You don't cry alone

Cry and Cry until you sleep, Dream for a world, there's nothing to weep - I heard this crooning from a distance, it was the same mad guy.  Someone said he was a big-shot banker , someone said he was a jilted lover. People made stories and those stories made their way into our minds. Days went, night came , he kept singing monotonously.
"Everyone serves a purpose in life" my grandma had told me when i was a kid, i guess God makes a few exceptions.
Soon i got a bigger apartment in the same locality, another month and i got a TV, another and i got Playstation, another 2 months i got wine cabinet,  another month-i got a girl, another 2months - we were madly in love. Months passed like days, i was happy - a good job, a pretty girl, vintage wine and good times.
It was about November beginning - when she slapped her decision on my face- suddenly i was possessive, unsmart and ruffian. Her parents found her a match and before i could gulp it down, she had tied the knot. I blamed it on me, wine cabinet got stuffed with whisky, ashtrays overflowed, i started missing the morning cab, my clothes smelt bad, i looked sad and my performance took a backseat. My manager, gladly showed me the door and i did not care anymore. I emptyied more glasses. Days passed like months.
And then one night i did it, the ultimate devastation of self-control - i smashed the glass, it hit the TV, there was a huge bang and then a silence. I felt better but not at peace althogether.
I lay down in the balcony, the breeze was soothing my agony and then from a distance i heard it loud, again, after years maybe - Cry cry until you sleep.
A smile crossed my lips. Grandma was a genius.

Get used to surprises!

Remember the last phase of your college? Yeah the insane era, when you actually took a book and studied not just the technical stuff but even those withered, tattered principles of HR chemistry that the English teacher taught you while you were busy gawking at her hump.

On the day of the interview, you are the ‘sweaty-palm’ dressed in the borrowed, or even worse - stolen formals (yeah that happened, I swear)  bothered whether you shook the hands of the interviewer too hard or your eyes followed its usual trajectory because all you care about is getting the job.

Congratulations, Mr. X you got the job.

Brilliant, Excellent, roll on the road, dance, whistle, get drunk and do embarrassing things, yeah it’s your day. After 20some years of education you finally got the chance to put it all in use.

The first complain you have is Damn I don’t know shit about computers and now I would be writing codes. But my friend just when you thought this was the worst thing, you are not even prepared for the reality.

6months later (yeah that’s how long your joining could be deferred and it’s not the maximum)
You walk into the multi-million dollar enterprise, glass walls, fountains, vending machines, pretty people in uber clothes. After briefing through the policies, none of which you give a damn to learn, your ‘real’ training starts. But all you do here is extend your college life into the office campus and screw around, until the exams befall. Now, being 4 years into Engineering you always manage a narrow escape. Ditto.

But deep within, you know that you don’t still don’t know anything about C++ or JAVA or HTML or SAP or goddamn anything beyond SHIFT+DEL (if you know what I mean). But being the lazy toad, you wash down all these worries in RUM bought from the freshly minted stipend of your 1^st fruitless month. 

For full article : CLICK : This link will lead you to my full article on LinkedIn

We live just once, and once shall i die

The bitter aftertaste of your kiss, that lingers on my lips

Days after you left my side

Stepping on scattered vows

I cry not, nor repent nor forgive

Lament not nor let hold you back

Pray not nor let my eyes shimmer

For I don’t live to be mauled and marauded

I stepped not the piles to look behind

We live just once but death my dear

Is just for once and once will I die.  

(Life is quite often unforgiving but still we move on, only to realize in time that what it had in store for us was for our own good.
This poem is an inspiration from a person very close to me,whose sufferings and strength both made me realize that nothing is certain in life and nothing promises returns- but life is worth much more than just one thing or person. Its what we craft with our own hands thereon. )

ATM Sucks !! Money not disbursed yet debited from the account. Money returned after 7days !

Every now and then we have our bouts with technology and quite often it is intense. With Smartphones and all ultra smart gadgets we are flirting more and more with technology but the goddamn thing is a bloody infidel. 

Recently, i had one such encounter. 
I have an account in State Bank of India, Bangalore -Koramangla Branch. I tried to withdraw Rs.7500/- from a Karnatak Bank ATM in Madhapur, Hyderabad. The machine was a simple swipe and enter type. However, once i entered all my credentials and hit the button, the ATM went for a siesta. The goddamn thing did not buzz and i did not try to flirt with it. I waited patiently for almost 10 minutes. The machine was hung. 
There was no guard, no one around. Considering that the time was around 10.30PM i did not have a queue in my trail. I did not know what to do, so i rebooted the machine (Just Switch Off and On the Power Button behind) I don't know if that was smart but i guess that was the only viable option. 
After restarting the machine showed the message : Sorry for the Inconvenience- This ATM is not functional. 
With a heavy heart i rushed to the nearby ATM and checked the mini statement. It showed that the amount had been deducted. 
Now, under the circumstance i knew, the customer care is the best place to seek advice. 
My mind was ablaze. I was scurrying for the toll-free number of SBI. My friend made the prompt suggestion to check the ATM. Now, for people like me- Please keep a not of this.
I called them. Now, the customer care service of SBI could easily qualify to be the worst around the country. The guy who took my call- told me within seconds of declaring my problem and giving him my card number that the amount had been credited back. BEWARE : These assholes do that just to cut some slack. Your money cannot be credited back unless you have registered  complaint. DO NOT FORGET TO LODGE a COMPLAINT !!!
It was only after i had checked my internet Banking that i got to know the level of nonprofessional attitude the bank embraces. 
However, the second time i insisted and got a complaint registered. I was informed that the money would be credited back within 7days and that i could check with the bank on the number - 567676 by sending a message with the following : ATM . 
However, at the time of registering the complaint they will ask for your mobile number. Give the number that you are currently using(not necessarily the one provided for Internet Banking) because the details of the complaint as well as the status quo would be sent to that number. 
The shocker came within 48hours when i got a message saying : 
Dear Sir/Madam 
Your complaint ATxxxxxxxxxxx28 has been attended to and closed after resolution. However, i did not see my cash flow back even after 2 days since the message. 
I called the toll free number 1800 425 3800 again, but just got the taste of some more apathy. 
That's when i did some research. Here i give you all a power packed information. There is a facility called -Banking Ombudsman. This body is there to ensure your money comes straight back to your pockets. According to the RBI, if the bank is not able to resolve and credit the amount back to your account wihin 7 days then it will have to pay a compensation of Rs. 100/- for every passing day. You can google it up. 
However, i gulped my worries and decided to wait for the 7days to get over. 
3rd day - NIL
4th day- NIL
5th _ Naah
6th day - towards the late evening, there was a transaction made to my account. My moolah was back. A deep breather and then a bottles clinked. 
.
So use the tips and just relax. Your money won't go anywhere. 

The unsung sentinel !!

This post is a part of #Soldierforwomen in association with BlogAdda.com




In this age of internet and SnS, the crime against women is not restricted to the just physical abuse. Recently, a video clip of actress Mona Singh went viral on various networking sites. However, digital experts and cyber forensic professionals clarified that the actress' face was morphed in the video.

However, there have been so many cases where guys have abused the trust of their love mates. Even today when i read about some poor girl dragged through the muck for being betrayed by her partner, that night comes flashing to me.




Abhjeet and I have been friends since high-school. The fact that he was a wreckless bundle of nerves never allowed him to have many friends. There was nothing about him that was really reprehensible, i mean- the guy was tall, lean and fair. He was amongst the top 3 in class and most importantly he was born rich. Yet, he was the most underconfident guy i have ever met.

He was such a puddle that if a guy came and snatched his lunch he wouldn't even fight back, just cower and later crib to me about it. Most often, i wondered if this guy will ever stand up to the wrong.

"C'mon its no biggie" is what he would say.


##Fast Forward-2years##


I was a student in a private college while Abhijeet had secured a proud seat in Jadavpur university. Considering, the distance between our colleges i preferred to put up in a hostel. It was in those days that Abhijeet grew very close to his roomate Sayan. There was something about this guy that bothered me from the first day.

Being the chicken that Abhijeet was, he was badly abused by his seniors. At times i could feel the atrocity in his voice. Maybe his father did too. So, he booked him into a posh flat in Kalibagan. Since Abhijeet was scared of lonliness, he insisted Sayan to join him which he happily obliged.


It was strange to find the chalk and cheese fuse together. Sayan was a complete achiral image of Abhijeet. The guy was a whisky devotee, smoky chamber and self-declared casanova. He flirted at the drop of hat although he claimed to be in love with his girlfriend back in Shantiniketan. No doubt, he was an attractive guy but besides looks he was just a heap of dirty habits and filthy talks.

Kalibagan is a posh locality in Jadavpur, mostly inhabited by IT professionslas and their lonely housewives.

Mrs.Shyamali Sengupta was one such lady. She was drop dead gorgeous not more than 25 years old. We all had hots for her, including Abhijeet but only Sayan had the desire to express it.

Though Abhijeet had all the amenities to enjoy his youth, he was always engrossed in his books. The guy didn't even have a 'facebook' profile.

I visited him as often as possible but towards the end of second year the frequency had waned greatly.


##Fast Forward After Summer break 3rd year##


Abhijeet had just returned from his internship in Tata Motors, Jamshedpur. My mom had taken the pain to send some home-made ladoos through him and that gave me a reason to visit him after almost 5months. The guy had not changed a bit. Still the same wimpy kid who refused to grow. He insisted on my staying for a day. Since the next day was a Sunday, i agreed though i had an urgent resume to submit for GET in SAIL.

Abhijeet suggested me to use his laptop.

We talked for hours but then by 9.30 he dozed off. I started my work. With limited credentials it is really a pain in the ass to craft a resume.

By 12.30 i was pretty much done. I realized that it was after years that i was alone in a room with a laptop. Now, the next thing is nature. Since, Abhijeet was not much of a digital guy, his laptop was Sayan's property and hence i expected some good quality porn.

I searched the hard disk but to no avail. Then i clicked on the Search tab and checked the "video" and added "include hidden". Within seconds i had the whole screen populated with videos. Some configuration shit, some educational crap, a few hindi videos and couple of Enrique. I scrolled in desperation - Nothing.

I was about to close the tab when suddenly my eyes hit upon a thumbnail picture on a .avi file. I couldn't hold my excitement-Definitely porn. A guy can tell that from the thumbnail--guaranteed. The actress seemed familiar.

I pressed the mute button and double clicked the icon.

.

.

One, two,, three split seconds later, my mouth was hung, my eyes were gawking at something unbelievable. It was sex video no doubt but not a porn. It was Sayan on top of someone. She seemed to be drunk. The camera was static and from the image resolution i could estimate that the camera was at some distance. It was the same room, same bedsheet, same curtains...OMG he did it here. I jumped out of the couch.

It was disgusting. Clearly, the girl didn't have an idea about the hidden camera. What i saw next seemed to be borne out of a filthy fantasy.

It was not any random girl. It was Mrs.Sengupta.

I slammed the laptop shut and went to the balcony. My heart beat was racing. I had heard about infidelity but never expected to see it upfront. The whole world seemed satan. Wife cheats on husband for a guy who cheats on her to get a racy video. One click on the upload button and this lady could live a lifetime of shame. Who was to be blamed?

After almost 2 most uncomfortable hours, i couldn't hold it any longer. I woke Abhijeet and showed him the video. I don't know why i did that maybe i just wanted to explode.

Abhijeet didn't utter a word. What else did i expect from a coward ass who couldn't even defend his own tiffin? And what was it to us, what that prick did with the missus.

The following evening there was a knock on the door. I got it. My face twitched as Sayan threw his arms around me in a hug. Hardly had he swung away from me that i heard a loud thud and the next second Sayan was lying on the floor, whimpering and certainly taken aback. It was a hard, unexpected blow from Abhijeet.

The laptop was lying on the centre table. It didn't take him long to understand that his cat was out of the bag.

"Where else did you save it?" Abhijeet asked in a voice i had never heard before. It was loud, confident and definitely hurt.

"No copies" Sayan was able to murmur through an aching groin.

"Just grab your stuff and leave my house, now." he commanded. "And if i ever hear about this MMS again, i will make sure your life is ruined."

It was a moment that i will never forget. I saw Abhijeet in an avatar i never saw again.

A sentinel, a true, unsung hero. I don't know what inspired or instigated such action out of him. Whether he secretly grew fond of this sultry woman or was it plain, simple humanity. Well, the answer doesn't matter. What matters is he had the guts to raise his voice.

I never met Sayan again.

The next day I didn't feel like leaving Abhijeet all alone, but i had to go. Abhijeet insisted on coming to the bus stand to see me off. We had hardly walked a few steps when we heard a car honking at us. We peered. The window opened. It was Mrs.Sengupta with her husband.

"Need a drive?" she asked playfully as she always did.

That second, an embarrasing moment.

At the age of 20 i realized that heroes are born out of situations not wombs. I don't know and frankly don't care about Mrs. Sengupta and her affairs but that day my friend definitely stopped a life from being strangled.

World Survives, but humanity cremated.

The world might have survived but humanity was certainly cremated on 21stDec,2012. We are back to the uncivilized, barbaric era.

What happened to the 23year old med student on the night of Sunday was a painful kick in the groin of humanity. What has the world come to?
Not only the economy but even our morality is undergoing a steep recession.

Now, I have read innumerous editorials and heard scores of politicians who have ‘expressed grief’ and ‘condemned the act’, but  to tell you the truth they don’t give a damn or even if they do, it doesn’t mold into the action, we elect them for.
What else? Oh, yeah…India is the country where we worship goddesses…et al…. CRAP !! When it comes to criminals or likeminded…these words don’t click.  A devil fears another devil but never the God, and besides who knows…they could be atheists.

So what about justice?
The criminals have blatantly admitted that they committed the horrific crime. One of them has also pleaded to be hanged for his actions. Ram Singh, the prime accused- has finally broken down and admitted that he went berserk after the girl resisted and bit him. What else did he expect? The girl did whatever she could do to salvage her dignity.
They did not only strip her out of her clothes and dignity but also wounded her intentionally, so bad that the doctors had to remove her intestines. Attempt to murder, right?
Since, no kith and kin of politician is behind the bars we can expect justice, but the point is would lifetime sentence be appropriate for such heinous crime?
We all have our own opinions, but the two options that echo the most are -1) Hang till death and 2) castration. Though we all know, let me just remind you what we were taught in class 7^th Civics – Inida is a secular, democratic and sovereign country. That one line in the constitution has strangled justice and made it blind.
Fastrack courts are extraordinary idea but then in India ‘fast’ is a very relative term.
Even when the whole nation is outpouring their hatred, the Delhi police are trying hard to gain a few pats for their extraordinary agility. The politicians are framing pearls of words to fall into the right sentence.
When a New Zealand reporter called Sheila Dixit – ‘Dick Shit’, a prompt action was taken across borders. BJP's youth and women's wings took out a morcha and demanded an apology from Nirupam for his remarks against Smriti Irani, who is also a Member of Parliament. A comment and such furore. I wish they had done the same demanding justice for the one whose dignity has not been defamed but mutilated, but all they can do is -- express grief.

In Naseerudin Shah’s words from the movie ‘A Wednesday’ – I am just a common man, but I demand from the people who are not common, who are either state elected-good-for-nothings or glitzy superstars, why can’t they take up a cause and stir the nation.
Salman Khan- the brand ambassador of ‘Being Human’- could have at least cancelled a press-conference for promotion of Dabangg2 and focused on getting the nation motivated for a change.
Aamir Khan, cashed on the TRPs of ‘Satyameva Jayate’ and the whole India went teary-eyed, but when it comes to actually doing something…he is in lost in his ‘talaash’ .

Of course, we all want a change but no matter how bitter we feel, we have to do our day jobs. We all have responsibilities. We cannot be guarding our mothers, daughters, sisters and wives all the time. That’s why we have the police, we have the courts.
Some people have been preaching the ‘Sharia law’. I respect all religions but for people who know just an excerpt from the law, you need to read this: http://www.islamreview.com/articles/WOMEN_ARE_RESPONSIBLE.shtml

So, what conclusion do we come to? Hard to say…
 I know these people don’t deserve a quick, sudden death but in this demon friendly country, that is the only way. Castration is beyond question but hang till death is not. Maybe they can leak a video of the execution and we can make it viral through our PDAs and handhelds. That would instill some fear, and fear is what they need. This ain’t no Gotham and and there ain’t no Batman.

So for all those people participating in the candle light vigils and posting on their blogs and SNS, I request, please don’t let this agitation recede with time. Keep pushing, keep posting and get the law reformed till the day everyone can breathe free when his/her child/mom/daughter/sister/wife or even friend goes out of their sight.

Let’s stop this perpetual paranoia.
Amen !!

KRP DAM -Karnataka, Krishnagiri

The most beautiful places in the world lie not in the beckoning of the media and hullabaloo of the travel Sites. It lies in the serene calmness of solitude and distance from paparazzi.

The picture is that of a calm and undisturbed evening in KRP Dam-7kms from Krishnagiri- midway between Bangalore and Chennai.

Lack of conveyance, language barriers, risky after-dark- be prepared for these obvious hazards, but otherwise this place is a marvel to watch and a treasure to capture—of course with your lens !!

Enjoy madhi !! :)

Amateur Tabs : O Meri Jaan (Tum Mile)

Hairan hai, hum hue kyun, tum gairon se
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Kaisa hai gam bolo na tum honton se
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Na tum ho bewafaa, na mai bhi hun
e --9-11-11s12--11-7---7--7------------------------------------------
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Fir bhi hain hun judaa, mai kya kahoon
e ---9-11-11s12---11-7---7-9-7-----------------------------------
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Na jane waqt ki marzi hai kya
e ---9-11-11s12-11-12s14- 12-11--9--11-9--------------------
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Kyun hai mili, yeh dooriyan
e -9-11--11s12----11--7-------7-----------------------------------------
B -------------------------------------9-9----7---------------------------------
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O meri jaan
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Dusk or dawn ? (Mahaballipuram, Tamil Nadu)

Dusk or dawn ?, a photo by ro9ty on Flickr.
 

Cupid's arrow

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What else do you feel about love?
-A marauding sin, a palpable lie..
It think it is a cocoon filled with life,

and not a single should die. 

Ebbing waves, wash away the names

we strongly etch in line

Dark clouds, guard the twinkling beads

but they--don't lose their shine. 

It might be just a pencil sketch,

or an epitome in the whitest lime.

 but, love is not all that's written and read

but something that needs no sign. 

Some say it is an idyllic dream,

some call it a horrendous crime 

coz, cupid's arrow gives the only wound:

that seldom heals in a lifetime. !!

A mute nightingale

A leaf with drops of dew,

And the sky was a crimson hue,

The croaking of the toads,

The Clean and bright roads.



The whistle of the kettle,

As the darkness gradually settles,

Joggers on the ground,

And muscles pumping the pounds



A misty cool breeze,

That in a while would cease,

The first brush of the morning rays,

And they gradually seep through the maze.



The honk of the school bus,

At groceries the maddening rush,

the prowl of the healthy dogs

as the masters behind the reins slog.



I ambled in my trance,

not every day you get a chance,

the usual grind so high on scale

That I became a mute nightingale


no reminiscence of the dawn

I was busy plucking the thorns

as the rose dried and weathered away
Priorities we state
or leave it on our fate
but tomorrow can never be today.

serendipity !

The sun was descending behind that tall minaret. Two beautiful eyes were settled on the faintly visible moon. Her kerchief was stained with mascara.

The icing on the cake was yet to be done. A bottle of jacob’s creek lay idle in the center table beside the unlit candles.

She wanted to buy something exquisite for the evening and drove all the way to banjara hills to buy this svelte black dress. She could feel a pair of glares staring at her from far. It was nothing new, but very familiar. She quickened her steps to avoid the scorching sun, but could not avoid the doom ahead.


A swift turn and lo!


Adnan !!!


No, it could not be. This could not be him.


After so many years, lost in her blissful life, she had almost forgotten him, except the face and the few lines from the poems he had dedicated her.


The situation would not have worsened if only she walked away, but like a ship in a whirlpool, she got entrapped in the vortex. They carried the brief meeting to an adjacent coffee shop. He still liked his coffee-black, and how come he started wearing blue. He never liked it.


She was impressed on hearing that he had secured a job with a leading financial consultancy. He was always good with economics in school, she remembered. She was sad to know about his father’s death.


Her eyes sauntered carelessly on his frame and stopped at his belly. A slight paunch!! His physique had changed as much as his psyche. From predictable to subtlety, from drab to finesse, from wearisome to witty, he had certainly transformed.


All the while, something was pounding within. Was it her conscience or just the throbbing heart? ..But why?


Just then she noticed, her right palm was masking those carefully clasped fingers. Did she deliberately try to conceal that ring?


An uneasy feeling gripped her. Were the old flames growing? Were passions being rekindled? She glanced at her watch and excused herself on pretense of office. God only knows where this conversation would have advanced to, if she had not stopped it. Why didn’t she tell him the real cause?


He focused his steely eyes on hers, as if asking the pertinent questions or was he trying to answer hers?


She wore her glares, but his eyes could still penetrate those dark glasses and he mustered enough courage to ask the question that jolted and shook her to the core


“Do you still love me?”


She wanted to look him in the eye and give the answer she had long rehearsed in her lonely nights. The nights she had incessantly wept and tried to retain him through copious messages and futile phone calls. A million apologies cannot bring her back those vital years. It cannot erase the embarrassment and pain it had caused, and here he was demanding an answer, unapologetic.


She paused for a moment. The words were reverberating in her mind, but something more powerful held her gaze and she left with a chapter unclosed. A faint smile crossed his face. Maybe he got his answer.


Emotions are stupid, unresponsive to logic.


Till yesterday, her life was such a bounty. A prosperous career, a caring college sweetheart, an elucidated mind and marriage on the cards, yet today on the anniversary of her engagement she had to face such an emotional turmoil. That one question had shattered her peace. She was sill trying to figure out an answer.


In a few hours, Akshat would come with a bunch of red roses apt for the occasion, but didn’t she tell him she liked daisies more. He would take her to dine in the 5-star lounge, he planned last week, but doesn’t he know she would have liked it as a surprise. He would praise her svelte dress, apt for the required dress-code but she hated wearing western outfits and at night he would love her passionately and kiss her a hundred times unaware of the turmoil she was going through.


She was chagrined momentarily. Why was she complaining today after six long years? She knew Akshat just wanted her to be happy. He would never want her to do anything she did not like, if only he knew.


She closed her eyes and a blob of salty water washed her mascara again and she wiped it with the kerchief. She tried to imagine Akshat in all those days he had loved and supported her. She had liked the way he had accepted her troubled past and comforted her in his arms. He had given her the security and affection that every girl desires. She pressed her eyes harder to find that charming face in the stark darkness, but all she could see were a pair of steely eyes demanding an answer.


Suddenly, a blaring honk brought her back to reality. She glanced at her watch. Impossible, how could it be 9 so soon? How long had she been thinking about him? She glinted at the dimly lit room. It was unprepared for the celebrations. Akshat would understand at first look that something was wrong, and then he would not stop until he comforted her. Wouldn’t he understand that tonight she wanted to be left alone? So what if it was their anniversary?


After three knocks, she opened the door. There he was in his best pin-striped suit, those bunches of unwanted flowers and that once attractive broad grin. He embraced her in his muscular arms and she responded to his pout, but the kiss was brief and her response was cold.


She looked at the face that she had admired for six long years, those lips that she had kissed all this while and those arms that held her in the most difficult times. She observed him closely. Those beautiful eyes fixated as if trying to find an answer to something. Was she comparing the two A’s of her life?


Emotions are seriously unresponsive to logic.


Akshat could not spot the dilemma on her face. He mistook it to be her inexplicable admiration for him. He was so elated. He flung the flowers on the table and bosomed her to his chest .With quivering lips he uttered the three words he had said exactly six years from today, the three words that bonded them for a lifetime, or so he thought.


She closed her eyes. Those steely, demanding eyes were still staring at her. She gazed deep into it. A sudden rush of emotions washed away all sense of guilt and the golden words sprung from her lips “I love you too “. A tiny glob of tear washed her mascara again.


She just found the answer !

Change of mind !!

Why have i obscured my vision so bleak
Why am i gnawing the husks of time
Why strand the dreams that once had wings
Why stall the hope that once would fly ??


No trouble beckons unless driven by mind
Why lose the sanity of frozen thoughts
Eyelids & lashes that would never droop
Why kill the smile & bear the sties ??


Once deep rooted trunk,now in shallow water'
Is nothing but a useless log
sauntering in the salty,teary water
It would reach nowhere, just lie and rot


And there i dwell on thoughts so heavy
With a flashing reckless smile
My soul would find peace i know
All i need is a change of mind !!

If numbers had langauge

(In this article i have used '$$' to denote my total failure in comprehending parts of conversations.Its not indicative of any slang and pertains to total respect for every language)

In recent times, my career requisites and personal pursuits have taken me to some of the major places in southern part of India( & not south India which sounds as alien as south Korea). My jaunts have seen the privilege of air-hosting to the skank of local buses, from the vantage of resorts to the inhospitality of motels.

However, no matter how rude the locals seemed or how crude the situations have been, i managed to pull out with a smile and that was only because of 1 reason- 'Numbers don't have lannguage' !!

I was dropped at the 'CMBT bus stand in chennai'at the insanely hour of 3.45 in the dark. I could not have asked my friend to come over and receive me at this ungodly hour so i waited for some time. I went for a coffee and asked the irated gentleman "Anna(yep,i picked this on my way) 1 coffee, how much?"

"$$$$$$$$$Rs.10, $$$$$$ Rs.20 $$$$$"

From the size of the cups, i could guess he was reffering to the quantity of coffee and quoting the price. I quickly opted for the large cup. Fortunately, my guess was correct.


Large coffee acquired.

The clock was ticking at its leisurely pace and the sky was turning crimson, when i stepped out to take the most valiant step in any part of India. Hire a conveyance. Swarm of auto-drivers engulfed me in their vain attempt to explain me various schemes or whatever, in highly accented Tamil(i guess). Suddenly, a young chap played the ploy and uttered a few words in hindi "Sir, keeedar ko jaana?" I felt like rewarding this guy,with my wrist-watch.

I jumped on the rear-seat of his tattered auto, which vibrated every part of my body when the engine was revved.


"Ashok-pillar hot chips kitna bhaiyya?"

....but then i realized he played me fool. He knew just those 3 words of hindi, or so he pretended.

He replied: "$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Rs.200 $$??"

After 5 minutes of a verbal duel in tamil(again,i guess) and hindi-english combo, in which only numbers were intelligible to each other,we settled at Rs.170.

Conveyance acquired.






We were at the CMBT bus-stand,trying to locate the pondicherry bus terminal. After my failed attempts to read from the information chart and locate the enquiry booth, i hit upon a group of conductors. They tried to explain me in their native language which ensued as follows " $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ 200c $$$$$$$$$$$ EDA 20P $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$" and a lot of hand-gestures.


200C and EDA 20P was the only filtered input to my ears. A 15-minutes break and then i saw the head of a deplorable state bus,marked as 200C make its much-awaited entry.

"Anna, pondicherry ?" i asked, to which he just nodded his head. Perhaps, sign is the only other language i could use in this part of my country,besides numbers.

After 3-hours of agrestic view, we reached pondicherry.


Travel settled.






"numbers too have a language" remarked my roomie, a day after,when i was describing my experiences. "In spanish they don't say one, two, three...instead they say un, dos, tres " he continued "and every language has its own unicode format of writing numbers, its just that we don't use it so extensively, and thankGod for that."


He nudged the unperturbed truth....

'touche'!!is all i could exclaim

....and yes,"Thank God for that ..." !!

Another brick in the wall !! :D

The alarm dutifully shrieked at 6 in the crack of dawn.I pushed the sheets away reluctantly, and then dwelled in that half-fazed state until the snooze time elapsed and the alarm jolted me back into reality. 


The toothpaste tastes much better at night isn't it ?? In the morning it reminds you of the schedule ahead !!


Starched shirts, pleated trousers,leather belts, matching boots-I take a while to realize, this is my newly shuffled wardrobe.The faded jeans and printed tees are allowed to spring up only on the weekends.
The proximity cards (another hot-bred corporate jargon) hangs around the neck like a noose for the goose. My recently trimmed hair strands all stick to each other daring not to kiss the temple. 
I have become a slave of time again. I follow my watch to catch the erratically scheduled bus,obediently standing in the bus stop with chores of other similiar tech-guys !


....& now here, sitting by the window(which i can't let go)i  realize that school life has come haunting back,after the 4 blissful years of quiescence in college,


..though this time we don't pay fees, we earn salary !


..& you can't ignore the alarm assured that papa is there to drive you to school


...nor rest assured that the uniform is pressed and shoes are polished and tiffin is hot and water-bottle is cold. 


The proximity card(arghh again) reminds me of the school tie i so severely despised. 
The swipe-in reminds me of attendance (and proxy calls).
Recess is just the same,though now after lunch instead of playing basketball we are more interested in smoking dunhill lights. 
..the swipe-out reminds me of the final bell, but now i am not in a hurry to reach home, i don't have  mama waiting with hot 'pooris and paranthas'when i reach home !




Now i know why they say life is an ever-learning process....its because we never graduate out of a school !!

All good things.... have to ....come to an end !!

On our farewell our placement officer said “these 4 years were the best years of your life”! Thanks to the good, old man for his kind platitude but I had the strong desire to question him for the very last time that “Dude, the princi of my higher secondary school said the same and so did my primary section headmaster. Why do you people scare the diver before he leaps?”

The last 2 weeks have been a roller-coaster ride for me. First, the official farewell then the exams and then again the unofficial farewell. Emotions formed a potpourri and by the time we could realize, time had done the trick. With lofty promises of staying in contact and hailing the mobile and social networking we exchanged good-byes. That night we clinked glasses of malt whisky and tried to drift into its blues and then the sudden but obvious question was raised

What did you learn from these 4 years in an engineering college?

Now, trust me , any proud engineer in all his senses would reply a proud- NOTHING to this question. But, I was not in my senses and my haughty mind wandered into the memories of these 4 years to find a reasonably sound answer.

True to its nature, B.tech does not teach you technology. Majority of the population in these institutions realize their dreams and passion, half way into it. But, there are a lot of things that these 4 years teach you. Where else do you think that a guy with 8 hours to spare would be able to keep his cool, wrack his brains and study just the bare minimum to pass and yet score a solid 8 point?

These 4 years we evolved and grew:
from Soft rock to Grunt metal,
from Sidney Sheldon to Jean Sasson,
from Orkut to Facebook,
&
from infatuation to love !

We learnt the terms ‘RECESSION’, ‘MAOIST’ and ‘SENSEX’. We saw the industrialization process of west Bengal smashed to smithereens .We also saw the upsurge of TMC and Mamata di over the long established Left-front and also, India win two world-cups-the T20 and ODI.

These 4 years taught us not to smile but to laugh out loud (LOL)!

Now come, corporate life or any martial challenge, we can handle it because we have practiced enough to ‘LOL’ our problems.

KALIYUG RAMAYANA : The World-cup final !!

I hope that you guys read it before the World-cup final is over.
and please share it if you like it, for INDIAN SUPPORT !

It is the first time that two asian countries will play for the world-cup and as Mahela Jayawardhene( VIBHISHAN) has put it, India is more likely to win the cup.
However the Kaliyug Ramayana has seen a change in SITA,the vivacious,scintillating beauty, the whole world is after - The World Cup ( though not abducted by Sri-Lanka, but c'mon a li'l twist is allowed and anyways they were the runner's up last season). LORD RAMA himself has reincarnated in the form of SACHIN, playing almost for more than the stipulated VANVAS(14 years) and now in pursuit of his better half- The World-Cup.
Supporting him is HANUMAN- Virender Sehwag, who has set the LANKA on fire many a times and as ARJUNA RANATUNGA (Daitya Guru),puts it, he is the most volcanic batsman in India. The rest of the talented team is the VANAR-SENA, with MS DHONI- the skipper captain, as 'SUGRIV' the VANAR RAJA.

When it comes to LANKA, who better than MURULIDHARAN to don the mantle of RAVAN (not coz he looks like a DAITYA :P, but because he is the only one to mess with RAM.) The lankan team has the whole middle order as 'KUMBHAKARAN' sleeping and dormant. However, if woken up, though unlikely, they could be devastating.

All said and done, the captains and other batsmen will do their required jobs, but the match will gyrate around the fact that whether Muruli is hurling top-spins and Doosras(read VISH- BARND) or SACHIN is tossing them with ease(RAM-BARND).

However, being a huge HANUMAN-BHAKT, i believe SEHWAG will play the pivotal role.

LANKA KO PARAST KIYA JAYE !!:)))

ITI

Unconventional Goa !!

There have always been the 3 B's that have been associated with Goa- Beach, Booze and Babes (though not neccessarily in that priority), although an impishly perceivable mind can think of a few more B's. When i say, unconventional Goa, i mean those aspects of this scenic territory that often goes unseen or maybe ignored, but something that makes this place so unique.

I got the oppurtunity of being a part of the big-bash organized by www.freshersworld.com, for their promising campus ambassadors. I was on my way to goa when i met this hermit, who was going to an Ashram in Old Goa. Now this guy was Awesome. His name was 'Baba Bhola' and i think i will need another post dedicated to this 'monk-who-sold-his-ferrari'
Anyways, this 'Baba Bhola' shared with me some wisdom about Goa, and he asked me to reach beyond the convention of this beautiful land.
The following day, we said our share of goodbyes and i had my eyes popped out to look for the unconventions.
The first night we stayed in Old Goa. It was almost dusk by the time we settled in, yet we put on our shorts and set the right foot out. We hailed an auto, oblivious about the plying buses. The auto-rickshaw was a closed,compact wagon with curtains and flowers carefully placed. We asked him to drive us to Panjim market, about 7KM from our present location, according to the hotel map, and the auto-driver demanded a whopping Rs. 120. We tried haggling, but the doors were opened without hesitation. We relented. That was the first of the numerous encounters we had with these omnipresent auto-drivers and by the next day it was clear to us that haggling does not work in Goa, because there is no dearth of willing customers.
However, we were saved by the plying buses between stations. These were small state run buses, with clear mandates for the number of people to be seated and stood, and by Jove, it was followed. However, Goa is low on chauvinism as the boys sit on the ladies seat unabashadely and the ladies in that for senior citizen.The conductor clad in funky clothes and flashy glares, never missed the fare. The buses had a pecularity, the small electric bell, that acted as a communication between the conductor and the driver.

The people of Goa, are multi-lingual.They can speak English, Hindi and local language with quite ease. However, when it comes to writing, the spellings are often erroneous.
Wherever you go, you can listen to peppy, foot-tapping ,melodious songs and towards the evenings you can try your hand at the karaoke or jazz competitions. All it would cost you is a Tuna and bacon, and a bottle of beer.
Speaking of alcohol, which happens to be a convention, i would like to draw your attention towards the local alcohol, which is priced at Rs. 100-400 a bottle, depending on the quality. Its called Fenny and is available in several flavours, my favourite being Olive.However there is another local drink available in the beaches early in the morning called Amaya, that not many people know about. It tastes better than wine and stones more than a bong. Its every alcoholics desire,in Goa.However,its illegal.
Another very unusual thing about this place is the architecture. The houses built around the capital, have such a refined, pre-historic look. Some of  them columbian enough and few deserving the flashes. The palm trees along the borders accentuates the panorama.
The best part of the entire trip was the last day, when i broke out of my group , hired a bike,a rusty old splendour(i had no choice) and rode around the city. Its fun to read directions, get lost ,discover short-cuts and live in the moment. However, before that let me tell you, hiring a bike on a weekend is one hell of a job. You have to be smart enough to strike a deal. Don't try haggling after the rent has been quoted. I took help from a a random localite and struck the deal for Rs. 300 for 16 hours, apart from the security and DL proof.
The people of Goa are the best i have met so far. However, the brokers and middlemen continue to be as reprehensible as anywhere across our country. Perhaps they all share a breed.
From the moment i stepped into Goa, i never saw a cop. However, on that day when i was riding my bike at an unaccountable speed, i was gestured by a white uniformed guy to pull over. I could smell bribery, and was weighing my wallet, when a smiling face greeted me and asked for my DL. I produced it, surprised at the smile, or was it a smirk??
He glanced at it, warned me to drive slowly for my own safety and then moved away. For the first time in my life, i was stopped by a cop and let go without a penny lost. I was all respect for the guy.
Parking is at whim. 'No-parking' signals are just for the pigeons to perch.
I had been to beaches, done all crazy things that you expect a young lad to do in a beach. After 4 days of conventional shit, when i broke free of it and gave a brief stint to my unconventional pursuits, the road from panjim to old Goa attracted me the most.

 The bylanes and boulevards and the ancient architecture located beside the calm and spectacular juar river was a speckle to the nitty-gritties of conventional Goa. I parked my bike beside the Juar dock and strode the 6 KMs up and back, while clicking some adorable pics.Sometimes, you want to savour a moment for lifetime. This was one such moment for me.
That night i was leaving for my hiking across Maharashtra and MP and i thought what better than a chilled glass of Amaya. However, it was dusk and i could not find it. However, i found something else, but its inappropriate to mention it, so i leave it to your wild imaginations !!
Foe more pictures on Unconventional Goa, click on the following link :

Unconvntional Goa !!

Hanging Paragraphs : Worth a Swipe

Hanging Paragraphs : The hundreds of snippets of thoughts that lie buried under heaps,under copies long lost relations with.

I unravel them as i dust-off my old stacks. 

Worth A Swipe

Its not like an arduously blended wine

thats poured in a long stemmed glass

not a freshly baked rasher of bacon

nor a polished brazen,brass.

Words often flow out in a gush of emotions

 & its seldom worth a swipe

Its reduced to just a couple of rhymes, not poetry

when words are picked, but

Thoughts are not ripe !!

SOS in book fair !!

Kolkata recently held its 35^th Annual book fair,better known as ‘Boi Mela’. It was inaugurated on 25^th evening and the next day,26^th Jan –Republic Day-National Holiday, people thronged the stalls and the Milan Mela ground saw almost 2 lakh footfalls.It was crowded like the local sealdah-bound trains on weekday office opening hours. People were brushing across each other more than brushing through the books; some young boys had the time of their life.

Some hundreds of stalls were setup, with almost every publishing house,library,embassy,club setting up one. Security check was brisk and negligent. You might think it must be one helluva job for the security personnel to frisk every individual. I would have agreed, but sample this. The Gates did not have female security so, Lady Bin Laden could have carried a sack full of RDX, gelatin sticks and adequate detonators. But hey, wouldn’t that trigger the metal detector. Oh yes that would, only if it was turned on. Kolkata police has immense trust in its intuitive abilities,like the other security agencies that guard the city malls.

However the situation was not so despicable when I went there the other 3 times. At least they had female security at the gates, so what if most of the time they were gossiping. Their presence was divine.

I have been in love with ‘Boi Mela’since my 1^st year in college and Kolkata. Its crowded, its dusty and its in hollers but the sight of innumerous books marvelously arranged in piles and rows draws your attention. There are hardbound, paperbacks, some plastic bounded too. Some books which are unheard and dug out from past, few new releases, some amorously decorated novels and humming girls around that section, some thin,limp book written by a renowned author and excessively priced. Every stall has a classics section, a bestseller’s collection and one section which only draws intellectually vibrant people, who more or less resemble each other, with thick myopic glasses resting on the brim of their nose and an unnoticed faint smile on their lips.To me those people have attained nirvana. Who else would read a speaking tree?

But there is one section which attracts me the most. The stalls with no names. The stalls, which house those books which cannot be found in the rarest of rare stores. These are books which are written by anonymous writers and bards from the underprivileged villages and small towns. Written in vernaculars and printed on the most inferior quality papers, it sells for Rs.25 to 75 depending on the thickness and not quality of content. These stalls were sandwiched between big publishing houses, and covered with advertisement of Gramin-Udhyogik bank or a so and so NGO.
Girls not more than 16years of age welcome you with a smile that never dies out. The sparse crowd attracted to it hurts me. Perhaps, it is lack of information that stops people from visiting such master-suites of knowledge and literature. Therefore, over the past 3 years I have seen a huge dip in the number of these stalls. From 6 they dropped down to 4 and this year only 1. Upon asking those smiling hosts, about the thinning stalls I got to know that the expense of travelling and publishing these snippets turns out to be more than the profit earned. It’s with the help from an NGO that this stall is still functional. But, there is no assurance for the next year.

I was moved. And there I decided to do the best I can to revive these stores.

But apparently, that was just the feel of the hour. What could I do, but speak and write about these poor intellectuals and their pool of talent. And I am sure it’s not the matter of only Kolkata book –fair. It must be countrywide.

So It is my earnest request to you all, please spread this awareness among people. And its not charity.  No... It is the appreciation of art and literature.