I am Legend (Yeah rite! Santosh!)

Coupla' weeks ago I happened to catch the Will Smith starrer I am Legend, a tale about apparently the last man on the earth, after the rest of humanity was wiped out by a virus which turned survivors into carnivorous vampire-zombie hybrids (or vombies). I found the movie to be a hugely wasted opportunity which squandered its interesting ideas for some unconvincing action scenes with hokey CGI-rendered creatures.


But the basic premise did revisit me back to the days when I was a kid and used to fantasise about being the last human alive. Imagine! A world all to myself! The adventures I would have!

Now that I have grown up I realize how foolish those kiddie notions of mine were! Every adult male in every specie knows that his primary function in this world is to procreate and further his race. So being the last man (or woman) alive would completely negate this primary function and thus make the purpose of his existence void.

So that means that a Last Woman on the Earth would be needed as well. This would solve the immediate problem of procreation (a very important solution none the less) but still would be of no use in furthering the race, because inbreeding and its associated genetic damage would ensure that not many further generations would be spawned.

This is the major reason why I do not believe in the Adam and Eve concept because that would make us all genetically mutated freaks related to each other.

A possible (and extremely pleasurable) solution could be that I would still be the last man on earth but the women on earth would still be represented in a sizable number. But even this argument provides many problems.
A. The inbreeding issue would still remain.
B. One man among many women will give rise to jealousies, hatred and would eventually lead to my death in case a tug - of - war like situation developed for possession of me.

So eventually this would necessitate the presence of another male and thus the entire fantasy of being the last man alive would come crashing down.
Maybe last man alive per country would not be such a bad idea!

p.s. On a serious note, leaving aside the sexist undertones of this post where I wish for a situation of many woman to few men, there lies a serious danger of the reverse case occurring, especially in a country which is so happy with aborting female fetuses and infanticide. I hope people realize, that without a balanced sex ratio, the country will witness more cases of desperate acts by a sexually frustrated male population. No one bloody well ever thinks of the bigger picture. Its time they started to do so!

This is Social Reformer Santosh signing out!

The beginning

The streetlight had dimmed. The clock struck ten.

Yadav yawned. Today business in the evening had been really poor for Yadav Bhelpuri, Panipuri wala. Normally these were the peak hours. But today the Indo - Pak 20/20 cricket match was going on and everyone was safely ensconced in their living rooms glued to their television screens. It was time to pack up. No one would come tonight, Yadav thought with sadness and disappointment.
If business was going to continue in this fashion, he would not make enough money to return to his home town in Samastipur, Bihar any time soon. It had been ages since he had met his parents, his ailing father and his over worked mother.
He remembered what Gajanand had said about a spate of robberies in this area recently. It was apparently a gang who had begun their operations there and didn't hesitate to murder their victim when he/she tried to resist.
He shivered slightly and started to pack up his thela.

Suddenly he heard a sound behind him and immediately felt the touch of cold steel against his neck. A rough, unnaturally gruff voice spoke out, "Chal saale jitna bhi maal hai nikal. Nahi toh idhar hi ghused dunga!" Yadav started whimpering, begging for mercy when he saw someone come in front of him and punched him in the stomach. Yadav doubled over and fell to the ground in pain. He cried, "Aaj dhanda bilkul nahi hua hai. Paise nahi hai mere paas. chhod do mujhe!"
Enraged at him, his attackers started kicking him. Yadav tried to defend himself but found himself being lifted up and pinned from the back by one while the other brandished his long knife. His attacker raised his hand and struck at Yadav in a stabbing motion.

Yadav closed his eyes shut anticipating the tremendous pain that would surely follow. But all he heard was a stunned gasp from the guy behind him. He felt himself being released. He opened his eyes. He would never forget the sight that lay before him. The attacker with the knife was lying on the ground knocked out cold.

Standing over his comatose body was a really chubby, short man in a long dark cape, dark blue three-fourths and wearing a black mask on his face with bat-like ears. The attacker behind Yadav, gave out a loud shout of anger and rushed at this costumed creature. But before he could reach him, someone came flying out of the darkness and kicked his legs from under him. The dacoit fell over . He tried to get up again but a kick from this new comer knocked him out cold too.

Yadav stared at this new guy. He was thin in stature, deceptively thin, considering how nimbly and swiftly he had taken out the attacker. He too was wearing a cape and a mask over him, but was wearing pink shorts inside out.

Yadav gasped out loud "Kaun hai aap?"

The thin masked guy replied, "Hum kaun hai is se tumhe koi matlab nahi. Bas itna jaan lo ki ab yeh log tumhe ya kisee aur ko pareshan nahi karenge."

The fat masked guy "Haan aur yeh bhi jaan lo ki hum tumhare sev puri ke bade fan hai!"

He tossed a card to Yadav and just as that, both of them vanished.

In the dim streetlight Yadav saw the following words monogrammed on it:

BatBubba & Abnerobin
Mallu Brothers from different mothers.

First Be something and then Blog

Pehle kuch bano Santosh.

Duniya mein tumhe kitne log jaante hai???

Paach sau? Hazaar?? Bus itne hi??

Tum yahan kya likhte ho, kaun padhta hai aur kisse pharak padhta hai???

Kise bewakoof bana rahe ho yaar? Sirf apne aap ko??

Jaao Aamir Khan ke blog ko padho. Sirf 10 posts aur 10 hazaar comments.

Tumhare blog se tum kya ukhaad rahe ho?? Sirf ek mazaak bana ke rakha hai.

Apne aap ka!!

Chalo ab log out karo! PC switch off karo!
Kitaab kholo. CAT ke liye padho. Pareeksha mein acche number laao.

GD/PI mein excel karo.

MBA karo. Top honours ke saath graduate karo!!

Successful bano! CEO bano!!! Kuch toh bano pehle!!!

Phir blog karo!!!!

Aur phir dekho ... phir dekho ki kitne comments milte hai.

Chal shuru hoja.

Abhi se.

Hair today gone tomorrow ... concluding part

Read below post before reading this one.

The First of November.

This was the day when I was going to begin my battle against the wanton destruction of my follicles. The plan was that I would meet up with my benevolent benefactor after work and he would lead me towards this miracle man, this doctor who gave people like me hope.

The day had started out well but by evening time the sky had grown dark. Huge rain clouds were gathering and the early droplets started pelting my head when I got down from the office bus. As I met the benevolent benefactor I could sense the change in his mood. He was worried, tensed about something. For some reason, the thought of visiting this doctor had robbed him of, temporarily at least, the desire for conversation. After a few futile attempts I stopped making further attempts at chit-chat and gazed out pensively from the rickshaw which was taking us to our destination.

The clouds had completely enveloped the evening sky in a deathly embrace and bright, livid flashes of lightning scarred the dark sky. It was as if the Gods had gathered to witness this epic battle against hair-loss that was about to begin. And were clicking snaps to commemorate the occasion.

When we arrived at our destination, the building that loomed before us further heightened my sense of apprehension. It was the infamous Laxmi Chhaya Apartments of which, just a few months ago, a wing had collapsed and killed at least 30 people. The clinic was apparently located in one of the undamaged wings.

When we entered the receptionist handed us a token. It said #13 on mine. Funny number to get, I mused. Especially since I could see just 3 other patients in the clinic. We sat down to await our turn. Since the benevolent benefactor still didn't display an inclination to converse, I whiled away the time checking out the other patients. Two of them were aunties and the third a hot chick, sitting next to the receptionist's desk.

I wondered what she was doing over here. She certainly wouldn't have come for the same reason as I did. Could she? I tried to ascertain it. She had long luxuriant hair of which a single strand was tentatively hanging in front of her lips, and ever so often she would blow it to the side. But the strand of hair had the same idea that I did and it would swing back to the front of her lips.

Of course, the close attention that I was paying to this drama unfolding in front of me did not go unnoticed from the eyes of one of the more sterner looking aunties and she immediately called the girl towards her. Her mother I realized to my discomfort. The look in the mother's eyes said it plainly. Don't you dare stare at my daughter you balding buffoon! Or I'll make sure that you won't be left with any hair for the good doctor to save!! I'm sure this was what she was thinking.

Taking heed, I immediately started staring at an extremely interesting speck of dirt on the marble-tiled floor. "#7", sang out the receptionist. We all looked around. After 5 seconds, she sang out again, "#8!". She looked at me. I was sure that my expression must have carried the message to her. "How can #7 and #8 be expected to exist when I the fourth here am no 13!!!"

The call for #9 came soon enough.

Half an hour passed by and finally my turn arrived. I followed the benevolent benefactor into the doctor's chamber. Immediately all his previous truculence left him and the benevolent benefactor and the doctor started conversing in their native Gujarati. Two minutes passed before they noticed the embarrassed odd man out over there and the benevolent benefactor explained, "Doctor! He is here for the same reason as I am."

"Ohhh ... Whale whale whale!" the doctor started. "Late us see weight we cane do!"

He told me to pull back the hair from the front of my scalp and made a sympathetic clicking sound, which made my stomach sink.

"Whale Whale ... So Mr. Butt! Err you mayreed?"

"Excuse me? I'm sorry doctor but I didn't get your question."

"He is asking if you are married?", explained the benevolent benefactor helpfully.

"Oh .. er.. No", I stuttered.

"Do you wees to gate mayried, no?" said the doctor again, smiling genially.

"Er yeah sure", I stuttered again. I wondered where this line of questioning was going. Was he a doctor cum matchmaker? Or did he just find me to be the perfect groom for his daughter?

"Whale if date ease yore wees then we bater do something about yore hare foal quickly."


I gulped. I had always known that it was bad but I never knew that the situation had become so serious. My marriage and the continuation of my line was all dependent on the outcome of this battle. This battle to which I had arrived after it was almost all over.

But Herr Doktor smiled genially again and wrote me a long list of medicines on a sheet of paper. I glanced down at it but I could make no sense out of the illegible scrawl on it. All doctors should compulsorily be made to attend a cursive writing course in school again, I swear! I hoped that atleast my chemist would be able to understand it and would give me the right medicines, instead of wrongly giving me a laxative or something.

He continued, "These 3 ease after brakefust, These 3 ease after lunch, These 2 after evening snakes and last 3 ease after deaner."

He continued smiling and patted my shoulder, "Don't worry!"

And the session was over. And I was soon light by 500 bucks.

Yeah right! Not to worry! After you made me realize that my future marriage was at stake over here.

The tale of how I bid adieu to the benevolent benefactor, stumbled to the nearest chemists shop, acquired the latest medicines and finally made my way home, I myself remember hazily.

I have started the medicines in full earnest. Daily I ingest about half a dozen tablets and capsules. Whether I do win the battle and manage to spawn a new generation ... of hair, only time will eventually tell. I just hope that finally I am well equipped with ammo.

This is Santosh Bhat, making his last report from the battle, taking yore leave... err...taking your leave!

Hair today Gone Tomorrow

I have been having steadily for the past 3 years going bald.

Everyday my pillow is a battlefield strewn with the bodies of my dear departed follicles, follicles who were once proud regal upright untamed beasts residing in the forest of my scalp. But pollution and the ravages of time have laid to waste these noble warriors. I dutifully collect them in the palm of my hand and say a prayer for these old friends and companions of mine before i deposit their bodies respectfully into the waste bucket.

My forehead has a singular mission in life, its lakshya so to say. It is in the tradition of great conquerors of the Napoleonic era, bent on conquering new lands and new territories and it's eventual goal is to extend its kingdom to the back of my neck. Or at the minimum it wants to win the game of oneupmanship against Anupam Kher's scalp.

For the past few years I have been a mute witness to this carnage. It has greatly saddened me no doubt, but I took it philosophically as terminally lazy people are oft to do. I was maybe hoping that everything would automatically be all right. People whom I consulted in the matter, namely my mother and my father, assured me that I was worrying about nothing. This was not a genocide of follicles that I was witnessing, merely a culling of some of the more unhealthy ones among the general population. They assured me that at the end of it all I would be left with a strong but still numerous batch, ones who deservedly remained.

Thus I managed to still the malignant doubts and fears in my heart up unto now. But the mirror never lies. It showed the pain, bald truth from all vantage angles and finally at the end of three years of being a non-combatant I was finally ready for some action. To quote Bill Pullman who played the President of the United States in Independence Day:
"We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day the world will declare in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!"
(Hear original speech here)

Suitably inspired I contacted a dear friend of mine who had been undergoing the same problems, who had decided to battle against it and who ... atleast according to him ... was beginning to win. I will not name him over here. I will simply refer to him as my benevolent benefactor.

I had heard strange rumours come out from the more well-known purveyors of anti-hair fall treatments ... The Batras ... of immense fees and prolonged treatment periods ... and I willingly followed my friend to a place which he assured me would treat me quickly and effectively.

My benevolent benefactor took me to a see a doctor two evenings ago, one who had supplied him with the necessary ammunition he required to win back his lost territory. And what a strange evening it turned out to be...

(To be continued ... )

God bless those nukes ...

I am drowning in nostalgia. Normally this is something, long dyed in the wool, old folks do. Its kind of surprising that 24 something me is also feeling this. Maybe it's just because I have lost touch with most of my close friends and the lack of work in office leaves me much more time for introspection.

Anyhoo, I once again rummaged though some old folders of mine and I discovered this weird lil' poem that i'd written in 1999 (oh so long ago ...). I can faintly remember having written it, and it must have been around the time we did those nuclear (or as that dyslexic dodo George W. Bush pronounces then - nucular ... as in Duh! Isn't it time we dropped some nucular bombs on Eye-ran!)
tests and the world tried to whip our asses for it.
It was obviously before the IT revolution occurred in India and we started controlling the back offices of all those Bloody Amreekan corporations. Here goes ... pretty juvenile stuff I warn you ... not that I write any better now!

God bless those nukes!

One fine morning, you switch on the TV tuning into the news.

And suddenly comes this headline out of the blues.

“India goes nuclear!”

You intently listen, taking in every word.

And you sit down starry eyed,

Feeling a sense of joy, a sense of pride.

You no longer feel that the P. M is a nerd.

Then you hear, the western world imposes sanctions.

Presidents of U. S, the U. K shout anti- India slogans.

Then your euphoria melts into worry.

You think, let’s hope our feat doesn’t make us sorry.

You learn a week later.

Pakistan carries out a feat much greater.

It carries out 6 nuclear tests,

Leaving international confidence in tatters.

Amidst all this you will hear a chant.

In their minds people say to themselves,

“ God bless those nukes!”

The Indian government which was quickly losing hope,

Suddenly say that there is a chance to tighten our rope.

They conduct five nuclear tests,

In the name of safety of defense interests.

And as people come together to forget,

Poverty, misery, corruption and a tight budget.

Mr. Vajpayee aptly puts in,

“God bless those nukes!”

Threatening sanctions on India the US of A declares,

To the whole world that their country cares

For nothing but the world’s best,

& That it has no selfish interest.

As Mr. Clinton would secretly admit,

“God bless those nukes!”

The Pakistani people adamantly say,

That the Indians deserve what they got.

The Pakistanis surely do love,

India being in a tight spot.

The Pakistani Government is glad that

They could show off their power.

But as sanctions start to hit

Rushing in a huge shower,

The Pakistanis blatantly declare

That the sanctions are very unfair.

But as Nawaz Sharif says to himself,

“God bless those nukes!”

But as India and Pakistan suffer,

And as the world rebukes,

People in both countries chant,

“God bless those nukes!”

Murder and me

I have this favourite dream of mine ... It involves me putting a contract over the one person who I truly hate ... who is directly responsible for my life not being much much better than it is now.
I will not reveal who he ... yes he's a he ... is.
Well this dream is not so much a favourite of mine as it is ever recurring। The reason it does not find much favour with me is because I always end up getting caught for the crime.
The dream is of two parts. The hitman bumps of his target ... depositing his body off Worli creek (a most reliable place to dispose off bodies according to Maximum City) ... never to be found again. This is the part I like.
Then the hitman gets nabbed by the cops and he leads them to me. This is the part I dislike.
Two things are noteworthy over here.
One - The cops are somehow never corrupt in my dreams (since they're Mumbai cops this is something really hard to believe) and bought off to remain silent.
Two - I never seem to have the sense not to reveal my identity to the hitman while placing my contract.

What to do? It's not like I've written the script. It's what unfailingly happens always. I don't know how many times I've had this dream. I generally never remember my dreams. Only this one leaves me with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach (weirder than normal that is) when I wake up thus leaving behind it's trail.
I have been having this dream for the past two years ... that's about the time when I first started hating him.

The dream is not always exactly the same though. It differs in some key areas even though the end result is often the same.
Firstly the face of the hitman always varies. It's always someone famous. Someone who's either played a hitman in the movies or someone truly evil in real life. Like Narendra Modi. Hehe.
Secondly the way he exterminates the target changes. Bullets, knives, pitchforks have all made appearances at one point of time or the other.
Thirdly the way he gets caught is sometimes different. Sometimes he reveals it in a drunken stupor to his mistress who moonlights as a bar girl and who is also a part time police informant.
Sometimes he leaves behind a witness. Sometimes he gets caught for a completely different crime and then to gain leniency in his sentence, he strikes a deal with the cops revealing the identities of those who placed the contracts ... like me of course.

Maybe the reason I always get caught in the end is because of the innate conscience within me which knows that killing is wrong, that murderers should never get away with their crimes, that justice should always be done in the end. But why is it then I like it when he gets murdered. Why does realization and repentance of my sins only occur when I get caught?

The reason behind a hitman always being involved ... rather than me committing the deed myself is simple enough. I'm too fattu to do something like this.

But, But, But If a similar opportunity does present itself in real ... say supposing I make friends with a hitman who offers me the chance to bump anyone off as a favour to me (I know it's far fetched)... will I take it?

What do you think? Could I ever be a murderer?


Or maybe I already am one.

Van Phool

Just to show off I have decided to jot down here verbatim a Hindi poem that I had learned byheart for my fourth standard exams and that has stayed with my ever since and probably will till the day I croak. Its called Van Phool. I don't know who the author is and I don't know whether the poem is still available in fourth std. Hindi textbooks. This is a futile exercise in wasteful pointlessness and you can skip reading this post if you want to. I seriously mean it.

वन फूल
---------

फूल काँटों में खिला था
सेझ पर मुरझा गया।

जगमगाता था उषा सा कंताको में वह सुमन,
स्पर्श से उसके तरंगित था सुरभिवाही पवन.
ले कपूरी पुन्खुदियो में फुल्ल मधुरुतु का सपन.

फूल काँटों में खिला था
सेझ पर मुरझा गया।

प्रकार रवी का ताप झंझा के असह झोंके कठिन.
कर न पाए उस तरुण संघर्ष कामी को मलिन.
किन्तु प्राची से अलग हो रह ना पाया एक दिन.

फूल काँटों में खिला था
सेझ पर मुरझा गया।

Maximum City

I just have completed reading the bestseller Maximum City by Suketu Mehta. It's a book about Bombay or Mumbai as it had just been rechristened when Mehta moved back to it after having lived 20 odd years in New York. The book is almost 600 pages long and people who generally get scared of such huge books (must be something to with the childhood fear of textbooks which themselves were gargantuan monsters) or those who don't read anything other than the Harry Potter meganovels, would be apprehensive to wade through its pages.

However once you do so, you find yourself entrenched into a world that seems at once so familiar to Mumbaikars (when he describes the crowded state of the metropolis) but also sometimes seem to be happening in some far off world. For Mehta's book is peppered with the accounts and experiences of some of the more extreme citizens of Mumbai - extortionists, gangsters, bar dancers, super-cops, Bollywood directors and super rich and super-orthodox Jain patriarchs. Mehta has found himself in the company of varied personalities like Bal Thackeray, Vidhu Vinod Chopra, Sanjay Dutt and Chotta Shakeel at one point or other during the course of the book.

I found myself hating and applauding Mumbai at various points of time, alternating between wanting to move from this accursed city as soon as possible or strengthening my resolve to stick it out here between different chapters. But throughout I was constantly completely engrossed in the simple words (he also has peppered the novel with coarse Bombaiyya phrases that seem so natural to our ears) that Mehta uses to weave a rich and vividly coloured tapestry which is what this novel really is.

I spent all my free time this past week devouring up pages of this book, while I should really have been studying for the dreaded CAT which looms ever closer. But i have a long history of starting mega-novels just before an important exam. Like the time I started and completed Ayn Rand's Fountainhead 10 days before my second Semester Engg exams.

Anyhoo, I seriously recommend this book. I am sure that once you start, you will be hooked onto it, and when you finish you will have that heady feeling within you telling you that you've read something worthwhile, something that will remain with you.
Peace out.

In reality ...

I hate reality shows.

They have almost nothing to do with reality but everything with theatricality, artificiality and have basically been reduced to the status of farces sometimes even degenerating to the level of a perennially putrid Ektaa Kapoor Saas-Bahu drama.

I must confess though immediately that when these shows first started even I was hooked onto them as much as the next idiot-box addict. I had slavishly followed the first Indian Idol Season, watched all episodes of the second season of Nach Baliye (more to do because I wanted to watch a particular female contestant) and partially followed Indian Idol 3. But as time has progressed I have come to realize that what a colossal waste of time it has been for me. There are many reasons why my outlook on these shows has changed -

Un - The fact that the fate of the contestants is placed on audience voting means that talented contestants get kicked out at crucial stages, ugly regionalism, factionalism, gender biases all come into the fore as people tend to vote for a participant just because he is from their region, regardless of how talented he really is. Thus a Vada Pavwala will never vote for an Idli Dosa Sambhar wala who in turn will never vote for a Bloody Communist Rassogula.
Also women hardly ever seem to reach the final rounds of these competitions no matter how well they perform, so what incentive do they really have of even participating! Finally the people who really win are the channel and the telecom companies who make crores of rupees on the millions of smses that are made. (scope out how many times i use the word really)

Dos - The new fad of upcoming movies being introduced on these shows, with the makers, stars of these films descending on the music show and pretending to be a big fan of the singers and many promise the wide-eyed participants that they will be singing in their next film, promises which they never keep.
Also these shows seem to function on only 2 levels, sentimentality or controversy.
Needless and over exaggerated and nauseously irritating in both cases.

Tres - Ever since loudmouths like Himmesh (Oo! I hate him with all my heart and all my soul!) have become judges on shows which my mother unfortunately is a huge fan of, all I can hear in the house at nights is their obnoxious voices booming from the telly. To see pompous buffoons like Himmesh and Ismael Durbaar and Abhijeet prancing around as if they are all-knowing all-wise kiss-my-ass-if you-know-what's best-for you-types gurus, spouting their equally inane fundas makes me ... grr ... it makes shiver me timbers.

Thus after having put forth my reasons (I'm sure there are many more, I just can't think of them right now) I again strongly reiterate - I hate reality shows...

...But not as much as I hate the current garbage that passes of as news on the hundreds and thousands of national 24 hour news channels out there.
It's funny in a way but sometimes these reality shows seems more real than what news channels peddle as news.

Buts thats a grouse for another time. Enough negativity for one post.
Lets all fold our hands, close our eyes, exhale out noisily and get rid of all the bad vibes and negative energy. Aum Shaanti Shaanti Aum!

Bheja vu ki Deja Fry?

As October begins to sinks its teeth into me, as I spend another Saturday morning glued to my PC screen reading nondescript blogs, the occasional movie review and chatting with umpteen friends online while all the time having this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach I get the feeling that I have experienced all this before.

Of course, just last year I went through this same routine and the reason for it is so achingly obvious - come mid-November, December the entire jamboree of MBA entrance exams will begin, few of which in I will fare well enough to have an outside chance of securing a GD/PI call and in most of which I will score miserably average percentiles. CAT, XAT, SNAP, NMAT , SHIT ....

Okay, I made up the last one but they seriously should consider naming an exam that. Even last year I did not study well enough, just commuting to and fro to office taking away most of my energy. Foolhardily I have decided to try again. Fortunately this time will be my last, one way or the another!!!

Why am I dong an MBA? Is it just because the rest of humanity (the brown skinned ones that is) is also doing so? The answer is yes!
Why not remain in technical field, to which my talents (or the lack thereof) are more suited? Is it because the Indian IT industry sucks? Yes again!
Why not give up all mortal attachments and go do penance in the Himalayas then? I wish it were so easy.

People who have graduated can empathize how difficult it is to start studying again once courses as abominably unbearable like engineering have finished!

So once again, this year too, I will be spending a lot of cash on applying for these exams and colleges, with very low returns on my expenditure.
If again I am unsuccessful in garnering admission by way of these exams I will hop onto the GMAT bandwagon, then maybe something else.

Who knows one day I might actually even sit down and study something.

How I went for looks over features, bought an Ipod Nano and screwed myself over

The title of this post is misleading. I am not going to bitch over here about my Ipod Nano which was originally my intention but rather I'm gonna pump about a fake-somebody blog (a fake blog written pretending to be someone famous) called fakesteve.blogspot.com . This ones a fake blog by Steve Jobs, Apple's co-founder and personality extrordinaire.
I first read of this blog in TOI (a famous purveyor of putrid journalism itself) when the actual writer of this blog was outed by a New York Times Reporter. This pricked up my curiosity about the blog which led me to visiting it and I've been faithfully following it ever since. Actually it's kinda facetious of me to say that because I only started reading it after it got so popular.
Neways I am a fan mainly because I've always been fascinated by the Innovator that is Steve Jobs ever since I read his biography - iCon. A man who has revolutionized the Computer, Movie and Music Industries.
So I do take time out everyday to read this fake blog about El Jobso and Apple's struggles against BeastMaster and his cohorts at Redmond.

Siooma Suckaz!

Oh the horror of it all

Heyloo,

Somewhere before I had mentioned about some horror story draft which I had discarded midway.
Well I have managed to complete it.

Its located two posts down (apparently blogspot.com arranges blogs based on the dates on which they are started, not when they are completed as I would have done) and is rather fatuously called Nightfall

Read it and you will understand the reason why I have never achieved success and fame for my writing like say a Stephen King or a Sidney Sheldon has.

It might not scare you, It might not give you much to think about, It might not do much of anything actually.

It is however the closest I have ever come at penning down my autobiography.

Hah! I can hear you sniggering already!

Back to the present

Allo' Allo' Me Peeps,

Me is back from the wedding of me bro.
Freshly rejuvenated and raring to go.

Me Had a whale/blast/gala of a time out there in me muluk, i.e. the birthplace of me forefathers and me foremothers.

Me Bro's wedding was a smashin'/dashin'/friggin' success and was a joyous week overall.

Me participated in a stage dance for da first time in mes life (Yes me peeps, do not rub ye eyeballs in disbelief!) It was a folk/gangsta'/ghati dance and me is glad to report that me performed horribly above expectations.

There was a also a skit written and performed by meself and me couzin brethren which was a huge multi-platinum/major-rocking hit and was something that Shakespeare fella' would've given a arm and leg to have produced.

Everywhere me went, the peeps were all ova me, insinuating/indicating/exasperating me that me is now next in line to be married. To that all that me sez is - 'Pshaw/Ptuii/Puhleeze!'

Mez happy to be single and plan to stay that way for a coupla' more weeks/months/years.

Arebedarchie youz alls.

Random Thoughts while I get ready to go pay the phone bill

The title says it all.

I haven't written in this blog for a long while. Hope this hasn't disappointed the two people who visit this page. Whether the reason for this is me being intellectually bereft of ideas, spiritually bankrupt of inspiration or psychologically distracted with other things to do I will not hazard to guess.

So what have I been doing in the meantime?

1. I had been working on a draft of a horror story but I got too scared to write it and I left it half ways.

2. I tried to complete the love story I had promised to write (and a snippet of which I had posted previously) but have been feeling too cynical lately.

3. I had been busy reading the most intellectually challenged forums ever created on the Internet. I am referring to the comments posted up on rediff.com. I have never seen a more bigoted bunch of ignorant hicks than those who (s)crap over there.

Soon I will be leaving for my brother's wedding to my native place. i really hope that when I return that I will have a lot of whimsical tales that I can post.

And that reminds me why I chose that particular title for this post in the first place.

Cionara folks.

Hopefully you will see a new Santosh soon free from Blogger's Bloc.

Nightfall

I am eight.

It is 11 p.m. My eyes are shut tight. The TV is on at full volume, a popular horror movie is playing. I have been watching the movie with my eyes closed, just taking in the sounds, the shrieks, of deranged maniacs and of their terrified victims. Suddenly the sounds stop. I open my eyes to find that my mother has switched the television set off.

"Go to sleep. You shouldn't be watching such movies at night. It will only give you bad dreams."

Displeased with my mother, yet relieved in some strange way I follow her orders albeit reluctantly. She turns off the lights and goes to her room. I am all alone in mine. I pull the bed covers on to me.
It is a warm night and sleep continues to evade me. I lay in the dark, listening to the sounds which filter in from outside our apartment. I hear the dogs barking on the streets, the honks of random vehicles passing by. But overpowering all these other noises is a dominant one, shrill and terrifying - the mad woman in our opposite apartment.

Every night she shouts and screams and rants and raves against her husband, calling him names which I was too young to understand yet knew that they meant something unpleasant and unprintable. The poor man, wiry and slightly built in stature would respond by unblinkingly staring at the television, years of familiarity having made him immune to his wife. Sometimes when she would be tired with screaming at her husband, she would beat up her young daughter, whose pitiable sobs and pleas would reach my perked up ears.

Suddenly even the screaming stopped. This was curious as normally the tirade would last for at least an hour. I get up and go to the window, and then I see her. She is at the window. Her pudgy face is contorted with anger. I have never seen so much anger in someones face. She appears to be staring at some thing on the road intently. I try to follow her gaze, curious to see what has caught her attention so thoroughly. But I cannot see what it is. The road appears to be empty, so late in the night.

I glance up. She is now staring at me.

She no longer seems angry. A completely different expression now adorns her face. Something much more scary. She is smiling or rather jeering maliciously, her eyes twinkling insanely, her features contorted into a grotesque grin. It reminds me of the grin The Joker would have, the arch enemy of Batman.

Eight year old me stands there for a second in utter terror, before immediately closing the curtains and rushing back to my bed. I pull my bedsheet over me. The security it provides me helps calm me down.

An hour, maybe two must have gone by. I haven't gone to sleep but am breathing heavily through the thick bedsheet. The limited pocket of air inside is stale and the heat inside is deathly oppressive but I don't pull the covers off me. I know that she is waiting for me, in that very room. Unfortunately after some time I realize that my body isn't giving support to my will and I have to got to the bathroom. The more i procrastinate the more uncomfortable I get.

Finally taking a deep breath I pull down the covers and slowly open my eyes ...

The room is draped in shadows. The streetlights below have dimmed creating pale and nightmarish shadowy shapes. The shadow behind the showcase draws my attention. Is a shadow formed against a straight surface supposed to be so curved?

No. It isn't supposed to. It is her, waiting for me to leave my bed. I have reached a point where I just don't care, the business in the bathroom being of utmost urgency. Taking my chance I leap from my bed with my eyes shut tight and relying on pure instinct, sprint into the bathroom. When the bathroom door latch is safely bolted behind me do I pause, take a deep breath and open
my eyes.

Only to find that I have not turned on the lights in the bathroom.

And she is waiting for me outside.

After somehow managing to accomplish the task I had set out to do, I now have to turn my thoughts towards getting back to the safe warmth of my bed.

I wait for a tense excruciating nerve racking three minutes before I finally manage to gather enough courage to open the door.

After what seems like an eternity the door finally opens.
I wait there till my eyes adjust to the almost total darkness that envelops me. The only luminescence is due to a faint vestige of the now almost extinguished street light below.

Suddenly the headlights of a passing vehicle cuts an illuminating arc across the corridor. And there she is. Standing at the door of my room and smiling. Goading me, challenging me to cross her path. But as soon as the arc of light passes I can no longer see her.

My feet are transfixed in stone. I can not move. i try to call out for my parents but no sound comes out. I can no longer see her in front of me.
Suddenly, I feel hands pulling me into the bathroom. Clammy Cold hands Clawing at me, tearing at my clothes, pulling my hair. This breaks the spell on me and I grab at the wash basin with both my hands, hold onto it for dear life and bawl out at the top of my voice.

The door to my parents room opens. A light is switched on. Immediately the hands stop pulling me and I feel myself getting released. The sudden gain in momentum due to it tips me forwards.
I hear my parents voices, my father is lifting me in his arms, my mother is worried out of her mind at finding her younger child sprawled on the floor near the bathroom. I try to explain to them about what had happened but obviously they don't believe me, convinced that I had a bad dream and must have sleepwalked.

Mom brings me a glass of water and dad puts me to bed. This gives my mom the perfect opportunity to reiterate - "I told you don't watch such dirty horror movies before going to sleep. You should sometimes atleast listen to me."

Dad promises to keep the lights on till I fall asleep and after they think that they have successfully handled the situation, go back to bed.
I am in no mood to sleep and make sure that my eyes are wide open, thankful that the light being switched on makes all those nasty shadowy shapes disappear.
I don't expect her to attack now. After sometime I gather enough courage to get up and go to the window again.

There she is. Staring straight at me. The smile on her face has changed. A smile that implies satisfaction of having gotten away with something. A leering smile. And then she draws the blinds and goes back into her house.

I draw the blinds of my own windows and return to bed.
Of course I don't plan to sleep a wink. How can I? After all I still can feel the clamminess of her paws on the back of my neck.

THE END

Epilogue -
The next day I hear that one of my neighbours in the next wing had slipped in his bathroom in the middle of the night. He never could describe to anyone how his accident took place, simply because he never regained consciousness again.

24 year old me hasn't been attacked again since that night.
As for her, she still lives across me and still rants and raves on stifling moonless nights.

Prejudice

I am an educated individual. I am a free thinking spirit.
I cannot be bothered with petty biases based on race, gender or sexual orientation.

That is what I used to think. I am not so sure any more. I will illustrate the reason behind this doubt that has crept to my mind with a few examples.

1. The 'not so straight' path

I have always felt that I have no problems with anyone being gay or lesbian. It's their choice on how they wish to live and society has no right to impose its wishes on them as long as they are not hurting anybody else.

At a recent party I went to, A friend of mine introduced me to someone who goes about declaring that he is openly gay. He extended his hand to shake. And I felt this sudden feeling of revulsion creep all over my body. As though, if I shake his hand he might take this as a sign of interest, that he might make a move on me. I did shake the proferred hand, smiled a weak hello and got the hell out of there.

I was afraid that he might make a move on me?
What gave me this ridiculous idea? I know that girls don't find me attractive. No girl would ever make a move on me, then why would a guy? I was shocked to see that at a subconscious level I was so prejudiced and more so that the subconscious had taken over the conscious in such an overwhelming manner.
Even with this feeling of guilt sinking in, I still made sure that I kept a safe distance from him. Why? I don't know.

And the scary thing is I am not sure how I will behave if I am ever placed in another such situation.

2. Different Gods?

I was travelling in a local train to Dadar. At Kandivili, a man with a long beard carrying a large plastic bag came at sat in the seat facing me. He was wearing a traditional white circular cap on his head. As you may have guessed he was a Muslim. After the blasts that took place in Mumbai last year, things have nver been the same for me when I travel by trains. Mumbai may have pulled itself together and limped back to normalcy within a couple days after the serial blasts but I still feel uncomfortable sometimes. I lost a friend to the blasts.

I had been feeling sleepy, yet all of a sudden I was awake. I kept one eye on him throughout the journey, waiting to see If he would suddenly leave without the bag.
Would I have done the same thing If the guy wasn't a Muslim? I'm sure there have been so many times when other people have carried large bags with them in the train and yet I had not been so minutely aware of each and every of their movements.

3. Who is the 'Lower Class'?

I had gotten this huge stye in my eye. I cannot stand any sort of disfigurement to my face. This may sound funny coming from a guy who has over the years suffered a number of pimples on his face which left small craters that are still visible. But its true. Our maid (the dear soul has been with us since I was 6) gave me a number of small plastic pods containing some liquid. She told me to put that gel in my eye and my stye would be cured within a couple of days.
I took the pods, but never made use of them, simply because my maid had given them to me, thence I was dubious of the quality of the medicine.

After carrying that cursed stye for more than a week without any signs of it diminishing, I finally went to the doctor (I hate going to doctors. Hence the delay.) And guess what this doctor gave me along with some tablets. The very same plastic pods our maid had given me. And I did use these ones which the doctor gave.

I have put forth the above examples objectively but don't claim that I have learnt from them or that they are incidents that have made me see the light and change my ways.

They just serve to illustrate the point that prejudices exist within us(ok maybe just me) that we are not aware of but put into practice every day.
I am not a racist, sexist or a bigot, but I sometimes act that way, however minor their severity may be.

And unfortunately thats the way things stand.
Signing out.

21 questions

Why do recollections of the past always appear sepia toned in my mind?

Why does a tear form in my eye when I hear that one song?

Why does her face always come to mind along with that afore-mentioned tear?

Why does losing a friend hurt more as time passes?

When do we know it's time to move on?

Why do the words remain close to the heart even when the face begins to fade away from memory?

Why do I feel pity for the less fortunate yet don't treasure every moment of my good fortune?

Why do these words I write seem so meaningful now yet will embarrass me when I read them in a lighter mood?

Why does the title say 21 questions when I could only come up with 9?

The Rajini Phenomenon

The papers and news websites are filled with mention of just one movie. Sivaji the boss, starring the inimitable Rajinikanth, who in his 60 plus 'eth' year effortlessly plays a 30 something year old larger than life protagonist.

Now I confess that I have never watched a Rajini movie in Tamil.
I have only watched his Hindi movies where he played Shivaji Rao Gaekwad - the dusky hero ... surprisingly he has acted in quite a few old Hindi movies.

I have read in the newspaper reports of how the crowds are going crazy over his latest movie , performing poojas, bursting crackers, distributing sweets and dancing in the aisles during the movie.
This of course is something that regularly used to happen for Rajini movies in the recent decade or so ... buts its the first time that his movie has gotten such mainstream publicity outside the south.

I caught the trailer of the movie on rediff. It seemed really wierd with Rajini sporting a blond hairdo with his face all bleached dancing wit ha nubile nymphet. his regular stunts have gone high tech with reportedly 80 crores being spent on the making of this movie .. .wit ha major chunk having gone to his paycheque itself i'm sure.

One stunt in the trailer blew me away .. I mean seriously it threw me .... it's a stunt where he has both his arms outstretched to his sides, in the right a gun. He pulls the trigger, shoots, then bounces the gun off his shoulders on the back of his neck, to his other shoulder into his left hand and shoots again. Go check it out.

That scene is so awesome that i'm sure no one in Hollywood would have been able to conceive such a action shot ever. Another person who comes to my mind is Mithun who still continues to make movies where his logic defying action sequences are the main attractions of all his depressingly same films.

But Mithun has nowhere near the style of Rajini.

This still doesn't mean that I'll be watching Sivaji - The Boss.
Its not due to any prejudice against the movie or its lead actor. Its simply because I don't understand Tamil.

Man what I'd give to act in a Hindi movie and be adored by so many million!
Which is why I can understand why that misery of living Himmesh is coming out with his own movie wierdly titled (notice all the alphabets here) - "Aaapka Surroor - The Movee - The Real Luv Story" Yawn! Whatever!

An Indian 'Idle' fantasy.

Every day for the past few days ... whenever I return home after a gruelling schedule at work - what with having to squeeze time to work between playing games and reading e-books ... I see the programme 'Indian Idol' playing on the TV.

Sometime in the recent past ... some wise soul decided to import the hugely popular American Idol and foist it on Indian audiences. Of course as all things Indian theres a lot of mirch masala(pepper and spice), adrak(ginger) and lasoon(garlic) added to make the reality show more palatable to us.

Thanks to Indian Idol ... guys-and-girls-next-door have a chance to become famous ... live out their dreams ... become superstars within their own neighbourhoods.
Lots of these aspirants come from small towns and sleepy hamlets and become the most popular venerated inhabitants of that area.
Truly even those who don't win the final prize truly become idols to worship in the eyes of their community. After all India is a country .. and Hinduism (it's dominant faith) is a religion which places a lot of importance on idol worship.

The above paragraph has nothing to do with the overall theme of this piece but just me showing off. Is it working?

So I come home and I see these people performing and I see montages where their life back home is shown in flashes accompanied by some senti Hindi song going on in the background...
...And at night I start to dream.

I dream that I am participating in Indian Idol.
I appear for the auditions in Mumbai. Theres a long queue of people waiting already stretching from Chembur to Ghatkopar.

I turn up with my guitar in hand, my mouth organ in my pocket and a book of song lyrics that I have penned. (Babas and Babies ... now remember this is a fantasy. In reality I don't know the difference between a guitar string and a G-string, a mouth organ brings to my mind jokes on the human anatomy and the only lyrics in my books would be of stupid and ridiculous limericks.)

My turn comes. Judges are stunned by my performance. They're speechless. They are thunderstruck. Anu Malik has a tear in his eye, Alisha Chinoi looks at me longingly ... and for some freaking reason so does Udit Narayan.

They invite me to the next round. I come out of the audition room. Mini Mathur hugs me. I hug her back. She tries to pull away. I continue to hold on tightly...

So they send a cameraman and an interviewer back with me to my home. Since I'm selected and I'm so obviously talented they want to shoot a segment of my life back home.
So I go home, round up all my friends, relatives and members of my society.

Everybody sings my praises ... of how great a singer I am ... All my neighbours who used to chase me for breaking their windows ... All the girls in my society who never gave me a second look ... My watchman Jung Bahudur Sherpa who used to heap upon me the choicest of Nepali abuses ... everyone's my fan now.

The rounds pass by. I sing Western songs, classical numbers, item songs, folk songs. After each round Anu Malik grows more teary eyed, Javed Akhtar grows more constipated and Udit Narayan more lecherous.
The audience vote for me through smses en masse.

So finally I am in the top two. The entire nation knows my name.
They have renamed the name of the street where my Apartment is located after me. My building is a tourist attraction. My house is regularly filled with congratulatory sweets and bouquets.
I have had access to more pussy in the past 24 hours than I ever had in the past twenty four years... Er... of the meow variety I mean.

The evening of the final performance arrives. I am confidant. The guy who is pitted against me sings well ... but has the personality same as that of a wooden pole ...
He has come so far on the wave of public sympathy because he is very poor and his entire family of 15 used to live in a one room house in some corner of Arunachal Pradesh sharing a single bathroom and a single TV, Microwave, AC and only one measly 15 inch flat screen Plasma TV.
Audiences obviously love a sob story.

But India loves me. I know because a girl in the audience holds up a banner - "India loves you." Oh I tell you! My cousin sister is so sweet.

We need to sing three songs one after the other in the Grand Finale.
Each performance leaves the judges in waves of ecstasy and the audiences gasping for more. I am sure to win. Chong Chang - my competitor surely slipped up in the second song. Javed Akhtar surely had frowned, Anu Malik surely had sighed, though Alisha still as usual had smiled vacuously.

I rush back to my waiting room. I start sending smses from my cell phone. As many as I can. I am sure each and every one of my relatives and neighbours are doing the same. After all I had gifted all of them new Hutch Sim Cards and Nokia Cell phones (God! I hate product placements ... they happen in my dreams too.)

The next night Chang and Me sit next to each other ... both of us are nervous as hell. His fingernails are all chewed up. Chang is praying in his native language. I am mentally going over both my speeches. One for if I win. The second If Chang loses. Everything seems a blur.
Even in this state of heightened nervousness I notice that Mini is wearing a new chiffon sleeveless blouse...

Then the final moment is here. Mini Announces ... "And ... The ..(Hurry Up! For God's sake) The ... Next Indian idol is ....... (O my God! Spill your guts b....!!!)
...You'll find out after this commercial break."

I could have started a massacre then and there.

Commercial time is over ... She starts again ... This time infinitesimally quicker ... "And the Indian Idol 2007 is .............."

"Santosh! Santosh!"

"Huh! I won!! I won????"

"Win what? Idiot! Wake up. You're late for work!"

"Geez!!! Maaa .... ! I was almost on the verge of finding out if I had won Indian Idol!!!! ..."

"Yeah right! Like that's ever going to happen!"

I love my Ma. I really do. But she has this nasty habit of bringing me back to Earth quickly.

Oh well I guess I will have to wait till tomorrow night to see if I won.

Stay posted!!!

(Please don't kill me for wasting your time ... U are 5 minutes older now than when you started reading ... and will never recover that lost time you spent reading this crap! Sorry! )

Crossroads

My life, for once has come to a standstill.

i have been doing the same thing for the past two years, and theres not much guarantee that things will change ... for better or for worse ... in the next one year.

I gotta make a decision. Either go down one road and continue to do what I've been doing, earn and live comfortably and face the same question again next year, or to take the other road and switch now to something else.

Now everyone who reads this will immediately go like ... now what's so difficult in this? take the second road ... that's what we would have done.

And therein lies the nub of the entire thing. I have always been and always will be a procrastinator.
I delay things to the last microsecond, be it something as trivial as going for a haircut or something as major as visiting the doctor when I'm ill.

Oh chuck it all ... I'm tired of indecision. 'm going to sleep.
I have noticed that I never face such dilemmas in my dreams. Pretty quick and decisive o'er there. Whether it being to save the damsel from distress, or to becoming Bill Gate's son-in-law.

Sweet dreams y'all.

Snippets of the Story

Hey people i'm putting up the first few paras of ek chhotisi it love story. If u feel its any good... then write your comments and i'll finish it.

Every once in a while we get to hear or read about a tale which immediately finds resonance with something that happened in our lives. This could be one such tale, especially if you, dear reader, have gone past that milestone called graduation and have been in that environment called as "the workplace."

Call me Amrit.

I am the narrator or the sutradhar, and the following story is about a girl I loved, lost, found again and then..., well you'll read about it soon enough!

I completed my B. E. in Computers in Maharana Pratap, University in Kanpur. Being one of the lesser well - known and rated institutes in Uttar Pradesh, campus placement was pretty much non - existent when we graduated. Me and my fellow graduates left on this massive yearly ritual that Engineering graduates undertake called as "JOB-HUNT". We immediately left for the Makkah of IT professionals in India, Bangalore.

We initially stayed at a hostel which was populated with like - minded job hunters from all across India. Recruitment season was on and every day we left the hostel to visit hundreds of IT firms that dotted the landscape of Bangalore. Every evening there used to be a party hosted by all the hopefuls who had secured a job during the day.

A month had passed by and many of my friends had got placed. Finally the day arrived when I finally landed a job, at GloboTech Inc (GTI), a MNC with branches in Bangalore, Chennai and Mumbai.

During the job - hunt days, I had found become very good friends with a Bihari named Sanjay. It turned out that he had gotten placed in GTI too. The two of us immediately started rented apartment hunting in the vicinity of the IT park where our office was located. The IT boom had of course driven up the prices but finally we were able to locate a modest 1 BHK flat which suited our purposes, not making too big a hole in our pockets and was just located 15 minutes away from office, by Sanjay's bike.

This blog stuff

Hey I really like this blog writing stuff. It's pretty cool. I get to write whatever I want and it reaches a potentially world wide audience. I mean of course, this potentially means opening myself up to ridicule...but that's never stopped me before.

I mean after all only 10 people might read my blog ... out of that only 1 might like what's written and think it to be funny while the other 9 might be going --> "Whadda F***?"

But even if that 1 person leaves behind a comment of appreciation........

.......That makes my day!


So please the 2-3 people who do come over here....Please don't hesitate to comment on what I've written ... If only to trash it. I'll mightily appreciate it.

The Art of Loving

I dunno what's the big deal with all this love stuff. In the next few pages i'm gonna rant and rave against it. This is the kind of stuff that I normally spout or splutter when Valentine's day comes along ... along with its cutesy heart shaped saccharine sweet accessories.
I mean of course even I've been in love ... more than once ... made me feel so crappy each time.

I just saw a squeamishly romantic, tragically pathetic Hindi movie on TV ... was forced to watch it for reasons best left unexplained here. Each time the on screen couple coochie - coochied to each other ...singing sweet paeans about the glory of love and what not ... i felt like puking my guts out.

I mean we Indians can't stand public displays of love right? Yet our movies seem to be full of them. The hero - heroines prance all around the rest of the world dancing .. generally displaying their love by gyrating their hips and shaking their booty for all to see. So then what's the big deal?
Why do couples at Bandstand get booked for indecent behaviour? Why the cops harass young couples just aching for some privacy? Why do two communities excommunicate and issue fatwahs against two people who did just the silly mistake of falling in love? Why does Richard Gere get an arrest warrant issued against him for just giving a peck to Shilpa Shetty on her cheek. Why don't I ever get such an oppurtunity? With Shilpa I mean ... not Gere ... ahem moving on.

Well it's because we Indians have a purdah mentality which we like to impose on others irrespective of whether they like it or not.
I call it the "Yahan mat karo, Wahan karo, Jhaadi ke peeche!" mentality. Of course currently even the Jhaadi ke peeche part is frowned upon.

I feel that such a moralistic attitude is right...I mean even though we Indians produce nanha munha bacchas at a rate like no other country...we still like that stuff to be hidden...which is absolutely correct. But hey that's my opinion. Because i'm irrational. Because I'm an Indian.

Next week's topic...Mandira's sarees and Ash and Abhishek's honeymoon...Pretty Intelligent stuff. Stay tuned...

The breakdown of my body

I write this post while I am in a moderate amount of pain!

My job is taking a toll on me mentally and physically. Maybe it's not the job but the gruelling journey that I need to undertake daily as well as the accompanying pollution that greets me on the road is responsible.

But finally it is me who also has to shoulder part of the blame for following a regimen in which exercise is the one major missing component!

I can literally feel my health deteriorating all the while. Physical pain is one thing, but the mental agony that comes when you are dependent on others for routine day - to - day activities is the actual killer.

Recently I suffered a spasm in my back which had me bed - ridden for two days. In the initial period I couldn't get out of my bed without the help of my patient, ever -caring parents. That moment right then was when my eyes actually welled up, not because of the pain or because of the weakness, but because I just couldn't handle this scenario. For one dark moment I realize how paralysed or otherwise invalid people must feel.

It is a curiously disturbing experience. To have that sinking realization within you that the things you used to do in the past without even thinking about it - walking, running, jumping would never be possible again is phenomenally spirit- crushing and mind numbingly devastating.

Of course the spasm passed and I have recovered to an extent that I can resume work duties and can sit in front of the PC for elongated periods of time working in the office or typing crappy shit pieces like this in my home.


But that one incident made me realize how precious my body is, how valuable and sensitive and achingly personal a resource it is. This was a warning. Clear and Simple. My body won't tolerate abuse through inactivity any more.

Its either Change or Wither your life away.

Ek Chhoti si IT love story????

Now how does one go about creating a tale who's underlying themes are romance, intrigue and unrequited love? In other(simpler) words how does a "pyaar mein aath aane kam" guy like me write a love story? Now since I am in the IT biz of course i'm gonna try to incorporate this into my storyline. In the last 20 odd months of working in an IT firm I have seen many a so called "office courtships and office romances" i.e. love that was created and nurtured in the sterile, brightly lit, caffeine overdosed IT environment!
Unfortunately since I never got a taste of this particular type of medicine I will have to offer at best a third person perspective to the story.

Of course since it's gonna be my story it has to be quirky yet realistic, touching yet nothing that comes close to being too mushy, lovey - dovey, smoochy-woochy, or overly mentisental! After all I don't wanna run the risk of producing something Barbara Cartland or Danielle Steele would be proud of!

I'm writing an initial draft. Of course, in the past also I have announced that I'll be writing a story only to forget about it later on (The life of a rioter being a fine example of dis.) But since I've already started so maybe this one will see the light of the day!

Of course I can take such risks because I'm not afraid of alienating the core, regular readers of me blog, simply
because there exist no such people.

So here goes (meaning in the next post which will be whenever..)
Ek prem kahani,
ek S/W engineer ki zubaani!

The dogs of Goa

I realised that I need to write something humorous to lighten up the sombre mood in the blog that my previous few posts have created. So I give to whoever bothers to visit this red - light -area of a blog an incident that happened a few years ago on a sleepy road parallel to a sleepy beach in Goa at a time of the night when everyone had gone to sleep.

Anyone who visits Goa for a holiday knows that the time cycle that you daily follow back in your hometown goes for a toss! Our mornings began at 12 noon, our lunches were had at 6 in the evening and our nights ended usually at 4 a.m. in the Morning. On one such day, I think it was a Tuesday because weird things tend to happen to me on Tuesdays, don't ask me why, or rather on one such night we felt the need to get some dinner at 12 a.m. in the night. So three people were allotted the task of retrieving the chow from a late night neighbourhood eatery. Unfortunately the road that lead to this dubious delicatessen was a one mile long affair with no street lights.

So on a moonless night, three weary souls, namely Paul, Pranay and Moi left for the afore mentioned chow palace. Now I use the names of my other two friends without their permissions so kindly don't mention this to them If you ever happen to meet them by chance walking down the road or something.
After a few minutes into our journey, when none of us had spoken more than a sentence or two, Paul who more often then not tends to come up with ridiculous ideas, came up with another ridiculous one. "Lets race to the place!", he said with the typical enthusiasm that only he can display. Now it actually indicates the type of simple souls Pranay and Me are that we actually agreed to this plan.

Somewhere deep down from my consciousness came up a voice, which keeps on surfacing occasionally, "This is stupid, You Idiot!" I don't know why but this voice which resides in the nether regions of my brain always keeps on abusing me whenever it speaks.

So just about the time when the minute and hour hands of a clock rendezvous in an upright manner, three dark figures started running down an unlit street which until now had been so quiet that the sloshing sound emanating from an urinating mosquito would have been heard.

Just a few days ago before leaving for the shores of Goa, I had visited a local store and bought a pair of Hawaiian chappals for what I had thought as quite a bargain. How i wish I could turn back the clock and exchange them for some noiseless sneakers! We ran! And then it started! Dogs, Dogs and more dogs! Dogs of all kind! Barking dogs! Howling Dogs! Dogs wailing in their mother tongues some ballads of lost glory and tales of woe!

Now just close your eyes
and try to visualize...
First ran Paul,
the swiftest of us all.
Then ran Pranay,
shoving me out of the way.
And then came I,
crying my whiny lil' cry,

And behind me were the dogs, teeth gnashing, jaws open, tails wagging all the time barking their hellish barks. Of course the fair citizens of Goa whose cottages were lined up on either side of the road weren't going to forgive us for our sinister crime. Cries of "Tommy Go!" "Jimmy Catch!" "Moti Kill!" joined the cacophony of barks as these well bred dogs joined their savage cousins in our pursuit!

The hotel was visible now! Were we going to make it? But by now the dogs had overtaken me! One of them jumped on my back and as I fell to the ground! Another two pounced on Pranay! Only the slippery Paul managed to reach the doors of the deli into safety! But then he peered out and saw his stricken comrades!
Giving the war cry of "Har Har Mahadev!" he joined in the melee trying to ward of the canines trying their level best to rip off our throbbing throats!

Have you ever been mauled by a dog? Of course you might have or might not! Those who haven't believe me it is one of the scariest experiences in the world. You grow numb with fear. The pain hits you like a rush of wind, knocking you out with a solid punch. You cry but your wails are cut off by the fangs that have pierced your once unblemished neck!

Of course nothing of such sort happened! Soon through a combination of some Karate moves, some Kung Fu chops and some Hakka Noodles borrowed from the kitchen the dogs were separated from us. We reached the safety of the hotel, took the food parcels that awaited us and started on our way back! We waited a full hour before proceeding to do so. While returning everything seemed to be pretty calm! The dogs satiated with their fill of Manchow soup had drifted back to sleep!

Paul looked at me and suggested "Shall we run again?"

The voice from deep inside of me came to the fore again. Surprisingly this time I wasn't the target of his tirade! "Kick him in the balls!", it suggested. I couldn't agree more!

How to lose a friend

I guess when the time comes for me to hang up my boots, to retire from whatever career path i will have trod in the opaque future, I will probably end up writing a book based upon the title of this post.

I seem to have this curious knack of turning very good friends away from me in just a moment of unexplained lunacy.
It happens thus, The day begins, the morning shows no signs of this being a day out of the ordinary. A chance circumstance causes me to meet up with my friend, a topic comes up and then in a stupendous mind boggling display of insanity I say something or do something that causes extreme anguish or hurt to my friend and just like that we are friends no more.
I like to end friendships with a single line - "Have a nice life!"
On second thoughts maybe that should be the title of my book.
And then just like that a once strong close friendship is broken.

The reasons why these events occur, in a alarmingly frequent rate nowadays, never stands up to even a cursory scrutiny later on. Try as I might I cannot explain why I behave the way I do.

Do we all have these demons locked up away in our brains which are released all of a sudden which make us lash out in a selfish, callous, irrational manner. Is this an indication of a deep rooted psychosis, which makes me destroy things that meant something special to me at one time? I guess it's called foot in the mouth disease, but the rush of blood to my brain that precedes it choking off the air supply to all my brain cells which are good and just and rational is inexplicable.

I have this thing, this fad where I like to observe my actions at a later date dispassionately, from a third party perspective. Somehow these observations always tend to come to the conclusion that I was in the wrong. Or maybe these conclusions are not so dispassionate or unbiased as I perceive them to be. Maybe they are clouded by the overwhelming feeling of self-hatred that I possess and which tends to consume me from time to time. Or maybe this is all just crap!

God! I need to stop overanalysing so much!