Arz karte hain

Hum sadak ke is paar the aur who sadak ki us par thi.

Hum sadak ke is paar the aur who sadak ki us par thi.

The coffee looked strangely like tea and the people in the coffee shop, strangely, all seemed sugary. That bright smile, that overdone bubbliness. I cringed at the various forms of dripping praise that was being showered around at couples holding hands and platitudes of love and hope. I sipped my coffee and it was, indeed, tea. ‘WAITER!!!!’

I think I unintentionally disturbed the cuteness around me. And thank god for that but everyone just shot me a look and I’m sure all the men went, ‘what a jerk, can’t he behave himself?’ And the girls gave them understanding looks filled with this great discovery of dignity in their Prince Charming. Before I threw up in one of their cups, the waiter returned with what was just a whiff of coffee and a lot of milk. I cursed the coffee shop and the fact that as a native of Coorg, the land of coffee, I was being treated to this absurdity they insisted on calling coffee. And then she smiled..

Hum kuch aage badhe aur who kuch aage badhi

Hum kuch aur age badhe aur who kuch aura aage badhi..

She had been observing me for sometime or that’s what my masculine gut insisted on impressing upon me. She looked back into her book which I tried hard to squint and see which one it was. It couldn’t have been ‘chick flick’ inspired literature. It better not be that shallow! I kept shooting her the most unsubtle of glances until she turned the cover of the book a bit to reveal a Tom Clancy!! Tom Clancy, the special ops expert who wrote about elite soldiers being dropped in the middle of nowhere, wiping out the enemy with silencers and automatics and flying back to base in a rundown transporter plane in the guise of Cambodian immigrants with only their army bayonet sticking out of their pant pockets. This chick liked ‘dick flicks’ and all of a sudden I was attracted.

She shot me a glance and I lost it and began my round of Mastermind India. (Read this as one fluid thought)

Was she attracted to me? Wait, is she really looking at me. Quickly turn around and check. Ha there is no one around. Maybe she digs the whole ‘all alone with my book and thoughts’ thing.  I should have worn my kurta. Start looking aloof, stop staring. But she is so cute. No she is hot. She is both. Damn!! She is both. The kind I can take home to Mom and take home to you know..AArghh don’t be like other men. This one has real verve. Man I just want to talk to her. Like know why she is reading Clancy. How does a girl so unbelievably beautiful and delicate and with those legs and look at her feet. Do I have a feet fetish? That is just weird. Anyhow but how does she read such stuff with such relish. She is like that girl I have always wanted but man she might be complicated. But aren’t they all? But if she likes to sit alone in a coffee shop with a book then she sure likes to talk and spend lazy Sunday afternoons and isn’t the compulsive joy seeker. Ah perfection awaits you, lo and behold the one you have always been looking for. Should I just speak to her? I have never done this before but there is always a first time, right? Plus I do look the polished and dignified kind. Atleast I look it. Wait I am it. Past girlfriends have ratified. So she won’t take me as a jerk. Even if she does how can you not give it a shot? Act aloof she is looking at you!!! Look down now, coffee coffee, drink, drink. Aarggh this is horrible. ‘WAITER!!!’ Shit shit that was loud, she is looking at you. Please god I want to disappear. Now now.

We looked at each other and she smiled. I froze and melted at the same time. The waiter walked towards me with a look very similar to what most terrorists may have before they blow themselves up and took the coffee away before conveniently dropping some on my book. I stared at him and then returned my gaze on her. She was already packing up to leave. She tied her hair in three graceful moves, picked her bag up with those lovely fingers of hers, swished her ethnic Fabindia-esque skirt and walked out. I stood up and was stuck mid motion as I saw her cross the road and walk away into the crowd with her cute ponytail in view until the crowds took her away..

Hum sadak ke iss paar the aur woh sadak  ki uss par thi.

Hum sadak ke iss paar the aur woh sadak ki uss par thi.

Hum kuch aage badhe aur woh kuch aage badhi

Hum kuch aur age badhe aur woh kuch aura aage badhi..

Kuch samay baad hum sadak ke us paar the aur woh sadak ki is paar thi...

    

A Crude Resurrection

Barmer is a little town in Rajasthan that generally has escaped attention in every conceivable way. There isn’t much I could have done in introducing the town, until yesterday. I was reading the Open magazine (8th October) which is a magazine I recommend to everyone who wants to read some light yet insightful journalism at display. In that I was surprised to find a 4 page article dedicated to Barmer. I was instantly captivated. Barmer had changed; desperately and drastically.

When I was 11, I went to Barmer for the first time. My dad was in the Army and we were stationed in Jodhpur. Visiting every nook of Rajasthan had become a mission in the family and we didn’t leave tiny Barmer too. Now every city we visited in Rajasthan was of immense interest to my Mom for the unbelievable shopping and to me for the history. Barmer, and this is with no offense to anyone, has neither. But the beauty of a shopaholic’s mind is that any market with a bunch of shopkeepers ready for a good bargain becomes a shopping festival. As I trudged from shop to shop and my mom skipped the same distance, I began to wonder what hope there is for this town. I began to questions its very existence as a destination for any traveler. Bordering the Thar desert, the heat was scorching and the apathy on people’s faces was painful. This was a town destined for ignominy. We later lunched at the District Collector’s house and I was surprised that a man so young and so sharp had landed himself in a place so backward and desperately hurtling towards nothingness. I hoped and prayed that this place would see a brighter light and I was told by my Dad to keep my opinions to myself.

So it came as a huge surprise when I read that Barmer has now transformed itself into a potential Dubai. And please take the word ‘potential’ very seriously in the last sentence as this story can go very wrong too. But the desert sands engulfing Barmer on most days, has been found to have amazing reserves of crude oil below. Reserves of crude oil that can accommodate a tenth of India’s total demand in another couple of years and this will continue increasing. Oilmen from Cairn to Halliburton to ONGC have descended upon this piece of nothingness, as I had described it many years ago. There are Harleys, swanky SUVs, farm houses with wood finish and glass panels and parties with Red Labels. Oil has changed the town. It has ensured there is no ignominy anymore. There are many questions that Barmer still has to answer: Can they sustain the projects? Will the influx of expats influence local culture? Will the public infrastructure keep up with the growth of the city? Are there going to be 2 Barmers – the one I knew and the one where they discovered crude oil? These are questions the town will continue to grapple with. But my thoughts steer to something very different.

I wonder if that is all it takes. It takes a little black liquid to change everything and every way we think of a town, a country and possibly our civilization many years later. Pardon the philosophical deep dive I am going to take here, but are we really hostages to fantasy? Because for me this is a fantasy. I cannot envisage Barmer to be what this article describes it. I suddenly want to go there again, not due to some material delinquency, but just because it seems so unreal. Here is a town that has existed for the same amount of years as me since the day I went there and has gone through such a dynamic or let’s make that, drastic change. Where have I gotten in that time? Am I competing with a town? No. I am thinking of evolution, of change and of rash judgments we make in our everyday lives. Barmer has turned the corner, announced its arrival and now it will deal with the consequences. In finding crude oil it has found a solution to its problems and possibly created some new ones too. But most importantly, it has resurrected itself, just that it’s a very crude resurrection.

Now how do I go about my own resurrection?

Barfi and me

So I was wondering how to best to sum up my appreciation for the hours spent in a dark room, surrounded by equally astounded people and genius on the screen in front of us. I decided that I must do what I believe I can do best and here is my tribute to a movie that will rarely come again in form, class and subtelty.

I have admired many Bollywood movies over the year : Swades, Lakshya, Wake Up Sid just forming a sprinkling but these have survived in my sub conscious for purely cinematic and story telling elements. They moved me and keep me thinking till this day. They always find relevance in my life. Everyday sometimes! But Barfi did something different. This was a movie that like many movies I had been following from production to the first trailer to boring everyone I know of how undeniably great the movie will be. But it surpassed that.

It really wasn't about the characters or actors or cinematography for me. Each of those elements were spotless and so well strung together that it makes you wonder how will any movie ever match up. But that's how I felt about the movie above too. Barfi was about moments. Moments that will never leave me. I do understand that many of you still have to see the movie and I obviously do not want to spoil this for you so I shall tread carefully. There is no need to get into the story though, this isn't about that. This is just about my experience watching this movie. It felt like I had travelled, like I was being physically moved through the characters lives. I was there with them, I was mute and ecstatic, depressed and reluctant to let go. Most of all I felt the despair of loss and the loss of hope, yet it also showed me a way ahead. Painful as it must be, patient as I must be, a journey indeed. It felt like it was a lesson full of entertainment and humor and tears, but a lesson at the end of the day of all that I have done and possibly how I have to deal with it.

Barfi doesn't stand for anything specific. He stands for what you want to and maybe, need to believe. For me he stood for resilience in the face of innocence. A virtue very few of us can boast of, but a virtue I surely need to carry with me. There are countless moments when you are caught with a stream of tears while you are laughing and he makes you realise that that is what life is about, but it all just happens so quickly here. Keeping up with him is a task, so just keep up with all that wonder, curiosity and hope within you. Coz in the end you can only hope you have an arm to lie on and see the love of all the world in those eyes lying right next to you.

That is the essence and soul of Barfi. And you never need to go looking for those eyes, they are just always with you..  

I could really use a wish right now

I have recently been quite unhealthily obsessed with this one song called Airplanes. I cannot seem to get it out of my mind and after further inspection I have realized that the words somehow, unerringly, manage to capture my current mindset. Listen to the song and read the lyrics and you shall know what I was talking about. Also, I feel I need to come clean and pour out what has been an extremely difficult time for me. I will break down the past couple of weeks into stages that will explain how it all unfolded.

Stage 1 - The screws come off

I'm not sure how it all began and I wish I did because I would never let it happen again. But it crept up on me, tiptoed and quietly brushed me but I paid no attention. I was so sure I was on my way to conquering the world. As usual it hit when everything around me was just fighting to get better than it already was. Within a few days it was all gone. I had become sullen, heading towards stoicism not so much out of choice but due to conditioning. I stopped waking up with a smile, I stopped wanting to wake up, I just stopped wanting. The routine became so terribly predictable that it began to take a toll on my psyche. Nothing and no one could offer me solace or an option to break away. I would ride back at night from work with the same music, the same route, the same potholes and the same mistakes. Constantly holding back emotions and wishes to just scream out and run. Questioning why I had become like this and falling short of any answer that could closely suffice.

I had become my worst nightmare. Devoid of all things optimistic and cheerful. I had become the antithesis of myself. I could hear the creaking, alone in bed every night staring at the roof. The creaking got louder every night. It was the noise of the screws coming off..

Stage 2 -The 38th Parallel

I began to consistently absent myself  from myself. Reclusive, distant and cold. It became natural and then began a strange obsession. An obsession with the North Koreans. In them, their country and their very existence I found a sanctuary. A place where I would rest myself every night for a couple of hours understanding them and strangely relating. I told everyone else that this was just an educational pursuit but I guess they saw right through it but chose to let me handle it. I consistently began to drift away from reality. I would draw up maps and routes to get away. Make plans, laugh at them and then promise myself to go through with it. I felt I belonged on the other side of the 38th parallel, the line that divides Korea. I felt alone, a self imposed exile. I could not handle people, I did not want to handle noise and I surely was receding. I began to see that line and I continued to believe that I was in some terrible joke, stuck in Pyongyang in some desolate part of my mind. I could see the 38th Parallel and even though it was hazy it had begun to look real..

Stage 3 - Loss, pain and renewal

Then I started to lose it and in the process lost what I may never get back. Relationships, family, people and the belief that all will be okay had established themselves as myths in my mind. I started losing control on some and I just completely lost some. I forced my mind to open up and explain what was happening in there. I sprang up a couple of times only to be pushed back. I began to find my peace at work, I re-engaged but I couldn't do the same with life. I ploughed ahead and have now created a world where all roads lead to renewal. I still am constantly pulled down. I still can never get myself to believe that I can be the same guy again but then maybe I was meant to go through this to become the guy I have to become. Loss, pain and renewal bring with it lost dreams and hope. But unfortunately, the lost dreams will hurt the longest..

I stand and stare every night at the airplanes in the night sky and begin to wish. Wish that what I lost and what i'm losing stops and that hope finds me again.

Ranting over a Dindigul Biryani

So they say the sequel never lives up to the original. I say look at World War 2 or look at most second children. Always, way better. I, thus, rest my case. Now the need for this rant. Life has become way too predictable and the last rant was way too long ago. Monotony kills every 1 in 3 million ranters are the official stats from our government and that leads me perfectly on to my first rant.

So government of India. What up? Nice work on the petrol prices man. You just are so good at being bad. For god’s sake I read the Mint and I know you could have avoided that. But no you had to pick the night I ran out of petrol to jack up the prices. You had to create some kind of artificial shortage which ensured no petrol in Chennai for a couple of days. Was that your idea of a ‘go green’ initiative? Some idiotic dhoti clad moron decided that let’s show people what life will be without petrol. Ever wondered what life will be without our votes, or even better, our taxes? I dare you to jack up the prices again you 10^th fail loser. I’m still deciding what I will do, but trust me it won’t be fun. I surely aint sharing my Dindigul biryani with you.

Shahid Kapur you continue to amaze me with your undying talent of being able to pick the worst movies. I sincerely urge you to run the next script you get through your driver. That’s all I’m asking for, just your driver. Not anyone else. That’s easy right. You ask why? Well, he has kept you alive after having every opportunity to hurt you beyond repair after the trash you have been putting out. I’m sure he loves you a lot. So, Shahid, driver. Please. You are a great actor and so sincere but after Mausam, Teri Meri  Kahaani and others my mind refuses to process, your sincerity makes me feel like you are Bhagat Singh fighting for Independence in 2012. Just pointless. So ya driver it is. Run along now.

What’s common between a target in a firing range and the guy who’s cell rings really loud with the worst music in office? That’s the right answer, they both are gonna get bloody shot!! It’s an office for god’s sake. An IT company, the most sterile environment after a cross species testing facility (and yes I saw the Amazing SpiderMan). Absolute silence and suddenly 'nakka mukka nakka mukka' . You demented cross between a shameless front seater in a cheap theatre and the worst thing that’s happened since Bappi Lahiri, why in the devil’s name do I need to hear that song every time someone remembers your pathetic existence. I’m honestly not the biggest on ethics and all that blah blah but I sure draw the line the day you change your ringtone to this. Really what are you thinking? This is a joke you crack in private with your friends who already think very little of you. Imagine this going off every 20 minutes. You just took the joy away from my Biryani, moron.

Now for a few quickies – the non sexual kind

Justin Bieber’s latest song is called ‘Boyfriend’. Finally!! The closet has been whammed open. I mean what a way to come out. I’m glad you decided to finally do us this favor coz a lot of people were taking special offense to jokes of you being called gay. Guess who the joke is on now? Ya it’s on you, you dimwit but well just coz you came out doesn’t mean you got any smarter. 

Now all you people on Facebook who put up those huge banners with quotable quotes and stuff. Really? You ever read them yourselves? Don’t they have this unbelievable stench of ‘cheesy’ all over it? Some of them I accept are clever or cute but the rest are just plain depressing. Guys if that’s gonna get you more likes and comments then trust me, things are looking bleak. Now put that on one of those banners of yours and click ‘Share’.

Finally who gave Sehwag the right to abuse Dhoni. A demi God for most of us. You really saying that he didn’t do much by becoming captain. The team was already mature I believe. How messed up are you man? You just recently learnt what captaining a team really involves and talking like you own this shit. Do not invoke the rage of the whole of India and Chennai. Mind it!

Well phew! Time to get back to my Dindigul biryani. The rest of you – rant away!!

Cut the Cake

Riding through Chennai traffic while your running late can be quite a spiritual experience. Powering through that traffic light just before it goes red, overtaking that slow Mercedes – I mean you could have bought a Nano if that was what you wanted to achieve on the road, loser! In between all of this cutting and extreme over taking I’m reminded of a game we used to play as kids. A game that involved a lot of running, chasing and most importantly, selflessness. It was called, Cut the Cake.

Most games we played back in the day were very Darwinist in their makeup. Hide n Seek involved you hiding until ‘you’ are caught; you really didn’t care what the rest were doing as long as you were neatly hidden away. Catch n Catch aka Chor Police would mean there are a bunch of chasers and a bunch of chasees, if I may be given the liberty to coin my own word, and the games would begin. There was Crocodile, there was Red Letter, Dark Room and the list goes on. Now unless you really wanted to impress that girl with the cute ponytail and delicious tiffin, you didn’t really care a damn about anyone else as long as you were safe. But then all of a sudden in between this selfish desire to never be caught, someone would suggest, ‘Cut the Cake’. Now this is how it was played – You would have a chaser who would cease to become a chaser the moment he catches any of the chasees (thus, this word has been patented by me). Now the only way the chasees^TM can pile on the misery for the chaser is to cut the cake. This means, that a chasee^TM needs to run in between the chaser and the person he is chasing, the moment a chasee^TM does that the chaser has to change track and start chasing the chasee^TM  who just cut the cake. Its phenomenal because you can quite easily just stay away from trouble and never cut the cake but every once in a while is born a hero who will go and cut the cake and help his fellow chasee^TM out. This selflessness instantly spreads like an infection and suddenly the band of chasees^TM realize that the ultimate joy is in making that one chaser regret ever mentioning the idea of playing the game.

Now I’m not going to connect the above paras because there is no connection. Just that cutting through the traffic reminded me of cutting between the chaser and chasee^TM back when i was young enough to play this game. But this very inherent contradiction that was ingrained in us right at that age has always fascinated me. It amazes me, the lessons we have learnt when we were so young that subconsciously always will define us. I’m looking for more ideas and thoughts on these. Looking at building more stories, thoughts on humanity and the makeup of life through games we played when we were young. So let me know and let me collect these thoughts and present this better.

Until then, anyone for ‘Cut the Cake’?

The Red Miracle

‘Will I see a miracle this Sunday? Another story I can tell the world over and over again. Or does it really even matter..

I have been meaning to write this for a long time but have always pushed it for another time, for another day, for another season. It was always meant to define my love for one of the greatest affairs of my life. A 14 year long affair. An affair with the Red Devils.

My tumultuous but mostly thrilling love affair with Manchester United began in 1998. Since then they have won the league 8 times, the FA Cup twice, the League Cup thrice and the holy grail – the Champions League, twice. With all this success and incredible domination, a little arrogance does set in. As a United fan you do kind of inherit it. The difference being, you don’t necessarily flaunt it. You are expected to be stubborn about your support for them but that stems from the kind of pride that very few fans of other football clubs have the fortune to feel. This isn’t a commentary on the overwhelming success of United, this is a pilgrimage into the true feeling of being a United fan.

From the day I started supporting United I have always told people that they are the only entity in my life which always knows when I’m down and manages to pick me up from the dumps. This special ability comes from a belief that they will deliver for you. Eleven men on the pitch will always rally, always fight and always win for you. From scoring a goal in the 94^th minute to seal a derby, to two goals in the last 3 minutes to win a Champions League, to a wonderful save to win another – Manchester United have only conquered. They have always taken the most unworkable moment in football and turned it into something timeless, something more beautiful than anything around you.

I have spent many nights well past midnight cheering them, cried tears of disappointment and joy and the tears of joy were something I never thought I could shed. In a way every moment of my life has an accompanying United moment. I can trace back years of disappointment in life with joy with United reviving me in those desperate times. If it’s the debut of Ronaldo or the goals of Macheda or the hammering of Arsenal or the choking of Chelsea or the way we have brushed aside Liverpool in the past few years, they are a force unparalleled and united. Always fighting for the pride of the red under a manager who has defied time and the odds. In Sir Alex we believe. I have spent many days criticizing his tactics, his transfers and his general demeanor only to eat my words and burst out in applause for the greatest manager of all time. A man who many clubs, corporations and marriages should learn from because of his ability to make time feel like a constant, as he changes teams and tactics with such aplomb that he just never gets outdated.

It’s always tough to accept defeat when you are United, especially when defeat stares you in the face in the form of Manchester City – the butt of many United fans jokes and all of a sudden the new force in English football. This force has been built with 930 million pounds of Dubai money but at no point am I going to take away their effort from them. I detest them and have hated every win and every goal they have scored, yet I fade away in respect as I hurl abuses at their claims of dethroning United. I seethe in fury and go nauseous at the thought of them winning the league this year but I still remain amazed at what United have conquered this year. 

In a year when they have been accused of many things ranging from negative football to losing their grip on Europe, none of the detractors seem to realize that this was a year of transition like the past two years. When other clubs go into transition, they fade away for a couple of years and seem to lose their spunk, case in point: Chelsea. A team in transition and with a non- existent midfield is going to finish level on points with a team assembled at a cost of 930 million pounds and will finish above a Champions League finalist, a team with the league’s top scorer and player of the year, a team with possibly the best midfield and the best midfielders in Modric and Bale and a team that spent around 80 million pounds just on midfielders and with a manager who was destined for success. United have quietly gone about their business. They have stuttered immensely but have paced themselves well. This wasn’t a vintage season, this wasn’t United gold class, this was United ploughing and digging deep. This was honestly a hallmark United side, a bunch of guys slightly weighed down by history and in the shadows of the greats that have filled their boots in years gone by. This wasn’t a team of the brilliance of Becham or the magic of Ronaldo or the extravagance of Cantona. This was a team with the industry of Valencia, the belief of De Gea, the maturity of Rooney. This was a United that exemplified the values this club has always strived to achieve. This won’t be a team that will go down in history as gladiators like the ones in the past, this will mostly go unnoticed. But this team deserves more; it deserves its greatest compliment, the support of the million United fans across the world. 

As United take the field on Sunday for the last game of the season let’s not have our eyes glued to the City game only hoping for them to slip up so that we may win the league, take a little time off to watch our ‘boys’ fight it out at the Stadium of Light. Watch them play their game, which may not be pretty all the time but sure has given us enough highs this year. Remember that as a United fan all you have ever known is the joy of supporting the best club in the world and in that collective, resounding and loud belief lies your miracle..

The miracle in red.