Thursday, November 27, 2014

Of Legends

Our undergrad college receives student from all over India with multitude of backgrounds and temperaments. Amidst this sea of freshers entering every year, sometimes, may be a once in a decade, someone goes on becoming a legend, legend for seniors, juniors, teachers, lab assistants, and even for guards on the gate. They may themselves fade into oblivion after graduating (if they manage to) but their stories refuse to die, they become folklore, and they are told and listened for many more generations to come, as if their memories are etched in the walls of hostels, classes, canteen and shops near campus.

One of such legend happened to dignify our batch, his name was Dev Kumar Singh (name changed), we used to call him DKS. He used to carry a serious look on his face and walk at fast pace in corridors of campus and hostel. Anyone observing him can assume that studies are taking a toll on him, and he is in hurry, because that are lot many chapters to cover and lot of assignments to finish. This belief held true, until of course someone started to get to know him a little better!

In the second year in one of our subjects, we had to prepare PowerPoint presentation for a seminar on some serious global issue. It was going to be first such presentation for most of the batch. And without question we were all thrilled and nervous, most of us had never spoken in front of an audience before. But DKS was smiling and grinning, “ho jayega”, he said. When the day of presentation came, the seminar room was filled with people, professors and students. Everyone started sharing their slides, some were too nervous to look at the audience, some of them barely audible, some started reading directly from little paper chits they were carrying, without any expression! It was June and room was filled with drowsy hot air. Then came the turn of DKS, his name was called but he was nowhere to be found. We became worried that if he skips this presentation, he will get a back in the subject. Suddenly there was a creak at the corner of the door, a guy came running, panting his breath out, it was DKS; everyone took a sigh of relief. DKS inserted a floppy drive in the computer and greeted the audience cheerfully. “Good afternoon everyone, today I will give a presentation on global health care system”, he went ahead and opened the floppy drive, and clicked the .ppt file. It refused to open, he became nervous and clicked it multiple times, suddenly an error message popped, saying file unsupported. He looked tensed, some of us went ahead to help him out, we tried to open the file several times, but of no avail. Finally he apologized and went back to the last seat. Back in those days, a computer or floppy drive misbehaving was not uncommon. He later sent some presentation to the evaluator, (which I doubt was even opened) and passed in the subject.  Then one day while sipping tea at canteen, he altered his serious look and revealed, “Bhai main to image file ko dot ppt ke naam se save karke le gaya tha!” (I saved an image file as dot ppt and took it with me).  

It is said that empty mind is devil’s workshop. Keeping away from academics, DKS caught in the habit of drinking, firstly he used to manage with cheap liquor, but later he developed a taste for cough syrup.  One could see several empty bottles of syrup lying in his room. It was December and exams were approaching, lack of sleep combined with fog, turned students into zombies. Then one chilly morning there was lot of hue and cry in the hostel, someone entered the room of DKS and saw him frothing at the mouth. Quickly doctor was called; he was given saline and some medication and told to rest. He is out of danger, but keep an eye on him, doctor said.  

By this time, most of the faculty was standing near the door of his room. DKS had tried to commit suicide, it was rumored. Not everyone is equipped with right resources to cope with stresses of life, be it exam or otherwise. When the professor came, he was told not to worry for the exam, “just do your best son, we will take care of the rest”, one of the most difficult professors told him. He appeared to be the most concerned, as if secretly blaming himself for the incidence. When it comes to life and death, even the toughest of souls melt away; we saw it happen in front of us. We formed a group, and each group was to keep a watch on him night and day. Next day, while watching Mr. DKS, one of our friends found an empty bottle of Dettol in his room. Upon questioning, DKS enlightened us, “I was running short on funds, I had to drink something to beat the cold. The lab assistant had told me that this Dettol also contains   alcohol, so I drank it and started frothing, but thanks to my stars, I will now pass in exams without much effort!”

All said and done, DKS was a handsome looking chap. Tall, fair and thinly built, with a mole in his cheek. He knew his way around and knew how to cash in the brand of college. Flashing the college tag, he got the job to teach a young female IIT JEE aspirant. We were amused but relieved that he found some worthwhile engagement. But what came afterwards was no surprise; DKS went missing from the hostel for couple of days. The mother of the female student came looking for him in the hostel hurling volley of expletives. Apparently DKS was great with her in bed until she saw him in underwear in her daughter’s room!

By the time DKS was in final year, everyone in the Institute knew him. All the professors wanted him to pass and go away from the college. They could not fail him, and risk one more year of their life, struggling to teach this student, only to end up pulling their own hair in frustration. Staff of the college, who had young daughters, was also tired of keeping a watchful eye, lest anything goes wrong. But it was the students who loved him, for his nonchalance and carefree attitude. He became a legend and today we might not know his whereabouts, but his stories are still sung, when the power goes off in the campus.

Monday, December 16, 2013

A journey by local

Today is Friday, the last working day of week. And like most of the people, I wait for this day, because weekend doesn’t seem far, because booze and party is all I live for. As the clock ticks past 6.30, I pack my bags, shut down my system and jump out from my seat. Finally, I think, it’s time to leave. I catch a local and get down at Mumbai Central. I have to see off my mother, who is returning back to our hometown by train after a month’s stay in Mumbai.
You can hate it, despise it or love it, but being in Mumbai, Mumbai local (the train) becomes part of your daily life. If you stay far from your office, there is no getting away from it, even if you own a vehicle and don’t want to get stuck in mind numbing traffic in the morning and evening. The grumpy people, frustrated from their work, hustle for space to put their feet on the floor and to stand straight. At rush hours, trains are so much packed that the air inside the compartment re-circulates within itself. Smell of sweat, bad breath, tobacco, flatulence, all gets mixed and become one powerful cocktail, indicating the unity within diversity of our country.
After biding adieu to my mother, I wait at the platform to catch a local back to my home. It’s peak of rush hour and locals are running late, I expect one hell of a ride, but had no idea what was in store for me. After a long wait, one fast local arrives and people jump on it, I also get pushed inside the compartment which is already packed.  As the train leaves and I regain my composure and realize that I am standing against a beautiful girl and her male friend. A girl travelling in peak hour in non-ladies compartment is a rare occurrence, for obvious reasons. There is no dearth of men who will look for opportunities to brush their body against her, to get momentary pleasure. Couple of men are already ogling at her. I feel sorry for her; she shouldn’t have boarded this train. His male friend is talking loudly over the phone in a very fake English accent, “ya...sooo ye dow one theing, mayke a reservaytion fo twyo o’ us...” Disgusting, I think. I need to get away from here and block his accent hitting my eardrums. I move ahead to a corner, little far for them and take out my noise isolating earphones. Playing Amy Winehouse and swiping candies in the game of candy crush. This solves my problem; I block my senses, ear and eyes from outside noise. I believe, earphones are one of the best inventions of mankind so far. In fact this is how everyone survives the local journey, by blocking their surroundings. If you will notice, some are deep engrossed in novels, some are standing with their eyes closed, humming a song. Everyone tries his best to get away from this realm of reality for sixty odd minutes.
The local halts again, it is Dadar, more people get in and hardly anyone gets out. I feel someone pushing against my back and butt, but I ignore it, what choice have I got. “Mumbai local is gay men paradise” one of my friends used to joke. The train picks up speed and people sway back and forth. The person behind me collides with me a couple of times, I can’t see him, and neither do I want to, but I can feel the warmth of a body pressed against mine. I try to ignore it and engage myself on my phone, playing Candy Crush. The local again halts at Bandra, and just when I think the crowd will ease a bit, lot more people get inside. I get further pressed in the crowd. I can now fell the pressure on my butt, my knee and my back.  I am now pressed tightly against a body; I can even feel the sweat of other person on my shirt. As the train picks up speed, I feel a thigh swaying against my knee and butt rubbing against mine. No matter how the build of a person, butts are always soft. I am now experiencing a kind of body to body massage, like the ones they give you in Pattaya , only 10 times more intense! Damn, I try to ignore it again, but whoever this is, is either enjoying it or completely oblivious of sensations of touch. I prefer to believe in the later. The train jolts again, Andheri is coming. The person behind me collides with me again, this time almost falling. Enough of it, I think, I have been victim of this seducer for more than half an hour and glance backward to face the unknown lecher.
Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then she looks away. It’s the same girl accompanying the ‘fake accented’ person. After a brief pause, she says in a sweet voice, “Can you move over a bit, I need to get down”. Dumbfounded, I comply like a robot, all the while wondering in disbelief. I watch her get down at Andheri, for the first time, realizing how beautiful she is. She looks back at me, our eyes meet again and she smiles. Too confused to react, I manage to pass a feeble smile. I couldn't believe it was a girl all this time!
I pack my headphones; put back my phone in the pocket and kept thinking about the incidence for the rest of the journey. When I get down at Goregaon, intuitively I put my hands at my back pocket. Wallet! My wallet! I cried, where is my wallet? In a flash, the brief episode of seduction struck me. Bitch.....did she steal it?
I always keep some money in my bag for such crisis situation. I take an auto to the nearest police station; I have to file an FIR, all my credit cards, PAN card etc. was in there. I can’t believe that bitch was stealing my wallet. As I get down from auto and open my bag to take out the money, I see my wallet lying inside my bag, looking at me and laughing. Now I remember, I had put it inside the bag after buying a platform ticket, I smile back.
Sigh! I should have asked her phone number.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Khushiyon Ki Home Delivery


I never knew that happiness can be so easily bought, so easily available, over the counter thingy!



-If you are hungry: order a pizza and it'll be “khusiyon ki home delivery”
-Go buy a packet of Good Day to bring “khushiyon ke ghar me khushiyaan”
-Drink a cuppa bru coffee because "Bru se hoti hain khushiyaan shuru"
-Even if its mosquito bite, buy a refill of Good Knight and "push karo khush raho"

My sincere thanks to all the marketers for overwhelming my life with so much of khushiyaan, I feel thrilled and humbled at the same time. Actually, I am now planning to do away with mediocre things like, my mother's recepie of 'bharwan karela', the mosquito net my father gave me, when i first left home (I had still preserved it!).

It takes effort and patience to prepare bharwan karela, but when the same amount of happiness can be home delivered by a pizza of 200 Rs, to koi ye kyon le, wo na le!! After all, I am an up market, high disposable income brat (at least I am led to believe so), I can spare with few thousand bucks on things which bring me happiness.

I am also planning to send few of these goodies back home to my parents, poor them, they never had such an easy affordability of happiness, back in their youth!

I would go one step ahead; I think these goodies can be the panache to the depression, hopelessness ridden third world nations, including India. These biscuit, pizza and coffee should be made part of public distribution system.
After all it’s the government’s responsibility to take care of its people, to give them hope, so that they continue have faith in government than Anna Hazare

Isn't it a novel idea, you send a cargo of Good Day to Japan, and people forget their miseries, distribute Dominos in conflict zones in Africa and people learn to live in peace. Drop bags of Sanitary Napkins in Taliban so that women can "Have a happy period", if not more...

And guess what’s next….”Khshiyon ki chabbi!”


Have a happy reading :)

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Arz kiya hai...


ख्वाइश है फिर से तेरे दीदार की,
तौबा की है मैंने मयखाने से....
पीने से नहीं

Wrote while travelling in mumbai local!

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Uncle and his Dog


II was born in a small city, and my dad built a house near to that of our other relatives. So I had a good of company of cousins to play with. Every day after coming back from school, I would throw away my books and shoes and will run to play. We played all sorts of games, some learnt in school and some of them just invented. The best days were summer holidays for which we would desperately wait our exams to finish. It was the time to savour the half cooked pickles and to play with the seeds of tamarind. But along with this boon also came a bane and while I reflect back on my childhood, I cannot help but tell you about him.

We had an elderly uncle who lived not very far. He used to visit us once or twice a week. And those were the days of nightmare. All the children, not only my cousins but even in the locality will hide out lest he or she could be caught prey. But our uncle was even smarter; he never followed a set routine and believed in giving surprise visits. Once in a house, he would blatantly summon the children in the house. He would then sit there for the rest of the day, interviewing them for hours, asking all the unnecessary questions and giving free suggestions (I bet, facing a job interview is lot easier!). Some of the children would fall ill after that. It was a sort of gas chamber for us. I believe he drew some kind of sadistic pleasure from it. After he left, kids would pray to god to save them from this torture.

My uncle liked keeping pets, and used to have a white little fur dog whose face incidentally resembled his own. He kept it unkempt and unwashed, tied alone in a bleak corner of his garage. Poor dog, we used to think! But as it is said, ‘every dog has his day’, one night, when it was raining outside and it was dark as hell; it bit his master. That week, uncle didn’t come. Viola! we thought, the goliath got his due. After this incident his visits became irregular, his appearance increasingly matching his dog. He would not take bath for days and would chase the cats. In the family gatherings, he would bark at anyone and everyone. Some people attributed it to his senility. Interestingly, he was not even aware that his dog has got better of his persona. He now self appointed himself as a janitor of families. Now the curse of the children was shared by all, as no one had the nerve to do anything about it. The days simply passed by and his infirmity only increased.

One fine morning, when he was surrounded by street dogs, the dog catchers got hold of him and sent him to some remote place. After that we never heard of him.

[The last part is how I wanted the story to end, but sadly the status quo continues!]

Friday, October 2, 2009

Blindfolded








Like a lonely bird waiting for the dawn

Darkness and silence hunting me down

I wandered aimlessly in a sea of clown


Someone stroked me and made my day

The not so dear ones pushed me away

In the midst of all I tried to find a way


Had the feelings of pleasure and pain

Suddenly I realized that all this in vain

And this revelation calmed down my mind

Coz whoever I stumbled on, was also blind

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Vastu: The Co(s)mic Science

Last year my cousin was planning to purchase a house in Hyderabad. The house was being constructed in a very posh locality, near Hi tech city. Hi tech city boasts large number of IT firms, second only to Bangalore. As expected, people who where purchasing homes in that locality were highly educated elite class, holding excellent positions in the technology firms.

But a strange incident happened during the construction phase (which is why I am writing this blog). My cousin, being an architect, tried to tweak the design of the house, to improve the structure and convenience. But to his surprise, the labourers refused to follow his instructions! Shocked, he approached the building contractor, who advised not to go ahead with his changes as this will violate the ‘vastu’ of the building!

The ‘vastu’ specifies the distribution of rooms in building in accordance to directions (like bathroom should be in east), size alignment etc. For example, it specifies that if the room’s dimension is 15 feet, a death will occur in resident’s family! Later on enquiring he found that almost all the houses in Hyderabad: bungalow or hut is now made according to vastu, even at the cost of discomfort of the people living inside, for the rest of their lives, or at the cost of disfiguring the interiors. House, if any, which is not built according to vastu, is sold at a discount, to charge the penalty of non-conformance!

The interesting thing to note is that ‘vastu’ is a concept re-introduced in recent decades. It is marketed as a ‘restoration of tradition in modern society’. The vastu gurus were able to revive their fortunes with this gimmick. The VPs and the illiterates alike, religiously follow the herd because nobody wants to die early!!

Friday, July 24, 2009

The Salvation Army

Mangu Oraon lives in village called Potka, 150 Kms from the city in East Singhbhum district, Jharkhand. Potka has not seen any development since independence. Not long ago it was surrounded by forests, a small seasonal rivulet passed through the village which became spirited with the onset of monsoon. Mangu and his brother learned to collect forest produce from his father. In the monsoon they use to sow dhaan (paddy) in the fields.

But with the passage of time things have changed, not particularly in the villagers favour. The forests have shrunk to one fourth of its size, thanks to the illegal cutting of wood. Whatever is left is now occupied by Naxals. The rivulet water has also turned grey with the setting up of an upstream cement industry, he can’t use its water for irrigation anymore. All the above incidents has pushed him and his family to the brink of starving. People of Potka, men and women alike, have migrated to areas of Delhi, Punjab and even Kerala as contract labourers. But somehow Mangu cannot deal with the idea of leaving his ancestral land and moving somewhere else. His uncle tells that their forefathers’ spirit resides in the village.

After a long wait, his patience bore fruit. He knew that the spirits are there to help him in this troubled times, in whatever form. The missionaries from Ranchi have arrived in the Potka. They are offering 2 kilos of rice, free clothes and 500 Rs for converting each person to Christianity. He got this news from his brother, who is already a Christian now. After an initial resistance, his wife has also agreed to change her religion. With two of their children and one sister, its five of them to convert. They can now have enough money and food to survive for one year, may be more. It would have been better, if I had more kids, Mangu thinks. Meanwhile his sister is considering becoming a nun, the father (Priest) has told her that she should join the missionaries, with free food and lodging, what else she may ask for! Truly they are the messengers of God that have arrived in the village.

Almost half of the adivasis of the Potka are now converted Christian. A church is being built in the village. The ignorant villagers are being taught about the life of Jesus, his miracles and rebirth. They are also taught about Bible. Mangu doesn’t seem to draw much sense out of it. His children however love the cake that the priest distributes after the Sunday Mass.

Far off in the city of Ranchi, things move at a faster pace. The elections results are declared; NDA has got a majority and is forming a government. However Mangu is unaware of these happenings and his immediate concern is survival of his family. A year has passed since their conversion and they are now running out of ration.

But truly the spirits have mysterious ways of helping him. A group of activists from VHP and Bajrang-dal have arrived in the Potka. They are offering free dhotis and 1000Rs for reconversion of Christen adivasis. Mangu again wishes that he had more children!

(All the names/characters are fictitious but their resemblance to any living human being/situation is purposeful)

Note:
The budget of church to operate global Christianity, runs around 150 billion dollars!!! It has a quarter million foreign missionaries, over 400 institutions to train them. In India, during the last 30 years the Catholic population has increased by nine folds. In three out of the seven Sister States, Christians now constitute the majority - Mizoram 85 per cent, Nagaland 82 per cent, Meghalaya 55 per cent.

(Source of data: www.hindu.com)

Friday, July 17, 2009

The Consumed Lord


Let me begin by asking a simple question: Why do we visit temples? To remember god, to ask for forgiveness or to clear our conscience. Whatever be the answer to above question, the rituals we perform remains more or less the same. It begins with a ‘thali’ with offering of sweets and ends with giving dakshina to the pundit/brahman.

The value of offering improves along with the grandeur of temple. You may not be offering the same local halwa or 10Rs note when you go to Tirupati, isn’t it? After all we travel this far not to offend the lord. But one may not be consciously aware that there lies a great business in it, behind the scenes, of a mammoth proportion!

The turnover at Tirupati Balaji easily crosses a whopping INR 500 Crores each year. Following are the approx. figures:

The temple also has 5 tonne gold reserve! (Note that this is only the reported figure).

All this money doesn’t come that easily; everybody has to work hard, including lord himself. And god has his own ways of rewarding his pupils. If you are willing to sacrifice more from your wallet (say around 10,000 Rs), then you can get into VIP line, where you don’t have to wait much, you get a chance to get close to your almighty and also get more time for the darshana… see how generous the god is!

There are other lucrative schemes also:

-Pay Rs 1 lakh and get a chance for darshan for 2 days a year for 20 years for six people

-Pay Rs 50,000 and get a chance for darshan for 2 days a year for 10 years for six people


The lesser mortals who are unwilling to part with their money (for whatever reasons) get to wait for as long as 12 hrs, the darshana lasts for meagre 2 seconds…as you sow so you reap, rightly said!!!

The temple administration (TTD) has devised novel ways to improve the reach of the lord; the sinned souls can now donate the money online through their Citibank credit cards, get rid of the sin and sleep in peace.

The god himself works from 3am in the morning till 1 am (22 hrs, and he gets no holiday!), the doors of temple are closed for pilgrimage only for two hours (and we cry foul of our long working hours!), during which god sleeps in velvet mattress, suspended by gold chain. Of course the pilgrims outside sleep under the open sky, on the floor...because pain purifies their soul!

May the god keep bestowing his kindness and forgiveness to us poor humans, may his temple stand erect till eternity, relieving us from the burden of felony, but wait…in which temple should I pray for it?

(Sources of data: www.hindu.com, www.tirumala.org )

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Don't Compare...

Since the evolution man has tried his best to understand the nature around him, to make sense out of everything. Comparing things with one another formed an easy way to comprehend the matter. But we as Indians seem to far more specialize in it. Comparing forms an essential activity of our daily life, so much so that it forms an axle around which our life revolves.

The educational system in India has a great contribution in it; we take a sense of pride in ranks. Children get ranks in schools; parents push their children to get good rank, because good grades are not enough. Newspapers publish rankers in state and national exams each year; how many of them later become successful in life is a different matter! But the best part is that the schools and educational institutions are now themselves being ranked against one another. The devil has started eating itself!!

Ranking or comparing is not bad in itself. It becomes grave when we start comparing what we should not. We compare ourselves with our friends and peers; we compare our salary, our work and designation, our house and car and we don’t even spare our spouse and children. This is when misery arrives.

Each one of us, each of the things around us is different and special in its own way, comparing reduces the importance and uniqueness of it; it kills the spirit of matter.