss them so much. Mr. Pratick Panicker was helpful, he gave me this job. But he took so much from me every night for so many days.

Do I have to regret? I don’t know, maybe I don’t care either. I had so many complain (I still have some) when at school, while at college, when I was lost and now while I work, this Café Coffee Day has been good to me. I have changed over time. It feels so good serving coffee to smiling young couples; boys starring at the menus while girls do blabbering; boys making queer faces and girls do the naughty moves; their giggles make me pass my sun happily over sunset. My tomorrow? Still unpredictable like my nights. Nights for me are gloomy, otherwise there’ so much so happening under Bangalore street lights. The ticker gave a new twist to my nights recently; only last Tuesday I joined a Christian missionary organization “A Mothers for a Child”. Now every night I go to this DonBosco Children Home and spend time with the children, read them stories, sing them songs, make them sleep, I am a part time Mom. What story shall I read tonight?

With a noisy doomp! I landed on the other side. I shall not read tonight I will narrate a story, the story of Awi. There are many a happy happenings in my life; I will share with my kids tonight.

one more day to LiVE

2010-04-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

A fine sunrise and A1 Mutton shop near the Hamidpur Railway station had not yet pulled up shutters. We are regular visitors here, but definitely not from the front. Some might call us scavengers but we are not, we do not take everything, we always leave some for the stray dogs; of all that was thrown away. Bindu Didi is the best cook when it comes to mutton, and especially on Fridays we feast away. Since today is not Friday and there is no feast I had no intention to visit A1 Mutton shop.

But for morning needs I have a designated place near the Nala that flows behind the mutton shop. While I was lazily settling my scores with nature, I saw Ali Chacha separating the throwables from fresh meat; it was then that the idea came into my mind. That part seemed similar to the one that I had seen in a news paper the other day. Though the very thought of the plight of the women shivers my spine, yet the idea was too appealing to resist.

Instantly I decided that I would experiment it today. I picked it and carefully placed in a polybag. Now I had to make the necessary arrangement for today’s act. Off to the garbage bins on the southern side of the Railway Station, here I picked the other necessary articles. Till now I have kept myself out of sight from the others and it is too early, the 8 AM rush still has some more time. I placed myself silently inside the unused toilet at the far end of RMF storeroom. I removed my shirt before I begin working and to keep away from the smell I sniffed some of the dendrite left in my tube.

I reached the destined place at the right time just before the 8 Am rush, it was about 44 yards from the foot bridge and a forth more from the Station entrance, just across the Autostand and only a few steps from Munchi’s poori stall. I wanted to make sure that I was not very far from the crowd, not too near the station entrance where most of the other beggars had their sympathy stalls. I wanted to get noticed but not much of attentions though. Just under the shade of the babool tree the location was my perfect spot. Moreover I did not want the others to know this, even though I was sure of being spotted by one or the other; so had to make the most of whatever opportunity I had.

As I lay there, I found it really hard to make a very distressful face each time someone passed by. Being in distress is much different from being afraid and the more difficult when trying to act distress. It has to be convincing. I tried my best not to look at the eyes of any of my beneficiaries so as to escape their curiosities and question. Though I was aware of certain tactics of begging, however I am just an amateur in this business of sympathy selling. Yet the assortments that I had put on for today’s show definitely made me a subject of great pain and an object of pity. I am not sure though what role it plays in a goats anatomy, it looked similar to the intestinal tubes only this was a sack like of almost size of a cricket ball, perhaps bit larger. To be more precise it was like a balloon partly filled with water. I had tied it to a flat band which I wrapped round my belly; so that the organ dangled just below the ribs, a little more towards my left. Over the band I used two layers of used surgical bandage and a part of the lump of cotton which had this vermilion color with blood stains. To make it better I smeared some of the blood from the polybag on to my shirt and hands, while doing so I made sure it was not too much but just enough for a person to notice. To further emphasis my point placed a large strip of used capsule in my shirt pocket, half in and half out.

I was in business now; coins flew-in every now and then. I kept picking leaving exactly seven in the drop bowl (Seven seemed to be a lucky number). Everything was going smooth apart from the occasional interruption from dogs, crows and the constant buzzing of the flies but only until noon, when my only greatest fear; the fear of being spotted by others suddenly became true when I saw Tukku standing and staring at me. His first closeup glimpse of my plight scared the hell out of him and he almost cried (crying was the only thing that he could do without any effort at all); at that point I thought he wanted to call the others for help which could have actually jeopardize my entire plot. But when I told him the truth, he was smiling and laughing. I feared he will expose me, so I negotiated to share a part of my profit with him if he helps me and not utter a word to the others; the deal has been made. He would now act my little brother, chase away the dogs and birds, above all persuade potential clients to donate. When he started pulling every other hand and feet coupled with effortless crying the number of notes against the coins increased, we also collected few more rotis and a plate of half eaten chicken briyani.

I came across all kinds of reactions from people, at one point a young fellow wanted to take me to the hospital.While most of them just dropped their money without much display of emotion, some of the other smiled or made the saddest face possible before mumbling, “How could God be so merciless, he is too small a kid to go through such pain.”- I only smiled from within. After all two hundred fifty three rupees is good business for me.

like a flash in the pan

2010-03-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

Story telling is the art of being able to play an incident in minds of the audience, keep it alive for a significant period of time and most importantly make them believe in what you narrate, no matter if it is merely a product of your ornamented imagination. Munnaf was just one of the best story tellers who walked the alleys of Old Delhi. He worked at the Rafiq’s Chai ki Dukan and lived in a single room two lanes down the same street. Ustad, as he is popularly known had not had much of education, he was married once but his wife died in her sleep years ago and left no children.

The transition of Munnaf becoming Ustad started with an experiment to pull crowd to the Tea stall; on instructions of Rafiq’s dead father, Munnaf would read the daily news paper for every customer if they wanted. Initially the idea was not very successful, so he started decorating lines with his own words while he read the newspaper. In two years time Rafiq’s was a famous hangout for both old and young. He would no longer read news from the paper rather narrate it in a story and sometimes just a story of his own.

After so many years its only his stories that people come to hear, no news reading anymore, Munnaf was now Ustad, the famous story teller of Old Delhi. He was an expert; he had polished his act of lying into the art of storytelling. But he could never grow more than what he started with, serving tea.

Dilip, was one of the regulars at Rafiq’s, he was a student of Geography at Delhi University. He was one ambitious young man; it was not long before Dilip stared making notes of Ustad’s stories. When he had enough Dilip went ahead to publish a book of his own, which was an instant hit. The book claimed a world wide response and Dilip became an acclaimed writer, rubbing shoulders with other giants of literature.

It was not very late that some of the listeners were able to see it through what Dilip has pulled out. News reached Ustad too. He never bothered about what happened, but people were constantly insisting that he should do something. When people insist, it’s so insisting that you start feeling the pressure. Owing to this pressure Ustad suddenly felt betrayed, betrayal is something that if you keep thinking about it you will end up making a list of all betrayers which may include everyone you have ever met, God or even your own self. One day the Ustad declared, “there would be revenge. Dilip will have to earn his fame.”

Since the first Sunday of his declaration rumors stared to spread, “Ustad will create the world’s greatest story; he has locked himself in his room for a week.” By Tuesday even the TV news channels started to cover his plight. And people did not wait till Saturday, by Thursday afternoon when after repeated knocks and calls no respond came from Ustad, the police stepped in and forced into the room. To utter surprise of em’ all there was no one in the room, no Ustad and none of his belonging. Only a note that said, “Thank you for reading what Dilip wrote of what I created”

planning, blending and cooking

2009-11-27T16:04:00.000-08:00

I came unusually before time form office today, it’s not just because today Americans were celebrating “Thanksgiving” but apparently because had reached office unusually before time to attend this Training. Well the plan was to have nice sleep so as to be able to make most of the Saturday morning which I usually consume into sleeping. However as it happens to every man; most plans of all plans remain plans alone, I am not feeling sleepy having tried to summon it for some time I left bed to switch on the TV, scanned from 000 to last available. Then decided switching on to my favorite engagement the “Internet”, but even there had to face boredom. There are two books on my shelve “The Zoya Factor” and “One Wore Blue”, both my feminine authors haven’t yet interested me beyond the first three pages.

“Where to from here?” was the question itching in my mind while I drank a glass of plane clear water. Looking at the kitchen slab I started think what experiment should we be preparing for tomorrow. Experimenting in kitchen is a fun I am always excited about. With the very thinking came to my mind a “plan” (an idea would be a better word). A plan to create a new blog, where in I would post all the ‘world famous in my kitchen’ recipes that had rolled out of our Kitchen over a period of last two years. Daal muttani, Fish kur-mur, Sony payas, Baigani kima, Watermelon jelly, Paalak chicken to name a few.

A very good plan indeed it is but you know how difficult it is to get a name for your new blog. I was planning for a Wordpress blog and started trying with names like ‘bachelorkitchen.wordpress.com‘, ‘bachelorskitchen.wordpress.com’ ‘kitchenbachelor.wordpress.com’, ‘mykitchen.wordpress.com’, ‘akitchen.wordpress.com’, ‘thek itchen.wordpress.com' and many more, all failed(displaying the kitchen names alone) even blogger was no better there are so many of the similar kind. Finally gave up with entire idea of kitchen and bachelors and sat to type all of this. I would still keep looking for some bright suggestions (if anyone could suggest). Right now I am completely out of cooking plans, may be it’s the days work and the resulting exhaustion.

What was tomorrow when I started has already become today. I should give another attempt into trying to sleep least should be able to succeed in fulfilling what I had planed when I began.

the muffin top

2009-11-22T15:09:00.000-08:00

He is all set for next couple of minutes, on his reading desk with an old notepad and a good new pen. He is about to start again into writing something which he wanted to write about so badly since last few weeks. The situation had only become more and more worse. It’s now taking a toll on his entire life, he sees it as the biggest obstacle, his greatest enemy, and his career was at stake. Where to go what to do whom to talk to!!!!...were the kinds of questions revolving inside his head.

Like all Siddhartha who are popular among their friends as Sid, the Sid here too was somewhat popular among his bunch, and wanted to work harder to live upto this reputation. Working hard might not be as hard as work itself, Sid worked for a Big MNC out there and recently started bringing home three folds of what he used to during the recession days.

Let’s get back to the point where I left him with his pen and paper. Yes, it has been quite some days since Sid, had this feeling that something was not going right with him. He could see it happening to him; feel its presence slowly growing within. The very thoughts brings in his mind, the days of yonder at school; when he was not like what he has become now; Ah! What a charm he was. Memories of Jeena comes flashing onto the inner screen of his closed eye lids, her voice seems to murmur into his ears a wild hymn, all fresh, sweet and seductive. But keeps fading into broken bits of memory. More like a trailer of some upcoming movie. A small vibration ran down his body as he slowly recovered from Jeena, an earthquake of this magnitude could have brought large scale devastation. He is in no better a situation, devastated with what has come over him.

Then he suddenly remembered his ‘Maa’ no not of the smiling old lady, living in some corner of some cornered village, framed from one of the afternoon TV soups. His Maa was different, healthy, stern and always ready to turn his back red. He also rememberd that non-living devil that leaned behind the corner of the kitchen door, his Maa’s unbreakable weapon of terror. The thought of the cane brought him back to life.

He could not even escape thinking about Kim(married with two kids), his manager. Kim is the one Sid fears the most and loves the most, for she is hot and hardly 36 and makes him work so hard. It was Kim, who declared him the most handsome boy on the floor last year, even invited him to her second son’s first birthday party(privately) of which he was so proud. But it is not going to happen this year, she is not pregnant with a third child, nor has she declared anything about him.

It is difficult to understand and relate why Jeena changed then, Maa did not change, and Kim is changing now. Whatever that be Sid did not understand, but he just made up his mind to believe as if he knew that life would not be same now onwards, not same around this muffin top. The words he wrote with is good new pen before tearing the page off the surface of the old notepad, “How ghastly I look with this pot belly, what if I can not get rid off it?”

Pouring into talking

2009-08-19T16:01:00.000-07:00

You are not much of a partying kind, but on a fine Saturday after a long, long time when a couple of old friends suddenly decide to raise a toast… who on earth would want to decline such a generous opportunity. Pretty much not being concerned about rest of the word; all that you know drink some chilled Beer.

Having lit his old favorite Navy Cut cigarette, Niak started how harmful it is to smoke cigarettes these days, apart from the threat of cancer and other sister diseases, the traffic police and anti-tobacco activists are on prowl. That was out of his experience when he was caught in Chennai some time back and had paid more than his Tamil counterpart to get rid of the police. To which scrappy Dev smartly said, would have been same in Barrackpore, himself hailing from West Bengal, but my Marathi friend (Niak) with his distinctive long smile darted at Dev and said come to Pune. While the silent Jatt, Rahul was least interested in burning tobacco and announced, “Bottoms Up, bottoms Up…guys quick. For good times. Cheers!!!” ………Gulp! Gulp! Gulp! Went us four.

With arrival of the aachars and the plate of chackna, and of course more beer our chit-chat turned into exciting narrations; even the silent Jatt couldn’t resist his expert views on how the unusual North Indian roti curry in the South Indian hotels was taking toll on his good health. “Come to Pune its much better, north Indian means north Indian only...”retorted Niak. Dude that happens, I mean we are in Bangalore you can not ask for what you liked back at home, likewise you don’t get good idly, bada or even all dosa's that sells in Delhi. “The best thing is to try in those Chinese food joints they are neither North Indian nor South Indian and so are the people serving there”, said Dev. “Aare! Most of these boys come from Nepal and the Northeastern states” said I. Dev drowsily pointing at me, see this fellow from Assam yet doesn’t look like one. Rest of us laughed, “chad gayi tereko saale!!!” More Beers poured in and more smoke, the talk became more exciting when Rahul started describing this hot Gujarati girl that has recently joined his team and how took her out to one of the good Chinese restaurant and had to go all veggie. With mention of Gujarat, amongst laughs Dev started his likes about Modi’sm, and how the state had developed and flourished post Godhra, but none of us were particularly satisfied or happy with his views, with Naik talking about his Muslim neighbor whose family was brutally murdered and now they are more like his own family. Rahul mentioned about his childhood friend Hakim who was in middle-east now, still send gifts and how his whole family came to attend Rahul’s sister’s marriage and stayed with them over a week. And also about, beautiful Assama; whom he had been dating during his Delhi days. Then when Dev started about Saidul (his class mate in school and neighbor), he went over board stating him celebrating Durga puja and ended up saying Saidul as a Muslim who was not even a Muslim…….. making us go wild with laughter, Dev only smiles elusively with his drowsy eyes. Still more kept beer pouring into our taking.

Reading-Typing and not really too much of Thinking

2009-07-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

I am reading about how our great X-President DR APJ Abdul Kalam never really cares much about his VVIP status and goes as normal as over the "Code of Conduct" fences to mingle with human(my Third World mindset considers the VVIP's and VIP's as super humans). Not to mention how he allowed himself to be frisked by some airline personnel and never might had given a second thought to it (everyone else did raise the hue n cry, FIR’s were filed and apologies were drawn) And this other incident was at one of the Medical College campus dear Mr. Kalam literally walked across the campus looking for his Car. He is a great man of knowledge and a living icon of sobriety and humbleness.

While talking about cars I have this strange affinity for that I wish to drive sometime in future and also probably own a few. Let me check out what are the sensations hitting the road this summer. This particular Indian market list is a long one; all major players have come up with one or even more than one this year. (The Indian Market still grows). Browsing through Xylos and i20’s and Ritz’s and Jazzie. I would pick this Boy Toy-Skoda Yeti for off-road and ask me what to take to pick a date, well driving Fiats luxury sizzler you might even forget your date. That’s Alfa Romeo159, gosh she is hotter anything I wanted to drive. To tell you the truth I do not want to go further into tech-talkin on recent innovation in motoring.

Remember “crankshaft“ – Megan Fox –Transformer –the fallen. It was not that good a movie I would say I mean not par with expectation I had entertaining? Yes! Yet may be the Terminator was bit better or the Potter’s even. Yeah! So Harry has been this week’s chart topper. “Topper” –huh! Anyone or anything who is at the top, like a Group topper, a Class topper, a School topper, College topper, University topper, State topper or even All India topper. We have so many of them; sadly I didn’t even become a bench topper ever!!!

blending colors of man

2009-07-05T17:00:00.000-07:00

(I am not an authority on this so my views might not be very correct or more of self motivated and so I request a warm excuse beforehand for what I am about to write might hurt someone at the same time could seem to be soft on others.)

Countless number of times in common history you will find how every day this world has grown smaller and smaller. Counting on mere difference in the cast system then into kingdoms and then into religion and into greater categories like color. The interesting thing is, the old differences were never overcame but whilst in their presence the scope of difference has kept growing.

Phase 1: Past

Here is a brush-up of school level Social Studies. The mankind has been divided into four basic races, the white CAUCASIANS, the black NEGROID, the yellow skinned MONGOLOID and the primitive dark AUSTRALOID native to the islands of Australia and Guinea. All spread over separated by Seas and Oceans; living in different social environments governed by climatic conditions and hence the differences. But with the advent of changes (socio-economic) the trans-migrations of man over greater distance has been scaling higher and though not yet evenly mixed, still the possibility of finding an Argentine in China and a Tamil in Trinidad notably increased. However talking about how racism might have been triggered to such extends, I would look it into the basic human nature of comparisons and then go back into time- the colonial days, the slavery trade and so on. A white still has the eye to look at an African as slave and a small eyed Chinese for a mafia kind. And both look at the fair skinned as gruesome dictator and hate them more than anything. Though this outlook has significantly decreased and changed because no nation is completely dependent on itself today. Each has to in one way or other trade with individual nations irrespective of color and kind of inhabitants. But most of the times it’s certain smaller fractions of the society that while trying to prove its supremacy over the other, ends up being extensively racial.

Phase 2: Wide View

After having extensively surfed the internet trying to find a certain common phenomenon; found that there are more racial organizations working in Western nations compared to other parts of the world. However their numbers being large and unorganized also makes them not as strong and influential, most of which were born out of “Mutual Rivalry”. Which is why they have less significance and remains underground which makes them less vulnerable to Media exposure and their acts not considered to the extend as to terrorism. Most of the times an incident so happened is considered as handy work of muggers. On contrary there were in fact; are a few more dominant groups like the famous KKK(Ku Klux Klan) of the US was once relatively common place that propagated white dominance over rest.

There is also the religious edge to increase of racism, the conversions of the natives to Christianity during the colonial times and Islam becoming more popular right after Christianity. This has always left a feeling of hatred among each other. This racial difference inherited from religious differences has led to unanimously organize Muslims of all colors to act against not just Americans but against all whites (most of the White dominant nations being Allies).

Phase 3: Own Backyard

Let us now come back home! The Indian sub continent is a replica of all human races in a smaller frame. You have the Negroid down South, the Caucasoid in North and the Mongoloids in Far East. India may not be the biggest nation but varies greatly over smaller distances, be it language, culture, or color. Not denying the fact that by and large the Indian social mainstream is tolerant to all, irrespective cast, creed, religion, or color. However if you take a look into day to day life it’s not the same. You may recall how many times when you have seen a foreigner (blond or black) and you haven’t murmured something to your friend beside you. Leave that! What normally happens when a group of Tamilians visit a hill station in Uttranchal with their authentic white wrappers (lungi) and sandal tilaks on forehead, they become the laughing stock. At the same time come to Chennai and try talking with an Auto driver in Hindi, he will react as if he has met the lone traitor of the nation.

And for the few mongoloid folks in India, they are always considered equal to foreigners. I really wonder sometimes, I have read history and geography too while at school, I know something about the Sikh Gurus or that the capital of Gujarat is not Ahmedabad but Gandhinagar or even care to find where on the map probably would be the Gol Gumbaz. Sad but I have come across people talking about Meghalaya being capital of Manipur and that we live in jungles and eat monkeys. What else! We may very easily declare a Kashmiri girl as beautiful as Kashmir and a Kashmiri lad for a terrorist. What about the fair Brahmins and outcasts Dalits? There is even a very humorous touch too, in India you can crack a joke on any other Indian projecting at the cast, state or religion. It won't even be wrong to wonder if there are books available on Sardar or Guju jokes. Owing to all account, shall I not put us in the same basket as the rest of the world?

Phase 4: Being Through

In wake of summing all that I had assumed, considered and studied in color, there are and were many remarkable people who had taken the burden on their shoulders and have proved us, all over again and again, that the barrier of color is the last remaining strand dividing man. With a presumption that the few of you who have read this would duly appreciate and encourage all various forces ranging from the UNO, the Olympic Federation or the popular media in general and even an humble individual who is playing a part to end racial difference among us. I see it’s all about forgiving and not really bothering about what color one is. It is not a part of the resume and do not by any means define ones personality.

I do not not need opium, I have the gift of reverie

2009-05-28T21:52:00.000-07:00

Everything is as interesting as you are interested in it. I had heard someone say someday, "people think football is a matter of life and death. I don't like that attitude. I can assure them it is much more serious than that..", probably true but I am not going to write about the awesome game of football, or the Champions League finale, the Barca vs ManU and how Barca won 2 to 0, or even how dear Messi became God n C' Ronaldo the fallen devil. Citizens of the world have already done a lot to arrange words for them. Neither would I take an opportunity to talk about the IPL Season, the grand boring final, the excitement of the cheer-leaders or its affects n effects on Indian economy, on Government formation, on you, on me. Yet "interest" is an interesting word literally and mathematically (if you want to use it there). Today I would prefer to use it interestingly only. It is remarkable to see how with interest comes in desire, attitude, commitment toward that interest and the enthusiasm with which the interest is retained. The later part is evidently more volatile and conflicting.
While at school, we divided “interest” into forms and formations, today I say it was such a ridiculous thing to have tried, same goes for addition tables; one plus one equals two. Everyone could have learned it eventually, it’s so obvious. But I do not dare to say the same for multiplication tables; I still miss all that is above multiple of twelve. If you ask me why is it so? Then I have an answer for that, “not interested! Maths sucks!..rate of interest =0”

An interesting interest that I had while at school, were my hairs and hair style!...always wanted them to flow this way and that, but all oils failed and all gels too, my deterrent hairs stood straight all way through. Later when it was all spikes and pyramids and all towers in trend, my then trendy hairs fell flat. And now when hairs are gradually diminishing over the edges, I would have to say I am no more interested. So Interest’s they keep on changing or deflecting in its direction as we have the liberty to change ones course of interest.

Hell!!! ..”Liberty” is another dangerous word; I always love it, yet the most feared one. The same goes for its twin brother “Freedom”. Though both the words convey the similar sense, however the interesting thing is that both are not equally popular and its popularity has changed over time. For instance these days French Fries have been re-baptized as “Freedom Fries” where as back in the time of the great wars Sauerkraut were renamed as “Liberty Cabbage" and Dachshunds as "Liberty Dogs." Whatever be it interests are always driven by want of liberty and sense of freedom. Now tell me something, is it more interesting to look for a different girl at different traffic signal or look for the same girl at every signal?

They say there are two types of people - those who come into a room and say, “Well, here I am!” and those who come in and say, “Ah, there you are.” I am least bothered as to which kind you belong, or if you were least interested in reading this, however since you have reached this far and still reading, it has to be bit interesting indeed!

falling into short stories

2009-05-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

It was only very recently that I was introduced to this particular genre of literature called short stories. I do not know the big names of this culture and haven’t had any time to do a digging into the relics of short story telling. Apart from the fact that the flickering tongues of the grand-moms are an expertise in narration of short stories, unfortunately of which my ears have no experience. But I have to indeed mention the old school Gulmohar English books of prose most of which I don not remember, some of which I only made notes, and a few I loved reading.

Since those days and now most recently I picked one Rudyard Kipling’s collection after which I picked Maupassant’s and then Saki’s and now looking for O Henry’s. Tell you what its really good reading, does not take long time though I haven’t finished all of them yet. Deciding to read one I end up reading five or till ‘am dead asleep (mostly do reading before sleeping). Talking about Kipling, his stories are more about the sub-continent’s life then, during the British rule. Lots about the soldiers living in India, the life of people under British rule. His way of narration is very raw to read (my opinion as an armature) in an English that I had not learned at school. But once you start picking up you might find hard to keep it down (not always, sometimes you might sleep). Among all that I had read “The Story of Muhammad Din”, “The Phantom Rickshaw”, and “The Daughter of the Regiment” is worth mentioning. And yes! “The Finest Story in the World” was real fun.

Of Maupassant and Saki, they are all individually different from each other, so are their stories. Will talk about them some other day.

preparing something

2009-04-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

Taking into consideration the so very limited time that I might consider into writing something is really considerable. With the start of my favorite rainy season in Bangalore, the otherwise dusty air being sweetly moistened by the first showers. The amazing aroma that tickles your nostrils and eyes get relieved with the sight of fresh blooming and the green spouting around. WoW! What a time to sit reclined in the evenings on the terrace with a cup of hot smooth tea and watch the geometric formation they make; the birds going back where they started this morning. However there are factors that matters apart from what my ever wandering head wants. For instance the biggest political extravaganza is in process as the worlds largest democracy is about to make changes into itself (though it seems the rest of the world doesn’t bother to look at it with that large a prospective). I said the same thing to a friend of mine, who had taken a day’s leave to get back to his native town and cast his valuable Vote, I said that’s being very patriotic, he replied me saying, “This is my first Fundamental Right being a proactive citizen of my country, and since you are not voting you do not have the right to speak”. Very true indeed because the voter list where my name was is basically some 3600 km away from me (I wonder from when SMS voting would be possible). Let the election be over and let there be any party government form, nothing matters if it’s the saffron promoters or a congress and communist coalition come into power(@irony, congress and communists are supposed to be directed opposite in books, yet in India they come together and form a government, I believe "National Integration" funda that we read in Social Studies at school). End of the day it would be the same “tammasha” of dal badlo and kicher ucchalo….no matter whatever I say or do its is hard for us to get out of murky Indian political crib. Meanwhile my friend actually had an interview the very next day, the real reason behind taking leave, I only got to know about it today.

Talking apart from politics there are still other diversions which you may not appreciate yet not possibly ignore. IPL Season 2 for Indians like me is probably one of them. No matter how boring and not-interesting it is this time. Still folks in office are divided over and constantly keep throwing words at each other...LoL! So keep watching IPL (season 2) and do Vote and always look for one relaxing evening.

trip down history

2009-04-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

“I can only imagine of people that I have not seen or met but have come across what they did-they gave life to rocks”……such is the splendor of the ruins of Hampi. Scattered over an area of about 80 sq km on both banks of the river Tungabhadra are the relics and ruins of ancient city of Vijayanagara. A standing proof of Indian history, civilization, engineering, art and prosperity.

A rather unscheduled plan led to this travel experience, I and my brother (who having canceled his picnic trip to Hogenekel Dam) started very late that evening to Yeshwantpur Railway Station, coupled with a rough auto ride midst teeming Friday Bangalore traffic and fear of missing the train. We were lucky to reach in time, the train arrived Hospet at around 2:20 AM early in the morning (8 hrs from Bangalore). Then we waited for the sun to rise. It was almost 7 AM when we reached the very small town of Hampi surrounded by rocky hills; it was hardly 12 KM from Hospet. Rinku have had his privileged nap during the Bus ride and was now feeling hungry, so was I. The first thing we did was start looking for breakfast and it was hot pooris and rich chytney and sabji. With our tummy tight we started looking for rooms. There are no hotels in Hampi town, here all are Inn’s, since it was off-season now we easily got one big double bedded room for 250 bucks. Soon we were ready for the day’s tour, as for baggage we had only one bag so we decided to take it along. Our Inn owner had already told us how to begin and where to go and we took no maps (map’s sometimes kills the adventure of re-Discovery). Hired two bikes from Hampi Bazzar near the main temple (40 Rs for a day) and also bought two pair of cheap shades (200 Rs). The temperature was already rising at a rapid rate, so water (15 Rs). Now with bikes, shades and water in the bag we started towards our first destination the “Royal Enclosure”

The Royal Enclosure was not a big mahal or quilla as we had thought, infact if was much bigger then what we imagined though there was no significantly standing building except a few temples and high platform, ruins of Pan-supari market, Royal-mint, Royal graineeries, the Elephant Stables, etc . We parked our bikes and started walking past the ruins following information boards, easily one can know one most usual thing-the water system, underground drains linked smaller wells to larger wells and likewise. The high platform must have been still higher; there are signs of columns removed or destroyed by time. At around 12:30 noon when the temperature was as high as 43 *C, we were back in our room (after having Lunch in Hampi bazaar). We were pretty tired and slept till 4:30PM. The second half started at around 5 PM, destination the Vittala Temple, there are many routes to this place but with our bikes we took the one that goes by the river (a bad decision we thought). Most of the times on this route we were either toiling over an uphill ride or dragging our bikes and even carrying them on our shoulders. At the river bank small dingis will take you for a ride across the river that we did not do. On our way we stopped to see many structures that had their own significance in its time. We also went to take a dip in the rive near the ancient bridge (only the columns remain now). When we reached the Vittala temple it was almost dark, this temple is inspired by the Konark Sun Temple in Orissa however it has its own significance. The walls and columns of the temple make musical notes when tapped, but the security guard will not allow you to go knocking and tapping everywhere. We were back in Hampi bazzar by 7:30 PM, returned our bikes and went on a walk towards the main river bank. Later at night we had dinner at Mango Tree restaurant before getting back to our room in Aum Guest House. It was already 10:30 and utterly tired we slept like the rocks outside.

Next day we woke up as early as 5 AM, can’t miss the sun rise. Hurriedly we walked towards the Himakutta Hills and a small climb to the highest rock possible and a splendid sun rouse, we sat there on the rocks over looking the Hampi bazzar and the massive gateway structure of the Virupaksha Temple till we felt our tummy growling for breakfast. It was Sunday and our final day here so we checked out from our room, and went to walk along the river side, we slowly started climbing the hill till we reached the temple like structure on top of it, we thought it was a cave doorway. The actual cave was quite below us, near the river bank. Once we came down from the hill we went straight back to the bus stand near Hampi bazzar and back to Hospet. We still longed to see the other side of the river but we did not have enough time or money as the ATM machine in Hampi was not working!!! That evening we took a long bus journey back to Bangalore.

Hampi Trivia:

1) Every rock has its own story, do not ignore. Or else you might step on a Shiva Linga.

2) Every restaurant, inn or whatever that sells is recommended by some L* Planet. Names worth mentioning are Lonely Planet, Lovely Planet and Living Planet.

3) Everything is 25% more costly; try not to bargain most of the times it doesn’t help.

4) There are lot of hippie like dresses available (patched in multi colors) and so are te hippies. Spend some time with them if they allow you to join in.

5) December and January is the best time to visit Hampi, however our time was the most adventurous.

City of God

2009-03-24T08:46:00.000-07:00

Not a long time back I had seen this movie, the City of God. Unfortunately my version of the movie was in Portuguese, so I had to download its English subtitles after having peeped into the plot once and understanding not much. Once armed with the subtitles it became much cleaner; the movie was much into being a protagonist of violence and crime, of love and lust, of being good and honest.

The story is about a sub-urban settlement somewhere near Rio (Brazil), its people, there life and there involvement with crime and thirst for becoming powerful. Revolving round our narrator Rocket, an aspiring photographer trying hard to get himself away from the dirt of the Slums, however always finds himself between the gangsters and their business. The movie runs over two decades of his early life, when the place was terrorized by a gang of trio by their looting and bulling of local business with armed holdups; much in an urban Robin Hood fashion, one of which was Rocket’s own elder brother Goose. Attracted to their powers were the younger kids, who often joined their loot missions. But one certain incident completely turned their lives when while robbing a motel turns into slaughter of the inhabitants. Eventually also brings about the end of the gang itself, but not the criminal prospects of their followers, among which were Li’l Ze and his partner Benney. Meanwhile, Rocket started becoming a photographer though not a professional, joins a band of hippies, and infatuated with a girl in that group.

While Li’l Ze became a powerful drug dealer, Rocket could not entirely escape meeting them sometimes at parties and sometime as photographer, even loosed his girl to Benney, who was turning the new playboy of town. In midst of all these there was growing rivalry between Li’l Ze and the other drug dealers that makes one humble man Knockout Ned a part of the Durg dealing after being humiliated and his girl friend raped by Ze, even Ze killed his uncle and younger brother. As Ned turns into becoming greatest rival of Ze, frequent gun battles starts between the two fractions, the victims of which mostly are small kids wanting to become one like them. Finally all the gangsters get killed in bloody battle, Ned was killed by a kid, whose father was previously killed by Ned while looting a Bank, while Li’l Ze got captured by the police however he too was handed over to a bunch of younger underlying kids. They emptied all their bullets into his body as a revenge for killing one of them over a pretty issue. And how Rocket becomes a photographer with the News paper, well he gave the paper pictures of Li'l Zé's bullet-ridden body, which ran on the front page.

Apart from the plot itself which is based on a true story, the movie has a powerful cinematography done on the same backdrop as the real story. However it is has quite a lot of violence, I thought like comparing it with Babel, but I was entirely wrong.

at Naga Nite 2009

2009-03-09T14:10:00.000-07:00

The weekend was unusually busy one; apart form the regular late blooming and deep cleansing of the week’s dirt and of course movies!!! …. Saturday on Invitation of my friend Amento, we were at the “Naga’s Nite 2009”. An event organized by the Naga Students Union of Bangalore and sponsored by the Music Task Force, a socio cultural wing under the Government of Nagaland. It was an extravaganza showcasing the vivid Naga folk culture and shades of both native Naga and the evolving Naga western music.

Evidently the Late Latif –me, again made a late landing making Amento wait at the gate; I am so sorry for that! Meanwhile though not a very large one yet quite a handsome crowd had gathered but the proceedings were delayed by some time (may be waiting for my arrival) and only stated around when we took our seats at the front rows just behind the “Caged Lots” (privileged class).

President of the Naga Student Union of Bangalore Mr. Aran Chihui in his introductory speech promised to present the many layers, the hues and spirit of Nagas through this event. The program rally began with the display of traditional Naga ways of life; from making fire between split bamboos, Naga women grinding grains, and athletic male’s high kicking. Many a traditional dance and songs were performed by the young Naga boys and girls, the Folk song presented by the Poumai Nagas was quite notable. I should also let you know the Naga’s are not just one single tribe but a combination of more then a dozen smaller tribes; Poumai, Aoo, Angami, Sumi, Mao and Lotha are a few of the names I remember, join together to form the greater Naga Community. And this was on display at the ramps with boys and girls dressed in their traditional colorful and distinguished tribal attire. Meanwhile my host Amento was continuously entertaining us with the interpretation where ever necessary and answering out queries.

But the biggest attraction of the night was the performing musicians, among them was present the famous (Guru) Rewben Mashangva, he thrilled the crowd with his peace flute and his Naga Blue numbers meant no comparison. The night was also enlightened by the high scaled rock band from Nagaland, the Divine Connection. They were the runner up of the prestigious Hornbill Rock Contest. Meanwhile the other performers were also equally good, especially Naro was exceptional.

More-or-less from my own point of view the entire happening was absolutely fantastic as Amento promised me it would be.

on one boring Thusday

2009-02-12T02:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes on Thursdays, just one like today when I am not doing anything worth to add up on my Resume, its boring. And the more since I am not able to find anything interesting on the web to read about.

The breaking news says, 'India's secret N-submarine project nearing completion', but I do not see if its a secret any more. SRK dropped the name "barber" from his movie previously named as "Billu Barber". Because, "All India Barber Association" protested against the title barber, God knows why?(were suggesting for replacing it with Hair Dresser). Meanwhile "Slumdog Millionaire", not sure how many from the slums in India became millionaire, but surely has made Director Danny Boyle one. And that tussle between the Ram Sena and the Woman Associations becoming a big talk, come Valentine's Day they are planning for mutual exchange of "Pink Chaddis" and "Saaris"...LOL! But kudos to the girls, they are giving that lunatic fanatic goosebumps and sleepless nights.

Talking about the V-Day, there's a lot of offerings everywhere that too with added discounts(thanx to economic meltdown!) and only for couples though. I am just amazed to see the variations in offers. Gift your girl friend with an i-Pod Nano, shop in this mall and get free valentine day gifts (gifts are supposed to be free!!!... confused), send an SMS stating your favorite Bollywood Star Couple and win couple tickets to xyz multiplex. There is one from an FM station that is offering a cool thing. There will be some kind of competition, the winning couple will get picked up from their home in a Merc(sponsored by some motor agency), driven to a particular Mall, will get gift vouchers worth 6K, i.e 3k each. Then to a 5 star-ed hotel that will sponsor their dinner. To sum it up all a drive back to their home in the Merc. WoW!

Yes, of-course the "Iron Maiden" show, how can I proceed without talking about it. Ah!, what an event that's gonna be 2 stages, 2 days, 10 bands and non stop live rock music. And how on earth can I miss it....but I will indeed miss this extravaganza. Alright I can't type any further, feeling sleepy after that hefty lunch, everyone does.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

2009-02-06T03:34:00.000-08:00

on the charts today is "world women heart day" and an international Hospital here in Bangalore has urged everyone to support this cause by wearing something Red. So far so good, though I am not really sure for those who are in red today are supporting the very cause.

Anyways I am supporting the cause and have a red band on the wrist of my right hand, does it help! Yes it does for sure....

Some time back I read this book by Khaled Hossini, "Thousand Splendid Sun". The condition and environment in which I read the book was somehow giving me a chance to make a comparison. Its about life of one Mariam, a five year old Afghan girl. She is a "Haarami" i.e resultant of a wealthy man sleeping with his maid and the social rejection here-onwards for every haarami born. Its even worse for a girl to sustain in a male dominated Afghan society.

The book goes into actually walk you through her life and the reflection of all the changes that was occurring during the time in Afghanistan becoming a part of Mariam. The small girl gets the shock of her life when she escapes from her solitary hut into the town where her father lived and was not allowed to enter the mansion. She had to stay all night at the gate until the next morning a driver took her back to the hut only to find her mother hanging dead. It was just the beginning, Jalil(father) and his wives quickly arrange for her to be married away to an older widower named Rasheed, who was shoemaker in Kabul. Then comes the repeated attempts of giving birth and also the fight with her self into becoming a wife from a girl in company of Rasheed.

The story is quickly disturbed by the sudden introduction of Laila, a beautiful girl born to the ethnic Tajik couple - Hakim, a progressive-minded high school teacher. And neighbor to Mariam and Rasheed. The changing political scenario of the country started showing its colors on the entire cast of the novel. Here the story turns into more and more torturous, leading to events one after another and ending at Laila getting married to the very old Rasheed as his second wife. Rest is worth reading in Khaled's way rather than me trying to narrate it for you. Its about their struggle and sacrifice into becoming and living a friend, a wife, a mother, a woman.

original score

2009-01-29T05:25:00.000-08:00

"was at home for a couple of weeks", "wow!, so have you brought something for
me?" No, absolutely not. I have brought nothing for anyone.

Tell-a-Tale, I have an original score, shall I proceed!

Going home: A waiting List ticket worth of 700 bucks standing at 482 when bought and last updated to 211 to travel some odd 3600 kilometers. Indian Railways has these strange ways of earning. A very confident average Indian(one like me) even dares to travel such distances on mercy of the train floor. "Lets spread the News Paper and rest our ass. Got a long way to go.", yelled a fellow mate with Waiting List stand 43. I stood there, by the door for a few hours before the light bag started spraining my shoulders. With rest of the passengers already fallen asleep even some on the floor. Placed the bag somehow under the first berth, and also took the liberty of informing the berth owner that I wanted to share a part of his throne. My friend in middle of his deep slumber gave a quick nodding. Thank you heavens now I have a place to sit and read the book! Yes, what else can one do when you know what ought not to do. In my case its "Sleeping".

Pulled out that and adjusted my posture to fit in, with my legs stretching over to rest the berth across. With Khaled Hosseini's "Thousand Splendid Sun" in my hands; my now sleepy eyes read the assorted plight of women in Afghanistan. Meanwhile my legs kept folding and rising for every one who kept passing by all night, felt like some security toll gate. The rate of which marginally increased with each new station adding more waiting list passengers.

The same thing repeated the next night and also the final night before Khaled stopped writing, I stopped reading and the train too drew closer to the horizons starting a new morning before it halted for the last time. That's how I reached home this Bihu. And you must have already understood what I was doing during day time. Yes, with good wishes from my friend I slept on his berth literally the whole day.

Celebrating Xmas

2008-12-29T06:23:00.000-08:00

"Merry Christmas" to all. This is the time when the whole world is holidaying, not being much of an exception from the whole world I am also enjoying the season. I celebrated Christmas with a day long movie roll, halting only while answering natural needs of input and output. My friend Jaga' was preparing a list from IMBD for this extravaganza and the extra space was sorted out for the respective downloads. After quitting our quilts not very early in the morning, performing the needs and working out on the incoming and outgoing SMS and a couple of "birthday wishes we started off the session. The first thing, seal the windows(not working on ventilators, the room doesn't have any) not allowing any form of light inside the living room cum Theater hall.

The first one was, "Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind"... about stumbling, loving and a sci-fi touch.All mixed together to create a twisted-romantic script that very well delivered by Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. Its about a relationship between Joel(Jim) and Clementine(Kate) which turned sour and they separated. But Miss goes a step ahead and erases all her memories with Jim. Unknown Jim met her the other day and was surprised at her irrational behavior, goes to the root and discovers that she had erased him off her mind. Jim being a emotionally withdrawn man thinks to do the same, erase her out of his head. Much of the movie is around the memory erasing process where he tries to hide her memories from being erased. Meanwhile another parallel story comes up resulting to which our couple end up listening their own recordings why they wanted to erase each others memories. I have spelled a lot, but I am sure you can still go ahead and watch this movie and end up loving it.

Part two, after a hefty lunch we feel sleepy and on list was "The Maltese Falcon" a 1941 vintage. Should this be bit slow and we would be dead asleep. Better not try it, the third on list was "The Machinist" it got the green light and we started. A psycho thriller.The lead role is played by Christian Bale, who is an insomniac, being chased by Deja-vu. Trevor Reznik (Christian Bale) as an industrial machinist has not slept for almost a year, owing to which he drastically loosed weight. He virtually lived in a dreamy world and behaved abnormally. At the factory his mates became skeptical about him, after some incident he was fired. He was actually haunted by an incident that took place a year ago, that has kept him from sleeping since. But now his fears of sleep has entered his day life, things became bizarrely awkward. The entire movie is about trying to fight with ones feeling of fear and guilt. So the insomniac who was trying to sleep, kept us from sleeping and watch this good movie.

Session three would be the last one for the day, had a quick dinner settled all scores and picked "Schindler's List", a Steven Spielberg's signature movie. Had won 7 Oscars in its casket. A political melodrama staged during the Nazi period. Oscar Schindler played by Liam Neeson, is an ambitious unsuccessful businessman who wanted to make business out of the war. For which he disguised himself into becoming a Nazi himself and influencing the Germans with his smart wit and strong words. Thus making huge profits, the credit of which to a large extend goes to his Jewish accountant. But Schindler ultimately saved the lives of more than 1,000 Jews by giving them jobs in his factory,in a way saving their lives from the gas chambers. Schindler lost his wealth, but earned salvation for himself. Out-n-out its an outstanding movie, my own personal favorite lines from this movie is, "Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire" .........Merry Christmas

various voices vibrating in vain

2008-12-10T03:02:00.000-08:00

Coming round the corner when the TV was streaming the aftermath of the Mumbai terror plot and the political "halla-gulla", there were more and more calling for the Jesus Meetings around the world. And our folks are like the next generation Socrates, sweating and toiling over hours of discussions. None had been idle except for the stove and rest of the assortments in the kitchen. The TV, the Laptop, even our new member too was being tossed around(a football), above all the voices echoing in the room.

What was the hard talk about?-- "Recession assessment of global economy and consequent consequences."

That was a very heavy thread that we were handling all by ourselves. Blame all but one, our bad luck! As per our expert findings "Bad luck" is the first greatest natural calamity that can happen to anyone. However the outer circle of the bad luck slowly drifted to a smaller radius with newer circles of talk. The big question was who all are the ultimate sufferer of this mayhem?-- Industries, Banks or us. Beggers!, someone said. "I have seen them working harder on their gestures, shaking more and making more difficult faces, it seems; forget the rich even the auto drivers too becoming stringent about donations." Laughs all, then suddenly into silence. Man! we should not laugh we are in a far better situation, we do not have the rights to laugh at them. The IIM grads, they have been deprived from Investment banking jobs. Yes, but still they will have better options too. Not entirely wrong, infact these elites are still no where near the red line."What is this? Guys try to think out of the can, the common man, common man."(trifling Tom), "Beggars again or minority messiah Obama?"(humorous Harry) He had a point, it is difficult to determine the common man into categories of classes and sub classes. Actually both the points were eventual, yet we were in a dilemma of drawing lines to join them. Resulting into more smoke and ash and frowns and decibel rise. No leaf left unturn, talked from soup to nuts. But (determined)Dick serves the dessert.

"Girl friends!!!" he yelled, still trying hard to spin the football like a globe (feeling of being God).

We are not sure of why or how it came to his mind, but there is a point too. LoL!........ have they fallen from Temptations to Lacto King's and from Coffee Cafes to Iddli Stations and from weekend parties to watching TV at home. What happens to the phone, has it become a miss call device. Dude! what a close to such a difficult chapter. Or may be everything is right in place as it has to be, struggle and strife is always a part of life. Wish you "good luck, happy living"!

sometimes it happens

2008-12-05T02:11:00.000-08:00

This is not exactly a tell-a-tale, though there are a lot of scattered entities that if I try to combine into a single thread, we should have a story( not an epic).
Pertaining to change there are times when renascence is supposed to happen, history has seen it all the time. The Industrial revolution, redrew the Artistic manifolds into Scientific terms, the great Wars redrew world maps, and what we are going through today they term it ???(they do not have any term). Whatever let us not give much head to all these as the discussion. As it will continue as new turns keep coming, and it will not restrict you to bear with me, instead it will become a torture for you. Have you finished smoking that thing, now help me cross this road, I am blind as you have already known...

Not everyday will I have the honor to meet this man, it was only once. Had some accident in which he lost his vision. But his mind is indeed enlightened with. That day was entirely a new experience in itself. It started with same old BMTC bus, same long walk from Agara Lake, same old faces at office but a new assignment. A new project has come up and my Director wants me to be a part of it. Good! Then things became unfolding only after evening. I left office at around 7:30, with most of my colleagues already gone. There was no bus, so started walking towards Agara stop. I was not feeling very good, a trifling tummy. So was reluctant to walk, I stared making gestures for a lift to every vehicle passing by, except the Auto's(had only fifteen bucks at hand). "What is it boy why did you raised you hand?" I said,"Lift Sir, till Agara if you are going towards that way." Now what we normally expect is a "Yes, sure" or a "No, I am sorry." He did not say anything started his bike and went his way, I started walking again that was the only one to stop.

In Agara, got to do what everyone there was doing and that I always do, "stare". You need to get a glimpse of the bus number before it halts and then fight your way into it. From a bus that had just halted (not mera wala number), this young fellow walked up to me and handed over a day-pass, "Would you like to have it, my bus journey ends here". I said,"Thank you!" and took out my purse. Its alright, you need not pay me and he moved away. Ah! I have a pass now (8 rupees saved), but where is the bus. So happily waiting, but there is no 242A. Even the Cabs and Mini buses were pooling in to get some extra bucks apart from their office service, but not to Koramangala. Damn! I was getting late, when a Maruti Zen, just stopped by my side and the driver stared at me I thought he must me looking for some address. Instead he asked if there was any one going towards Richmond road, I said No, I only need to go to Forum Mall. OH! its on the same road, hop in fast, he said. Back of my head, I felt something something could be wrong though he seems to be well dressed and has a Intel logo sticker on the windshield. Meanwhile I was already sitting in the car and we were moving fast towards Forum Mall via Madiwala where he dropped a lady who was his colleague. Though we did not talk much just an introduction, I came to know that he always pools in someone on his way back home. He dropped me at Forum and I wished him a Thank You and a Goodnight.A ten minutes walk and I would reach my room, so started with quick steps.Half-way comes the mobile tea stall that is always standing on the same spot, felt the urge for a smoke. I searched my pocket, it had a five rupee coin and the day-pass that I can use no more. It was there where I met Mr. Pasha, the enlightened blind man. He was already there talking with the vendor when I joined to listen their conversation.

The White Tiger

2008-12-04T00:29:00.000-08:00

Reading something that is not very long and tediously written(tediously not tidy) that makes you think with a kind of fun behind, is what I consider "good"(again not best, I repeat). Similar was my experience with Mr Aravind Adiga's first novel "The White Tiger"( of Man Booker fame). Its a self-described narration to the Chinese Prime Minister, a glimpse beneath the surface of an Indian Entrepreneur, Balram Halwai alias Ashok Sarmah.

The book is about how from dirt of rural India which our author address as Darkness, "Munna" our hero becomes a successful business man, a "white tiger." In his journey from rags to riches, Munna takes a number of different profession, a school boy, the hotel boy, a driver cum household worker, even a murderer, entrepreneur and a white tiger.

He grew up in a small village near Gaya in Bihar, born to a poor rickshaw-puller, and named only "Munna," until his teacher named him "Balram" and gave him a birth date so that he could vote for the landlord.Then he becomes a tea table boy at the village tea stall, then a driver in Dhanbad and entered the light of Delhi via a job as driver to Mr Ashok, the son of a rich landlord. Here he chronically describes the Indian common man as to caged chicken at slaughter house and called it "the Rooster Coop."Being the honored servant and family waala, who never opposes his master and gharwaale's, naive enough to go to jail for Shahib. Our hero too did the same but his sarcastically cynical mind overcomes and prevents him from being a part of the Rooster Coop. Tired of a life of servitude, he takes a violent action goes ahead to murder his employer Mr Ashok, for the red bag of future, an also his name. The book is spiced up with miss-adventures of climbing the village old fort and dipping beak into blond haired and of course his granny Kusum bragging him all along the way for money. Above all its a good read, a good movie material; unpretentiously showcased, revolution and insurrection; outcome of a sardonic mind,an artistic representation evoking pity and compassion. The Chinese Prime minister would definitely like it and be more skeptical of coming to visit Agida's India.

Coagulation of useless ideas into sensible formulation.

2008-12-01T05:17:00.000-08:00

Out for a casual walk in the evening once coming out the weird office that I work in, where not even the Saturdays are spared. This is not the kind of walk that you might have seen that an old man with his old wife does, going round and round in one of the so called gardens of Bangalore in the evenings and in the mornings. Its more of the kind of ambulation that stirs the eyes of none, one that the masses do every day on their way back home after the days work. So on this casual walk since there was nothing else to do except for walking and the ears tuned to the local FM station, across the road I saw these four to five students gathered around the Chat House(road side Indian fast food joint), well these are places where we perform the open house discussions and formulate public opinion of all kinds and never really come to a single point of understanding commonly called "Adda" . Unlike old folks, Adda's are more popular among the young college people who are better equipped with facts and figures; comes up with faster resolutions. Only a year ago I too was an active member of such a college student group(aapni Adda), though we did not really have a name for the group or a specialization on something, but we did have different departments occupied by the specialized individuals. There was there the Planman(does all the preliminary level planing), the Cyclopedia(provides the first glimpse of fact and figures), the Spearhead(a protagonist running against the motion), the Intellect( shows most creative picture from behind), the Questionnaire(filled with doubts, can turn the point), the Audience(the Dumb listeners but good reflex action) and of course the Alternative(can take any position on any account of absence, otherwise does nothing just like I am doing now).

The triggering of any new chapter is usually thrown from the Audience, after which the Cyclopedia would gather his info and put on the table of the house. The Intellect will then quickly go through the facts and brings about a inconclusive conclusion to which the Spearhead always! always disagree and forwards his own tale with spiced up events. The Planman will now try to device a plan out of all these, however the flow of the Adda is always in hands of the Questionnaire, who can pop up with a very relevantly stupid query anytime and turn the tables to his end, hence bringing the discussion on to entirely a new page. Meanwhile The Audience will respond with their familiar... Oops! and WoWs! and sometimes very silent and sometimes about to burst out. There are also various environmental factors that affect or effects a successful Indian Adda. The place where the first blood was drawn, whether its a hostel room/veranda/rooftop, football/cricket field while waiting for ones turn, classroom with or without the professor, a restaurant/chat house with or without tables and tools or plates, in the bus/auto/tractor whatever. And also the time when the fire started is never absolute, I would mark a commonly bizarre combination of time where one just woke up from sleep with a tooth brush to start his day and the other was about to go to sleep after having passed the whole night at the study table could start off an Adda and then leave while the others would carry it to the next level. However its worth mentioning that these Adda's may not lead to decisive ends but the participants and the spirit of participation is definitely what its all worthy of.

An incredible journey moving at the speed of sound

2008-11-28T01:49:00.000-08:00

I have recently re-discovered that time is a big asset that I do not have access to, however having the priced ability of stealing moments from the unusually busy weekend(that heap of dirty clothes and the Cricket matches and unscheduled terrorist attacks and of course keeping track of the crumbling economy) for a movie. There is no particular category from where I pick my flicks, its more of random kind "August Rush"... not really subjected to genre analysis, yet could be placed in the pool of Musical movies, its entirely different from the enthralling entertainment as School of Rock or Almost Famous.

Director Kirsten Sheridan, seemed to be more into the divine power of music. The story is about how an orphaned musical prodigy (kinda reincarnation of Mozart) uses his gift to find his separated parents and bring them together to make one happy family.

Though the movie was not entirely of the boring kind yet the angelic imagination does dampen the audience(here I am the audience). Child artist Freddie Highmore(of Finding Neverland fame), inherits his musical thread from his parents played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Keri Russell.Layla's(Keri Russell) protective father falsely informs his daughter that her output of one night love did not survive birth and delivers the boy to the State, where the influence of all sounds great and small fill the boy with musical ambition and intuition.Now how he makes way from the orphanage into hands of Robie Williams (supposed to be taken from story of Rock Star Bono)and his band of homeless street singers. Then from the street to glories of the church and the University is the movie all about. Of course like all other musicals it has very touching notes, smooth sound. Finally the verdict is that you can give it a try, it was nominated for Oscar too. An absolutely delightful and warm film to watch in early winter days.

Happiness is for real only when shared!(Movie Review)

2008-11-15T00:44:00.000-08:00

In my search for freedom, I come across a hundred face everyday; some grouped, some as couples and many as alone as me
trying to understand the same feeling which we all call "freedom."......... In this yatra' we are born again-n-again, play our childhood, become adult, have a family and then one day catch the last train. On a similar pursuit was Christopher McCandless.

Framed into a movie are the adventures of this man and named as "Into the Wild" by Director Sean Penn with his beautiful cinematography and the awesome background scores. A good movie that I watched and lived on my birthday yesterday. Jena Malone ... Carine McCandless is the narrator and sister of Christopher. Chris' who topped his graduation gave away his life savings to charity and wanted to go north in Alaskan wilderness. He did not exactly ran away from his parents and the society as a whole but wanted to get lost, renamed himself as Alexander Supertramp. To his new name and identity gives a new birth, hitchhiking and rafting down Colorado river into Mexico, then back into States and up into Alaska. Meeting people from all works, the couple who were struggling with their relation, the farmers of many moods, the old man from the army and of course his small time love with the 16 year old gypsy singer. But as Lord Bryon said,"I love not man the less, but Nature more..." his want to be in Alaska was more than anything.

For around two years he was away from home, reached Alaska in the late winter and in the wilderness there discovered this abandoned bus which he named "The Magic Bus" and made it his abode. Living in the wilderness- hunting and fishing, eating Alaskan squirrels and his mis- adventure of moose hunting, meanwhile remembering all his way into this freedom land. He lived there until one day mistakenly ate some poisonous weed to end his tale of adventure with the Alaskan summer shining on his weirdly pale face through the window of his magical bus. Suddenly on his death bed he realized happiness is for real only when shared and wanted to go home, but the small stream which he had paddled last winter has now turned into a wild river impossible to cross, his want for freedom in nature had engulfed him into her arms. "Some people feel like they don't deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces, trying to close the gaps of the past...but you are wrong if you think that the joy of life comes principally from the joy of human relationships. God's place is all around us, it is in everything and in anything we can experience. People just need to change the way they look at things." Alexander Supertramp's last words were to his parents and probably to the entire society, "What if I were smiling and running into your arms? Would you see then what I see now?".

Ghastly affairs!(Useless philosophy)

2008-11-13T01:10:00.000-08:00

Most of us have fears of one thing or the other, literally named as "phobia's" fear of- cats, dogs, height, and what not, but there is one certain fear that is universal and and every one has, the fear of ghost, supernatural beings. Apart from being afraid of, this is always has been the hottest topic to talk about. Be it in the grandmothers tales or an awful experience of a friend, an encounter with the unknown. Whatever be it; it does generate a lot of enthusiasm and excitement. No, no I am not at all going to narrate a certain one out of so many experiences that I have! but there is one particular incident when I was alone at home during my late night study just before the Board exams. It was on of the chilling December months, when my family leaving me at home went to attend a marriage ceremony of one of the cousin. It was like "Home Alone" thing; no school(Study Leave), no one to scold and TV all day long, Music system full volume, cook your own food awesome!!. So that night I had a horrible burnt dinner, I do not exactly remember as to what experiment had been done but I do remember it was Social Studies what I was reading, "Powers of the President of India" when I heard this strange howling. As if someone was crying just under my window. The voice was very low initially then it suddenly increased, I was dumb struck. Slowly tried to look around the room, unfortunately had this habit of using table lamp so the rest of the room was quite dark. I checked and rechecked if anything seemed moving anywhere, NO! nothing but the howling continues. "Intuition" you can say it was when I turned the table lamp to focus the light on the window curtain and come down from the chair, crawling towards the window slowly. Suddenly with a big yell stood up at the window, still nothing happened, tried to look through the window there was absolutely nothing, opened the window and discovered the howling along with my ghost. It was coming from Among uncle's place..."a group of carol singers with their dissonant screaming of Christmas Carol."

I never told about this incident to anybody thinking they may make a joke out out me, however I now feel laughing at myself. If you have the experience of staying in a hostel be it at school or in college then you will definitely have had the experience of plain-chit thing calling of souls and all. We tried all that in our hostel, too inspired by the inhabitants of the senior girls hostel that was near to ours. Nothing happened in our case, as the silence kept breaking now and then by a cough or a small giggle, or the fingers on the coin from the right hands kept replacing by those from the left hand. Actually how can some soul come to a place already full of live ghosts. Even the "knock the bottle off", from the edge of the northwestern corner wall on the roof on a rainy moonless night when there was no power. This past midnight prank was well organized by guys sitting in the dark corner just next to the bottle, along with the ones sitting on top of the water tank, all wet in rain only to surprise the challenger, which did work later on. Or getting beaten up while trying to surprise anyone in the dark corridor wrapped in the blanket were all very ghastly without any ghost at all. However there was one singular incident that took place during one of the similar very long late night Adda's, we were in the first year of college. Sitting in this room were around eight of us, some were playing cards and the rest were like audience for the card game and active participants for the discussion that was goin on, I do not remember how it started at the first place. Suddenly the point of discussion changed into stories of experiences with the unknown, one after the other came in stories of their own encounters and also of their neighbors or anything that would make the story interesting, and the card game too was changin its term now into famous Indian "Teen patti" our own counterpart for British Three-card Brag. When the stories became boring, someone said we can make a luck check using cards, the Teen Patti way. So the game had this new fire into it......who among us would be the richest?, who would have the most beautiful wife?....... so it went on from good to bad then to evil........ who among us will die first? Every one rejected it, we are not going to do this. Ok! I am sure there is ghost here in this room. Ha! ha! ha!...in came the replies. Let us check then. Alright, spread the cards. Those who say its there raise your hand, no one did except Ani' he is the one who started this check line. So everyone picked their set of cards. The peeping started and came in the 'Ooofs! Ooofs!; 5-3-2 multiple, A-4-7, no one had good cards only Ani' had hit the Trio A-A-A....... no one moved or talked. There we were at 3:15 am at night in room number 8.

"The first casualty of war is innocence"(Movie Review)

2008-11-08T06:07:00.000-08:00

Suddenly with the ongoing mayhem of terror attacks and the resulting atrocity, should have drawn eyes too near to the forehead causing the uneven frown of all times. The movie that I saw last night gave a bigger picture of the ground realities that may not be seen in the picture that we usually draw every day. Written and Directed by Oliver Stone's "Platoon" is a 1986 contemporary classic, that bagged 4 Oscars along with which goes an impressive list of actors. That includes Charlie Sheen(of Hot Shots and Scary Movie fame ), Keith David, Johnny Depp and many more.....

The plot is drawn on the darkest spot on American war history, Vietnam war. The story is about how a young American, school drop out volunteered and joined the forces just like his father and grandfather had done in history, Pvt. Chris Taylor(Charlie Sheen)who also serves as the film's narrator. From the very day he landed on Vietnamese land he starts realizing the fact that life in forces not freedom and unparallel power. And how he along with the other freshman raw recruit or 'new meat' faces the blunt of Vietnamese ambush while serving near the Cambodian border. The cinematography is quite well taken, giving you the real feel of dense rain forest the worst battle ground. The Platoon driven by their terrible life in the jungle and seeing the dead and mutilated bodies of fellow soldiers becomes insane, which they vent on the weak and innocent villagers. This particular scene where a one legged Vietnami lad is beaten to death in front of his old mother, was horrific. The relative consequence of which lead to a split in the platoon, essentially between two Sergeants (Willem Dafoe and Berringer). Finally the plot turns into more about escaping from there than the need to win over the enemies. Treachery, dishonor and the loss of faith took more casualties than bullets in the movie.

only the other day on my way to office(Short Story)

2008-11-08T04:11:00.000-08:00

only the other day on my way to office I met this extraordinary security personnel(Fresher), Pavan Kumar from Hajipur in Bihar. Now and obviously how he became a victim of our city is what goes below.

Already 8:30 by my watch and it takes more than 45 minutes to my office from my apartment. I just put these ear phones and tuned my mobile to the FM waves, the song from Honeymoon Travels Pvt Ltd just started "sajana de wari wari..." only added to my unevenly fast ambulation.

Let me also tell you, Bangalore is real busy in morning hours. However this fellow who was reluctantly walking ahead of me seemed to be singing the same song in slow motion, I was not at all looking at him apart from the fact that I just saw a bus that I was suppose to catch, is missed now. The traffic signal has to be crossed to get to the bus stand on the other side. I was in hurry so I went cross as fast as I can seeing the traffic lights go RED. He came slowly behind me to the place where I was standing for the bus now, "ye G4S ka office kahan hai...", removed the plug ins and "I am sorry!". He asked me again, I told him to ask the autowala, he must be knowing it better. He went and talked with the auto driver and came back to me. "Ye BDA complex yahan se kittna dur hai?" Cross the road, walk to the next signal and take a right then go straight(in Hindi).Pawan said, "Thank you" in English this time. I smiled back and he went ahead to cross the road that was empty due to the red light at the last signal.

He was hardly mid way when this pair of "power puffed" girls on their speedy scooty collided with our Pawan, erstwhile son of the Wind God. Fortunately nothing much happened, he didn't even fall nor did the Aapsaras(that is what he called them). But Mr. Son of Wind God was immediately attacked by rallies of verbal abuses, nothing of which he hardly understood. "Sorry, sorry", was his only defense against the Raging Babes. There was already a small gathering, me being part of this excitement too. As most of the our kinda class of bangaloreans do, "Dats Ok, Dats Ok..." and the engine started once again to look for its next victim, leaving Pawan with a small tear on his supposed to be new trouser. Helped him cross the road back to the place where we were standing and I asked if he would like to take a bus to BDA Complex, as I would take bus that goes past BDA too. We got up the next bus, did not have seats, quite packed at these hours. when the bus was about to reach BDA Complex I informed him that he needs to get off at the next stop. Pawan asked for my phone number, OK given. Then one more, "Thank you". Too good, taken!; now just before leaving he said, "Engreji to humne bhi school me sikhi hai, magar ye Aapsaraye kya bol rahi thi humko kuchu samaz me nahi aaya." garnished with a very hilarious looking face.

ep·i·logue

2008-11-03T03:45:00.000-08:00

I find it very difficult and uneasy to start writing on anything for the first time, as the idea at this point is very raw and enthusiasm is more; so the probability of making a mistake is quarterly high.

The bundle of lies in my mind is more than just "lies", as the plan goes I am suppose to put all those uneven happenings that comes to my mind, the philosophies that evolve out of the unending late night Adda's, and reviews of books that I read so infrequently and the movies that I see so frequently(which would be very very unprofessional and maybe utterly boring at
times). Most importantly the "etc" should be something that I have not decided upon till now, but you will have to take it for a surprise arrow on your butts or the head to be precise.

There is no specific genre as far as to what would be when and where, considering the random way of life that I lead, you should find a reflection of the same in my words, that normally is full of spelling mistakes and grammatically terrible to read. However quite a few people think I am interestingly the owner of some kind of "intersetting" place.