Der Aaye Durust Aaye and all that Jazz...and a Thank you to www.zenpencils.com and "The Last Raid". Bas yaar bahut hua.

Well... how long has it been?
No, I've not shifted to Alaska, adopted a pair of huskies and been cultivating medicinal varieties of moss (Yet). It's just that over hours and hours of painstakingly spent time over the internet procrastinating in office, I've realized that I'm not the writer that the internet needs and I'm certainly not the one that it deserves either.
So, I've stepped back to happily enjoy the fruits of labor of some fantastic folks who actually write/draw/create stuff that make sense, or make me crack up (more of the latter actually).

So. A website which is pretty much at the top of the list of my browsing history which the happy IT guy at work is accumulating to complain to management and bump me off work with, someday is this
www.zenpencils.com

The creator Gavin Aung Than, a free lance cartoonist based in Australia picks some of the finest quotes/experiences from some tremendous personalities and great sources across history and modern times and distills them into a few panels of gorgeous and moving visual inspiration. Pure Gold.
In my opinion, singularly; the most motivating block of bytes on the internet.
A harbinger of change for many many of his readers who've been inspired to follow their own drummers and go take up vocations close to their heart. My change if you must ask has been restricted to changing the wallpapers on my desktop with one of Gavins comics or the other.
Read em folks. Read em all. (I expect an astonishing increase of readership at Gavins site by 1 after I publish this post. Yes, I've mailed the link to my father as well).

So I stumbled upon this comic of his today morning again.
zenpencils.com/comic/50-neil-gaiman-make-good-art/
Must read. So well, had to had to, at least as a tribute to Neil Gaiman and Gavin; contribute something at all. So dusted off a short story I'd written a while ago, which I think is relevant to current news. Inspired from a feverish bout of Indian myth fiction reading. Piece of junk, but what can I do? Pretty much the only art that I can make.

Intro

'The last raid' is a first person account of a kabaddi player in ancient India.
Set on the day of his last kabaddi match, it narrates his thoughts on his rise, his decline and his retirement ending with what is his final raid.
Yep. Familiar man. Unfamiliar sport. Oft heard story. Not too oft treatment.

The Last Raid

Great. Virabhadra and Gautameshwar had to do this today of all days. 2 failed raids in our first 2 tries against our traditional foe and pesky neighboring kingdom Pakinapur. Their captain and our chief tormentor Mallik-arjun is grinning from ear to ear and cracking jokes about my age as I get ready to step in (PS: as if him and his team are spring chickens. Liars. The lot. Someday I'll expose their janampatris to the world) Anyways, the day my preceding duo has chosen to start off so spectacularly badly on, is my last day in the game. Me, Tendulyaman, Bharat varsha’s and Vishva Kabaddis most illustrious son am hanging up my langot today.

As I take a deep breath and step out from my ring of teammates, I can hear the roar ascend in a never ending crescendo. In all my years, I've never seen Kurukshetra maidan so full, talk is of people coming in from as far south as Cholapuram for a chance to witness me in action for one last time.

Last time. My last game. Just before I cross over into the other half, I find myself strolling down memory lane to the start of my kabaddi journey. My father, a Raj kavi in Mumba nagari hated his peace at work being disturbed by the naughty child that I was and encouraged me to get out of our house and loll around in the mud with my friends all day. Those friendly bouts of Kabaddi in my back alleys soon became one sided affairs - I was just too good a raider. Jealous of the ease with which I demolished him at the local games, my elder brother took me to Guru Ramakant, an acclaimed kabaddi guru when I was 11, hoping that a taste of the competitive level would bring my arrogance to its knees. Still, the one sidedness continued – I was just too good a raider. All sorts of records fell at the inter ashram, inter gurukul, inter pradesh level once I’d stepped onto the maidans, Once me and Kamblesh (my best friend and sadly now- failed theatre artist) scored the highest number of combined raids ever recorded in the history of the game. Guruji, to encourage competition even took to awarding special Modaks to anyone who could catch me on any one of my raids in an entire day of practice. After I staked claim to 13 consecutive modaks, Gurujis halwai and Guruji both lost patience and gave up the practice. 

I stepped into the national team at a ripe young age of 16, in a team which was right about scraping the bottom of the then global kabaddi rankings. (Yes, we were almost like the Banglapurs of that generation).  And yes, I made my debut against the same annoying Pakinapur team, which back in those days had a fearsome set of catchers who specialized in their toe crushing kicks on the raider, immobilizing and immediately pouncing on him. Their fearsome catchers were Akram and Younisaram, both were baying for blood on the particular day and snickered on seeing a kid walk over but at the end of my raid, bloodied though I was, I’d emerged victorious, prompting many a sentimental person in the crowd to draw comparisons to Prince Abhimanyu and of how, not only had I countered the Chakravyuh, but had also come out alive. Heady times, which only barely heralded an even headier rise. No bharat varshi had come close to dominating Vishwa kabaddi like this before. Gavasyaman a very accomplished and respected predecessor was widely acknowledged to be truly special but even he, had never treated opponents with such disdain. Nor given nightmares to rival catchers and most of all he was never the symbol of the advent of a bright and bold Bharatvarsh on the global stage.

The referees whistle brings me back to the present, and I snap out of my reverie. That heightened sense of things everytime I go out to raid envelops my being again. The world around recedes into a silent vortex, and I can only see the silhouettes of my opponents hunched together taunting me to touch them. I pull up my langot, crouch and touch my crotch twice; a signature move of mine which even though subject to a lot of mirth, was something I religiously did as I believed it setup my inner chakras in line with the universal force.  Next, as I’ve always done, like a hungry tiger training his sights on the slowest gazelle in a field, my eyes immediately moved to locate the weakest of the Pakipur bunch. There. Kamran was a young, confident but largely incompetent oaf.  An oft repeated joke, especially in Vaidya circles was that Kamran was so bad, he couldn’t even catch a cold if he wanted to. Often Pakipur had to hide him in their lineup and avoid giving easy points to opposition raiders. Anyways, smacking my lips in anticipation, I stormed into the Paki half, and lunged with my left foot and caught Kamran off guard immediately. The poor fellow didn’t know what hit him. Unfortunately for me though, that sneaky Mallik-arjun had somehow sneaked in behind me and had me trapped. (Did I mention that he’d also kidnapped and secretly wedded Princess Sania from the Nizam pradesh a few years ago. Calls himself son-in-law of Bharatvarsha. Bloody thief.) Anyways. Out.

As I dragged myself back to my half reluctantly. I could not but help let a sliver of negativity run through me. Much of the talk in the last few years had been around my waning powers and how my place in the side was just a bow to past accomplishments. Many even told me that our prime minister Maunmohan Brij had been contemplating giving me a special award for having distracted public opinion from his umpteen failings and misdemeanors in governance with all the time people spent on debating my retirement.

But me, I still enjoyed the feel of the wet earth beneath my bare feet, the thrill of a raid every time I stepped out, that moment when time freezes around you as you just outwit a catcher and your team explodes in triumph. I had accomplished everything – every record of note  had my name next to it (All but one to be precise - there was one far greater - Drona Varadman. Legend. More about him sometime else). And especially after our Vishva Kabbadi victory; I had nothing left to prove; even to myself. I had quite a bit still left in the tank, the odd performances now and then had managed to temporarily silence people like Ravi Shastradhan (ex national kabaddi player, now annoyingly repetitive commentator – often excessively drunk on Madira on gamedays)

But finally age had managed to catch up with me, the legs, not that fluent, the hands, no longer as fluid. The mind, host only to success and spirit in the past had recently started entertaining doubts and demons. I could see very clearly that I was not the player I once was. Calling it a day would be difficult, but it had to be now.

As the side morosely troops off after the first half trailing Pakinapur 0-6, I stand by the maidan alone. So, this is what letting go feels like. I’d been a part of the last goodbyes to Dravidar, Laxmankant, Kumblesh (Great of the game. Not to be confused with Kamblesh) and wondered each time, how would it be to turn my back on Kabaddi. This game, that’s given me such joy, the people, who’ve given me such love. The gods, who’ve given me such luck. 
Thank you all. I gave you all of myself as well. All of it. All the time.

But I cannot fail in my last game. We’ve closed the gap in the second half and are level with Pakinapur now thanks to some inspired raiding by our captain Dhonidhan (Brilliant isn't he? All that milk he grew up on in Jhad-khand, I tell you). One minute left in the match, and time for just one more raid. And, who better to do it. As I trot out, the crowd rises in anticipation, and the din reaches stratospheric proportions. This is it.

Deep breath drawn in - Check

Signature crotch move - Check

Cross half in an intimidating attacking posture - Check

Identify incompetent oaf - Praise be to Indra. Tears of Joy. Kamran is still on the field. Check checkity check.

Lightning dance of the feet to move down the ground and catch opponent unawares - Perfectly executed. Check

Get back to own half and celebrate a glorious win and a glorious end - CHE.....Damn..

Mallik-Arjun.. may the gods curse you.

 

The Man and the Boat

These lines below are not original.
TC - An old desk mate of mine from school had written this shockingly beautiful piece way back in class 9.
lines that presage even at that precocious an age - a formidable literary/philosophic bent

Lines that resonate inside-on a rainy evening in Delhi, sitting by a drippy window pane, with parchments of yore on my bed, and fragments of yore in my head; these lines come back to me again....and How true I can only wonder...How true...

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

A river going down the hill
A boat going up the river
A man inside the boat
A lonely heart inside the man

But alas.. Time never goes uphill

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

Triskaidekaphobia

Funny that have finally found something thats made me take this dusty ol blog of mine off my dingy online archives....

As i type out..it's struck another eventful Friday the 13th... and ever since my tryst with "The Omen" once when I was in class 6... its another day when I stay away from electrical switches, water bodies, look frantically up, left, down, right when crossing road; not to mention also avoiding looking any shady looking crows in the eye of course..

I always get this feel of some deep unspeakable evil of considerable proportions following me on these days, always ready to quietly slither up behind me with the hammer when I'm not looking.

But of course...I'm made of sterner stuff. I remember my last encounter with F13. A rafting expediton in Rishikesh had quite conveniently clashed dates, and at the start of a seemingly lovely morning by a suspiciously meek looking Ganges, I could almost feel Ill luck eagerly rubbing it's hands with glee at the prospect of seeing the otherwise wary me walk into such mortal peril myself...but little did it know of the fortitude and presence of mind I possess... by staying right at the centre of the raft, not moving an inch, wearing two life jackets, and holding on to the fattest guy in the raft for dear life I scraped through to a safe escape.

Manoj 1 F 13 0 .... It surely has to be looking to get one back at me for that miserable outing.

Well, Bring it on I say...

Ok... My laptops heating up way too abnormally....somethings fishy...gotta go...Ciao.....

A grandson remembers...

"We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them."
- T.S.Elliot

This post is about an exemplary man i knew... no... i know....
someone who was/is a constant source of joy/ inspiration /learning...
a person whose presence lit up the lives
of his 14 grandchildren; who absolutely adored him....

Thatha.... as i knew him..he of his impeccable white shirt, veshti and black umbrella....of his
flawless english and imposing tamil, a reservoir of affection and treasure trove of knowledge.

No grand kid could have asked for more...

My earliest memory of thatha is walking to the meenakshi temple on early mornings on summer holidays hand-in-hand...waiting for him to take me to the temple elephant...waiting for him to buy me my favourite toys at the nearby stands...tell me stories about the diety in his typical style....

of him practically knowing every other person in the temple to whom he used to gesture, grin and say... "yennoda delhi perapillai...leave ku vandhurkan....thatha kuda sutthuran" ( my lil grandson from delhi....has come for his vacations...roaming around with his grandfather )

Of plucking flowers from our garden for his daily puja... and his "thank u perapillai (grandson)" which followed...his deep intonations during puja which i'd sit through lying in wait for the prasadam which he'd dole out in generous quantities....

Of him gallantly coming to my rescue every time mom was after my case for one tantrum or the other....
still remember him fixing up everything with....
"he's at his grandfathers residence...he will do as he pleases..."

of spending long hours struggling with an orange tree in the yard, to pluck a precious few; and rush off to make juice with them, and give it to thatha and patti...who'd be as pleased as punch....

of rushing off shouting "thathaaaaa" down the road whenever the familiar figure in an impeccable white shirt, white veshti and black umbrella would come down from his outings....

his flawless tamil ( which i could never even hope to pick up ) and his impeccable english ( which i still try to imitate every living day) ...and his habit of vociferously downing two papers each morning....

'ayya' as he was known in the surrounding area...was whom everyone around seemed to turn for help...be it elderly advice for the next door neighbour, or opening a savings account for the neighbourhood washerwoman...
the milkman to the mla... he knew them all....

Growing up bridges your gaps with the world at large... but it sometimes widens them with a few loved ones...
as i grew up... the phone calls became less frequenter...our conversations shorter...and my visits lesser...

Still..not once did he complain...everytime i'd come to madurai ,usually at odd hours of the night, inspite of my protests thatha wud always be up...and his smiling "vanga vanga perapillai" ( welcome welcome grandson) would make the journey worthwhile...all the time....
I remember sharing each and every achievement of mine with him over the phone and in person....class 12 marks...engg admissions... my first job.... mba admission.... irrespective of the fact that he understood it or not..."heartiest congratulations...excellent" was his response...always...
My biggest supporter..My biggest cheerleader...

Madurai has always been my battery charger... leisurely days with thatha and patti were, and will be the most relaxing ever... my chats with thatha over breakfast and lunch...about college...jobs..life... they simplified things for me...put a lot of things in the proper perspective... and even when we were not dicussing anything they would just be thankful that their 'peran' was with them.

Its almost been a year, since he's been gone. We still feel his need every living day; some more than the others. Even now, there are times of joy, when the dial button on the phone instinctively goes to 'thatha madurai' first, and then the eyes water up.

Thatha...Miss you...

On Floundering Hope....

In the past one year,

many a colossus has fallen and been bemoaned by humanity....

Institutions, people that were once revered have been reviled...

and along with these leviathans; more importantly...

hope too has seemingly fallen...

and the world; suddenly is not the same place anymore....

This is our generations great depression say soothsayers; 

The worst is yet ahead of us, say the pessimists,

Strap up for a rough ride say the realists,

and the optimists are suddenly nowhere to be found...

It's said that during those sombre years of the last depression, 

It was a certain Babe Ruth and his magical play

that collectively, brought a smile to many a furrowed brow,

and hope, albeit momentarily to many a troubled heart.

Am sure me and other countless afficianados have been firm believers

in the fact that Sports, has always transcended human affairs,

and by means of providing a healthy distraction,

has helped many a soul appreciate the bigger picture

But, This Sunday evening , 

the storm clouds that had arrived on the horizon,

suddenly got darker....

venomously darker...

Last Year, amidst all the tumultous falls, another wall had shown signs of breaching,

but towards the end had shown signs of a resurge,  and millions across the globe had 

thanked their stars that hope was still alive...

and prayed for the new year to ring in a fresh start...

But a relentless and indefatigable force, has just announced that not only is it here,

its here to stay for good...

the force is not a dark one though,

It's just that, the force carries with it;

that pall of inevitability that seems to have enveloped us all;

a pall that's robbed us of our confidence in providence...

The force is a rude reminder that all that is magical, joyous, serene, and exhilarating

is but ephemeral;

a momentary flash that has to be and will be snuffed out

by brute force, power and limitless energy.

A superbly oiled, phenomenally trained, impeccably tuned 

machine; has tasted blood, and once too many today;

A symbol of virtuosity, simplicity, beauty, artistry;

was left devastated in the wake of the all sweeping force today...

and even as mortals like me, could hardly gape,

and let the consequences of this gloom sink in...

alas! that beacon of hope...

alas! that maestro...

chose to do something,

that has blotted, this already darkest of times...

He cried.....

Fed.....dont ...dont .... 

not now, not in front of us... not with whats happening...

Please Fed...Bounce Back...

Get the world back on track....

Please Fed...Bounce Back...

 

Mumbai....Meri Jaan...

It's finally over...I hope it's over...

dont know when I've been so completely taken up with something thats not had any direct effect on me in anyway...and i dont think it's just me ... Everyone i know has been glued to the tv sets for the past three days...everyone has an opinion...and everyone has something brewing inside...

Visuals of a city under siege..horror stories of unbridled mayhem in places which anybody who's been to mumbai..would remember to have walked freely about..admiring the view.... 

Terror has never hit home so hard, and so close to our generation at least...ever....

the death toll as i hit out at my keys is touching 190....

and rising....

200+families in mourning today...a son, a father, a sister,a  mother...dead for no reason at all..or a reason that we, the ordinary people will never understand ...

a bunch of loons..armed to the teeth, just seemingly floated into India's most influential city and caused this mayhem leaving destuction and terror in their stay...and we as a nation have watched this unfold in our living rooms...with a growing sense of frustration, anger and rage. What?? How?? we actually let em do all this??  

Forget the 'why' for a while...whatever god forsaken political, religious, national alliances they had...goddammit...let that be damned for a while...

The fact that our nations security hangs by the finest of threads..and lives of innocent millions are just there... ripe for the picking for those b##$$ is ridiculous...and scary....

and this strike brings home a lot of other incidents..i confess that all the other blasts that have happened this year, Malegaon, Delhi, Jaipur, Guwahati.... they hardly registered on my radar... people died there as well...not in such; if i may use the word 'glamorous' situations....but human lives have been lost...

There are fewer things that disgust me more at the moment than an ad by the BJP in the newspaper accusing the congress for these lapses...is this the time to indulge in such political one-up manships?? are our chosen national representatives such insensitive oafs ?? ...

Running a  close second would be the homegrown 'terrorists' we have...a bespectacled 'Marathi' idiot who sets aflame passions, with 'his city'  Mumbai under siege... he conveniently went missing for two days...and the Janus sided Gujarat CM who offered a widow a cash reward, thankfully to be rudely rebutted...

I see a shattered Major Unnikrishnans mom...Hemant Karkare's wife...Gajendra Singhs children... and a mass of multitudes at their last rites...

and thousands of others like me who grieve alongside..and have been rather tragically shown what being a 'true hero' is all about... the army..the forces... the police... who ' give their todays for our tommorow' ... we salute the men... better late than never...

As a worked up Barkha Dutt on screen put it... "Today...we are all Mumbaikars..."

I sit; a scared and frustrated man today... frustrated that in our country incidents and events like these, are becoming a daily occurence...and all I can do is sit, twiddle my thumbs...and blog out my rage...

scared that tommorow..it just might be somebody i know, like it's been today for so many in Mumbai...will i be able to take it??

Not sure..not sure at all... 

 

Why Do I Quiz: Part 2

For anyone who's read part-1 of the similarly titled piece....this is not exactly an extension of whatever was stated then...

It's more out of want for a better title on what has been a trying and tribulating day...

The Hindu Young World quiz in delhi 1999...led a team from school to the event...came nowhere close to qualifying for the finals...even as the audience...couldnt know a word of what the quizmaster was hollering about...just knew that the chaps from DPS were answering left, right, centre...went home a shaken, make it terribly shaken kid...

A quiz by 'pickbrain' in college 3rd year...somehow after a miraculous prelims...make it through to the finals...after an enervating 1 hour..come back down with 5 points..1 answered question...and a devastated ego...

Another quiz called 'quiztrac' in Coimbatore...fellow college goers would recognise it to be coimbatores biggest open quiz...I rather remember it as my biggest heartbreaker..three times in a row...2004-5-6...could just sigh as was left high and dry in the prelims itself...all the bloody time...

2007: BT Acumen Finals....the euphoria was yet to set in..was actually in the east zone finals....
with the closest thing to an idol that i have...harsha bhogle hosting...walked onto stage at the IIM-C audi...before an amazing harsha and a fabulous audience............
...and went to pieces.... finished in last spot....

2008: Tata Crucible Semi-Finals: Land up in the shooutout round for a spot in the finals of Crucible...the holy grail of any campus quizzer..take three minuses and one plus.... end up in the negative at the end of the round...out ..and that too in some way....

and today...The BT acumen 2008 finals...qualified again...same IIM-C audi...Harsha was there again..the audience too...heck i even got the same spot that i had last year...
...
...
the lakes at IIM-C have a curious thing about them..little ripples come up...break up, recede...and then back up again...

I finished second to last today....after the home team had all but decimated us...once again...came home with just a bagful of bruised dreams...

My quizzing ripples too have always seemed to break-up..sooner or later...true...winning isn't everything...and i can hear a couple saying.."hey...isnt this the same guy who said he quizzed for the sake of quizzing"...sure ...still am....
but the problem with being passionate is; the fact that passion unfortunately; hates being told you're just not good enough...

but the best part of the ripples are that they just dont stop coming...to break-up maybe..but they just dont stop...not their style...

so i pack up and look towards crucible'08...another disaster in the offing perhaps..but never mind...i live to die..another day...

Goodbye Jumbo...

Surprisingly...have never written about another lingering passion of mine ...cricket; on the blog...ever...

the tipping point though arived today 3:00 pm....

was standing outside 'south indian' as it is called...after a very very heavy curd rice meal ready to drop off on the road itself...thats when it arrived...

"score kya hua hai??" ...
"kucch tha 208 declared....aur haan....kumble's retired by the way...."
"kyya????"
"haan haan....just declared it in the morning...injured bhi to hai...."

and that was that....
not for the first time..was left speechless and shocked in the middle of a road...

drifted back to my first lingering memory of kumble...
think it was the hero cup final against west indies in 1993....

a lanky, bespectacled...rocket scientist lookalike...stormed the windies; who were demolishing teams till then..in the finals...
6/12 his final figures i still remember...amazing,astounding,magical bowling...
as eden gardens erupted in fireworks...india...and lil manoj suddenly had a brand new hero...

was in third standard at that time...remember twirling my arm over for a year after that wanting to be 'kumbleee'....

another match in 1996...against the aussies..before they were 'THE' aussies....India had fallen apart after sachins departure as usual...and a tearful lil manoj was watching crestfallen till kumble and srinath took the likes of fleming and co by the scruff of their necks and actually batted india to an improbable win...

1998..at the kotla...on a dirt bowl of a track...much to a slightly older lil manoj's sadistic pleasure..batsman after batsman had absolutely no answer to jumbo's doosras,teesras and 'etc'ras that were coming at them....remember cursing aloud when the 10th pakistani batsman skied up the ball in somebody elses over fearing that his perfect 10 would not arrive....
thankfully...even the gods didnt want it that way...only the 2nd person ever to take a perfect 10 in the history of cricket...wow....just wow...

was not following a series in the carribean where India were getting slaughtered...a friend in college mentioned one fine day..."kumble's got guts dude...damn..you should have seen him yesterday..." confused...started to the nearest cyber cafe...remember my first reaction on seeing that pic of his bowling replete with strapped jaw..."shit...holy shit" courage thy name is kumble...

and strangely...the most recent memory comes from a quiz question.... "who scored the only century for India in england last season....??" ... before i could get my rusty brain on track... another team burst out on the buzzer excitedly... "Kumble!!!" ...

"whoa?? well....yeah..actually...kumble!! wow!"

Jumbo's cricketing heroics would require a separate blog per se...and these stray reflections are more of my personal memories...in a cricketing world replete with bully's, overtly macho and overtly competitive 'super-stars', holier than thou attitude throwers...Jumbo was always a revelation....fiercely competitive...a tiger on the field...and yet always the perfect gentleman off it...

"he cant spin..." , "no variation" "medium-pacer" "indian pitches only" and many many other things...said the critics...and toady a report card that says 500+test wickets...India's highest wicket taker...and that too by quite a number...

for over a decade when India's bowling languished..Jumbo valiantly toiled for that elusive breakthrough...on flat pancakes of tracks...in killing conditions India's lone bowling hope....jumbo...walked on...without complaining...he spun on...

the old guard is changing....Dada first....now Jumbo...and there are quite a few fledgings right in place...yet....yet....

stray idiots will rejoice that "the oldies gone..he was no good anyways..." cynics will say.. "was a paper tiger...harbhajan has always been better" ..and tearful goodbyes like this one shall also be penned down...

the fledglings shall take over the ball...and the advent of 'captain courageous' dhoni will finally be complete...

and yet...amidst all of this...valiantly...silently...manfully...and as ever..humbly....kumble shall declare his innings over...

a legend walked off a cricket field for the last time today....a legend...

was not shedding tears (that is reserved for the damned day the lil master will decide to hang up his boots), but with an absolutely heavy heart walked off home...
cos a little part of me, a bit of 'lil manoj' had also walked off into the sunset...

She is...

my wake up call on holidays in delhi...

firm tugs of the bed sheet...repeated calling in her sweet sing song voice...and occasional dripping drops of water delivered amidst incessant giggles...

my nemesis when it comes to TV watching...much better at handling that god-damned contraption that is the dish tv remote...and of course much faster...and consequently, never allowing even the faintest trace of sporting activity on the screen...

a constant critic of my daily jaunts with the school gang..."you're not going out with them again??" being her constant refrain...

a walking-talking excel sheet of my bloopers...." u didnt switch off your laptop..."...."the fans still on there..."

"take a bath!! It's 1... "

a live feed of info to mom...." manoj's on the phone; for the last 1 hour! ....he's still sleeping.... he's saying something behind your back...."

the staccato of noise in the background when am trying to take my afternoon nap...

constant sharer of her 'away from home' issues....disturbing 'colleagues'...amazing friends...threatening old ladies all of whose names begin with 'sister'....

frequent framer of exasperating serial questions like "what do you want to be when you grow up?? you still dont know?? how come?? " .... "is that girl you're talking to on the phone the girl you're gonna marry?? when is the marriage?? can you buy me a new gown for it?? "

ender of all of her occasional skirmishes with the family with the mother of all "am such a cute lil thing ...y r u doin this to me" expressions...

most importantly though....

still remember her entry into my life 6 years ago...wrapped up in a sheet..bawling her lungs out...

remember the many nights during class 12 examinations when I've had night swotting sessions with her comfortably nestled on my shoulder...gently going to sleep with intricacies of physics in the background...

her particular tendency to choose to relieve herself precisely whenever i eagerly lifted her up after a tiring day at school...

her gradual growing up that has somehow corresponded to me maturing ( or trying to act like i am at least...)

the shriek of 'manoj annnaaaaaa" and the huge hug everytime i came/come home for vacations...

the feeling of "heck...life can wait" whenever she falls asleep on my shoulders while watching "bob the builder" or "pumba..." ( or whatever that hideous purple thing on pogo is)

panacea of all kinds of depression with her frequent hugs and giggles...

to...

the sweetest lil thing i know...

my lil sister...whos turned all of a wonderful 7 today...

happy birthday ammu :)

PS: Anna's not that great a writer; still...

hope you'll love it whenever you're old enough to get down to reading this!

Not The City I Grew Up In...

Courtesy a gang of friends chock-a-block with delhi's 'bhadralok'...Durga Puja nights have always meant an amazing array of dazzling pandals, maddening crowds, joyous festivity and great music...

being in delhi after years of missing the pujo...was quite looking forward to being a part of the celebrations this time around....made a mental list of all the familiar haunts i wanted to get back to....

start with CR Park of course...move on to Sector-8 RKP...round off with Janakpuri....

the dazzle was there...the pandals have become more imposing...the idols are prettier...everything just the way i remembered it..and better....

except for the crowds...missing....conspicously missing....

"bombs ka darr hai beta"..a friends dad tells me...bahut kam log bahar aa rahe hain....

shaken a bit...i drift towards the people milling about....love all these conversations you can sit around and join into...love the mix of all kinds of people who come and spend their time here...

my fondest memories remain of me and a sikh friend of mine spending a considerable amount of time pandal hopping, eyecandy spotting and chatting up people...

caught whiffs of conversation going on...

"these ______, its all their fault....look at the terror they are spreading..."

"orissa mein jo hua...wo ek tarah se sahi hi tha...apne kitne logon ko convert kiya hai unhone"

"Their problem is their upbringing actually...they dont really think like us...alag hain bahut..."

agitated faces...and animated discussions...

"one off?" i ask my friend as we discuss the topic..." not really ...havent you noticed...a lot of conversations steer this way nowadays..."

the memories i take back at this bijoya are disturbing...

starkly thinner crowds...in fact the gun toting policemen seemed to be much more prominent, an air of impending trouble....and a very visible 'us versus them' theme to the celebrations....

maybe its just me....but at least for me....

 

Certainly....not the city i grew up in....not even close to it.... 

RAP just got wonderful....

special thanks to 'the cool guy with long hair' for getting me to this song :)

in all honesty...didnt have a lot of respect for rappers and music of the same ilk...

this one song's made me a believer...simple, from the heart yet downright profound...

wonderful...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qj3nWy7HMs

MOZHI.....

mozhi : tamil for 'language'....
note :the following is a personalized translation of a few lines from
song :katrin mozhiye
movie :mozhi (2007)
lyricist :vairamuthu

"The language of the wind ? is it sound or music ?
The language of the flowers ? is it it’s colour or its smell?
The language of the sea ? in its foam or in the waves ??

Learn to feel the language of nature…
The language of men will become irrelevant
Sense the language of the heart…
The need for the language of men will cease to exist…"

The video link of the song on you tube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcNkQQTnqHs

yikes! communication skills.....

ok....call this a case of inane cribbing...or useless wallowing in self pity....
of late..have found out that am smack in the middle of a write/talk crisis...

and what is that supposed to be ??

there's a strange doubt gnawing away at my innards; that i cant seem to be able to consistently and coherently string whatever i think into whatever i want to say/ or write for that matter....

has happened twice or thrice recently....

smack in the middle of a presentation the other day..i discovered that i was fumbling,bumbling,tumbling...basically struggling as badly for words as yuvraj in australia...

in another simple introduction speech that i had to make a few days ago.....

i could have been mistaken to be dyslexic what with my rather painful tenure at the podium..

ok, admittedly....my speeches have never really set podiums aflame...

but rarely have i been a mumbling wreck....

My writing; on the other hand has been painful...trying to string up my sentences is sometimes akin to a dinosaur trying out civil niceties...

mu blog posts too...are rather painfully cobbled together in fact!

like a true MBA(rite!), have done some postmortem(!) on this particular issue and identified a particular bottleneck(what absolute rubbish jargon)....

a few attempts at humor have fallen terribly flat over these few trimesters....

a few jabs that i thought would elicit some sympathetic grins if not enthusiastic guffaws have on the other hand led to frosty..Steve bucknorish glares...

here again..dont exactly have a reputation for leaving the audience in splits whenever i open my mouth but nor am i the proverbial mirthless man..but still most of my classmates can give bustor keaton a run for their money in 'stone facedness' ...

and my 'failed jokes' list is rather unfortunately burgeoning...

hmm...maybe this post too would probably land up in the 'worst blog posts of the year'
being compiled somewhere by the CIA....

How i wish i could have been a Bollywood heroine....a 'Bachaaaaoooooo'....
is her panacea to anything that happens to her.....

my plea's would probably elicit laughter (dont tell me even they wouldn't!)....

bujd jkcjnfjn dhfj ytrueoe vvchddh...

sigh :(

Why do i quiz ??

succint and no 'beating around the bush' title....

surprisingly, over the past two days....for no fault of mine... have come under a bit of fire
and got into mini 'situations' of sorts where the practicality of 'quizzing's'
been questioned and my passion for it ridiculed....

it of course put me into backtrack mode...


1992 : a winters night in delhi watchng a quiz show, whose name i cant remember... on tv with mom and dad.quite clueless to everythng being asked..but still watching the way the participants seemed so excited...

a question about a man who helps a lion in the wild and the lion helps him in retun when he's thrown to him to be eaten crops up...

dad says androcles and the lion...i suddenly remember a biblical story from assembly time in school a week back...'dad..it's david..i know..they taught me in school"

"david's the answer" says the host and a surprised yet pleased as punch mom and dad turn to me and say...

"good stuff...young man"......

something warm fuzzes up inside....something puts up it's head deep inside and says...

"hey...i knew that....yeah...i did...WOW"



1994 : The Maggi quiz being held in school...

the kid gets through the prelims in class thanks to a generous amount of questions on countries and their capitals...which were the only things he knew!

finals: who won the world cup football tournament in 1986??

teachers murmur: naah..thats too tuff for a 4 th class kid....

the kid remembers a poster his brother has in his sportstar collection....

a triumphant team grinning over the world cup...

argentina he barely whispers..the QM and the audience is taken aback...



that something inside puts up it's head again...

"hey... i knew that...wow...."



1998 : a inter school french quiz...or rather an english quiz about france...held in the premises of the old enemy....dps rkp...

he's been taken along as he's supposedly one of the decent quizzers in school....plus the fact that
he's the only quizzer who knows french helps...
he tags along with the quizzing heavyweights...
and stays dormant for a better portion of the quiz...

a question pops up in the middle...

"what was started by the magazine l'auto in the year blah blah..."
amidst frantic consultation with his seniors...he hits upon it...
he remembers reading about it in readers digest.....
he squeaks out "it's that cycle race the tour de france"
newfound respect in the eyes of his legendary team leader...
"good job, kid " he says....
that little fuzzy thing perks up again....
"yeah..it silently whoops....yes..."

cut to a quiz in first year at CIT...
he's been pretty much inactive in college till then....
gets dragged to a quiz event...
"what was so special about the oscars given in the year blah blah..."
the others try out all possible guesses .."world wars, refused oscars" everythings given as an answer and refused....
he fidgets at the back of the auditorium...a magazine called 'target' comes to mind...
he was 10 then...oscar trivia...it was...that issue...
"got it...wood...the oscars then were made of wood..yeah"
an appreciative bunch of seasoned quizzers turn back to see him....
the thing inside lets out an indian war cry again....woohoo....

well...that thing..that one moment of joy of stretching out one's limited grey cells to extend itself to new places...that one example of mental aerobics...
one moment 0f silent joy...ecstacy...ones own version of something sachin might feel everytime he hits those sweet,exquisite cover drives...and his own fuzzy little self inside exclames "wow..picture perfect.."

of course, am not exactly the tendulkar of indian quizzing, and my quizzing career is still relatively in it's nascent stages...but something me and every other die hard quizzer will vouch for is that it's akin to a addiction...

trivia,questions,riddles, history...haunt you and your existence day in and day out...and your happiest hours are when you discover that some distant nephew of x went to y and z and x created a company w which gave it's name to y ..or you know..some monstrously complex thing of the same ilk...
of course..it might notmake any sense whatever to some people and may seem a downright waste of time but hey...so are most of the worlds hobbies if you wanna see it that way....

it's all for that thing within you that crops up every now and then ...
and says.."hey..u know that?!..u really do?? "
"quizzito ergo sum" as the blog of anothr quizophile puts it....
i quiz therefore i am....

cheers :)

Raindrops keep falling on my head.....

“I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain; what a wonderful feeling ; i'm happy again"

- arthur freed



The rains in kolkata strike you, seemingly without any warning...dark foreboding chariots loom up in the sky suddenly replacing the meek sun, and signal their coming by the mighty roars the thunderclaps make...

what semed like an oppressive summer afternoon suddenly transforms...

the first few drops arrive quickly, and the rain slowly picks up pace like a champion runner quelling all competition and starts pouring in gusto.

everyone around, inclusive of the ubiquitous 'shady' looking dogs that hang all around salt lake rush to the nearest shelter...pan stalls, tea vendors, building stairs...

and the rain plays on...like a spoilt child unwilling to leave his favourite plaything...much to the dismay of the dripping folk...



a few brave souls have it rather diferently...

a couple takes advantage of the sudden privacy on the roads and the romantic weather and walk hand in hand...a lucky few who do have umbrellas walk gingerly past with just the hint of a smirk lingering on their faces....a group of boys take to the streets noisily, having the time of their lives...a few bewildered crows with their dripping coats huddle up on the telephone wires...

cars whiz by through the massive pools created....sometimes leading to the bystanders addressing them in the choicest baangali expletives...
the chai wallahs do brisk business...the drenched softies exchange wry sympathetic grins with each other...
as a classmate of mine says 'kolkata e baarish ka morshum pooro varsh cholchhe..."

not that i mind though ! every drenched outing in the rain is like a much deserved break from monotony...a one off meeting with a much loved childhood playmate...
an old friend who remembers the little boats you used to make..the puddles you loved getting into much to your mom's dismay...the times when you played football that transformed to rugby in school...even the times you walked alongside someone along a deserted road to college...wishing that the rain would linger just a while longer..
......
......
nourishment for the soul...well...enough of reflection...
henry wordsworth longfellow once said....
“the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain"

period....

if music is the food of life and love.......

surprise surprise....even blogging has a honeymoon period.....
hardly been 24 hrs and i've been itching to lay my hands on something to type about....

and little wonder, i have.... in a stifling accounts class, with the prof muttering vague warnings about the impending end terms and people staring blankly at their laptops...a few souls all worked up about the "yaar....summer placements aa rahi hain yaar..." factor....pretty much as usual, i lie curled up in a corner...thinking about everything and nothing in particular....

the prof breaks for tea....and suddenly someone's laptop strums to life with a song....
wonder if you've heard the song "beete lamhein" from the movie ' the train' i guess....

a very mellow, soft number...with all the typical ingredients of mush, longing, nostalgia thrown in....

and suddenly....something happens.... the 'summers are here' ppl are replaced by one's slouched on their desks ...eyes closed....someone asks for a cigarette....and rushes to the nearest window to sit and reminensce....a lot of people shift in their seats as their faces betray their thoughts fleeting backwards....i hear a few faint sighs and chuckles...a few far away smiles settle down on faces...some people reach for their phones...for a few seconds...almost everyone is stuck in a moment of their own...the song somehow, miraculously lifting them....

and...then...the fancy passes by...people realise they're hungry and noisily make their way downstairs to the chaiwalla....the "f#%$ yaar summers hain..." ppl start off again....and the music is drowned out in the rising cacophony....

one little song..one little instant...and so many outcomes....

The bard was rite....if music be the food of love(and life)....PLAY ON.....


ps: listen to the song...am sure you'll find something that pulls at your heart strings...at least some portion.....and btw... i reached for the phone! :)

to blog or not to blog.....that is the question....

well....
the so called blog 'revolution' has come and gone....hell even bollywood bimbettes are supposedly regularly blogging now, and in the midst of all this , far from the madding crowd, i've existed... away from the whole 'blogosphere' (!)...basically too lazy to attach myself to something which requires so much of my not so precious grey cells and not so overflowing energy.....

But...a beaten up compaq laptop...and an airtel broadband connection later...the task doesn't seem so daunting after all....

it offers an outlet for all the crazy stuff that keeps popping in and out of my head, stuff that i've always wanted to jot down somewhere...why?? well...i dunno...probably so that someday somebody will derive some pleasure out of reading this and say "ha..what a crackpot!"....

so is this my diary...no....not quite..although i'm rather sure i'll be one of the very few souls reading and rereading these pages...

and how long will this truce between me and my 'blogophobic' tendencies last...will it?!!

now..that's the question ....