A Vision, A Beautiful Dream...

Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

Brown dust covering the horizon
Yellow leaves embedded deep in their dry graves
The rocks and the solitary cactus
The beautiful landscape of this painting
Everyday is a little death
'Fear no more the heat of the sun' wrote the Stratfordian
There is no fear, no pain

The red torrents of howling storms
A vision, a beautiful dream
The blue corpses strewn about over the plains
Fate, thy bounties abound
While thou smil'st upon us

When I look into your eyes, Princess
I see my life, played
A million times in an infinite loop
A circus act, jumping through the ring of fire
Earning applause for burning the flesh
For acting the part you have assigned to me

Barren, fallow, waste
Lies the earth under my feet
And rocky contours inside the skull
They talk of Spirituality
And the Art of Living
Its very complicated you see
Breathing in the brown dust with one nostril
And exhaling the plumes of gray with the other
Global (heart)warming

Was this what Cassandra envisaged?
A Nietzscheian God
An Eliotesque land
A weeping Satan
An incarnate of Lucifer
A minstrel Mephistopheles
A sadist
A masochist
A pessimist
And Humble Polonius

Congratulations, fellow lunatics
The beautiful mind
Is now sterile
At last, a worthy existence...

कुछ लफ्ज़, मतलब की तलाश में...

उसके दुश्मन हैं बहुत
आदमी अच्छा होगा

वो भी मेरी ही तरह
शहर में तन्हा होगा...

लोग कहते हैं कि मैं बहुत बोलता हूँ... सब के सब ऐसा कहते हैं, इसलिये सही ही कहते होंगे... कुछ मुझे extrovert कहते हैं, कुछ बड़-बोला... पर कितने लोग शान से ये कह सकते हैं कि वो मुझे सच-मुच जानते हैं? मैं असल में कौन हूँ?

यह ऐसा सवाल है, जिसका जवाब आज तक मुझे खुद नहीं मिला... जब waiting for godot पढा था, तब इस phenomenon के लिए एक नाम मिल गया - existentialism... बस तब से इसी existentialist crisis का बहाना, और साथ ही Prufrock के मुखौटों का वास्ता देकर अपनी सच्चाई से लगता है खुद भाग रहा हूँ... क्या इसका कोई अंत है?

अगर कोई अंत नज़र आता है तो वो है आत्म-चेतना यानी self-realization... लेकिन वो मेरे बस का टंटा नहीं... मैं तो रहूंगा वही escapist/extrovert...

* * * * * *

रफ़ी साहब जैसा फनकार सैंकड़ों सालों में एक बार आता है... पिछले दो घंटे से उनके गानो की playlist बना के चलाता जा रहा था... एक गाने पर आकर रूक गया... गीतकार कैफी आजमी का लिखा, सचिन देव बर्मन का संगीत-बद्ध किया ये गाना उस महान फिल्मकार गुरुदत्त की ज़िन्दगी की सच्चाई है... और शायद मेरी भी...

देखी ज़माने की यारी

बिछडे सभी बारी-बारी...

क्या लेके मिलें अब दुनिया से

आंसू के सिवा कुछ पास नहीं

या फूल ही फूल थे दामन में

या काँटों की भी आस नहीं

मतलब की दुनिया है सारी

बिछडे सभी बारी-बारी...

वक़्त है मेहेरबां

आरजू है जवान

कल की फिक्र करें

इतनी फुर्सत कहाँ

रात भर मेहमान

हैं बहारें यहाँ

रात गर ढल गयी

फिर ये खुशियाँ कहाँ...

पल भर की खुशियाँ हैं सारी

बढने लगी बेकरारी...

उड़ जा उड़ जा प्यासे भँवरे

रस न मिलेगा धारों में

कागज के फूल जहाँ खिलते हैं

बैठ न उन गुल्ज़ारों में

एक हाथ से देती है दुनिया

सौ हाथों से ले लेती है

ये खेल है कब से जारी

हाय

बिछडे सभी बारी-बारी

मतलब की दुनिया है सारी

बिछडे सभी बारी-बारी...

The standing ovation and the aftermath... O-14 rules!

Saturday morning, 0345 hrs… Sitting and typing at Karma’s place… You wouldn’t know of him, he’s from IIMC… English Journalism to be precise… And I can see the aftermath of an Ocean’s Fourteen (ORIGINAL, isn’t it?) meeting all around the room… Bodies strewn all over the place, sleeping of course…

Alcohol does funny things to people… Take our Abhishek Mukherjee for example… Another IIMCian, normally the voice of reason among the motley crew… 3 pegs of McDowell’s Number One later, he was at stage five… Which, for the uninitiated, means he was DEAD DRUNK… Unfortunately for the rest of us semi-sober ones, that meant four hours of non-stop rambling and ‘I’m not drunk man!’… That too without puking, which could’ve helped him… And us… But alas! It wasn’t to be… He kept on and on and on and on… About everything under the sun… Of course, bastard that I am, I kept asking him pointed questions whose answers I knew would provoke genuine mass hysteria…

Then there was Chhoto (name changed even without the request)… How he drove to Ganga Dhaba shall remain one of those unsolved mysteries… Coz as we were to find out, whisky + vodka + weed had made him ride a mental horse… He was better than Mukherjee, for sure, but then, if one were to choose between the devil and the deep-blue-sea, you would be Faustus, wouldn’t you? Tottering along nicely was he, though thankfully, better sense prevailed and Nishant drove everyone back…

And then there was Father Teresa aka Big Daddy aka yours truly… 3 large Old Monk shots and the patented ‘Daaru humesha sach bolti hai’… Trying to impose his opinion on the party regardless of the topic – be it the age old Rafi or Kishore debate or why Tendulkar is still the greatest… With the odd ‘Nain ladd jayihain’ thrown in to emphasize whatever it was he was trying to emphasize… The only ingredient missing was the usual hyperventilation of the ego with an ‘I’m the Best’… But taking on responsibility is his forte, as he would have you believe… With two drunks already among the party, somehow he managed to sober himself down, and take care of them… Hence the name, Father Teresa, in the words of the other ‘Not Drunk’ Mukherjee, Soubhik Dada…

The occasion for the party was two-fold – it was the one month anniversary (or thereabouts) of O-14, and secondly, WE BROUGHT THE HOUSE DOWN at the Hindi Pakhwara function… 10 of us singing the immortal Pyaar Humein Kis Mod Pe Le Aaya… And the crowd rocked… Especially Arnab with his power-packed rendition of Panchamda’s high notes in the song… They say the best judge of a performance is the artist him/herself, and honestly speaking, a) we enjoyed it, b) we rocked!

So at the end of this eventful day, as O-14 sleeps peacefully in this 10’x10’ cubbyhole, this is Big D signing off, with a little advice – know your limitations while drinking, and stick to them… Otherwise the next morning shall carry a double headache – the hangover and the embarrassment of listening to rantings recorded by someone… Goodnight…

Chai, Sutta aur Philosophy ki Kitaab - The Anniversary Edition

One year of struggling for readership on the blogosphere... One year of Bhaval and other regulars’ insightful comments... One year of trying to exercise diplomacy, in order not to be flagged and kicked out of the realm... One year that began with a nightlong conversation, and ended with the annihilation of a few dreams, and the onset of a lot more new ones... “redemption-reprise”, or “Chai, Sutta aur Philosophy ki Kitaab” is ONE year old today...

This is the first post I’m writing on my new laptop... Struggling somewhat with the new keyboard and all... (Waah Shreyas Babu! Naya Laptop! Nayi Gaadi! Aur Naya Profession! Badhiya Hai!!!) Undertook a whirlwind trip to Jaipur the last couple of days, to hang out with the Brother... Eventful doesn’t begin to describe the trip... What with a bus that broke down at 430am on NH8, rains flooding the capital of the desert state and what not... Enjoyment can be measured in two ways, I believe – either by how quickly the time went by; or how slowly, in which case you remember every detail... This trip was the latter... Effectively, I stayed in Jaipur for 36 hours, sleeping time included... And cherished every moment of it...

A year, twelve months, 365 days... How life changes in the seemingly short span of time... From English Literature to Television Journalism, from a Tata Indica chauffeur (Mom’s car, that’s why) to a Maruti 800 owner, from S to no-S and back somewhat... New friends, gone away, yet more new ones now found... Old friends still in the head, somewhere around... A birthday party to remember, with gallons of alcohol and kilometres galore on the car's odometer... Drives to North Campus at night, Marlboro regulars in the rain at the Arts Fac... And the rum, of course... Neat, or on the rocks... Life, they say, comes full-circle... I dunno about that...

All I know is that it has been a pleasure writing this blog thus far... If nothing else, it is my little space in the web universe... A place where I can vent out, criticize, make caricatures, and generally be myself... Whatever you, the reader, may interpret me to be... Asshole, perhaps... This blog is me, inversely personified...

So anyway, time to uncork the champagne and let your hair down... Its a party here tonight!

Arranged Marriage...

My mother bought me a car on Sunday 02/09/07... Its a pretty-metallic-blue Maruti 800, Jan 2000 model... And don't scoff at me for calling it pretty coz its my car, just see it to believe it... Anyway , before you start accusing me of digressing, this post is called 'Arranged Marriage' for a reason...

Now this car didn't come easy... The whole soap opera lasted almost a month, from the time I casually mentioned to my mother that a car for me would be a practicable option, since commuting to and from IIMC is a difficult/expensive task... And in many ways, the soap opera played out like a Big Fat Indian Wedding, rather than the comparatively simple task of buying a used car... Think about it: -

Step 1 - WANTED: You inform your contacts that you are looking for a suitable companion

Step 2 - INFORMATION AVAILABLE: The contacts get back to you in a while, giving you the addresses and telephone numbers of a few prospective candidates

Step 3 - TEST DRIVE: You make a list and go to the various addresses with the respective contact, meet the families, and have individual rendezvouses with the candidates, ticking or crossing out the names on your list

Step 4 - SHORTLIST/TEST DRIVE-2: You like one or two of the candidates more than anyone else and decide to talk further so you invite them for coffee

Step 5 - HEART-A-FLUTTER: You decide that you are falling in love with one candidate and want an early consummation, so your folks meet the candidate's folks again and decide that you both will be married asap

Step 6 - PRICE NEGOTIATIONS: This is the only step that is reversed in the Indian tradition, but lets follow the African Igbo tradition, shall we? The 'dowry' the groom has to pay for the bride is negotiated, both parties trying to drive a hard bargain

Step 7 - DELIVERY & REGISTRATION CHANGE: The wedding itself, with all those complicated mantras and rituals that echo bureaucratic red-tapism found at the Transport Department

Step 8 - GOING FOR THE FIRST DRIVE IN POURING RAIN AND ROADS THAT RESEMBLE SEAS: The honeymoon - 'how wonderful is life with you, darling'

Step 9 - THE CAR REFUSES TO START THE NEXT MORNING: And they lived (happily?) ever after...

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Moral of the story: Whenever your folks tell you that they feel you should get married, buy a used car... Tell them, ATLEAST it can be repaired by the neighbourhood mechanic...