Less

Let everytime drown in sometime
Work become amusement
Winter somewhat lost in spring
Nightmares like moments
Wars mere disagreements
Tears only sighs
Life, let it just get over
Come,
Let’s make
Every thing lesser

Cuckold I

Writing a review is a really funny thing, because it begins on the presumption that you know a book better than writer and therefore are in a position to judge it. Nevertheless, I too am making this presumption. The book is concern is Cuckold by Kiran Nagarkar.
Here’s an excerpt from the book’s intro.

“The time is early 16 century. The Rajput Kingdom of Mewar is at the height of its power. It is locked in war with the Sultanates of Delhi, Gujarat and Malwa. But there is another deadly battle being waged within Mewar itself. Who will inherit the throne after the death of the Maharana? The course of history, not just of Mewar but of the whole of India, is about to be changed forever. That is the bare plot-line. It is a singularly inadequate description of the scope and richness of the novel.
Nagarkar subtly plays with form and tradition and breaks new ground, enlarging our notions of fiction. He takes the sweep and breadth of the epic with its panoply of war, intrigue and action and introduces a deeply introspective and reflective note into it. He sets up the old triangle of man, woman and lover and pushes it to the edge to make it a love story like none other.
At the centre of Cuckold is the narrator, heir apparent of Mewar, who questions the codes, conventions and underlying assumptions of the feudal world of which he is a part, a world in which political and personal conduct are dictated by values of courage, valour and courtesy; and death is preferable to dishonour."

Nagarkar picks up the legend of Meera, and turns it into an analysis of a wide spectrum of complex characters, political upheaval, Rajput patriotism, Mughal ambitions and finally the huge ramifications it has on the course of a country’s history. The story told from the viewpoint of the cuckold breaks all conventions of the stereotypical hero. It allows us to explore the possibility of having a God, none other than the Flautist as a competitor.

Nagarkar takes the liberty of drawing a hero who is sensible, progressive despite facing unrequited love. Yet he too is a Maharaj Kumar, and his definition of love does not necessarily mean a monogamous affair. He has no qualms of have an incestuous relation with his Dai who breast fed him, and also seducing the woman who is under trial for adultery and he the presiding judge of the trial to boot.

Maharaj Kumar, despite his accurate intuitions failed to curb the power of his brother and secure the thrown for himself. One may also doubt the actual role played by him in the wars against Gujrat and Malwa. And yet Maharaj Kumar is no Othello, there are many redeemable qualities in his character. The fact that he shunned second marriage till the time it was possible for him, and even donned on the garbs of the Flautist to meet Meera on an equal footing are some of the endearing facets of his persona.
The story of Maharaj Kumar raises the question of many possibilities had he succeeded to the thrown after his father. Would he have successfully conquered Delhi from Babur? Would he be a cruel heartless murderer as the wars he fought against Gujrat suggest? Wondering these possibilities one may very often forget that the character of the Maharaj Kumar one knows, is actually nothing but a figment of the writer’s imagination.

To be continued…

Mad about Mukteshwar

Somerset, the place to sit and watch time walk by...

A quaint little hut by Somerset

Devotion lurking everywhere...even high atop hidden hills...

The Nest, right in the middle of the hills, no lights to guide you at night, no clear road to lead you there...utterly unbelievable

Oak trees playing with the sun...amazing forest to get lost

A lonely cloud afloat

Bird house, so reminiscent of farmville

Treetops meeting the morning eagerly, 2kms before Nainital

Lament

The place where we met
Under the shade of the trees
Is lonely today
The seat where we sat
Looking at the green
Is home now to someone else
The days which kept us company
Are long gone
The sun that shone on our head
Feels cheated
The bird which brought tidings of the day
Wander lost
Seasons sigh in remorse
Impatience reigns the path
The place where we met
Is lonely today
And still waits for us…

Dimensions

I remained in yesterday
You moved on
to a strange today

-x-

The curtains lived on the edges of the day
Silent and somber watching
As deadlines rushed in & went away

-x-

The cat dragged in something
Stinking, broken and bleeding
It was but yesterday’s dream

-x-

The splashes from a butterfly fell on my days
Golden were the ways
When I flew where I wanted to

-x-

There was struggle between the identities
Me was different everywhere
Twitter, fb, orkut, buzz all agreed at my strangeness

-x-

Hunger pangs attacking the tummy
Tummy punished
for all the secret obscenities
it contained

-x-

Pain is the most
random thing in the world.
It’s everywhere.

-x-

What was stress called
when people hadn’t coined that term?

-x-

The grammar of love is confusing
Even practice may not
make you perfect

-x-

One by one they leave me
no rhyme no reason
betraying hair on my head

-x-

Burden of holding up millions of
thoughts & counter thoughts
so long bow down my neck now

-x-

A writer needs to write
A doctor needs to practice
A lover only needs to dream

Mayajaal

Recently one my colleagues explained to me the profound philosophy of the Mayajaal of Appraisals… Appraisals are perhaps, by far the most mysterious and dreaded word in every professional’s life and this philosophy expounds the workings of the dreaded appraisal word….how THEY, the slave drivers of us slaves, have developed this philosophy…how THEY have successfully implemented it despite the best efforts of lesser mortals like us to rise above it.

This philosophy depends on a number of givens. First, those who have to leave will leave. They don’t care about whether they are leaving before appraisals or vice versa. They are driven by greater emotions to find greener pastures. This aggrieved lot usually believes that it is a grave injustice that they are stuck at such a place. Basically they feel they are much above the place and also that if they continue in the so not happening place the world might miss out on a legend. This lot also includes calculative criminals who nurse grudges and leave with a sadistic vengeance. Their triumph often consists only of the shattering slap on the faces of their detractors when they drop their resignation letter.

THEY, the makers of the philosophy also don’t worry about the lot who will not leave unless given the pink slip. This bag of loyal losers will stay put, crib, cry, mull, and even dream about the forthcoming appraisals. For them THEY create a Mayajaal of the forever coming up appraisals. Next month… next to next month… next Diwali… next year…next campaign… next promotion…next this…next that...next next…The anticipating losers happily or unhappily thus have many reasons to stick to their place. They don’t want to experiment, they don’t want to work hard (funnily enough they may anyways be working hard in the same god forsaken place). Some of them have even discovered a most innovative excuse for the prevailing scheme of things, namely – “too many changes reflect badly on your CVs.” The morons don’t realize with a mindset like theirs no one would anyways be interested in their CVs.

Stuck between the two lots of criminals and losers are the mixed bags. The poor souls who are neither here nor there, and are basically a confused lot who can’t tell black from white, right from wrong and often are the followers of the herd. In this Appraisal Mayajaal they are the lot who are struck worst as they can’t make up their mind where to look. And if and when they do break out of this confused territory they infringe the former territories.

THEY, the makers of the Mayajaal are not bothered with the first lot. THEY direct their energies in amusing the losers lot and also giving the confused mixed bags regular dosages of confusion. The Mayajaal continues to thrive. And if ever anyone falls out of the losers bracket to the any of the other two territories THEY don’t take tension because there is never any scarcity of new fools waiting to be recruited.

pure inebreation

Came across this piece one day...see if you like it...


Sitting here
thinking about you,
wondering if you're
thinking of me.
We've been down
this road before
and I know where
it ends.
Hypnotic dreams,
so sweet,
of you.
Only to wake up
to nothing more than
an unforgiving
blank wall.
Secrets shared in
silence,
deafens me.
Self sedation
brings me around,
to kill the
painful thoughts of
you.
The less you say,
the worse it gets.

....

Michael "Kemo" Bingoff

Agra for all

What can be said about a place which resides in poetry… which every Indian who can afford has visited at least once in life.

Fortunately for me this was the second time. When I left for Agra I wanted to leave some things behind; I wasn’t expecting much. The bus was not quite what I had expected. But the crowd was an odd mix - an Assamese family, a Belgian, a Korean, two Moslems, two unclassifiable could-be-any-bodies and Bahadur & me.

I realized yet again that looks are so deceptive. The person you believe is the most sensible of the lot often turns out to be the least. The Belgian who looked completely self-possessed chose to pile on with us without any rhyme or reason. And by the time she got our message the journey was over.



In the beginning the journey seemed to drag; our first stop was for breakfast at an over priced restaurant. Hogged on chicken cutlets and utterly unnecessary bread toasts. The bill was so much that it happened to be more than the lunch and the dinner bill. Couldn’t help myself from wrapping the leftover cutlet in a tissue paper and putting it quietly into my bag ;o) Good thing the place had a swing …made optimum use of the time I had in hand. And surprise of surprises no one came to say that the swing was meant for kids under 12.


It was almost 1 pm when we reached Agra…first stop was Agra Fort…2 kms of area open to visitors and only 35 mins to cover it. In spite of this I seemed to be the only person finding it a grave injustice. I tried to salvage whatever was possible in that short span of time that too with the Belgian tied to our tails...she needed translations of what the guide had told, every sentence we were talking in Hindi & every sentence we were talking in English, not once but at least thrice. To top it all she was paranoid the bus would leave us stranded.



Punctual that I am, I reached on the stipulated time but the rest of the lot didn’t seem as obliged. The Belgian was busy cracking jokes on ‘Indian standard time’ while I was lamenting the fact that I can’t differentiate between the diwan-e-aam & the diwan-e-khaas and also because I couldn’t spend more time there.

Next stop was for lunch. Some more commission into the dear driver & guide’s pocket. Food & bill both were fine this time. I won’t tell you anything about the amazingly clean loo. Lunch done the journey once again began in earnest. Our dear guide began an elaborate speech on the mini Taj Mahal, built by the UP Govt by the descendents of the aboriginal artisans of the Taj Mahal. He was also quick to add we shouldn’t shop on the roads as the stuff sold there is not made of authentic marble. After such a prologue our expectations were sadly mocked when we discovered the mini Taj Mahal was just another art & craft shop and not even a govt authorized one. So shocked were some of the visitors that they never realized they were being duped.

I and my Bahandur performed the infamous fuming walk out post which the dear guide & driver were perennially sour faced. Once outside we recovered our spirits by taking some pics. But here too the Belgian appeared.



At Taj Mahal we managed to give the Belgian a slip. Later on she said that Taj Mahal was quite an experience for her, better than the other wonders of the world. What a proud moment it was for me.

There too I got some real nice pics, beginning to think of myself as a budding photographer… (trying to humor myself). As Taj got dressed in the evening and the aroma of a distant “Budham Sharnam Bhikshamdi” wafted into our minds I rediscovered the charms of the evergreen song. There gazing at Yamuna and a flock of cranes we enjoyed few quite moments. For once the idealist in me prevailed and I declared this to be a great example of unity in diversity. In contradiction, Bahadur argued that this is actually propaganda.

After dozing for about an hour and half we reached Mathura. As is the case with every temple visit, I was in two minds whether to enter the temple or not. In the end purely with a tourist instinct that I might miss something I decided to enter the temple. There was nothing much to do or see inside except see devotees in different stages of madness. When we came outside the temple we found that Bahadur’s pretty white sandals were missing. We made a valiant attempt to buy a new pair but couldn’t find a shop. Finally when it came down to either sashaying on cow dung or stealing someone else’s pair Bahadur’s good sense prevailed. She chose a not so attractive pair of slippers…and we left the place thinking something about poetic justice ;)



On the way to Vrindavan a new guide cum pandit came on board complete with a Brahmin ka chotti. He was good orator and pretty convincing one too, won’t go into the details of his sermon. While he gave a lot of info about Lord Krishna and unlike the previous crude guide even at the end of his speech there was no reason to doubt his intentions.

He took us through various gullies to a shady temple…I m still researching to find out whether this was really the main temple. What we found there further reinforced our belief that tourism is in fact fast becoming organized crime. From the guide to the pujari at the temple everyone was busy emotionally blackmailing people. The guide solemnized “purify yourself with the tap water (which he claimed was from Yamuna) because you are coming directly from the Taj Mahal”. Yet another intolerant speech “Mughal Emperor Auranzeb’s pride was broken when a temple was built here”. Like it or not I sulked through the entire episode with folded hands while all the while my mind was screaming hypocrite! hypocrite! Who was I trying to please? Even mom wasn’t around :D

The pujaris, “pay Rs 1000 and your parents will become immortal” was the last straw. What my inconsistant beliefs couldn’t do the threat to my precious money did…lol.. There was a second walk out, this time from the temple. I cursed myself for being part of this hypocritical mono-act. I really envied the two Moslem guys and the Belgian who decided to stay back in the bus.

Outside I had a glass of rabri garnished with pure ghee outside our bus. The bus finally reached Delhi around 2 in the morn…the next day despite everything I was very happy. :D I am so confused. Must have been the Taj …

Moderately Insane

Was I a poet then that I believed you
Or am I mad now to doubt

-x-

Whole day the money plant sat talking
To the window panes
The sun smiled on
And when night came
The exhausted stars too did their bit
Until the money plant dozed off

-x-

You brought me a little heart
Crooked n crumpled
And I a fool
Kept it under my pillow
Not knowing it will
Steal all my peace

-x-

The dirt from your eyes
Spills on my plans
And kills your bloody chances

-x-

Rub me rub me the wrong way
How I dare you
Do so…

-x-

The tar is set to conquer memories
The sweeter the worse
To remember
Save! Call in the fireman
Record! I want to play them again

Time replied it’s ok to keep some
And to let go off some
But what if the good is gone
And the bad remains?

-x-

Scavenger, scavenger
Don’t distribute my pieces
Don’t tell my stories

-x-

Restart the brain
Re-pen the thoughts
They have slept for long

-x-

Keep your eyes open
Don’t wink don’t breathe
The mosquitoes might attack

Another way to begin

I was always partial to low key New Year celebrations…ones that had family dinner snugly tucked in, bonfire, friends and relatives wishing you and the ever bankable idiot box for entertainment. But this year, I tried something different. I rang in the New Year from Mussoorie. I actually started the journey bang at midnight…explored Mussoorie throughout 1st of Jan and moved on to Dhanolti the day after…

Here are some memories that have spilled all across my thoughts…something I saw…enjoy them and wish you a very happy new year.

we are tall

living on the edge

girl on the rocky hill

mother and daughter

point of view

retro lover on mall road

Some Words

Litter…
Litter everywhere
You have trampled
all that I gave thee
Moments, memories,
hopes let to the wind
Crushed under your indifference
And strewn asunder gifts of love
Now they lie hurt
With their eyes on the doorstep
In the long lost memory lane

-x-

I am the end
I am the means
I live through my dreams
I play to the extreme
The conversations we share
Are nothing, nowhere
I am their creator
In form and fiction
You speak what I dream
I hear what I want to

-x-

Tepid…Tepid…
Is your love rascal
Tepid…Tepid
Young fool
Innocent of dark
Depths of the heart
And love games of the mind
Tepid…tepid
Your embrace
Half heart
Half feelings
Tepid…Tepid

-x-

Blur…
…Fog
Wipe.
Love…
…Delusion
Cynicism.

-x-

The morning hummed
On a sunny Monday
And yesterday when I slept
He left his music by my pillow
Two drops of salty tears
And many little stories on my sleepy smile…
sigh…
Vikram Seth is a magician

-x-

Life is like an ashtray
Where you drop your dreams,
And very often the one’s of the others too

-x-

Nothing

I am here,
And yet I am not.
I have covered my frozen consciousness with a white sheath,
And let go off time’s strange grasp.
I have donned the garbs of a traveler,
And gone beyond.
I have seen the yonder skies.
I have seen the rain denied.
I have felt all that I never dreamt about.
I have drowned in despair.
I have emerged mellower, perhaps stronger.
I have enjoyed much blazing sun.
I have smiled at the icy winds.
I have risen above strange words called…
Desire, ambition, love and friendship.
I don’t feel the need to be,
Nor do I feel the need to not be.
I bask in my emptiness,
And all that I once found drab and boring
I rejoice in their glory.
All that is superficial and shallow,
In flip side is not so.
All that I mean to say,
Tomorrow may not be the same.
So I have gone away…
To nothingness.
Nothingness I embrace you!

Yet again...

I have got an extraordinary capacity to forget, misplace, lose or do something wrong with things. While my friends have conferred me with celebrity status in this aspect, I am not quite kicked about it. Sometimes it makes me feel why me?... Makes me feel so frustrated that I feel I should list down my stupidities and invite people to tell me their stories which are equally stupid or worse than mine…

Let me begin with the latest one… Smart that I am I ignored half a dozen HDFC ATM’s around my office of which I have a debit card and chose to withdraw money from an AXIS bank ATM. This despite the fact that my colleague had just conveyed me of her inhibitions in using her ATM card at another bank, because her father had recently lost his ATM card to some moron ATM machine of some other bank. I not only refused to listen to her sound advice but also bragged that I always withdrew my money from whichever ATM was convenient, be it of HDFC or any other bank. Now it so happened that the ATM machine which we went to, had the good sense of refusing my card for the first couple of times when I tried to forcibly feed it my card. But persistent that I am I invited my own doom, and tried to insert the card by twisting and turning the card at various angles.

Finally, seeing my single-minded dedication the moron swallowed my card, only to flash a moment later “Sorry link with satellite broken…” the screen continued like this for 10 minutes and finally when it went back to normal the only thing it had to say was “welcome to axis bank”…it is pointless to say here that my card had been very conveniently digested.

(I will do another write up on what happened post this and how caring the customer care personnel are)

Let me tell you there many more such bank related incidents which I have had. I have had the good fortune of forgetting my ATM pin on one other occasion, and having used the wrong pin doggedly for more than three times got my ATM card blocked for good. On yet another incident, after withdrawing the money and being super excited to spend it I forgot my ATM card inside the ATM machine. But that is not the catch I went ahead and did my shopping without even realizing I had forgotten my card inside the machine. It was only while I was returning I happened to cross the same ATM and the good old guard returned me the ATM card.

If you are not yet thoroughly disgusted let me tell you of the another filmy instance when I thought I lost my pan card. That day too I was on a shopping spree, lost in my own world. Suddenly, I realized my wallet had disappeared, along with it my debit card and room keys. After much cribbing I went to the police station to write a report. A month later, I realized my pan card was nowhere to be found. I ransacked my whole room, delayed a number of other urgent processes which required a pan card. My roommate suspected that I must have lost it with my wallet, and suddenly I found it quite a plausible reason. I cribbed again and went to the police station again, paid money and got a duplicate pan card made basically doing the same thing twice. But the story doesn’t end here. In utter disdain and mockery of all my efforts, my original and so called lost pan card resurfaced in an unseen corner of my suitcase just a few days after I got my duplicate pan card made.…and the current status is that the duplicate pan card on which I had spent extra money is missing.

Let’s move on to other stupid anecdotes. Every morning when I half-wake-up, (‘half-wake-up’ because I do everything before reaching office wordlessly as though I am sleep walking) I either make breakfast or lunch or nothing…err that sounded unnecessary. Anyways, the food / dabba we get at office is awful. So, sometimes I take the pains to prepare lunch on my own. On one such fateful day, when I had good home cooked food lying right on my desk, I conveniently and absolutely chose to forget all about it. I went ahead ordering my dabba as I did on all other days when I didn’t get lunch from home. At lunch time, I obviously had surplus food on which my friends happily feasted on…

This is the last story I am going to tell you…While on the road whenever I have to attend a call I forget to keep back my cell. Once I continued to walk almost 200 yards with my cell phone pressed to my ears even though I had ended the call long ago. Much to my embarrassment I realized every one was staring at me as I looked like a dumbo…

Now, the turn is yours…

Life sans ambition

How important is it to have an ambition? Why kids are asked again and again what their ambition is?

I never believed in ambitions. My fierce lack of ambitions surprised people, sometimes even me. The only ambition I ever had was to become an engineer like my father, simply because my sister also said the same thing. As I grew up I was less and less convinced of it myself and finally by the time I opted for arts I was convinced I was not cut out for it at all.

I entered advertising like a lot of other people, people who didn’t know what to do with there lives. I don’t see myself becoming a Prasoon Joshi or an Amitav Ghosh. I am not sure I want to either. The truth is I am too lazy to do anything, too bored and sometimes… I confess, the thought scares me…But mostly I am least bothered about it.

Then one day someone asked me, “What do you expect from yourself? Don’t you have any expectations from yourself?” I didn’t think twice before answering “

Later when I thought about it I realized there was much truth in it. My expectations more or less and even my moods depended on what others would or would not do.

Perhaps it was during those moments of self-realization I remembered the lines from one of my most favourite movie- ‘The Revolutionary Road…
“I want to feel things…. How’s that for an ambition?”

This is how I want to live my life…I want to see things, experience things. And yes I don’t really need an ambition, ‘an ambition in the strict sense of the word’. Now that I have made this crucial discovery I find myself at complete peace. I don’t think I will need to dependant on anyone ever.

I feel liberated. I feel excited for the life ahead… I think I have finally discovered myself…

A la Gifts

Yours truly has been shopping like mad, recession all but forgotten. With the two of my closest friends birthday’s just round the corner I have bought loads of gifts. I have also discovered there are places beyond the tried and tested places like Archies and Hallmark. Anyone in a similar mood or just in the mood to spend must visit some uber-cool places I am going to talk about “seen it done it”. Also those who want their gifts to be creative but haven’t got the time to make it themselves must check out the following cool places---
Happily Married – www.happilyunmarried.com
Play Clan --- www.theplayclan.com
Pylones@Taabir ----couldn’t find the website

Packed with lots of interesting goodies these places are a relief for gift hunters.
Some of my personal favourites are listed below:

Cool Radio: Spotted a funky multi-coloured done to death yet cute polka dotted Radio with a little antennae. Also available lamp shades in similar shades. Perfect for those who love bright colours. Downside found it little expensive.

Nariyal Box: Made of a real Nariyal shell complete with a zip in between. It’s crazy and fun. You can gift chocolates in it.

Cushions: With vibrant illustrated maps of Delhi, Mumbai, etc. it’s super sexy…Also available cushions with funky illustrations of desi cars, buses, mobikes and more…

Notebooks: In nice thick paper with nice illustrations…Hand made? May be, maybe not.

P.S.: Sorry if the piece sounds like an Ad…can’t help it anymore…Wasn’t paid for it though ;)

Shorts

I tried telling myself it’s over
Smiled that happy smile
Which said, “Shut up liar”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

I felt it coming
Running hot through my veins
…inspiration

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deep inside the crevices
Must be their filthy mind
On second thoughts it isn’t filthy
Lol coz’ it isn’t dere

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think a hellva lot
And then think why do I think hellva lot??
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I fail to find the music in life
Live in semi-deaf madness
And there you sit in a corner doing nothing about it
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Life set in a shoe box
A nano hole to through which to see & regret
what could have been
Stiff suffocation for a roommate
Dwarfed hopes and malnourished emtions

Hours & days to live minus life

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

U said ‘no’
And bled to death
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sprinkled the seeds of little madness
It grew up into a full blown tree
And ate me up one day
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and I went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
I fell down and broke my crown
You felt sad
Went little mad, when you saw me dead
Sometime later people said
You found some water
And lived happily ever after
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
You walked on unsteady feet
Wobble bobble
Damned love, stand confident!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
I beat you like mad
And said, “Will you love me now forever?”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The signboard said,
“Don’t disturb”
And still you came barging in
With your awful heart
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
You kissed me dead
Threw me in the ravines
A crow came and ate my love
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Volatile winds beat my mind
Bring the fire extinguisher
Less I scorch your face
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Running running
Between tyres and papers
Squeezed in a little happiness
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
We both sat
on the crocodile bench
…fighting
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You bought me a Barbie
And called me baby baby
I banged it on your head
And said screw you
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I protested write poems to me
Sure he gave a reaction
His ‘have you lost it’ look
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I said,
“Psycho it’s my turn to be depressed”
He laughed his silvery gurgle “Ya right”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s turning yellow
Stale and diseased
From the soft blush of the morning sky
To the rosy insides of hope
To the hues of tipsy red passion

Finally,
Poor ol’ love is turning stale yellow
It’s time, to press the refresh button

Wall murals at Shilpgram

The Tiger

View from City Palace

City Palace at Dusk