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.

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

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!

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.

Lights, Camera, Action!

All that my life is missing right now ...
... is a soundtrack.

Teree Kavitaa, Meree Kavitaa

७ फरवर २००८। माँ का जन्मदिन। ब्लॉगर पर मेरी पहली हिन्दी रचना।
माँ, तुम्हारे लिए...

तेरी कविता, मेरी कविता
पहला दूध, पहला खाना, पहली मिठाई।
पहली सहेली. बड़ी बहन. छोटी बहन।
तेरी कोख, तेरी गोद, तेरा आँचल।
तेरी पुचकार, तेरी थपकी, तेरी खुशबू।
तेरी पायल, तेरी बिंदी, तेरी साड़ी।
छ्न्न छन्न, खन्न खन्न, तेरी आहट।
तेरी मुस्कान, तेरी खुशी, मेरी खुशी।
तेरी आवाज़, तेरी लोरी, मेरी नीँद।

मेरा ग़म, तेरी बेचैनी, मेरा ग़म।
तेरा ग़म, मेरी बेचैनी, तेरा ग़म।
मेरी खुशी, तेरी खुशी, हमारी खुशी।
मेरी किस्मत, तेरी किस्मत, हमारी किस्मत।

मेरा झूठ, तेरी डाँट, तेरे आँसूं।
तेरे आँसूं, तेरा विश्वास. मेरा दुर्भाग्य।
तेरी माफी, तेरा प्यार, मेरा जीवन।
तेरा बेटा, मेरी माँ।

Laying Some Demons to Rest

I recently noticed a couple of blogs I have started on my blogger account. This post is primarily to list 'em out and have a retrospection on when/why they were made. Here we go.

1. SaumyäSæz
[http://saumyajain.blogspot.com/] : This is my blog-a-la-originale. The authentic, the real McCoy, the right_from_the_horse's_mouth blog. I like to call it "My Rant". It has everything one could possibly know about me, or rather, at least everything I would let the world know about me. 81 posts including this one. The one that people know about, the one that I advertise. The one, that I write on. The one, that is me.

2. L.o.v.e.s.m.i.t.t.e.n.s.v.i.l.l.e
[http://luvbitten.blogspot.com/] : Once upon a time there was a guy who was smitten with love. Unreturned love. Or so he thought. Or so he did not. And thus he ended up bitten in love. This was supposed to be a "(s)pit-of-venom blog". Something to pour out, to vent out the anger, the inadequacy, the failure, the fall, the times, the promises, the quirkiness, the reality. It still has only one post. It will always have only one post. A post that I regret. A post that I shall never delete. Just to remind me never to write something like that again. Maybe, I guess, till I "fall" again.

3. A 100 days of solitude
[http://alifeinexile.blogspot.com/] : I will reproduce the only post this blog has, here.

Sunday, August 5, 2007
"An exile?"
"Yes."
"How? You are still around people you know."
"Yes, that is true. In physical terms, yes."
"Then?"
"Hmm... Well, it is an exile. Let's just leave it at that."

Akshay gives me a quizzical look. I smile back.

The idea to launch this blog came upon me a day before I wrote the luvbitten blog. It is after spewing out the spit of venom that I decided to end my 100 days of solitude on Day-2 itself. I realised that I was not ready for it then. A hundred days of solitude were meant as an experience to "grow", not to grow ugly and hateful. Thus ended my hundred days of exile, and so did the blog. (and so began my "Alter-Exile") But, unlike the "spit of venom blog", this is not a closed file. I know I shall come back to this again, although in very different circumstances and a totally different mindset. One day I shall be ready. It is then that I shall return to the blog, and to a hundred days of solitude, and hopefully, to a life in exile, away from "all this". What's "all this"? You'll know. Soon enough.

4. Posts on Love and Freedom, and Related Stuff :D
[http://luvandfreedom.blogspot.com/] : As the title says. This is for posts on Love, Freedom and Related Stuff. Hahahahah! Basically, it started out as an outlet for appreciating the finer things in life. It was there to remind me that I was not the only enlightened mind writing about human emotions. There have been lesser mortals before me who have succeeded in capturing intense emotions and packed them in words, mostly poetry. Basically, a place where I posted others' compositions centered around the strongest of human emotions, love and freedom. Sadly, given my age and circumstance, it boiled down to love more than freedom at that time, and soon I got so entangled with love that I actually stopped thinking about freedom, and if that was not enough, my posts on love too went on to merge with my rant blog, and so this blog became parched. I guess its time to renew this blog, now that my alter-exile is also over. And what better a post than Faiz's "Mujhse pehli si muhabbat mere mehboob na maang"

5. Science and Technology Council IITK
[http://scitech-iitk.blogspot.com/] : Originally meant as a General Secretary (I was "that" once, :D) writing about his council in IITK, I guess it had one discussion and everyone soon forgot about it. Maybe because it was seen as a propaganda thingy back then. It was an honest attempt to bring in some people to life. I guess IITK was not ready back then. With lately my intent of doing something crazy with the IITK junta having found a supporting voice with Arvind Kothari, the currently outgoing PREJIDENT SAAHIB ;), I guess this blog may be used to complete a much awaited discourse on "What ails IITK" and also in the future, become a platform for my thoughts about Science and Technology as well as my days of being the "Scitech-Oh Seven" in IITK, the time and place where I gained, lost, learnt, became, befooled, did, undid, follied, jollied ... myself. All by myself.

6. The Techkriti Blog
[http://techkriti-ohseven.blogspot.com/] : "Wake me up when Techkriti Ends" ... This was Rakshit's status message. Techkriti was the brand, Oh Seven was the catchline, Us, the salesmen. I am absolutely immodest when it comes to this. It was THE Techkriti. Honest to God, great intentions without any fear of what will happen. For most of the people, where it was "just another tech fest", for us it was a matter of life, prestige and passion. Still is. There will be better ones I am sure. But one thing that no one can take away from Oh Seven is, it was the one that started it all. Nanda's Techkriti, to a large extent, inspired us. It was a benchmark. But we had a better base with the participants, and so by the end of it, I can safely say, we made Nanda proud. True, it had its glitches, it had its misses, they all do. I take all responsibility. Truly. I do believe I was the weakest link in the whole chain. BUT, I was also the superglue, heheh. Anyhow, this blog was made around the run up to the fest but soon discarded just like the scitech blog. There is still time before I fill it up with "How-to-organise-a-students-fest" guideline. (I have actually thought of doing so. Call me crazy.)

Aww shucks. This too has become just like all the old ones. Filling me with remorse over all my past life. [life. or something like it ;) ... Now where did I pick that one up from?] Anyhow, I am learning to live with it. I am learning to live with myself. The bottomline is, I am learning. That, I guess, is enough for me.

Have you "fallen" in love ?

Man falls in love.

Such a simple statement. Such a profound thought.

I mean, he literally "falls" in love. A "man", in love, is a "fallen" creature. Think about it. It does make sense.

My train of thought? Man "falls" in love. Hits the ground ("ground reality", literally) and finds out the true nature of human emotion. He can choose to stay there, down and out, or he may choose to use this experience for the rest of his life, remembering to "rise" from his present state to unheard-of heights.

It is thus not only important but prescribed to fall (face first, given an option) in love once and to hit the ground. It is only then that you will truly become free, for its only then that you will realise how to rise. To rise and to love yourself. To love yourself more than anyone else could love someone and more than anyone could be loved. It is then, that you will really end up being happy.

Have you "fallen" yet?

If you can't return it, just throw it back ...

Give me back my love, my love.
If you can’t return it, just throw it back
But just don’t keep it with you like that

It’s all that I had that I gave to you
But maybe the meaning did not come through
So now that you don’t need it, just pass it back

It's not meant for a public view
So it wouldn’t suit your showcase
or your mantle-rack

Nor akin a library book overdue
That’s tossed in a corner untold
And lost under heaps
And heaps of memories old.

It is worth a bit more than that
As much as you may not realise
It is worth a man’s dreams, joys, sorrows,
Everything he is at
It is worth a man’s life.

I am without, and so I am not
‘coz I need what you’ve got
So just pass me back my love, my love
You can’t return it, so just throw it back.
But give me back my love, my love
That is one thing I need, to be.

IITK - Book of Institutional Harassment [3:14]

... and then the powers-that-be said, “and thou shalt hence be known as The Academically Deficient One, and by the instrument of this name thou shalt be treated as a lowly mongrel, and looked upon with suspicion wherever you go or in whatever you do, and any attempt that thee shall strive to make to clear thyself of this name shalt be trodded down upon sans mercy by us who are invested with the clout to do so.”

To Each His Own

Scene : High Speed Aerodynamics Laboratory, Indian Institute of Technology Kanpur, India
Players : Saumya Jain and Ashish Vashishtha
Mood : SLEEPY!!!

Saumya is working on the computer, fiddling with the Quotations page. Apparently a day to think up something profound. Picks up a Shakespeare quote and puts it across on the blog. It goes something like this...

"It is not important to know who you are, than to have faith in what you can become."

Thus satisfied, he is about to fall asleep on the keyboard when Ashish returns from MT. With an eclectic, jovial and recently-had-something-to-eat mood, Ashish comes and sits next to Saumya. Saumya, beaming from inside at his recently plagiarised quote, points out the verse to his mate.

Ashish looks at it, grows serious, and remarks with a straight face...

"A call-girl is better than a girlfriend."

Silence. Ashish looks at Saumya; Saumya looks at Ashish. They laugh. Period.

P.S : What an anti-climax!

In The Arithmetic of Love ...

Henry and Melinda - Prologue

"... one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing."

This is a quote by Mignon McLaughlin, and this is the pure essence of Henry and Melinda. More chapters to come along!

saummy's back!

saummy's back, and back for good.

wayy back down the annals of old father time, there was a guy, studying, slogging it out for prestige. there was a saumya jain who did not care who or what. emotions was not what he was carved out for. pure performance, impeccable perfection was all he knew, and all he cared for was his goal and the means to achieve it.

soon, it changed. he fucked up.

he started noticing people around him. people with selves, with hopes, aspirations, with dreams. he started respecting that. he started learning that people need to be taken care of, attended to, loved. he started to love them. he started to see to it that they felt important. that their egos got tingled every now and then. people like that you know. he fell in love. with the whole of humanity. yes, he fell in love. with that one girl who meant the life to him. was it love? he still doesn't know. but whatever it was, it changed him, nurtured him for well over four years and brought out a side to him that he never knew he had. did it really nurture him? or was it him who was nurturing this idiotic farce that he thought was love? he had become vulnerable, he had become weak, he was pitying himself for the first time in his two decades of existence.

and then it happened again. things changed. he fucked up again.

he was never a change-happy guy. that part of his personality, ironically, had been the same since his childhood. he screwed up whenever things changed. he had the capability of screwing everything up BIGTIME. things that weren't even related to the change, got fucked up at his hands. he had lost everything once more. everything. and he went back in a shell. from his recluse he could see everyone bubbling around, moving on with their lives. he hated himself, hated the world. he hated and hated and hated. and then he slept.

he slept the whole of summers away.

it was a summer hibernation. he went to the point of no return and stay put. in his sleep, he could listen people coming up to him and try to waken him up. he wanted to, but couldn't. and then one fine day, he met a flock of angel-sisters. some of them seemed familiar, some of them were strangers. he reached out to touch them. they opened up to him. they told him their stories, as he told them his. as he heard about their pain, he realised what an ignorant fool he had been all this time. what he had was no pain at all. it was his own undoing that was lashing back at him all this time. saummy knew now what he had to do. he woke up and started working. from the depths of his heart saummy felt thankful to the angel-sisters. they had shown him how to feel love and still not corrupt his mind.

he was back.

A Quote pour Moi!

"He is a man of letters, but not a man of his word" ;) Heh heh heh!!!

Was it you?

Was it you or was I dreaming?

***

the late phone call at night
the stupid idiotic worthless fight

the million lines of online chat
talking about anything, everything, this n that

and then came the time, the first meeting
seeing you was enough, the rest was fleeting

the one when i became deaf and dumb
you saw me trembling, actually i was numb!

the bangles and the sarees, all that too,
was i dreaming or was it really you?

***

it wasn't you, now i have known
everything was a dream, all of my own

it was a picture that i had drawn
it was a dream that is now gone

it was a silly heart and a stupid man
doing and thinking only what stupid things can

its not your fault, you never knew
heh 'cause for me "you" were not you

from the outside, in the mold you fitted right in
but the silly me forgot to look within

you weren't her, umm maybe close
but just not her, the one that i chose

that doesnt send the real you any afar
you're a wonderful girl just as you are

but i'm a simple man and thus i opine
couldn't want something that was never mine

it wasn't you, i was dreaming all along
and then i heard the Pope singing his song

"How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind;
Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned"

the reverie is over, the dream is gone
but just don't yet talk about moving on.

The Change.

When we are young, we have dreams.
When we are young, the world's a beautiful place.
When we are young, we have a future.
When we are young, we believe in peace, in honesty, in ideals, in love.

and then ... we grow up.

From the 90s and still there.

I am a retro.
I grew up in the 90s.
A good part of me still lives in those times. No matter how much I try to keep pace with the times, I am stuck!

Wanna know why? Here's 50 reasons, in no particular order...

1. The never ending mythical cultural dose of Mahabhaaaarat, Ramayana, Shri Krishna, well maybe even Alif Laila on DD1

2. Oh yes and talking about DD1 ... Surabhi, Tehkikaat, Byomkesh Bakhshi, Nukkad, Circus, Hum Log, Chanakya, Shanti, Swabhimaan and the Saturday waali fillum and the Sunday shaam waali fillum.

3. Do I hear more? Yeah, DD2, the Superhit Muqabla, the Rangoli, the Chitrahaar, the video "albums", the non-stop 24 hour channel, the Govinda and Rajnikant movies, the Regional language films, the late night English flicks from the 70s, the NFDC art films! Heck even the "Munna zara paas ki dukaan se namak toh le aa" (IODISED NAMAK campaign), "ORS ka ghol", "Mile sur Mera Tumhaara", "Ek Titli, Anek Titiliyaan"

4. The Kiddie specials - Talespin, Duck Tales, Tom and Jerry at 7:00 a.m., Guchha, Daanu Danasur, Alladin, Disney Hour, Alice in Wonderland (Tap tap topi topi topi jo duube), Potli baba ki, Mulla Nasruddeen :)

5. Taking "money" to school to buy Crax from the DPS-EOK canteen, making a very long face in case you lost the money, and trying to explain how you would make up for it.

6. Watching jingles like : Washing Powder Nirma ... , Lifebuoy hai jahan ... , Bol Sakhi Bol tera raaz kya hai ;) ... , Humaara Bajaj ... , Vicco Turmeric nahin Cosmetic ... , Babool babool paise wasool ... , Dhoondte reh jaaoge ... , Joote mein hai light ... , Hum do humaare do ... , Melody khaao khud jaan jaao ... , Coffee or toffee ... , Maggi hot and sweet tomato "chilli" sauce, its different ... , Jab main chhota bachcha tha ... , Asli masaale sach sach ... , Liril girls ... , Lux adverts ... , Haan bhai haan, Coldarin li? ... , Saatth saal ke boodhe ya saatth saal ke jawaan? ... , Raju tumhaare daant toh motiyon jaise chamak rahe hain ... , Bhala usski saaree meree saree se safed kaise? ... ,

7. The aampapad/chooran waala who used to sit in front of the school gate. Or the Kwality icecream waala, hey even the Kwarly or Quality icecream waala. And how can one forget the 2 rupees ki kulfi.

8. When V.P (Singh) caused a nationwide bandh (Mandal Riots) and then P.V. (Narasimha Rao) took over and got us a stable government. What the heck, did we even care? ... Economic Liberalisation by the sardar uncle in the Blue pagdi (Manmohan Singh) whom Papa and Joshi uncle would ardently listen to every March for some strange discussions on "budget"

9. Speaking of budget, Ma and Papa writing their daily hisaab at night and doing the books to see how to plan for our bright future.

10. The Cricket World cup of 1996, the Eden Gardens burning, Kambli crying ... Azhar, Kapil, Sachin ... Match fixing, Cronje getting killed, oh man!

11. Nasnal eleksons, all the time, post PVNR ... I.K. Gujral, Hardhanhalli Dodde Deve Gowda (I memorised this one for my GK exam) ... Pa and Ma proudly showing off the black tickmarks on their fingernails everytime they voted (and probably it was all the time) ... Photo Voter I Cards.

12. A time when a telephone in your house was a luxury. Oh and wait, there was these long queues at the local STD-PCO after 9:00 to talk to my Nanaji in Kanpur or Tauji in Muzaffarnagar.

13. Knowing the mohalla waalaas as "16 wali aunty" and "17 waali aunty" ... "Roorkee waale tauji", "Modinagar waali buaji" ... "Pinky didi" ... "Bittoo bhaiyya"

14. School "picnic" to Lodi Garden or Humayun's tomb. Planning in advance and ending up just rolling down the slopes. Or Maybe Appu Ghar, Delhi Zoo, Or the National Science Center, Rail Museum, Bal Bhavan, Shankar's Library, Doll's Museum.

15. Chacha Chaudhary, Billoo, Pinky, Saboo, Raman, Channi Chachi.

16. Manorama, Sarita (with Shrimatiji) and Grihashobha (Bunai special) and then Ma became "mod" so Women's Era. Heh heh heh ... and then "we" grew up a bit so, adieu to Champak, Nandan, Nahe Samrat, Balhans and hello to Cine Blitz and Filmfare. Super Commando Dhruv and Nagaraj stayed, though.

17. Endless games of scrabble with Ma, Pa, me and Joshi uncle. Loads of board games with KJ, I DO mean LOADSSSSS! Still have more than 20 games saved.

18. Garmiyon ki holidays!!! Chhutti chhutti and Tarramtoo on DD, Nani ke ghar ki trip (Sleeper class mein half ticket, hahaha!), last week mein holiday homework!

19. Cricket with the muhalla. Fighting for batting, and then howling when getting out ... and then when all else failed ... threatening to go away 'coz the bat was mine :)

20. Making charts for the class board, giving the thought for the day or the news in the morning assembly, then later on debates, declamations, quizzing, clay modelling, "spring house" prefect, bombs going away in school toilets, class monitors, forgetting the tie in the assembly, nail size checks and duster waali punishment, "go stand at the back of the class", and oh yes ... moral science classes!

21. And yes ... Vinod reminds me ... sex education ... reading the agony aunt, vyaktigat samasyaaein, "sharmaayein nahi humse poochhein" (Thanks to Vivek for this!) etc. columns of newspaper to expand our sexual knowledge, chhup chhup ke :)

22. On the same note ... a short skirt was a treat to the eyes, a mini skirt on TV and ma would cover your eyes, and a bikini was blasphemy! Beyond that, we couldn't even imagine!!! Our share of titillation? Karishma Kapoor singing "sexy sexy sexy mujhe log bolein" in skimpy nothings ... Govinda crooning "meri pant bhi sexy" with his gyrations, et cetera. ... oh and how can I forget ... Madhuri (the queen of seething hearts) and her "choli ke peechhe" uproar! For the real perverted guys, there was the morning show listing on the Hindi newspaper, while the classy ones like me preferred "watching" Delhi Times (oh once an NIE volunteer told us ... everyone "watches" DT, no one "reads" it ... that is the way it is to be used). By the way, just for the ones who are interested, DT started out as a Tuesday supplement, then gradually from a 2-day to 4-day it became a regular, remember? :)

23. Stapoo, Pitthoo, Chhupan Chhupaai, Pakdam Pakdaai, Vish-amrit, Four corners, beech ka bichhoo, Chain-chain, Tennis ball se football khelna, "Jab miss mary chhoti thi toh unki aadat aaise thi...", "Das patte tode ek patta kachcha...", "Posham pa bhai posham pa, lal quile mein kya hua?...", "I sent a letter to my father, on the way i dropped it ...",

24. Saanp seeddhi, Ludo, 3-2-5, Rummy, Laad, Patte-pe-patta, Rang-mila-le-rang, Business, The Game of Life

25. Maggi, Thums up, Citra, Gold Spot, 7UP, Canada Dry, Tawa pizza, Brown Bread, Mother Dairy ke doodh ke sikke, Wimpys, Nirulas, Nice Biscuits, Monaco,

26. Aishwarya, Sushmita, Aamir, Shahrukh. On another level there was Sunny, Sanjay and Salman, Akshay. Babes? Karishma, Raveena, Rambha, Ramya, Divya Bharati (and her sudden death) ... Goddess? Madhuri.

27. Paras, Odeon, Priya, Amba, Regal.

28. Alaknanda, Kalkaji, Tara Apartments, Lajpat Nagar, Palika Bazaar, South Ex.

29. Maruti 800, Maruti Gypsy, Maruti 1000, Maruti Zen, Maruti Esteem. All Maruti. Or maybe the FIAT Padmini and the 118NE, Ambassador and Nova.

30. Then ... Santro and Matiz!

31. He-man, GI Joes, Trump Cards, Barbie doll sets, Hot Wheels!

32. The weekly movie that used to play at 16-waali-aunty's "imported" VCR and the whole of the mohalla's aunties with their chunnus and munnus sitting round to watch.

33. Janmashtami ki jhaankis made by all the didis and bhaiyyas of the neighbourhood.

34. Clandestine love affairs between the same didis and bhaiyyas of the mohalla, one of them even had a marriage :)

35. Aaloo ke papad and aam ke achaar being put out to ferment in the sun.

36. Pakistani plays on Mamaji's VCP, which he had got in "dahej" when he married my beautiful Mamiji.

37. The joint family met at least once a year. Every year played witness to more than 3 marriages (of my cousins or someone!) Every marriage used to go on for weeks, and it would mean meeting up my cousins and loads of comics and chocolates! and Gende ke phool ki fights, gende ke phool ka cricket match, sleeping with cousins on terraces, Bittoo bhaiyya ki ragging ke kisse, Chunnu bhai ki kahaaniyaan, Nishu ki girlfriends, ha ha ha!!!

38. Sans shopping malls, the only places we bought our clothes were from Chunmun, Ritu wears, Snowhite or Shyam's. The only places we did go to eat was Sagar and the likes ... we had pet shops for all purchases ... and the major ration used to be bought from Khari Baoli in Old Delhi.

39. It was a time when everything was semi-automatic ... Refrigerators that required defrosting through the little red button, Washing machines that saw mom wrestling and jostling out all over the house with clothes ... In fact, even now, years later since she has gotten herself an automatic front loading version, she still plays out her old schedule everytime the clothes are laundered.

40. A microwaves oven, a personal computer, a dining table, a new bed, a fully automatic fridge, a water purifying system other than the ceramic-candle-filter, were all items that were put on the wishlist every year and then were pushed down in priority because of other pressing expenditures, like children's clothing, children's books, children's fees, children's savings. We really owe it to our folks for what we are. They missed out on the best years of their lives so that we could enjoy ours.

41. Suraj Kund ka mela!

42. Begging and crying for a T.V. Video Game on my 9th birthday. Exchanging cartridges with friends. Endless Tennis, Mario, Street fighter and Spartan bouts. Oh, and Double Dragon and Contra!

43. Back to DD. Forgot to add the ones that we never watched. The UGC programs, the Akhil Bhartiya something something which showed classical dance and music, Krishi Darshan, National News (Papa was the only one who watched it). And the ones we did ... Turning Point, Living on the Edge, The World This Week, Kya aur Kaise. Once again, the first ever TV soap for children ... Hint? "Jungle jungle baat chali hai pata chala hai ... chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai phool khila hai!"

44. "Chandrakaanta (ting a ding)... ki kahaani (dham!) ... yeh maana (ting a ding) ... hai puraani (dham!) ... yeh puraani (ting a ding) ... hokar bhi (ting!) ... badi lagti (ting a ding) ... hai suhaani (dham!) ... sorry people this thing warranted a special place! So did Krur Singh and Shikha Swaroop (who has been immortalised in this role, coz this is the only one she ever did!!!)

45. The Pragati Maidaan fairs ... World Book Fair, World Trade Fair - toys section, books sections, food section!

46. Kumar Sanu, Anuradha Paudwaal, Udit Narayan, Mohd. Aziz, Alka Yagnik, Kavita Krish.

47. That reminds me of "Yeh aakaashvaani hai, abhi studio ki ghadi mein shaam ke aath bajkar chhabbees minute ho rahe hain. Abhi abhi aapne Manju Sharma se hindi ke samachaar sune..." and "...geet gaaya hai Kumar Sanu aur Anuradha Paudwal ne, bol hain Sameer ke aur sangeet Anand Milind ka hai" and "Yeh hai VIVIDH BHARATI!" ... Speaking of which, those little Transistors which everyone used to glue to their ears, especially when a cricket match was being aired. AIR rocked!

48. Katti-Abba :)

49. Dekh Bhai Dekh and Zabaan Sambhaal Ke. Street Hawk and Knight Rider. I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched.

50. "Teri Chopsy ho gayi!" :)

I could go on and on with this one. Haven't even started out on the Zee TV programs and the Star Plus with its humble beginnings, heh.

Too high on nostalgia right now to continue rambling. If there is ANNYTHING you feel I have missed out ... continue the list on the scrapbook!

Adios!

Commemorating today.

Impulsive writing can bring forth a lot of things. Here's some of it.

दुनिया से जब नाराज़ होने क बहाना ना रहा
आजकल खुद ही से गोया परेशान हूँ मैं

जिसके आँसूओं का सैलाब भी सूख गया हो
ऐसा ही एक खंडहर-ओ-वीरान हूँ मैं

खुद पर भी अब किस हद तक तरस करूँगा
अपने ही ग़मों की जीती जागती खान हूँ मैं

जिस शहर में चलती थी कसमें मेरे ईमान की
उसी शहर में आजकल बदनाम हूँ मैं

ज़िन्दगी से हारे हुए बहुत देखे होंगे तुमने
मौत से हारा हुआ पहला इंसान हूँ मैं

जिन कूचों से निकला था काफिला मेरे जश्न का
उन्हीं गलियों में अब अंजान हूँ मैं

मगर इस बात का गुमान आज भी है ...

मिटाने से भी जो नहीं छूटेगा तुम्हारे दामन से
ऐसा ही एक बेगैरत निशान हूँ मैं

Random Thought No. 001 : Brutal honesty eh?

"Being too honest reflects a serious lack of tact"

[Reader warning : Rant coefficient almost unity. For most of the visitors, the quote above should be all that they take away from here. Still the whole story follows for the inquisitive ones.]

One need not be too honest, neither with others, nor with one's own self. This has been pointed out to me time and again by a lot of people around. I am told that being honest just for the sake of telling the truth as it is is really not the name of the game. Or rather than calling it a game, we have a very good word for it, it's called TACT.

One needs to have tact, to be able to put things across in the most slightest of manner, and in a way that they would be noticed and still not be taken offence of. That cannot be achieved by a single minded quest for the truth itself. No sirree, that's not the way to go about it at all! All it requires is a little thinking on your part and a little knowledge about the other party in the vocal or physical transaction.

For a person like me who is definitely *tactless*, let me try to analyse what this attribute really is. I'll start with some questions and build it up. Let's see where we go from here.

1. Is it about being dishonest? Not so. I wouldn't call a tactful person a dishonest one. But at the same time, would I call him/her guileless? No, I wouldn't (Yes. You might, so what, we can always disagree!) The way I see it is, its like using the truth as a tool to reach an end.

2. Is it about being smart? Very much so. If one is smart, one WILL be tactful. If one is not tactful, then one is dumb. At least that is what is on the face. I'm blunt, and I'm called an idiot on multiple occasions, and yes, I'm on first hand familiar terms with the word dumb! I don't know how to treat people well, and I hurt them for no reason at all, but for my philosophy of serving the pie as it is. And it is true to a large extent. One should have enough brains to know what to say when and to whom, even though it is the truth, but one should exercise some restraint sometimes. So, yes, it IS about being smart. Which I do not claim to be.

3. The technical alibi. I had noted back there, that tact is basically empoying truth as a tool to reach an end. Whether the end is good or bad, selfish or selfless, right or wrong for that matter ... all that is very subjective and depends on how one approaches the whole thing, but as long as you are on the right side of humanity (whether or not the right side of morality, which itself has its own unique definition to every individual), you're allowed to use the truth to reach that end. The means of using the truth to your advantage might not be morally correct, but then at the end of the day, you are not dishonest, you are not hurting anyone, so you come clean.

4. (Most interesting) Does one really need to be tactful? Well, I have survived 22 years (minus two) sans tact. I have had rough time, paid my share of dues for not having this "vital" component on today's sociehety and it is now that I am having second thoughts about this which is precisely the reason why I am writing the post.

<Diversion 1 : Why this post?>
So I am sitting in my room, and just randomly thinking when I think about how tactless I am and how blunt I am taken to be. For the past few months, I have been using what I later discovered is called 'mindwriting'. Umm, not exactly mindwriting, but the concept is similar. When I am brewing over with some philosophical dilemma, or just some question troubling me, I start writing, spew out everything I have in mind on the paper, or the keyboard. Most of the time, I start seeing some way out of the dilemma or the problem at hand. The trick is to write everything that comes to your mind and then read it. As one writes, as one's thoughts are formed, one starts analysing the good and the bad, the strong and the weak, and then the situation clears up by itself.

So the reason I am writing this random thought is to clear up my stand on my being tactful, or the lack of it. Let's see how it develops. I have no idea as I write this. True, once I am through, I shall edit it out and remove the really crappy things, hehe, but yes, I want to record this process of clearing up my mind as an overall exercise in mindwriting.
</Diversion>

So coming back, does one need to be tactful?

Well, that depends.

That depends on what kind of a person you are. One thing that I can definitely say, if you are not tactful, you'll not be able to befriend everyone coz you'll be too blunt to make everyone happy, but the ones who do become your mates, will have very deep bonds with you. On the other hand, a tactful person would always have a couple of people around to share a joke with, have a laugh and move on in life. They are the happier lot. Or at least, they do seem to be.

Furthermore, if one is a puritan, then any form of manipulation of the truth is a falsehood, an illusion and an attempt to deceive. Whereas for a practical person, truth cannot be manipulated, but it definitely can be shown to someone in a manner he or she wants to see it. That's tact.

It's like advertising and marketing. You need to sell what they'll buy. If you don't have the goods they need, package them in a way that they are tempted to buy. If even the packaging doesn't lure them in, offer a discount!!! There's nothing wrong in that as long as they are buying it out of their own free will, isn't it? For the salesman, its just ringing in the cash registers that is important ... for the consumer, consuming is important. In this age when individual demands are much more important than societal development, this automatically becomes the thumb rule. Sell and buy. I've been told that this is how the human mind works. Everything's a transaction. Is it? Well maybe, but why isn't it so for me? Was I made differently? I can't believe it to be true. I think we are just closing a channel because its either too difficult to follow, too unrewarding in this present world, or maybe yes, too impractical!

But I believe in absolutes. The fact that there are no absolutes per se, doesn't hold here because I believe that every human being knows where to draw the line between moral and immoral, the right and the wrong, the truth and the lie. Everyone of us knows what is the truth and what is not. Sometimes though, we just grow up and teach ourselves new definitions. Maybe we brainwash ourselves away from it. But yes, ab initio, we all know. I don't sell, I don't buy. I don'r market. I don't advertise. I just cut the truth up in little little cubes and ration it out to anyone and everyone who cares to notice.

At the same time, one needs to be careful in distinguishing ideas and opinions from the facts. In being brutally honest about the facts, one cannot be very judgemental about one's own opinions, that would definitely be unjust. Opinions don't count. The facts do. Maybe later than sooner. They hurt, they pinch, they remain static for long after they have been put forth, but they are just that, the facts. Nobody can deny them. That is why an argument based on facts is solid as a fortress. So, being brutally honest has its own takes as well.

All said and done, its basically about your own comfort. The only person you have to be comfortable with after all, is your own self. One may be comfortable by stating the truth on an as-is-where-is basis and then leave it to the sensibilities of the other party. For someone else, their viewpoint of being comfortable might to see to it that everyone around them is happy and they have a role in it. That's a very genuine concern as well. Its basically a difference of ideology. While the first one is more like a traditional reformatory approach, the other one is like a modern indulgent soft approach. Both work. Both are acceptable. It depends on you. It also depends on whom you apply it to. As well as when.

Hmm, now for the results.

Honesty? Yes.
Brutal honesty? Umm, maybe not so brutal.
Tact? Not really my piece of cake.
Self regulation? Definitely.
Solution? Look inwards, introspect and improve. Once through, then look outwards and demand a better world. But first, one needs to prepare oneself to be able to be justified in making that demand.

On the opening quote, 'Being too honest reflects a serious lack of tact', I agree.
Couldn't care less though!

That's it for now.

Child's Play

"This should do it. Another couple of cupfuls of sand and this would be complete." He had marked the boundaries of his castle with shells he had come across his strolls on the beach. The castle itself had been made by his little hands, decorated with all the things he had loved. Everyday he had brought along one of his favourite things and given it a place in the castle. He himself imagined moving into his 'home' very soon. Not that he did not realise it was very small for him. But still, when he slept at night, he could see himself living in that home, with all his favourite things around him. All his toys, his books, his playthings. He was building a home for himself in the sand. Life would be so wonderful in that house. Such were his thoughts!

He lifted up his eyes and saw that the sun was setting, its golden rays bouncing off the silent waves of the ocean and tickling his vision. "Time to go home." His mom's voice rang in his head. He pulled out the big cardboard box which read in all the English he could scribble. "Varun's hause. Pleze do not distrub" and covered the castle with it. Inside his mother had made cookies. Munching the fresh and hot confectionery, he switched on the television and watched Popeye beat up Bluto. His father came back from office soon, and then he spent the evening chatting to him about the new factory that he was setting up. Not that he understood a lot, or at all, of what his father used to say, but he liked talking to him that way. After all, he was grown up. Very soon he will be 10 years into the world. He was definitely a grown up now.

The next evening, he lifted the box to resume the castle work. It was just a few days away from completion. Today, he was going to put in his most cherished toy in the castle. He opened his bag and pulled out his little red ferrari. He placed it at the entrance gate. To him, it never seemed illogical as to what a ferrari would be doing in front of a castle. But all the same, it was his house, and this was his car.

That day before leaving, he saw the skies turning red. It occurred to him to raise the fence. He had ample shells with him. It would have taken him only half an hour to scatter them all around the castle, safeguarding it from the waves. It could get stormy in some days, he had thought. Deciding to do the reinforcement the next day, he ran back to his mother, who was waiting for him with snacks.

That night, the storm hit the sea. Giant waves made their way to the house. He saw from his window how badly it was raining. The winds blew away the cardboard cover. The castle was all at the mercy of the wind and the water. He wanted to run out to the courtyard and protect his "home". His mother had forbidden him to do that, fearing he would catch a cold. He had shouted out to his father to cover the castle as he drove in after work, but he couldn't listen to the boy's voice above the thunderclaps.

He saw from the window as the "fence" crumbled. "I should have raised the fence," he thought. The castle's top was blown off the next. And then to his horror, a large wave approached the castle, menacingly as though it was determined to crush out all his dreams tonight. He ran downstairs, pleading to his mother to let him out in the courtyard. She didn't know why he was so desperate and crying. His father took him inside to the television and switched on the cartoons. They didn't interest him anymore. All he could think of right now, was the castle. A giant splash at their doorstep made him rush frantically to the window.

The castle was gone.

So were the books, the GI joes, his ferrari. Everything.

His mother called out to his father to take care of the porch. He heard him talking, "Its nothing, it'll soon be over. Don't worry. It was in the weather report today. Just a minor tropical disturbance, it'll be over by the morning."

He was sent to sleep. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't believe it was gone. He went to his mother. Climbed alongside her in the bed. She could see the tears going down his cheeks.
"What happened beta?"
"Mamma, the house is gone. MY house is gone."
"Don't worry beta, it was really very bad weather. It could not have survived."
"No mamma, I should have raised the fence"
"It was only a castle made of sand. Raising the fence would not have helped. It had that fate."
"No mamma, it was my house!" She just couldn't understand!
"Arrey beta, it was only a week that you have been building it. Tomorrow, we'll start again, OK? Now sleep."
Only a week? It was 7 days of his work. Full seven days! The mother could not understand the difference of the duration which she had perceived and what it meant to her little boy.
We'll build it again? But what will I put inside the new one? My GI Joes, my ferrari all went away with this one. What will we put in the new one, mamma?

He knew he could not make her understand all this. He sulked back into his room.

The next morning, he woke up and rushed out. The place was flat. No signs of the castle, or its inhabitants. No ferrari, none of the books, no toys. He suddenly felt a rage. At himself, for not raising the fence, at the weather for being so ugly, at his mother, for talking as if it was just another sand castle. He just felt very angry.

When you are 10, and very angry, you cry. He ran towards the ocean, screaming that he had taken away his house, tears running down his cheeks, his hands trembling with anger, his feet working up a sprint and then tiring themselves on the sand. He kept shouting and cursing the ocean. His mother looked at his father. "Child's play," they nodded to each other in affirmation.

The ocean just moved to and fro, smiling at the little kid.