Half an Year.

Half an year passed away. I won't say conveniently. Thought, would be a better idea to gather all the events took place, where the protagonist presumed to be me. I was stammered to death with fear, helpless rage and a tinge of confusion for the first time when these ever-killing polar winds hit my chest badly, because of which I had to search for another sweat shirt from my carry bag, outside Heathrow. Tonnes of incidents. Blows. Bouts. They made me composed, which at times make me feel bad for my early approach of adulthood, but most of the times, bore consumable fruits.

Still remember blindly following a known person at Stratford station, sifting through tubes to reach my school for the first time. There are many firsts in this posts. That image never fades away, as a matter of fact. If at all it happens to stay here for longer periods than desired, that image serves as the quotient of survival and existence. Got ditched in the hands of academic money makers. Been through sleepless nights wondering, how more worse this could get. Those sleepless nights also comprised of burnt sticks, empty tins and remained wanting scathered with empty pockets, but one thing, there was no witched linen trouser from which I could steal currency, which never ran out of money to rob, my father's.

But he is now Rs. 80/minute away from me, which can rather buy me a beer tin to get lost in the momentary soothing. The precise application of the idiom which I used to iterate running around people, 'Kal kaa Kal' worked finally. Stopped spending nights worrying about ever-coming tomorrow's deadlines. When I talk about deadlines here, I am compelled to write about my profession in this land or rather i think it deserves to be told.

Knocked doors as a surveying agent in my early days, hitting a new suburb down town the every other working day, in search of deals, which in turn, could feed me, end of the month. But something appealed to me. Marketing is my type. Being so uncertain about the next feeding prospect, bid goodbye to the marketing thingy, forever.

This thing, which I believe I am best at, is feeding me now. Equally on par with people who work 8 hours a day for 5 days a week. Writing. My passion and now, my profession, lately. One thing has been proved again, very strongly, in the history in my case. Power of words. The pace at which they spread and reach the to-be-reached ears and which apparently gets the things done. Words surely are epidemic. Sleepless nights, yet again, but this time occupied with work. Seriously, I run out of time, at times, to make a cup of tea for myself in the middle of nights. And what got proved is 'People come back to you when you deliver the best you can and this time, with two other people along with each one of them.' Projects pouring in, keeping me super busy.

I have gone places, meaning places. Explored the city as far as anyone could, in six months. Contented. Just a jot down about what I am up to, in this, the six most productive months so far. And all I dream about Hyderabad is yet to come, due in some 4 months. Those unconsciously appearing smiles while I drool over the baggage trolley out of arrivals stand.

To get there, here I am. Count down begins!

Schindler's Epitomy.

The epitome of Oskar Schindler is what that suites this or rather i felt it does more than anything else. Been away from all the socialising acts and the latest digest i came to know is all about the shaky news of Japan's pre-doomsday catastrophe. This has got nothing to do with my fears with the arrival of that predicted D day somewhere around in late 2012 or something, nor i do feel that what could be the consequences if that nightmare ever hits back as a reality.

The thought of relating Schindler and his virtues, feeling convinced and confident that I know what Schindler is, from those 30 iterations of that cult 3 hour epic on my new machine, getting better idea of him, the every time, titles rolled up. Schindler toasts up wine for morbid reasons of celebration like tagging eyeball sized Italian buttons to his waist coat, upon which people may feel he, definitely is a cruel moron, and has got no morals or even civilian sympathies towards burning lives. But he has the noblest intentions which are hidden behind his ruthless looks which saved Schindler Jews. And the best and proudest part is there are more Schindler jews now than normal jews. That scene of paying humble and respectful homages, from the later on generations of refugees of Schindler who grew up to become millionaires and more was hair raising. Schindler did many businesses later which failed him badly, but negotiating with red hats in the name of labour migration really did good for these millionaires now. Undeniable.

Had been Schindler now, would have watched the entire devastation, in an high end society club, raising toasts of costliest wine we could ever imagine over Tendulkar's 99th ton against RSA, besides that telivision which displayed the footages of that mud swallowing Tokyo with hunger. Bar tenders who never know about Schindler would feel averted because of his pathetic denials regarding ongoing destroy. But i know from deep inside, Schidler will do something, something a man could ever do at his best, rather than people abandoning the accident with glycerine wet eyes in front of camera.

The man, masculinity personified, Oskar Schindler, has something in him, only Jews know best to say. After all, they are Schindler Jews.

So Charlie, Hail Schindler! (and his boozing capabilites)

At my will.

Well, Will, its all about that, this piece is. Things are being in my control absolutely. Been dreaming about this retrospective aspect since quite a long time, but that always remained as colourless diamond to pursue. But good times too pay visits right? This is not at all about being oozed into materialistic comforts or wall street capitalistic dreams but all about the ideology that, eventually taking a solid shape.

Given ample time to sit, think and grow strong, i can say that the time is being utilised more or less, in a righteous way. Those nights with mild tickle of pain in the chest because of sucking in unacceptable volume of smoke a day, dreaming about cutting them down one day, and to be able to breathe out early morning's breeze to the fullest. It remained as an unscalable height which went onto the extent of questioning self's rushes to suck in more and more volume deep into this machine full of life.

Something undefinable happened and they went down dramatically that i, now hit the bed every night in the dream of waking up for those early breezes, devoid of pollution in my chest. I don't say that I am completely pure yet and i do not at all think that sucking in smoke makes you impure. That is not my version at all. This just served as the addressing concern of the shaping ideology.

The gritting out method to hold my tongue from tasting wine is also bearing fruits. Abandoned late breakfasts at sub continental restaurants, early sessions of wine while cinema, everything is being cut down, to dream of those good days hopefully waiting beyond the horizon, that appears every evening. To go back to my city as a rich early-twenties guy, got to be real miser in spending now.

After all, that's a formula, begin with the end.