Midnite Revelations.

My name is Tarbej.

2011-04-18T23:35:00.000-07:00

My name is Tarbej. It’s obvious that I’m a Muslim. My name says so. I was killed by police.

Come on, look beyond the stereotypes. Every Muslim killed by cops isn’t a terrorist or a gangster. Get over this. Well, this could be quite unbelievable for some of you, but it’s true. I was killed by cops, randomly.

Actually, not so randomly. I live in Naate near Jaitapur. Or should I say, I lived in Naate near Jaitapur. It was a normal life, as it is in every hamlet along the western coast of India.

Fishing, cannot be exactly called my passion, but I had started liking it with time. The way every professional starts liking his job with time. That was the only thing I was trained to do since childhood. And it was the only thing I could do. Catching fish, selling them, trying to get the best deal for the catch of the day, returning home, have a little quarrel with the family, eat, sleep used to be some salient features of my everyday life.

Till the day government of India, in association with government of France (a country about which I knew only through newspapers and geography textbook) and a big company (Big is the only adjective I can use for that company) decided to put up a Nuclear Power Plant in our locality.
They came and told us it was a good thing. Necessary for India’s progress. India’s progress, our progress. We had no problems with it. They started by taking our lands. Then they came up with a plan to clear our villages. They said it was necessary for the progress of our country. No, they didn’t promise us a daily bread through this plant. But they didn’t fail to mention that it could probably have a not-so-good effect on our occupation - fishing. But then, again, progress of the nation is a big deal. The plant would generate more energy to meet the growing electric demand of the country. Well, that sounded promising. Progress was what they were talking about. But we had a question to ask.

What about our future? Where would we go? What would we earn. How would we look after our families? Where would the fishermen go? And the farmers? And the little shopkeepers in our villages? And the saplings we planted? And the trees that our ancestors had left behind for us? Sorry! Those were too many questions to ask. But then, we did need answers to them too. So we raised our hand to ask them.

They said, you might get a crore in return of your lost home, land and livelihood. We still had questions. People with more questions joined us. They asked about radiations or something like that. Whatsoever it was, we were informed that it was dangerous. We didn’t want that shit too. We also realized that government of India was about to make billions, or perhaps trillions of Euros (that’s the currency of Europe, right?) out of this plant. And that the electricity wouldn’t come for free. So we didn’t take that crore for a compromise. We just stood there with more questions. Then more came. With not answers, but assurances. And then more poured in, with promises.

Finally, a few came with a determination. But none of them answered our questions. They just spoke on microphones, blared their voices through speakers our plainly shouted out aloud to us.
So we still held on. Standing firmly with questions on our minds and placards in our hands. And they brought in the cops.

They placed cops everywhere. They turned corners into barracks. Crossroads into chowkis and roads into march-tracks and told the world all was fine. Or ‘Aal izz well’ as they put it these days. And world believed it.

Some of us lost their calm, and were beaten to shit. Dragged into police vans and dumped into lock-ups. A price to pay for asking questions. By this time, some more had come in. Some to support us because they felt our questions truly needed answers. And some, because they thought our questions were beneficial to them in their chair war. In any case, we were a crowd now!
Then Japan happened. And we had new reasons to be afraid of. We couldn’t stand still. We moved. And a movement began.

Police were nice to us. They ran over one of us who had come back from Dubai to protect his belongings. They just ran over him. A police car, filled with policemen crushed his under its tyres. Crushing his bones and turning his chest into a soggy mass of ground flesh and bones. Traces of lungs to add to it. Of course he died. And we knew where all of this would lead us to. Probably that pulp. It would be the only traces left of us. To be pecked upon by crows and chewed by hungry dogs.

This time we asked the question more sternly. Police charged upon us with their lathis. We returned the favour with stones. They released tear gas, we tried to turn their barracks inside our houses into ashes. No! It wasn’t a war. It was just a reaction. An enraged one. Don’t tell us that we should’ve maintained our patience. You too would react the same way if someone was about to wipe out every trace of your existence.

Police thought we would kill them. So they came up with a magnificent idea of shooting rubber pellets at us. But we didn’t think it was worth stopping. It was our home after all. Then, they received orders to fire in the air to control the mob. They raised their guns to point at the sky. Or did they just pretend to do that? Because a bullet hit me.

It’s a different feeling I tell you. First you feel as if a stone has hit you. Then you see blood oozing out. And then you feel a blast of pain inside you. You know it’s in there. Stuck in some place inside your body. A little movement spreads waves of pain through your body. And you can’t move. You just lie still. Slowly, you start feeling numb. The voices around you seem to come out filtered from a tank of water. When I used to swim in the sea as a fisherman’s son, I used to hear my father’s words from the boat in the same way. Muffed and clear. I don’t know why we fought later. But we fought a lot. But he taught me to catch fish. Best catch. They don’t want me to catch fish. They want me to live. They want to generate electricity. They want progress. We don’t oppose progress. But, don’t destroy our lives for it. Rehabilitate us. But don’t treat us as if we were never there. What progress is this, whose price we have to pay with our subsistence?

What has hit me? Is it a radiation? Do radiations hurt so much? Who is coming? Police? More of them? My fellow villagers? Some activists? Politicians? Who is it? Who is coming to pick me up? Will they save me? Who will save me? Or will they let me die. Will they trade my corpse for trillions? Am I their best catch? Will they trade my dead self in the fish market? Will they pay that money to my family? Or will they take it and hide it in their inner pockets. What must be my family doing at home now? Is it lunch time? Will they be having their lunch? Fish again it must be. It’s a fisherman’s family after all. Am I smiling?

And then I couldn’t breathe. I felt choked in the throat. I thought I was pukish. So I tried puking. I puked blood. Pure blood. I felt it trickle down through my nose. I tried keeping my eyes open. But a darkness had begun to gather in.

The same darkness will gather in the lives of many villagers who will soon lose to the government. Or might end their life asking for answers.

My name is Tarbej. It’s obvious that I’m a Muslim. My name says so. I was killed by police.
Ironically, a political party which was always against my kin, has now declared me a hero. Who always looked at us as enemy’s brothers and wanted us to go to Pakistan, are now hoisting my death as a martyrdom that wouldn’t go unnoticed and unpaid for. Villagers have started burning down all Police establishments. And my family has refused to take custody of my ‘dead body’ till action is taken over the people who sent that bullet towards me. In a way, I have ended up being a hero. A meaningless hero.

See, I told you. Not every Muslim killed by cops is a terrorist or a gangster.

Note: Tarbej was shot dead by police for protesting against Jaitapur Nuclear Power Plant on April 19th, 2011. May peace be upon his soul.

The Dark Cloud

2010-06-21T11:53:00.000-07:00

The city burns

In huge flames

Its smoke rises

And touches the sky

People, houses, shops

Everything burns

Turns into a dark cloud

The dark cloud which grips the blue sky

And melts into a rain

Washing down

The rivers of blood

Clotted on the weathered tar

Of the lane

beside my house

Floating

2010-02-23T22:05:00.000-08:00

We float
In this darkness
Of glittering stars
Holding hands
Ringa ringa
Round and round
Slow luminary motion
In the void

Our words
Echo in our ears
Soaking the space
In their moist
We hold on tighter
And sounds of assurance
Foster our orbit

We sop up the darkness
Within our eyelids
The hold of warmth
Keeps us wedged
To the being
Of the other

We hold on tight
As we let peace
Seep within our body
We lose our nous
We need to sleep

The Dance

2010-02-22T01:19:00.000-08:00

Celestial white figures
Swirl ceaselessly
In cadenced circles
One after another…

Slow and graceful
The feet turn…
Lifting the splendour
On slender toes
Away from earth…

Winds chase the fingers
To touch their delicate tips
Winding themselves clueless
Around the lean curves

The robes whirl in frenzy
Tossing their loose ends
Into a centrifuge
Emitting radiance

I am a stone
In the centre of a running road
Spellbound into a crystal
Dazzled by your light

Mesmerized I watch…
Their glowing figures
In the pristine dance…
On the roof top

I close my eyes
Absorbing my vision
A prolonged wink
And the podium fades away

Molten

2010-02-20T01:44:00.000-08:00

She plunges her hand
Into the depths of her bag
Churning a turmoil
Within its belly

She pulls out her hand
With a molten Cadbury
Dairy Milk
The love

A look at it
Soaked in guilt
She drops it back
With a stray tear

Stubborn strains
Of the molten sweet
Stain her fingers
Bonbon brown

A messed hand
And a puzzle her
Both await answers
In stupor

“It was for us”
She apologises
I say in her ear
“We’ll eat your fingers!”

The Shirt

2010-02-18T21:40:00.000-08:00

It's hard
for me...
to wash
this shirt
Whose shoulder
was drenched...
In your blazing tears...

The Grip

2010-02-17T23:16:00.000-08:00

I stare at the darkness
A cove of trees
A gate wide open
Faint light in the chowkidaar’s cabin
His tobacco splattered song
The rusted gate awaits its closure

The dark gets darker
I keep on staring
Worlds around
Loose themself
To the darkness filling in
Resting on its chest
Wound in its embrace

I stare at the cove
Footsteps emit from its core
Dark and slender
Tracing a path
That halts beside me

A light grip
Sides down my neck
Rests on my chest softly
Darkness gathers in...

Tune of Apocalypse

2010-02-15T21:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I remember
As I ride the crowded road
The hands which made way
through my aching arms
gripping my shoulders
grabbing my heart
shaping a chin
from my amorphous face
A stream of warm words
on a winter cold ear
"Sing me a song...
And fly along"
I begin with a tune
And an apocalypse
rubs from the right...

Memorial

2008-08-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

Nix had come to Mumbai after a long time. A year maybe. Yeah..a year for sure. From the moment he met me, all he wanted to see was Marine Drive. I had taken him to the bay last time. The sight had obsessed him. The expanse of water. The road besides it. The buildings lined up next to it. And its final merger into a beach. I had seen his face then. It was an affair shaping up. Love, lust and Fixation. No. There was no reverie. It was just a look. Look enough to involve in a passionate addiction. Nix turned his eyes. Talked to me. We drank. We dined. And we parted our ways for the day. Along every movement that passed after Nix’s confrontation with the Marine Drive, reflected serious involvement. A sensuous dedication to the new found partner.

Disorientation is a sign of a desire filled heart. And Nix was disoriented. He spilled beer. Dropped a Manchurian ball. Spat out the entire Paan whilst spitting the tobacco laden saliva. He was disoriented. He was in love. He was more than that. He was erotically besotted by the Marine Drive.

Shahrukh Khan once came following Gauri to Mumbai. And as he and his friend stood upon Marine Drive facing the sea, the boy said…”One day I am going to rule the city”.

Dr. Mirashi and his Son were travelling in train. The train crossed a large filthy rear of a building after Grant Road station and suddenly the child was awestruck. His eyes grew large. He looked at his father. His father was absorbed in the view from the train window. The child wanted to go running to it. And be turned into a stone. The sea came to him. Surrounded him. Enveloped him and dipped him in itself. It filled his eyes. His nose, his mouth and his mind. He was the sea.
The train halted at the next railway station. It had a name. Marine Drive. The child looked at his father again.

“Baba….Can we get down here?” The child asked in the mesmerism of a possessed.

The sight is such. And it has always been so.

From the moment Nix alighted from the train, all he wanted to do was….”Marine Drive”.
I took him to the bay. We stood on the bridge connecting Marine Lines railway station and the Marine Drive. I saw the face of a lover seeing his long lost love again. He had spread his arms. I wasn’t able to see it. But I am sure he had. And the sea had come into his embrace. Wrapped him up in her arms. And kissed him with her thousand lips. Wet, warm and poignant. They had met each other. This was a moment of their union. Their dissolution. Their merger into each other.
“Beautiful…..isn’t it??”
“Yes”, said I.

He kept looking at it.

Then I broke the news to him. She was pregnant. She was conceiving a deputy chief minister’s dream in her. A seed forcibly sown into her womb. I spoke it out without caring for him.
“This is all going to be destroyed”, I said.
“What???!!”
“Yes….they are building a statue here…..amidst the sea…right at the center of the bay……”
He was listening. I didn’t look at his face. I just kept on talking.
“Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj……like statue of liberty”, I didn’t speak further.

I turned to him. I could see his face.

Below the bridge we were standing upon, once a policeman raped a girl in the Police Chowky that was erected there for protecting people. The girl was with her boyfriend. He was kept standing outside the Chowky as the policeman raped her. When he heard her screaming, he looked into the Chowky desperately to see what was happening. And he saw her being raped by the policeman. His face for that moment had distorted in a way looking at the sight of his love lying helplessly below a grotesque police figure. Crying for help. He later gathered people and rescued her. But there was that moment when he felt the eeriest emotion that a human could ever feel in his span of existence. Before his heroic, for that moment his face had reflected it clearly, without any gesticulation of the valor he was about the show the next moment. There was a face.

I was looking at Nix’s face. There was a face.

“Why”, he asked.

I did'nt have any answer.

The fate of the sight is such. The rape of a love was witnessed there. By one, two, many. And now on…..many more will witness it. Till they die. Every moment. During the rape. After the rape. The rape will always exist. And the lovers will look at it. And………..There will be faces.

(Epilogue- Read it if you want.)

No doubt I respect Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. No two ways about it. And it’s a voluntary one. Not installed for any benefit.

He was a king who had raised a voice. Or in fact voices. He was the Che Guevara of then Maharashtra. He was a revolutionary who fought with an atrocious ruler. Freed the oppressed from a dictator. Or even worse. Established an empire of the oppressed. And protected it. We can’t forget him. Never for ages. Like we won’t forget any great soul who freed the oppressed. And we do need a memorial for him. To keep him alive for the generations to come.

But then….as a devotee of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, I just want to know that why can’t we concentrate on keeping his actual memories alive.

Maharaj conquered and built forts all around Maharashtra and areas aligning his kingdom. Each of these tells a living story of Maharaj and his valor. The living evidences of him and his deeds. They have stories to tell. Of courage and bravery. Of each laid general. Of each sacrifice. Of every drop of blood spilled. Of every war cry raised. Of every war fought. And of every flag of freedom hoisted after defeating a brutal and cunning enemy.

On rainy night Maharaj had taken the decision to build a fort in the sea to keep a check on the Portuguese activity on the coast. He built Sindhudurg – the first naval fort in India.

On one stormy night after around three hundred and fifty years, one of the strong walls of this fort collapsed. The news broke out in local newspapers and tabloids. The walls aren’t that strong anymore they said. Some even went to the extent of saying that the entire fort may collapse in some years. The legend may not exist for the later generations to witness.

That is it. The affair ended therein. It has been five years to this incidence now. The crater keeps growing each year losing more of the stone bricks with time. It still manages to keep alive the memory of Maharaj. Maybe in some more years….it won’t.

The Sinhagad for which Maharaj lost one of his strongest men, Tanaji Malusure, has ponds flooded with filth and garbage. Mostly plastic remnants of the touring lot.

Such testimonies of Maharaj’s living history are no longer just the monuments of his gallantry and foresight. They’ve turned into the indicators of the governments’ heedlessness. They reflect how much the government cares about Maharaj and his memories. About keeping him alive in the form of his accomplishments.

The budget for the Maharaj’s statue is said to be around some four thousand crores. (I only heard what is being said). The cost of repairing all the forts will surely be lesser than that.
But a statue will always look nice. Whatever be the circumstances. Economic. Scenic. Environmental. Occupational.

A statue will always look nice.

Sex....or no sex

2008-04-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

What do u vote for??..Sex or no sex????

If Shakespeare would've been around...He would've immediately penned (or feathered??) down these lines in his next masterpiece...

"Sex....or no sex...that is the question"

But why is it a question??

And why does the indecision loom over?

Above everybody’s head hangs a question mark….Sex….or no sex…

Days before it was only those who understood it…

But now the question has expanded its audience. It has enrolled new members in it’s botheration list. And these new members are the school kids of Maharashtra.

The education minister came out with a brilliant idea of introducing sex education in schools. Or awareness may we call it? And not as a voluntary session or two in a semester.. but as a part of the syllabus. Compulsory sex education. With books maybe and proper lessons.

And guess what???....There was an opposition…from the opposition itself. And fundamentalists….and parents…and liberals….and left…right…center…and all other sides that politics include….with a uniform slogan…

Say NO to sex education!!!!...a clear NO….Refusal!!

NO…we don’t want our kids to know what sex is…

Why???

Because…

Sex is a taboo
Sex is sin
Sex is anti social
Sex is anti cultural
Sex is a curse
Sex is an act of crime
Sex is a dirty
Sex is this…
Sex is that…
Sex is whatever….
And…

Sex is bad!!!

Bad!!!....

So…forget being taught of….it shouldn’t be even mentioned….to such an extent that even the three alphabets S E and X should not coagulate

And before children…..never!!!!
How fair is it???

What are we trying to do exactly????

Shielding our kids from it???...and what for???

It has been generations…and kids have been knowing what sex is right from their school days. From one source or the other. Second or third hand information. Sometimes near accuracy and sometimes an amusing deformation of the fact. But they do learn it.

And the audacious lot…perform it too. But in sheer laxity. Safe at times and at times unsafe…unaware of the consequences.

Consequences…the socially detested ones.

Who enlightens them about it??....upon this dark path.???....again their reliable sources…whose reliability again isn’t that reliable in actuality. Or a proper medium of instruction.

Thanks to internet…the accessible gain their chunk of knowledge…But what about those inaccessible.

A newspaper feature once revealed that teenagers in slums used polythene bags to contain their fluids during an intercourse. Not all of them…but some must surely be having schools to attend. What is the problem if they know that even a ‘condom’ can be used in the act.

What is the society so scared of??? Of having a valueless generation??? Of having non-virgins in each home???

Is that what scares us???

The problem is we have tied up ourselves in the bondages of our culture. Culture which we have defined in our own terms and have woven our lives into it. We consider sex as a taboo. Indifferent of religion, caste or creed…we all come crashing to a conclusion that sex is a sin. An act of indecency. And clinging to this belief we live our lives…..Enjoying it. Discussing it sleazily with friends. Cracking jokes upon it. Going to brothels. Dreaming of it all the time. Longing for it. Staring at the other gender. Passing lewd comments. Giving them personal names on their physical attributes. Molesting them. At times going to the extent of raping them. Or even gang raping them. Or even declaring them witches and then raping and then parading them naked around the village. That is what our culture is, which we are so scared to corrupt?? I bet it is worth of all that effort.

Why do we forget that we belong to a land upon which Vatsyayana walked. The creator of Kaam Sutra. The land of Khajuraho. Temples wit walls of mating. The soil of Kalidasa. Whose writing had accepted the intimacy of beings. Have they been forgotten. Or have they been ideally excluded for creating a new draft of culture. Culture of sanctity without the henious touch of sex.

How long are we going to run away from it?? How long will we try to avoid it. As if it is avoidable. When are we going to open our eyes and look at it liberally. When are we going to treat it as an instinct rather than an illicit urge. An instinct like fear or hunger. Or affection. When are we going to stop looking down upon it and accept it as a natural phenomenon. When are we going to grant it a social status???

Or are we going to despise it eternally???

Demeaning it???

The fact is school is too late to educate kids about sex. It has to be earlier. Maybe in the primary years. Like we teach them about other instincts. Like we teach them about religion. Like we teach them the social divisions. Like we teach them hatred. We can always teach them that sex is not a sin. Its just a natural process of reproduction. Without any predomination but like an education. So that they too don’t look at it like a taboo. So that they don’t have an illicit attraction towards it. Like digestion and excretion….let there be reproduction….and not SEX

And as far as politicians are considered…..I would request them to not take any moral stands. Not at least about SEX.

The Khichdi

2008-02-19T08:08:00.000-08:00

"I am making a Khichdi
with lentils."
She says.

I don't like them much
but i dont say a thing.

Her swift cuts
chop the onion
into pieces
and a few silent tears
roll down her cheeks
onion just seems
like a reason

Tomato is shredded
chillies are sliced
poatato too
gives in....
to the blade...
in her hand
maybe he knows
that she'd...
mourn for him
later...

Rice is transferred
to the steel trough
then washed under the tap
like a kid....
returned from...
a mischievious trail
rinsed...ruffled
like son's
front locks

The trough clinging
to her fingers
beseats itself
in
the cooker's hollow.

Then go in
all the spices
tasetless
they are
till her fingers
hold them.....
sprinkled
the way
clouds wet
the lands
barren and tired
with rains....

The Salt follows
with a contentment
after having waited long
for her to pick up
a pinch
out of him.

And then
on her command
jump into
the cavity
the pieces of
potato, tomato
and onion
like obidient soldiers
of a loving general.

A spatula churns them
ready to go
to any depths
for her.

The cooker is closed
and a whistle is placed
on it's outlet
with a gentle pat
on the lid...
warning it
to behave itself
when she
won't be around....
till he blows
a whistle for her
to know what
has cooked inside
his heart.

The hands are washed
plates arranged
with glasses and bowls
to surround them

Cooker blows out
a loud whistle
steam all around
like an outburst.

She comes to him
to console...
and lets him vent
it all out

her personal little
servant holder
pulls out the trough
off the cooker......
like a tumor from
a painful enclosure.

The contents are mixed
religiously
and served
like an offering
to a god....

Till then I just keep
looking at her
following her.
Amazed. Bedazzled....
Bewitched. Mersmerised.
Hypnosis......
The Science
has a name for it.

"Eat...what are you waiting for?"

I consume
the first morsel...

I give up
my disliking
for the lentils
then on...

Before we hit a Bhaiyya...

2008-02-18T08:04:00.000-08:00

Yes I am a Maharashtrian. Pure Maharshtrian. Born to Pure Maharashtrian family. Not even a minor diversion from the course of our ancestral heirarchy. Generations spent in a small hamlet in Maharashtra. The core of it. Grandad came to Mumbai. Settled here. Served the 'Gora Saahab'. Mumbai then belonged to 'Gora Saahab'.

My Baba then came to Mumbai. He had completed his scholing in the same hamlet while his father slogged in the city. He completed his education and established himself in the city. The city then was a part of Gujrat. It belonged to Gujrathis.

I was born and brought up here. When I first began to develop a sense of understanding, Mumbai was a part of Maharashtra. People had fought for it's separation from Gujrat. It belonged to Maharashtrians. To me. Since I was one.

My close friends father came to Mumbai from Uttar Pradesh. He made his fortune here. My friend was born and brought up here. Just like me. But he isn't a Maharashtrian. One question arises now. Does Mumbai belong to him?

According to political theories of past few years, Only Maharashtrians have the right to reside in Mumbai. Which later underwent some alterations as those living here before 1995 had complete right to continue with their stay. The year 1995 of criteria was later scheduled to extend beyond 1998 and so on.

And now once again, the question has raised itself like a cobra rising out of a snake charmers cane case. And the charmer this time isn't one but two. And each of them have reised their voices against each other. Resonating through voices of many others. Those who are charmed equally by the flutes of these charmers.

Will or should Bhaiyyas stay in Mumbai? Bhaiyyas, Uttar Bhartiyas or Uttar Pradeshi and Bihari Bhai-Baandhav or whomsoever. Do they have the right to exist in this city at all?

Question is hoisted at the point of 'lathi's. And counter question at the point of 'sword's. Who will stay? Who will go?......before that.......my personal question...Who decides this?

Who decides who is stay in this city and who is not? Who decides who is a son of soil and who is an intruder? Who decides who is a 'Bhoomiputra' and who is a 'Parapraantiya'?

I once read in my eighth standard civics textbook. Indians have a fundamental right to settle in any part of the country. Now I think...maybe it was a 'BIG' printing mistake. Do we really have the right? Or do we follow the instructions of local politicians, struggling leaders and presidents of upcoming parties?

One man stands up and blurts a statement. And masses goes on a rampage.

"We won't tolerate North Indians in Mumbai". And people appear on streets actually displaying their intolerance. They hit every North Indian or 'Bhaiyya' as we know them. May it be a small taxi-driver. Or a bhel-puri wala. Those unreachable like Mr. Bacchan were verbally atacked. (Mind it...I don't respect the old man and his family...but for their Bollywood mafiosi and not for being Uttar Bhartiya). Shops were ransacked, owners were bashed, every possible way to threaten their existence in the city was tried. And to say....this relieved the Maharashtrians. Maybe there are people who were relieved by this outrage. But I felt ashamed. Ashamed to be a Maharashtrian. Ashamed to be a 'Marathi'. Forgive me Raj Saaheb.....but I am ashamed.
No Raj Saaheb...I can't accept your argument. Success is not a community thing. It is about something called 'attitude'. nobody can come and take up ur businesses. Business is not region or emotion. It is a strategy. The one with the best strategy wins. It's never about coming from north or south. It's about individuals. Their aspirations and motivations. Not about their intrusions.

You can only attain success by stepping towards it. Never by thrashing the successful.
Nobody replaces anybody. It is only determination that replaces strongholds.

Mumbai was never a city of a community. It was always a city of talent. A city of toil. And those who toiled, survived. Any Maharshtrian who has given his sweat and soul, this city has held him close to its chest. Just being a Maharshtrian does not give you the right to claim its ownership. You need your soul to be stuck and entangled in it. People do come here. And have a rapratous affair with the city. They just can't leave it and go later on. They do come here in the search of a daily meal. But then who doesn't? Even our forefathers migrated to this place for the same reason. The original inhibitants of the seven islands were the fishermen along the coast. We migrants populated the rest of the land mass. It is a surprise that we did forget this past. The past of jam packed buses and to the brim boats in which our great grandfathers came to the islands expecting a change in lives of tribulations. And the city raised them out of it. Sucessfully or unsuccessfully. It did help them at least build firm walls to their houses in far away villages.
They strived here to make their lives. They weren't north or south or middle Indians then. they were all just people in search of bread. Some made it. Some were left behind. But those who made it...made it merely on their perspiration. Those hadn't had enough courage to perspire day in and day out, complained. Complianed about others racing ahead.

Now we have an identity to that complaining. 'Marathi Maanoos'. And we have marked our targets. Bhaiyyas. They migrate to the city. They take away our businesses. They take away our jobs. They do everything to push us to doom. And we....we will retaliate!!!!....How???....we will ask for BLOOD!!!!!

We will attack them. Sticks. Stones. Swords. If no weapons then slaps and kicks. To drive them away. So that we could succeed. Succeed in our attempts to 'success'.

What if we drive them away? We have a free Mumbai. And all chances to be big shots. And if they retaliate. Then what? fight them back. Till the moment one of us are wiped off. And if we do wipe them off...then....if we dont make it. Who then? Punjabis? Gujrathis? Marwadis? Who???
Or do we work a bit hard shedding off our laze and make ur own place. Learn a bit, qualify ourselves and enter the flow. Like many of our 'Marathi' brothers did. Following them instead of swimming in our pools of jealousy. Speculating how they must've used the wrong ladder up and how we all are blessed by purity to not even look in dat way.

What we need is...to grow up. Growing up involves not physical growth and strenthening of biceps in 'vyayaamshaalaas' sponsored by political parties but a growth of thought. Independent way of think. And being able to differentiate between right and wrong, the sense which most of us haven't yet developed. Niether Uttar Bhartiyas nor the Bhumiputras of the city.

Kite

2008-01-16T06:27:00.000-08:00

It would be the day to fly kites
I would wake up early in the morning
Rubbing my eyes I would go to my mom
Aai….I want kite
Aai would reach for her small purse
With the jewelers name on it
From whom she had brought
fake diamond earrings
An year ago

I buy a kite
And winds of string
Sharp…like a warrior’s blade
And run to the terrace
To climb upon the water tank
And fly it high
Into the sky
Filled with infinite kites
Like the one
I have

Aai would shout….
“Take care…..don’t climb on the tank”

I would still climb on it
And fly my kite
High….
To touch the skies chest
High….
Till it turned to an invisible dot

And an unasked tiff
With an unknown bully
At other end
Of the sky......
I would loose my kite

I would wind back my string
Between my thumb
And the last finger
In a coil…..
shaped like ‘eight’

I would run back to Aai
To say
“Aai I’ve lost my kite”
And again the crimson little purse
Would open
To fetch me another kite….

As I left for the terrace again
Aai would again shout
“Be careful!!!!”

It has been a long time
And I know how to be careful
I know not to climb high to the water tank
And I don’t rush through the steps

But my hands are empty
For there is no kite in them
Nor is there a string

“Aai….I have lost my kite…
No…don’t open your purse
For your little purse
Can’t pay for my kite now
You can’t do anything
But just stand and listen
Aai….I’ve lost my kite
To the unknown bully
At the other end of the sky….”

Bucketful

2008-01-06T04:52:00.000-08:00

I come home late. Around ten. Ten in the night. I was supposed to come at seven. I had declared it on phone. Aai had agreed. She agrees to everything I say. She has lost her hopes on me. Time flies when you are with friends. These are times when your seven transforms to ten or even one at times. Ten in such time was always bearable.

I throw my bag on the sofa and sink my self in the couch. I ask for water and Aai hands me over a large glass. I pour it down my throat.

“Go and change up quickly….we’ll have dinner then”, Aai says.

I am irked. I want to have a bath before my dinner. I hadn’t had a bath in the morning. Winter mornings are too lazy to go in for a bath. Also are they too cold. Cold enough to chill your geyser heated water. It is steaming hot at one moment. And by the time you search for your towel and reach the bathroom…..you find water in a state that schoolbook science describes as ‘Lukewarm’.
“I want to have a bath before that….I didn’t have a bath in the morning”, I snap back adding a streak of politeness to it.
“I know….but...” Aai leaves her line half way.
“Aai…look at my feet…..they’re far beyond the usage of word dirty.” I raised my feet and showed her my sole which was actually far beyond the usage of word dirty since I wore floaters all day long.
“Okay go…”She finishes the broken line with an agreement. Out of helplessness or love or both.

I pick up my bag and lazily walk to the bedroom. Slam the bag on my chair and start unbuttoning my shirt. I pull the towel over from the drying line and walk back to the drawing room to have a quick look at what new adventure of human race is television playing on its screen. A celebrity couple is dancing and three judges are looking at it as if experiencing a phenomenon. Like Ash and his friends look at ‘Pokemon’s when they enter their ‘Vikasit Roop’. My sis is looking at it with a mechanical fascination.

I pick up the remote beside her and change it to Zee Studio to check what gem of a movie are they playing tonight. She snatches the remote back from my hand immerses herself in the pool of celebrity talent. Her mouth’s too filled up with a large morsel of rice thrust in a moment ago to start an argument. I thank god for that.

I disentangle my watch from my wrist, empty my pockets and am about to walk towards the bathroom when the door bell rings.

I open the door.

I don’t believe in the concept of staunch enmity. But there are people who I don’t like to see everyday. And in spite of it, I have to see them twice a day. Our laundryman is one such human. He’s old, wretched and irritating. He springs up at your doorstep at the most unwanted of times. Says most idiotic of words and supplements them with weirdest of expressions. His state of pity will only generate hatred for him in you. Anger is too ashamed to rise as a reaction to him. You can’t help him, you can’t pull him out, all you can do is….hate him for his existence. We call him Kapdawala.

Kapdawala is at the door. Pitiful as ever. Lifeless eyes staring into me. I quickly turn to Aai.

“Aai Kapdawala…..” I shout and move back.

Aai comes to the door and opens it further. The doorframe exposes more of him to me. Miraculously today he wasn’t standing without an armload of ironed clothes with him. Instead he carried a dull coloured plastic bucket made out of remoulded plastic. And followed by an equally timid son.

“Kya hua bhaiyyaji?.......Paani chahiye?
“Haan.....thoda”

Aai looks at me.

“Go give him some water” She says.

I ask him to come in. He just keeps his bucket inside my house and stands at the doorframe.

I pick up his bucket and go to the bathroom. I put it below the tap and open the tap wide. Its fills up itself voraciously. As if it has never seen so much of water before. Granny told me the story about how Lord Shiva caught Ganga descending from Swarga in all her force. Bucket must’ve held similar importance for Bhaiyyaji.

As I built up this simile, water filled up the bucket and had started spilling out of it. My sis washing her hands at the wash basin besides the bathroom was granted with an opportunity by it to throw a taunt at me.

“Stop dreaming and look at the bucket.”
“You don’t worry about that….I can take care of it” I replied in an equally arrogant tone.

I closed the tap and lifted the bucket. I placed it before him. I looked at his arms. I felt as if I can never lift the bucket up again. It wasn’t a bucket at all for that moment. It was a burden too big than that bucket of water.

He lived three lanes beyond. He had a considerable distance to walk. He had brought his son along. They’d be carrying that bucket of water all the way to their house.

He lifted it. He was almost bended by it’s weight. He dropped it. He asked his son to lift it. He couldn’t lift it either. For a wicked moment it seemed to me like a competitions that conducted in Ganeshotsav festival. Both of them stood looking helplessly at the bucket.

I approached further and lifted up the bucket. I took it to the elevator. His son opened the door for me. I kept the bucket inside the elevator and told his child to ask watchman for help to unload. I could’ve easily gone down with him and taken the bucket to his house. But I just helped him to the elevator. Not even to the gate. Just the elevator.

I sunk back in the couch. Aai was in the kitchen setting up dinner for me.

“Aai…why did he suddenly come asking for water??....their locality never has water…if we continue to be generous….he’ll come to us everyday” I said with a mean smile.
“No re….water supply was cut in the evening….there won’t be water for the entire day tomorrow.” Aai replied.
“What??!!....why???”
“There’s some problem with the pipeline”
“Then how come we have water if there water cut off since evening”
“Because our building has an extra tank.”

Water spilled while carrying the bucket from bathroom to the door. It was only one bucket.

“Go take a bath quickly!!” Aai said.

I sat on the couch staring at my feet. They were....

Fly away to fortune

2007-09-30T02:01:00.000-07:00

Doc's goin to US. He says there's no opportunity in India as in US. There r reservations which block his path to have a Masters Degree in medicine. He's right. He has to go. I wish him all the luck. All the prosperity. All the fame. In US!!!! this land holds no promise. Be gone. The soil here is no more that fertile. I apologise to you on behalf of this dirt to you. Most others with you have already reached there. Do not be late. The land of dreams stands opening its arms to you.
Doc says he's goin to be back. No. Not forever. For vacations. He'll settle down there
He'll practice there. Great. Dr. America.
He was amongst those who protested against reservations. They had blocked the entrance of Governers bungalow. He was with youth for equality. They were attacked by Policemen. Lathi charge. Police Batons. Police drew them. They ran far and wide. Some escaped. Some were caught. Charges were filed against them.
Later SC too objected over reservations.
Doc's goin to US coz its still difficult to get admissions to th MD course. He has cleared Entrance Exams for American medical educatioin in a far easier manner.
Doc says there will be so many doctors in next ten years that you find doctors coming to your doorsteps to deliver medicines. Very true. US will always have place for new Doctors.
Doc says there is no respect for Doctors in this land.
Also nobody here does the assigned task. Making this nation a mess. Hmmmm.
I wish him all the luck.
Farewell my friend. My closest one....Farewell!!!!.....I bid you farewell....happily. No there are no tears....just a bit of upset I am. But one doesnt be that....then one isn't human.
I dont know what future I have here. I am just a secondary teacher.....
But don't forget me....Do come to meet me next time you come for vacations.....I may not be here...maybe somewhere in some hamlet...teaching. That's the only future for a teacher if Doctors are so insecure.
But before a farewell...a bunch of stories for you. Not long. Just two or three liners. Plz bear through this!!!!
My uncle in my native place lost his twelve year daughter because she could not get immidiate medical attention.
There is no Doctor at the Primary Health Center in my native place. He left for the city where he could open a dispensary of his own. The girl died on the way to hospital at a district capital.
My cousin's sons died at the age of nine months for he was being treated by a bogus Doctor. There are quite a few real doctors in native India for that matter.
My Dad's friend practices in a tribal settlement. They pay him with blessings. He says they feed him with their food when he's hungry.
A friend of mine had to treat his father on his own since he had no Doctor in his village. He did save his fathers life. Only his father is a bit paralysed now. But he will be healed in course of time.
A child in Arey Milk Colony died out of malnutrition. In the heart of the city. Maybe they couldn't afford medicine.
Government says it is not able to find doctors who are ready to practice in rural India.
Many government hospitals in rural India are vacant since there are no doctors there.
There is such a crunch in Armed Forces....that they have open recruitment drives for Doctors. Still it faces the crunch.
There are now twelve doctors in my area where earlier only three used to be there.
A doctor was caught tryin to make a deal on a kidney.
Bye Doc....Go well.....Have a great future.

A Pledge I was talking about

2007-08-22T08:59:00.000-07:00

No….I was not going to write this blog……tired of being a pessimist…..but I did write it…..I had to…..so am late to post it…..sorry for the delay.

A Pldge

Many Years ago we made a tryst with destiny. And now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge. Not wholly or in full measures…but substantially!!!!!

Okay now!!!!....We are sixty, We are Independent and We have a separate boundary on the world map. We also do have a flag and an army to defend it. Now the great soul….can you please tell me What pledge had to be redeemed???…No no no…m not doubting you if you had made any….I am just a bit curious. I just want to know what the pledge was. So that I can measure to what extent have we been successful in redeeming it. You also said sixty years ago that it had to be done substaintially. I am eager to know wether the substantial pace you mentioned has to what limits fulfilled the oath about which you spoke valiantly before a large assembly of White and Brown men, sixty years ago.
Why am I curious????.....No it is not that obvious for me to guess what the pledge was. I belong to a later generation. Generation born when American influence was either smuggled or brought in form of gifts from relatives settled there. Generation that took shape when pure Indian brands were sold and bought. And foreign brands that existed were very much a part of Indian life and were not the ravenous sharks swallowing every small and large Indian office on the path. We learnt the pledge when American dream did not rest unfulfilled in the eyes of those who taught us what it meant.
And for you…..we were a generation born after your daughter was killed. A generation born after two wars with the nation you once considered your own part. A generation born after the great Emergency. A generation born when India was still a bit of Democratic, Socialist, Republic and whatever the preamble declared it to be.
Now we’ve grown up. We see around. We see things have changed. We play with the thought of being the next superpower. We live in the honour of being an IT power. And we are clogged with high pay scales, multinationals, malls, multiplexes and names with fame spread all around the world. Our eyes are blindened by the strobe lights of development, advancement, empowerment, boom, growth and other such adjectives defining the augmentation of ‘our is-was-will be-great-but a bit backward’ nation. We are overwhelmed.
But when the strobe lights are switched off…..only darkness persists.
Democratic, Socialist, Republican…these seem only words. They all seem to dissolve into a single word that seems bigger than any ideas, ideals and idealisms. CAPITAL. The alphabets of this word open their mouths wide to swallow every other word around that tends to defy it.
And a more closer look at the picture, when u light your own light in this darkness, keeping aside the strobes, reveals that the change, which a great soul claimed to be permanent, is no more of it. No traces of transformations are seen. The rate of development is same. The poor are poor. The unfortunate are unfortunate. Standing in the marsh of illiteracy, poverty and inadequency, they serve as supports for others who have played apt moves to stay above the marsh.
The changes dreamt of or left for the next decade of independence for their attainmant, still continue to rot to a worsely stinking slurry.
An activity to list the differences that really mean, if undertook, shall not enlist much other names than the bloating up of the economy. But how long shall this wave of raised market last??....The very basic infrastructure of improved manpower lacks, and not only lacks but continues to degrade with changing times. Those with ability to make difference sit crouched up in their own cocoons of scales and packages, whining over the extended work hours and working weekends. Others with a capability to make it, sit unbudged. And those gaining the power, rush overseas to save themselves from the dearth of opportunities, which instead of generating, they depend upon.
Restlessness rests amongst every soul, but a shower and prime time television at home is easily able to quash it. Media takes utmost advantage of it, and then sells itself to auctioners paying highest price.
Sellers sell. Earners buy. Buyers buy more. And everything sells.
What pledge did you talk about????....what pledge???....have we redeemed it???...Please tell me…Did we redeem the pledge????....Or was this the pledge that you were talking about……the pledge to bring the nation to this state…was this the destiny with which you had made a tryst????.....If it was……then….yes…we have redeemed….not substantially….but in whole measures.

Taj Ki Baat

2007-07-08T05:32:00.000-07:00

Taj Taj Taj. Taj ko vote karo. Vote for Taj. Taj ke liye Vote kijiye.
Taj Taj Taj. Inke baap ka Raj. Bhendi!!!!

I've been stalked, pressurised, compelled, tortured, obligated to vote
for the national monument. Why??....So that it can find it's place in the list of
seven wonders. Competing with the monuments of the world. Television, Radio,
Newspaper ...every medium is used to coerce me to vote for the monument.
Every hour of the day, every day of the week and every week of the
month....I'm listening to a single woe...Taj could loose it's position.

The torment started swelling up till it turned into a matter of national
pride. A matter of self respect. A matter of 'making place in the world map'. A
matter of international recognition. Everybody around me talked about the one and only thing....Taj Mahal. Descriptions about Taj were given. As to who made it. Why it was
made. What it is made of. How old it is. Thanks to all of them for imparting this
knowledge. For had they not been there....how would've I known about the
monument situated in my own country.

Names were given to Taj like Monument of Love, Symbol of Beauty,
Heritage of Romance and copy writers untangled their grey matter for newer
names and adjectives to describe it. Advertisements were aired for public
service, to lead them to vote for Taj. Politicians and their parties, which usually
raised hoardings for exchanging Birthday Greetings, raised hoardings asking their
'janata' to vote for Taj. Masters in asking for votes they being, they took up the
task in their hands too. People painted their bodies. Engraved it on their cropped
heads. Tatooed their soft cheeks. Musicians composed silly songs....every other
thing that was possible, was used a tool to 'motivate' people to bring the
monument on the list of Seven Wonders.

Then they started threatening me...Last three days, last two days, last
day....but I did not yeild to them and am waiting prosecution.

And at last....Taj made it's way up the seven wonders list.
"Congratulations Taj!!!"

Now.....what???
What???...I mean what next???....
This Taj wave will fade out soon. People will forget Taj slowly. Nobody would
care which the seven wonders are. And again next year there will be a poll and
people will go on voting rampage fo the monument. The monument will stand there.

People will visit it. Take photographs
sitting on benches opposite it, foreign presidents, ministers everybody will visit
the Monument of Love. praise it and leave. And givernment will boast the
monument's existence in the nation. Baaki.....

Baaki....they will continue to sell the land surrounding Taj to
industries. Their tall hoses will continue to release gases in in air. These gases
will continue to corrode Taj. The marble used in Taj will keep turning yellower.
and one day it will crumble down. And then antique sellers will sell it's marble
pieces to collectors at hight prices, of course in which, the government too will
have a share of it. I decided I shall not vote for Taj. I did not. I know Taj is a wonder. And
it shall always remain one. I have a view that it does not need any certification
of any organisations to prove it a wonder. I know it is a monument of unending
love, erected by a man madly in love with his dead wife(which he simulteneously
could also afford building). I know it is a sign of national pride. I know everything
about it. Everything that Airtel wants to teach me about it. An I believe a voting
can never change these facts. But there are also some facts which I would also not forget. The
oxidising of the marble walls. Transformation from bright white to dull yellow.
Darkening of the assimilation points of marble tiles. Loosening of marble tiles.
lack of maintainance. Declaration of industrial zone near the monument by the
then government of Uttar Pradesh. No funds for Taj maintainance. Industrial
affluents and many such facts. Facts that lie hidden behind the large voting
campaign. Facts that lie below the large hoardings. Facts comfortably overlooked
while boasting it as a heritage structure. What difference will the appearing of
Taj on the list of seven wonders make???? Will it change these facts???...These
very facts which are a matter of concern regarding the future condition of the
monument. Will the marble of Taj be polished???....will the construction be
reinforced to avoid further damage to it???....will the industries around it be
closed down or shifted somewhere else?????....If any of these changes would
occur.....I am sorry that I did not vote for Taj.

If anybody has benifited from this campaign instead of Taj are the
mobile companies. People casted votes as messages. Each of these messages
cost more than the regular messages. So more the people voted, more did they
earn. And more did the people loose balance on their mobile. And the
website...do I need to tell you how much they must've earned trhough it. And
will even a fraction of this sum be spent on Taj??? The answer is a clear NO.
Kaam ke na kaaj ke...Dushman anaaj ke. In fact"Kaam ke na Taj ke......Dushman Anaaj Ke"

And people voted. Upon that they kept on voting.Maybe people were carried away by emotions. Blind boy asking people
to cast their vote. People throwing his pamphlet on road. And in the end he
requesting people, encashing his disability, to vote for the monument. (The
advertisement, if you know was released by Airtel.)

But let me tell that blind boy something. By the time you grow up my
child....kids with the ability to sight would make similar statement."Maine dekha nahi hai....lekin suna hai ki bahut khoobsoorat tha!!!"

Shattered Dreams Death

2007-07-07T23:51:00.000-07:00

First The HSC result was declared. Then the CET results were declared.
Then Vinay was declared dead.

He attempted all questions in all exams. He didn't
score to his expectations. He had failed them. He then attempted suicide. He
luckily suceeded in it. He hung himself to the ceiling fan. Thank god they make
good nylon ropes nowadays, he must've died within a span of five to ten
minutes. He must've gasped for breath before breathing his last one. He must've
jerked his limbs violently before hanging still. Memories must've randomly
clouded his vision before it dissolved in darkness. All those moments right from
the age of comprehension, must've played like montage, images swapping
rapidly. And for sure the last image that was flashed would've been of his CET
marksheet. The piece of paper which marked the end of his dreams. The piece
of paper which evaluated everything, his intellect, his aptitude, his
determination, his efforts and marked the conclusion of his tommorow. I guess
if he did want to live a moment more with a marksheet like it. He must've
ceased his attempts to live that moment more and stopped trying to hold life
back in his shell. And he let it leave him. His body hung to the ceiling along with the ceiling fan. His eyes had
popped out as if he was seeing his name on the first list of admissions. His entire
tongue had wilted out of his mouth, which hung open, bordered with froth. He
had urinated and shat in his pants, as he ceded himself to death. His wet pants
bore signs of it. The room where he hung himself stank of it. His face had lost
it's colour. There was peace on it. The table he had used to climb up to the
noose, lay fallen on ground. Few steps away, on his study table lay his
marksheets. There was no suicide note. Maybe he considered them to be it. He didn't talk much. He had few friends. He never topped in school.
But always was within top ten students. He always hung around with three of his
close friends. They followed him to his college too. They even followed him to his
stream. He watched movies with them. He enjoyed comedies. He loved
hollywood science fiction. He went ocassionally to junk food joints. He had once
secretly seen a porn film with his friends. He never saw another again. He
avoided bunking lectures. He made his own notes. In HSC, he studied for eight
hours from the day classes started in FYJC. He liked a girl in his class. Maybe she
liked him too. They both stared at each other in free time between lectures.
Every day he followed her to her bus stop secretly. His friends cracked jokes
upon for this. He was never able to tell her that he liked her. He never had that
much courage. Nor did he have time, for he had decided that he won't fall into
all this until he had 'achieved his aim'. He loved his parents. He loved his friends. He loved his school. He loved
his college. He loved everything around him. He loved his life.

When he was cremated, they did not cremate his marksheets with
him.

Investigations revealed that Vinay did not commit suicide. He was killed. Who
killed him??? Investigators came across certain witnesses who mentioned before
the investigators names of those involved in killing of Vinay.

Witness 1:
"Vinay did not commit suicide. He was killed. I know who killed him. He was
killed by this system. The system where a marksheet is only evaluator of a
human...not his talent or efforts. All that makes a person are his marks. Vinay
was brilliant. He was full of ideas. He always strived for knowledge. He always
wanted to know more. Learn more. He was full of innovative thoughts. But....It
all ended in a single moment. He could not clear CET....and his aspirations
crumbled down to mere dreams. No lists..no allotments....no admissions.....no
knowledge...no graduation....no post graduation....no
research....nothing.....only a mediocre life with parched ambitions and
compromises...Vinay couldn't even bare the thought of it....so he killed himself
instead of his dreams!!!!..... How long is this system going to kill more
Vinays.....how long is talent going to be evaluated only by marks.....some silly
figures on a piece of paper.....how long the intellect is going to be trained only
to memorise and not to apply....what exactly does the system want from
Vinays???.....some brains or hard disks...had Vinay cleared those CET
exams....he would've started his journey ....but maybe the system had a
different plan for him....they did not want a genius...they wanted a
mugger!!!..Words, sentences, paragraphs don't make discoveries and
inventions.....ideas make them....and with Vinay...many of them died...every
year many such Vinay's get killed by the system....but the system continues to
rule....kill Vinays indiscrimantely....pushing them into a holocaust of crushed
aspirations and unfulfilled expectations....And so long it exists...it shall continue
it's killing spree....may peace be upon the soul of Vinay and Vinays "

Witness 2:
"Vinay!!!.....he was killed by his dreams...He was stupid to dream in these
times....what he did was he depended largely on the field of his choice...one
can't behave like this in these days....one has to keep all the options
open....What Vinay did...he kept running behind a single option...not a wise
move...nobody gets anything nowadays depending on dreams...Look at me...I
am learning medicine...I never wanted to...but I kept both the options
open....Medicine and Engineering....Now I could not clear Engineering CET...But
got through Medical CET...and now I am here....I never dreamt being a medical
student...but I am one now...Life does not go by ones dreams nowadays...it
goes by helplessness"

Witness 3:
"Vinay was killed by society.....Everytime anybody met...even while walking on
the road.....first question that blurted out from their mouth was....'So
Vinay...how much will you score???'..then...'So...will get admission to your
chosen course na???'....what did they have to do with how much he was going to
score and where he got admission....did they pay his fees???....poor child....was
caught in such a strain.....and when he couldn't get through the CET....he was
shattered....he stopped talking to everybody...he stopped recieveing phone
calls...he used to lock himself inside the room....and those whose kids were with
him...kept calling and telling about their kid's success....the boy couldn't bear it
one day...and hung himself to the ceiling fan....what a sweet boy he was....I
was the first to enter the room where he hung himself....he looked so
horrible...i couldn't recognise him first...when I did...I screamed out....I couldn't
bear the horror.....none of those who asked Vinay about his score and
admissions bore his last weight.....none of them who called his home in those
days attended his funeral"

Witness 4:
"Expectations.....that's what killed Vinay....expectations.....everybody expected
something from him....good percentage...good score in entrances....easy
admissions....good career....Vinay's CET result failed them all in a single
go....and Vinay was proven unworthy of staying alve....so....a case suicide
happened.....right from his childhood....he was constatly burdened under
expextations....stand first in class, stand first in school, win all competitions,
win all scholarships, prove his talent, Ramkrishna Mission, Maharashtra Talent
Search, Mumbai Talent Search, Homi Bhabha, Maths Exams, Hindi Pragya
Pariksha, Marathi Pradnya ParikshaCamlin Drawing Competition, Sports,
Quizzes.....he had to win everything...he had to learn everything....Guitar,
Casio, Martial Arts.....he had to be an multifaceted kid....whatever his identity
was...who cared...he had to be everywhere....then in SSC...he had to score
above 85....get into science stream...whatever his inclination be....get good
percentage in HSC...and clear CET with a high score for the feild chosen by
expectations of a better life in future...irrespective of his wish....he was
trained from his childhood to fulfil expectations leaving himself aside.....he had
some dreams about his future when he was in fifth grade....late were implanted
in his eyes by expectations....his entire life was ruled by expectations.....and
when he failed them....his very right of existence was like lost.....the only
thing, I think, he did by his wish was..his suicide....even after he is dead....he
has failed the expectation of living a long life.....and it is being expected from
his soul that it should rest in peace.... "

Witness 5:
"One day Vinay came to meet me in my dreams after he died.....I asked him
why did you commit suicide my child.....and he pointed his finger at me..then
at my side...I looked at my side....I was not alone...It wasn't only me...It was
both of us.....he was pointing at both of us...and he slowly muttered....you
killed me....and he turned his back upon us and started walking into darkness...I
called out to him....I ran behinmd him to stop him....I kept begging him to
come back...but he was lost in that darkness....I woke up shouting.....It was we
who killed him....We always wanted him to be the best....we kept pushing him
further.... we wanted him to excel in everything....sometimes I think...we
didnt want a son then...we wanted a genius in our house.....we never really
thought about him...his ideas, his dreams....I don't quite remember If we ever
communicated with him over these issues...we set targets for him...and he
achieved them.....we thought what we did was right for him....maybe we were
wrong....maybe we should've talked to him...maybe we should've tried to bridge
this gap between us....we always kept expecting large success from
him....never understood the pressure he was goin through.....the day he
brought the CET results home....we said every other thing to him out of
fury....we were infuriated...maybe we vented every other frustration on
him.....don't know what had happened to us....we were either scolding...or
taunting him....didn't think that he too must've tried....never took heed to
know if he had any problem....his failure had come like a blow to us....after his
death we did not open his room for days...when we finally did.....we saw the
room filled with his signs.....every speck of it carried his essence.....only thing
that missed in it was him.....earlier I used to walk through his room when he
wouldn't be there....it missed him then too...but I never noticed it....because
there was always an assurance that he would return.....now that the assurance
is no longer there.....I realise how incomplete the room is without him.....how
incomplete the house is without him.....his memories cling to every corner of
the house....and...our lives....this vaccum keeps shouting in our faces....a
failed son is always better than a dead son....sorry Vinay....we are really very
sorry....please try and forgive us...please."

Witness 6:
"Who killed Vinay????....who else will kill him....he killed himself.....CET result
wasn't the end of the world.....did he forget that there's always next time...he
purely had no reason to get so disheartened....don't know why he stupidly all his
hope and commited such an act.....he should've tried once more....he should've
given another CET.....he should've tried in other states....there were 'n' number
of options.....but he did not care to think...Vinay should've maintained that
perseverence....there were many others paths from where he could choose....he should've sat down and thought about the further course....he had impressive marksheets...he was hard working, sincere...he could've easily survived and outshone in any damn profession.....life doesn't finish with a sour turned dream.....one can always dream again...all over.....there are so many whose aspirations are never met by them....but they don't die...i may sound like an uncle....but this is what life has taught me....life keeps giving you chances....but before...you should give it a chance...end of life is end of everything.....you never know what future has in store for you....maybe a more glorious destiny awaits you....even if not...the life given to us is worth living....there is so much to do, so much to see, so much to expirience, so much of these so much...you only need to explore it....life does not move along with scores...it moves upon the spirit of living....and loosing it to reach the end...is an insult to life itself....life open an avenue of infinite moments for you...and you create the moment of its conclusion...that too when there is nothing to conclude....with that one moment you close the door that the life keeps open for you, for the years you live....those moments which wait for your midas touch to turn them aural disappear in that single thought.......life is and shall always be worth living.....and such a haste is not that wise....Vinay should've given one more thought to the rest of life, than to the death.....nobody holds the responsibility of his death, but he."

Investigators are caught up in a confusion over who exactly should be considered as the killer.

Pyaar Ka Dushman

2007-06-25T05:27:00.000-07:00

Once Rishi Kapoor standing below Neetu Singh's house sang against his song in Amar Akbar Anthony....Tayyab Alli Pyaar Ka Dushman Hai Hai...The Hai Hai part was of course sung along with the legendary 'Hai Hai'ers...The Eunuchs!!!! The inhuman Tayyab Alli was Neetu Singh's on screen father in the film.
It has been about thirty years to the occurence this monumental event. The fathers...off screen and on screen haven't changed. Cinema is the mirror of the society. Fathers still rule the chair of being the 'Pyaar ka Dushmans'. But this role is now not only restricted to the 'Ladki Ka Baap's. The Baaps all over the world and those who aren't the Baaps still have started to contribute their bit in being the 'Pyaar ka Dushman'.
The phenomenon of 'Mass Pyaar Ka Dushmani' has acquired it's place in the now social structure of India, making the Jamaanaa....Jaalim and Bura and the Duniya....Dushman!!! What has led to this revolution???....the emergence of the Great Indian Moral Police!!!! And the growing realisation of the loss of Indian Culture Make love...and moral police will come for you.

Think!!!!....You are siting with your sweet heart at a lonely sea face. A wildly romantic evening. Wet winds are blow over the sea. They touching you lightly. Waves come and crash at your feet. They whisper a word in your ear...Love!!!! You turn to your sweet heart. Your sweet heart turns to you. You exchange 'Love you's and 'Love you too's. You move closer to each other and......You are attacked by a group of youth activists with saffron, tricolour or green bands on foreheads...."Aye!!... sharam nahi aati kya??",.....and then you are caught and castigated for your act!!!!..."Chalo...sau uthak baithak nikalo". For your mistake is an unpardonable one....you sit in a couple.
Yes it is a crime. A crime for which there is no mercy in the eye of morality. You have marred the mighty wall of our culture which for years have been gaurding our decency. Yor act of indecency involving sitting close to each other has touched the curtain of culture with a burning torch, the curtain behind which we keep our 'Laaj' enclosed. Down with you you lover. You are a blot on your country.
Private display of affection too is a misdeed today. Tommorow maybe you won't be allowed to hold your 'coochie poo's hand in public. Locking fingers will be unthinkable of. Why so???...Because we are a cultural nation. Don't you remeber the pledge in school.."I am proud of it's varied culture and heritage." Well ,by your acts of affection, you are razing it out. You should feel ashamed for it!!!!

But....what's the point????
How does it blight the culture and all the stuff???
What is wrong so with it???
Excuse me gentlemen, the sons of morality, the true children of culture.....how many of you don't peep into windows where you get even a slightest glimpse of a woman changing???? We are all born with needs. We live with them. They aren't any new discoveries of science. They were, are and will be there. Separating humans from them is unfeasible. And locking them in coffers of morality is only other way of worsening them.
And talking about culture.....Are you seriously speaking about our Indian culture???? If you are then let me clear you that this is the land that has created Kama Sutra....the art of making love. This is the land where Khajuraho exists, the temples with love carved out on each of it's walls. And if you discard my statement by forwarding an argument saying, it is meant for couples tied in the eternal knot of wedding....let me remind you of a mythological affair of Lord Krsna and his mate Radha, already married to Anay, meeting secretly in the dark hours of night, whom we pray to in our odd times.
So Moral Police, just give a thought to your acts before condemning the acts of hearts in love. Is snatching away the freedom of peaceful people in any sense reasonable. There are many other topics which await your eruptive protest and blazing action. Just open your eyes and see the world around with them and not through the eyes of people who brainwash and misguide you.

And dear Policemen, you have a lot of work in stock for you other than scaring little love birds and snatching away money saved for Pizzas and Coffees by them. Remember the last time you hit a boy, after scaring him and grabbing money, on the lonely beach of Aksa when this conversation occured....
"Sharam nahi aati????...sitting here with girl...that too in such a position."
"We were just sitting normally Sir...what did we do???"
"Don't argue....I saw what you were doing.....maaloom nahi kya??...This is a PUBLIC place."
"But is it okay when people booze over here"
"Boozing is different....loving here is not allowed"
"Then where is it???"
"Go to lodge"
"You raid them"
"Go to gardens"
"Kids play there"
"Don't teach me, you people sit hidden in the bushes"
"There too the authority comes and asks us to leave"
"Then go to National Park"
"Forest Authorities harass us there"
"If you have so much khujli...then go to your houses and do it in front of your parents"
"Give me a logical answer, where should we go then???....keep yourself in my place and think"
"Don't act smart...leave now"
"We will...but please first tell me where should we go???"
"Why do you need to do anything like this at all???"
"The reason you need to rape girl in custody and chowkies"

We all are born with needs.....Police, Moral Police, everybody. Then why this scene of culture and all. why be 'Pyar Ka Dushman' when we all long for it......

Making Love To The City

2007-06-25T01:05:00.000-07:00

I want to embrace you....
hold you in my arms....
half sunk in the saline waters
clustered with promfrets and bombay ducks....
and run my hand slowly.....
over your railway tracks....
your humble spine....

I want to rub my cheeks
on your smooth sands
and run my fingers
through the messy network of wires.....
suspended above
to hold the sky
if it everfalls over you......

I want to touch those sky scrapers and rising towers
lightly.....with my nose tip
and fill in the smell
of old English heritage
spirts of whichstill hover
in minds
and lanes........

draw circles with the tip of my finger
over the maidans, parks and grounds
and hold in my palms
the numerous houses
you bear....

I want to kiss those pools and ponds in you
and see them blush in ripples
and rest my head
in the hills tall and short owned by palaces some
some encroached by huts....

Hold the Irani Cafes
close to my chest
and let the special tea
seep into my heart
mix with my blood....
and feel the heatof oil pans
with vadas afloat
ready to rest
within the spread arms
of a Paav

and put my ear
to your heart
to listen to the cacophony
orchestrated by a thousand vehicles
standing close to each other
almost stuck
to disallow even stray gush of wind
to pass between them
waiting eagerlyto move on......

let the dabbawallas
run all over mein their network
to take my words
from my mouthto your invisible ears
which I altough don't see but know
that hear
my words
of unending love for you
of my wish...to make love to you
once
in the way you are...
before I loose you
as you walk on
holding the hand of time.....

(With all my Love....for the slowly changing structure of my dear......Mumbai)

The Lost Summer

2007-05-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday as I walked down the road, in the middle of a scorching afternoon….I saw a bunch of kids riding bicycle past me. In fact bunch is an understatement. It was a herd of kids. It kept me guessing that why the heck were so many of them out on the road, that too on such a hot patch of the day.
My contemplation over this fact lead me to a realization that, It was not just a 38 degree centigrade day but a summer day. A day in the middle of a vacation. A day in the middle of a lazy stretch of time between two schooling years. A day clustered amongst many of it’s brethren termed as a holidays, some lost and some yet to loose.
As I walked on, I chewed over the event with the teeth of my thoughts. The kids on their bicycles formed a film on my retina and moved in the light of my memory before my eyes whenever I closed them during rest of the day. And maybe still.
The dust blown by the rubber tyres of their bicycles stretched in a cloud over my crammed full brain with the botherations, plans, plots, desires, ideas and every such thing that could gather in it. And in the cover of a thought I am spending the lingering moments.
When was the last time I rode a bicycle in the middle of the day, in scorching heat with my friends……
And along with it came a stream of questions from the seal packed box of my childhood memories.
When was the last time I rode a bicycle in the middle of the day, in scorching heat with my friends……
When was the last time I flied a kite in open sky to challenge a few others in that same blue.
When was the last time I tried to hit a ball that tossed towards me, to send it beyond the boundary, missing it several times before finally hitting it actually and sending it into the fielders hands.
When was the last time I caught tadpoles in polythene bags from the gutter beside the street…….
When was the last time I dragged the juice out of an ice ball dipped in a combination of varied flavoured colours…..
When was the last time I squeezed the sweet yellow paste out of a mango instead of cutting it into tailored pieces of sophistication.
When was the last time fed a stray dog and expected him to shake hand with me…
When was the last time I let a chameleon in the compound smoke a left over beedi of the watchman to see him go crazy…..
When was the last time I discussed ghosts after dinner sitting on the compound wall and felt the waves of fear running through me as I climbed steps to my house……
When was the last time sowed a die cast metal car in the garden to grow a tree laden with them…..
When was the last time brought things mother asked me too from the nearby general stores a thousand times in a day and boasted to father about it at night at the dinner table…..
When was the last time I pestered my sister stealing her toys…..
When was the last time I pestered my poor little mother for a chilled glass of nimbu paani after returning home from a so called cricket match in the supervision of afternoon sun…..
When was the last time I heard a story from my grandparents…..
When was the last time I stayed at my native place for a month, made friends there and went swimming in the river, searched for fallen mangoes and caught fish sitting in their fathers’ dinghies……
When was the last time I was scolded for being home late from play…..
When was the last time I suffered hypertension when my wrist watch showed seven….
When was the last time I missed the vacations on the day before the school…..
When was the last time I did many more things than I remember now in that small interlude….
I go down tracing the time when I did it the last……and I am not able to find out when…..
In the years that followed, I have lost my summer…..

(Maybe this is my nostalgia…pardon me for it……but I long for the time of freedom and pure joy…..which I have lost…. as I kept running further.)

Jai Jawan!!!Jai Kisan!!!Jai Vigyaan!!!

2007-05-06T08:10:00.000-07:00

Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan (Hail to the soldier, Hail to the Farmer) – Lal Bahadur Shastri, Prime Minister Of India(1964-1966, vacated the office due to death)
Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan, Jai Vigyaan (Hail to the soldier, Hail to the Farmer, Hail to Science)– Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Prime Minister Of India (2000-2005)

Jai Jawan

Kaaheka Jai Jawan……..Last war I lost a limb. Army sent me home. Who wants a half limbed soldier. But it was a lot generous of them to grant me piece of land. A good price for what I’ve lost. Maybe more than that. How well does a piece of land repay for lost limb….after all both of them are just pieces bhenchod!!!! Ha Ha Ha!!!! Also in the outburst of generosity, they granted me a pension, which they were going to do anyway….but let me add it to their credit. Not to mention that it is meager enough to keep the ends apart. Sometimes I feel that it is spent completely on my medication, and not a penny I left for my family and we have to look up to our friend, the village sahukar for economic support, but it does not seem so. At least I shouldn’t feel so if it does. After all it’s government’s gift to me. And the land that they have granted me is a bit hard to find. Since it only exists on paper. And gets lost quite often, so that I have to go finding it to government offices. And sometimes even they are unable to find it and I have to wait there for hours till they do.
Earlier I used to think that after owning the gifted piece of and, I would sell it off and turn my ‘ex-serviceman’ship to entrepreneurship and start a…yes you guessed it right……a business!!!!. Like a tailoring shop or a laundry or a flour mill or something of that sort…..come on….what else do you expect to get selling a government gifted land in a remote village. Bhenchod gareeb ka majak udate ho kya saalo???!!!.....
But later I had a different plan. Because later there were an intervention enough to this plan of mine, forcing me to change it. I wanted to get my daughter married off with that money. Well….my daughter attained he marriageable age yet tha land did not shift from papers to soil. So I got her married with the financial aid of my dearest friend ….guess who??!!1….Yes…the sahukar.
And now that my daughter is married, I m drowned in debt, my dearest friend send men knocking at my door, who eye my other daughters(I did not kill my girl child being an responsible citizen of this nation) with clear lust, hoping that I would never be able to repay the debt, most of my pension goes into my….you guessed it right again….medicines….I am having a new plan….I will kill myself, so that my pension goes to my family, most of which would not be spent on my medicine and they can repay the debt….and if at all they get the land….They can start a business to support themselves. Liked the plan….I loved it….and now I am going to implement it…..wish me luck…..Yes…and don’t forget…….Jai Jawan!!!

Jai Kisan

It is quite a land I must say…………. For years it has been letting its bosom to the seeds sown to hold root on and still it does possess potent for abundance. It has walked down from generations to generations with the same prowess. Of course, It needs to be rejuvenate. Just a single year of barrenness brings it back to it’s fertility. It belonged to my great great grandfather. Then to my great grandfather, then my grandfather, then my father and then me…..we have spent each and every day, each and every moment with it. Each generation of our fatherhood has grown with it. It is our mother, lover, wife…..don’t tell this to my wife…she’ll come hunting me down to catch me red handed…dumb cow she is. What else does a farmer have to love more than his life.
It feeds us. With life, with hopes, with dreams. It is the source of our existence.
Along with it, it also does posses another additional quality It makes a good location for a Special Economic Zone or SEZ as we call it out of our unending love towards it. No doubt the government is so keen to raise an SEZ over it. It’s fertile soil will no longer yield a crop but a contribution to the economy through the genital tract of some multinational, which will empower the nation, which with the contribution of my land will turn out to be the next economic superpower and I can proudly say that I have contributed to make my country one. Isn’t it a dream worth seeing But my eyes are too small for it.
I have a different dream. I want to cultivate crops every year so that I can feed my family. Educate my children and live a secure life, Such that I don’t have to look up to and wait for someone for providing me a living. Not that I don’t want my country to progress, but please not at the price of my kin’s tomorrow. I will contribute to it with my crop, which nobody is seeming to take seriously nowadays. But I beg to you to please not snatch away my only source of livelihood from me. My dream may not be as big as yours, but many such small dreams as mine together do make a big dream, please don’t forget that. Whilst You talk of skies, I talk of earth. But my words aren’t that meaningless.
Have you hear what I said???.....Wait I’ll come closer to you so that you can hear it….what???!!!....You still can’t hear my voice??!!....Let me step a bit closer….Still not clear???...I’ll shout for you…now???...No???!!...okay….I am shouting at the top of my voice….Come one…don’t do this…this is infuriating….why is your policeman pointing his gun at me???....What exactly is going on…I just came so that you could hear me…..I just……………………………………………………….
‘Police fires at farmers protesting against land seizure by the government for SEZ, some dead, some injured’ – Jai Kisan.

Jai Vigyaan

Vigyaan rahasyo se bhara hai….Science is full of mysteries…..My science teacher used to say. The line still revolves in my head. Later it were the mysteries of human body that lured me into the wing of medical sciences. I went further and further entangling myself into these mysteries. Still were were mysteries which seemed far away. I stepped up each step of education that could take me to those mysteries. I passed my secondary and higher secondary examinations with best marks. An aspiring candidate, but coming from a remote interior of the nation and lower side of poverty line, my father had to sell his piece of land for me to acquire my medical education, with hopes stuck to it, that my days of yielding will come if tat of the crop have gone. An wizard with a power to heal, I slowly turned into. A degree was conferred upon me with an oath to serve. But the mystery was still a step away.
Family had sold the only piece of land, that served as an income. I needed to earn to feed a family, educate siblings and repay the years old debts that accumulated over the string of hopes that was tied to my future. And hence. I fervently began earning whatever tid bits I could, many of my type being all around me. Yet, the mystery and the step amongst us always haunted my thoughts. And the day I was prepared to set my foot on it, a reservation policy by the government slipped it away from below my feet, and I fell on my face. The mystery then seemed to have looked at me and laughed. A little more effort, that was tied to my process of earning, could have taken me to the step. But necessity was a priority. Going near the step never seemed possible to me later. Earnings found newer drains, new earnings had to be poured in…..in a cycle was I caught in…..The cycle still continues. I live a life of mediocrity. I still come across the mystery at odd and even times. Unable to solve it, I keep staring at it and recollect the moment the step was snatched away from my feet and surround myself with a constant gloom. Everything goes dark……and in that darkness I see nothing. Nothing of today. Nothing of tomorrow. All I see is darkness. It sometimes tempts me to be a part of it. This darkness is a mystery. A mystery of tomorrow. One of the mysteries of science I suppose. A mystery about happens to science itself. And those who love it. Vigyaan rahasyo se bhara hai…….Hail to it.…………… Jai Vigyaan

One day in the future

2007-04-27T23:31:00.000-07:00

MumbaiCirca 2020 A.D.
"Come with me Sir .....here.....take a look...this is our Mumbai"
"Shanghai!!!!"
"No sir....Mumbai"
"Mumbai??!!!.....Is this Mumbai" asks the visitor in his racially superior accent, "I've heard it is....."
"No Sir.....No.....It was sir....What you heard was right sir...but not anymore sir", the jubilant litle chivalrous Indian middle man cut his sentence before he completed it with his razor sharp argument,"......It was revamped twelve years ago..."
"Revamped??!!!.....in what sense"
"It is a long story sir..."
"Does it have snake charmers and rope trickers????"
"No sir....more interesting people than them sir.....MMRDA"
"MMRDA???!!!!....Who's they.....did they perform the rope trick????"
"No sir.....they performed a trick that baffled all"
"What trick???""Trick.....Do you really want to know????..."
"Yeah....if it has tigers, elephants, kings...I would love to hear it "
"It has them all"
"Go on then....." And the Indian went loosing his way in his past, his eyes transfixed on they grey above. With watery eyes....he began.
"Many years ago...This city was dirty...filthy...total bakwaas. Garbage everywhere....People...people....
people.....crowds and crowds....wherever u would see...you could see only people.....population blast...people flying in all
directions.....People stacking upon each other.....everything...total disaster!!!!....trains...yes there were local trains
then...were filled with people...people like flies on a dead rotten rats.......everywhere...only people and people. There was a king and there was a tiger. Whatever the king did the tiger opposed and whatevee the tiger did the king
opposed......this city was caught in their fight....and guess what....they were always involved in a fight....because both of them
wanted to rule the city....though it was tigers constituency, King owned the land....and the war continued. King said....the Tiger is dangerous...it ate a lot of people in the GREEN bushes.....and the Tiger said...beware of the
king....he's been fooling you for decades. City also had other animals......amongst them a few elephants who claimed to protect the people in the bushes....as
the tiger wid his party dreamt of finishing the city and getting the city all up to themselves......but that was not possible
logically....beacuse everybody who lived in the city...contributed to it.....and without them...it was difficult even for the tiger
to manage it"
"What crap???....how can a tiger rule a city....and as far as i know...there are no kings left in India....or does Mumbai have
one????" Said the visitor with his firm belief in the backwardness of Indians and their mixing up of real life and religious
mythology.
"It had one sir....and it still has.....a different one...yet....the old kings finished...and new emerged....with new rulers too sir...after the Sahibs left.....and the
tiger....there truly was one who ruled the city...and if u disagree....there r some cubs still who may love to finish you if you
disagree with tiger theory"
"I am sorry.....continue..."
"So once......the king of Mumbai went to Shanghai.....and there he was awestruck by the beauty of that city.....when he came
back......he said......'I will make my city beautiful like this'....he was so obsessed with this idea that he invited experts from all
over...and formed an army....it was called...the MMRDA!!!!....and their job was.....to turn Mumbai into Shanghai!!!!! But Shanghai had no slums....and mumbai had......as they wondered what to do.....one day....a general in MMRDA
shouted....destroy them!!!!!.....the king clapped in appreciation.....a proposal was accepted and the army took over the
city....with a board...'Bear with us for a better Mumbai'.....and people did.....for a better Mumbai......Army had so much to
do.....cover the gutters,widen the roads, buil bridges, build fly overs, construct parks for corporate and IT, build tall towers, sky
scrapers,....so much had to be changed.....but there always was on problem....where was the space for all this.......So army
brought a vehicle called bulldozer and started making space.......they pulled down whatever came in their way of turning Mumbai
to Shanghai.....after all they were king's orders!!! The city was full of people who lived in slums....they were real people.....and slums were there houses......they were
those boring types...who worked all the day...till they dropped down tired....only to manage earning a daily bread.......they
lived in a condition called utter poverty....which is a hypothetical statement as u know since India was a emerging economy in
those days......so....these...as we may put it....'blue collar' people lived in these slums......not that they loved living in the
filth...it was that they couldn't afford a permanent one.....also...the tiger and th king had promised them permanent
houses....but years passed over years....and they did never get their dream houses.... As their houses crumbled....they looked to tiger for help.....but tiger did not roar.....though his associates claimed
that he was thinkin of roaring.....no such sound was heard from his den....intrestingly the flowers which grew in ponds, which
the tiger was fond of.....shook in protest, nothing much happened. One day the people realised that.....the men amongst the
army...looked similar to that of tigers.......and ultimately found out that those were tiger's men themselves......people asked
'Why????'.....they said 'you are illegal occupants'.......and down came their houses...like palace of cards..... Where houses stood once, now only rubble remained.....the ground was levelled with road rollers.........totally
flat.....then dug up.....and foundations were laid....for the new Mumbai.......Everything that was old....was
scrapped....everything that could be called new....was raised....state of art buildings.....officing complexes, towers, roof tops,
roads got widened, gutters dissappeared...and so did ancient rivers renamed as nallaas.......Fly overs flew people over other
people....and bit by bit Shanghai took shape....It was not that easy sir!!!!.....thus....what u see now was made sir...."
"And where did the people go?????"
"People...who people????"
"Those who lived there....."
"Nobody lived there sir!!!"
"But u told me that people lived there......."
"Where???"
"The place where this all was built"
"No sir......it was all kings land"
"but u told me just that there was houses which were brought down n all such stuff"
"what houses???....sir i just told you that it was all kings land"
"Forget it....lets move on......whats on the other side of the bridge???"
"nothing sir it's just the outskirt of the city"
"So filthy.....r those buildings...are are those ruins of them???"
"Dont look there sir.....it's nothing there"
"But I see people there....living in the filth....isn't that a slum of sorts......it's so large"
"dont look at it sir....why dont you understand.....nobody looks at them once on this side of the bridge....and they too don't come here......they aren't allowed to......they have to stay there......dare
they come here"
"But who are they????" The middle man looked at the visitor. Smiled. Slowly mystery seeped into his smile. Hie eyes tinkled with a glint of
superior knowledge. His humble tone turned mystic...and words flowed out of his oral cavity like slow fumes from incense
sticks...

"Some stories have missing links.....which are better left missed"

Colour

2007-04-27T08:16:00.001-07:00

I was born
with a colour
like everybody else
the colour...which i did not choose

It came to me
as an inheritance
from the men
born before me
with the similar form
as of me

Then came they
to paint me in it
my body
my soul
every gush of my blood
and every drop of it
saffron
the colour which i did not choose
they painted me in it

Then arose a day
they made me proud
to hold it's layers upon me

more in them came later
some like me
some of their kind
to hurt my pride
and my painters gave me a sword
I had enemies now....

I slayed them all....and sliced them neatly
pierced them, tore themcut them into pieces
chopped them finely
were they a great mass
to slaughter

As I brought back
their deceased heads
to rejoice
the victory

On my way back
the heads turned to heads...
all like me

and a man camethe first marxist
he said he was
and whispered in my ears
"Colour my friend.....is the opium of man"

Bye Bye River

2007-04-04T06:41:00.000-07:00

I was born by a confluence of two individuals, whose roots belonged to two small hamlets on the either sides of a river. This was a pure co-incidence that they two met and got married. None of plots or conspiracies were planned to arrange this amalgamation of these two individuals. Now, being born to them, my roots too belong to these hamlets and my inheritance distributed amongst the two ends of the river.
Years have passed after the incident took place. I have grown up to a complete human being (with some inadequencies regarding intelligence of course) and have taken up the responsibility over from my parents of visiting these hamlets at a regular basis, feeling the emotional pull from my origins in these two places, crossing the river each time travelling from one home to other.
I’ve crossed the river over a hundred times from the moment I was able to intake and understand the comings and goings of the world. Each summer the river marked a milestone in my growth. Every time I crossed the river in the scorching heat of summer, realization struck me that I was another year and consequently an academic year older. From dipping my little finger into it’s rippled waters to dipping my entire self in it’s chilled waters along with my drooling sweat streams. It taught me to involve in sensuous affairs with danger, swimming in it’s martial embrace.
On her belly, I learnt that a fish is a life of a fisherman, and that he loves his boat more than his own seeds of new humans. That a boat rowed, talks to u in language of splashes. And that the river, is a passionate lover who likes to drench you in her love. And that the palms, aligning the coasts, are the rivers courtiers. Standing in a line, to welcome each of it’s wave with all the awe and respect. And that the wind is her playmate, whose touch runs shivers through the spines of these tall spinsters.
I’ve seen it swell in anger. I’ve seen it greedily gulping the rain. I’ve seen it knock at our doors, trying to find place in our houses, when mountains are unable to hold happiness in their chest on their summer burns being soothed by blissful rains. I’ve seen it loose it’s levels to let the crabs, frogs and river snakes breathe. I’ve seen it carrying trunks of trees in it’s soiled ferocious being. And I’ve seen her cuddle little swordfishes in it’s motherly arms when they jump overwhelmed by her love for them.
One summer, A four year old me dips a finger into the river and the boatman ‘Bapu’ scolds me.
“Brat, if u fall off the boat….u’ll reach the land of the snakes far below at the bed….only Bhima could survive it…u can’t u fool…..sit straight.”
Another such summer, I look at her stretch and ask my ‘Baba’
“Baba….how deep is it???....can we swim in it”
And Baba replies….”only near the shores my son…..for it is so deep at it’s body, that a thousand knotted rope too can’t measure it’s depth.”
Another summer, I move away from the shore swimming …and then, suddenly I can’t feel the land below my feet …..I rush back to the shore, swimming as fast as I can.
Another summer I cross it swimming, accompanied by my rural playmate ‘Sanjya’. He saves me from drowning once in the middle of the trail. When we reach other shore, we exchange our adolescent love stories. Whilst returning Sanjya says,”I saved u in time…..a moment late and you would’ve reached the depths even I would’ve found it difficult to enter.”, he caught fishes with his father in the river and knew it inside out…but not to the depths I would’ve reached, if he had not saved me.
Summers came. Summers went. Each hotter, than the previous one.
One summer Sanjya’s youngest brother comes to us with oysters in his hand. Places them on the table upon which we are sitting sipping tea.
I ask Sanjya where did he get it from.
His brother replies from the river bed. I look at Sanjya. He looks at me.

Another summer whilst crossing the river, I see a twig rising out of the river. As we ass near it, I see it is attached to something below firmly. Something like a branch of a tree.
Two summers later a mass of land is seen rising out of the river. I ask Bapu…
”Bapu…..what’s this??”
“Maybe an island coming up…..seeing it from last few months….”

Next summer the boat does not leave from the usual wharf. Water goes below it’s last step during low tides they say.
The island has stretched it’s mass furthermore.

Another summer and Bapu’s boat gets stuck in the sand below. People alight from the boat and push it to move it further.

Next summer more land masses are seen.

The summer later, these masses stretch over lengthier patches.

This summer, the boat only ferries when it is high tide. At low tides, they say u can see nearly half of the bed peeping out of the river at the shores.

Bapu said….”I’ll be out of job soon…in next few years people will walk over from one shore to another…..” and laughs cynically.

And with the river will be gone those years.

That day on television they said on the TV…Ganga is drying up due to global warming. It is rapidly loosing it’s level of water. WWF had conducted the survey(World Wildlife Fund…not World Wrestling Federation).

When my son will travel between the two shores, they won’t be shores anymore. There won’t be any river. There won’t be any Bapu. Sanjya and his brothers won’t be fishing. No thousand knotted rope will be needed to count it’s depth. The land of Snakes which Bhima escaped won’t exist anymore.

What do I care???.....I’ll give GRE next year.

Yes I did vote.....

2007-02-02T21:46:00.000-08:00

So..... did you vote?

Yes I did vote....
So that some goon may rule my ward again.

Yes I did vote....
So that he may not visit my lane ever again till next five years.

Yes I did vote....
So that he may break all the promises from the day of his victory.

Yes I did vote....
So that my vote could be easily wasted and some strong 'party' may come to power than
the candidate.

Yes I did vote....
So that the winning candidate could rest for five years.

Yes I did vote....
So that the gutters in my area could remain unclean for days, months and years.

Yes I did vote....
So that mosquitoes could breed in it and leave me sleepless.

Yes I did vote....
So that the roads may retain their potholes.

Yes I did vote....
So that water supply could be pathetic.

Yes I did vote....
So that lanes could be used for two way traffic.

Yes I did vote....
So that garbage bins could overflow.

Yes I did vote....
So that water could be logged in monsoon.

Yes I did vote....
So that sweepers may not be seen. Not even their sign.

Yes I did vote....
So that hoodlums who eve tease girls passing by, standing at a pan beedi shop could be
called party workers.

Yes I did vote....
So that more trees could be cut down.

Yes I did vote....
So that state of muncipal schools could be tiresome.

Yes I did vote....
So that these only affordable schools for poor lot could be closed down.

Yes I did vote....
So that playgrounds could be sold to builders.

Yes I did vote....
So that slums would keep spreading wider.

Yes I did vote....
So that people in slums would continue to live in unhealthy and unhygenic conditions.

Yes I did vote....
So that people due to lack and unkempt condition of public toilets, could shit and pee on roads.

Yes I did vote....
So that street lights could remain unlit in evenings, nights, days and thereafter.

Yes I did vote....
So that hawkers could encroach on footpaths leaving no space on them to walk on.

Yes I did vote....
So that stray dogs could go on a biting spree.

Yes I did vote....
So that municipal hospitals could continue to be grimy and at times infectious.

Yes I did vote....
So that the free medicines for these hospitals could be sold to medical stores near them at hundred percent profit.

Yes I did vote....
So that sewages and drains could give us an idea of how our shit smells after decaying.

Yes I did vote....
Because it is my right. My fundamental right. And a duty as a responsible citizen.

Even though I knew that nothing would change. I did vote. Hoping that if many more like
me would do so....things would change. Also realising . That not many more but
much much much much much more were needed......for the change to take place.

Dimaag Ka B......

2007-02-01T03:27:00.000-08:00

My net account was not working till yesterday. Couldn't recharge it. Was
collecting money. My service provider has hiked the prices

Road beside my house is in dire condition. Leave alone a vehicle it's not even
worth walking for humans. Yesterday evening an old man fell as his trembling feet
twisted into a pothole.

Main Road joining the road beside my house is dug up. They are laying a new
pipeline. Or perhaps a telephone line. Or some other line of some sort. Maybe a life
line. or a love line. Whatever. A month ago it had been dug up. For some line. Then
too. Now they've dug it up again. For another line. Don't know what all lines lie in
the belly of this road. Can crack a bad joke...'This road is linear'. Funny thing is, the men digging it up last time and men digging it up this time
are same...only companies are different. They came for a tea at the tea stall where we
hang aroung. Heard one of them say....'When will they hike our pay...It's been three
years now.'

The street lihgts at the edge of the road are not working. It's complete dark
there. Like my future. The darkness continues into the adjoining ruins of a disputed
building. Which stands so lonely that someone might mistake it for haunted. Somebody
snatched a necklace from a girl's neck while she was returning home from her office
that day.In that same patch. She's from my locality. I know her. I must say.She's damn lucky!!!

She said it once to me, when I was accompanying her co-incidentally on her way
back home, that she found it a waste to spend on an autorickshaw while returning home
as we aren't in much hurry ro reach home. Earlier it was affordable she had said. I
still remember.

Rickshaw walas queue up at a petrol pump where the main roads joins the
highway. It is their slack time. Can't earn a paisa in that time slot. Have to wait at
the petrol pump. To fill CNG in rickshaws. A long queue it is. So many rickshaws. So
less pumps with CNG filling facility. Some stay smart. They run rickshaw on traditional fuel. Petrol. They are very
much responsible for rickshaw fare hike. But at least they don't have to pause their
earning for an hour or three.

Once I met a rickshaw wala who was a graduate. B.A. in something. I could see
my 'tommorow' in him. Didn't get a job. So took to rickshaw driving. Before, he said,
he used to earn enough to feed his family. Now, he says, it too has become difficult
with so many rickshaws around.

Rickshaw walas literally curse the Traffic Police. They are the villians in
their story. 'Paandus' they call them. Paandus posses the ultimate power to stop a
rickshaw wala in the middle of it's journey. State rules. Known and unknown. And fine
them for breaking one of them. Later they settle the matter with a settlement amount
lesser than the fine and let them go. Rickshaw walas say that they do it only for the settlement money. They hold
them even if they aren't at mistake.

Sometime ago read a news in newspaper. A policeman had commited suicide. Weeks
later Yoga and meditation was introduced for Policemen. It was believed that it would
help them maintain psychological balance in stress. A TV channel interviewed some
policemen to find their say on this. One of the cop said "Ask them to reduce stress." Other asked for a salary at least. Forget raise and bonus. Another joined saying we
earn lesser than a 'office boy' in corporate sector.

A policeman raped a girl at Marine Drive. Don't know if he was cught trying or
he did. But RAPE is the word. Girl was a minor. He too has a daughter.

A man in Arthur road jail is under trial for raping his own daughters. They are
making a movie on him. It will release soon.

'Black Friday' hasn't released yet. Even if the results of the 93 Bombay Blasts
case are out.

It has taken thirteen years for the guilty of the 93 Bombay Blast case to be
prosecuted. Three more blasts took place in the meantime.

Bombay is Mumbai now. It is believed it was so before it was Bombay. Maybe. It
must've been. Who's seen?

Elections are due in Mumbai on 1st february. Everyone is standing strong with
their manifestos. Humour lies in this that they all are blaming each other for present
condition of Mumbai.

Mumbai belongs to Marathis say some. I long for an explanation. Till day I was
in a misconception that all of them living in Mumbai were responsible for it's growth.
Every single human being. Those dying in riots and bomb blasts weren't all Marathis.
Those working in offices aren't all Marathis. Still it is a property of Marathis...I am
weak at reasoning, can anybody help me with it???

People disgrace Mumbai for a place where nobody helps nobody. Maybe they
weren't here during floods.

Mumbai was flooded with water on 26th July 2005. Work on the drainage system of
Mumbai started on a war scale after that incident. On 4th July 2006 Mumbai was flooded
again.

In attempt to widen the gutters, trees were cut down and shops were demolished.
Those who lost their shops are waiting for compensation. Some having waited for a long
time have lost hope for any compensation. Some still wait. Amidst this there are some
who are waiting for the trees to be planted again.

In another attempt to prevent floods, widening of Mithi River was undertaken.
Oh there's also a river in Mumbai. I always thought we only had gutters and naalaas. Slums were also brought down in order to create more space in the city. People
lost their homes. They had no place to sleep.

A bunch of kids from Bandra drove over a family asleep on a footpath.

A family of Dalits was brutally murdered by a pack of high castes on the basis
of suspicion that they were provoking a police inspector to take action against these
men while he came to their place for his meals. The family included an eighteen year
old girl who was her college topper and aspired to join IAS. Before killing her, they
made her brother rape her. Her and her mother's body was found in a far away sewage
channel. Both were found raped first and then killed by forensics.

A man raped and killed kids, adolescents and teenage girls, also a few boys.
Ate their flesh and threw the bones in a gutter next to his bungalow.

Army Jawaans threw out a Kashmiri Muslim out of the train after thrashing him
up because he boarded their compartment in a regular train mistakenly. He survived.
jawans were sad about this.

Train was burnt in Kalyan near Mumbai by some angry Dalits in remonstration
against the desecration of Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar's idol in Kanpur. Quite close by were
these two places.

Dance Bars in Mumbai were shut down. Instead ladies service and orchestra was
allowed. Earlier girls danced on a dance floor farther from drunkards. Now they will
ahve to serve them at an intimate distance. In same revealing clothes they used to
dance in.

An actress was sued for wearing revealing clothes at a performance. It hurt the
suer's sentiments only because it was shown on the television. Had it not been shown.
He hadn't cared. Also on television are soaps where women wear backless blouses and
transparent sarees with their three fourth breasts peeping out of their low cut
blouses.

A son threw his parents off the balcony of their skyscraper house and mentioned
it a suicide. Cops however were successful at discovering the truth later. He wanted
the house to hereditarily come down to him, which wasn't possible without their being
dead.

Truth was disclosed later even in matter of three murders who got justice after
twelve and thirteen years. Before their murderers were set free by previous courts
where the cases stood before approaching the supreme court. Truth prevails at last.
Even if culprits don't last.

An IITan was brutally murdered by oil mafias when he tried to reveal an oil
scam. He studied all through his teenage and most of his youth for this moment.

An IITan murdered himself for reasons unknown.

A female military officer too killed herself. Again for reasons unknown.

Farmers in Vidarbha are killing themselves. So many of them that it appears to be a trend. A suicide spree. Since they aren't able to repay the loans they drew for raising a crop, which eventually never got raised.

As I think about all this.....something is happening in some part of the nation
simultenously. Someone killed, kidnapped, corrupted, bribed, raped, molested, sold,
bought, massacred, fooled, something or the other. It is a vibrant nation after all. As I think about this very fact, Dimaag ka Bhosda ho jaata hai.

Note: Bhosda(Bho-sa-daa)
1.Bhosda is an over used vagina. Used in reference to a vagina that has been
raped repeatedly over a large number of times.
2.A battered vagina.

Recipe for a good coffee

2006-12-16T02:27:00.000-08:00

A good coffee always needs perfect amount of sugar. And if you don't have it,
you need to get down from your minaret and reach the nearest 'General Stores'(possibly
the rudest one) and ask for exactly one hundred grams of sugar, pay him and get back to
the minaret.It is as easy as this.
However this does not remain this easy if someone eight hundred miles away has
desecrated the image or idol of some leader..

Night ten thirty. I need sugar. No sugar on room. I get down from my room. I
look aroun. Road is empty. Nobody around. Two policemen with batons.'Pehla nasha' tune.

"Hello""Abey Gandu....room se baahr mat nikal.Don't gey outta ur fuckin room"
"Why?"
"Roits man riots....danga shuru ho gaya hai."
"Why???""Don't know....lekin hai"
"Gaand teri....you don't know anything...n you r calling up everybody saying riots've
broken out...dimaag kharaab ho gaya hai kya??"
"Nahi re...sachchi"
"Sachchi your arse!!!"

"Aye....kidhar???", Pandu interruption.
"Woh shakkar lene ke liye....."
"Kuch shakkar bikkar nahi...sab dukaan bandh hai....curfew"
"Curfew??!!....Kaayko???"
"Maaloom nahi kya? Danga chaalu ho gaya hai.....gharpe ja!!"
spoke.
"Danga!!!!....kaike upar se???""Woh kuch ho gaya hai udhar""Kidhar??""Woh mereko kya maaloom....jaa abhi!!!"

Desecration of the idol of Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar in Kanpur has caused riots
in some areas of Mumbai and Pune. Government has requested people to maintain peace
and decorum in the state.

"Chalo at late aaj toh time pe office pahunchunga"
"Yeah....no problem today"
"Hmm....Queen kabhi kabhi hi queen hoti hai...waisi aaj hai"
Train halts all of a sudden.
"Bhenchod...lagadi najar...dekho ruk gayi....now again late today!!"
"Abey ruk gayi matlab kya puri tarah se thode hi ruki hai....it'll again start in next
five minutes."
"Aur nahi hui toh???"
"Toh ten minutes"
"And if it doesn't start even after ten minutes????"
(After ten minutes.)
"Abey yeh kya hai.....poori train jaladi"
"Poori train nahi...only three bogies"
"teen nahi chaar....four"
"koi maraa kya???"
"Pata nahi"
"I'll be late for office again....inki toh...."
"Abey peechhe ka local bhi jalaa rahe hai kya???"
"Lekin hua kya hai train jalaneko???"
"Pata nahi"
"Saalaa ekdin toh time pe pahunchne waalaa tha...abhi woh bhi nahi shit!!!"
"Yeh...isne najar lagayee"
"Sorry.....Queen aaj bhi queen nahi hai"
"Lekin sab ho kyon raha hai???"
"Pata nahi"

"Tum sab hijde ho...saalo koi Baba ki murti todta hai...aur tum sab aise hi baithe
rehte ho.....jaao....unko apni taakat dikaho...show them you are not eunuchs....Jai
Bhim!!!"
"Jai Bhim"
"Very Good Saaheb....agala election apna!!!"

"Baba....now what will we do???....look what they've done....they hit all of them who
were with us at the Chavdar lake....these uppercaste pigs!!!!....what do they think
they are???"
"Baba....one word....there are still many of us....we'll clean all those bastards in a
single go...just give us the order Baba"
"Calm down Chitre....we are satyagrahis....I warn all of you...I don't want any
violence....we are fighting for truth....and the truth is that we are humans and nobody
can deny us from our right of being treated like humans....and we will fight for this
truth.....come what may...but with peace.....I think we are that strong
enough...what??"Baba asked mischeiviously over his spectacles...but the concern for the
growing restlessness amongst his men was clearly visible on his face. The upprcastes
would never accept them so easily as a part of the legitimate society. But what if his
men lost their temper during this struggle and opted for violent means. However all
accepted Baba's decision that day and held on. Baba was relieved for the moment.

"Buddha means non violence.....Buddha means peace.....Buddha means no bloodshed" Baba
was explaining Buddhism to his colleagues."And when we shall be buddhists....we will
accept this very first condition of Buddhism.....are you ready to come with me to
Buddha????"

"I will practice non violence" Baba recited out one of the clauses of Buddhism at the
Dhamma Conversion ceremony at Nagpur. His voiced came back to him through the chorus of thousands standing around the pedestal. They were with him throughout the oath. They were promising Buddha that they would follow him. And also to Baba.
"I will practice non violence" The chorus said.

"Kal poora Maharashtra jalaa denge.....we'll burn every damn thing in revenge of this
humilation."

"Lekin yaar yeh hua toh Kanpur mein hai....phir idhar kaiko danga ho rela hai???"
"Mereko kya pata"

"Babasaheb sirf Maharashtra ke nahi hai....poore desh ke hai....unke apmaan ka
badla....poore desh ko lena hoga.....ab tak poore desh se kraanti ki aawaaj uth rahi
hai...ab hum maharshtra waale bhi peeche nahi rahenge......Jai Bhim"
"Jai Bhim", Chorus.
"Saaheb.....timing bhi sahi hai....december mein hai election."

(On screen)
"The breaking news for the hour.....Riots have broken out in some parts of Maharashtra
owing to the desecration of the idol of Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar in Kanpur. Mumbai,Pune
and Aurangabad are amongst the areas declared most volatile with respect to the current
situation. People are demanding a Maharshtra wide bandh tommorow as a protest against
this act of humiliation"
(Off screen)
"What's the connection???...Mumbai,Pune, Aurangabad.....and Kanpur???!!!!....I mean...
even by train it takes two days to reach from these places to Kanpur man."

"Aye dukaan kyun khola???"
"Saahab dhandaa hai....humraa pait palta hai ispar."
"Dhanda hai toh kya hua....ekdin bandh nahi rakh sakta hai"
"Bandh??...kaahe??"
"Maaloom nahi kya...aaj Maharashtra bandh hai....tum saale bhaiya log...kidhar kidhar
se aate ho....madarchod!!"
"Arey bandh kari det hai saahab...gaali kaheko det ho??"
"Kya bola???"
"Hum keh rahe the....ki saahab hum abhi bandh kari det hai...bas aap aisa maa par se
gaali nahi dijiyegaa"
"Jaasti shaanaa banataa hai???....aye daal re ghaaslet saale ke dukaan par bhendi"

"Humraa poora dukaan jala diye"
"Arey baba idhar har kisika kuch na kuch jal raha hai....hum bhi kidhar kidhar dhyaan
dega???.....hum bhagwaan thoda hi hai"
"Saab....headquarter se phone hai....tera number beat mein force bhejne bola
hai....udhar danga chaalu ho gaya hai"
"Dekha??"

"Fuck man coffee tastes awful without sugar....what the fuck will happen with a bandh
and fuckin riots....that too for incident in Kanpur."

"It is magic....pure, chaste magic....with each burning....the idol builds a millimeter
of itself back."
"What shit??"
"Really....more the riots...faster will the idol be rebuilt....damn for this
unsuccessful bandh today....or else majority of the idol would've been rebuilt by
today."
"Fuck you....u being sarcastic or something???"
"No man....really. They did the same to rebuild Babri Masjid....but it was a lagre
monument kinda place...and killings and riots were too less for it."
"What do u think you are???...Dante??"
"I swear...It's the truth."

"Humne unhe apni taakat dikha di hai.....humaaraa badla poora ho gay hai....Baba ka
putla todne waale ko pakda gaya hai aur use kadi se kadi sajaa di jaayega"
Applause!!!!
"Ab mein aap se binati karta hoon ke aap sab ab humein nyaay milne tak sayyam rakhe.
Baba ka badla poora ho chuka hai....sirf aap ki vajah se....aap hai Baba ke sachche
poot....Jai Bhim!!!."
"Jai Bhim!!!"
"Ab yeh log shaant rehne chaiye...warna."

"Aapne agar apne logo ko kaabu mein nahi rakha toh agle cabinet mein aapki koi jagah
nahi hogi.....isliye aap apne logo ko jaraa kaabu mein rakhe"
"Lekin isse humaaraa hi faaydaa hai"
"Tumhaara faayda hai....tum logo ka koi bharosa nahi....jiske paas majority hai wahaan
chale jaate ho."
"Toh phir kya darr hai...agle cabinet mein main kisi aur ke saath jaaker yahi
baithunga"
"Aap shaayad bhool rahe hai....ke isbaar bhi aap cabinet mein hai."

"Why don't you understand???...they are using us. They are using our caste
factor....woh humaaraa istemaal kar rahe hi....kab samjhoge tum log"
"Saaheb aisa nahi kar sakte....samjhaa...tera kaam hai kavita likhna...tu jaake kavita
likh....saaheb ko kuch bolne ki jaroorat nahi hai.....saaheb humaare neta hai...woh
humaare liya ladhte hai."

"Roits have finally calmed down after two long days in Maharashtra. Things are back to
normalcy.Government has said....."

"Saalaa danga dui din mein bandh hi karna tha toh hamraa dukaan kaahe jalaye"

"Useless....what did they get causing inconvinience to ordinary people....rascals"
"Peace of mind"
"No....revenge"
"Revenge for what???"
"For humiliation"
"Then go and kill that bastard who had desecrated the idol...why are you meddling with
my routine...now I'll have to work on weekends too."

'Deccan Queen is back on tracks'-Headline, Pune Herald.

"Queen ka naam pheonix rakhna chahiye.....Queen queen hai yaar!!!"
"Chup....najar mat lagaa"

"Finally a good coffee with sugar....after two days."

For a good coffee, add two teaspoons of sugar. Oneteaspoon of coffee. Three
drops of milk. Mix them well. Make a paste. A thick one. And pour boiling hot milk in
it. Stir as you pour. Taste it. You'll feel proud of yourself for making such a coffee.

No Drinking-n-Driving,No Street Dwelling

2006-11-19T03:48:00.000-08:00

It was eleven thirty in the night. Eleven Thirty in Mumbai isn't Night. Yet by
universal standards, let's consider it one. Signals stood lonely blinking lazy yellow
at each junction. I sped through them at each junction, humming Dhoom tune to myself on
my motorbike. When else does one get a chance to imitate John in Mumbai. Fast forward
it to eleven thirty in morning and imagine if u can even hit speed of forty, that too
with a prolonged signal at each junction. No. Not possible. Now's the only chance to
change your last name to Abraham and twist the accelarator to the end of your knuckle
bend. Feel the speed. Whiz past everything within a fraction of seconds. Feel the wind
in your face. Your clothes. Your body Your soul. Be one with ur machine. Dissolve with
the road. Bandra, Khar, Santa Cruz passed me in a scurry. At Parle a whistle blew out loud. Ringing sharply through the helmet, into my
ears. I slowed down. Road Block Barricades stood spreading their arms at the Centaur
Junction, ready to envolope the vehicles, trying to zoom past through them,
into.Policemen sat like fingers at the edges of those hands. Seeing me decelerate, one
of them shifted to the center of the road looking like Batman with spread wings with
those barricades behind him. I stopped near him. I tried to smile. He was at the peak of his duty with his
straight face.
'License???'
I thrust my hand into my back pocket, pulled it out and handed it over to him.
He scrutinised it all ways through. Shit, no defect!!!
'Kiska gaadi hai?'
'Daddy ka.'
'Gaadi ka paper' Caught u kiddie!!! I opened my sack and passed him the packet with the bike papers. Once again scritiny all sides over.Shit...again no point!!!
'Kihdar jaa raa hai??'
'Gharpe'
'Kidhar se aa raha hai??' Questions, Questions, Questions. You are the cop man!!...you have the right.
'Dost ke ghar se'
'Kaiko gaya tha?'
'Padhne'
'Kitaab??' I Pointed out at the fat thick Kotler peeping out of my bag. He tried to read
it's title. Way beyond uncle's grasp. 'Kaunsa college?'.'Kaunsa class?'....'Kaunsa bench?','Uspe Kaunsa side??'.'Kaunsa bloodgroup','Aaaj khaane mein kya khaayaa tha?','Uska nutritive value kya kya hai?','Usme Carbohydrates kitna tha?','Carbihydrates mein Carbon kitna hota
hai?','Caron ka calorific value kitna hai?','carbon molecule mein kitna Ions hota
hai','Carbon ka atomic number kya hai?'....anything.Absolutely anything. Bhai Puleeswaale ho. Tumko hak hai. No problem with my riding in the night. Now comes the delicate part. A machine was held at my mouth.
'fooko isme' I blew into it.
Machine gave some readings. He checked those. Faced unbudged.
'Theek hai' Name,address,phone number jotted down. License, papers handed back.
'Jaao abhi.' At last, it was my turn to ask a question. I had too. After facing his two
hundred I could have one at least.
'Saaheb....ekdum checking vagaire'.I chose marathi. The official language of worlds
second most efficient police force,after scotland yard. I saw comfort running on his face. Tensed lines loosened up. A faint smile
formed at his lips.
'Arey aata compulsary hai naa....alcohol test...public daaru peeoon gaadya
chaalavtaat...aacident kartaat...lokaanchaa jeev jato...tension hai naa...mhanoon.' He expilained to me the recent compulsion of alcohol test for drivers and the
ill effects of drunken driving in short grouping of words.
'Aadhi evadha navhata...parva tya bandraachya poraannee tya jhopdiwaalyaana maarala na
tevhaapasoon jhaala hey' Alright.The reason shaped up. A group of drunken Bandra guys ran over a family of street dwellers, extending
their midnight snooze to an eternal slumber.They were charged with culpable homicide
charges by the authorites later. But those street dwellers died on the spot with the
car tyres going over their bodies. Well culpable Homicide charges will do the justice.
No need to worry 'What's wrong with these Bandraites???' I said to myself,'First there was
Salman- A Bandraite and then these "Poryaa"s. Why are they so obsessed with the concept
of "Drink,Drive,Kill". We are getting screwed for their deeds. Arseholes!!!!' I kick-started my bike and took a leave. How smart is the Government Of Maharashtra to implement immidiate 'Naka Bandi'
at night time iced with alcohol blow test. Apt move I must say. More the scary cops on
road, Less of Drink-n-Drive. Less of Drive-n-Drive,Less of accidents.Less of accidents,
Less loss of life. Perfect!!! Most efficient way of saving lives. But what should be
marked out is the appropriate timing of the Government in implementing these road
blocks. Very appropriate. A week within the incident. Must appriciate the wit possesed
by the administration in this matter. We are ensured of no accidents henceforth. Well, this phenomenon of Drink-n-Drive didn't exist before. Did it?? I mean
What Salman did was he had his drinks first and then he drove his SUV over the cozy
roadside nappers. That's not called Drink-n-Drive. Is it?? What these guys commited was
a perfect act of Drink-n-Drive. They drove as they drank. This was never existent
before.We didn't ever hear of it. We never saw people with half emptied beer in one
hand and a steering in other. Never. Not even on state highways. Neither on National
Highways. Nevr did a truck driver drink his 'Tharraa' and drive. And ST drivers never
touched the bottle of 'Naringi' or 'Mousambi' before hitting their routes. How noble were the people. Thank god the government curtailed this epidemic in time. Or else such sights would soon be visible at every signal and junction at night time in the city.I bet they love this city and the people. Now along with this they should also now start sessions trying to put some sense amongst people. Even though that is not as relevent as Road Blocks, but it holds a necessity of it's own. They should educate people about their living and sleeping habits. 'What sense does it make by sleeping on pavements??? That ain't no place to sleep. Come on. You must be having homes, don't you??? Go and sleep in your own bungalow like us'-The ministers should enlighten everybody,especially the below poverty line people- 'At least an apartment or two. How have we got five to seven apartments in a same city. We can sleep wherever we want when we want to. If u feel enclosed in your bedrooms, Go sleep in the room facing the sea. If u dont have one ask your builder friend to encroach on sea coast and ask him to reserve a flat for you.If u dont like the salty air, try national park. It's got all the fresh air in the city. Or even AArey colony would do.In the end why is earth made.For all of us to encroach on spaces.... What is this sleeping on road.And what is this this new fashion??? Street dwelling!!!...It's so down market. Street Dwelling???!!!...Isn't their space left in the city. There are so many slums. Go shift into one of them. Who said builders are going to destroy them. No. How can they without telling us. We too need a flat to stay like you all,etc.'
I beg to the authorities to please do it. People like fools, fall prey to growing fashions and trends and then embrace death. Government should restrict this growing craze of roadside dwelling, like they controlled the one for drinking-n-driving. It's possible for them. They are efficient. Isn't that proven by the road blocks. Also their other ideas are a hit- like dance bar bans, helmet compulsions, polythene bag bans. They overcame the problems of cultural degradation, narrow unsafe roads and Indiscriminate property growth in environment sensitivity quite effectively. They are the masters of solutions. Long time, flawless, fitting solutions. It at times astonishes me by the way they produce these solutions. How can any brain work in such an extraordinary manner.
And also it is on the people's part to not drink and not drive or drive when not drunk....and not dwell or sleep on streets, especially when our ever-so-competent goverment is able to provide them with ample accommodation and when our city has so much spare place to consturct houses for them.

The 'Bhatair' Effect

2006-10-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

Chicken Angaaraa slid down my esophagus and made it's place in my
stomach, leaving space for something else to fit in. I looked at Sid. He looked at me.'Aur kya mangaate hai???'I asked him. We were at Memonwada, with the solitary intention of swallowing as
much as we could and whatever we could.It's reputation for mughlai cuisines
had dragged us into it's crammed lanes.And now we were at a open air dining
hall outside a 86.13 Sq.ft. shop, deciding upon what to be ordered next
after trying three delicacies. We looked at the waiter-cum owner-cum friend-cum philosopher-cum
guide.'Aur kya kya hai',I asked him. He presented me with a unending list ranging from china to Punjab
to Afghanistan to Iran to Hyderabad...most of which we had tried someday or
other before.'Ekdum alag kya hai',Sid Asked.'Alag mein.....Bhatair try karenge???''Bhat..?' Mahesh Bhat, Pooja Bhat, Vikram Bhat,Mukesh Bhat...'Bhatair ''Woh kya hai???'curiosity puked out of Sid's oral cavity.'Bhatair sir...Quail.' He pointed at an aluminium cage full of cute little birds. One of
those which u could gift to ur girlfriend to woo her.One of those who you
would gift ur nephew to talk with. One of those that a hindi film actress
in a film a decade or two ago, would confess her love affair to.Had a girl
accompanied me instead of Sid, She would've surely
exclaimed...'ooooooooh...how cute!!!' 'Haan...ek lanaa' Instead we exclaimed instantly without a second thought. 'Kaisa laau??'He asked'Fry,Gravy ya Tandoori''Tandoori....Kya re??'I looked to Sid for consent.'Haan haan...Tandoori'Sid answered readily. As the attendent left, I started staring at the cage to look at
which one of the lot was being selected for us. They sat in the cage like disciplined kids in a classroom with
their small innocent faces, staring at the world with lot of interest and
curiosity.A birdie u would readily fall into love with.Like me.A sudden
retaliation hit me.I hated myself for ordering that bird.How could I be so
brutal.How could I eat something so...so...so...feeble,so helpless,so
lovely.How could I do it.I was a devil.I thought how similarly
chickens,goats, lambs must be lovely creatures before eating them...or
cooking them...or killing them.What a sin I had been doing all this years.I
begged to god for forgiveness.'Kitna time lag raha hai re....main khaane ke liye tadap raha hoon'Sid
said.'Fuck u!!!!'I said to him within the constraints of my thought'u
bastard...I hate u'.Then my mind said to me that the thought that had
striked me hadn't striken him.He ws still what I had been a minute ago.He
too needed that vision for a realisation like me.But what if he never had
any.Then I needed to tell him what I thought at this moment about consuming
that and like him beings.I turned to him.I opened my mouth to utter my
first word..... And the Tandoori Bhatair arrived.I was too sure I was not going to
eat it.I was a vegetarian from a moment ago. No more non-vegetarian food
for me for the rest of my life,If the little pleasure for my tongue was
going to snatch the right of life from some living creature. Sorry Sid u
have to eat it alone. he tore the first chunk of the roasted flesh from the bird and put
it into his mouth.'Ummmm....maaki...Kya sex bomb cheez hai yar hai...jaldi le.' I sat frozen.I couldn't say a word. I felt like crying for the bird
that lay died and roasted on the plate. Bird which was well alive few
minutes ago. A bird which could have been living had I not said yes to the
attndent.'Le re Gandu...Solid hai ekdum'Sid persuaded. I forcefully raised my hand.I took my hand to the plate. My hand
shivered. I hadn't been doing this. I don't know why I was doing It. i
pulled out a chunk and kept it on my tongue.Tears gathered in my eyes.And
next moment the chunk spread it's taste in my mouth. The perfectly roasted
meat melted on my tongue and my tongue involuntarily pushed it to my
molars, premolars and other grinders in my mouth.Every crunch and juice
squeezed out of the piece.I kept chewing till I lost it into nowhere inside
the vacuum of my digestive track. I pulled out a bigger chunk next time and gobbled it,then another
one..then another one...competing with Sid to finish it. And I said to myself.'Fuck u....This is awesome....vegetariansim sucks if I am gonna loose this'

Pray and Pay...Pay and Pray...what would u like to subscribe???

2006-10-26T06:01:00.000-07:00

I stood facing the old priest of the offering altar after exiting the main temple of Khandoba. For sure he had called me.With a concerned look of an familiar elderly,he warned me that my pilgrimage would be incomplete without praying at the offering altar.

Well I was a no pilgrim nor did i have any problem if my religious excursion did remain incomplete.But the stone idol at the edge of the altar was worth a photograph.

He asked me to sit down on my haunches. And I did.He looked me into eye and recited a long miss match rhymed prayer and ended it with a command pointing at the large brass plate.

"Khandobachya naavane ghaal paachshe yek yaa taatat"'In the name of Khandoba place five hundred and one rupees on this platter'
'why?'I asked
'For the blessing'He replied.'...So that you don't go unblessed from this temple'

I didn't have that much money.I mentioned my broked state to him.I had no intention of being blessed. Even if I had any...
'Then place hundred and one',he presented me with an option.

He was indirectly assuring me that he was thinking about the haversack on my back was containing bundles of US Dollars which I had brought along after striking an arms deal with President George W. Bush and was on my way to the Prime Ministers office to jot down the order for thirty Sukhois or Migs and carried intention of distributing some of those bundles amongst the patrons of the shrine.I smiled cynically and said I didn't have even that much.I was sure from his expressions that his next lines would be 'Go and sit with the beggers along the steps of the temple then'.

But he turned out to be more courteous and regretfully uttered 'Give then whatever you have' I pulled out twenty one rupees from my odd jeans pocket and placed it on the plate.

'no...at least hundred and one'he said.

I told him that it was all I could shell out as i required some dough for my return journey. He scornfully picked it up and put it in his pouch muttering, "Tumchi marji".Remorsefully.'Your wish'.

I left my wish as it was on the plate and stood up. If had lacked the very shame, I would've picked up that too and put it into my pocket. Episode finish. Back to my work. I moved to the stone idol and take picture of it on my camera. Another old priest put his turmeric clad hand on the lens while I was adjusting the frame.

'Did u make the offering???'He asked

'Yes'I replied.

'When?'

'Just now'

'I didn't see u' he said.

'I just did at that priest', I said pointing at the priest who had driven me into offering moments ago.

'He's a bogus...u should come to me...i m the officially appointed one...u'll get
official blessings here and not at him.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Then would u like an official offering now???'

'No...I did it once...it's okay'

'Then no photograph....Khandoba isn't a free God...God and his blessings
aren't free of cost.'

'I m sorry...I didn't know', I uttered apologetically and left. But I really didn't know. I didn't know that God and his blessings aren't free of cost. I didn't know that if u didn't pay u didn't get
blessed. Now i know...Why i've got so many KTs to clear....no payment to God.That's it.

I scored damn less in HSC....yes...Not because I spent time watching movies n chasing girls...because I didn't put a few notes in God's Charity box...

Charity Box...For God..What r u thinking???...Yes... of course God needs charity....what do u think he is???...Why will he bless u if u dont please him by being charitable???...Very bad.

And last time a girl rejected me...i know the reason why now...It's not that I was too much of physically interested in her and was all I thought about and she too had a clear idea about it....but it was that I hadn't paid for the maha 'pooja'...

And i m currently jobless is not because I don't possess a skillset but because I didn't buy a reciept for 'abhishekam'...

Shit!!...what had I been thinking all the time!!...That blessings come free n all...oh no...how wrong I was!!!

Next time I visit a holy place...I'll fill my haversack with money instead of clothes....I'll beg,borrow or steal it if I won't have that much...After all it's worth as an investment.

Come on...we r gonna buy God's blessings..not a childs play...stable than the share makets, secure than mutual funds plus no jhanjhats...go to god...pray for what u want...and pay for ur wishes...and then wait...and one fine day..hallelujah...ur wish comes true... but how much for each wish...I m sure God doesn't accept gross payments...after all...he's a hard core businessman....But how much does he charge for a single wish???...Pakka there must be a rate card...different
rates for different wishes...depending upon their magnitude and the level of difficulty involved....

Like If u want a child..Pay Rs.1000...If u want a boy child...pay Rs.1500...come on bringing XY chromosomes together isn't an easy task....every wish..different price....more the wishes..more the discount u get...U also have subscription...would u like to subscribe??? Diwali and New Year discounts will also be given. Pay and Pray scheme is also available for those who want to pay
first and pray later...later when???..whenever...maybe..never.Why do u want to pray when u've already paid???Silly Questions. Why is it that God's name isn't there in Fortune Five hundred Rich Personalities. He has so much money coming in...that too without much investments.Total profits...Harvards and IIMs need to have a case study on him...Maybe he's gaining business that's why.

'Hello...we r calling up from heaven...do u have any wish??'Voice says on phones at utmost ridiculous time of the day...when u r in the loo or something like that.

'Our company 'God and followers' would like to enroll u in our new program 'Next Moment'..... in this u make a wish and u will find it fulfilled iat the very next moment...so sir would u like to join in???....Don't worry about the price sir...we also have payment by installments facility...and in case if u want a loan...we have collabrated with so-and-so bank to provide u with easy loans'...

'superb...how generous of u God...u r providing me with a loan to fulfill my wish',u say and start sobbing.

'God listens to u when u pray with all ur heart' they say. But years along they've been dropping the later part...all lot of the clergymen in the medivial europe,vedic India and other 'religion forming' timeslots....(Dan Brown..I'm providing u with a topic I suppose....Sorry for
swaying away)...The later part..yes...is....'and if u pay with all ur pocket'....there's no doubt about my dad's perception that I am a useless-good for nothing-Idiot. But the newly learnt fact has given me a chance to prove the same about my dad. Once me n my dad went to a temple and I started crying,shouting,banging my head, throwing tantrums for I wanted a one rupee
coin. Dad asked me why did I want it???...and I replied I had to give it to the
god like everybody else.And dad had said....

'What can u give to the one who gives us all'

You were wrong dad...and u gave me ur wrong thought in inheritance.

(And for those who are athiests...There's no god at all.)

Drowned in Fire

2006-10-17T04:29:00.000-07:00

I took a matchstick in my hand
and lit Iqbal's tommorow.
Then I touched it to Rafik's life...
and it went crackling
bursting, blazing with Zaaheer, Junaid, Mahmood
and many others in a row...

A sparkler I lit from a candle
and sparks of Naseer from it rained .
Whizzed a firewheel or zameen chakri
when Maqsood's life did end.

The sky filled up with golden colours
as Imtiaz's lungs choked
And loud explosions froze hearts for a second
after Akbar's sprout of blood on a packet of 'Volcano'es soaked.

The flower pot reached unattained heights
because I thrust gunpowder up Altaf's nose.
Lost was the school of Mohammad Kasim in it
when the smoke from the snake pellets rose.

With content utmost I looked around
to see the the festive glory.
And saw many children jump in pool of fire
to never return to tell their story.....

Dedicated to the child labourers in Sivakasi making crackers for other children of same age as of theirs to enjoy.

Burn The Ravan today but...

2006-10-02T07:56:00.001-07:00

Dusshera's back. After a year. Last day of Navaratri(more profusely an extension of it.) The ceremony of celebrating the victory of Maryadapurushottam Ram over the Non Maryada Man Ravan.
Today is the day to abuse the rascal. The villian. The Inhuman. The devil.The..... whoever. The day to burn him to ashes and rejoice...
But rejoice for what????
When I was a kid...my Aaji(Granny for non-maharashtrians) told me that Dusshera was a celebration for the defeat of the Evil over the Good.
Well...Defeat???
Wher's it???
I don't see it anywhere.
Is the Evil defeated????
Well..why didn't anybody inform me about it???
Or maybe I am a bit ignorant about my surroundings.
Or is it that I've damaged eyesight.
I can see riots. I can see bomb blasts. I can see discriminations made among humans, every day more intrinsicly. I can see corruptions. I can see female feoticides. I can see hatred all over. I can see families breaking. I can see all the signs of evil everywhere.
Maybe I am pschiezofrenic or pneumonic or whatever they call the disease Russel Crowe and Amitabh Bachchan suffered from in A Beautiful Mind and Aankhein.
I can see things which do not exist.
I can see even more things.
I can see everybody around involved in those evils.
My dad, my mom, my sis, my granny, my friends, my teachers, my relatives, my leaders, my idols.everybody...even me to a great extent. I can see everybody being a part of it.
And in my Pshceizophrenia or whatever...i can see people celebrating the defeat of evil of which they are a part of...
They laugh, sing, scream, shout and do whatever they can to prove that they've won....
And in this disease of mine...I would like to say....
The only sin Ravan did was he fell for Sita and abducted her....never touched her even.(I've read Ramayan.Mind it)
Rest he was a genuine Rakshas King who was rightful,just, learned, brave and a great ruler. Lover of his people.
And I am sure....If these people were in his place they would have not only abducted Sita but raped her on the way,would've never taken her home and then killed her to protect their public images....don't believe me read Newspaper everyday....or may be even that's a result of my mental illness.
So my co existents.....Burn the Ravan only if you are a Maryadapurushottam.For only he has right to kill a man that great. Got It???!!
Oops!!...I am sorry. I am toh mentally ill. How can I preach superlatives like you????
All you are such high esteemed individuals.
Sorry guys..forget all I said. And forgive me.
Go out and celebrate...it's festival time.

welcome the mother

2006-09-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

blow the trumpets.
beat the drums.
clash the cymbals.
let their sound resonate
through every lane and pane
if it doesn't
then push it a bit
with high fidelity amplifiers
and shout if you want
and raise cries
to touch the skies
let each wall around
shiver
with all it's belongings
and every window
shatter
with ears beyond it
no
it does not suffice
burst crackers then
of rinkle twinkle
and heart freezing explosions
let there be nothing else but sound
every bit dissolved in it
only sound
and sound
for the mother has come
or is it the son
it does not matter whom
it is the sound that matters
who cares if someone dying needs some peace
for silence is forbidden
only the mother being welcomed
or perhaps the son
knows why...

Two deaths and a thought

2006-09-17T04:15:00.000-07:00

Within a period of a fortnight I had witnessed two deaths then. Both similar to each other to a great extent. At the same time differing each other equally. The similarities being both the deaths took place in Worli, both related to the politics, both having similar political ideologies. Both these men were once teachers who later played a major role in making the parties they worked for, big fishes in the sea of Indian political community, through the early days of foundation of their respective parties. Both were on ventilators in their last moments and both left behind a families of a son, daughter, wife and an aged mother.
Now it’s the time for differences.
One was a political activist. He spent his life working for his political party selflessly. He worked for it’s growth and popularity without expecting a penny or a position. All he had been in his life was regional secretary for his party. In spite of all his efforts and hard work he remained a simple party worker foe the upper crust of leaders in his party, his once colleagues. He strived with them to help his party hold roots on the soil of Mumbai. Only to be forgotten and neglected later. The boys he introduced went further to hold high positions at national and state assemblies. But he remained only what he was, The Regional Secretary of his party. Wherever he worked he gained friends, made unbreakable alliances and gained popularity amongst his fellow and subordinate workers. The only drawback of his persona was his misqualification of selflessness. He gave up his nomination for a subordinate youngster at the peak of his political career. He worked in slums, chawls and hutments for their upliftment without demanding ransom, in which his contemporaries had gained a mastery in. He put needy in first place and himself at last. He slogged through day and night in areas, which his other white-collar co-workers shivered at the mere thought. For only cause he knew was social upliftment, which he believed strongly, was what his party was formed for. However, he was disillusioned later. His tendency of refusing lucrative positions always kept him a man ever struggling to make the ends meet in his personal life. Till his last moment he lived in a hardly one bedroom house which he had been living in for years. At last he died a peaceful death of misinterpreted disease.
This other was a strategist. The big shot of his party. Mention of his party was his mention. He promoted his party to the extent of bringing it to power in India. He was known for his taste of technology and keen interest in adopting modern technological wonders. He was a bit of rule breaker for his party yet highly respected for the amount of intellect he possessed in formulating strategies at each election. His calculations worked at times and failed. But he remained the brain of his party. Never did he miss a moment of being in limelight whenever his party emerged victorious at any of election. A true believer of publicity, he made use of media to polish the image of his party by broadcasting advertising campaigns highlighting the achievements made by his party when in power, which in truth never existed. Involved in sex scams. His name splashed in numerous large illegal dealings. Responsible for privatization of many public sector industries providing basic needs to the common man. A sweet talker by nature and a hard core politst. Many issues that rose against him from time to time were covered up mysteriously, never to be mentioned again. His crusade for wealth never ceased as he climbed up his political ladder. Right hand of the political maestros and a consignee of their illegitimate transactions. He was a man whose name was always there on the lips of the nation. He had tottered the globe for the fund raisal of his party. From a small time teacher in a hamlet of northern Maharashtra, to the spokesman of a major political party his journey was painted with greed, lust and fame. Reaching newer heights in politics, all of a sudden was shot by his brother at his home in the posh locality of Worli homing several other V.I.P.s the very same day when his counterpart was declared to be in a last stage by the doctor giving up on his efforts. His counterpart passed away next day, while all possible measures were taken to save his life for a period of twelve long days, doctors doing their best to keep his soul from departing his body. Along with all media publicity and glamour. At last he died of lung infection, which coincidentally was the death ailment of his counterpart too. His death covered up for all his black deeds and made him a hero, with his death ceremony to be telecasted live by various television channels while his counterpart died a nameless death, cremated at Worli crematorium and not at considerably far Shivaji Park crematorium enabling a huge death procession with, crowds following, bhajans blaring on loud speakers and policemen giving rifle salutes. unlike him, no newspaper columns were filled with extollations for his counterpart.
This is how the political system works in our country. Real heroes die a silent death as scoundrels are made heroes for their undone deeds everyday.
My heartiest regrets to families of both these men. May god grant peace to these men’s souls and strength to their families to overcome their sorrow (which, I know by worldly means, they will).
And may god grant the dwellers of this nation ability to think about the circumstances around them someday.

Shut Up!!!!...and sit in train!!!

2006-09-17T00:53:00.000-07:00

Rejoice!!!!Mumbai is back in action.After one more series of
blasts.Mumbaikars are back to their normalcy,the very next
day.Cheers!!! This is the real Spirit of Mumbai.Come what may...We are
not going to stop.Every body listen to this.The terrorists.The Bandh
Men.The Rain God.The sewage system in sorry state.The
politicians.Everybody.We are not going to budge.Do whatever you can.We
will always stay firm.Bravo Mumbai.Come on.Lets celebrate the spirit of
Mumbai!!!! Finished? Now my turn. All those who are in an urge to celebrate the spirit of
Mumbai...I just want them to do one thing.Step into a local train and
look at the faces of the people sitting in there.What do u see on their
faces? Do they look as they are out to celebrate their spirit? Do they
look as if they have defeated the terrorists in their efforts,
whatsoever they are considered by the spirit celebraters. Look at their
faces closely if u want. What do u see? I'll tell u. You won't find any spirit or feeling of victory on
them.All that u can find is helplessness. Yes helplessness. Do u think they have boarded the train to put their spirit on
display??? The truth is that the so called Undefeatable Mumbaikar is a
defeated person.He is bound up to his schedule.So tightly, that he
can't even think of untying himself from it.He has to reach his office
next day.No matter what.Flood,Riot,Bomb Blast....Whatsoever. He has to earn his daily bread.He has to feed a family.He has
to pay his bills.And if he has a loan,he has to pay it's
installments.Loan for a personal reason.Or to raise his standard of
living to match up to his other competitors in the race.He has to pay
the fees for his kids education.And if they are into professional
education....his god save him!!!(which god has failed to in some cases
during the blasts).And he has to keep abreast with the regularly
swelling inflation.In short,he has to keep together his daily
crumbling.He has to reach his workplace as he cannot afford to miss a
day.He has to reach as he has pending files,pending projects,pending
reports,pending papers....pending something or the other.Work all
day,till he almost drops,only to find something pending.For this,at
least he has to reach his office. Imagine a housewife asking her husband to stay home for a day
as the day before,trains have blown off in serial blasts.What do you
expect her husband to say?"Honey....I hve to go to ....I have to show my spirit to those
terrorists who caused the blasts!!!" Or will you see him sying,"I have to go.....my father doesn't own the company to take holiday
whenever I want.....If i am not paid...What will we eat???" What sounds more realistic??? Mumbai is a city of dreams.People live here with dreams in
their eyes.But for many,earning a daily bread is biggest dream this
city can show.And for that he has to board his train.Or for that
matter,step out of his house.He can't even afford to be scared.Well we
can call this helplessness of his as his Undying Spirit!!!! And for solution to the problems of people of Mumbai.We can say
there doesn't exist one.After floods...there would be floods again next
year.After blasts.....there would be blasts again sometime years
later.After riots.....There would be riots again as some like to play
pranks with useless statues at prime locations of the city.Whatever has
occoured...will occour again.And people will keep on going..and
going...and going...and going....like energizer batteries.Keeping up
their so called 'Spirit'.With one and ony one line in their minds,covering whatever other thoughts thier minds may generate.... 'Shut Up.....and sit in train...'

For man A.S.....the ultimate cool dude of India

2006-09-16T22:16:00.000-07:00

few days ago i led a completely normal life. gold flake lights is a truly good cigatrette,which my best friend had
introduced to me. whenever i smoked it i used to share it with him.that
was because I knew only he knew it's true prowess. if u dont have money and u want to drink a lot of beer, go to a wine
shop and ask for 'golden eagle' and the man at the counter will give
you three bottles for 100 rupees. well you can't even buy two beer
bottles for that amount(and it has a very good kick). this was
recommended to me by my another best friend who has an affilition for
beer as i do. drinking with him meant sharing of each of those three
beer bottles amongst two of us. have you read arun kolatkars 'jejuri'? it's a real piece of poetry.my
friend told me about it and i instantly brought a copy of it for i am
completely sure of his choice as we share a same poetic wavelength and
taste for good literature.our meetings are often plagarised by peotic
lines from 'jejuri' that day onwards. have you ever been in love.love makes life beautiful.i was unaware of
it till she came into my life.she.my love of life.swallower of my
sorrows.my comforter in distress and my support in lows.my girlfriend.

today i live a life in a dire state of confusion.
i lead an abnormal life
now i share a 'gold flake lights' with an OBC. i drink 'golden eagle' with an SC. i recite 'Jejuri' with an NT2. and love of my life is a BVJ. ...and i am an 'OPEN'.

My best friend since childhood was hit by police while protesting
against reservations. he is an M.B.B.S. and was on news channel(i
called up home to tell my mom) My another friend was arrested by police for protesting against
reservations. No he is not an M.B.B.S. but he is a hard core supporter
of anti reservations and youth for equality. now there is a case
pending against him and he has to stay in the city as long as the case
proceeds.
they both were OPEN of course.

Now when i support them, my reserved category friends start arguing
with me for 'years long suppression of their rights and other such
stuff'.
And when i support my reserve category friends for their 'years long
suppression of their rights and other such stuff' my open category
friends argue with me on 'supression of talent and other such stuff'
i lead a peaceful life for 22 long years.i neither had a caste nor
talent. thank god for that.but now time has come for me to choose. and
i dont thank god for that.
but in this choice where do i go as i dont possess any of these.
and what about these people close to my heart waho are now two clear
divisions of society? whom should i choose?

yo man A.S.(Arjun Singh) thanx dude.

yo man A.S. good job buddy

it has took years to delete the lines of caste creed and
religion.From chhatrapati shivaji to agarkar to jyotiba phule to
babasaheb ambedkar to annabhau sathye. it has taken years. maybe
centuries for us to delete these lines.
and A.S. is successful at drawing them again. yo man A.S. if keep repeating over a drawn line for number of
times...the paper gets torn.think dude...the paper will get torn.the
paper of indian youth.the paper of tommorows society.

yo man A.S. leave people like me. we also have many other choices to
make. we can't hang on to these discrimination,reservation,etc and such
matters.leave me for my friends.and not categories. let me share a cigarette,beer; discuss poetry and fall madly in love with humans and not categories. leave me for people and not ancient social sects.

Please man A.S.....leave me. and leave many others like me....