Diligent Wanderings

Never forget

2011-08-21T19:47:00.000+05:30

Never forget what is important.

It is easy to.

It is just as easy not to. May be, even easier? It is not so difficult to think of what is important and keep it in mind; not so difficult to recognise what is not and keep it out of the way; not when you do it from time to time.

Shamanth,
21st August, 2011.

Each time

2011-08-17T18:06:00.003+05:30

Never stop;

especially when tempted to.

The joy it brings is one of pride, satisfaction and an immense sense of relief for having gone on, for not having given up.

Shamanth.

August 17th, 2011.

My Self

2011-08-16T11:52:00.002+05:30

I am so awkward with people sometimes.

Well, it doesn't really matter.

What matters is what I tell myself - that I listen to myself; that I be myself.

Shamanth.
August 6th, 2011.

Growing up

2011-08-10T15:35:00.000+05:30

Just like being lied to is a huge part of growing up, isn't lying a huge part of being a grown-up?

Shamanth,

10th August, 2011.

Stand

2011-07-09T00:42:00.000+05:30

Dreams, Desires, Faith, Thought, Action, Perseverance, Hope, Resilience;

An entire artillery.

One tender heart.

Pretty Pink

2011-03-11T11:34:00.000+05:30

Finish a good breakfast - ond upittu, ond coffee (strongu). Hurriedly, start for the bus stop.

Spot a newspaper stall amidst the morning rush.

Be reminded of the talk you have had with your father every other night of the last several weeks, and of your employment status - 'Recent Graduate (May 2009) actively seeking an Entry Level Position'.

The profile of a graduate unemployed for over eighteen months after finishing school is not recent enough for most companies to consider it suitable for an 'Entry Level' position. Nor does it qualify for a 'Senior' position for the lack of experience such a position demands.

May 2009 was over twelve months ago.

'Seeking an Entry Level Position' has been the status of your self since.

'Worried about him' has been the status of your father since.

Deliberate his suggestion one more time. Unlike you, he did not have the internet to search for vacancies when he was a 'Recent Graduate (May 1980) actively looking for an Entry Level Position'. With great reluctance, walk to the stall.

Ask for Employment News. It's your first time buying it. Curiously scan the items he has on display but fail to spot it. Watch him attend to others before he acknowledges your enquiry and disappears into the main shop behind the stall. A few moments later, watch him emerge with a thick bundle of papers, folded in his hands.

Ask him the price.

9 Rupees.

It is a weekly issue - priced almost twice as much as you expect a daily to be. Trade for it a ten-rupee note. Hold it outstretched, to take a look at the front page while waiting for him to return the change.

Gasp! before you are paralysed.

The blow, immense in power, is dealt at the centre of your guts.

A moment later, gather your shattered senses.

Close your eyes as you shake your head and scream out to the world -

Why. . .?

Why is it PINK?

The front page. . .

Why?

Just . . . why?

Only, no one hears you.

May be it is soft on the soul - the colour. Soothing, perhaps.

May be it is the government's way of pacifying its unemployed citizens - telling them not to worry. That it will be all right. That they will all find a job soon. That it will all be okay. Soon.

Pretty pink soon?

May be. Just. . . may be.

Pure Irony

2010-08-29T12:41:00.000+05:30

Alone in the house, walk into a room,

a table with a writing pad on it; a pen lying across.

the clean, crisp page – untouched; blank and spotless – inviting.

the heart craves expression – pristine and unrestrained;

handicapped by form though, expression fails the heart upon a single touch.

Shamanth.

And they said. . .

2010-05-07T12:29:00.000+05:30

Sometimes, words are just not enough. But for what they are worth, I'll always be grateful to them. And of course, to the people they belong to -

It is the natural progression of things. You are either happy with what you have or you strive for something more, better, and the key point is that you, living your life, happens somewhere in that striving. I mean it surely sucks in the present tense, but that's not a reason that your future tense should suck too. Because if you are not doing anything worthwhile in your present limited tick-tocking time then you definitely have a reason to mope around.

- Rohit Tenpe

You're the only one who really cares.

- Chetan Kale

Never forget what you once believed in, even if you don't anymore - it is what helped you make your choices, when you did believe it.

- Adwait Paranjpe

A day when we wake up from our dreams, realizing that life has become an upside down tumbler with us trapped inside... we search for ways outside... a small crevice enough to gasp in a lungful of air, the primordial factor of sustenance...

- Pankaj Shivarama

Take care, stick around. The world is too full of mediocrity, and it takes a lot to keep going.

- Chinmayee Hiremath

There is always a point from where it begins but it is totally upon you when and where you'll end it. 'It' being everything.

- Diwakar Sinha

Enjoy while it lasts, and weep not when its gone.

- Mikimbizi

When we do what we love we don't even mind losing, just the satisfaction of being alive for a while is enough.

- Atrisa

No one has it all figured out. No one. If it seems like they do, they are doing a fantastic job of covering it all up. And you are doing a fantastic job of buying what they are selling.

- Tapan Hoskeri

Life is all about questions: why and why not?

- Vaishnavi

Essence remains the same, expression varies.

- Meghana Naidu

For the love of it

2010-03-27T12:21:00.000+05:30

I was so caught up with running towards something that I had forgotten how much I love running.

Running towards something means desperately racing against time, filling my head and chest with an increasingly throbbing pain; unlike the joy of running for the love of it which fills my heart with a strong, thumping energy that makes me want to go even faster with every push.

Shamanth,

26th March, 2010

Have pun

2010-03-22T23:31:00.000+05:30

What is the one thing you wouldn't have to worry about when stranded on a deserted island?

"Going" anywhere.

Shamanth,
22nd March, 2010.

Not a joke

2010-03-18T21:45:00.000+05:30

What is more painful than suppressing a laughter?

Faking one.

Shamanth,
18th March, 2010.

What it takes

2010-03-08T05:55:00.000+05:30

Being there is all it takes.

Being there is what it takes.

Shamanth.

What you want

2010-03-05T03:52:00.000+05:30

Do what you want to. You are not a character from a book. You are what you are. You are everything that your name brings to your mind. Don’t live your ideals for the sake of the ideals. You don’t need the approval of your ideals. Don’t seek from them what they can never provide you. They are but what you believe in. Live them only if and when you want to. Bend them, if and when you want to. Break them, if and when you want to. But believe in them when you do.

Not knowing what you want might make you lesser of a man that you are. However, the one thing that certainly makes you even lesser of a man that you are is not working towards what you know you want. Nothing else matters. Fight the world if you have to. Join the world if you have to. But do what you know you have to do in order to get what you want. Anything less is a compromise, precisely, of the man that you are.

Shamanth,

4th March, 2010.

A lot

2010-03-05T03:01:00.000+05:30

It takes a lot to have a place of your own in a place of your own.

A lot.

Shamanth,
4th March, 2010.

My two C's

2010-02-26T02:37:00.000+05:30

The power of choice over chance is that I can always choose to take it or leave it.

Shamanth,
25th February.

Have fun

2010-02-17T05:11:00.000+05:30

Where's the fun (in)sanity?

Shamanth,
16th February, 2010.

Strive

2010-02-14T09:11:00.000+05:30

When you can tell your reality from your ideals, you know you are living somewhere in between.

Shamanth,
13th February, 2010.

Take care

2010-02-11T10:21:00.000+05:30

The world can sometimes turn out to be a sick place. Half the battle is won if you can stop it from infecting your mind.

Shamanth,
10th February, 2010.

To Be

2010-02-09T00:50:00.000+05:30

Learn from the past.
Think of the future.
Live the present.

Shamanth,
8th February, 2010.

So you shall

2010-02-08T07:54:00.000+05:30

Some underestimate you, some overestimate you;
You shall disprove some.

Shamanth,
7th February, 2010.

Trust me

2010-02-05T01:55:00.000+05:30

Kill the timing, and it shall avenge in kind.

Shamanth,
4th February, 2010.

Unspoken

2010-02-02T08:30:00.000+05:30

Every word not spoken,

is the closest to my heart.

Shamanth,
1st February, 2010.

Regret's never enough

2010-01-16T13:20:00.000+05:30

Choosing fear over regret. . .
Because once I learn to handle fear, I'll never regret it.

Never.

Shamanth,
15th January, 2009.

Naturally

2010-01-06T09:34:00.000+05:30

Excellence knows no mercy ineptitude seeks.

Brilliance sees no shadow ignorance casts.

Genius has no excuse foolishness offers.

mind clutter

2010-01-01T06:27:00.000+05:30

thought flutters,
ruffles rest,
chaos ensues,
disorder reigns;

thoughts battle,
for attention,
each in lieu
of a solution;

mind freezes
sinks a chasm,
receding steps,
hit the bottom;

beaten, the violence,
steady, it grows,
hushing the thoughts
in silent throes;

settling down,
gather around,
approaching mind
slow, but sound;

make a choice,
pick a kind,
please a thought, but
at a time.

Shamanth,
31st December, 2009.

to live them

2009-12-30T09:21:00.000+05:30

moments

so lovely,

last for

an eternity,

if only

as memories;

Shamanth,
29th December, 2009.

Those Eyes

2009-12-20T10:52:00.000+05:30

And she closed her eyes.

Those eyes, when they looked at his, spoke so fervently. They spoke of love, of longing, of care, of reproach and of forgiveness. They spoke a thousand languages and showed a thousand places. But they never stopped there. They urged his to speak as well. They would listen intently and once in a while flit furtively, just a little, as if searching for that which was left unheard by his consciousness, untouched by his conscience and untold by his eyes.

But now, she closed those eyes, leaving his bereft of everything they ever sought, and much more. Now, shut close, they refused to speak; of what it was that thrived in them; of what it was they sought in his. Like a lovely book sealed shut, yet woeful for not being read, beneath the delicate lids, they trembled unbearably and drove his wild with despair.

If only,

they could speak silence.

I, Insomniac

2009-12-16T08:31:00.000+05:30

I share a love-hate relationship with Sleep.
During the day it is deeply in love with me when, being at work, I ruefully decline to go to bed with it.
So it hates me all night, leaving me alone in bed.

Shamanth,
15th December, 2009.

About me

2009-12-10T02:16:00.000+05:30

Deep, deep inside,

I am pretty shallow.

Shamanth.

When

2009-12-08T08:03:00.000+05:30

When
at the point of
utter helplessness,
the pit in your stomach
threatens to churn your insides out,
making you want to
embrace yourself
and be a curl,
on the ground,
it’s only vital
that you stand tall,
and forget not
to breathe at all.

Shamanth,
7th December, 2009.

Tired

2009-12-01T06:16:00.000+05:30

What does the insomniac struggle to do?

Relax.

Shamanth,
30th November, 2009

Hope for the hopeless

2009-11-23T06:29:00.000+05:30

I'm looking down now that it's over
Reflecting on all of my mistakes
I thought I found the road to somewhere
Somewhere in His grace
I cried out heaven save me
But I'm down to one last breath

I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain't so far down

Words by Creed. (Source - http://www.songlyrics.com/creed/one-last-breath-lyrics/)

Poetic Justice

2009-11-20T01:42:00.000+05:30

Verbally speaking, I am not as witty as I would like to be, though occasionally I do surprise myself with my words. An incident I am rather fond of comes to my rescue here.

One fine day as I was engrossed in writing a poem, my friend (let's call him Adwait, because his other real name is Abhijeet), who is great with words, more so in his mother-tongue, Marathi, could not resist vaunting his quality of being a शीघ्र-कवी (sheeghra-kavi : an impulsive and an on-command one-shot-poet, if you will) to me, as he watched me writhe about in labour pains from my attempt at poetic delivery, for what he thought was a painstakingly long time.

"I get the job done quickly" was all I heard, as he spoke highly of his ability to write a poem when needed, in just a couple of minutes. On my end, I held up the plain old desire of expressing myself, the way I could and, hence, I would, no matter how long it took to get it right, which, before me, only a million must have said and done. But the look on his face (at least for argument sake, I felt) told me he was determined to save Time, as opposed to take it, when it came to writing. Realising the futility of arguing any further, I decided it was time to wrap it up. Vaguely shaking a fist near my face cringing with the sentiment of the words to follow, I said to him, (in a rather constipated voice, I may add) "Passion boss! Passion is what it takes!" to which he replied wryly, "थोडा सा पागलपन काफी है ज़िंदगी के लिए|" (thoda sa paagalpan kaafi hai zindagi ke liye : life needs but a pinch of madness.)

Even as he began speaking, I had made up my mind to ignore his words, mumble a vague acknowledgment and continue with my work. But something about those words made me pause for a bit and play them over in my head. Looking at the words discretely for a moment I swapped just two of them and was amused at the diametrically opposite meaning brought out by the new sentence. With a triumphant smile, I shot it back,"थोड़ी सी ज़िंदगी काफी है पागलपन के लिए|" (thodi si zindagi kaafi hai paagalpan ke liye : madness needs but a pinch of life.)

The next moment filled the inside of my head with an imaginary round of applause, like a cheering only for me, for suddenly coming up with something remotely witty. Drowned in its din was his reply I could barely hear.

It is not often that I can think so fast, yet so clear. It is one of those things that one can never be taught and, unfortunately, it doesn't come to me so naturally.

Shamanth,

19th November, 2009.

in my head, yet again;

2009-11-19T02:55:00.000+05:30

fleeting;
the memories of,

a smile,
of the face, I never met;

a gaze,
of the eyes, I never caught;

the touch,
of the hands, I never held;

the presence,
of the being, that never was;

Shamanth,
18th November, 2009.

Bereft

2009-11-16T10:14:00.000+05:30

A light once revealed to me a brilliant world of Excellence.

It shines for me no more, leaving me fairly disoriented;

And now, bereft of the light's kindness, I'd rather be lost in that world, than be condemned to one filled with mediocrity.

Shamanth,

15th November, 2009.

For you; too little, too late

2009-11-05T05:49:00.000+05:30

When all I wanted to do
was be there -
with you, for you,

but simply couldn't;
(nor realise it then)

instead,
led you to believe
that it doesn't matter anymore;

And now, I realise,
how little is too late, this realisation;
for you don't care anymore.

Shamanth,
4th November, 2009

क्या करे

2009-11-04T09:46:00.000+05:30

कभी ज़िंदगी से माँगा पिंजरे में चाँद ला दो,
कभी लालटेन देके कहा आसमान पे टांगो|

क्या करे ज़िंदगी इसको हम जो मिलें,
इसकी जाँ खा गये रात दिन के गिले|

-गुलज़ार

Alas!

2009-10-24T10:10:00.000+05:30

Rise! O Sleepyhead, lest you hit the desk,

Wake! O Sleepyhead, 'tis no time to rest;

The day beckons, it makes the call –

"Work and toil! One and all!"

Dream shall you not, slumped in your throne,

work have you got - go be a drone;
Steeped in the twilight, of a computer,

slog in your cube-dom, for bread and butter;

Slower by the tick, the day moves on,
by eventide, a headache you've don;

Wait! O Sleepyhead, wait for your foam,

Hold! O Sleepyhead, we’re almost home;

Draw in the shades, turn off the lights,

crawl in your bed and say Good Night;

Sleep may you now, sleep may you well,

Until the dawn ringeth its bell;

Oh but the sorrow! Oh what a loss!

Fate, it seems, won’t let you doss;

Sleepy you were, sleep not you why,

O Insomniac! How restless you lie!

Shamanth,

23rd October, 2009

Home, he was

2009-10-04T00:46:00.001+05:30

And he was home, after a very long time. He had been away for the first time, and back too since his departure. And now, being there – the presence of his own self in the place which was his home – he was happy. Extremely happy! And in such a state of exalted happiness he found himself torn between fetching memories of this place from his past to see, out of mere childish curiosity, how much of those resembled the present and imbibing every dram of now to make new memories while he still had the time. The frenzy seemed to dumb him down for a moment as an awkward grin found its way to his delighted face.

Soon enough it was time for him to leave home – once again. He was now back to being away. The air he now breathed was heavy with melancholy. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Instead, he was unmistakably transported back home. His eyelids trembled. He now stood outside his apartment. Its brown wooden door appeared poised with the white wall around it; their edges blurred and running into each other. One corner of his eye held the door bell; the other held the black stairs running up. He stood motionless for a few moments. Then stepping back, he turned around and started walking towards the exit of the building. An old tube light hanging from the ceiling made a low buzz. The light from it showed varying shades of grey on the tiled floor and on the walls around till they ended in a blotch of darkness at the grilled exit gate. With every step, the roughness of the concrete floor outside the gate was growing vivid to his senses, like he was leaning against it. He stopped at the threshold and looked around. Yellow street lights and an occasional pair of wobbling headlights gave him a sense of the slope of the dusty street across. He stepped into the grainy darkness of the night.

This time, dumbed down by melancholy, he did not know whether to walk off into the night or go back inside his house or simply stand there. Choice was rendered futile in the pursuit of his past. But soon, he knew, the hopelessness of the pursuit would remind him of his present and eventually restore the power of choice for the sake of his future. "Soon," he whispered to himself and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, he still wished he was on the other side of the world.

Discern

2009-09-29T23:05:00.000+05:30

What is more challenging than recognising a counterfeit amidst the authentic?

Vice versa.

Shamanth,
29th September, 2009.

The Test

2009-09-21T10:43:00.000+05:30

The bell rang and the kids scattered all over the hallway now scuttled in all directions fumbling through books and bags. Gathering his belongings hurriedly, Neil urged, "Come ON! Last ten minutes!" Without taking his eyes off the book Viraj nodded and signaled him to go ahead without him.

"In a bit . . .," Viraj said.
"OK!" Neil replied and dashed into the examination hall.

Few moments and Viraj was now walking into the room, all the while reading from the book in his left hand and a bag clutched in his right. He looked up to find his seat among what he expected to be rows of benches sparsely occupied by solemn faces, anxious to get the test over with. What he saw instead, perplexed him. He saw Neil in his Doctor's coat, stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, flipping through some medical files. A busy looking nurse walked around him. Looking up at Viraj rather apologetically, Neil said, "I . . . I'm sorry. . . the test . . . it . . . it came out. . . positive . . . But it's not too late . . . we still have a fighting chance. We can treat this . . . Trust me . . . "

The book and the bag seemed to disappear in the horrible dark pit that had begun to form in Viraj's guts. He tried to step back and breathe, but a grim heaviness arrested him. The bell rang again and suddenly with a violent jerk of his limbs he broke free and the next moment he felt as if his body was dropped on something soft but firm, as he fought the air.

His eyes were wide open with confusion and terror. Gasping for air, he now lay on his bed, thinking of what he had just dreamt. The bell rang again and he winced. He looked at the clock. It told him it was close to ten on a Sunday morning. The bell rang once more, even as he was getting out of bed, and this time it did not stop till he opened the door with a sleepy face cringed in the morning sun.

"What took you so long, Dad?" screamed his nine-year old as he scrambled inside, dropping his cricket bat into a corner.

"Straight to the bathroom!" Viraj yelled, looking at his son's grazed skin covered in dirt, as he was settling down on the couch to play his video game.

"Just one game, Dad!" he pleaded as the system booted.

"NOW!" thundered Viraj, who had hastily followed his son to the video game and was, now, holding his finger on the 'Power' button of the system threatening to switch it off.

Reluctantly pausing the game, which had hardly begun, the kid threw the joystick on the couch with an annoyed grunt and stomped his way to the bathroom. Viraj let a sigh out as he watched him leave.

Looking around the empty house he wondered where Neeta was. Walking towards the phone he saw a little note stuck on its receiver. Ripping it off, he read it -

Off to the temple with the gang – last minute plans, as usual! Didn't wanna wake you up. Will be back by noon. There's cake in the fridge. Oh and btw, Good Morning :)

Luv,
Neet

He smiled warmly as he folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. He picked the phone, dialled a number and waited awkwardly till he heard a voice on the other end.

"Hey . . . ," answered Neil.

"Hey," Viraj said, "were you sleeping?"

"No, no . . . what's up?"

"Mmm. . . nothing much," Viraj paused for a moment before continuing reluctantly, "well, actually. . . I just wanted to make sure, this one last time . . . ,"

"DUDE!", Neil interrupted in a reassuring voice, "Stop worrying! I've told you several times. I have verified the results myself . . . twice!"

"Ya . . . I know . . . I just . . . ,"

"Listen, I do understand what you might be going through. I know it is scary. But TRUST ME, you don't need to be. Not anymore," Neil asserted. "It was a stupid mix-up at the lab. The test is most certainly NEGATIVE. You are perfectly healthy. There's no tumor growing in your head. There never was. I'm telling you as your doctor and your friend – STOP WORRYING about it!"

"OK . . . ok . . . ," sighed Viraj, "I will . . . I will . . . Thank you . . . Really . . . Thank you . . . "

"GOOD. Just relax, OK?"

"Yeah . . . I. . . I'll talk to you later . . . "

"Sure. Take care. Bye"

"You too. Bye."

Viraj closed his eyes as the phone clicked. Drawing in a slow long breath, he opened his eyes as he let the air out with a faint smile. Turning around he opened the fridge as two little wet feet ran across the room hastily towards the abandoned joystick.

"Want some cake?" Viraj said, peering into the fridge.

"Yeah!" came the reply.

Dormant

2009-09-15T22:54:00.000+05:30

Patience, my child,
is the key to sleep.

Shamanth,
15th September, 2009.

Rise

2009-09-14T04:53:00.000+05:30

The hardest thing to do,
is what you want to.

Shamanth,
13th September, 2009.

Savaged

2009-09-06T09:57:00.000+05:30

The three of you are eating chaat at a South Indian Cafe in Silicon Valley, US. You all know eighteen Rupees in Mumbai, India fetches much better delectables than the eighteen dollars you spent above, did. Well, you rue.

The geek talk gives way to lewd talk about a girl – an acquaintance of one of the guys. You may not be the gentlest-of-men, but you are not the lecherous kind either.
Well, the two of you are not; the third one acts so. It's his forte. He pines for the girl, you laugh. To extend the joke, you laugh scornfully at the piner and in a threatening tone, remind him of his girlfriend in India.
With a blank glance, he corrects the tense of your reminder – from present to past.

The joke's on you, buddy!

You bite your lip – regret is never enough. You cannot escape but ask, "Why, you guys broke up?" with what you hope is a straight face. What follows is a straight answer.

"She got married," he stirs the food on his plate, you fight your expressions.

"Was married off - against her consent, by her parents as soon as we told them about us."
He looks down at his plate with defeated eyes.

Your heart cries. Were you the General of an army, and the piner – your warrior, you would slay him for meeting defeat and then avenge him by killing the monsters.
Civilisation condemns such ferocity.

Instead, "Oh shit!" is what you utter, and mean.

Brevity reigns. Propriety prompts, you inquire about the necessary details and finally curse the girl's parents, Indian society and fate for ruining a four year old relationship over religious trivialities.
Silence follows, more depressing than awkward, till the piner dismisses the subject with an entreating dejection.
You, the General of an emotionally incapacitated army, sigh.

The lewd talk resumes.

Solace

2009-08-29T05:25:00.000+05:30

A bench,
a book,
sunset.

Shamanth,
28th august, 2009.

Forever

2009-08-20T03:19:00.000+05:30

The lonely bench,
awaits your company,
only to be
left alone again -

when,

you
find yours.

Shamanth,
19th august, 2009.

Smoken

2009-08-19T11:32:00.000+05:30

Curling through the air,
weaving threads, of
delicate existence,
the haze wisps,
towards the sun
and
a pale shadow
trails.

Shamanth,
18th august, 2009.

Strange

2009-08-15T21:46:00.001+05:30

Strangers in my dreams
lose their faces,
when mine is astir.

Shamanth,
15th august, 2009.

A promise never made

2009-08-10T08:26:00.000+05:30

The bus roared away after dropping him off. Adjusting his shirt between his back and the bag pack, he started walking towards home. The familiar street did no more than watch him placidly.

The Recession (of 2008) had cost many recent graduates like him months of applying, preparing, interviewing and waiting for responses from a myriad of companies. Just two weeks ago, he was hired by one. That was his first job ever, and today - his first pay day. So, he thought with a smile, let me put my mind at ease for a while. That his story wasn't much different from million others' did not matter; that it was his story, mattered.

He had assured his parents of making arrangements with his bank to repay the monthly installments for his education loan. There were a few more trivial accounts to be settled. But all of that can wait one more night, he thought.

Approaching home, he saw a bunch of cheery kids hovering around an ice-cream truck parked nearby. For years he had spotted this truck being driven around the block, selling chilled joy. But he never bought one from it. Perhaps, it never occurred to him. "And you say you love ice-creams!" he said to himself mockingly.
Then, smiling complacently, he walked up to the truck and bought himself his favourite – a chocolate ice-cream.

Not yet

2009-08-01T21:38:00.000+05:30

"आँखों में सपने लिये,
घर से हम चल तो दीये,
जाने यह राहें अब लेजाएंगी कहाँ |"
-Shaan

"I begged for this", he sighed. "I cried...for THIS!" He wasn't sure if that was a question he was asking himself. But the words echoed through his head. He turned the volume of the player up a notch and crossed the street awkwardly, rocking clumsily to the beats. The world seemed to lose its charm when needed the most. Sometimes, even the need faded. Nothing was wrong in particular. But it was, in general.

Once home, he turned the player off as he dropped his bag besides his bed. The song continued on his lips, loudly. His roommates usually returned home a couple hours later and he liked having the place all to himself till then. Today it felt a little calmer than usual. A few violent splashes of cold water against his tired face, with his eyes open, left them blinking furiously and his lungs gasping for air, as if he had just been rescued from drowning in a cool lake.

Memories of his mother's scrumptious snacks sometimes flashed unannounced, more so while buttering his toasts in the evening, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"So much for education and career!", he sighed. He reminded himself to call his parents in India, before he slept tonight. In the last two years, since he had moved to the US, whether time had dashed or stretched – he could not tell.

On the couch, he sat looking outside the balcony. Past the clutter of window shades, trees, rooftops and wires, he scanned the visible patches of the sky for an early moon. On their way back, his eyes caught a brilliant gleam. The sinking sun had become a radiant speck in the thick glass of a round lamp hanging from the balcony's roof. The colossal ball of fury was tolerably visible in the glass. "Perspective!", he thought, amused at the beauty of simplicity and the power of perception. Smiling palely, he stared at it for a while.

The player was on again. Stretching along the length of the couch, he folded his knees slightly upward and rested his lower back against the side arm. He selected a soulful instrumental track. Punctuating the silence, the music slowly grew into it. Every rising note stirred his mind. Random, but warm memories beckoned a surge of emotions. The seemingly simpler life he had left behind mocked him. A few loved ones – some estranged, some closer than ever, some not so close anymore, some just the same and some new ones – all smiled. His eyes closed, but tears found their way out. Even before he could react to his emotions, his nose twitched and he sneezed as his head jerked ahead in violent obedience. He stared blankly in disbelief, panting, for a moment. His own body would not allow him some graceful solitude at times! He chuckled and adjusted the earphones. The music grew again and engulfed him completely this time. He slowly rested his head against the couch and every tired muscle in his body loosened. A tear tickled his cheek till it dropped down on his forearm.

An Angel, I saw

2009-08-01T08:17:00.000+05:30

Like a fleeting song,
On a radio being scanned,
Her smile - Evanescent,
In a crowd of nameless faces.

Shamanth,
31st july, 2009.

Tell me...

2009-07-20T01:04:00.000+05:30

Ideal meanings;
What words speak of;
Imagination?

With a loved one under the evening sky;
Silhouetted couple at a distance;
Affection?

Break a promise;
Never promise;
Escapism?

Idols idealised;
No idols;
Extremity?

The tangible lost;
The intangible thought;
Nothingness?

Shamanth,
19th july, 2009.

Sleep Well

2009-07-17T10:15:00.000+05:30

It was about three in the afternoon. His eyes pricked like two pieces of hard rock, pulling his eyelids together, tighter by the second. The clock in the corner of his eyes slowly faded to black through the mesh of his eyelashes. The following moment waited silently at a distance for a while, lest it woke him up. But when it arrived, it felt like his head would roll off his slumped chest and hit the desk. The horror of it instantly threw his head upward, pushing his eyes wide open. Wearily, he looked at the clock with his mouth open and dry with a salty thirst and suddenly sprung straight in his chair before any one would catch him napping at work.

Looking around foolishly, he chuckled as he realised he was home and not at work. It was a Sunday. Slumping in his chair, he lazily turned his heavy head to his bed and held still, gaping at it for a few seconds, listening himself breathe. Were he any closer, standing up he would have let his body fall freely ahead, landing flat on the white fluff, and not a muscle would he have had to move.
Not all your wishes come true.
So he moaned tragically as he walked an entire four paces to reach his bed.

The world spun as he crept under the sheets. Lying in his bed, he looked straight ahead at the ceiling. The clock was nowhere in sight. His lips were too tired to convey his smile, and so were his eyes to stay open. What followed required no effort, none whatsoever. If he had to animate 'Sleep', he would have thought of it as a ripple so delicate that it invited no resistance. It began with his head sinking into his soft pillow till his ears drowned and silence grew within. His neck followed the shape of the pillow's pressed edge as it rose and softly dropped down to merge with the bed. His shoulders, and eventually his hands, fell silent as his back seemed to melt into the bed. For a moment, his legs seemed detached and motionless, lying far away from his body, just before they fell asleep.

Selfish

2009-07-15T11:50:00.001+05:30

I love every standing tree on earth, except perhaps the innocuous tall one, conveniently rooted outside my balcony. Occasionally, at dinner, it munches on my favourite part of the night sky – the moon. Mockingly swaying its branches, to reveal hints of the moon's luster flickering off the leafy edges, it hides only a few stars.
The rest simply blink with amusement watching me walk back into the living room without a glimpse of the hare.
Laziness is probably the only reason not to take a stroll on the streets at night without the tree in my face. Instead, I rue the lack of a terrace to our building.

Shamanth,
14th july, 2009.

Precious

2009-07-14T01:32:00.000+05:30

Beads of sorrow
are unsung heroes of acceptance.
Heralding assurance,
they emerge,
destined for oblivion.

But, acceptance learnt
before the surge,
mocks their immense pride.
Selfless tears, loyal,
they stay,
dried up inside.

Shamanth,
13th july, 2009.

Often

2009-07-07T04:40:00.000+05:30

The simplicity I seek,

is the most difficult to perceive.

Shamanth,
7th july, 2009.

Poised

2009-07-06T12:27:00.000+05:30

Like a bubble, blown
From a hoop
On a stick's end
Dipped in soap water

The mind,
Drenched with emotions,
Yearns to drift
In pristine poignance.

Can it, but reflect gingerly,
The world it sees,
Whose image appears
Poised in the bubble.

Shamanth,
6th july, 2009.

Ethereal

2009-06-24T11:42:00.000+05:30

A gentle breeze ran through the branches, kissing many a leaves blithely. In a rush the leaves embraced their twigs, hiding each other, as if shying away from the playful breeze.

All but one.

The one leaf poised earthward at the end of the longest branch appeared rather quaint. It hung from a lone murky twig that boasted of being the last standing, or may I say hanging, survivor of the battered end – one of the few privileges of sprouting at the end of the longest branch. For reasons best known to them, all kinds of people would pull at it as they passed on the sidewalk. Those little frivolous kids did the most damage trying to grasp the branch by jumping furiously at it till they were weary.

Surviving the ravage all that remained of the twig was this one last leaf. Waking to the rising sun it drooped all morning like it was waiting for an arcane saviour. Over time it did not bother the other leaves which were deeper inside, closer to the trunk. They looked all the same anyway. Different shades blended to form a green mass that seemed to hide the husky brown trunk behind them mockingly. Even if they meant to, it was unnecessary. Wasn't it far enough from the trunk already?

It all seemed a distant woe the moment the zephyr tickled it. This leaf was the first to feel it as the wind blew from outside the tree, moving inward tousling the rest. In a sudden strong urge to chase and ride the wind, it found itself being pulled toward it. For a moment the wind seemed to look back in surprise at its sole admirer. But it all happened too fast for the leaf to notice. Farther the wind flew, the stronger it seemed to pull it in. It had never fluttered so steady, so sure. All it had to do was just give in and it would snap out of its misery to float around blissfully letting the wind carry it to distant lands. Any moment now it would embark upon its aerial flight.
Any moment!

At the zenith of that ecstatic moment awaited a grave thought - "How long would it last anyway?" - instantly choking the rush. Weighing the thought reluctantly, it saw itself lying trampled at the end of the street that was its horizon. It wondered if it could even see the tree from so far! Leaving home was easy, returning wasn't. This was the least it could do for the old twig. Hell! This was the least it could do for itself. It threw a last longing glance in the direction of the wind as if pleading for it to stay (the irony - how could the wind be if it stopped to stay - was probably lost to our friend in its recently found love for its abode).
With that, it let go of the wind and held on to the twig fluttering vigorously till it dropped back freely as the wind receded in silence.

The leaf? It had so much more hanging to do.

A Pleasant Surprise.

2009-06-12T06:39:00.000+05:30

This was awarded - brace yourself - TO ME !
:D

by Meghana.

Small, hearty gestures like these are simply priceless.

Thank you Meg, and wish you a very happy June :)

Shamanth,
11th june, 2009.

Affection, yet again!

2009-06-09T08:04:00.000+05:30

Affection that touches me connects us in its strength and melts me in its warmth.
Our silence – overwhelming, washes over me.
Wishing I could either express myself better or contain myself deeper and denser, I stand there numb with a smile in my heart and a wet blur in my eyes.

I wish I could speak silence.

Shamanth,
8th june, 2009.

Estranged

2009-06-03T04:00:00.000+05:30

What is more painful than a Goodbye?

Leaving without one.

Shamanth,
2nd June, 2009.

Home is...

2009-05-25T23:11:00.000+05:30

Home is where you walk into the aroma of evening breakfast cooked by your mother.
Home is where you walk into the nauseating fragrance of room fresheners set on 'High' by your cousin.
Home is also where you walk into the choking smell of your roommate's smokes lingering long after he has moved out.

Home is where your mother sends you back out to buy some grocery the minute you walk into a bunch of unfamiliar (and usually unannounced) guests smiling at you, when you desperately need to be alone.
Home is where you listen to your aunt's anecdotes during her tea break.
Home is also where you sometimes walk into your empty room looking for some company.

Home is where you bring spicy food to relish it all alone.
Home is where your aunt spoils you for a choice between a variety of desserts and sweets, right before dinner.
Home is also where you bring junk food to share with your roommates.

Home is where the maid washes your dishes - you gladly let her.
Home is where your aunt puts you in charge of the dishwasher - you gladly accept.
Home is also where your roommate offers help during your cooking turn - you gladly refuse.

Home is where you fight with your father for your movie over his news on the TV.
Home is where your cousins watch TV in their rooms upstairs, leaving the big one downstairs all for you.
Home is also where you share laptops with your roommates for entertainment.

Home is where your mother scolds you for wasting dinner at home because you ate outside without informing her before she took to the stove.
Home is where you always inform your aunt if you won't be home for dinner before she enters the kitchen.
Home is also where you call up your roommate and ask “Aaj khaane ka kya scene hai?”

Home is where you rip your father off to pay for your birthday treat.
Home is where on your birthday, your aunt gets you a lovely gift that your cousin disapproves of.
Home is also where your roommates ask you what cake you would prefer for your birthday before they buy it.

Home is where you scribble rubbish on your study table, and flaunt it.
Home is where your uncle gets you a study table and you keep it spotless.
Home is also where you and your roommate sit on the floor to study with laptops in a mess of books and sheets all around.

Home is at the end of the curve bustling with people, vehicles, shops and hawkers – their noise eating the music from your earphones.
Home is also at the end of a lonely street which listens to the music from your earphones.

Home is where you simply love walking back to.

Shamanth.
25th may, 2009

Something Beautiful!

2009-05-17T14:06:00.000+05:30

"I want to write something beautiful for you," he would say, gazing deep into her eyes.

His left hand around her waist, firm on her back. The other on her shoulder, the back of his fingers kissing her cheek.
She would press against his arm, their eyes drawing closer. Transfixed, she would smile.

But he never wrote. Perhaps he waited too long.

"I want to write something beautiful for her!" he sighs - now that she is gone.

Will he ever?

Memories of her gaze follow his eyes. Her smile lingers below.

Listen

2009-05-15T12:42:00.000+05:30

Inspired by this poem of Meghana :

Listen

Complications, you say,
Shroud your mind,
The solutions to which,
You cannot find.

Had I the answers,
Shout them I would,
Tearing the shroud,
As loud as I could.

Wouldn't you rather,
Listen to your voice within,
For it is but your mind,
So is it not the loudest for you?

Shamanth,
15th may, 2009.

Believe

2009-05-04T05:59:00.000+05:30

I believe in rebirth.

So when a part of me dies, a new part of me can come to life.

Shamanth,
3rd may, 2009.

Tick

2009-04-29T23:34:00.000+05:30

Act : Examination
Scene : Examination hall

Atmosphere : Quiet and tensed
Participants Present : Some students and a Proctor.

Students : ONLY fifteen more minutes! (Panic)
Proctor : Fifteeeeen more minutes! (Yawn)
Time : Just a moment. (Tick)

shamanth,
29th april, 2009.

Somewhere I Belong

2009-04-15T07:54:00.000+05:30

A nation could be well organised for the welfare and convenience of the public. But that increases the physical resemblance of most of its places to each other. Ennui is a frequent visitor to a foreigner in such a land; more so if the delights such a country has to offer are not quite accessible! So in the quest of finding some source of random excitement to keep myself interested, I found nature to be the most delightful companion ever. Sadly enough, I never attuned myself to nature so deeply while growing up in my own country. Well, better late than never!

My daily boring walks to the bus stop, college or home were gradually turning into beautiful new portraits every single time. Be it a tiny dew drop hanging from a blade of grass, the vast mountain ranges or the fluffy clouds wafting in the infinite blue sky.

Bus rides are quite sober in such a state of mind. Recently I was on one such ride back home to the city of San Jose. I was completely unfamiliar with the route of the bus I took for the first time and yet, to me, it resembled any other route. However as the bus entered a certain area, a sense of familiarity crept out of nowhere and I could tell we were in San Jose for sure, though I did not recognise anything in particular. Was it the streets, the people, the colour scheme, the parks, the trees or just everything? I had no clue. But soon I saw a familiar road and there it was. The city of San Jose, the place where I have spent the last 20 months.

Such a strong sense of familiarity with the place stunned me owing to the aforementioned resemblance. I suppose it is natural to get accustomed to your new world no matter how homesick you are!

shamanth,
14th april, 2009.

Good Night

2009-03-28T01:10:00.000+05:30

The lights go blind,
And the day swirls in,
Snuggle, do I then,
As my world folds in.

Shamanth,
27th march 2009.

If I were a poet...

2009-03-23T08:36:00.000+05:30

While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And headed straight, into the shining sun

-Pink Floyd

She Shines

2009-03-13T11:33:00.000+05:30

Upright she sits, engrossed in her studies, untroubled by the bright of the setting sun washing over her. She scribbles, ponders, frowns and digs her bag, unaware that the sun twinkles in her glasses. She runs her fingers from above her temple, over her ear to the back of her neck. Meanwhile, her soft dark brown hair sails through shadow black to dusty golden yellow. Stroking her neck softly, she tries to stare the desk down.

Sinking in her chair she looks up pensive, as her neck arches out to bathe in the yellow. The light seems to diffuse with dust in her puff of exasperation.

Her eyes now turn to the cup of coffee standing tall at the corner of the table.

"One sip!" she moans, as her fingers wrap around.

Chicken or Egg?

2009-01-28T07:27:00.000+05:30

Language improves by thinking in the same.
Clear thinking requires flawless language.

*

Patience is the key to learning.
Learn to be patient.

*

Openness nurtures trust.
Trust lets you open up.

shamie,
28th january,2009.

And he flew

2008-12-28T11:49:00.000+05:30

The stars were slightly more in number tonight. He remembered fighting The Dark Wreaker on the one right above him. Being a superhero can be so exhausting at times!

"Back to the stars!" he reminded himself.

Lying atop the airplanes passing by, he loved to watch the night sky. But this was too slow for him. Until just 300 years ago he would glide facing the sky to enjoy the stream of flowing light on a dark blanket. However, one fateful night he bumped into an aircraft which had just begun flying! He could never forgive himself for the lives lost in that accident. The people certainly did not, for almost a century!

A loud explosion in the distant woke him up from his trance. He turned to look in the direction of the sound and saw a bright red sphere of flame burning down what appeared to be a space shuttle.

And he flew.

Just for laughs

2008-12-22T13:57:00.000+05:30

He stood there, at the kitchen counter, holding the leftovers from the party packed up in those plastic containers. His sleepy eyes were too heavy for him. Nonetheless, he could not stop smiling as he watched the ladies laugh their hearts out. They were surprisingly louder than the group of teenagers playing video games till some time ago!

"You must be wondering what has gotten into all us aunties to be laughing so hard", said one of them as she wiped a tear off her eye while struggling to calm down.

"No! It's wonderful to see you guys enjoy so much...," he said gleefully, as she turned around to get a cup of water, "...even at this age!" he quipped.

"What do you mean?" she snapped, turning back with a straight face.

"Gotcha!"

They bursted out.

"A Stream of Consciousness" by Nandita Das

2008-12-06T03:29:00.000+05:30

I received this heart-warming email from a friend. The following are the words of Nandita Das. I am merely posting her views here.

27^th November 2008- A Stream of Consciousness

Nandita Das

It hadn't hit me hard enough till Thursday morning. At a friend's place the previous night, I did see some images of injured people being taken on stretches, police looking around clueless, panic among people, TV anchor persons speaking in the same screaming, over enthusiastic, "exclusive" voice that they use when Rakhi Sawant hits her boyfriend.

I have to say, it had very little effect on me. My predictable response was, not again...more people will die, more fear, more prejudice and more hatred. But at some level the response was instant and cerebral. But this morning when I got up things felt different. Got a message from an unknown no. "See what your friends have done." Strangely a close friend of mine got a similar message last night, but from an acquaintance. Just because Firaaq, my film, deals with how Muslims 'also' get affected by violence, the terrorists are supposed to be my friends! Today a common young Muslim man around town is probably the most vulnerable. I got many messages from my Muslim friends who feel the need to condemn it more than anyone else, who feel the need to prove their national allegiance in every possible way. They are begging to be not clubbed with the terrorists, a fear not unfounded. Then of course there were tons of messages from well wishers across the world who asked about me and my loved ones' safety. I too did the same. And strangely that was when tears started rolling down my cheek, almost involuntarily. Guess the thought that if our loved ones were fine, it's all ok, seemed like a bizarre way to feel. When will our souls ache when anyone is hurt, even those that we have never seen and will never see? The more I wrote back in sms's and emails that I was ok, the more miserable I was feeling.

Catharsis or letting out of emotions is an amazing thing. It brings out things from all hidden corners. I always saw myself as being strong and so has everyone else perceived me as. And here I was bawling for reasons I myself didn't understand. It was like a stream of consciousness flowing from somewhere else. At one level, felt like everything was futile. So much anger, hatred, aggression...what has the world come to. While talking about Firaaq I have often said, the one thing we can change in the world is our response to things that happen around us- violence, prejudice, hatred. The line rung in my ear and I felt ashamed of all the times I had been angry. Of course it often seems justifiable, from ones point of view, and insignificant as compared to the acts of aggression that we have been seeing all of last night. But isn't there a seed of aggression in many of us and in varying degrees? Doesn't it shock us sometimes what we are capable of doing or saying? We are horrified at a young man cold bloodedly killing people with a gun, at a man raping a small girl child, at a woman being burnt alive for dowry, but are they all just aberrations and evil people, or could they be someone we might have seen, or worked with or passed by? Individual anger also gives rise to collective anger and thereby to the politics of hate. Anyway, it is not about understanding the power of hate theoretically. I never want to water this seed of anger in me anymore. It may take a long time for the rippling effect to happen where each of our positive energies change the world. But the resolution itself is drying my tears and giving me a task to do, a reason to carry on.

But the question still remains, what now? Should I carry on with business as usual, not out of apathy, but to defeat the desired impact of the terrorists? Their agenda is to get us into a panic and create an atmosphere of fear. What if I refuse to give them what they want? But on the flip side, what if I am unable to go on with business as usual? What if it is anguishing me in a way that I cannot ignore it and want to engage with it. As there is always a danger of becoming self absorbed in our own narrow world. In fact that is what is increasingly happening to many of us, the privileged Urban class. Often that is the reason given to me for not watching "serious films". Conveniently it is said, "I have enough tension, why would I want to see more of the reality instead of some escapist fun." But then when other existing realities intrude the calm of our realities, we are unable to deal with it. So what do we do?

While struggling with this dilemma, I was at least spared the horrific images and news in the morning, as where I stay in Bombay, at a friend's house which unusually neither has a TV nor does she get the newspaper. So I was blissfully ignorant of all the developing news. And then on the flight that I took to come back home to Delhi, I saw those horrifying images that most people must have seen all night. I could feel my stomach churn, but what churned it further were the other pages that surpassed all definitions of 'business as usual'. One had a page about fringe hairstyle coming back into fashion. The other about some speculation about Monica Bedi wanting to marry Rahul Mahajan and other such earth shattering news. My head spun as I tried to process my emotions. Every day the paper is filled with all this and when the memory of this horrifying day will fade away, it will not seem grotesque any more to have all of that again. So then why leave it out just today? But isn't there a day in a year that we can actually mourn and register our protest against such violence in a less matter of fact way? Isn't there a way that we don't celebrate for a week and somehow put all our resources to get our police better equipped with their bullet proof jackets and ammunitions? Isn't there a way of feeling national pride by protecting innocent people from being killed with better security measures than using up crores to send our national flag to the moon? Can somebody think of a master plan by which we can all be engaged in making the world a better place? Isn't there a way that aggression doesn't ever take such strong roots to cause such violence?

When I see these 20-22year old boys, I am also filled with deep sadness and simple curiosity about what could have got them to where they are. Is it that we all want a purpose in life and so when a young boy caught at that crossroad is given a mission that suddenly increases his self worth, he grabs it? Is the world making them feel so small that when a particular identity is thrown at them, they want to cling on to it with all their might? No doubt that these are extreme cases and huge amount of strategic brain washing has gone into it. But as we know, no one is born evil and let's say till 10 years a child is still a child. What is it that happens in this tender mind in the growing up years that gives him the will to even lay his life? Is there a way these misguided boys can be saved? It is not an act of charity, but if we have to save ourselves, we have to save everyone else. I got a strange message from a TV journalist that said "Forgiving a terrorist should be left to God. But fixing their appointment with God, is entirely our responsibility. - Indian Army". Change the word terrorist to Americans/Hindus/Muslims and sign it off by the Terrorist and the meaning is not too different. Such anger, such hatred in a 'common man' to me is no less scary. There has to a way out of this vicious cycle, beyond an eye for eye.

I have no idea what I am feeling anymore. It is all muddled and contradictory thoughts are finding its little corners in the mind. All I know is that we can't afford to be cynical, even in the face of so much hatred and violence, or else it will get only worse. In the morning making Firaaq seemed meaningless, but as I type away furiously, hoping to catch up with the speed of my emotions, I feel I want to share the film with everyone, more than ever before. Because I know this day will end but the residue it will leave, will linger long after, in the form of fear, anger, prejudice, revenge, and will slowly become part of our psyche. We have to save ourselves from all this and have to find a way to understand, empathise and love. All these beautiful words I know have lost their meaning and sound either clichéd or pretentious. We have to reclaim these and make it part of our life, with all our might.

Nandita Das

Choose to Be

2008-11-02T23:35:00.001+05:30

When someone lets you be, the least you can do is let yourself be and discover yourself through such being, which may very well be the truest form of affection.

It is just as essential to let go of each other, if the need be, for that is how you truly let each other be.

Shamanth,
2nd november, 2008

Main Samay hoon.

2008-10-10T11:28:00.000+05:30

Long back, I had read an interesting list printed on the last page of a notebook. I loved it so much, that I wanted to write it down before it slipped out of my hands.
I told myself, "One day, I will!" But that day never came.

Today, after so long, I remembered the list faintly and reconstructed it to the best of my memory. Hopefully I got the entire list right.

So here it goes:

Who knows the importance of

a lifetime: a prisoner sentenced for life.

an year: a student who failed the annual exam.

a month: the mother of a premature baby.

a week: the manager of a weekly editorial/a project manager.

a day: a daily-wage worker.

an hour: lovers on their way to meet each other.

a minute: someone who missed the train.

a second: the bomb diffusion squad.

a fraction of a second: an athlete.

Kill time and it shall avenge in kind.

shamie,
9th october, 2008.

Busy or not too busy?

2008-09-15T11:58:00.000+05:30

"The problem with the rat race is that even if you win, you are still a rat." - Lily Tomlin.

This status message, stamped with the red "busy" mark, somewhere in my friends' list in Gtalk, made me smile the moment I read it.
I saw a blur the next moment. I wiped my eyes, shaking my head, while trying to get high off the chill going down my spine. I have been getting those a lot these days and I am loving it!

I was still smiling though. That's what I have been doing lately, when I read something philosophical. You want to choose your words carefully in and around philosophy. Every word means what it means. You cannot blurt out words casually. Not that anyone would decapitate you for doing that, but why disregard the power of language?

The endless circulation of "touching" emails constantly remind us not to forget the meaning of different words representing different virtues. But what if we have forgotten the meaning of meaning?

"Bye" and "See You" do not mean the same.
"What's up" and "How was your day?" do not mean the same.
"Working hard" and "Working smart" do not mean the same.
"Want" and "Need" do not mean the same.
"Sleep" and "Rest" do not mean the same.
"Quiet" and "Peaceful" do not mean the same.

One cannot reach the skies by climbing the ladder! We are grounded for life, in life - the ladder is not. We reach the sky when we feel its presence above us, in front of us, around us. All we need to do is lie down and look straight ahead and there awaits the sky. But who has the time to lie down, you would ask.
"We do!", I would say.
I, for one, surely do!

the gaze,
the blue,
the answers?

Be engaged, not busy.

shamie,
15th september, 2008

Rock On \m/

2008-08-11T06:10:00.000+05:30

Attending a Linkin Park concert was more than appropriate to mark the reunion of I and my good friend Chetan-The Kale, after one complete year. An astounding performance of our favourite band left us speechless, as we walked away from the venue after the maestros wrapped up the concert with a smashing drums-solo and a couple of excellent songs.

~

stage sets
smoke rises
guitars electrify

~

drums blast
ears deafen
heads bang

~

lights
encore
mass hysteria

~

shamie,
10th august,2008

Lake Placid

2008-08-06T03:24:00.000+05:30

the gaze,
the blue,
the answers?

Shamanth,
5th august, 2008

Hey, Shreya

2008-07-19T22:55:00.000+05:30

I set my mp3-player up as I walk towards the bus stop. The song is "Asmaan ke paar".
Aaah!
I look up at the bright blue sky. Shankar's soulful voice blends with the brilliant music. The words melt in my eyes. I pluck a tree off the green, dip it in the sun and stroke a few golden on the blue. I take off towards the clouds. I can't continue floating though. I have a bus to catch, a job to be at. Alas! The flight is cancelled. I dash towards the stop. That's my daily glide.

The bus gobbles me up. I pay the fare and buy the day pass.
I see her sitting by the window. She waves to me like a four-year old. I smile as I sit beside her.

"Don't you feel like shooting loadsa caffeine up your arm daily morning?" she asks as she offers me a sip.
I decline. She knows I have already had my shot. Another awaits at work.

"You know, I was lying in the grass last night, watching the stars explode in beautiful patterns. One of them burst right above my head and showered me with the bright!" she brims with joy. I love that look of hers when she exaggerates her visualisations.
"Why didn't you turn up?" she pokes me. I shrug.

I share my earphones with her. We have a strikingly common taste in music. Her face lights up. It's "Starry eyed surprise". Her favourite track. She snatches the one plugged in my ear as well and enjoys the song in full stereo. She gracefully grooves to the beats. I hold the coffee for her till the track is over.

All of a sudden, she jumps out of her seat as a black Hayabusa shoots past her window. "Did you see that?" her voice all shrill. "You can race light if you are on one of those monsters. It leaves your shadow behind, looking for you!"
She wants me to buy one of those. Ambitious, I must say.

She returns my player and relishes the rest of her coffee as I keep the player in my bag.
"Aaahhhh....!" she slurps the last sip, loud enough to make me uncomfortable. We are in a bus, for God's sake! I look around shy. No one seems to have heard it. I look back at her. She hardly cares. She wants to lick the rest of the coffee off the entire cup. I can see it in her eyes. I look away. I don't know if she did.

One of my colleagues boards the bus on the next stop and we exchange the mundane pleasantries as he takes a seat right behind me.

"Hey, a quick question...," he asks, "what's the login for the guest account on the systems in the Lab?"

"The username and password are both 'lab'."

"Man! You IT guys have no imagination at all," he mocks.

"My friend, Shreya, here does all the imagining for me."

"What friend?" he asks puzzled, looking around me.

"Never mind," I reply, as I keep my bag on the window seat.

AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH...!!!

2008-06-24T21:50:00.001+05:30

OH GOD!!!!
I badly need some sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!!!!!!!!!
:((

shamie,
24th june, 2008.

P.S. : There are two 'e's in 'sleep' for a reason.

Random Nostalgia

2008-05-24T11:10:00.000+05:30

That was pretty much my survival kit in India during the later half of my engineering life.

"that's so random", "why the bagpack?", "is that sprite?" and "i dont get it", each punctuated with a confused look, have been the reactions to this snap which rests snugly on my desktop. I set it as my wallpaper about a week ago: the human mind wanders towards the end of a frantic semester. I can get insanely melodramatic, and of late nostalgic too, about random stuff, more so when time is a luxury for me: courtesy impossible academic deadlines.

A job during this semester to pay for my regular calls to family and friends in India, terribly mismatched online timings with friends in India, an uncertainty about when I can visit India and two of my close friends who are visiting India for the summer all add up to some random nostalgia. Fair enough, ain't it? That explains the wallpaper displayed above. The details of the same are as follows:

The Bottle
I sweat a lot. Hence, I drink a lot of water. In addition, it used to take me a mere 2-3 hours of commute in the soothingly hot and humid weather of Mumbai, from my home to my college - ONE WAY! The bottle, always visibly tucked in the side pocket, has quenched the thirst of millions of my partners-in-commute more than it did mine. But I was the one who always filled it up from the college's water cooler before heading home at the end of the day.
The Player
It is NOT an i-pod. It is a humble, compact and extremely user-friendly MP3 Player called Yepp manufactured by Samsung. And the earphones in the picture are by Sony which I had to buy after I accidentally ripped off my Samsung earphones. It was a sad day. Life moves on. The Player was the best birthday gift ever from my parents(the only time my persuasion ever worked on my parents). I treated it with the respect and the care that it deserved, and it smiled back at me. It still does. We have had our differences, but we eventually learned to outgrow them. My passion for music grew exponentially every time I listened to my favourite songs on it. It has helped me get through exams, vivas, results, TATA(Final year project days), stressful days, stress-less days and of course the eternal commute.
The Bag
A humble abode to the above two and of course books, journals, CDs, DVDs, index sheets, files, print-outs, wind-cheater, hard-disks, cd-writer, clothes, cameras and much more. I practically lived out of this bag for two years. It was one of the most spacious and sturdiest bags I ever owned. It survived the Mumbai floods of 26th July, 2005. Period.

shamie,
24th may, 2008

The Slacker

2008-04-13T04:37:00.000+05:30

"Study as if it were the last hour of your life!", snarled the teacher.

The class froze.

"Why would I..", he replied bluntly,"..if I knew it were the last hour of my life?"

The class giggled.

Wanna Play?

2008-03-30T12:51:00.000+05:30

bloody screen
*GAME OVER*
teen tumult

-An ode to all the puzzled faces who can never understand why I can never understand the video game craze.

shamie,
(probably the only guy who has been forced into playing video game by gaming enthusiasts, while holding up a bunch of other gaming enthusiasts desperately waiting their turns.)
30th march, 2008.

I Swear...

2008-03-19T03:58:00.000+05:30

A few feasible promises to self:

Will buy a motorbike from the moolah I earn.
Will ride it to RAIT, from the katta, on a Monday morning at 8, with my loaded bagpack, to attend the morning lecture.
Will get professional training in tabla and guitar.
Will try to improve my handwriting.
Will grow up; well, at least will act all grown up.
Will never stop being a lukkha.

shamie,
18th march, 2008.

to lukkhagiri...

2008-03-04T04:06:00.000+05:30

mere kuch dost, mar jaate hain...
par jo jeete hain...
wohi cheetein hain!!!

-Siddarth Chaturvedi(Gabbar), B.E., C-div, RAIT.

Compiled by Thakur.

shamie,
3rd march, 2008.

Life

2008-01-21T16:13:00.000+05:30

A river:
in search of
its Lake Placid.

Shamanth,
21st January, 2008.

Haiku

2007-12-31T05:45:00.000+05:30

I was recently introduced to what is called Haiku. For info on Haiku,click here . With my winter break on, since I have nothing to do.... officially :D, it didn't take me long to get hooked on to this new concept. I feel it makes you wanna improve your conciseness, given you have only 3 lines to put forth your idea :D. Smart enough,ain't it?

So here it goes, my first 3 Haiku. Suffer:

HI-KU
me,
haiku:
a literary catastrophe awaits.

GLACIOUS
winter,
multilayered clothing,
a squished adam's apple.

ALMOST
a gasp,
the sprint slackens,
the bus shrinks.

shamie,
30th december, 2007

Shabd Daaridrya!

2007-12-26T07:58:00.000+05:30

Though I was shameless enough to simply stare at the screen long enough, while struggling to come up with a decent opening line for this post, it kinda justifies the title or the topic itself. I don't know how many of you have felt the pinch of being at loss of words at times when you had so much to express, but I for one have been there.

I have always struggled with words, regardless of the language! More often than not, I struggle hard to come up with the right words to use at the right times. Though (fortunately) my words have been seldom misconstrued, what disappoints me in myself is my inability to have a strong command over my languages, but moreover it's my stunted vocabulary that steals the show!

Naturally, it's my speech impairment I'm more worried about than my writing "abilities". When it comes to writing, I always have an option of verifying the definiteness of my sentences(doesn't necessarily mean I always exploit that one). But as I said, I really need to improve my speech.

I always end up saying the same shit over and over again, may be modified slightly to suit the situation or the place or the people around me. But that's about frickin' IT!!! I'm really fed up of the awesomes , the too goods, the oh my gods, the what thes, the excellents, the kya shots, the bekkaars, the bakwaass, the haalat kharaabs, the she's so hots, the basicallys, the at the ends, the after alls, the bhaaris, the but the thing iss, the ijjat ses, the oh oks, the obviouslys, the khatarnaaks, the seriouslys, the totallys, the exactlys and I don't know what else. I always hated studying languages when in school. But it is now that I realise how important communication is. I hate reading novels while I expect people to read my blogs. What do you say.....umm... yes...hypocrite! I know novels and good books help you improve your language. But I don't have that kind of patience to go through 400 pages of polished English or any other language, and keep on searching for the meaning of every other word. That way I'll end up finishing the dictionary before the book itself.

Whatever be the reason, I am the one who is paying the price as of now and don't know for how much longer.

I had so much to write, and yet I feel disappointed at the end of this post. I feel I haven't been crisp enough. I hope I'll be able to do justice to my feelings one day.

shamie,
25th december, 2007.

Eye See

2007-11-29T01:57:00.000+05:30

This one's a li'l long for a quickie!
Nonetheless:

At any instant 't'(yes,I'm an engineer!) my brain always feeds upon some or the other question or an issue-regardless of how irrelevant that topic is with what I am (supposed to be) doing at that instant 't'. No biggie! Everyone has their train of thoughts. I do too. So one of those thoughts was about invisibility. At some point of life we have all seen at least one movie about an invisible man. The two names off the top of my head are one of bollywood's classics-Mr. India and the other is from a place which is about an 8 hour drive from my place-hollywood that is-Hollowman.

Cut-to my point of interest-
No matter what movie you have seen in this regard,the most logical explanation for invisibility is that if somehow the light rays pass through an object(or in this case a person) then people won't be able to see the object (him/her) and thus we could achieve invisibility,at least on paper.
Agreed?

Let's hit the interesting part.
The theory holds true for objects.
But consider a person instead.
According to the theory,the rays should PASS THROUGH THE PERSON for him/her to attain invisibility. So the rays would pass through his/her retinas too,thus NOT letting the images of the objects and/or people surrounding the person to be created in his/her eyes,again:at least on paper!!!

This gives us an invisible person who is BLIND!!
What a price to pay!!
Next stop: Oblivion Blvd!
Say what?

shamie,
28th november,2007.

P.S.-any technical(or should i say biological) mistakes found in this article can be reported in the comments section :D

DISCLAIMER:
The above piece is a work of fiction. No human eyes were harmed in the writing of this article.

The Rope

2007-11-10T04:51:00.000+05:30

The Rope

He walks the rope into the bright,
and looks the dark behind his sight.
It wasn't that dark after all,
no wonder he didn't ever fall.

She walks her rope,
into her bright,
he is far away from her sight.

Tied were their ropes,
in due time,
five knots he sees,
make him smile.

The bright he knows,
Is the call,
he has to let go, after all.

The knots he sees,
growing small,
he wonders if they'll snap at all!

She walks her rope, oh so fast,
seemingly oblivious to the past.

His life he owes to stronger knots,
with ropes which remind him
how the brightness calls.

His wish -
her bright shall never die.

New ropes, new knots,
their ways to tie.

Shamanth,
9th November, 2007.

The "Curse" Follows!

2007-10-27T21:23:00.000+05:30

More than two months into the US,sitting on the bench at the stop,waiting for the bus,listening to Metallica's 'I disappear',I see cars woosh past me at crazy speeds. But my eyesight travels faster to catch a glimpse of any pretty(read-PRAYING FOR AMAZINGLY HOT) ladies seated inside the cars. Yes! I see one. She's cute. I look at her,she looks back at me and turns to the driver seat, talks to a huge guy and then again looks at me.
I shit my pants!
I look away trying to act all nonchalant resorting to the head banging and the air-guitaring-cum-drumming. I sense the car slowing down and pulling over a couple of feet away from me.
I am dead! How I wish I could disappear!
I am thinking,"Anyone can carry a gun around here,right!" I try to act more involved in the song.

The girl leans out of the window and tries to talk to me. I look at her and take my earphones off. I hear her now.
"Excuse me, do you know how to get to V#$% college? It's somewhere near tva*#$^ zone."
I think for a moment. I can't talk Hindi here. I have to think before constructing an English sentence.
I gather my senses and respond,"What?"
She goes again,"V@#%^ college? Near Trade Zone."
I try to be helpful,but alas! New country,new place. I don't know the place she's asking for.
I reply,"Oh...no...sorry...I don't know."
The chic smiles,the huge guy smiles and waves and they drive off. I curse myself for not being to help out a chic! But the next instant,I realise it was a false alarm. I was not in trouble like I had imagined.
"Phew! Was that a close one? May be not!" Trouble gone,I wait for the bus. I didn't even want to imagine being beaten up by huge guys with tattooed biceps for staring at their hot girlfriends. The bus arrives and gobbles me up. As I am savouring my "escapade" I suddenly realise something. Something me and my friends back in India had joked about before I came here. Something that had stuck around since the past few years. Something which had started at the infamous 'katta' in Vijay Nagari,Annex-a place about a mere half a lifetime away from Thane station. Not everyone knows about "the curse" I am referring to. Try to relate to the curse.

I like to call it the "Seeked Syndrome". It starts out with an innocuous query about some building or an apartment while you are waiting at the katta for your friends to show up. "Bhaisaab...yeh B15,Annex kidhar hai?"
You instinctively give him the directions to the building and he leaves without thanking you.
You hardly care.

Some other day,some other time you are at the katta with your friends, some car pulls over and the fat family guy asks you the directions for the club house of Annex. It happens a few more times over the next week. Everyone at the katta senses some aura of query near the katta. Someone blurts,"Dude is it only me or have all of you been asked for directions when at the katta lately?" The ice is broken. The curse has come true. Everyone agrees. It is for real. It doesn't stop. This is just the beginning. We don't know what we all are in for. Enter:cars,delivery guys,internet set up guys,plumbers,bikers,laundry boys,et al. Age no bar,time no bar,gender no bar. Only this one time I was fortunate enough to have approached by a beautiful girl looking for some building in Annex,at 10 in the night while I was strolling in the neighbourhood of the katta.That's it-only ONE in a million chance of encountering a beautiful girl! Gradually the syndrome starts following you around wherever you go. It's as if there were a huge board floating above your head which says,"Free Map" with an arrow pointing down. Seekers now seem to have spread across the entire universe-at the station,at the bus stops,at the college gate,at a theatre,at a traffic light,near your friends' houses,at the hotels,at the the canteen,at the chowpatty,at the reservation counter,at the vada-pav stall and the list goes on. Seekers looking for either a bank or a shop or a building or a bus stop or the station,umm..did i mention buildings?

The syndrome now slowly consumes your non-katta friends too. You start hearing stories. "Rumours!",you shrug,but from the inside you can feel the chill. You know it's unstoppable. No one can help it.

As the bus drives around the block,I remember this one time when me and my friend Rohit were at the katta updating each other about the loads of digital data we had downloaded over the last month,when this 40+ guy pulls over his Humara-Bajaj scooter in front of us. We sense the syndrome striking again. But this guy takes it a step further! He asks us about which internet provider is good enough in the Annex area. What he didn't know was that me and Rohit have been around the Annex block long enough to have tried and tested and suffered the miseries inflicted upon us by the ruthless cable net providers in our area. After months of tyranny we had our first saviour ISP-Airtel. So we both had researched our asses off and fought our guts out against our parents to purchase the right plans suited for our insatiable hunger for downloading digital data. We knew in and out of every plan and what it was suitable for. We explain every necessary detail to the 'uncle' to suit his needs. After our seminar,the relieved 'uncle' rides off on his bajaj. While I am still struggling to come up with a funny punchline for the situation, Rohit snaps,"Abbey,uska kya naseeb tha!" And we both laugh our asses off for the next five minutes. Probably no one else in the entire neighbourhood would have given the 'uncle' a better picture of the net services at 10 in the night. Ahh the syndrome!

A few weeks ago while chatting with my non-katta friend Rajnil,he had joked about it too. Lately he had been a victim to the curse,specially more frequently after I left India. It was evident to us that he had inherited the curse from me.

I remember we joked about this when in India. My friends were sure that the cursed syndrome would follow me to the US. It certainly did!

I imagine hanging out on a dark night at the katta. I see a stereotypical crazy old wannabe saadhu approaching the katta.
The 'saadhu' yells at us,"Bachha...katte se door rahiyo...warna pachtaoge...saat samundar paar tak katte ka shraap peecha nahi chodega!"
We all try to ignore him and continue hanging out. We all feel a chill down our spine. But no one says a word.

Sure would have been more dramatic to have had a crazy saadhu warning us beforehand and we not paying heed.

shamie,
27th october,2007.

What a day!

2007-10-06T23:55:00.000+05:30

He could not believe it. For the past few years he had been dreaming of this and there it was, right in front of him. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and read the letter aloud for the fifth time,

"....Mr. Salil Agarwal,we are pleased to inform you that you have been appointed as a Field Application Engineer at Chips Inc...."

Years of hard work had finally paid off. He remembered the day he had landed at the San Fransisco airport. Almost two years ago, he was just a student - an International student on F1 visa - like thousand other F1 guys. He had to start right from scratch in this new country. A whole new world. He was high on expectations then. Now he could see nothing but a blur. Wiping his moist eyes, he called up his parents back in India to tell them the good news. He could imagine the look on their faces while he talked to them. Everyone was exhilarated. Later, the calls continued - family, friends, roommates.

But not her. He wanted to give the news to her in person and had made sure no one ruined it for them. Though neither had confessed, he knew they had something special; she knew it too. It was just a matter of time before they made it 'official'. "What better day to go for it than today!" he thought. As usual, they were supposed to meet at the bus stop in the downtown. He still had an hour. He hurried to a nearby jewelery store and bought her a beautiful necklace. He assumed a ring would be too American. He was not an impulsive guy and loved the fact that she was neither. But he was high on life today.

There were ten more minutes for the bus to arrive. The clock seemed to tick a few seconds backwards as he waited for the love of his life. He had no idea what he would say to her. This seemed more difficult than the Computer Architecture course he had aced last semester. He remembered the day they had met in the cafeteria, about an year ago. She was a fresh International student struggling with the coffee machine's menu. As an Indian, she was not used to black coffee. She wanted something as simple as a hot mixture of milk, water, sugar and of course coffee to keep her awake through the boring lectures of Database Systems. She noticed that Salil, an employee at the cafe, was an Indian and asked for help. He had been a perfect gentleman and helped her get a smooth latte, much to suit the Indian taste buds. That was how it all began.

The screech of the halting bus brought him back to the present. He saw her get off the bus. She was beauty simplified for him. Her simple yet elegant sense of dressing melted his heart. Her smile drove him nuts. Before he could say anything, she ran close to him and asked, "How was the interview? Did you get it?" He simply smiled and nodded. She shrieked in joy and gave him a warm hug. He held her close and tight, never wanting to let go. "How clichéd!", he thought. A moment later, he let go of her and then took out the offer letter from his bag handing it over to her. She read it with the cutest smile and tearful eyes. "I'm so happy for you!", she exclaimed. A moment passed and neither of them said anything. Both were lost in each others' eyes.

Out of nowhere they heard a husky voice,"Hey....hey...ain't she pretty...jus...just look at her...ain't she the cutest of all..." A bum was standing next to her and blabbering. Startled, she snuck up behind Salil's back. He grabbed her hand tight. The bum continued uttering the same words over and again. It was obvious he would not let go easily. Salil had to get rid of him as smoothly as possible. She was growing highly uncomfortable by the second. Suddenly it struck him. He had an idea. Looking the homeless guy straight in the eye he said, "What..? You think she's cute..? Then you have got to check out the babe who just passed by this street." The bum replied, "Wh....what babe..i don't see any one but her....ain't she just cute...." Salil continued,"A girl walked down this lane just a second ago. She was the cutest girl I have ever seen in my life. She had big blue eyes, the face of an angel and smokin' hot body!!". He noticed that the bum was falling for it and so he kept on describing how beautiful the girl was and finally tricked him into crossing the street and taking the next right turn in the pursuit of the so-called babe.

Salil turned back to see that she was sitting on a bench, with her head down on her lap. With a sense of heroic pride and achievement, he walked towards her. He had proven to be her knight in shining armour. He could not believe how delicately he had handled the situation. This was the best day of his life. He sat beside her and held her hands. But before he could say anything to comfort her, she suddenly got up, slapped him hard on his cheek and with bloodshot eyes snapped at him, "You pig!! All men are pigs. I always thought you were crazy about me because of my simplicity. But the truth finally came out today. Catch hold of the hottie you just saw. I know that's all you guys always want - a hottie. Don't ever talk to me again. Follow your babe and marry her. I don't want to see your face again, ever." Throwing the offer letter at him, she took off. As he tried catching the letter carefully, lest he tore it, he watched her cross the street hurriedly. For a moment he stood there, numb, like a log.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" he wondered as he scurried to catch up with her.

huh..? wa..?

2007-09-22T21:43:00.000+05:30

can i ask u something?didnt leave u with any choice there,did i?is it wrong to question?why do people think u r under tension,when u ask some questions?cant they just answer ur queries and move on with their lives?am i being very annoying now?do u see a pattern here?cant i just post some random questions here?is it grammatically incorrect?does anyone even bother?whatever happened to random motion of free electrons?have u ever wondered why we all are even here on this planet?what is the purpose of life anyway? am i being too philosophical or is it somthing which is on evryone's mind?dont u sometimes feel like just flying off to some place quiet and aloof?why do we keep on making the rat race even harder for ourselves?isnt technology supposed to make our lives easier?but then why do we try so hard to make our lives easier?how does it become easier then?y does it always have to be "kuch paane ke liye kuch khona padta hai"?does this all even make sense to anyone or am i the only jerk who is rambling like a monkey on dope?can i take a break here n go take a bath?how long do u think i had gone?is global warming true?dont u hate it when someone u like doesnt help u out?dont u hate it even more when someone u dont like asks u for help?dont u hate it the most when someone u dont like HELPS u?how do we know "sab theek ho jaayega"?why are we doin all this anyway?what are we gonna take with us when we die?am i being pessimistic?do u think anyone has ever posted so many questions on blogger?arent u thinking,"how pathetic is he to post random questions,instead of writing something intellectual"?why do i hav so many questions?who r we to decide what is good and what is bad?how many comments will this post receive?why do we need to be governed if we r free?what time is it?am i forgetting something here?cant i hate cricket?who invented blogging?who is the real slim shady?why do so many movies have names starting with 'the'?wt time is it?did i repeat something?why himesh?can i break the pattern for once now?what if i did?wt difference wud it make anyway?dont u hav some important work to do?r u wondering when i will end my fire round?can u tell me one thing?what is the best way to end this gibberish?

shamie,
22nd september,2007

TIME <=> MONEY

2007-08-26T04:10:00.000+05:30

When I read the CRANE'S LAW: There's no such thing as a free lunch printed right below the FROTHINGAM'S FALLACY: Time is money, in the book MURPHY'S LAW(COMPLETE)-all the reasons why everything goes wrong- a collection of witty quotes related to various situations and streams of profession, for the zillionth time I remembered my weird-ass policy

SHAMANTH'S AXIOM:
Regardless of the product or the service we pay for,we are virtually BUYING TIME.

Now,then...once you are done with one(or more) of the following-
1. saying,"what nonsense,what a jackass!!"
2.saying,"aya bada philosophy jhaadnewala"
3.saying,"here he goes again"
4.making a payment for my supari.

we can continue with the explanation of my philosophy.I dont mean to prove I am right. This is a simple explanation of my postulate(it can get boring).

The minute a lady knows she is pregnant,the parents start planning for the new born.Knowing that the baby's gonna live for some unknown period of time,they start SPENDING on medi-care for the mommy so tht the baby gets the right nourishment,thus paying for the time period for which the baby's gonna be in the mother's womb.Once delivered,evrything frm the hospital bills to the baby food to the nappy payments is to ensure that th baby is alive and kicking,thus paying for the time period till the baby actually starts realising it is alive and is a person. And so on so forth. Toys bought for him/her-paying for his/her amusement time. Education expenses-paying for his/her 15 years of knowledge gaining sessions. Once he/she starts working or "earning"-the company pays for the time he/she spent for work. The food we eat and pay for-paying for the time we need to be energetic so tht we cud continue with our lives. All this pertains to the bigger picture-life itself.

Zooming in on the smaller details-
Traveling expenses-paying for the time we save while moving from one place to other.Buying junk food,which is not necessary,but tasty-paying for the time period tht we njoy the food.Watching movies in a theatre-paying for the next few hours of entertainment.heck..whenever we spend on something for TP-TIMEPASS-u r paying for TIME TO PASS BY. Buying a cellphone-paying for ur talktime/airtime. Even the simplest and the sweetest thing like buying a nice bouquet for ur loved one-paying for the time he/she njoys the bouquet and the following time u get to spend with ur loved one :) Finally it comes down to buying time-either for ourselves or for someone else-but time is wt we buy.

This topic itself has such depth that one naive post cant justify its implications. But hey...worth a shot!!!

Thank you for ur time. Try to think of this post the next time you spend money. Try to relate ur expenses to some time period,if anything, it may bring a smile on ur face-which of course is free of cost. :)

shamie,
25th august,2007.

the dark mysteries of the shopkeepers-the vendorship of the the of the the.

2007-07-31T17:04:00.000+05:30

ok...my bad.there are no myster-IES of the shopkeepers....none that i know of,atleast! but on a very wide scale(from vijay nagari annex to thane...isnt that VERY WIDE?) i have noticed one peculiar thing just a few million times and have been (hardly) trying to solve the mystery that i'll be sharing with u guys.so many of u may have very well guessed by now that i am currently as busy and important as a fly trapped in a closed jar with only one hole in the lid to let in the aroma of mouth watering sweets(i know my analogies are as bad as.....u know...)

ANYWHO, we'll continue talking about some useless mystery of the shopkeepers.so according to my studies on the protocols of trading as followed by the shopkeepers, i have observed the following peculiarity innumerable times---

after having paid,if i stick my hand out to collect the change money back from the shopkeeper,he inadvertently puts the change right on the desk or the table below. in fact, when i observed a few of them carefully, many of them literally tried hard not to place the change in my open palm. GOD knows why!!

this is for real.

in fact,when i started doubting the shopkeepers of some kinda conspiracy against my palms,i started to stick out my hand more often to see if they cracked under the pressure,which sadly they havnt till date.... but i hope to rattle some cages and if we all join hands against this treason we may succeed in bringing down this tyranny against palmhood.

but till then i was planning on simply confronting one of my regular vendors and bust this mystery out. say wt?

oh...time for my morphine shot...brb

shamie,
31st july,2007.

Choco-Thick Shake

2007-07-15T15:11:00.000+05:30

On a crowded Sunday afternoon, Manoj fought his way through the mass. He reached the machines before the sweat from his eyebrow trickled down his cheek. He smiled wryly. He wished it would rain so that the mercury dropped down, but immediately shrugged off the thought. The last thing he wanted was more people trying to squeeze in for shelter. "Why do we humans get wet?" he muttered. Reaching for a glass mug, he started the tap water. Hot! Water, nonetheless. As he washed it, he pictured himself shrinking to the size of the mug and enjoying the waterfall from the tap.

The crowd's noise brought him back to his sweaty self. He pulled one of the machines' lever and a stream of chocolate syrup dropped into the mug. He wiped the sweat off his lips. Next he turned on the adjacent machine. Chilled sweetened milk spurted down into the mug. He could feel sweat droplets flow down the back of his ear. Then he placed the mug into a blending probe and turned it on. He could not hear anything for the next few seconds. It was his favourite part. After a count of 5, he turned it off and pressed the CHOCOLATE button on the adjacent machine. Soft and cold chocolate ice cream oozed out of the hose below as he held the mug loosely. This was the slowest machine. He hated it. As the chocolate filled the mug,he twisted it to create a swirling serve,tapering at the top. "Art!" he thought. He ruffled through the rack and caught hold of a plastic chocolate sauce bottle. After shaking it a few times, he squeezed it while swirling its mouth over the chocolate dump. He tossed the bottle into the rack and sprinkled some choco-chips and vermicelli onto the dessert. He reached out for a large spoon and stabbed into the shake. Placing the shake on the desk in front of him, he yelled,"Choco-thick shake...ready!"

A teenager pounced onto the counter with a huge smile on his face. He had waited long enough for this moment. Just as he saw the shake, he retorted,"Hey,where's the choco-wafer that goes with it?" Manoj reached out for a box full of such wafers, all the while staring down at the restless teenager. Taking out a wafer, he stuck it in the blob and watched in disgust as the boy got high on chocolate. "I wish you choke your arteries on it!" snarled Manoj. The boy was too busy enjoying his shake to listen.

bachke rehna rey baba!!!

2007-06-19T20:54:00.000+05:30

the title reminds me of the god-awful song "bachke rehna re baba.." from some amitabh-movie. its crappy tune is stuck in my head,as i proceed with my gibberish here.so if u want to feel my pain here....plz try to recollect the song u hate the most. ready? and now a lesson in r-r-r-ythm m-m-m-m-anagement.....let's begin---

the purpose of this blog is to provide an outlet to my ever-increasing frustration levels as a victim of the phenomenon "BAD MUSIC CAN FOLLOW YOU ANYWHERE!!"(from here on referred to as the plague). this catastrophic torture is of utmost importance to music fanatics like me.everyone may not feel the pain,nonetheless i'll carry on.

the plague is highly prominent and may have been victimising,plz allow me to be elaborate,millions from the time there has been music.but the simple ancient times didnt have the weapons of mass destruction(WMD) for the easy penetration of the plague,unlike of course the blessed present technological era. u wud be walking down the road as innocuous as a butterfly(spare the butterfly effect plz...) and BAMMM!! before u know,u get plagued by some himesh number playing on the fm station in the nearby paan shop. or u may be contemplating some genius reasons to come up with to explain ur low attendance to ur HOD while grappling on to the bus pole and BAMMM!! some connoisseur starts playing some nadeem-shravan gem on his sony erricson model with its speakers on full volume..how sweet of him to share his "taste" with the hapless crowd. so u get the picture...basically the plague is very much in our faces.

the WMD i mentioned earlier are as follows(next time try to avoid these if possible)--

1.FM
AM radio never had competition except the for TV. yet,it still used to be haven for all the old gems---till one fine day FM radio ws launched in mumbai and i guess in various cities all over india. its initial guise of pure music and minimal yapping with appropriate air-time for both english and hindi music started to fade off as gradually the english tracks(rock,trance,pop,rap et al) were muted off the air in lieu of more n more hindi tracks.'no problemo' i wud have said had it not been for the fact tht most of the play lists r pathetically chosen and hazardously repeated till some new album is released.i mean how can anyone possibly like the song,"thaade vaaste...crap crap crap"-yet another himesh number. FM radio has infiltrated unbelievably into the daily mumbaikar's life. private buses,auto-rickshaws,paan shops,hell..my laundry delivery boy carries a pocket FM with SPEAKERS.

2.PUBLIC FUNCTIONS
the huge loudpeakers installed in the pandals keep on spewing shit all day long at HIGH VOLUMES. wt cud be worse?

3.CELL PHONES with MP3
since cell fones r dirt cheap nowadays,mp3 fones r slightly above those rates. 3 guys out of every 5 may have a sony ericsson or a nokia music edition or a moto-fone with MP3 and so on. cheap phones have one disadvantage-any unworthy idiot may buy it(sorry for being very harsh,if u wish to...u can term me as one of them..i hav no issues with tht) .the problem isnt with the person being an idiot.the problem is wen th idiot becomes unworthy--and that is wen he plays his play list with its speakers on full volume. y torture ur co-passengers wen u can bloody use ur earphones. blast ur ears with watever shit u like...i dont care,but dont blast my head with ur crap..i dont do that to u with my garbage..do i? courtesy is wt these people lack and of course common sense.

there are many more WMDs but u wud kill me if i elaborated any more.so basically u get th idea of the plague and its portals. so just be careful from now on...i tried warning u...!! MAY THE LORD SAVE US!!

shamie,
20th june,2007.

P.S.- sorry for all the times i have filled ur heads with my humming,if ever that is...:)

The Calling

2007-05-14T09:42:00.000+05:30

try to remember when you were half your height now(results may vary with 'half ur age' :)). we used to frolic around merrily(or so the world thought..!!!),playing cricket in the famous *compound* of our buildings,or the age-old 'luppa chchuppi',tryin to find new places to hide everyday,but not mentioning it to any of ur friends(u never knew who wud get the "dan" that day). those were the days when we used to travel along with our parents even to the theatres!!! but we(specially guys,atleast i was) were always the bakras for buying daily household(read kitchen) items for our dear old moms from the 'baaju ka dukaan'.those wer the simple days for i cud go up to the shop and say,"UNCLE..." or "AUNTY..."(as the case may be). ditto nomenclature for any stranger guy/gal almost double my height-they wud automatically be termed as uncle/aunty with no due consideration of their "feelings".

but by the time i was in college,i cud no longer use the above mentioned blissful terms without being frowned at by the people(specially the ladies) who didnt hav gray hair!!!! i was in a great dilemma then. using sir/ma'am sounded too sophisticated for me(i thought it didnt suit me:)),bhaisaab/memsaab sounded too rustic. as i struggled thru those horrid days,i started hearing one word being used very frequently,age-no-bar.first time i heard it was from someone in the local train,then i heard it in college,then again at the xerox-wala near my college and the saga continued. the word was "BOSS"!!! "Boss...?",i thought,sounds quite 70's bollywood baddies' lingo!! but then gradually it caught on. and there i was spilling the word all over.

"boss....ek coke dena..."
"boss...yeh 10 pages xerox maarna"
"boss...ek coffee.."
"boss...this...boss...that..."

blisssssss!!!!!
no more hurting the feelings of non-gray haired guys.the word was well-crafted.genius!! now even the chchotu at the canteen cud be ur "boss",and he wud beam at that!!the xerox guy didnt frown.the conductor didnt frown.the shopkeeper didnt frown. the barber didnt frown.

but alas!!! it's inherent disadvantage----it sounds too gender-specific!!!!
yeah...next time,try to call out the lady in the shop as "boss..." i frankly dont know wt her reaction wud be cuz i hav never tried it out..:) but then the phrase "oh madam.." does fill in the shoes of "boss" to some extent if i may say so...!!

shamie,
14th may,2007.

Mithun da,Rajnikant.....Sunny paaji?

2007-04-22T09:35:00.000+05:30

i literally waited for these reviews....enjoy....

courtesy--http://www.apunkachoice.com/scoop/bollywood/20070413-3.html
Big Brother:Movie review
13th Apr 2007 21.23 IST
By Nikhil Kumar

Sunny Deol’s latest but outdated film Big Brother is a painful throwback to the days when the heroes of Hindi films championed noble social causes by bashing and bumping the baddies.

One must commend the optimism of the makers of ‘Big Brother’ that they actually thought of releasing the film despite it being absolutely obsolete to the present-day tastes of cinegoers. The film reminds of the days when Sunny Deol played the ‘angry, angst-filled young man’ in a series of violent movies (like Ghayal, Ghatak and Farz). To add to the torture, there are a series of pointless songs that come in quick succession in the film’s beginning. And if anything was left, poor acting, horrible screenplay and shoddy direction
( Guddu Dhanoa ) put the last three nails in the coffin of ‘Big Brother’.

Sunny Deol plays Deodhar Gandhi, a simple, good-natured guy committed to his family and girlfriend ( Priyanka Chopra ). Deodhar’s is a middle-class family in Delhi. He has a mother
( Farida Jalal ), brother (Imran Khan) and sister (Prachi).

Things take a turn after a minister’s son throws acid on Deodhar’s sister’s face. The family leaves the city and moves to Mumbai. But troubles follow them there too.

Once the water is above their necks, Deodhar and his mother decide enough is enough. Deodhar’s angry side comes to the fore. And what he does makes him a hero not just for his family but in the eyes of public as well. Deodhar becomes a savior, Big Brother, who brings justice to people in his own aggressive ways. Predictably, the good prevails over the evil.

Even if we discount the film’s hackneyed storyline, it is hard to forget the pain of sitting through
the senseless violence in the film. In his crusade over the evil, Sunny throws people off buildings, throws acid on people’s faces, beats the baddies to pulp, and guns down corrupt cops.

It is a role that Sunny can perhaps play even in his half-sleep. The actor adds nothing new to his character of Deodhar than what we have already seen from him in similar roles in the past. Priyanka Chopra’s presence in the film is strictly for the sake of having a heroine for the hero. Other actors like Govind Namdev and Shahbaaz Khan are over the top.

The film’s music is terrible. Cinematography is not that bad.

To sum it up, ‘Big Brother’ turns out to be a big loser on the celluloid. The movie is a waste of time.

Rating: * (given liberally)----lolzzzzzzzzzz

one more...plzzzzzzz...:)

courtesy---http://movies.indiainfo.com/2007/04/13/bigbrother.html
BIG BROTHER-MOVIE REVIEW
Friday, April 13, 2007 18:03 [IST]
IndiaFM

Do you recall the Sunny Deol starrer GHAYAL? And GHATAK, JEET, ZIDDI, SALAAKHEN, CHAMPION and FARZ? Post GHAYAL, Sunny starred in a series of films that projected him as an angry young man who could bash the wrong-doers to pulp.

No, this isn't a write-up on Sunny's careergraph. We're running through the movie titles because if you've seen those movies, you'd get a fair idea what BIG BROTHER is all about. To state that BIG BROTHER is purani wine packed in nayee bottle would be putting it mildly.

Sample these…
* Sunny throws acid on people's faces as if he were distributing chocolates.
* Sunny throws a rapist and his advocate from a skyscraper. The rapist jumps himself, because he has committed a heinous crime. The advocate is thrown, because he's defending the rapist.
* When Sunny hits people, they fly, they glide, they even get buried in the soil.
* When he throws people in air and if the person hits a lamp post, the lamp post actually breaks off.
* That's not all, when he holds an iron rod to hit people, the rod starts melting.

He targets rapists, molesters, pedophiles, erring son and daughter-in-law, dowry-seeking in-laws, all wrong-doers… The public supports him, the ministers hate him… In the final scene, he shoots the prospective Chief Minister at point blank range and empties his gun in the Police Commissioner's chest. And all this happens in the Commissioner's official residence and is being telecast LIVE on Aajtak channel.

To sum up, BIG BROTHER takes you back to the 1980s and 1990s when maar-dhaad, bullets, swords, acid bottles, guns, pistols, bombs, knives et al were the compulsory requirements to make a masala film. Need one add more?

BIG BROTHER starts in New Delhi and travels to Mumbai. It tells the story of a middle class family comprising of Deodhar Gandhi [Sunny Deol], his mother [Farida Jalal], brother [Imran Khan] and sister [Prachi].

Leading a simple and peaceful life, an incident turns their life upside down [the Home Minister's son throws acid on his sister's face] and the family is left with no other option but to leave the city and move to Mumbai under a different guise. They start life afresh and all seems well till the ghosts of the past surface again.

Things reach a point when the protagonist is prodded by his mother to take that course of action which not only avenges their hurt, but also takes on the cause of the aggrieved in the country as a whole. The movement so created gets the support of girls, ladies and the infirm who proudly proclaim him as their 'Big Brother'.

Relying on an age-old story, BIG BROTHER offers nothing new to the viewer. The only question you want to ask Mr. Guddu Dhanoa is, Sir, what exactly prompted you to make such a violent movie? There's an overdose of violence in the film, so much so that you start feeling nauseated. There's comedy too [Raju Shrivasatav and the auto rickshaw sequences] that look like an add-on and completely forced.

bravo sunny paaji...!!!!