Ek 'Aam Aadmi' ki Jeeth

This is the first time I am trying to dab on the ongoings of the national polity by treading the path on which I have never been. An amateur analysis with a glint of hope for a better country down the lane. 

Though every self-proclaimed neo-Indian has acknowledged the birth of Aam Aadmi party by Arvind Kejriwal a year ago, very less prophesied his and his party's such opulent official entry into the Vidhan Sabha of the nation's capital.

With 28 legislative assembly seats under the party's belt now, a lot can be credited to Mr. Kejriwal but not the whole. It is the movement he has envisaged and succeeded in trying to take it to reality that is more intriguing to talk about. 

I am typing this piece right after enrolling myself as a member of Aam Aadmi Party through its website. Never before have I reacted so impulsively following the trend that caught up with millions. I have always been in a notion that mainstream sucks. Blame Gangnam Style, Kolaveri, Apple to name a few.

It is the pompousness of transposing a silent movement into a political party by allying with the intellectual (or untreacherously thoughtful?)sections of society in the Capital that gave way to such welcoming results in the recent polls. 

What drew my curiosity is Mr. Kejriwal's unflinching conviction to his party's manifestos which are very tailor made for each constituency. Aam Aadmi Party is redefining the way how to prepare a political party's manifestos. The hope lies ahead in realising the paper work in the coming times. 

Anxious days are ahead for the people of Delhi who dumped AAP with a mere difference of few hundred votes in more than 14 constituencies. Had it won at least 8 of them, Mr. Kejriwal would have been breathtakingly busy now formulating his new government's top slot agendas for the next 5 year term. 

The reason for the possibility of holding elections again in the Capital is the apprehension of both BJP and AAP to seek support from other parties to form the government. A lot of people spoke, wrote and debated a lot about BJP ever since its birth, so I am confining my discussion to AAP here.

Being a toddler in the political circuit with an age of few months, AAP stayed resistant to the political lures and perks because it evidently stands on the pillars of selfless, committed and importantly change-driven people.

One nod from AAP takes forward the process of forming a coalitional government in Delhi but the nod is what AAP is far away from and intends to stay that far away. That nod could even make Mr. Kejriwal who comfortably won over the standing Chief Minister of Delhi Mrs. Shiela Dixit in her very own constituency, the next CM of the capital. 

If we sitting in opposition and demanding answers from the rulers would solve the longstanding problems of the society, we would very much like to be the opposition, said the celebrated convener in a press meet recently. That says it all. The part, as for now, has arrived for change. Power seems irrelevant. 

When we are talking all this, the convener and the Mumbai wing of the party are busy in formulating Mumbai's manifesto of the party by addressing the local issues unattended hitherto by local blitzkrieg like Shiv Sena and Congress. 

It is too early to celebrate but it is worth a punch of fists in the air by a common man. This is palpably his victory in the fort of the country. How I wish it spreads epidemically to other provinces of the infected country!

A hero: Found & lost.

As per my previous post, it's now evident that an ordinary man is my hero. It has not been 2 days I wrote that piece & I came across an epitome of the ordinary man. This is his tale, unheard hitherto, unseen & overlooked.


With the doldrums caused due to the slippage of a certain happening into uncertainty on my personal front, I need a boost to uplift my spirits. For years, there has been only one way to do that & it has been the combination of smoke and tea.

With some newly discovered music that safely settled in my ears, I walked to the tuck shop. With one string out of my ears, I asked for a smoke stick & a cup of tea; grabbed them & slowly trudged towards a bench made of cement slabs for people to leisurely sit on and smoke. 

I occupied one which was safely inclined against the tuck shop's wall & he occupied a wide slab which is obtusely inclined towards mine.

Some nice fusion piece was playing in my ears while smoke slipped through the hollow conduit of my throat. Initially the fine combination of post-lunch smoke, hot tea on an early winter afternoon and nice music added to the beauty of the scene.

He was unaware of my presence. He had his head peeked down into the cup formed as a result of crossing his hands around his pulled-up legs.

Sheer melancholy rose between us, still silent. The music slowly got fainter as it its player seamlessly shifted onto a hollow bamboo stick from the saxophone which I deliciously heard till I found him. My left hand involuntarily raised itself to my lips to affix the stick & removed it within half a second & my throat did rest of the task. My right hand helped me slurp the tea who's taste or heat I stopped relishing till I found him.

He slowly lifted his head from the cup of his hands to turn away from both of us. He dabbed his pair of slippers with two thumbs of his feet. Those slippers were a poor imitation of a big brand in Indian circuit. It was evident that the fact didn't bother to find merely the last place in his thought list.

He moved his right hand along his belly with a disturbing grimace in his face. His shirt ruffled with his touch & settled with greater folds.

The initial picturesque & its comely contents turned into callous presences with one such grimace on his face. It spoke of many things with no words. It spoke of foregoing; it spoke of endless compromises. It spoke of surly lampoons he had been through. Yet his face bore eyes with hope in them. It had temples with sweat droplets trickling down on his ruffled shirt. They shone with a strange faith in better future. 

He walked away when the muffled music was returning to its vigor in my ears. I stroked my hair & dusted my trousers when I was on my feet & saw him getting onto his moped.

He placed his right leg on his bike's kick rod, stopped for a while in patience to transfer any energy left in him to his right leg to kick the rod and ignite his bike.

He eventually did & rode away. 


He was an ordinary man. My hero.  

The fallout of a lunatic

There is so much that goes into being an ordinary person. Being a common man seems a seamless task but under the veil, a basket full of eccentricities & weird, yet not-uncommon traits lie silently. Amid the pandemonium of such things, its highly admiring to live the life of a common man. 

I believe every man is a lunatic inherently. The crazy demon inside every man breaks out more or less often; credit goes to compelling scenarios & their complementing persistence levels.

However the fall outs are rather intriguing. The world & its writers are busy weaving stories of rising up when the tales of falling out always remain unheard; deliberately at times & equally inadvertently at the other.

Take me for instance. I can clearly see myself shedding off the virtues of 'a-boy-next-door' to turn into 'a-boy-who's-alive-apparently'.

I am very happy keeping to myself though her untimely, irregular intrusions add a strange joy to the happiness of being left out by choice. I keep drooling for more of her before I realize its been a day I met her & life slowly etches onto the path of chosen confinement, yet again.

I walk lazily towards the tuck shop round the corner at work places for post-lunch smoke, sometimes accompanied by John (my newly found acquaintance {takes few more beer mugs, nicotine stubs & time stabs to be labelled a friend}). I take in a puff, expel it away when I catch him staring at me. I look away to find a lonely man holding a cup of tea between his thumb & forefinger of one hand while a cigarette burns in the other.

He is visibly attentive to what we talk but comfortably isolated at a distance of 2 meters. I see myself in him. I stare at him while he peeks his head away to blow out his bout of smoke; so I turn back to catch John staring at me. 

The cigarette like a dying man slips out of my hand to hit the dust only to die under my shoe. I stand up. John follows me; trudging our way back to office.

Didn't you see the fallout of a lunatic a few lines ago? 

I belonged there.

A god five minutes of bargain went into convincing the auto rickshaw guy to invade the proclaimed 'old side' of the city at 10.00 in the night with me riding pillion.

The chariot moved forward. It entered the lanes of an avenue which is comfortably far from the high road yet it managed to possess the charm of life.

There was an inevitable gloom on every shopkeeper's face & it took me a while to decipher a common cause for those discrete phenomena. One with a horror - stricken face; other with a hopeless one and so on. I turned my heard away in helplessness to find a young boy commuting in the opposite direction with two buckets of water held in his hands firmly. He was dabbing on ground which propagated his motion forward.

I was travelling on the road which stood as a gulf between inevitable melancholy on one side & a fast pacing hope on the other. I bent down a little to pick up the dropped lighter, pulled out the last cigarette from a day old pack, lit it, blew off & asked the rickshaw driver to slow down & drive at a lesser speed.

I knew I belonged there. 

The invisible burglar.

There was a time, not too long ago, when I thoroughly lived through my coffee breaks at work & my drives up to workstation & back home. The reason was simple. I was im-mobile. The pseudo, crispy term to be devoid of a mobile phone. And thus devoid of the strange, inconvenient sense of being connected always.

When one of my hands is immersed in my lunch plate, the other is safely rested on my pocket to feel any possible vibration of a text or a call. The mobile phone safely sleeps beside me despite my father's warnings that mobile must be far off at night to avoid its consistent emission of radiation. That's 'cause I don't want to miss her call.

A little insight opulently knocks it all off. Where is this taking me? I don't read as I read till a month ago. I never make an attempt to write. Comfort of instantaneity seamlessly replaced yearning for quality.

On top of ensuring connectivity & occupancy of the universal set of information out there, it just makes life shabby. I mean the mobile phone. I mean for me.

The core emotion that drives every pursuit of technology is restlessness. It can make more sense if I say impatience. When optimists see that as an advancement, I, being an Eeyore and a man of realistic melancholy, see that as a burglar that robs away my space.

I want to go out with her for a day without our mobile phones & I am shot with looks like I'm wanting to be a Nobel laureate overnight. Status updates are frequent that unsettling tidal motion of seismic waves. Pictures are clicked to obtain 'thumbs u' points rather than to save them & revisit them fondly in memoir. 

A day without mobile phone - A day well lived.   

Hearts says NO

Its funny to observe what money does to one. I have a classic example which is very personal and I wouldn't want to to quote it here. But yes, moneys trips you endlessly & its likely to be very non hungry like. You are hungry, you eat an opulent meal. It ends there. For once. For the next half day or one. But what money does to one is contrary. The more you consume, the more you turn hungry.

First things first; I am appalled by the gruesome things money does to blood ones. It just builds unseen walls between people, reality obscured & truth silently fades away. When one has money, the earth seems paradise to live on. Each rupee slipping out of your account adds to the increasing apprehension to live. Finally, there comes a phase where the natural joy of being alive gives way to the inconvenience cos' of materialistic discomfort.

Libraries are replaced by virtual carts already. Shelves of local deli already transposed into thumbnails on websites. Human relations are quantified largely. The amount of money pooled in to save a relationship stands as an unfailing testimony for one's love towards his loved.

When there's a positive side of saving lives with money, there's a dark side of building them as well.

Talk about me. I write this piece eschewed in a comfy revolving recliner. I couldn't (or wouldn't?) have done that if I were a struggling writer searching for undecipherable feelings to be articulated. Money brings in the adequacy in necessity. It shouldn't be left o itself to go & conquer the abstract.

I stand on the end point of the thin line that separates the purpose of money into two: Necessity & Luxury. Extrinsic forces are pulling me towards the latter but this time, heart says no.

Propensity towards Karmic Theory

As days are rolling by, I guess I am turning into a firm believer in Karmic Theory. Karma - an uber cool word for westerners ever since it gained fame in late 60s has a long history in the country of it's origin.

Karmic Theory states that everything has a reason for its occurrence, existence & perishment. I shared days with people who were nihilists & I rubbed a little of their '-ism' to my shoulders for a while. It didn't take long for me to comprehend that things happen in a pattern & it can be deciphered only looking backwards.

Why do I get caught by cops only on my pay day for jumping a signal or for not fastening seat belt when I do such deeds everyday? Why do people pitch in at the most desperate times to save me from grisly errors? Their intrusion initially irritates me but leave me silently thankful after figuring out what I was saved from.

When a firm & unflinching believer in God is doing everything in power to accomplish something, efforts consistently prove futile. But they seem to reap when everyone inherently knows that its now the time or else never.

Its sometimes good to blur in the immediate things to gain a view of larger picture. Larger picture is like a painting or a piece of music or even a book; to that point - any consummated piece of art. Each shard that contributes to the piece discretely looks shabby but upon falling in its place gives way to a meaningful collage; also a memorable one more often.

I believe in time & its unfailing nature in unlocking riddles. Human efforts go in first, ramshackle the firmly held interiors of a mine, pursuit slowly transposes into an unrelenting one, outcomes arrive, fail people, efforts continue & eventually they arrive at the desired. There's no unified pattern to comprehend the desirable outcomes of human pursuits. They stand as timeless tests for human mettle.

The bottom-line happens to be this; for me. Human life when metaphorically compared to a diamond mine whose depth at which diamonds are studded is unknown. All it takes to be enraptured with handful of diamonds is firm belief in Time. Diamonds shall fall off the dusty walls of the mine. Because diamonds surely exist.

In search of lost, unknown & concealed.

When every new word I come across pins me to surprise, when every usage of its leaves me drooling for more, I stand with an unsettling desire to just give away myself to writing. I know it sounds a bit far fetched but I can't help shrugging it off either.

A good quarter at work station is dedicated for the personal quest of discovering the lost,  digging the unknown & unveiling the concealed. What puts me through 9 hours of strenuous (comfortably risk-free to others, otherwise) is the hope that I shall I one day run away from this. Into far off fields. Into distant meadows.

When I write guides for daily bread which nobody follows, I dream of writing the intertwined tale of overrated totalitarianism & underrated poverty. It remains a dream but the guides etch onto portals, thus onto web & finally read by 'users' who don't know what their author is going through, or to that point, who under sun he is.

The work places resembles London in its smell. In its ambiance That nostril disturbing caffeine hovers in the air, remains still, justifying the much quoted plasticity of work stations. Its painful to read emails which have subjects lengthier than their bodies.

I get back home to read something or watch something but eventually end up sleeping into a slumber. An early morning call from her wakes me up to put me through another day of never ending torment.; of whose extermination I can barely dream but not blessed to live through.

People are talking about friday releases in the loo when jitters cause them to shake their heads before tucking it in. Is it an attempt to establish two unlikely phenomena & desperately trying to make their ends meet? I wonder.

Documents confiscated, schedules upheld & life suspended in disbelief. I dream of her & a day out with her but that too seems like a far off bliss.

I try to put up a smile to every bystander's face in which I am keeping it up; the only thing at which I am recording some consistent success. I dread a phone call & rather am happy keeping to myself. She is an exception though.

Where would all this reflect? Should I stop for once, look back & feel gifted to write this? Or should I curse my agonizing irony that compels me to write 'that' ?

Three figures!

It being a Saturday and me being an employee of the most generous organization I've ever come across in my life, we were fed with hot pizzas in this cold weather. I pushed down one through my throat into my stomach but the walls of throat were asking for me; this time in the form of not a substance but a fluid. I fathomed its requirements and walked lazily towards the cafe.

There's a paan shop adjacent to the cafe where I trade in money for cigarettes and as I was lighting one, I overheard a vehement discussion going on among three familiar voices and I readily knew whom those voices belonged to. They were Seniors.  At Work. Equally generous towards a young and freshly recruit like me; always. I hung my head while the first wave of smoke escaped my lips and walked towards the entrance of the cafe. The voices were still on top of their optimum; catching the momentum of crescendo that was ignited by the collective denial of new formation of Telangana.

Three of them; let me name them Ram, Shyam and Kishore. Ram and Shyam occupied one side of a table as they share the brotherhood of smokers and Kishore on the other side; to spare himself from the adjacency of smoke that runs through his ears!

Ram and Shyam were facing their backs at me; and so Kishore's face complemented mine. There was a hiss Kishore let out and that alarmed the other two people and the voices dropped flat like an insipid kite that drops flat when its string loses the connection somehow with the anchor.

I knew it was about Telangana - the region where I hail from but not one of three seniors. They belonged to the counterpart of Telangana and boast the vainglory of being belonged. I never cared less about that. I always saw myself as the resident of the Capital. But not pertaining to any specific region to be judged by or to judge.

I slowly occupied the same table but on the other row, and they threw smiles at me for which I responded with a faint one. When all our brains were running the film of Andhra - Telangana; none had the capability to pause the film and to bring the concept of 'co-worker ship' onto the forefront.

They emptied their cups of tea, blew out till the stubs in their hand died and walked away past me towards the counter to clear the bill off. I sat there. I stared at them; they were dissolving into obscurity. They were merging into oblivion. Three figures. Yesterday they were colleagues and today, they have been counterparts.

How I wait for tomorrow to run into them with a smile and I'd love to see their faces changing colours. But I always see them amiable co workers who always smiled at me with pure hearts. Should I now say Jai Telangana?

God must save us.

Its amazing how change seeps in when its expected the least. Change in perspective. Change in outlook. Change in perceiving things. Change in interpreting them. Wonderful. With such lives of span a water bubble, we give it serious thoughts and much serious plans we draw.

We plan almost half a century of life from now while driving back home and none can assure that we drive straight back home without any cliche in between. We are too occupied with our thoughts that we take trivialities for granted. If only we live each second of our lives, in constant pursuit of being better, informed human beings tomorrow.

We establish likes, interests and we reinforce them with experiences that encounter us everyday. Each experience counts in some way or the other; adding strength to our interests or blowing them away to pieces by establishing newly discovered ones.

We chase people, we ignore the chasing. We begrudge things and but we invest in owning them. But a time comes when we realize all that but by then, the bubble will be ready to explode. We look back in retrospect on death bed. Moments count then. There. When they say they do, we laugh them off saying 'Words on Death Bed'.

We are too busy in trying to be informed that we lose track of common sense. Too much of knowledge is also too bad, in a few cases. But the 'few' has become mainstream. People senselessly chase flashy dreams that they forget what constitutes the ground.

God must save us!

Writing's calling!

Writing to me is a funny thing to look back at. When I almost resolved not to try my hand at writing, it just came back to me, as stronger & fiercer as ever. I now write this piece to check on myself where I stand. Owing to the repercussions on personal front, I almost forgot how it feels to write. But when I retrospect, its the only saving grace I've ever resorted to.

Writing, on the other hand, serves as a period dysfunctional outlet to me. That's one thing which I sometimes hate but it never hates me by not letting me mumble for words when I need them the most. That crown pizza and the conversation over it triggered the dying interest inside me to try frisking my pen again.

However, when reading pushed the writing to back seat, it silently turned its back on me and occupied the last row. It never retaliated. It just behaved as if it knew me and I would get back to it in no time and so I did. Settling for less seemed comfortable, non fussy but projecting myself to those risky meanders of life by giving myself a chance to live thousands of lives in one now seems the fitting choice.

When all said and done, rain drops were pouring down.
I with a dying stub in my hand ran my fingers through my hair.
I slurped the tea from my cup and stared ahead at the dawn.
It silently pointed its looks to the destiny that smilingly settled far off there.

Ambition never did bad to them. It served the purpose of personal success. On the bigger picture, it gave them much nobler causes to live & die for. For me, to embellish my world with those little, lucid & known words, here stands the last chance. To grit it out, to pen it down and to wave it off - comfortably in the faces of creed obsessed fascists.

Here it is, Writing is calling. For good or bad, the path found and treading it begins shortly. This may sound as an instigated ambition but a good 3 days of thought went into this.




    

That smile

Where do I belong when she refuses to take me in? Do I stand in the foyer, glancing all around to find a place to step in? Will I just walk my way out & disappear into the green alleys of a park nearby?

When the newly found adulation for post rock is echoing in my ears & quite oppositely, my white shirt refuses to attract any warmth within the cold walls of work place, I look around desperately for her warming look & assuring smile that I always fail in finding at.

The informed, the gifted and the revered are constantly trying to soothe me but her absence is too large for them to compensate.

I belong now to such a world where people pretend to be happy or perhaps, are they really? I walk with drooped shoulders & my hands disarmingly tucked into pockets, staring at unnoticed pebbles that decorate the path to cafeteria. I feel the pinning smiles of acquaintances on my back. I tilt my head to blow off those smiles but the oxides of carbon I blow out of my mouth only adds to the proliferation of those fake.

The left vertex of my lips slightly extends into its left which denotes a faint smile.

That smile, they think, is a response. That smile, I know, is a retaliation.

One of those little niceties.

Monsoon invades the city. Living through the first downpour of the year took me back to 2011. What a fantastic years 2011 was? Things were way too perfect to complain about. Rooting back to present, I drive through shimmering rain whose drops gleam when vehicles' lights pass through them.

I see the roadside vendors pulling back their showcasing planks of hand made products from getting drenched. One downpour can actually snatch away their monthly earnings. I smile from inside the car which fails to penetrate through the semi tinted glass of my car's window to reach one of them. They stare at my car with a fear in their eyes, anticipating a wheel splash of stagnated water. They clench their fists to close their eyes to live through one more four wheeler's ominous stunt but I fathom that fear. I decelerate my car  while its tyres stylishly land into tiny pits of water & emerge ravishingly, yet harmlessly in pursuit of another ones. Water doesn't splash & then, one of them rises on his knees to peek his head on par with my shoulder level, locate my car & waves a hand with a giant grin across his lips.

I catch the sight on the rear view mirror, smile to myself & drive forward in search of another footpath entrepreneur to reassure him that he is actually cared by somebody. 

Something about self on a dry wednesday afternoon

How many days has it been I have written about myself and the advancements in my life? Too many. I suddenly get this dejected feeling of not devoting enough time to think about myself.

I am slowly settling down in the new company. Its walls don't seem strange anymore and the road to office of which's manholes and speed breakers, I am aware of their presence of.

I have always thought every year of my life as a formative one so far but the real formative period is this, trust me. My behavior, my state of being are taking meandering curves, surprising everyone, sometimes pleasantly and sometimes, not so pleasantly.

I struggle everyday to make a stand, often do I fail but then convince myself that the initial times are turbulent and all this is not uncommon.

My hope for her return still resides safely inside me, though the outer being doesn't express it any more. Its just like an unheard musing of the self.

Almost no alcohol, sobriety is slowly consuming me. I have my set of problems but this time, I feel a little optimistic to myself because I am making peace with the fact that all those can be solved.

Anger needs to be addressed.


Later then.

She did it.

2 years. And she did it. Not many people believed in her but those disbelieving accounts of people did not hold me back from believing in her. I knew she'd blow it away, this strong, as strong as she has blown just a day ago.

State 8th rank in Post Graduate entrance. Doesn't that sound surreal? I know it does, it surely does. But she's too mortal to stay away from surrealism. Fate held her back for a year but she mustered up all that it takes to hit back with hot breezes on vengeance in fate's face. Time curses itself for holding her back and irony abuses itself for still being alive. That hard she struck.

Undermining acted as a boon in disguise in helping her let herself free from all the expectations that formed as a result of previous performances.

She is sending strong signals to all those who mocked at her skills and capabilities and warned them silently that she's on her way to achieve something big, to accomplish bigger tasks and to establish the biggest target one could ever achieve in her circles. Or to that point, in the whole state.

I take pride in her that she once fell for me. I hold my head high for being loved by that person once. I expand my chest in happiness for her chest once held me as its cocoon.

All ya out there, she did it. Yes, she did it.

Cricket & its school of thought

After travelling a good 50 miles all day, I reached back home to watch the eliminator battle between the Rajasthan Royals & the Sun Risers Hyderabad. Commentator Navjot Singh Sidhu was found yelling in the commentary box saying Rajasthan hasn't lost a battle in the last 7 clashes but SRH has also, on the other hand, defended their targets ranged between 125 - 140 thrice this season. So that called out for an exciting battle.

But what really caught my attention is something different. There were times when I used to bunk school to watch Team India play either Down Under or other first class cricketing nations. Those were the days filled with hope - a never dying one. No matter how many wickets fell, there used to be an unending hope inside me that somebody would perform in the match and would help the team reach the shores of victory. That added so much to the manna of the sport and got me bound to it. A true cricket fan who always hoped his team would still make even it was 6 runs to yield out of one last ball.

Last night was totally different. To be very honest, this was the first game I watched with my skin tickling, blood boiling and senses involved. Every wicket that fell of RR was thumping adrenaline inside me. Every RR batsman who walked his way back to pavilion injected some more hope into me. I rejoiced the maiden - wicket over from Amit Mishra like I've won back the love of my life. I clenched my fists when Steyn went back to his run up after a cold blooded stare at James Faulkner.

I was absolutely relieved after than stunning over in which RR could only conceive 5 runs; the penultimate over by Thisasa Pereara. Owing to astounding spirits Darren Sammy had been all through the match, I went to refrigerator, pulled out a water bottle, guzzled down the entire content and laid back to watch Sammy do the magic. IN fact, he let Brad Hodge do one. He made it easy and swift for RR. TV turned off and I hit the bed.

I couldn't sleep for the next 2 hours. Cricket has been the mirror of retrospection. Times were there when I used to go back to bed in vengeance and grit filled hope that my team is going to make a comeback, this time a rather hard one. That positiveness always put me sleep.

Where is that? Not to be seen any where. I hung my head down in despair and prompted myself to make peace with the fact that SR Hyderabad is actually out of the tournament and I got to wait for another year to pull out that jersey from the wardrobe and wear it to cheer my team. I couldn't feel hopeful. I couldn't see any glint of hope. I don't see Team India as my team now. I forget that Champions Trophy is just a week away to hit the screens and woo its audience.

If I see Team India versus Australia, I only see a silent brotherhood between wicket keeper & his second fiddle in the first slip as two rivals who stared at each other between CSK & Kolkata Knight Riders. I just plainly can't digest when Mitchel Johnson and Sachin Tendulkar chat and smile between balls; as my eyes which are fed with  a decade long of true battleship fought between Ponting, Tendulkar, Lee, Mcgrath, Gillespie and not to forget Warne.

Is it me as an individual, who has grown either too sensitive (or rather insensitive) towards everything & predominantly cricket? or is it IPL that consumed a cricket fan like me to hate the whole institution called Cricket? Or is this just a pointless ranting of a success deprived fan of a lost team?

But Why?

How does one grow old? Holding that hand which has always been there? If yes, how careful must one be in choosing that hand? I've done a terrible mistake in choosing mine. I've gone for a completely materialistic, artificial and i - am - good - means - the -  world -  is - beautiful person. Change didn't peep in. There are few qualities in every human being which they bring along while they come only to take them away while they depart. Be them good or bad, any attempt to change always ends up in vain.

Self realization is the only mantra to being in a self borne change. But self realization requires ruthless self denial & periodic introspection. They come through education. Not my friend, degrees & merit certificates happen to be education. Education happens to be the manifestation of good and bad.

As long as parents stuff their car dash boards with money & visit every college to buy their ward a seat, education is going to be a mere commodity but not a substance.

Generations will never change but only inherit the diseased blasphemies from their fathers, only to take them forward to their kids. The world is going to be a bad place my friend, its going to remain as a bad place.

A quick sneak.

Okay. Been a little too long I posted. Occupied with distraught on the personal front and cataclysm on the professional one. I almost forgot that I own a blog. Nevertheless, here I am. This one's just a reminder that Identity is alive but just hibernating for a while.

I type this sitting on a new desk in a new work station with the same old fingers dancing on a new keyboard. Yes! There's a job migration that consummated its process just a few hours ago. I am now a representative of a new organization. Don't ask me how it feels. Same shit, Different place, Indifferent cynicism 'cause of corporate slavery!

A lot of reading is going on, too much being suckled but not much omitted in return. I hope the overload will be dealt and there shall be an overflow in the opposite direction as well. I am just waiting it to happen, with all my weapons held in a brandishing manner, ready to embrace the slaughter the moment it arrives.

I completely shunned the social side of me, which speculatively is fetching fruitful results of solitude, peace and I no longer serve a serf for unwanted anxiety that runs in the lives of half the living. (I guess at least 3 billion people have facebook or twitter or other accounts in this world)

Figuratively, vague ideas are bouncing all over in my head but the real juicy task is to give them a shape. To channelize the inspirations and to inject a form to the bothering ideas. No day - No night. Almost on the verge to finish a month filled with reading and there's a break that's going to be taken. Time for reproduction of ideas.

What else? I don't think I have missed out much by staying away. The world's the same as ever.

Later bud.

The War.

The way back home. It lead to the proliferation of negativity. Why do I attract so much of shit into my mind? As if my bike skids over the road/ I run into a truck right into its ass?

May be that's what too much of solitude is doing to me. Should I term it as loneliness? There is, my friend, this thin line of ice between solitude and loneliness which is finely crafted and is supposed to be delicately maintained from breaking. Its breaks, its going to take away the rigidity of your backbone along with it.

I just go around with pursed lips, zipped earlobes and ripped thoughts. May be I am letting the female parent of mine to look over my shoulders right through my scalp, into my some 1400 grams of meaty shit and doom over me, to cast her shadow, to overlap mine. No offence.

The endless cynicism that runs in the blood of deprived 60s' kids is infuriatingly nauseous and promisingly depressing. The way the adulterated kids now look over their literal kids erupts a suspicion that there's something insanely and wholly wrong with the generation altogether. It generates the same dubiousness in both the generations involved in the underlying crime scene, which is never exposed by the infected paparazzi busy shooting the skimpy bikini shoots of Kim Kardashian.

The grown ups curse their littles during their morning meditations, the adolescents rip off their predecessors during the late night alcohol streaks. But the time between the two schedules of a day, slides off unknowingly to both of them, stuck in the timeless loop of constantly trying to prove to the vice that they are actually treading the right path.

The same happened with Hanif, similarly with Anurag and is right now happening adjacent to you, yes! listen through that costly coated wall of yours! there's a battle been waging. Between the everlasting cynicism and the never ending hope.

There you see, my friend! That timeless, epic battle that was ever fought and still being fought, which intimidatingly promises to break the dawn tomorrow as well.

   

A crushed corn.

That's a far away village in Punjab. It is enriched with fertile soil, fertile enough to cultivate almost everything that's sown. It is called Shapoor. A village once filled with people who were content, happy and everlasting.

Its 6.00 am now. That's too late for any villager to cuddle his blanket and sleep. So Rudra Singh woke up; in no haste, but with a sense of anxiety, a little tension at his temples & made his way to attend nature calls.

Its a big day for him. His relentless, untiring efforts which lasted almost for half a year are going to pay off today. He may pass or fail, which is still uncertain. It is the day on which he's supposed to pluck the ripen corn sticks off from his field, load them up, travel a good 250 miles to reach Ghanpur, where the market yard is set up. He need to auction his download, sell it for a profit which is usually sufficient enough to buy peanuts barely,  or at least to reach the break even price. No profit - No loss: which leads into another half year of just survival. To get back what he invested, along with his forgotten patience, unnoticed sweat & an endless hope.

By 7.00 am, Rudra is ready to plunge into the field to start plucking. He had the typical Indian villager's breakfast of starch. All that he can afford now is that. Hopefully, that can change in a day. His idea is to finish  loading the crop into a truck before its noon & start hitting the road so that he can reach there by late night, do a sleepover & hit the market yard early tomorrow, sell off what he's got as early as possible before competition intensifies, & make a come back to Shapoor at the earliest.

He reached to the steal box in an old cup board which served its purpose of a safety locker for generations together, his father's & forefathers'. He counted what all he saved in this year. It ended up at 6,000 rupees; which is exactly he's supposed to pay to the truck's owner to send it with him to unload his load at Ghanpur yard.

He let out a deep sigh, forecasting a day filled with hunger, hard work & hope - laid ahead. He is hoping for a decent pay off.

He could have sold the corn right here in Shapoor but the reason he chose to take the pain in going all the way to Ghanpur is his hope for a little profit he could possibly make. He's a man with a wife & 2 little, lovely kids, with strong wish in their eyes that the time of a year has come when their father would buy them new clothes & some barfi. He's a family man.

By 12.30 pm, he's done uploading stacks of corn into jute bags. There are 100 of them. 60 rupees a bag & he'd crack the break even. If he makes somewhere around 80-90 a bag, he'd be moderately rich; rich enough to buy rice for at least next three consecutive months. His chest expanded with hope, as he looked the road ahead. He dozed off somewhere in between.

The truck came to a sudden halt jolting which shook Rudra from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, opened wide to see its dark. Ghanpur it is.

He got down from the truck, looked around to find some water to wash his face. He eventually did & cleansed his face.

He checked his weary, torn wallet to see if he could find any coins to feed his belly. Unfortunately, he didn't. He sighed as he expected the empty lips of his wallet opening itself to his face to mock him. He drank a jug full of water, leaned himself against the last pillar of the market yard, slept off waiting for the dawn to break.

It being summer, the sun broke into lives of Punjab very early in the morning, & it is gleaming sharply through the closed eye lids of Rudra, which eventually opened after 8 hours. He looked at the skies with clinched eyes, slid a smile across his lips, hoping for the best.

In an hour, he's in the yard with his 100 bags placed in front of him, shouting aloud their quality & price. His voice echoed energy, he looked consummated with hope. A couple of hours passed by & not anybody seems interested in his corn. He started to grow nervous, impatient and ironic. He could see that he & his efforts aren't going any where.

After 3 hours, a man came by, with a bag tucked safely under his arm. He was chewing beetle leaves & his mouth is thick red. As red as Rudra's face. He is spitting out the beetle extract once every minute. He seemd so business minded, cunning, smart enough to rob off framers like Rudra for unbelievable & deceivingly cheap prices. Farmers are stabbed in India.

He approached Rudra with a splenetic smile, which is sure enough to say that Rudra becomes his first scapegoat to open his till today. Rudra couldn't care less. He asked what Rudra is quoting & a skeptical Rudra yelled out '90 rupees a bag'. He laughed as if he's gone mad which is driving Rudra mad now.

'30 a bad or nothing. You see there's no other corn seller in the yard other than you. Corn sucked this season. You did a mistake by choosing it & its too late to rectify. Its a costly mistake, you see', he said in one go.

There is a terrible silence & an air of tension between the two. That man is checking his mobile phone with his left hand, trying to pluck something out of his infected mouth with a toothpick with his right one. For a moment, his two kids, their wish filled faces, his wife's involuntary stalk when he reaches home & the silent question her eyes shoot - all such things flashed across his brains. He didn't say a thing. That man took Rudra's long silence for approval. He smiled & yelled out for his boys to carry the load to their truck. He placed 3,000 rupees in Rudra's hand & walked away.

Rudra removed the folded kerchief which has been tied around his head all this while ago. He wiped his forehead & the kerchief drenched itself in the freshly wiped off sweat.

He sat down, leaned against the same pillar to which he did the last night. Numb, motionless, dumbstruck. Darkness slowly scampered. Lights went off in the yard. Ghanpur fell silent. As deafeningly silent as a graveyard.

The next day, his wife & his kids walked back out of a graveyard. Silent & hopeless. Rudra's cremation was done by the 3,000 rupees. 

The joy within.

It is a normal day of a typical pre-summer month. Krushik is toiling hard enough to cope up with the sweat induced out of his seat & trying to come up with an article to meet today's deadline.

He then sniffed the comforting odour of first rain of the year. Odour of the mud which is ready to take its first bath. Within minutes, climate changed as if it never knew what & how a subcontinental summer is like. He turned around in his chair to stare through the window. He noticed the invariable habitat getting ready to embrace the first drops of the season. For some strange reason, his eyes brimmed a hope that he's about to witness something magical. He smiled at his own exhilaration about little niceties.

In no time, it started to drizzle which tool nearly 20 minutes to let some one call it a 'heavy pouring'. Krushik's heart is overwhelming & there's a huge gush of happiness in his heart which is being restricted by a barrier called 'work place's composure'. His heart is somersaulting with joy. For no reason to you and me, for some reason to him.

It may look amusing to some of us by the way Krushik is letting himself getting connected to the changes in the nature. We generally rule them off by quoting normalcy. However, he seems to be in no mood of being bothered that we are not bothered by his reason of being joyful. But we're actually frowning our foreheads a little.

He discovered the hidden child in him. The unbridled joy that follows a conscious process of unlearning has wrapped him in its arms now.

He must have arrived at a conclusion that life is a comic play with subtle niceties, here & there, now & then, visiting us. Only to unveil the truer us & immerse ourselves in the purest joy of living such moments is all we can actually do.

30 minutes and a friend found.

Every relationship should have more or less friendship in it to survive, they say. I've always been a disloyal, unreliable friend. Be it with anybody. This one is about a newly found friend of mine. Thirty minutes is what he gave his ears to me & I found a comforting listener in him. I know him for 24 years but never as a friend.

I was kicking myself in the mask of self agitation & that is when he came to my rescue. I have been asking people just to listen to me, neither advice me nor suggest me  nor hit back with presumed experience; not even go back and recite their own past. Everybody failed. He didn't.

He just let me cut loose the self imposed barriers of restricting myself. I spoke, spoke & spoke for 30 minutes. Not even a cough from his end did disturb me. He simply listened.

In the end, he smiled and logged off.



He happens to be my father - my newly found friend.

Virender Sehwag. - The destructive genius.

Every Indian cricket lover (of course, every Indian is a cricket lover); especially of the test cricket is now celebrating the latest world record of ton on a debut by Shikhar Dhawan. And also the support from the other end by Murali Vijay is too remarkable to ignore. Well & good.

People with ties to their necks, microphones to their shirts, sitting on single legged stools in the box seem relieved from the anxiousness of discovering the proper replacements for the Fab 4: Sourav Ganguly, Rahul Dravid, VVS Laxman and Sachin Tendulkar. The first 3 guys finished first & are enjoying the passive involvement in the game by turning into critics and commentators. The last one still feels that he has a little more cricket left in him. He's known for his sleeplessness until he achieves what he desires. So can we wish Sachin a sound sleep only on the day he hangs up his boots.

Alright. We forgot him who bridged the generation gap between today's heroes like Kohli, Dhawan, Pujara, Raina etc & yesteryear's legends like the Fab 4. A minute into the thought & the name gloriously flashes on your mind. - Virender Sehwag.

I am very happy after knowimng that Shikhar Dhawan has come like he had never come although his entry marked on the ousting of Virender Sehwag.

I didn't start this one to analyze the game of Sehwag as there are at least half a billion on the globe who do that succinctly better than me.

This is a quick tribute I am paying to the star who drew crowds to almost-forgotten test cricket in India; post Gavaskar, K. Dev's era. And now, he is on the verge of being forgotten (may be ignored?)

Innings of Dravid, Laxman, Sachin belonged to educated sections of the country. Here, I am not undermining the crowd pulling charisma of either S. Ganguly or S. Tendulkar neither am I underrating the class of Dravid or Laxman.

When there is a group pf butchers, butlers, pot makers & post masters of a village, if they gather at the richest guy of the village's house to watch a test match, the credit totally belonged to Sehwag.

He was questioned about his mental stability to build up a sustainable test career. He wiped out that question with a classic 195 against Australia. His technique was questioned. He hit back the suspicion in style with a demolishing 309 against Pakistan. He who once was a laughing stock in the commentary box later made the same people in the box yell like 'you can't set fields for a shot like that.' He whose patience levels were suspected to survive in test cricket emerged out to be the only Indian batsman who scored a triple century - TWICE.

Sehwag is a genius in his own league & conveniently humane enough to overlook the fact.


I was told that once there was Gundappa Vishwanath. Now there is (was?) Virender Sehwag.

He sang aloud about tomorrow

He got drunk twice yesterday. He woke up with a sore throat, terrible neck & a full stomach. The last night's beer is still safe and fresh in there.

Rather than letting his parents catch him drunk, he himself told them that he did & for the first time, he hardly was bothered about their reactions. Many things have been running on his mind & so he didn't want to take up the additional cautiousness of pretending sober.

His name is Ashish. He lives with his parents. He is 27, single and working. All he does in a day is he goes to office, tries working, comes back, eats and sleeps; only to wake up to repeat what he did the day before.

Yesterday was marked as an off for him. He spent the first half of the day in helping somebody & the second one in helping himself with few beers; which was long & extended till 11.00 in the night.

He somehow realized he's not being swift in his thoughts, nor words neither movements. The saddest habit he has acquired recently is talking to self. All he does while drinking is to ask the bar tender for a pen & he scribbles his monthly budget over a tissue paper. He runs through the written budget over and over just to feel reassured.

Last night was different though. He made an effort to retrospect & thought what really would make him smile and young again. He couldn't figure out a thing or two. He sighed and gulped down the last drops of beer. He came out slowly from the bar & started driving back home.

He was driving back into reality & it strangely gave him a hope. The hope for life; the hope for a better tomorrow. He now is more convinced that it can't get any worse. He just realized that he had hit the bottom & if there's any motion left in him, that should be only upwards.

He smiled to himself; increased the volume of the song which sang aloud about the hope for a shiny morning by a squeaky voice. He smiled, yet again because of the coincidence.


He slowly drove back home.

Saturday's cynicism.

Its saturday. There's this mid year's weekend euphoria that's slowly picking up its boom. The places of modern day fun like resorts, sports bars, movie malls are slowly filling themselves with fun deprived souls.

There is this guy who works for a firm. He gets down from his car 45 minutes after he's supposed to report at his office. He slowly pulls himself out of his car. He manages to gather himself to one piece, gets to his desk and logs in.

Nearly 5 hours pass by & he palpably feels the suffocation of saturday's work. He walks floundering out of office, picks out a cigarette,, smokes it very leisurely. As the cigarettes breathes its last breath under his shoes, he goes back into office to find his boss. He clearly puts it across to his boss that he's in no mood to work and seeks a mid day off. You are your best judge, say his boss.

He gets down from his car at a nearby bar, which is already filled with people. Beer mugs cling & smoke rings evolve out of their mouths. Everybody looks engaged & happy.

He manages to grab a 4 seater for himself. He orders for a  beer & an ashtray. He observes his surroundings which consumes 5 minutes & the beer is placed on his table.

He slowly opens the beer, pours it down into his mug; starts sipping beer and a cigarette simultaneously.

4 mugs of beer, 2 hours of time & he seems done. Even if he's not, his wallet seems done. He looks around & he fixes his gaze on a guy carrying crates of beer from a container into the bar.

He keeps watching the guy right from the entrance to the refrigerator & this happens for a couple of times. The third time, the guy accidentally drops a beer crate onto the floor which silences the deafening music of the bar.

The guy seems helpless & very sorry for himself. The bar manager approaches the guy & declares that the cost of 12 beers will be deducted from his salary & the guy is pleading  the manager not to do so.

He walks away with a helpless smile past the manager & guy who are in a discussion which would cost the guy - a month of his life.

All he could do is smile wryly. 

He just killed me in style.

For what it has been a painful month, equal number of lessons have been learnt. I start this piece to put down  my version of forgiveness. I have seen that in this friend of mine who hails from old school with little qualities of modern day ego, vengeance and grit.

There's this friend of mine to whom I had been extremely disloyal for over a period of 1 year. Well, I had my set of reasons to justify my lousy behaviour. He just seemed too outgrown for all that within this time & welcomed me with a wide spread smile after initials moments of doubt, uncertainty over my redundant fear of confrontation.

He just did that in style cos of which I was spellbound. Between us, its always been me who did the talking part & he always preferred to listen, nod and smile in return. He did the same yesterday, which put me to shame, guilt and envy. I was rather expecting him to thrash me in my face for what I had been but he just sounded unaffected & assured me everything is perfectly normal as ever.

For what stand I took between me & dirty harry (no offence meant Mr. Dirty Harry, this is in a positive sense), he took mine between us. Silent, smiling & barely affected. By that, he put me to death without really touching me except for that handshake. 

That Kid.

As i promised in my last update that I am not going to write about my personal happenings, here I am, ready with the story of a troubled kid who opened himself to me.

There's this kid who had been waiting at my house for me to come back from office. He happened to talk to me the day before & I asked him to come down to my place for a detailed discussion. He's having problems with his education just like the way I once had. He earnestly looked at me for some sage advise and I was eagerly waiting to listen to my story narrated by some other person.

He explained me his problem which seemed trivial to me; but it didn't - 5 years ago. I could totally comprehend the lump of turbulence in his throat which he often had to clear to spell words out.

Seemed familiar.

The best part about him was ruthless self denial & infectious honesty. He was there, very much ready to dissect himself & to critically analyze his problems. All he lacked was enough confidence and trust in himself.

Sounded rather familiar.

That dejected look on his face when he told me that his father actually has given up on his son's ability to promote to the next grade seemed far too close to my heart. It was as if someone was narrating my past to me in the most endearing way possible. I was all ears.

He opened the conversation by addressing himself as a loser which pierced through my heart like a spade studded with sharp words from ill mouthed douche bags. I could completely recall how it feels to proclaim one's self as a loser in his late teens or early twenties - when life has barely started.

His helpless rage, hopeless hope to see the unseen horizons of a colorful life now seem almost impossible for him. That's where I stepped into the picture. All I tried is to inject some hope into his veins. We light up a cigarette each. He inhaled, looked into my eye with a sense of respite, I exhaled, looked into the skies, we drove away farther on that road which opened gates for another opportunity called tomorrow.

Life; as it was once dreamt.

5 years. 5 whole years to tread the path in the way I wanted to. Fair enough. It could've taken longer but I didn't let things go out of control.

Its sometimes good to pause your pursuit of happiness and be happy for what you have. - A french proverb. True.

I am presently living the aftermath of debacles but I guess I am faring well; except few haunting memories of the past. Right, I distract myself from the reverie and pull myself back to this.

I have been watching some extraordinary cinema lately; all thanks to that good ol' friend who came back into my life upon my deliberation. 

I was appalled by the way my brother finally has fallen into the mainstream pit & he certainly is out of that 'wannabe' shit I believe. He just declared what his idea of life is & i was pleasantly surprised.

Thanks to that catastrophe. It got me real close to my family. I am also glad that my parents are finally comprehending my irresistible urge I have had to cut loose the ties with everything that just didn't seem 'me'.

I miss her terribly when I am out of work & so I work till i exhaust. I keep working all day to go back home to strike off one more milestone on the movie marathon. Fair enough.

Secluded with fair amount of distance from people, I have been having that much needed time and space which I had been craving till a month ago.

I promise this'd be the last post on personal happenings. I am sure I would come up with my take on worldly affairs from the next one.

Till then, watch Amal. Mr. N Shah delivered in those 10 minutes he was offered.

I bit the dust; and spitting out the disgust.

There is a limit for everything, they say. The question is who defines the limit. Its just the same kind of start like any other January. No striking differences. Only the characters and incidents changed; plot remained the same. Except in the perspective I developed, the way people treat me remained the same; unaltered. The unfaltering stubbornness still managed to secure its place in my heart. I still believe in my conviction; stay committed to the cause; a self made vow.

Things are royally fucked up at home, work and heart. Not a single element of respite. It totally feels as if I am locked in a dark dorm; pitch dark; and all sources of illumination are deliberately turned off. All I am doing is making peace with the nail biting coldness and darkness in there; learning to sleep; move in the dark; perhaps learning to 'live'.

However, the adolescent apprehensiveness slipped out of me; such a huge sign of relief. Apprehension borne procrastination really fed me with life changing incidents of which I still suffer - till date. The best part is I learnt the trick of mustering up enough courage to confront situations and boy! must I stay that confrontation is the best thing. Few hours (probably days?) of embarrassment, guilt and insult & things will slowly refrain from getting more fucked up.

How bleak life has become? The stains of pain caused by being left out disappeared a long ago & now I kind of enjoy the self gifted solitude and distance. But at times, the new bleak avatar seems untenable. I some times cannot stand the paleness of life now.

People whom I thought of as monks turned into raged bulls; as partners into strangers; as hearted ones into hypocrites. Well, all these certainly broadened my perspective inch by inch but it was unpleasantly surprising at the same time.


I hold in the tenacity, never dying hope for another sunny, bright morning called Tomorrow which never dies nor comes!

The Corporate conspiracies!

Corporate waters are too salty to swim through. There's some major technical cliche in the server which has interrupted work for almost an hour. I rooted back to my 8-month experience as a technical writer. In knowledge terms, these 8 months have been highly fulfilling. I understood the importance of things which I never knew even existed. No nonsense about that. But this is not what I started this post to talk about.

I will be honest. Time just flew away. I didn't know when 2012 arrived and faded away. All thanks to my job. That doesn't mean my job has been an amazing experience. Of course, the core competencies challenged me; I won at times; I lost at times. That's a different story altogether.

People. Experience encountering different people has been an incredible one. I cam across people who live in nut shells, people who just throw away themselves to exposure, people who always want to sue someone & also people who want to sue their own employer as well.

What baffles me about some of them is their craving for supremacy & dominance (not through work, though). You think you settled scores with somebody the previous evening over some issue; you come back the next day only to know that 2 hours of throat aching explanation only did worse but no good. I felt utterly disappointed in the beginning states but yeah, 8 months did teach me something. That things don't always work the way you wish them to. Made peace.

Oh yes! One more thing. Are you bad at saying NO? If yes, you're screwed. Being selfish never harmed me during my journey. All I learnt during these 8 months is to smile for whatever that happens beyond my control. What else could I have done?

This has been pretty much an industrious welcome to the diving board from where I jumped into the corporate waters. The jump seemed smooth; waters - lukewarm, hard, salty.

I am pretty confused whether to feel happy that waters aren't dead cold or to feel sad that they are mouth spoiling salty.


But as I said here few days ago, its totally okay not to know everything.

Somethings for myself

To start off on a good note, the new year already started being kind to me. Its feeding me with ample motivation to write; or should I say I am being receptive to the nature's stimuli? Either of them will do.

Last 3-4 years were extremely turbulent, controversial and unsettled. If I sound like making up a resolution at all, all I would resolve is to ensure myself a smooth year this time. There are few things around the corner that'd make me go crazy but taking a ground, sticking to basics & keeping my cool is all I have to do.

There are few primitive questions I made a habit of asking myself. Answers have been quite thought provoking, inquisitive & fulfilling. The first thing I determined is to have some respect myself & not sparing anybody at its cost. Pretty crucial for my survival.

I'd make sure I don't evoke unnecessary arguments, pick up fights & spoil days. I'd prefer to keep it low, calm, grounded & composed.

Emphasizing on my realization, its high time I define myself as a person; what I deserve, What i want and what I don't.

I decided not to strain myself by giving away much time to others. I'd increase the count of days when I stay back home; not talk to her neither to my mother; rather read, watch and write stuff.

All I am trying to do here is to be honest to myself & others by making my stands, intentions clear. Its time now to relax & sip the hot tea rather than sifting among the crowded tables of a multinational food chain's outlet, trying to balance food tray in one hand & my dreams in the other.

The Check List.

Happy new year to all of you, first of all.

I don't believe in new year resolutions. But with the buzz that surrounds you with an exaggerated state of euphoria tagged to its name called 'new year celebration', you unknowingly  fall into the pit of looking forward for phenomenal changes that might occur to you in the new year; unless you seclude and gift yourself with blissful distance from the hustle bustle.

I could't run much far from the manna so I was stuck in the web which left me from its clutches after injecting optimism and hope. Here are few things I wish to conquer before this year drains out and these are those few things I want to keep with myself hereafter, no matter how many more years may come.

• Gain a perspective; perhaps a wider & broader one.
• Stay away from the fight-inducing topics.
• Read more.
• Watch more.
• Write more.
• Earn
• Spend
• Laugh
• Romance
• Love
• Be Happy

Bye.