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.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
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.
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?
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?
Friday, June 15, 2007
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!
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!
Friday, June 8, 2007
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! )
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! )
Saturday, May 19, 2007
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.
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.
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