The D-Day

As dusk falls gently over the by lanes of Kharagpur (my home), the chaos of traffic mingles with the shouts of little children who have just bought their share of firecrackers for Diwali. Its that time of year which sets people to get, set and shop. After all, there are clothes to be bought, mithais and dry fruits to be stocked, decor items needed to spiff up the home, diyas, rangoli colors… Phew! The festival of lights opens up the floodgates to the Indian shopping season. The sparkling crystal and shining silverware will be polished to gleam on every dining table. Diwali, that was originally the celebration of King Ram’s return to his home after a long exile, today is a festival of fireworks and feasting. It’s a festival of food, calorie-laden meals served out with the sole aim of indulging friends and family. And with all those treats on offer, there can be a battle between indulging and abstaining from the array of sweetmeats. This time I was at home for Diwali after almost a decade. “Has Diwali changed over the last quarter century of my existence?” I thought. The best approach would be to walk down the memory lane to find an answer to this perennial question. I remember when as kids we used to get a fixed budget of 100/- per head to get fireworks for all 3 brothers. If revolted and asked for more, My dad would get back saying - how can you be satisfied by burning up the money to ashes? Moreover I think 300 for you guys is a lot. There you go. We used to simply slip out of the room as sand slips from the fist, so that the allowance does not get deducted any further. Come diwali and we were loaded with all different kinds of firecrackers and rockets that would make the loudest possible sound. This time when I was home for diwali the experience was totally different. I was at home, attended the complete puja like a Raja beta. I was not very enthusiastic on getting the crackers like my younger brothers. After the puja, I went out to find children enjoying the fireworks. However, the loud noise was intolerable. Even Tommy the friendly and playful three-year-old was not happy with the noise. The loud cracker noise two days ahead of Diwali is enough to drive the normally docile German Shepherd to become aggressive, stop eating and ceaselessly bark all over the house, looking for places to hide. Suddenly I remembered one article I read the other day, which was talking about the high decibel levels in Mumbai during Ganesh Puja. The article said that during Ganesh Puja somewhere in Mumbai on the main street some group of people had put up a banner, which pointedly asked in Marathi, “Dev Behra Aahe Ka?” (Is god deaf?). The banner, of course, created more noise. In the midst of this noise this thought put a smile on my face. However, there is other facet of this D-day also. The most oppressive aspect of Diwali this year? Without a doubt, that slot has to be taken by the barrage of unsigned SMSes. While we all love to be greeted on a good occasion, after a while, the constant ping-ping of shubhkaamnaye from strangers who refuse to identify themselves is reduced to nothing more than nuisance value. One spends valuable time scrolling down an endless SMS, packed with highly Sanskritised words and complex images of diyas and devis. Decoding that is tough enough. What follows is worse. You go nuts trying to SMS a polite ‘thank you.’ And, of course, the message doesn’t go and ends up in the ‘Unsent’ box. ‘Network busy,’ your own screen keeps flashing as every Indian in the remotest corner of the world gets going with the Deepavali messages. I don’t know about you, but I received quite a few in a lingo I didn’t understand completely, besides, of course, greetings in English, Hindi and Telugu. I know at least two people who’ll be beaming at the all-time record usage of this modern-day scourge (SMS) – Mukesh Ambani and Ashim Ghosh. In terms of billing, it has been a great season for our leading cellphone services.

Despite of all the noise and cell phone barrage it was a great Diwali being with Family- the support of ones system. The happiness my mom and dad felt with every member at home after so long was invaluable. These are the moments, which make the D-day also a Diwali-Full of lights and bliss.

Childfree Zones???

Nearly after a decade I will be home for Diwali. Due to the royal hikes in prices of flights I preferred train. The only big problem was, I have to travel for almost 2 days. Little did I know that there was much bigger hitch waiting for me. The train has many facilities, but try as you might, there’s one thing you simply cannot do in this air-conditioned train that zooms from Howrah to Bangalore— sleep through the journey. The lighting seems to be designed to keep you awake. Even if you manage to block its harsh white light by covering your face with a handkerchief, the attendants arrive, attempting to entice you with greasy scoops of samosas/chops and coffee. The food wakes you up all right, but definitely not your taste buds. And when I finally fell asleep despite such gastronomic delights, a piercing cry rent the air. No, it wasn’t a mouse scampering in the ac duct, but an impish (^%$*&^) kid, wriggling on its guardian’s lap. The woman was at her wit’s end. She tried taking her to the bathroom, walked her up and down the aisle, and even took her outside the coach for some fresh air. When nothing worked, she collapsed in exasperation. Unfortunately, next to me. Throwing etiquette to the air ducts, she let out a furious ‘Shhhhhhh....’ “Scold her, scold her,’’ the frustrated guardian egged her on. But the sleepy scribe was no match for the hyperactive tot. When the train finally rolled into Bangalore, I got up, irritated and groggy. And the troublesome tot? Blissfully asleep like an angel on her relieved guardian’s arms. Wasn’t someone speaking of childfree hotels? How about train compartments too?

But Pappu Cant Dance Saala

IT’S a Friday night. It’s been a long, stress-filled week. You head to your fave nightclub that plays your kinda music. You’re seated comfortably, have ordered a drink and are slowly getting into the groove, when the DJ announces — "There’s a ban on dancing, ladies and gentlemen. We could get into trouble if we flout the rules. So please be seated at your tables. The dance floor is closed tonight". This is the scene for party animals, pub owners, BPO crowd, IT fraternity, students, and tourists in Namma Bangalooru. All we want is a nightlife- a nightlife that actually lives up at night, not one that goes to sleep well before the Cinderella hour. All those who venture out with the owls, not just for a drink, but also for a late dinner, some music and some dance agree the 11.30 pm closure deadline is unreasonable, considering the city’s cosmopolitan character. Metros like Pune are open till 12.30 am, though the moral brigade often talks of shutting down joints much earlier. Mumbai’s 1.30 am deadline leaves the city’s party crowd of Celebs and jet setters fretting and fuming. Delhi, reputed to have the best nightlife in the country, has places open till 2 am. Kolkata’s laws prohibit serving liquor after 10.30 pm but that doesn’t stop several bars and restaurants from being open till even 2 am. “We are still one country, so how come the discrimination?” Where's the party tonight? Certainly, not on the dance floors of Bangalore’s discotheques and hotels, thanks to the administration which has cracked the whip on them. Overworked and entertainment-starved Bangaloreans are vociferous in their criticism against the government for infringing upon their right to shake a leg if they chose to. Dancing in discotheques cannot be equated to something abominable; on the contrary, it’s spirited amusement for the young at heart. A city with a bustling nightlife could mean acceptable social practices like shopping, eating, drinking and dancing. The rationale behind the curbs on dancing at discotheques is beyond comprehension. The fundamental rights are defined as basic human freedoms that every Indian citizen has the right to enjoy for a proper and harmonious development of personality. But every time a new government comes to power, it imposes rules that only take us back in time rather than help us move forward. One could argue that smoking and drinking are injurious to health and the only way to stop youth from getting addicted to them is by passing legislations. Agreed. Then, what justifies the ban on dancing ? And these rules are coupled with more laws being proposed by various lobbies in view of their own ideological slant or self-interest. It’s human tendency to rebel when bound by unexplained restrictions. The reason offered out for such rule is to control crime rate and safeguard the citizens from the mishaps at belated hours. Many big cities of the world allow an active nightlife but are by no means unsafe. The authorities ought to realize that Bangalore has a sizeable section of youth, business travelers, tourists and even local citizens who work late into the evening and need some time for relaxation and recreation. Dancing, for that matter, is healthy entertainment and viewed as a stress buster. Such indifference to nightlife would only frustrate citizens who want to have a good night out — be it for shopping, dining or drinking.

Bangalore’s the only city in the country (and probably the world, barring a Taliban-ruled regime) to have dancing banned in nightclubs. Whatever be the ambiguity about the Government Order, the rationale behind the curbs on dancing at discotheques is beyond comprehension. It’s high time the police and the excise department extends the closing time for shopping malls, restaurants and bars/pubs and allow Bangaloreans to shake a leg. Regardless of being vocal about the issue and protests still, pappu can’t dance saala.

Kahaani Hamaaray Mahabharat Ki

Saas-bahus on TV are now having some tough competition from Ram, Krishna and Durga! Yes, the Gods in different avatars have descended and some are on their way. Of course through mythological shows on TV! Clearly mythologies are back with a bang. They were big at one point when I was in my chaddis. Remember the frenzy when Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana started in the late 80’s or sometime later when B R Chopra’s Mahabharata had viewers glued to their Idiot Boxes on Sundays.

Realizing the omnipresence of GOD, recently Kween of soaps "Ekta Kapoor" too has jumped on to the bandwagon and is busy with her mega project Mahabharata err its "Kahaani Hamaaray Mahabharat Ki" (opportunity to insert her lucky "K" in the title). I saw kouple of episodes and realized that my diktionary falls short of rekounting the new series. BR Chopras Mahabharata was much superior than what Ekta is offering us these days with modern technology and the moolah to spend. No doubt that Ekta has spent a good deal on the cast and crew and thanks to Manish Malhotra’s designer attire that everyone is sporting in the series. With Ekta's Mahabharat, once upon a time sari-clad Draupadi, Ganga, Kunti and Gandhari got image makover and are going the glam-way. They seem to be in stiff competition with our drama queen Ms. Rakhi Sawant by wearing the least possible piece of garments (p.s. I am not complaining). As a stand-up comedian points out- "Draupadi ne to aisi-aisi jagah tattoo banaya hai jahan purushon ka dekhna varjit hai". With bhartiya naaris stealing all the raves how can guys take a back seat? Complementing to the divas, our so-called emperors are dressed in long elegant cloaks fastened by brooches and fancy circlets. It feels as if the cast from some B-grade Roman mythology has been transported to the sets of Ekta's Saga. Like in the movie 300, everyone from the infants to oldies are sporting six packs and bulging biceps to suit their macho roles in the period drama. And hey aren’t they supposed to be Emperors, with loads of treasures to suffice for some decent jewellery (I guess adorning with too much of jewellery is middle class). All characters seems like they are clad in rags.

Apart from bizarre dressing there are many other things that would go un-noticed and make one wonder why are we watching this nonsense? If you see lord ganesha in the series, you will go Lot-Pot on the floor. His trunk looks like a hosepipe got on a sale in Big-Bazar. They should have actullay taken the cartoon ganesha from the movie "MY FRIEND GANESHA". It’s an irony that she copy pasted scenes from a commercial Hollywood movie 300. Remember the scene where young “King Leonidas” fights with a wolf in a snowstorm, the same scene has been copy pasted into the series. I wonder if Ekta was into coding earlier or was “inspired” like our dear Anu Malik. She also tried very hard to make the epic hilarious by putting some unwanted ridiculous comic scenes where you would not laugh even if you are paid for unless it’s our Sidhu Paaji. This blog is not just to criticize the efforts of Ekta but also to draw some similarities that we have with Saas-bahu Sagas. Ever thought why Ekta Kapoor chose to recreate Mahabharata of all? If we carefully examine Mahabharata have all the elements of an archetypal saas bahu sagas. It has drama, politics, back-stabbing, reincarnations, rivallary and most importantly tons of extra marital affairs and polygamy. To complement Baa in saas-bahu serials who has seen over 6-7 generations, we have Bheeshma in Mahabharata with “Ichcha Mrityu Vardaan”. Unfortunately with all the elements to get high TRP ratings and women across the country to get glued to the TV on primetime, the entire endeavor so-called Ekta's Mahabharata still remains HAHABHARAT!!

India ko Gold Medal Mil Gaya

Little things make us happy. We are a bit too easy to please! One gold medal at the Olympic Games from worlds 2nd populated country, and we are over the moon. As India enters the 61st year of its independence, it’s important to get a few key perspectives in place. I heard about Abhinav Bindra’s thrilling win from a bedraggled little girl selling tabloids at the traffic lights. It was drizzling, and she was dressed in rags. Her tiny body and saucer eyes made her resemble the archetypal poster girl for poverty. She tapped on the window of my cab and said, ‘‘saab saab.... "India ko gold medal mil gaya.’’ She was shivering as she sold the damp paper to motorists, most of whom shooed her away.

The irony of the moment was hard to miss. While nobody can take away from crorepati Abhinav Bindra’s individual achievement, the image of this emaciated street kid announcing his victory in distant Beijing, was a study in horrifying contrasts. I could see her feet were immersed in puddles of filthy rain water. She could not possibly have known what that medal meant... but she did know it would sell more papers that day. And that made her happy! Amazing, how a complete stranger’s win touches lives on different levels.

For the little girl, those few extra rupees may have translated into an extra dosa/idli at dinner. But for our canny politicians, Bindra’s medal was an opportunity worth milking for their own glory. Take Maharashtra’s chief minister, who magnanimously offered Rs 10 lakh to the gold medalist. Does this rich boy need it? Where does Maharashtra come into the picture? If the CM had Rs 10 lakh to spare and wished to acknowledge Bindra’s victory, why didn’t he put that money into a sports scholarship to benefit promising youngsters? Why offer monetary awards to someone who is a millionaire to begin with? Bindra is a particularly privileged sportsman who was born with a silver spoon, in his mouth. Lucky Bindra. He had what it takes to create a champion — the grit, determination and dough! India merely happens to be the country of his birth and can claim no credit for his impressive win. Bindra rose above and beyond what his country can provide... not only to him, but millions of others. He won despite being an Indian. Isn’t that a really sad acknowledgement of this tattered state of ours?

But the girl at the traffic light proclaiming his victory to motorists does not realise this. She will never get to see the inside of a pucca home. For her, the blue plastic sheets will have to suffice. When she is a little older, her life will change. From selling newspapers, she may end up selling her body. Like so many others who survive on Metro’s mean streets, turning tricks, hustling, peddling drugs. Her bright eyes and cheerful smile will be replaced by a hard, stony expression, a twisted mouth. But chances are she will still be working on the same street, ducking into the back seat of an autorickshaw to satisfy customers looking for a monsoon quickie. Her line, ‘‘India ko gold mil gaya...’’ in such a depressing context, makes me ask, ‘‘Aur aapko kya mila— koila? Ya... woh bhi nahi?’’ Try telling her Mera Bharat Mahan. She may just punch you!

Bollywood Bloggers

BLOGS have become a Bollywood buzzword. And with top actors like Aamir Khan and Amitabh Bachchan becoming active in this sphere, blogs have begun to grab more attention than ever before. We have Aamir Khan writing about how his pet dog Shah Rukh is ‘licking his feet’ and Amitabh boasting about how his Kaun Banega Crorepati ratings compare with King Khan’s Kya Aap Paanchvi Pass Se Tez Hai? While blogging is about being honest with opinions, these actors have stirred things up, with fans divided over the propriety of what the stars are saying. I read a fellow blogger writing, “Aamir, what you have written about SRK is disgusting. I will buy a dog and give your name to it as you deserve it.” Another blogger writes, “Hey Aamir. You put a smile on my face. You sounded cute telling us about your dog Shah Rukh.”

What I feel is this incident showcases Aamir’s insecurity and immaturity as a person. It surprises me that a superstar like Amitabh is also stooping to such levels, writing in a derogatory manner about King Khan or anyone for that matter. It diminishes my respect for them.” “I think it’s a cheap, lame thing to do to get publicity. Abusing a celebrity shows them in a very bad light,”.

While discussing this over a cup of chai with my office folks, some had a different take on this issue. They believe that in no way does this post lower Aamir’s stature as a person. We have so many politically correct people nowadays that it is refreshing to see someone like Aamir and Amitabh speak their mind. They have been brave, If we are supposed to be all nice and polite, why blog at all? What Aamir or Amitabh did was put forth their honest feelings for a million readers. After all its a democratic country and one can speak their own mind.

What ever be the repercussions now the question is what is democracy in true sense and where do we draw a line?

Birthday Bash

10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...and the clock strucks 12! Bang!!! and suddenly I felt as if my butt cracked. It was my roomie and vhellas from A-Block. I turn around and found my friends disguised as bollywood villans who are blood thirsty to kill the bechara hero (me). They came charging one after other with full passion as if they have been possessed by Ronaldo/Matarazzi. I tried to explain: "dude this is not EURO CUP and for heavens sake thats my butt and not the football. bachche ki jaan loge kya???" But nopes... nothing worked. After say a zillion kicks I was put down and they wished me: Happy Birthday! Yes it's 22nd June. My Birthday. While everyone was hugging me and wishing me I was wondering kis kameene ne yeh system start kiya??? Anyways after this mini session there was a small celebration with cakes and coke. And what followed was a series of endless calls from my parents/friends and colleagues whishing me all the luck and success in my life. I laid back (well my butt is numb now...am not feeling a thing) and started thinking of the birthday we used to celebrate back in college days where people were more concentrated on my roomie than me. Yes he was the bakra and everyones "Fav". I felt bad for him (seriously). In college we had our own way of celebration and we had our own rules of B'day Bumps. B'day Boy: Well hez the center of attraction on that day!! This is the day when poor chap wonders why the hell he was born? and he also realizes that he shouldn't have kicked others on their B'day. Bumps ke baad he furiously looks at everyone and delivers a Dharam paaji's dialouge: Kutton... Main ek-ek ko chun-chun ke maroonga tumhaare B'day pe. Room-mate Bumps: Well this is our discovery. The roommate gets bumps coz??? kyonki he is the b'day boys room-mate? As a room-mate you should share your roomies happiness and sorrow. He gets kicked so that later that night both roomies can empathize with each other. B'day boys wish: you might be wondering what the hell is this? Well this is a special gift to the B'day as a consollation prize for getting kicked. The B'day guy can use this power to pick any guy of his choice to be kicked by others. Generally yeh woh hota hai jo sabse jyada b'day boy ko maarta hai. if you cant think whom to pick, dont worry-mera roomie hai na. Universal B'day boy: This is also my roomie (yeah I know my roomie is very famous and everyone "LOOOVES" him). Unanimously, we always pick him. He is the one who gets kicked on everyones b'day. Chalo this year is done and now am facing 30. I remember the "FRIENDS" episode where Rachel turns 30 and everyone is depressed. "Why god??? why are doing this to me??? I guess god has his own dark sense of humor.

someday when my life has passed by me
I lay around and wonder why you were always there for me
As a gust of virgin winds your pastel passions came
leaving your desperate spell on me, left me dumb and lame.
you set my soul at ease and chased darkness out of view
lonely and left out all through my youth, I was alone.
you took me by hand and led on.
I looked at you yearningly as I watched a flower come out of life
in the dead mans chamber
Now, look at the desert of the night
sending out signals from one heart to the other and even now, 
at this hour of night when the moon has eclipsed the sun
I have kept the desert awake
For you, to feel the moon beams
and to see you bathing in the open
under the moonlight and your mad poet with you
Let the world watch, 
how right we are for all and one to see, 
come and pour all your kisses
left long undone in those burnt out eyes
let the civilized people on the street be stun
tear away those unknotted bonds and... tell you, 
I am the one for whom you have been yearning for all these years...
come, lets step out of this civilization 
which hasnt known the strength of our wings.

Live Freely

Here I sit at work, bored and alone

it's times like these I could use a clone.

I'd be off to the ocean or some place warm

not looking back or thinking of home.

I'd find me a tall palm tree, and sit at it's trunk

with a drink in my hand.... trying to get drunk.

I'd sip the day away in the warm tropical sun

and get up occasionally for a bit of carribean fun.

I'd roam the island on my white stud of a horse

not forgetting to take my tall, foofy drink, of course.

I'd gallop the ocean side and kick up some sand,

then trot toward the sound of a steel drum band.

I'd be dancing the night away with some local girl

twisting and spinning... and trying not to hurl.

When the night is over I'd nest a place on the beach

feel the sea mist in my hair and taste the salt on my teeth.

What a dream come true, if at least just for me,

To feel really alive and living so free.

आज का भारत

जब कब्र में भी बच्चे भूख से दूध दूध चिल्लाते हैं,
माँ की हड्डी से चिपक ठिठुर जाडों की रात बिताते हैं,
कालदूत जब अकाल बन धरती को खा जाता है,
मुठ्ठी भर अनाज के लिए जब मार-काट हो जाता है,

जिस्म चीर जब सूखी हड्डियां भूख की दास्तान सुनाती है,
मौत भी जब इंसान के लिए वरदान सी बन जाती है,
एक बूँद दवा जब खून से सौदा करने लगती है,
रोते-रोते जब नम आँखें भी मरुभूमि बनने लगती है,

युवती की लज्जा-शर्म बेच, जब ब्याज चुकाए जाते हैं,
चांदी के कुछ सिक्कों तले उनकी आवाज़ चींखती पुकारती दब जाती है।
प्यालों में डूब जब रिश्ते-नाते भुला दिए जाते हैं,
बीवी की जगह तब बेटियों से प्यास भुझाये जातें हैं।

तन पे एक सूती डोर चढ़ जाए ये सोच, जब अबला हाथ उठाती है,
वासना की वह अनंत भूख, क्षण-भर में उन्हें खा जाती है।
बहनों की इज्ज़त जब सरे बाज़ार लुट जाती है,
सारे भाई सर झुकाए तमाशा देख रह जाते हैं।

फुटपाथों पे खड़े जब प्रजातंत्र ने दी सभ्यता को पुकार,
मुह छुपाये सभ्यता भाग पड़ी, चींखती पुकारती करती हाहाकार। 
शर्म से शरमाकर जब संस्कृति छोड़ जाए समाज का दामन,
पापी महलों का आँगन तब देता मुझको आमंत्रण। 

माफिया के नेताओं ने मचाई लूट अपहरण क्लेश,
हाथ दलालों के बिका गांधी तेरा देश।
कहीं गरीबी भुकमरी, कहीं पे हाहाकार,
संशय घर कहीं मिले खुशियों के त्यौहार।

जो लोग बजाते रह गए प्रजातंत्र की ढोल,
उनकी भाषा को नही मिले यहाँ पर बोल। 
देवलोक में कैद है सुख सुविधा के मन्त्र,
सड़क किनारे पड़ा हुआ है भूखा एक जनतंत्र। 
यह इंसानों की खुशियाँ स्वर्गलोक में छिपाए जाते हैं,
हटो वियोग के मेघ पंथ से, स्वर्ग लूटने हम आतें हैं॥

The long hard way

I’m not a star, 
There’s no halo over my head. 
Rather, am a defeated person, 
With the abyss of darkness all my way.
Fate doesn’t like the color of my eyes. 
Struggle and strife are old friends of mine, 
I like odds, Especially when they are stacked against me. 
Because there will be a day, 
When I’ll be at zenith And stare them in the eye. 
I know the more I sweat More will I shine… 
I’ll survive the sinking Titanics And ruined Hiroshimas. 
I’ll emerge like a phoenix from my ashes. 
I’m the guy who will have Courtyard of success at my doorstep someday 
And that is the day, When I’ll fear no fear And will taste the sweat that is sweet. 
And then… Look back for the first time And say… 
I did it my way. The long hard way.

Melancholy Strain

While traveling in the shady haunt Among the Arabian sands
Far from the tumultuous world Lonely, in my dreamland. 
Suddenly in that solitude, Where no nightingale did ever chant 
I heard somebody singing a melancholy strain 
Breaking the silence of the seas. 
The maiden sang and sang and sang… 
As if her song could have no ending. 
I listened motionless and still 
As I mounted up a hill 
And was about to accompany her 
I was suddenly pulled down 
By that unpleasant alarm. 
The music, which in my heart I bore 
Was heard no more. 
Oh! How fleet is the glance of mind 
Compared to the speed of light. 
The tempest itself lags behind. 
I saw the start of another boring a routined morning. 
The day begin with full enthusiasm 
To crucify me with that heavy school bag 
Those typical formulas, equations and chemical formulas. 
Forgetting that ephemeral dream 
I awoke to suffer the pangs of my existence.

गीतांजलि

मेरे इस काव्य की प्रेरणा हो तुम, 
मेरे लघु जीवन की आराधना हो तुम, 
मेरे मन में बसे चित्र की कल्पना हो तुम, 
एक खूबसूरत सपना ही सही, मेरा अपना हो तुम। 

 चुपके से तुम ख्यालों में आती हो, 
दिल में हलचल मचा कर कहीं लुप्त हो जाती हो, 
यह ज्ञात नही मुझको तुम फूल हो या कलि, 
फिर भी तुम्ही को अंकित है यह मेरी गीतांजलि। 

 आशा ही नही यह प्रबल विश्वास है मेरा, 
स्वीकार कर इस काव्य को सफल करोगी जन्म मेरा, 
बहुत सता चुकी हो अब तो प्रत्यक्ष हो जाओ, 
मेरे अब तक के तप का कुछ तो फल देती जाओ॥