Some Disjointed Thoughts

Spill it out
Spill it out
What you kept buried for so long
Words that you have been chewing
Never letting escape
Vomit it out


I am pissed
A cheap pirated DVD and a Linda Goodman
Suddenly kept away
Have decided my day


Bland tasteless minutes
Multiplied by directionless hours
And more hours minus you


Let it itch
Let it itch
This urge of touching where the hand doesn't reach
This moth eating into my mind
Let it itch
Let it itch
This awareness is like life
Like oxygen to my sleeping dreams
Let it itch
Let it itch


It's not fair
Think of my humiliation
I bear with patience
The mishaps of your temper
Its not fair


I live in a valley of bliss
Where there is a no one to disturb me
I live in a silence of peace
Where there is a noisy little heart
I live in a deep well
With an earful of gurgling ideas
I reach out to the water of the deep
And travel many mindless forests
I wander through many forests
Some green some dead
I meet many animals
Always ready to pounce on mine
I live in a valley of bliss


In the wee hours of the morn
When I wrap the misty coolness around myself
And hear the crows caw in the distant corner of my ear
When truth and illusions have naked conversations
I hear you alight on the soggy layers of my consciousness
As a smile plays on my lips
And half dreaming
I hear you whisper...I love you

Embracing the shadows

Tides of Naukuchiyatal II

Right after the lunch began the activities. We split up in our allotted teams. First was the intro round for which no one had prepared any thing. Then began the quiz, in which my team played really badly. We didn’t pass any question, as a result of which we got a lot of negative marking. So while before the quiz we were at least the third best team, after the quiz we were nowhere.

Thankfully after the quiz was over, we were given an interesting brief. We had to name and think of a TVC idea for men’s and women’s undergarments. For this we were given 45 mins. It is really so funny that all advertising people tend to think alike and most of the teams came up with the same brand names- Adam & Eve. It was total chaos, once again the TVC was practiced for the first and last time on the stage. I obviously played Satan besides prompting various other dialogues. The story went thus:

Raihaan (Adam) and Pia (Eve) are sitting bored below a Tree (Rakesh and Dinesh with few branches). Adam walks away bored, just then I (Serpent) enter the scene with an apple to tempt Eve. Eve shockingly continues to ignores the apple. Confused I return with another idea. I present the new brands ADAM and EVE. Both Adam and Eve grab them in much confusion. As the voice over starts they go behind the tree and the tree starts shaking suggestively like those 60’s Bollywood songs. The cut back shows a pregnant Eve (Courtesy a towel rolled under her tee) appearing from behind the tree with Adam..

The amount of laughter our TVC produced told us how funny it really was. While our branding was common the way we presented it and our TVC idea wasn’t. After the TVC’s we were given a one hour break. In that one hour I had to choreograph, synchronize, learn, teach, get dressed and blah blah blah... Doing the item number was great fun since I love dancing. Everyone was very surprised to see me dancing. I am supposed to be this boring serious no-nonsense girl. After the item numbers was Antakshari which we again lost miserably. And finally we were free to hit the floor. From the minute the DJ started playing I never stopped. Sadly, they stopped the music as early as at 11pm. After that we had dinner, dinner as expected was good.

All evening I had the great opportunity to unveil new characters. Characters who come alive after getting drunk. It’s amazing to be an onlooker in such circumstances, an onlooker who is sane always. Afterwards Diggi Parul, Sreena and me sat chatting in the balcony. Others also joined us soon. The group soon turned adventurous and starting smoking grass. I retired to my room unwillingly. Got to know the next day that everyone had gone on a laughing spree after that. Missed it!
The return journey was really low key compared to the onward one. Even the ‘Nana Party” (the group who ended any para of any song with Farhan Akhtar’s song Meri laundry ka ek bill…nana nana) was quiet. Maybe this was also because a lot of us suffered from motion sickness. Avomin couldn’t help much in this respect but at least it put me to sleep. When I woke up I was feeling much better. Lunch was amazing because it was yet another picnic. We stopped in the middle of Corbett and had lunch on the open roads. More pics followed.

Next halt was for snacks at Hotel Skylark where we hogged yet more. As the journey was neared end, energy also sapped. Old jokes were revived but they lost humour. There was a last sutta break and sadly we were back to the humdrum of Delhi.

Tides of Naukuchiyatal I

Naukuchiyatal is a still, pristine natural lake stolen from the hustle and bustle of daily life. I had some doubts whether this was the ideal destination for an office trip. I was pleasantly surprised to find it to be otherwise.

Why is it just after the moment is over you don’t want to talk about it any more. Probably you feel words won’t be sufficient to describe the beauty of the moment. The beauty of Naukuchiyatal something like that.

It was an excellent trip. 10 hours of journey. 10 hours of going. 10 hours of coming. In all, we just had a day in our hand. And I am glad I made the most of it. No regrets at all. The theme of the trip was Pirates of the Carribean. The names of the teams were Jack Sparrow, Captain Rake, Boot Strap, Red Beard and Davy Jones. Not having seen any movies of the series I had to use a lot of my imagination for the activities.

I woke up around 8.30 am when I heard voices of some of my colleagues outside my room. Though I was dead tired after the journey, I couldn’t stay in bed for too long. The reason was the lovely place, not to mention the rooms. The girls had the special liberty to occupy the spacious lake facing rooms. Once again I was glad I am girl.

Coming back to the morning, I freshened up and rushed to the lawn where everyone was having tea. It was quite cold, much colder than Delhi. I lied down on a hammock, a fantasy come true. Soon photo sessions began, our organisation has quite a number of photographers. Prarthana made all the models really pleased with themselves. None of us had had our bath yet, we were not even dressed properly and hence were quite happy with the snaps.

Photo session was followed by breakfast. And what a spread the breakfast was. It had toast, butter, cutlets, upama, cornflakes, fruits, tea / coffee, juice, omlette…Considering my no breakfast or milk and skip lunch working days this was heavenly. After breakfast, we sat under the shy sun with little gossips and giggles for company. Some of us then set out for a trek. The trek was beautiful, everyone went mad taking snaps. But when I thought about it, I felt almost 70% of Assam is like this. There we don’t have to go out for a holiday. Our life is a holiday.

Anyways we soon reached a dead end and realized that we had taken the wrong way. We retraced our way back to the resort. On the way back there was this particular Brigadier’s home, a very pretty bungalow with yellow and red roofs with lots of flowers in the lawn. Reminded me of lost times. They also had two big dogs, observed desi dogs in the hills have furry coats.

I broke off from the party at the resort for a quick bath. Kishore came knocking on my door afterwards. The smiling lake had beckoned for boating. I hadn’t expected to enjoy boating all that much, boating turned out to be a really soothing experience. Absolutely beautiful nine edged lake embraced us in its lap. Sleepy, hazy, sun kissed, legs in the air, with the infant gurgles inside the ear, and a deep warmth inside the mind we got off on the other side of the lake.

Now it was time for horse riding. Pawan and Sikandar were two of the handsome horses. Pawan was extremely well behaved. As far as I can remember I have ridden horses only once or twice before. To get up on the horse was quite a task, horses being tall and me being short. The first time I got up I thought I had torn something in my thigh. But thankfully it wasn’t anything I remembered after 10 mins. I realized I quite liked horse riding and I didn’t feel like getting off once I was up. We went to a height from where we could see the entire lake. As we laced the treacherous edges of hills, I learnt the difference between a trot and a gallop.

We crossed a big Hanuman mandir, I didn’t make the effort of getting off the horse. Around 12.45 pm we reached the resort. The headache of group activities was still on my head. I had to collect all the truant team members to practice the item number for the first and the last time. It was not even 1.10 pm when we had to split for lunch. Lunch was again amazing, with everything one could wish for. I didn’t know what to have and what not and ended up having soup after the lunch.

Happy Bacha Day

Everyone out dere...let out the kid in you...enjoy every little thing...and do read my new blog..,.



On a dried mat of tears
Who can write the story of shock?
It doesn't register
Doesn’t pain
Doesn’t scream
Doesn’t cry
And still it was written

It does matter

I lie, I deny
But I don't know why
It does matter
Sweetheart its the little things
which matter
I try to overlook the miniscule
But they always leave a stain,
between the cups and the plates
Always a cobweb in the corner
Yes it does matter

You say its pointless to talk about it
You don't care, you don't need it
This obtuse way of feeling
Bland complaining you call it
But it does matter
Yes it does matter to me

The Sexiest Diseases

I know the title itself sounds very funny. Diseases are something we curse, we abhor, we pity, we fear…they come stubbornly, sometimes with tell tale signs, sometimes without any warning. We don’t have any choice in them. But suppose we did?

What would you choose? As a child, I for some reason found certain ailments really fascinating.

Super Sinus / Sinusitis: Sinus was always this attractive nerdy disease to me. I related it to people who read too much. My eldest sister who was in a boarding school at that point of time was the epitome of a sinus veteran. I remember how mom used to tell all and sundry about her sinus problems, whether it was the drawing room or the market place, almost as if it was something to boast about. I always thought if ever I wanted a chronic disease I wanted Sinus. :D now that I have also inherited the legacy of sinus, I don’t know if I am really enjoying it. Still it gives me a regular workable excuse for absence.

Admirable Asthma: Another cool disease in my childhood imagination. I remember one of my cousins who dropped out of school because of acute asthma. The idea was quite appealing to me; I thought if I had asthma I too could avoid school forever. I heard of attacks where people made him sniff leather sandals. Lots of fussing over, pampering sounded quite nice. I have changed my opinions.

Magical Myopia: This is one disease I heartily prayed to acquire. Both my sisters took specs while still at school. My mom explained it as “Academic pressure”. No wonder I wanted specs too, half of it was probably to hear my mom say “academic pressure”. I took specs in 9th standard. I somehow couldn’t believe it had finally happened and my best friend who was by then fed up of my asking what was written on the black board complained to my mom. I was the happiest girl when I went to the optical store with my father. But all the compliments that I got for the prized specs was a frowning “Too much TV, Too much lying down and reading novels” courtesy mom.

There is actually a part II to the myopia story - the lens story. After conquering the specs I was obsessed with the lens. My sister had already graduated to lenses. But I was still not worthy of it. I kept persisting for it to no avail. My sis lost her lenses and was awarded with yet another pair. Hell broke loose because of this injustice. I cried, I wailed and created a great ruckus and achieved one of my few (and I hope final) adulthood thrashings. Within a couple of months, however, I was the proud owner of a pair of lenses. Sadly now, I find lenses more of a botheration unless I am in a mood to dress up.

Exotic Eye Flu: Ever heard of something so strange. Bird flu maybe yes. Let me tell you it’s the most attractive eye disease I have discovered recently. It’s nothing like its gross cousin conjunctivities. To begin with eye flu is not visible; there is only a slight redness in the eye. You keep putting eye drops like rose water. The doctor tells you to avoid the PC. While this may not be enough to take a leave, you can at least flaunt it in front of your boss.

Fantastic Fainting: I don’t know what else to call it, but fainting seems to be the most romantic of all diseases. Especially if there is a Mills and Boons hero around ;). It can save you from any situation. Besides if you like being seen as a delicate darling it is the ideal solution. And even if that’s not what you want you can also faint in a fit of anger.

There are many more attractive diseases. I can hardly write about all of them like low pressure, fever (that’s the only time mom fed me rotis), anemia etc etc… you see little illnesses are not such bad things. So, next time you are ill use your imagination.

The murder of the perfect day

Birthdays are so FAKE. A shortcut to please someone. An excuse to drink till dawn. A competition who can give the most expensive party, the better gift.

Birthdays why are they so fake? Why would I want someone who doesn’t even like me to come and wish me? What is everyone pretend to be so happy about such fake birthdays? Why does anyone have to be embarrassed about not remembering my B’day? I seriously don’t want to remember them myself.

I don’t think there is anything to celebrate my B’ day. The people who care nothing for you, why should they make such a fuss about you B’ days. And yet why do people who mean a lot to you forget your B’ day. Is it something to do with growing up? That simply, for no apparent reason you start forgetting them.

What is it with birthdays that people don’t remember them and yet don’t let you forget them?

This time,
After the disappointment of the past couple of years, I decided to forget my B’ day. And hoped everyone else would too. As always the date was hidden on all the so called social networking sites.

I also planned to switch off my cell for the entire 24 hours of the day. Because I believe phone is the main instrument for mischief. This would serve several purposes-
1) I wouldn’t be disappointed that no one called, as I could easily presume whoever mattered had called
2) I wouldn’t be reminded of my B day again and again, and by extension I wouldn’t feel bad that nothing special happened
3) It would help me treat it like just another day and last
4) It was my vengeance on those who forgot my previous B day.

So, at the stroke of midnight I began my experiment. Some over excited people had msgd before 12. I heartily ignored the sinning souls. The day seemed to start well as my flat mates seemed to have forgotten everything about it.

I went to office and was disgusted when I was given a card by the adm guy. This is how they exploit your B day, by making it official. They actually send a mail to everyone’s official ID to remind them. I still kept graciously mum, however, some of them found out and came to wish me. Some friends continued to chat with me throughout the day completely forgetting the day.

Another one thought, it was ok to ask me if she had missed something. This after she had forgotten it last time also. Well in the evening there was cake cutting. I didn’t know whether I should be flattered, as it was for three people together, whose B days had gone long back.

Well after I came home, I was pretty curious and switched on my cell for a couple of minutes. No one called L and there were just a couple of msgs. That’s it. I switched it off again and went out with one of my flat mates. Suddenly, another flat mate of mine calls up on her cell and starts apologizing me about how she forget it. I just lied its too late. It was yesterday. He He! Another experiment. Thought it would shut her up, from doing something silly like getting a gift.

After dinner I came home, trying to tell myself it’s was after all just another day. There were no frantic phone calls from my BF at my friend’s number. Its 12 am, the day ends.
My experiment is over.

Suddenly I hear the rest of my flat mates returning home. Expecting foul play, I quickly switch off the lights and jump to my bed to feign sleep. But they had to embarrass me with a stupid cake. It was probably the saddest part of the day. I had to cut the cake, I tried not to be rude but couldn’t help much. Hoped it would be over quickly, at least that bit happened pretty fast. The minute the cake was finished they left me alone.
Why did they have to do this formality? Why couldn’t people just let you be?

Its so sad birthdays aren’t anything like what they were when I was 10. I can’t ask what I want. I can’t expect everyone to be excited about it. Only now I realize how lovely things were back then and all because of my parent’s efforts.

With age why do we change? Why do I want everyone to forget my birthday and still am disappointed when nothing special happens. Why this dichotomy? Why can’t B days be same forever? And what pray is the point of this write up???

- The point is I am trying to accept the inadequacies of this fake concept. The vast difference between what is and what could be. I am accepting my hypocrisies.

P.S. I don’t want anyone wishing me belated Happy B’ Day.

Come laugh at my poverty!!!

Extremely poor.
That’s what I feel right now. This is no mockery of poverty. It’s the bloody real thing.

It’s an irony that since I have started earning I have seen more poverty than ever before. Right now I have a 100 rupee note in my pocket and that’s all. Tomorrow I have to pay my home rent, the maid’s salary and of course money for food.

In my present status, only my dear roommate Mr. Rat gives me unfailing company. Much as I want to, I can’t get him anything i.e. the rat kill and spend a precious Rs. 38 on him. So, I let him feast in some corner of my room on some valuables with the constant terror of his squeaks.

It is so funny how even the dependable things in life also cheat you in a moment like this. Like the ATM machine. The last time I withdrew money I was quite surprised when my balance read Rs 300 something even after I had withdrawn Rs. 300. Because my original balance had been Rs 400. I went home thinking my memory has forgotten something sweet, I had more money than Rs. 400 and that I can actually spend a couple of more days without borrowing money.

Didn’t realize happiness would be so short lived. Yesterday when I went to the ATM, it wasn’t working. Thinking what the hell, I walked down to the next ATM. Punched Rs 300, it refused to come out and said insufficient balance. Completely zapped and a little suspicious, I punched Rs 200 the second time. The stubborn machine popped out a slip which said insufficient balance. Shocked curious and scared that my account might get blocked (ya even that has happened with me) I checked my balance. Surprise! It said Rs 128.

I was so mad, I didn’t realize that I simply stepped out of the ATM and started walking towards home, some 2 kms away. I didn’t have the heart to take a rickshaw with just 100 bucks in my pocket to keep me going till I don’t know when.

Sometimes I feel this is the bane of all my excesses. But come to think of it what excesses do I indulge in? I don’t drink anything apart from water, milk and cold drinks. I smoke but only when forced to passively. I go clubbing scarcely. Then where does the money go?

I am comforted by a common line on Tees seen long ago “My dad is an ATM”. I am not at all ashamed. But again it’s really a catch 22 situation. Money couldn’t come from home yesterday because the banks had half yearly closing. And that’s the reason they gave today also. Tomorrow is Gandhi Jayanti. So, I will have to wait till the day after.

I won’t say something similar has never happened before. I remember last diwali. I was alone in my flat. I had 500 bucks; you would say that was much better than the present scenario. Wait a minute. I took the same 500 bucks to the recharge shop and what do I find out? The note is fake.

That’s what my regular recharge guy tells me, this when I think he owes half his property to me. He advices me not to use it elsewhere and also warns me someone might call the police (bastard is really concerned about me). But I had no choice, I was alone at home. There was no one to lend me money. I went ahead and probably did one of the worst things of my life.

I bought some dia’s from a small road-side vendor. Like a mad woman scared to be caught, I then ran home and decorated my home with those lamps. To top it all I had the shamelessness of feeling relieved for not being caught. Perhaps I am paying for that.

Well I don’t know I can’t do much about it now. Will have to wait till the day after for the money to come and feed myself and Mr. Rat.


Little drops of memories
That trickles through your mind
And lie on the crevices of consciousness
Why don’t they erupt forefront?
And make you do things which you want
Uncertain wishes that follow you like creepy shadows
But have no form in reality
Why in drowsy slumber
Are they neither awake nor dead?
Little drops of memories
That clings to your mind’s ceiling…

Who said I can’t write happy poems?

I can smile
As I rub off the layer of frosted sadness
That had dully settled
On life’s window panes
Who said I can’t dance?
Like a carefree bee
In delicious smelling anticipation
Who said I can’t shine?
Even if like the quivering candle
And light up the nude darkness of your life
Who said I can’t smile?

Fairy Princess

Am a fairytale princess
Surrounded by delicate tendrils of dreams,
Which I grow out of little pages of magic.

Am a fairytale princess
Who shuts the eye to thorny reality,
And lives on the edge of romantic illusions
Writes sweet sad poetry
Waiting for her prince charming

I am Rapunzel
Locked away with clipped wings
Ready and eager to grow new wings
I am Cindrella
Fighting the world’s atrocities
With my innocent thoughts
I am Snow White
Who shuns fairness creams
And is fairly impartial to films and books
I am Thumbalina
Small in shape not in stature
A school girl trapped in an office
I am Sleeping Beauty
Asleep while awake
Awake while asleep

Am a fairytale princess
Surrounded by delicate tendrils of dreams,
Which I grow out of little pages of magic.

Seeking Shillong

The trip to Shillong. Circuitous roads through dew laden rain forests. It actually began on a dismal note.

Excited and ready since 8 in the morn, it was upsetting to wait for the driver to turn up for more than an hour. More so because the particular driver never turned up. Our dear Prime Minister also chose this fortunate day to come to the city. As a result all the roads were jammed. Finally driver no. 2 arrived at 9.30 and after much deliberation with Naurin we went ahead with the trip. I was fuming, patience not being one of my virtues and waiting for 2hrs one can hardly expect to show that. The later we started the later we reached and it being a one day trip we couldn’t afford to be late.

Anyways we began and as we eased out of the city, the weather became pleasant. Luckily even the otherwise stubborn rains didn’t play spoilsport. My eyes drank in all the green. Though I won’t say I remembered much of my earlier trips to Shillong, I was filled with a strong sense of déjà vu. At lightening speed my mind embraced the lush foliage, slopes of pineapple plantations, khasi faces, ‘khublei’ written on every writable place. Jorabat now boasts of a ‘Red Ranch’. Bernihat is much more crowded and later in trail is Nongpow.

The driver somehow turned out to be quite a nuisance. Mr. was really not in the mood of wasting any time any where and wanted to rush us away. Inspite of his protests we got off at Nongpow. I started clicking all the shots which my mind was anyways clicking. Nongpow is the land of pickles, pickles in big jars, pickles in little jars, tangy pickles, spicy pickles, hot pickles, sweet pickles, all begging to be eaten.

I bought plenty. Bamboo shoot and chillies, Naga sour fruit, only chillies and garlic. After buying these slightly expensive pickles I felt appeased, just like how Kumbhakarna must have felt after his hearty meal every 6 months. Shopping done, we settled at a small tea shop/restaurant. We snacked on chops and hot tea as I mused about the old world charm brewing along with every sip of the tea. I also bought a pack of White Rabbit while Naurin bought Malaysian onion rings. In half an hour, refreshed we set out once again.

To meet Shillong. Shillong dripping from pine trees. Hiding in the meandering paths. Peeping from behind the hills. Wearing a foggy shawl. Gushing from the small streams. Sitting on bamboo shoots, hanging on bamboo sticks. Suckling pineapple.

About an hour before we reach Shillong is Barapani. Naurin and I spent some nostalgic moments remembering Class 10 picnic. Barapani so blissfully still, so serene it evoked something in you. Though I wanted so much I dared not to ask the driver to stop so I could take a few shots.

In another hour we reached the Scotland of the east. The high and low roads of Police Bazaar. The interesting crowd lost in various nooks and crannies. As I listened to mom I realized how it could have been 10 -15 years ago. Chiller, greener and more beautiful. I can imagine khasi women in dresses covered with woolens all hoity toity in black pencil heels. Men in suits, long over coats and ties all the year round going to the cinema or sitting by the fire sides reading. I can imagine the pretty umbrellas on the ladies arms and the pitter-patter of rain on the tin roofs. I can hear the guitar strings, the smoke coming out of chimneys and the pavements washed with rain.

What I see now is a shadow of the past culture, no way lesser. Pretty girls in bling attires, boys with cheeky messages on their T shirts “I want money for alcohol research”. I won’t say I was overjoyed with the market, but it was a different experience altogether.

Shoes in Shillong are really dainty, just like the pretty feet of the gorgeous petite women there. What’s even more surprising is that they are found even in size 4 and 3. Unluckily I could buy just a single pair because of the dirty looks mom was sending my way the moment I drifted into any shop.

After literally walking up and down Police Bazaar we had lunch at Hotel Broadway. Nothing less than chicken with bamboo shoots and chilly fish. The restaurant was done up tastefully with lanterns covered in bamboo frames and little cozy alcoves. It was again nostalgia time, this time for papa. This was the hotel where he had fallen sick with hernia.

After lunch we headed to Shillong peak, Upper Shillong. It was 4 in the evening and we were skeptical about being allowed in the restricted area. Nevertheless it was worth it simply because of the breath taking view.

As expected we were not allowed to go to the peak, but what we saw on the way made it worthwhile. It was definitely the highlight of the day, another round of pictures followed. Mom shopped fresh vegetables, Shillong being famous for potatoes. Inspite of it being the height of summer it was so cold up there that I regretted not having taken a sweater.

From there we headed to the Lady Hydary Park. That proved to be a slight disappointment as it too had closed down at 5pm. Thus exhausted and left with no other option we began our return journey homewards.

On the way I renewed my acquaintances with “Vicky James Memorial tombstone”, Grace’s Café, Naba’s rice bowl, Super Bazaar, various pickle shops on the roads. I also made friends with Po-po Horn, Horn do please, Father truck (a truck painted in all white and with Jesus’s photo in the front) and various Hanuman trucks, Guru Nanak trucks all the while wondering how trucks came to have religions.

Little drowsy, I bit into onion rings now and then, and gazed at the flying tree tops in the twilight. We flew through the darkness and saw clots of light interspersed with night. Tiny specks like fire flies saying bye bye…

Hard Decisions ????

What is more important company or employee? Where does the ethics fit in the gamut of survival and churning money. It’s true all professionals behave like chameleons or rather like frogs “JUMPING FROM HERE TO THERE”. In such a world how does a company behave? More so when the company is drowning.

Is it fair to just come and announce that starting tomorrow we begin downsizing the company. What if you are given a termination letter which has nothing to do with your performance? What if you know your name is on the list? How is it to listen to a thousand rumours? Your name dropping in out of the list? What if only one person has to be chosen between you and a colleague and you know the other person has been doing really well. What if they keep you and chuck out someone else just because you are less expensive? What if you don’t know if you really want to continue inspite of not being in the list?

What if this is the second month of your job and this is the kind of disillusionment you meet. What if you know that the person you are gossiping with is going to be sacked, but you don’t have the guts to say so? What if even without asking for it you are given the assurance which is nothing but a lie? What if you find out that from the very next day you are not supposed to come to the place you came everyday? What if you come to know you have been terminated with immediate effect?

What if you start feeling bad for a person for whom you felt no real love? Why even today I fail to give a hug to the person who needs it? Why do I fail to console someone? Why this hesitation? Why is it so difficult to say what you think?

Where does one leave behind the idealistic virtues which you had forever nurtured? Why don’t you have something called savings? Why can’t you resign? Why if you resign you have to fall back on your parents? Why wouldn’t anyone believe why you are resigning? Why does it matter so much what others think? Why will you still take the selfish way out and not resign immediately?

Who is responsible for all this shit? Why is everything veiled under the word “hard decisions”? Why am I asked not to be emotional? Why have I been asked to be selfish and secure my position?

To hell with everyone, I would rather be emotional. Only that makes me feel I am alive.

Away with company loyalty

As you chart your growth in the unchartered terrains called ‘career’ do you leave company loyalty far behind??
10 years ago working at the same place for 7-8 years was perhaps called loyalty. Today it is called lack of ambition. 1 year, even 6 months is enough for one place. Things have so changed that they have actually done away with the concept of a loyal employee. But what of stability? Even stability has no value whatsoever. Today as I go for an interview, people ask me what I have been doing at a not so happening place for so long, “so long being 1and half years”. It is taken as the first sign of not belonging to the so called successful lot. It is a little embarrassing if not difficult to explain that I am in the same organisation out of choice because I am enjoying it and not due to lack of opportunities.
I am really old school in these matters; I had rather thought I would be appreciated for being stable. But it doesn’t seem so. Now jump I will, and just watch out how.

Punching Bag II

Can you beat the thing you love
Till it is half dead
Then strangely hold it in your arms
Wait for it to wake up
And with a drop of tear
Wipe its scorched lips
Smile tender
And before it weeps with relief
Scratch its bruises with a scalpel
Open raw eyes of disbelief
And let it be so confused
That it neither bleeds nor cries
Awashed in numbed grief and dumb pain,
Baffled it looks at you
Neither in hope nor in trust.

Can you kill the thing you love most?
For a reason you don’t understand,
For a reason that doesn’t exist

Can you?

The birth of my baby

A baby brought into this world
Through my sole will
Furnished with only my love
A baby whose reason I need to
Explain to all ignorant souls
I pity those worthless lives,
Who know naught
About my darling
And kill them with my pride
My baby, not made out of my flesh and blood
But my imagination and perspective
A baby which I create with my own hands
I give it to my partner
To give it life, the way I see it
And the way he understands
And when our baby is born
The joy is mutual, until the first faltering steps
With mad pain I see
Many deformations made
To my babe
I defend it like an angry tigress
And how glad I am
How proud I feel
When my baby is finally sold…

[All my ads are like my babies]

What can a movie do to you?

It can change the entire layer of living, the complete life coated over some days. And how important is a weekend? How important is it to spend it the way you want it?

Specially if you do nothing all week long, except writing meaningless kilometers of copy, wrecking your brians, thinking interesting concepts which you hope your ignorant and stubborn client will find equally interesting. And not to mention trying very hard to remain sane after doing all sorts of household chores which normally a housewife does. More so a maid does.

This weekend I saw three movies... Jaane tu ...ya jaane na. A teeny bopper laugh riot. I love the movie not because I identified with it, but because after a long time I really felt my age. Carefree. Crazy.For once I didnt feel like I have matured before time. I laughed like a mad woman. Genelia is absolutely adorable and to a great extent the character she played is like me. Imran is also cute.

The second movie I saw is Aamir starring Rajiv Khandelwal. A brave attempt for a debut. The raw butchering of beef lingered on my mind and somehow reminded me of my visit to Nizamuddin. The whole storyline of kidnapping, blackmailing in the name of religious fanatacism is fresh, I believe. The main terrorist was'nt really convincing. The bile yellow of the vomit after visiting the most unthinkable toilets was something striking. The ending was quite predictable but nicely directed. In all gripping but not all that moving.

Santa Mesa, Philipines...was the third of the set. Saw it at the Osian's film fest. A young kid loses his mother and goes to live with his grandmother. The culture shock, the unability to communicate with anyone, his efforts to fit in, how he meets aphotographer and helps him unite with his adopted daughter. Won't go too far to say that the acting was excellent. But a strong script.

And when you mix concoctions as varied as these, what do you get? You get my present mood. Absolutely refreshed and ready for the week ahead! Ready for more!


Change is inevitable. Nothing remains.
I do not blame you. I blame everybody. I blame this damned cycle called life. The innate curiousity of man. This sick habit of trying new things out. Of the old dying a silent death. Do not know whether to love or hate it.

You do not understand. Why should you? Even I don't. This coating of projected image defeats the real me. This plastic smile in posy photos, this bull shitting on social websites. Why see beyond this? You don't see beyond this. And when this projected image will meet my real self, it will have naught to say. Except to shed poor black tears at fake life's false misery. Of letting things happen. Of letting things happen the way they happened.

What remains is false pride. Meaningless principles which mean nothing to anyone.

What to do?
Sub merge sensibility and practiality with philosophy. Force them and beat them into emotions. Do I do something stiff and rational? Or pull my hair to bits crying over dead emotions. Or like a block of ice let the emotions pass by. Or look at the philosophy behind all this. Look at life.

What do I do with life?


I knew this would happen. I was scared of this strange feeling.
Of waking up one morning, of beating sleepless dawns and knowing this feeling of having lost everything. Of being very alone.
Of nothing to give, nothing to take. What world is it? Nothing to look forward to. This ocean which doesn't engulf you, nor does it pass by silently.

Life which smiles at you from the shore, comes forward to meet you and rushes far away from you.

Which continues to tease you as if you are a baby who is being tempted with a rattle.

Ah! But life is such a personal thing.
Yet so common.
I was scared to find myself on the other side of one such morning. But sadly its time, and I have waken up.
I set out to spend a day close to nature. It turned out to be something else.
A day of gross sights…?

Began at Chirag Delhi red light. I am sitting in an auto, just before the flyover. And I am staring absentmindedly. I see a puny little rat come out of nowhere and start crossing the road at breakneck speed, as if his tail was on fire. It was actually a ‘kid rat’ for the lack of a better word. As it reached across the road in great speed it suddenly stopped. I was wondering why it was lying quiet, and low just like me a crow too had noticed it. The crow comes pouncing on it, picks it and is gone. Grossest of sights I have seen in recent times.

In the cab again, we have this discussion about pets. Proma starts by telling how a cat had scratched her mom last night and how when her mom screamed the cat got so scared that it decided to use the bed as a loo. Disgusted, we whole heartedly condemn the situation. I especially go out to say that even cats need to be tied up just like dogs. Even better if they are put in cages like birds and hung up in the air. When another animal loving colleague heatedly disagrees I go on to declare:

“I hate pets. Animals are animals, Period! I do not believe in the idea of liberating them by keeping them as pets at home.”

That’s just how the day began…there is more to come. After office I and my colleagues head towards Nizammuddin, a highly Moslem dominated area. And are greeted by all kinds of culture shocks…skull caps everywhere and smell of the unnamable something. Wasn’t quite prepared for it. Like a crude joke there is slaughtered beef mocking and staring at us from open stalls. Two minutes of hell included kids pulling us about here and there, to come and eat at their restaurant.

I finally breathe a sigh of relief at Humayun’s Tomb. But there too this strange dog, more like a huge wolf had to very irritatingly come and sneeze right behind me. Not even once but a couple of times. And then we enter this relic of Sher Shah Suri. Real relic, I must tell you. Inside the mausoleum, there was a dark, steep and narrow stairway. In the excitement, without thinking twice I dash towards it followed by Proma only to realize the horrible stink that was with us for quiet sometime now was bat shit. Like a B-grade horror movie a bat flies by just millimeters above our heads. Once outside in the balcony it was much better. But climbing down turned out to be even worse than climbing up. A really unnerving and maddening affair. While the staircase was quiet dark from below, in the dying sunlight of the balcony we could see innumerable bats hanging from the roof. To add to the eeriness Proma took full five minutes to take one step down and I had to wait till she took the next step. Completely psyched out I wanted to jump right away to the last step.

It was really enough of animals for one day. But everything was not so bad. Like it is very difficult to say what it felt like watching the ever busy squirrels or even the beautiful exotic bird with a crown on its head. Or the proud and royal peacock that went strutting right past us. And there were the lucky birds and the parrots too. Words can’t describe how it felt to sit alone on the stairs facing the birds, the squirrels and listening to nothing but the twitters and flutters.

Though there was a beehive in the distant and maybe bees also, there must be honey too. In all, it did turn out to be quite an exciting day, one amongst the birds and beasts of nature. It felt as if all of them together coming one after the other were trying to tell me something. What?? I can’t say.

Suspended Pain

Postpone postpone it till tomorrow
Today I am busy
Taking it little too easy
Disbelief. Indifference. Feigned Ignorance
And a sleeping conscience
Postpone postpone it till tomorrow
Today is busy
Tomorrow is heavy with weight
Let it be tomorrow
Oh let it be tomorrow!

Flying agains't the wind

Must be one of the best days of my life…
I went to see the Cannes Ad Fest show reel 08’. Wearing what clothes I wore to office. Err…slightly embarrassing. Well that’s an understatement.

My entire team was there. We waited to catch up with Rati on the way. And still we couldn’t keep up with Baliram flying Rati’s Honda City. Lost once, we had to take another route to the venue. Within that short way to Maurya Sheraton there was a lover’s tiff, lots of momo hogging at Chanakyapuri, Manmeet coming in a rocking new red car etc. As if that was not entertainment enough for the day we came to know at the venue that one pass admitted only one. As we were figuring out what to do, Bugga sir came to our rescue and we were in, in no time.

Starters started, drinks started, hobnobbing starting, and the show started. It seems I was one of the few people who saw the entire presentation. Met Proma inside.

Most ads were obscure stuff. I simply loved the Amnesty International Ads, the Yellow pages ad, and the Nike woman – Dance. They were some ads. There was apna desi gum ad too.

As for improving my PR skills, sorry to say nothing happened on that front. Just met a classmate. Rest of the K – Factor gang caught up by the time the presentation was ending. And of course everyone looked really nice as they had come from home spending a couple of hours in front of the mirror.

Food was pretty decent. But as usual I couldn’t enjoy much because I was already full having been quite generous to the starters...chicken something something. Deserts were yumm though, especially the Blueberry cheese cake and Kheer.

Heard later that both Chennai and Delhi IPL teams were at the hotel. Some of my colleagues saw them. But wait what takes the cake is how I came home. On a bike. Sharad dropped me home. Complete bliss racing against the wind. Looking at the deep azure sky above just when a jet was flying in the opposite direction. I stretched out my hand to reach out to the plane which looked so puny from below and yet so powerful.

As it went away I felt it took me up on a journey of fame, of the unknown…
I don’t think I will ever forget this moment in my life.
Very conveniently I forgot the way, me being bad with roads and al. We finally spent some more time on road.


It’s like traveling in time a few years back. Life lived. Engulfing me in dust covered shelves and dishevelled cupboards. Where does the past live? Where? A patch of green land which was free of moss last year? Or the next window where someone else lived. And now is inhabited by curious faces who look at me as if I am the outsider.

Why does change always change you? Why is there a new building on the field I used to play? So many mobile snatchings, chain snatchings. Old engagements breaking to form new weddings. Why does life move on? Why do juniors grow taller than you? Why do they take my place in my college? Why is my friend getting married? Why is my room no more my room? Why are all things paralyzed in my room? As if with my absence they too have become immobile. Why doesn’t mom keep my stuff clean? I only told her not to throw my stuff away. Why is my room treated like a common lobby? Where are my childhood friends? Where are the silly games?

Where have the idyllic days disappeared? Why can’t I wear the blue uniform and have 7 Rs worth veg chow and Rs 20 chicken roll?

Past maybe past, it still lives in the present sometimes. Despite the Vishals, Big Bazaars of the world. Fancy bazaar is still fancy and Maligaon is Maligaon. We still meet the old people with a few new faces interspersed. Jubeen still sings in Bihu. Only difference is this time he came on stage as early as 10 pm. I still call my friends in the middle of the night from my fathers phone – Reliance to Reliance and silently keep the phone back in its place in the wee hours of the morning.

It still rains cats and dogs. There are more posters around the city. There is a News Live – news without compromise and there is Big FM, Gupshap and SFM and there are is CCD right next to Dighalipukhuri, there are multiplexes….
If you ask me how is a writer's life? I will tell you it is difficult. You have to be loner to be a writer, at least in some way or the other. I cannot write unless I am lonely MENTALLY. The inner life is alone. Somewhere or the other, it is inevitable for the writer to have faced some tragedy. A happy man is no writer. As much as solitude is important, it is equally important for the writer to fall back into society for periodic spells. To experience real life, to be inspired. To come back to the normal world.

The Inner Life

The place where you dare to be yourself - in all your oddities and eccentricities. Where you swim ashore away from the incepient madness of this world. Where you dare call your boss 'a blood sucker' and your closest friend 'the biggest flirt'. Where you dare to face your shortcomings. Where you can forgive your failings. Where you can atleast try to live like you want to.

Living the inner life, the life Lawrence talks about and loves so. The life I live, oblivious of the world that moves around.

Where has the winter gone?

Wearing the snowy Alps and smoky little barbecues. Little chimneys and firewood. Whistling pines and nuts. Wooden floors and red wine. Roast corn on burning coal. Mungfalis in black iron vessels.
Icy wind on vaselined lips. Cozy caps, naughty toes jutting out of torn socks and bright mufflers. Shivering baths and blowing vapours. Hot coffee mugs and closed windows. Roses and carnations. Tell me where has the winter gone?

Tick tick…Ma’s knitting. My wind beaten cheeks. Dressed in a wide smile. Crack creams. Meji and bihu. Popping popcorns and teelor laaru. Christmas trees, gifts and cookies. New Year resolutions.

The sun and the clouds playing hide and seek. The fog falling in love with the sun. Embracing it with love. The sadness is gone. The love is shinning bright now. O where has the winter gone?

Dear winter, I do not know if I love you. I wait for the summer always. Wait for the warmth to take over my heart. But I feel something for you. For you are my own. You are me.
Can an agnostic be superstitious? What has atheism got to do with superstition? How much does collective memory affect a person? How important is a person’s upbringing in molding one’s beliefs? Or is it one’s individual choice. What
I do not know. All I can tell you is my strange behaviour.
It was a normal day. I was returning home in the office cab. It drops me midway to my home everyday, at Chirag Dilli red light, by far the most crowded point in South Delhi. From Chirag Delhi I catch a bus home.
Coincidentally I am alone in the cab. Listening to music and dreaming. The cab turns into a lane parallel to the main road. A cat crosses the road in front of the cab.
The cabbie drives on without a blink. I try to look at the incident casually but its sticks to my mind. I tell myself I don’t believe in such things. After all that’s how I have been always. I reach Chirag Delhi; the cab gets badly stuck in traffic. I get off in the jam itself and started juggling between the cars. Bang! I hit a car. Ya, I hit a car, the car didn’t hit me. Stupid the car was static it couldn’t move in the traffic. I hurt my leg a bit, not enough to stop and look at it. I can see my bus in the middle of the jam packed road. I know it won’t stop at the bus stop. In a matter of minutes the red light will turn green yet I remain rooted to my spot. I have already hurt my leg and I have a premonition something worse can happen. The voices of my parents telling me about the cat keep coming to my mind. I am paranoid. I simply cannot walk to the bus in the jam packed road.
Me who laughs and has no patience with people who can’t cross roads.

The light turns green. The bus leaves. Another one comes and leaves. I take an auto home.
All education, rationality, scientific progress goes boink! Why did I do it I still can’t answer myself? I don’t believe in superstitions. Then why? And what has it got to do with atheism?

Random Ramblings

Woke up at 8.15 am. Lingered some more. Pushed myself out of bed. Am so much in love with my bed. Freshened up. Ransacked the kitchen for something to eat.
Geyser? No such luck. Thankfully the immersion rod is working. Put it in a bucket of water, plastic bucket. Ignored the heap of dirty clothes lying in my room. Began cooking my lunch at break neck speed. Egg, rice and potatoes into the cooker, all in one go. Peeling, cutting, frying. Done! Dal chawal etc. Curse mom half heartedly for getting me addicted to proper food.
Water boiling, have my 7 mins dip in the Ganges aka my bath. Brainstorm if I have to at the same time. Today is not the day to look good, coz I have time either to eat good or look good. I chose the former. Will look good tomorrow. Still won’t wake up any earlier.
Utensils washed, all set. Rush to the recharge shop. Man the recharge guy is getting richer by the day. See bus no. 419 stop 50 yards ahead of me. Have the urge to run and catch it. Decide against it. Saunter to the bus stop as though I have all the time in the world. Wait for another 10 mins and panic oh lord why didn’t I run. Finally catch a bus and am off to office!

Welcome! Beinvenue! Nomoskar!

hello people...welcome to my blog! This is my first post and I am pretty excited. Hope you have a gr8 time.