Tuesday, June 23, 2015

I, You

I, You

I am You, you made me so.
You taught me everything I know.
You gave me life, blood and sweat.
Your life.
Your blood.
Your sweat.

With it,
I am You.

I am You, as I've wanted to.
I do things the way You'd do.
I live life the way You'd live.
But, we're unaware.
You of me.
I of You.

Beware,
I am You.

I am You, as You are me.
We are both unsure.
We are both scared.
We are both broken.
You and me.
Me and You.

That's why,
I am you.

I am You.
But, s-e-p-a-r-a-t-e-d.
In Space.
In Time.
In Life.

Still,
I am you.

Separated in space, time and life, but not in thoughts. 
H.F.D. - June 21, 2015

Thursday, June 04, 2015

The one sequel you can't miss!

All that is good in this world deserves a second coming.

After 30 long years and one helluva month, my lovely illustrious life (the really good and the really bad parts of which are frozen here in the annals of this blog) decided to come to an end, what with the remains of a averagely glorious past behind me and a gloomy autumn of writers' block that well extended into the last few years, wherein I have neither blogged nor lived, just existed in the most plain-vanilla manner you could imagine. Although near its very end, this withering existence of mine did verily shoot up a last flare in the night sky, and akin to a dying candle, there was a final moment of intense brightness just before the end. I am of course referring to my marriage to a sweet little lady (Miss "Cha" for those who care; "Mrs. Jain" for those who don't) whom I had bumped into while number-crunching for Microsoft India. And everything I had held sacred until then, came-a-crashing down. 

Mind you. Every-effing-thing. 

Although I won't get into the juicy details for the world to read, but what I can tell for sure is that the boat has been rocked, and by God it is ROCKED to a MAYDAY! The only constant in my life at this point of time is the missus and I have spent the last few months just ogling at the many doors of riddance from this beast of a situation Me and Cha have found ourselves in, but to no avail. Hence, I have arrived at a conclusion that my life (as I knew it) is concluded. Khatam, finis, over.

And also, in the same vein, I have steadfastly decided that no more shall I be slave to the shackles, or the structures, or the ties that bind. No more shall I be fixated upon the viewpoint that I have held so dearly over the last thirty years. That has ceased to be, just like my old self. What's in the past belongs there, and now its time for something completely different.

Okay great analysis. But where do we go from here then? 

Its a simple analogy. When a computer (and I mean Windows PCs here) misbehaves, we try a nifty thing called the "Task Manager" to manage the multiple processes that are running. When that fails to bring the irksome machine under control, we just get rid of all running programs and load them again - in short, we do a re-boot. 

That's what I've been doing. When managing small fires in isolated domains of my life didn't help, I went for a full blooded reboot. Inhale, and exhale. Inhale just a wee bit more, and then exhale just a lil bit more. You get used to it. The oxygen gets to your lungs once again and you can recognize it from a far distant memory of your childhood when you were really free. I remember my dear Raj reminding me to "breathe". For me, this is what it means now. Clear your mind and pfft - pain begone! Practiced well, it very rightly robs one of all the f**ks one keeps giving to anyone and anything under the yellow sun. With no f**ks to give anymore, you become a happier person. I must admit, it is kind of boring to begin with, and unnerving - seeing your own ideals falling apart, but then that's the cleansing process. If I did what I did, then I reached where I reached. And it was not a happy place, so its legit to not do anymore of what I did back then, right? Takes time to sink in, but I am slowly coming round, picking up the pieces at my own pace, starting to do things that really make me happy (this, after having shut down everything that doesn't). I am a few weeks into the process, and no surprise, today I am back to my blog after almost an eternity.

This, dear ladies and gentlemen, is my life version 2. The definitive sequel. 'Coz you know, it aint over till its over :)

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Psst ... watch this space!

Monday, September 08, 2014

Zindagi mein toh sabhi pyaar kiya karte hain ...

All of us
... fall in love,
... at least once,
... in a span of a lifetime.

I did too.

Over
and
Over
and
Over Again.

But now I have found you.
I have found you and I will keep you.
As you have found me.
And would want to keep me (like I want too).

There were ones before you, you know.
Ones whom I had loved when love was still pure in our hearts
When we were young and innocent, when we were mad and careless
When the worries of the world had not crept into our minds - I had loved them then.

We are now grown-ups with goals, with plans, with risks and responsibilities
With worrisome minds and packed calendars. We are now older and wiser (ha!)
How I wish sometimes that you met me back then, back then when I was The One
The one you love today is but a dark shadow of old, a semblance of the past.

A ripple.
An offshoot.
A bleak reminder of what was, and what could have been.

But here is what I can promise you.
You will be loved.
Come rain or shine, pain or pleasure.
In good days and bad,
Whether I am buried in work, or buried underground.
You will be loved.
Like no one has ever been loved before.

That, I promise.

... Main toh mar kar bhi, meri jaan, tujhko chaahoonga.




Friday, April 11, 2014

Confusion (असमंजस)

One of my childhood friends had a very nice phrase to sum up everything in life. Whenever faced with a dilemma, Rajat always used to say "Confusion Prevails". Little did I know that this little joke of ours would become the steadfast philosophy of our adult life. (God bless Rajat!) From the quarter life crises to the matters of the heart, life can be summed up in the very same two words ... "confusion prevails". The very moment that I feel I have got a grip on something as small as a teeniest weeniest littlest part of life, the One Above (a.k.a. the omnipresent, omnipotent "our Father in Heaven") says "Gotcha Son! Not so soon!" And there I am, back to drudgery, figuring stuff out from square one, or ground zero (a la what was left of the WTC by after the terrorist attacks), if you may.

God, I love solving problems and thereby, trying to make some sense of my time here on Earth. But please, can you give me newer problems to solve? Like you know, maybe, what do do with all the money I am going to have, to buy property in Shanghai or New York, to send my children to Oxford or Cambridge. Of course, all of it requires for God to be grateful enough to (a) give me some money, (b) give me some children, which basically brings me back to the same problem, the problem of finding a jaan for my dil-e-nadaan, which would hopefully kick-in the process of children, money and the works. Its been like eternity and I still haven't decided on what I am looking for only.

Then along comes this girl, and she ticks all the boxes, and she fills all the right gaps (from the movie Rocky - Rocky: I dunno, she's got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps.), and she's beautiful from the outside and gorgeous from the inside, and she has the right attitude and the right mix of everything one would ever want.

But, she can't be the one. As grown-ups we have "grown-up" problems - we are cautious, conscious and conscientious. In short, we think too much. This problem engulfs everyone around us, not just me and her. We on our part love to dissect, analyse and discuss like adults, always concluding all discussions bemoaning the loss of child-like devil-may-care attitude and uncomplexities of early life. So, anyways, coming back to the point, she can't be the one. Its "too early" to think of her as a life-mate, but "too late" to have a title match for her. (I know a lot about title matches, they just don't go the way you would expect - everyone loses in the end.)

While all reason and all sorts of reasons (and there are many, many, many of them) are against even the possibilities of exploring an alliance, deep down there is an optimist in me, which just wants me to wait and watch, and watch and wait. The jury's still out on this one, people. The jury is still out.

Meanwhile, here's something to ease the pain, the anguish and the anxiety. Something that I couldn't resist writing. Something that I feel verily reflects the confusion our lives are thrown into right now. This is for you, nameless lady.

झिझक 

प्रिये!

तुम ही तो हो
जो चुपचाप, धीरे से
मेरी कविता के चित्रपट पर
सहज, सहसा ही उभर आई हो

तुम्हारी मुस्कान
अनछुई, अनमोल
उज्ज्वलित कर देती है
मेरी एकाकी के वीराने को

तुम ही तो हो
जिसका प्रतिबिम्ब
दिन प्रतिदिन अपने अंतर्मन में
मैं पाता - खोता रहता हूँ

पर मन ही मन डरता हूँ
समय और समाज की सीमा
कवि की कल्पना पर पहरा देती हैं
इसलिए ही चुप रहता हूँ

मेरी इस झिझक को प्रिये
मेरा प्यार न समझ लेना …

… वह तो अभी किया नहीं
… वह तो अभी हुआ नहीं


Monday, September 17, 2012

The question

She asks him "When?".

He steps towards the window and looks out. It is evening and the sun is on the horizon. The sky is a visual cocktail - a myriad mix of the colours of the rainbow. Hues of blue set against pale white stratified clouds bidding adieu to the fading yellow sun.

For a long time he is silent, his gaze fixed on the setting sun, as if almost experiencing a philosophical deja vu. A torrent of memories sweep across the arid landscape of his mind and at the same time he is reminded of the mission with which he was chosen, a long long time ago. He falls into a reverie of the past, the ageing sun still burning in his eyes.

He has almost forgotten why he is here anymore. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. This was not the path he was to tread when he began his journey. This conversation was just not in the plan. Yet, a question has been asked and answer, he will.

He thinks again of her, the one who had asked the very same question a long time back. Its been eleven long years since he first met her. Where she might be now, he has no clue. What would have become of her, he doesn't know. Does she still think of him, he is not sure. Does he still think of her, he does. Does he still feel the same way, he doesn't. He was different back then, he is different now. His thoughts bring him to the now.

There is someone who is asking the same question now. A different person. The very same question. The very same, very difficult question. But a question has been asked, and reply to it, he shall. His gaze shifts from the sun and across the ocean onto the rising moon. He steps back a bit and breathes in the misty ocean air, as if inhaling the scenery before his eyes. Then, with the weight of his past and the depth of the darkness inside him, he speaks, "Soon. Very soon."

Friday, August 17, 2012

Kis kadar chot khaaye hue hain

Failing to be inspired in the way I used to, for a very very long time now, it is almost impossible for me to compose something original. Nevertheless, desperate times call for disparate mesaures :) , and so I have resorted to the next best thing - reading poetry, listening to old time melodies, ghazals and qawwalis. All this is just a frantic, though feeble at that, attempt to remain connected with that miniscule part of me which is still human. (at this point it becomes natural to question the nature of the other not-so-miniscule part of me, to which I would sadly clarify by stating that the other part is slowly but surely mouldng itself in the shape of a commonplace urban phenomenon - the cubicle rat).

These days most of my time is being spent on work related affairs, and all the other, ahem, affairs have taken a backseat. Nevertheless, once every few months, I still go into those moments of trance / insanity that give rise to blog posts such as those that shall follow this one. And, true to my human side, notwithstanding the minisculity of its form, this post is still a vehement representation of what I am and a stubborn reminder of the stain of the human emotion etched into my psyche. Some things just don't go away, do they?

Out, bloody damned spot!

I had first heard this song in a Bollywood masala movie from the 90s. It was well sung, well directed and eventually became a hugely popular song. That number was sung by Sonu Nigam. However, very recently I discovered a video on youtube of a version sung by a Pakistani artist, Ataullah Khan, who is a living legend in his own right (as I came to know subsequently). Further research and a couple of hours digging through the WWW, I found more versions sung as qawwalis by Sabari Brothers, Ayaz Ali and Munni Begum.

Each one has their own style of singing it. Although there is much speculation and conflicting views regarding the poet of the original verse, the poem itself is heart rending. I have compiled the present verse below based on multiple renditions by various artistes named above.

Although the theme is not sufi per se, there are philosophical undertones and a sense of renunciation mixed with a sense of loss and anguish. The beauty of the song, akin to Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, is that the tone of the verse depends entirely the approach the audience takes while interpreting the song.

Here's the verse.
इश्क में हम तुम्हें क्या बताएं

इश्क में हम तुम्हें क्या बताएं, किस क़दर चोट खाए हुए हैं
... मौत ने हमको मारा है अब हम, ज़िन्दगी के सताए हुए हैं

उसने शादी का जोड़ा पहन कर, सिर्फ चूमा था मेरे कफ़न को
... बस उसी दिन से जन्नत की हूरें, मुझको दूल्हा बनाये हुए हैं

सुर्ख़ आँखो में काजल लगा है, रुख पे गाज़ा सजाये हुए हैं
... ऐसे आए हैं मैय्यत में मेरी, जैसे शादी में आए हुए हैं

ऐ लहद अपनी मिट्टी से कह दे, दाग लगने ना पाए कफ़न को
... आज ही हमने बदले हैं कपड़े, आज ही हम नहाए हुए हैं

बिख़री जुल्फें परेशान चेहरा, अश्क आँखो में आये हुए हैं
... ऐ अजल ठहर जा चाँद लम्हें , वो अयादत को आये हुए हैं

दुश्मनो की शिकायत है बेजा, दोस्तओं से गिला क्या करेंगे
... झड़ चुके जिन दरख्तो के पत्ते, फिर कहाँ उनके साये हुए हैं

ज़िन्दगी में पलटकर न देखा, और न पूछा कभी हाल 'अफज़ल'
... बाद मरने के मेरी लहद पे, वो दुल्हन बनके आये हुए हैं

क्या है अंजाम-ए-उल्फत पतंगो, जाके शम्मा के नज़दीक देखो
... कुछ पतंगो की लाशें पड़ी हैं, 'पर' किसी के जलाए हुए हैं

दफ्न के वक़्त सब दोस्तो ने, ये चुकाया मुहब्बत का बदला
... डाल दी खाक मेरे बदन पर, यह न सोचा नहाए हुए हैं

उनकी तारीफ़ क्या पूछते हो, उम्र सारी गुनाहो में गुज़री
... पारसाँ बन रहे हैं वो ऐसे, जैसे गंगा नहाये हुए हैं

देख साकी तेरे मैकदे का, इक पहुंचा हुआ रिंद हूँ मैं
... जितने आए हैं मैय्यत पर मेरी, सब के सब ही लगाए हुए हैं

ज़िन्दगी में न रास आई राहत, चैन से अब सोने दो लहद में
... ए फ़रिश्तो न छेड़ो न छेड़ो, हम जहाँ के सताए हुए हैं

एक आँसूं न पलको से टपके, यह वफ़ा का तकाज़ा है वरना
... दोस्तो हम भी आँखो में अपनी गंगा-जमुना छुपाये हुए हैं

खोई-खोई सी बेचैन आँखें, बेकरारी है चेहरे से ज़ाहिर
... हो न हो आप भी शेख साहिब, इश्क की चोट खाए हुए हैं

I hope someday I am able to put up a translation of the verse for the non-Indic readers.

Monday, January 11, 2010

A New End, A New Beginning.

I remember this from somewhere
In the end, everything's okay.
If it's not okay, it's not the end.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is so true.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

The Door's Open, milove ...

Here's something I wrote NOT quite recently. However, there's a bit of a story attached to this episode. I wrote this piece in a state of mind which one couldn't exactly term as "regular". Strange as I am, after I had jotted it down I couldn't resist sharing it with a friend.

Of course it was inappropriate at that time to have posted it on my blog, for the simple reason that such an act might have defeated the very idea around which the piece revolves. However, the friend liked the concept and the expression so much (takes a bow) that very soon the piece landed up on the blog of that particular friend.

It is today that I present to you, a true tale from the saumyajain archives. The "Whys" and "Whats" of it all ... (Now now now, don't take me seriously, I am just exaggerating stuff out of proportion. An old advertising gimmick, you see ... :D)

Read the post though, it was written on a sober thought. Here goes everything.
“People come in our lives just like someone visits our homes. We welcome them in. Show them a piece of what is us. Share a few moments. If they are formal, we keep them to the drawing room. If they are family, we let them in the kitchen and other rooms. Some of them get access to the living room. We call them friends.
We don’t mind them peering at our dirty socks or strewn about magazines. We feel safe sharing our lives with them. And when THAT special person comes in, one thinks about getting the house painted, maybe its time to move up in life.
Maybe its time to tidy things up.
Maybe she would want to move in.
...
Please, good God, make her want to move in!
Meanwhile, she moves about the house, arranging it with authority. I let her. Its as much hers as it is mine. She waves her wand and things seem to just fall in place. Oh! am I happy, or am I happy?

But then, something changes. She moves in close.
But how close is it?
Is it close enough? Is it far enough?

Is she here all by herself, or does she have to be told to? Do I want her to be told to be close?
I want her to want by herself. If that’s not there, it means nothing.

Nothing at all.

Is she just being “nice”?
Being so close and just being “nice”?
“Nice” means nothing to me. I am not nice.
I am genuine. Straight-in-your-face genuine.
I don’t like her being “nice” when she cannot really be close.
I don’t like her being close when she cannot “really” be nice.

I don’t want her to touch the things inside any more. I don’t want her to not to either. What do I want? I don’t know. All I know, I don’t want it like this. I don’t want any apparitions or fakeness. I can’t keep her close. I can’t keep her inside. I can’t keep her out too. She has to be around, but I won’t let her be close like this.

In my mind’s eye, I have placed her somewhere at the door. Neither moving out nor moving in. She can stand there, get a view of what is outside and a glimpse of what is inside. I have let her to decide what she wants. The door’s open and you’re standing there, milove. It’s your house, it’ll always be. Only thing is, if you want to come inside, you need to know that its your house, and you have to treat it as your own.

If you don’t or you can’t, the door’s open and you’re standing there milove.”

Much water has flown down the Saraswati (note the double pun!) since. But, although I am much, much, much (and much much more than that) wiser now than I was when I wrote this, the basic philosophy, the premise of the written word as it meant to me back then, hasn't changed too much. My inner thoughts would be still be somewhat reeking of similar concepts. Maybe the form of interpretation of the concept, the way it is understood and applied now might have changed. But this piece does sum a part of me up for good.

Why this post? Why now? Just like that. A thought tickled me from inside and felt like revisited this long-lost post.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Baat niklegi toh ...

Another masterpiece. Heard this today on a road trip across the countryside. Though I had heard and used the first line of this nazm so many times in the past, it was only today that I finally got a chance to hear it completely.

The beauty of this one is that it comes to me at a time when the lyrics are almost so relevant. Well, I could say that about any urdu piece but this one touched my heart today.

बात निकलेगी तो फिर दूर तलक जाएगी ...

लोग बेवजह उदासी का सबब पूछेंगे,
ये भी पूछेंगे कि तुम इतनी परेशां क्यूं हो ...

उगलियां उठेंगी सूखे हुए बालों की तरफ़,
इक नज़र देखेंगे गुज़रे हुए सालों की तरफ़ ...

चूड़ियों पर भी कई तन्ज़ किये जायेंगे,
कांपते हाथों पे भी फिक़रे कसे जायेंगे ...

लोग ज़ालिम हैं हर इक बात का ताना देंगे,
बातों बातों मे मेरा ज़िक्र भी ले आयेंगे ...

उनकी बातों का ज़रा सा भी असर मत लेना,
वर्ना चेहरे के तासुर से समझ जायेंगे,
चाहे कुछ भी हो सवालात न करना उनसे,
मेरे बारे में कोई बात न करना उनसे ...

बात निकलेगी तो फिर दूर तलक जाएगी ...

‍-कफ़ील आज़र

Glossary
तलक : Till
सबब : Cause
तन्ज़ : Taunt
फ़िकरे : Jibes
तासुर : Expression

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

And time just flew!

It has been a long long time since I really blogged something. To be less ambiguous, it has been close to six months, save a fit of insanity last weekend, when I have ended up posting something.

Apart from the fact that much of what I was facing was totally unbloggable (or, from another viewpoint, a typical movie script and very much blogworthy!), and the fact that I simply had much much bigger things to take care of in my life than this (my very own crazy little real estate in cyberspace) I had been pushed out of my wits to post anything meaningful. It is certainly not that I wasn't inspired enough to write. It's just that, the pieces never seemed to fit. Last weekend's sudden departure came as a piece of good news which prompted me to complete a pending draft and put up a plagiarised-ish quick post.

You heard the good news, it's time for the better news, and as all the strange conincidences of my life, it is no wonder that it is my hundredth post that coincides with the news that I have finally ended the drudgery and taken up a job in a field of my liking, or I would put it, not-to-my-disliking. Here's a poetic flavour to the episode, and here's to my bright (or dimly lit, in the least) future ...

Looking back from where I stand
My shadow has turned darker, longer
Is it dusk? I wonder,
Have my demons become stronger?

Or is it the dawn, I wistfully think
The sun is on the horizon's brink
I was sleeping I do not know
If its coming or getting ready to go

My footprints have a clue to say
They seem to come from far away
How did I come here? I cannot tell
Did I walk or is it from the sky that I fell?

But then the sun does finally rise
And I fall into my surmise
The shadow has turned long
Its grown in character, nothing wrong

It is the depth of wisdom I gain
Though it comes with the cost of pain
Old memories, I no longer keep
That wisdom, paints my shadow deep

They look the same, Dusk and Dawn,
Its not our worth to ponder on
Our fate, it is us who's making it
Building it by hand or just faking it

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Firaaq

रात यूं दिल में तेरी खोयी हुई याद आयी,
जैसे वीराने में चुपके से बहार आ जाए,
जैसे सहराओं में हौले से चले बाद-ऐ-नसीम,
जैसे बीमार को बेवजह करार आ जाए।
(फैज़ अहमद फैज़)

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Kaka Hathrasi

Vinod has recently started a blog on Kaka Hathrasi's creations. Here's my (literal) two cents ... two compositions as my personal tribute to Kaka's legacy, in his signature style.

The first one was written during the Hindu festival of Karva-Chauth in 2007. Picking up from the usual Kaka-Kaki nok-jhonk, here's how it goes ...
काका से काकी कहिन , हमारा खूब बनाया मेल,
मैं भी खेलूंगी इस बार करवा-चौथ का खेल।
करवा-चौथ का खेल, रखूँगी मैं उपवास,
उम्र तुम्हारी लम्बी हो, जेहि है मेरी आस।
सुनते ही काका की बुद्धि ऐसी चकराई,
सज़ा-टाइम की EXTENSION भला किसी को भायी?
कहे काका कविराय हाथ यूँ जोड़कर, “काकी,
इतना जीवन कम था क्या, कुछ कसार रह गई बाकी?”

... and the next one struck me on the day I got to know about this blog. Here's how that one sounds like,
एक हमारे बन्धु भये, उनका नाम विनोद,
काका की कवितायें वो नित दिन, लायें खोद खोद।
लायें खोद खोद, करें हम उनसे विनती,
अपने रचनाओं की भी, कभी करो भाई गिनती।
कहीं काका कविराय मजा तोह तब आवेगा,
ब्लागस्पाट.कॉम जब दद्दू-गीत गावेगा।

Here's a hick-a-doo to Kaka Hathrasi, the nuffiest poet known to man.
Hickkk-A-Diddle-Dooooo!!!

Thursday, May 22, 2008

And then the old man said ...

Post Note : This is a one-time note. I am never going to write something like this again, and for no one else.

Like the archetypal character in Vinod's fantasy novels, each one of us in our lives has a "wise old man". He comes in different forms for different people. For some, its their fathers, for some its their uncles, their grandfathers, their neighbourly elder or someone. I found such an old man for myself in the early months of 2008. We immediately hit it off. He was about 3 years older to me, a man of principle and character. He was, so to say, someone whom I would like to live my life as sometime in the future.

In this place of "quick-to-change ethics" and magic words like "adaptability" and "fending-for-your-own", I had finally found someone who was "old school", who had the insight and the patience to look into the details, who used his homegrown intelligence to solve problems and someone who was oozing with confidence. He was someone I had once wanted to become. He was someone who made me realise that it was possible to live a life like that, someone who showed me how contentful it is to live likewise. He was someone who gave me hope.

Yet he was no superman. He was weak and vulnerable, just like me. I connected with him because I could. Very few could. But I was lucky. I was lucky to spend time with him. I was lucky to share thoughts. As much as I realised that it was only a tip of an iceberg that I could relate to in such a short time, it was still enough for my agitated mind. He could give me a sense of relief subconsciously which I had somehow lost in the past couple of years at IIT.

When I was packing my bags at IIT to return to my home for good, he came round and offered to accompany me, on my taxi, for the trip. I think I shall forever live under the assumption that this event happened just so that we could spend some more time together for one last time in THAT mode. Here's a brief conversation we had during that trip, amongst a lot of other "meaningless-yet-profound" transactions. (P.S : Don't mind the profanity, just look into the meaning)

He says, "You know what, you are a d**k."
I say, "Hmm?"
"Yeah, you are a d**k who is not interested in f**king."
"Hmm?" (BTW, this is the kind of response that I give to him whenever I want to keep him talking)
"Yes, and mind you, there are not a lot of people whom I consider d**ks."
"So what do you consider most of the people as?"
"Oh most of the people are c**ts. They are happy just getting f**ked. But you, you are the other kind, you are the one who has been made to f**k , but you're not realising it. You're simply not interested. Saumya Jain, work on this and you can really f**k the world. Realise your worth. You're a d**k and you know it!"
(I just smiled. At being called a d**k! And then he smiled, knowing that we both knew what had transpired in that heavily loaded Toyota Qualis speeding away on National Highway 91 on that scorching summer day)

I must say I was lucky to have stayed back in IIT that one extra semester. I was lucky to have met this wonderful person, who filled the proverbial much-needed-gap in my life. Here's to you, Raj, and I would gladly say that for me you have been the closest one to being the elder brother I never had.

Ball-Bearings, eh?

Oh Well, I might have lost my bearings, but I have surely not lost my balls!

Monday, April 28, 2008

Ek aawaaz si toh tumko aayi hi hogi ...

माना कि गूँज रहे थे सन्नाटे,
माना चीख रही थी खामोशियाँ,
जब आह भरी थी हम ने, तब न सही ...
पर जब दिल चटखा था, तब एक आवाज़ सी तो तुमको आयी ही होगी।

माना कि उदास थी बहार,
माना खामोश था यह चहचहाता आँगन,
सूनी गलियों मे छुप रहे घुप्प अँधेरे में ही सही ...
मेरी एकाकी ने अपनी एक झलक तुमको चुपके से दिखलाई ही होगी।

माना चुप्पी लगी थी इस ओर भी उस ओर भी,
माना भरोसे की किल्लत थी इस ओर भी उस ओर भी,
यह भी मान लिया दोनों ही का अहम बड़ा था, लेकिन ...
इन दूरियों ने तुमको एक दीदार की गुहार तो लगायी ही होगी।

माना कि सपना टूट गया,
माना कि रिश्ता छूट गया,
पर यह तो आज भी कबूल नहीं कि थे तुम बेवफा ...
हमारी ही वफा ने तुमको शायद कोई कमी जतलायी होगी।

To The Nice Guys ...

Well, this is one of those instances which I call a SUUPER exception. Someone else's work on my blog! But still, I couldn't have agreed more. Here Goes ...
http://www.stwing.upenn.edu/~jenf/writing/rant04.html

Ode to the Nice Guys

This rant was written for the Wharton Undergraduate Journal

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing "serious" between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: "oh, but we’re just friends!" And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as "oh, he’s too nice to date" or "he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me" or "he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!" or the most frustrating of all: "no, it would ruin our friendship." Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks.

Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.
Fu-zu Jen, SEAS/WH, 2003

Its not too often that one finds, in another heart, a sense of pain that one has himself undergone, and in another's fingers, the same dexterity to put it in print. Well, I am (part)amused and (part)intrigued by this one.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Blood.

Nothing lasts. Blood Survives.
Flowers wilt away.
The taste of chocolate fades in memory.
The touch of a hand lasts for merely seconds.
But blood. Blood sustains.
Blood only thickens with time.
Blood only becomes deeper as the clock ticks.
Blood doesn't doubt.
Blood doesn't flinch.
Blood cannot be washed away.
Blood stays.

Blood always stays with you.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

The Perfect Analysis

I had once said about Vinod Khare "...one who would give me the coldest yet the brutally sanest advice on any issue", and there he goes again! This is a short conversation I had with him on our reunion at Alfaaz, IIT Kanpur's Literary Festival, which he is gracing as a Judge!!! Beats me how he manages to do that (too!), but however, that is not the point. Speaking of which, here is the point of the pointless conversation, (definitely not the first and surely not the last) that we had today on our time honoured practice of pilgrimage to "THE MT" for chai, samosa and whatnot.

The topic of the chat is the usual, "What is Saumya Jain supposed to be doing", hehe, something in which I have earned a D.Phil., needless to mention that all arguments expounded in which are as useless as the debate of the status of the planet Pluto in the Solar System. so, here goes ...

Saumya (talking about a day in recent forgotten history on which he had a bath): See, it is about perfection, about quality. It is about giving your best in everything you do. When I take a bath, I get an oil massage, a pedicure, a nice little sunbath and then I stand under the shower for ages. That, my friend is the perfect way to cleanse the body and the mind.

Vinod: Uh-huh.

Saumya: Yeah, nothing, absolutely nothing beats the feeling of your legs being soaked in warm water, sitting in the afternoon sun, and a relaxing massage with oil.

Vinod: Uhm! You mean "Getting a massage"? Are you employing people to do that? Really?

Saumya: Ah! No, no no. I mean I am rubbing oil in my hair myself, but, isn't the feeling just heavenly?

Vinod (pauses, thinks and then BANG!): Tumhe pata hai, tumko na Raja hona chahiye. Ekdum tumhaare laayak job hai! [You know what? You should be a king. Its a job just made for you!]

Saumya (Obviously surprised at the skewed parallel drawn between a king and a job desc): Hmm?

Vinod (Coldly, as though working out a case study. You just HAVE TO give it to this guy, he can remain SO indifferent even when he is speaking of such *disdainful* wisdom!) : Haan, na tum kuchh kaam karte ho, na kuchh karna chahte ho, bas pade rehte ho, aish karte rehte ho, aalsi bhi ho, ek hi cheez aati hai, bak bak karna aur morals baantna. Yehi sab toh karna hota hai. [Yes, its obvious. You don't do anything, neither do you want to. You just hang around all day long, making the most of your leisure-time, and you are slothful too. If you are good at something, it is talking crap and moralising. This is all that one requires to be a king.] You should have been born in the medieval times. You'd have done well.

Saumya (the truth hitting him at last): Yeah, I always thought that I was a bit old fashioned for this world. Too sad I missed the window. Waise, meri kundali mein shaayad Raj-yog likha hai. [Astrologically speaking, my fortune favours me to become one of the ruling class] Hehe. Kahan apply karoon? [Where do I sign up for this?]

Vinod (Smiling. Oh thank you holy mother of God): Hehe, chal chal, MT chal, fir bataataa hoon... [Hehe, walk on along, let me explain...]

And so we met again, probably for the last time on IITK soil. Probably for the last time to discuss this dreaded issue which I myself have been taking a bit too lightly (this blog-post notwithstanding). Hopefully though, I see some light at the end of this tunnel.

So anyhow, Ladies and Gentlemen, that, was Vinod Khare, and this, is me, signing off with this little poem, which will make sense to few. At least it does to me.

Adieu, adieu, adieu!
We'll miss you, Radley Boo,
You've been wronged,
and been miscast;
But all of that,
is in the Past.
Go on ahead, make a life,
No more worries, no more strife.
Speak out and you'll be heard,
No longer the caged mockingbird.
Go! Do the thing you wanna do,
Adieu, Boo, Adieu!

Quick Brown Fox, eh?

Remember, no quick brown fox is agile enough for a leap. And while we are at it, let me also tell you that Jackdaws have no romantic (or otherwise) interest whatsoever in any Gigantic Crystalline Animal-Deity.

Alt: Fox no Brown. Fox no Jump. Dog no Lazy. (P.S. : Fox no Quick too!)

Also Alt: (The conformist view) Exemplary Wizened Vicars Jump The Queue For The Kind God Above

Thursday, March 20, 2008

For Mel, or someone like her ...

There are good times, and then there are worse ones. There have been times when I have been lonely, forgotten, sad, desperate and depressed. There have been times when I have lost the will to do anything. There have been times when I have just let life slip past me.

And yet I am still here.

I am still here, because of a certain way I have been made. That tells me something about me. That tells me something about what I am capable of achieving, about what I am capable of doing but not realizing it just as yet. That tells me, I am.

But still, am I really all that I am? No. Because even in this higher sense of existence, I can feel that there is a spark that keeps me alive. There is a ray that shines through even the darkest of troubles, the deepest of chasms, and keeps me willing. Willing to breathe, willing to be. This spark, this ray doesn’t come from within. It comes from without.

It’s you.

It’s you, or maybe it’s just what I believe you are. It’s a concept that’s you. Or maybe it’s a concept which has your face. I wonder if it matters, but still it is your face I see. That tells me something. About me, about you. For now, I would like to believe it’s really you. I’d like to believe, because that’s how I live. We all live for a belief. And this, is my belief.