Random visages

Sometimes, when I am all alone, I google myself…

2012-01-06T23:36:00.001-08:00

Yes! Pretty catchy. I saw this quote somewhere on the wiredjungle – the Internet, first home to many (including me) and I was impressed.Very impressed. So much so, that I ordered a personalized Tshirt with thequote. Somewhere within me lives a supremely self obsessed person. I might nodappreciatively at every debater and answerer but a part of me mocks at hisorgasmic gimmicks and knows for sure that had I been in his place, I would havecome up with better answers or better facts to justify my argument. Yes I writebetter than most of the published Bestseller writers, I sing better than thosesinging competition morons and I can abuse better than those wild reality showcontestants. Every time I sat down to watch “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be amillionaire) I finished with at least 1 crore in my kitty. I term this as myconfidence but its pure obsession, a dark love of me for my own self. And thenI thought maybe I live in everyone else.

I might be very visual and vocal about myself but selfobsession adorns one and all. In their thoughts, idea and actions, in every pause they take infront of cars with darkened glasses to have a good look at their own selves. Inevery smirk they pass whenever they see a lesser mortal fumble in work and outof it and in every anticipative glance they pass when they wear something fancyor do something fancier. It’s not unusual to trace out know-it-alls and maniacallyintelligent and self proclaimed possessors of all human and para-human wits andvirtues at our workplaces, in our families, amongst our friends, in oursocieties and on TV and on the Internet. In that authoritative boss, or thatsmart cousin or the snobbish friend. We eat, sleep, party and work with selfobsession all around.

Like an excessive smoker keeps craving for his nicotinesupply, we need a fair share of our narcissistic supply to feel good and tofeel important. The Facebooks and Twitters have made billions, en-cashing onthis queer aspect of our self obsessed generation. Ten years ago who would havethought that if you let the world know that After a 2 Km jog, you had avegetable sandwich, a mug of orange juice and some salad as breakfast, twentyof your friends will end up liking it, 10 of them feeling jealous about yourhealthy lifestyle and another 10 of them motivating you to double your Jogdistance and cut down on the food intake. We shout, they appreciate and theyshout in turn. We are living in a vicious cycle of self obsession and we have mutualadmiration pacts with everyone. I scratch your back, you scratch mine and letslaugh at the one who doesn’t have one to do the honors for him. Lets feel goodabout it.

I always wondered what made beautiful girls befriend theugliest girls around. For the same reason I used to wonder what makesintelligent and smart guys befriend the dumb ones around. Things of similarnature should congregate together. Self obsession needs constant fuelling ofthe narcissistic supply. The Dumb will praise your intelligence; the ugly ducklingswould pamper the beautiful swan. It’s a feel good relationship. Self obsessionis intoxicating. We make good speakers, good bosses and good leaders. If weknow about something we shout out loud, if we do not know about that thing, wemanipulate it to our needs and shout out loud again. That ways we make the bestmanipulators too.

But, somewhere welose our genuineness. We lose our authenticity and we lose our substance. Thesedays when I see a fellow speak about anything, the dominant me wants to springonto the podium and show him his place but the recessive me holds me back andallows me to listen. My mouth hates my ears but somehow my brain has startedlearning the organ allocation algorithm. Recently I went through a lot ofblogs, most of them write better than me and the fellow who was singing on theTV singing competition last night. He was way better than me. In fact justbefore I sat down to write this article, I was trying my hands on “Kaun BangegaCrorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire). I couldn’t even win a lac.

New Delhi - The way I see it

2011-11-23T10:13:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: - This article is a representation of my thoughts and the way I see things. I have used names of certain communities, surnames and places so that reader can bond with the article. This is not meant to offend any person, community or place.

King Dhritarashtra

Dhritarashtra was helpless, he was the king and the representative of the glorious Bharat clan, but he was a father. A helpless father. His son, the obstinate Duryodhana was not ready to give Hastinapur to the eldest Pandava Yudhisthira and hence Dhritarashtra had to make a tough decision – the division of the kingdom. The fertile, prosperous Hastinapur went to Duryodhana and the Khandavaprastha an infertile, uninhabited place went to the poor Pandavas. Krishna with his directions and Arjuna with his arrows cleared the forest and presented to the world one of the finest cities of all times which has constantly changed names but the very essence of it has remained constant, always. From Indraprastha to Lal Kot to Tughlaqabad to the modern New Delhi, the very essence of Delhi has always been there.

Delhi Taxi

Step out of the Indira Gandhi International Airport and you are welcomed by the extremes. Depending upon your time of arrival you will be welcomed by scorching heat, bone chilling cold or worse heavy downpour. The downpour however is almost always there - the downpour of attention. The name placards with all possible Punjabi surnames on them and their owners bellowing at their top. If you have a confused face, the downpour will only keep on intensifying, from slight nudge on the shoulders to a full body hug. The Dilliwaalahs are (in) famous for bestowing any token of love and warmth which can convert into some currency. If you have a haversack on your back, you will see tourist guides in large numbers; if you have a business attache in your hands, the suited hotel agent swarms will hug and caress you and if you have a traveling bag, the local hotel guys will smile seductively and regardless of your travel gears, the taxi drivers will do anything to snatch your stuff in the name of help and place them in their taxi boots. You will obviously be presented with mind boggling tariffs. If you are an obstinate negotiator, you will have something left in your wallet at the end of the trip. Negotiate is the moral of the story.

The Delhi-Gurgaon Expressway

And when you are in traffic, the whole jaw dropping phenomenon will find an entirely new dimension. India is a blessed country home to 84 crore gods and demigods. With the power of octane rich petrol and of course the benevolence of all 84 crore divine deities your vehicle glides, cruises, speeds and wriggles in the traffic behemoth. On a six lane expressway where all vehicles have been designated their respective lanes, a speeding SUV meandering on all six of them in an attempt to get ahead of all is the commonest of all sites. Scary for first timers but a routine sight for the regulars. And Delhi has more vehicles on its roads than rest three metros combined and Delhi is a network of fast track expressways, so the SUVs and their meanderings are infinite. Wear your seat belts is the moral of the story.

Celebrations in the street

And if you happen to be in the great western part of the city which is like a parallel system inside the otherwise posh and suave metropolis, your jaws will be under Newton’s spell, all the time. Wee hours of the night, boot of a car opened and converted into a makeshift bar and high bass Punjabi music engulfing the airs and a group of charged youth – spiked, turbaned, goateed, pierced and beefed up grooving their hips into a discordant blend of Bhangra, salsa, hip-hop and all possible forms of dance moves is not a very atypical sight. The high pitches of the songs welcomed by loud roars of enthusiasm and the delay between adjacent tracks unwelcomed by shrill hoots. Legends of Nizamuddin Auliya and Amir Khusro and Mirza Ghalib still live here and Dilliwaalahs love their music. And when you happen to cross such a scene, enjoy the music, silently praise the dance and get going. Don’t mess the combination of Alcohol and music is the moral of the story.

The Shiny new Possession

Dilliwaalahs are known for their fine lifestyle. Just one car in the garage is totally middle-class. People here live for luxury and not for bare needs. Survival is for lesser mortals, prosper is the Delhi way. And yes spaces are limited so the same neighbor who comes to your house every Diwali with a gift glittery and shining on the outside and having expensive nuts and chocolates and sweets in the inside wouldn’t hesitate in calling you names if you mess up with his parking space. Fair and Just. Hugs and smiles make everything all right, everyday. And if you purchase something you have all rights to show it off but being blatant and on the face spoils the party, Dilliwaalahs are sophisticated people so they utilize the power of random discussions. So you can blame the government for the bad roads and the pains you take while driving you new Honda city will be perfectly alright. You will invite appreciative glances as well. Or blame the RBI for revising their Repo rates all the times and the way your floating EMI interest for that 3 BHK you purchased in greater Noida for 85 Lacs keeps going up. Leave Buildings and cars, you can even moan about water scarcity and complaint how your expensive imported sanitary fittings have become useless. Likewise flaunt phones, scotches in your bar, salary appraisals, wedding saris and sherwanis. If you can present it in the right way no one minds. So in Delhi, Flaunt is the moral of the story.

Always wise to run away from such scenes

Delhi has always been praised for its Dil – the heart. But there is more to Delhi than just Dil. There are arms, there are legs and of course there is a mouth. In fact on a typical day you get to exercise the last three organs more than the heart. The catch is that you should know when and where to exercise these. Most of the times you need to keep the mouth shut because one slip of the slimy muscle inside it can lead you to all sorts of trouble. Of course you can use your legs to run away or hands to fold and ask for mercy. But if you have other homo sapiens with you who you can trust, you can use your mouth to hurl abuses and hands to punch and legs to stay firm on the ground. In a busy traffic you can again use your mouth to throw abusive words on the pedestrians and motorists to scatter the traffic. If the traffic is not muddled but that idiot is not allowing to you to overtake, you can use your hands to show him the middle finger once you get past him. As you learn the life here you will also become an expert in the skilled use of these awesome organs. So make professional use of your hand, legs and mouth is the moral of the story.

Zero Ambiance,100% taste

Dilliwaalahs love their food too and in Delhi messier the lanes, tastier the food. The Kohli’s, Kakkas, Chawalas and Pammis are everywhere each claiming to be that one famous restaurateur from Old Delhi. One generous meal and you overshoot your calorie limit for the whole week. Paranthas in the Paranthe waali Gali, Street food in Bengali Market, Seekh Kebab and Tandoori Chicken in Chandni Chowk. Forget the butter dripping from the Rotis just indulge into the gastronomic delights of this ancient city. Delhi is more about taste than ambiance and if you are a sucker for ambiance, this place offers you hotels and restaurants that can supply mouth melting delights provided you have enough cement to cover the holes these places would drill into your pockets. Nevertheless, when in Delhi indulge in food without caring for the ambiance is the keyword.

Delhi - you just can't ignore it

Delhi is a confusing place but in that case India is a confusing country. We love to break rules, we love drawing urine maps on the desolate walls and we love staining the public wash basin with Paan and Betel nut jets. Staying in Delhi is like staying in all cities of India together. You have the rawness of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar here, the royalty of Rajasthan here, the eerie silence of Madhya Pradesh and the wildness of Punjab here; you will even find Tamil Nadu in the common law abiding man here and the coolness of Goa in the stylish females here. From English speaking suave youth from south Delhi to the Chaste Punjabi speaking west Delhi guy, from that well dressed guy in Vasant Kunj to that fashion disaster from Trans Yamuna, you have them all here. Delhi for me is the epicenter of all diversities in the world. Women here will pester the street vendor for 10 Rs but will never step into an eating joint which is cheap or is at least close to being cheap. Girls here will mesmerize you with their looks but can deafen you with their decibel rich voice. People here contradict themselves sometimes for good and sometimes for the evil and this makes Delhi a rough but an interesting place to live in. It’s not easy to hate something or fall in love with something but Delhi will make you love it and hate it every day. From just another city to the place where you live, finally Delhi becomes a state of your mind.

The Rings of Saturn

2011-09-25T04:54:00.000-07:00

“So what happened to Hanuman Jee, Shiv Jee and all those deities that we used to worship” I asked out of curiousity.

“Arre they are still here and are worshipped but Shani Dev is the one who is worshipped the most” The Auto wallah replied.

“Strange..! Anyways drop me here. I’ll call up someone to pick me up” I replied.

“Sure Sir” He said and the Auto came to a halt in no time. I paid the bill and he turned around with a sheepish grin.

I was relatively new to this place, Gurgaon - The Heart of Information Technology in North India. And it was a Saturday. I saw people pouring in the Shani Dev temples on the way with their Audis and BMWs and Beetles parked outside the temples. I also saw beggars, mostly kids roaming around near the red lights with a bucket in hand. Buckets full of oil and inside the buckets there were statues of Shani Dev half submerged in the oil. Being born and brought up in a religious Brahmin family, I have a natural inclination towards religion and spirituality so I was more than happy to drop a coin or two in the buckets but then they were everywhere. The Air-conditioned sedans and SUVs opened their panes and every time a hand came out, a hand with an expensive wrist watch sometimes or sometimes with a gold bracelet or sometimes the hands were bare but the lushness of the hairs on them or just the muscular roundness suggested those belonged to rich men and those rested in pockets which were very deep. Those hands kept on dropping the coins into one bucket and then another on one red light and then another to one beggar and then to another.

I was curious; does this bucket full of oil haunt the possessors of these rich hands? All I knew about Shani dev was that he was the god of planet Saturn, represented the seventh day of a week “Saturday”, and was son of Lord Surya (Sun God) as per the Hindu Mythology. So what’s this Shani obsession with Gurgaon people? No online article could answer my query. I tried asking people, pundits, beggars but they were clueless; all they knew was that people here were obsessed with Shani. Begging in the name of Shani was already a thriving business and the entrepreneurs didn’t care to find the root cause for it.

The answer lied in the behavior of Shani. Shani is the imparter of justice; unlike other gods Shani doesn’t give you health, wealth, success and love. The best Shani can do is to leave you at your current state. If Shani is at his merriest best, he wouldn’t harm you. In smaller towns and villages and places we pray for love, luck, money and sanity and in places like Gurgaon why do we have to pray for staying safe and unharmed?

This answer lied in the richness of Gurgaon. As our wallets get deeper, our hearts become shallower and thoughts narrower. In the quest of money (can be read as power, position, and status) we end up being “Beings”; the “Human” part is a small fee that we have to pay to achieve that being. We conspire at people’s back and don’t hesitate in sticking a dagger right inside the chest of our opponents whenever need be. We call this competition, we call this professional rivalry. Everyone want their silver credit cards to transform into transform into Platinums and Titaniums. Everyone want their passports to get thicker, everyone want their Bikes to convert into Cars, their Shimla vacations to Las Vegas vacations. And we work, sweat, run, type, speak, bitch, fight, conspire, plan and plot to achieve all this. And there is nothing wrong in thinking big or taking a path to achieve the same. But then why does guilt occupy a major part of our thought processes? Why does every beggar in the street with a bucket full of oil and a statue of a deity inside it resemble the messengers of the imparter of justice himself? Why do we embody guilty conscience? Well, this question is still unanswered.

Maybe dropping the coin in the bucket relaxes us momentarily till the time the next bucket marks it arrival and guilt starts knocking our heart chambers again and the process keeps repeating itself. Now when I see oil in the bucket, it looks like the mirror that shows nothing but our face. Shani is not a deity but a mirror that shows us our ugly face and the coin is the effort needed to get that mirror away from us.

The Temple of Liberation

2011-02-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

We get pissed, we get excited; we get contented and we get poignant but we Indians know how to give words and voices to our moods. We express the fair, but conceal the dark in any of the four chambers of our hearts or any gray cell in our cerebrums. But we divulge them when time comes and we travel sleeper class and we use their toilets and their walls.

I remember one of the walls shouting at the-then-hot-political-agenda in Maharashtra. Biharis shouting at Marathis and calling them goons and the latter calling the formers outsiders and job-snatchers; a classic tussle scribbled in grimy handwriting. There was a rough caricature of a renowned firebrand politician with a frog like face, hidden behind rimless spectacles and well-gelled hairs combed neatly. There were poetries and shayaris and randomness. Any politician pouring his liquid gold down the drain could have sensed the unrest but they travel first class and use their toilets but not their walls. Their wall is called the Parliament.

We are a sex starved nation. Though Vatsyayan wrote the 1250 verses of Kamasutra in the 2nd century CE for Indians to learn and memorize, But we have continued to enlighten the west and we have continued being the land of snake charmers and Sadhus and Software Engineers and Call centre executives. So Sex is perhaps the least discussed but the most thought over topic in India. We keep concealing it till we find the wall of liberation. So they draw, they write and they croon about their wildest sexual fantasies. The outer guise of a gentleman or rather a pretentious godly creature is flushed down by rusty manual pipe of the lavatory and the gentle, inventive Satan clouds the white walls.

Relationships and breakups are all immortalized in this temple. Love stricken hearts praising their lady loves, one sided lovers writing their undeliverable love letters to the damsels, broken hearts shouting at their once-a-goddess-now-a-whores; Some even making their mobile numbers public, their way of taking revenge banking on the fact that once a urinating deity will read it and impart justice. Fair? Unfair? Their and theirs to decide?

Unpleasant letters to parents, frustration about receding hairline and bulging paunches, complaints about existence and every dark emotion which is not conceivable under the sun finds its mention inside the temple of liberation and its sacred walls which is better selling than the best bestsellers bringing a smile, a frown or any emotion every time a reader reads it.

India is a land of Public speakers and private thinkers. We shout, we fight, we forget. We smile on their faces, we crib at their backs and we love to hold grudges. We are a shining metal pot, but our water tastes of rust, the inners are not that well polished. And when we come to ourselves with no human scent around, we feel liberated. And we shout and cry our worries out. That’s our way of lightening ourselves. A marker and a washroom wall is what we need, the most disgusting civic practice but we love it.

...And we say it's a man's world

2010-06-20T09:23:00.000-07:00

It’s so difficult to write about a specie which has over 10000 poems, a million songs and so many broken hearts to its credit. The Internet Search Engine giant Google has made billions because of this specie. Add “Hot”, “Sexy”, “Sensuous”, “Cute”, “Beautiful” and all look good-feel good adjectives to this specie’s name and you get so many results. No prizes for guessing that I am talking about the fairer sex, the Ladies who claim being at the back of every successful man. I am still not sure if “being at the back” act comes first or “a man turning successful”, though If I go by my whims, I support the latter.

Men, by nature of their behavior, style, dressing, talking and eating are simple and if not simple they are pretty effortless. Women have different moods for different occasions. Women persona ranges from a Kid, to a Nanny, to a School principal, to a grandmother and sometimes as weird as a circus ringmaster. And defining on grounds of dressing habit, Girls are complex again. While our sneakers fit in a party, a pub, a discothèque, a long drive and sometimes even with office formals, women bless the occasions with stiletto, High Heel Pump, Low Heel Pump, Ankle boot and Suede Mules respectively(I googled for it)

While Men have a broad classification for food, Vegetarian and Non Vegetarian, and for us breakfast would be a little chicken and meal would be lots of it, Women again have lots of tongue twisters for their food as well. Overcooked, Undercooked, Deep fried, Shallow Fried, Low on Fat, High on Carbs, Mathematics is a good thing to know but why associate food with it? Anyways, to each his own. We prefer drinking at home, why spend five times the actual cost, at those stylish pubs and restro-bars, women love drinking at these high end places and often(always) the smiling man on the other side of the table bears the brunt of it. Smiling, yeah right!

When four men congregate, they talk about sports, when four women assemble, they talk about Apparels and accessories. Men accept compliments very gracefully, Women don’t e.g. – Hey Mr. X you look great today! “Thank you so much mate”. Hey Miss Y you look great today! “What do you mean TODAY?” While men like to read the newspaper in the order of importance, Headlines – Current Affairs – Sports and so on, Women almost always are satisfied with the four page fashion and Trends supplement. Men have a big wardrobe, stuffed with a few clothes but they somehow fit every occasion. Women have big wardrobes, neatly filled with clothes, which when transferred to an Air-conditioned store might constitute a full fledged apparel store, but “I have nothing to wear” is the most common feminine complaint. A man repeats his shirt after every four day, a woman repeats her Top after every four months. Talking about choices Men like beautiful (Just beautiful) women, Women on the other hand like chivalrous, caring, successful, rich, confident, funny, courageous, well mannered good looking men. Well in independent packages we fit the bill but talking in collective terms, this is literally impossible and “Impossible”, for a change this time does not say “I-m-possible”.

But in spite of all these not-so-good traits, the magnetic effect of the fairer sex is unexplainable. Men do cry about the bads that the his love interest might have done to him , but there is no denying that he would still get up and jump headfirst at the next beautiful lady in line. Female gender is a beautiful artwork of the almighty and they make this world a confusing, yet a beautiful place to live. And as the famous quote says “Sure God created man before woman, but then again you always make a rough draft before creating the final masterpiece”

The IT fallacy!!!

2009-11-29T09:48:00.000-08:00

Alrite, I take this opportunity of telling everyone that this blog is not meant to de motivate anybody. If you belong to those kinds that base their decisions on Online Articles, this is not at all meant for you. You should probably go for Software Engineering by Roger S Pressman That would be an interesting read.

Yeah, so it emanates in my neighborhood when I overheard two ladies talking. I was returning from my regular Cricket cameo and I was ashamed at this fact that I was hit for 5 fours in an over, the last one being a six and the captain told me to play the Umpire from next game. I was checking my belly, there was no hint of it transforming into a protruding paunch, so why am I supposed to be an umpire. My honest thoughts were disturbed by the talks of two elderly ladies who were talking about one of the girls in the colony getting married to an IT Guy.
Marriages and marriage related talks comprise the major chunk of feminine talks. But whatever I could deduce was that an IT guy is almost a god who earns in millions, lives the lives of nawaabs and never thinks before spending. To a class seventh student, hailing from a small town middle class family, it was more than “Just an Inspiration”. “I can not be a Tendulkar, but can strive hard to become a Bill Gates”, I said to myself. For Indians, as Bata is to shoes, Mr. Gates was for Computers and I am an Indian so very true to the core.
Years passed and every year I tried harder to get into the shoes of Mr. Gates. I was into engineering, Bachelor of Technology in Computer Sciences and Engineering to be precise. The B.Tech course comes with a security tag, that even if you do not know what the word “Technology” means, you’ll always end up in a technical profile. I was an IT Guy now, the man of my dreams. Every father’s pride, every mother’s delight, every neighbor’s envy and yeah the dream man of every beautiful girl. It’s always a great feeling when you start earning on your own.

Entire life, your parents pay for your education, food, clothes and all other basic necessities of your life and in turn take decisions for you, a puny return on their investments and decision making anyways is nothing that bothers an average person who is pursuing the course of his dreams. After you step into “I live on my own” world, the algorithm becomes a little different. You can now take your decisions but then you have to pay all your expenses. The puny return becomes a hefty investment and you get to see the “IT Fallacy” in its true form.

Salary account, yeah the Treasure chest that opens once a month to intake the rewards that we do for the 30(28 or 29 or 31) days empties like a sand glass with a mammoth bore. And since we IT Guys are a bit hi-fi, we always link our accounts with our mobile phones that makes sure that everyday we get a notification of how poor we have become? We work hard and we party harder, but the truth is that the party is mostly out of frustration. I have friends and who start their months with Blue labels and end with 8 PMs, but yeah partying spirit is always there.

Take the IT Guys out of the world most of the Thekaa(Wine Shops) owners in Gurgaon, Noida, Delhi ( and Pune and Mumbai and Bangalore etc) might well start posting their resumes on monster.com. See we IT Guys are not job seekers but job providers. We manage to get a smile from all cigarette shop around, the owners might not know our names, but for them we are “Milds”, “Lights”, “Regulars” and “Strong” brothers. Leave aside the MBA Comrades; we are the true brand managers.

So the Richie Riches(us), wear branded clothes, smoke expensive cigarettes, drink high class alcohol and party in best possible places but always in an insecure state of mind. And the work part, while the developers develop into glorified typists over a period of time, testers become ruthless critics, both trying to outdo each other. Project deadlines, Release dates, Phase-I, Phase-II, Phase-III, while all religions focus on totality, we live our lives in Modules(Can’t help using a technical word). We live a Monday to Friday, This release to that release, Phase-I to Phase-II life. And in between the phases we have cut-throat competitions for appraisals, Promotions and Bonuses.
Marriage, well, that’s an institution that every one has to register with and with that comes a new set of responsibilities. A bachelor can still live in a shady apartment with broken furniture and can use Auto Rickshaws as his Mercedes but a married man can not. So we surrender ourselves to the ravenous wolves (banks) who give us money to quench our short term thirst, but they surely dehydrate the rest of our life with the EMIs. So for an ordinary IT Guy after paying his Home Loan EMI, Car Loan EMI, Personal loan( for every conceivable object under the sun) EMI, his new born baby might well be crying for his nappies. Precisely that is the reason why, we guys bald quickly than anyone else.

Yeah, but we are politically, socially and technically aware mass. We know how to operate the computer, the queer most machine invented by the human being with utmost precision. We have brought the globe at the click of a mouse button. We have brought a whole new revolution to this world and have made it a better place to live. I have full respect for my Banker, Lawyer and government employee friends but we are atleast doing something better than counting someone else’s money, arguing on someone else’s behalf and discussing cricket matches in office hours.

Laws of Practicality!!

2009-08-23T05:41:00.000-07:00

Placement is one keyword of every college student. I mean every one wants a good bike, a pack of good friends to hang out, a hot girlfriend that you can boastfully walk with, but at the end of your academic innings, you want to walk away with a good job. I love my habit of being “exception” to the obvious things but for this theory I was happy being a stereotype. And the art of getting placed at our college was a tough task. The Jaypee Engineering Colleges are three Campus strong educational infrastructure but the companies entertain only the best located campus, the Noida campus only. And that meant for every single company visiting our college campus, we had to pack our bags and land straight to Noida to be a part of the process.

The Sixth semester was about to end and I was packing my stuff to get back to home. Home is where I felt that there is a civilized person somewhere inside me or else in college we were nomads who wandered room to room, road to road, class to class without any well defined objectives. There were people who wished to flourish, while my friends and I just wished to survive. And in the act of survival we ended up with forty cigarettes and twenty cups of tea. The money that my parents sent vanished in a wink and in a matter of 10 days we came at the verge of hardships. And to add to it, I somehow broke the laptop of one of my juniors and hence I owed him a mammoth Ten thousand bucks.

There were two companies that were supposed to come at the last day of the academic semester that meant, first we had to rush to Noida and from there straight to our respective homes. I did not wish to be a part of the process, firstly it was pain to travel so much and more importantly I was out of money too. But, one of the companies was a big name hence I had to go. We went to the campus and the news broke out that the bigger company is not coming and the smaller one is only for Electronics Engineers. “Awesome, Couldn’t have been any worse”, I thought and started packing my luggage with a heavy heart.

It was an uncomfortable journey back home with train compartments stuffed like hell. Anyways 12 hours of hell and I was back to my home. I just wanted to relax, play and forget about placements, career and other serious aspects of life. I hardly spent a day at my home that I got a call from one of my friends who said that the bigger company is visiting the campus the day after. I was shocked. There are times in your life that your own faculties start hammering each other. My Brain and My heart were slamming each other and since we are practical people, living a practical life following the principles of practicality, my brain won and I made up my mind to get back to Noida. I somehow managed a ticket to Delhi for the next day

Shramjeevi Express was to depart at 11.45 and it was already late by ten minutes at Patna Junction. I had two bottles of mineral water, neatly packed separate boxes for lunch and dinner and three magazines that ensured a nice comfortable journey. And to add to it, the train was strangely vacant, a rare site on any Patna-Delhi train. The Train started with a jolt and hence started my journey.

“Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging alone like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle”

Lines from one of my junior school poetries, I was enjoying it. Some things can only be enjoyed when you are in the company of your own self and “World through a train window” is one of them. Three hours passed in no time and the Train just left Buxar station. I was now trying to dig deep into a magazine to get a glimpse of what is happening in the world’s largest democracy, home to 1.17 billion people. The concentration of the concerned citizen was broken by a slight murmur. A foreign couple was trying to get suggestions from someone. The helper, however was little weak in English but he was utilizing all vowels, consonants and syllables of English coupled with lots of gestures and postures. But poor guest were very confused. I find a lot of foreigners traveling in Sleeper coaches when they could have easily afforded a flight. Probably they wanted to catch a glimpse of real India and hence they were bearing the brunt of it. Anyways, at times I can be a serious interrupter so I became the part of discussion as well.

It was a Russian couple, who came to Bihar to visit the Buddhist Monasteries and temples and they were on their way to Varanasi which is a 7 hour journey from Patna. I started talking to them. They somehow found my language a bit clearer and hence asked if they can sit with me for sometime and find a solution to their problem. The Male was a 60 year old handsome man whose name was “Alexei”, the Lady was probably two-three younger to him and she was also a pretty lady. Unlike Indian Wives the Russian Wife was allowing his husband to speak. The Problem was a very simple one, the Couple had a general class ticket and they were traveling in a sleeper coach and they didn’t know whom to talk to avail the right ticket. I told them the TTE is the designated authority who will charge them the routine fine and then would make a ticket for them. The Couple then started talking all good things that they saw in India. They were very happy to see the Peepul tree in Bodhgaya under which Siddhartha found his Enlightment and turned to Gautam Buddha. That was nice to hear. I told them a little bit about the culture and heritage of India. After half an hour the couple left and I again started looking out of the train window. Now the train was speeding towards MughalSarai junction one of the major railway stations in the Patna-Delhi route. While looking out I was carelessly wagging my hands to find out the magazine that was laying somewhere on the seat, but instead my hands found something harder and clearly bigger. I turned back and I saw a black pouch with a crocodile symbol on it, beautifully bearing the word “Lacoste”.

I realized that the Russian woman was carrying the Pouch. “How careless can people be I should search for them and return them their bag!” this was my instaneous reaction. I stood up with the pouch to look around for them. And then the hidden evil inside me came to the picture and this is what it said: “Why to return the stuff to them, you did not steal, they left and hence now it’s yours”. And again I was caught in a whirlpool, where one part of me was saying to look around for them and return it to them and the other was saying that it is all yours. The Evil’s role was more pronounced and it convinced me to check out what stuff was inside it and I foolishly followed it. I looked around like a thief and then went inside a washroom. The Pouch had three sections with zips and it was surprisingly spacious for its small size. Inside the first section, there was a Blackberry Handheld and a fancy Samsung phone. The other section had a Sony Camcorder and the third section had twenty thousand rupees, yes I counted it too. The Evil said “See! Not a penny less than sixty thousand bucks and it’s all yours.

“God is great, in one go he has solved all your problems”, the evil said again. “I can pay ten thousand bucks to the laptop owner and spend the rest partying next semester”, I thought. MughalSarai junction was hardly at a distance of 30-35 KMs. I made up my mind that I would pack the stuff in my bag and get off at MughalSarai and from there would take another train. The impact of the evil was so great that the good part was dumfounded. I packed the pouch in my bag and sat down waiting for the train to reach MughalSarai. In the meanwhile I started recollecting the Russian couple’s conversations. They were overjoyed by the kind of treatment they got in India. They said that the very warmth of the Indians will keep them pulling back to India every year. They were also impressed by the Indian youth whom they found very talented and hardworking. And they had a special mention for Bihar. Before coming to Bihar, everyone warned them about the crime rate of it and the cases of loots and murders. But, when they left this place they left it with a very happy heart. They found every one in Bihar, very helpful and cooperative.

The Train was speeding along the green farms. I still remembered the lines of my old school poetry but I was not enjoying. There was a sort of restlessness inside me. My good part was weak but it still was alive and it was trying to knock the evil occasionally. There are times in your life that your own faculties start hammering each other. My Brain and My heart were slamming each other and since we are practical people, living a practical life following the principles of practicality, the brain has got every right to win. But this time my heart was not ready to lose this fight.

Two foreigners on Indian soil with no money in hand and no means of communication and all because of me. A stack of rectangular papers the mother of all evils which people call money, is that the only driving force in the world for which I will singe the goodness of countless Indians. And to add to it, when the police officials in Delhi will enquire from the couple that where did the theft took place? They would get Bihar as an answer and they would say “We knew that, that’s why we stop foreigners from going them”. The Evil now was on back-foot and my good part was firing all around.

Without wasting a single moment, I took out the pouch and started looking for them compartment to compartment. I hardly went 5 compartments ahead that I saw them desperately searching for SOMETHING. The Woman was standing with tears in eyes, she was paying hard for her carelessness. I waved my hands at them and showed them their “Something”. They came running towards me.

“Where did you find it?”, The man asked.
“You left it on the seat when you were sitting with me”, I replied.
“God bless you. You don’t know how valuable are these to me?” He said again
“No problems, just be a little more careful when you are traveling”, I said.

The man nodded in acceptance but the woman was staring blankly at me. And then she hugged me, the silent warmth of her hug was speaking volumes.

I still owed a fellow ten thousand bucks. I still had a strenuous placement session to go through. I had 8 hours of train journey and a full return journey left but I was a happy man because I was again enjoying “World through a train window”.

Malls, Rickshaw and a pair of socks!

2009-08-08T04:41:00.000-07:00

After four years of Engineering, I got job at this reputed multi national firm. The best part I was in Gurgaon, near Delhi home to the best North Indian food and hottest girls in India. I was overwhelmed by the sudden change and welcomed it with arms stretched wide. I was still passing my idle time of final year when I got a call from the company’s HR department that I need to be present in person to collect the letter of appointment and also undergo the routine medical check up.
The farewell parties, booze parties, grass parties and all sorts of nonsense final year parties were going full speed and it was a pain to miss any one of them. But, what choice I had. I planned to go reluctantly. “Formal clothing” is one of the many things that a student has to graduate to when he steps into the professional world. I relate formal clothing to formal thinking, formal planning and formal implementation of thoughts, ideas and actions. While casual denotes liberation, formal denotes discipline both having their own beauty. Anyways, I was devoid of any formal attire and I was supposed to wear formals at the place. And hence started my hunt for formal clothes, I could not find any. Our wardrobes were cluttered with un-pressed shirts, mud soaked jeans, dirty socks and underwears but I managed to grab two pieces of clothes; a shirt and a trouser which were very near to what formal clothes are, but I could not find a pair of clean socks. “There are lots of malls on MG road, buy socks from one of them what is the big deal”, suggested one of my friend who was an inhabitant of Gurgaon.
Eight hours of train journey and I was here in Gurgaon. They call it the Shanghai of India, the millennium city. Skyscrapers, Offices, IT parks, Discotheques, Pubs and lots and lots of Malls, Gurgaon is very different from Lutyen’s Delhi which is still a bit old, classy and tattered. Limousines, Mercedes and BMWs were speeding around and I was enjoying the polished look of the city. In offices people draped in finest clothes and speaking on the costliest phones were walking around. This is modern India where people don’t think before spending and I would be a part of this elite crowd very soon. But for now I had to go to the office and I had three hours in hand and had to buy a pair of socks first. There were beautiful malls standing around.

I went to one of them, but the Mall was devoid any sort of crowd. I enquired with the gatekeeper and he said “It’s Tuesday and very limited stores are open today and no clothing shop is open so try other malls.” I went to other malls and they had similar answers. And I was disgusted, how do I go to the office without socks? There was a rickshaw waiting near the mall. I went to him and asked if there was any garment shop around so that I can buy a pair of socks. The Rickshaw puller, a frail person, with pepper and salt hair and sun burnt skin was looking like an ugly patch on the shining Gurgaon outfit. He said there would be no shops open; he can try in the nearby Chakkarpur market but can not guarantee. I had no option so I obeyed him in dismay and the Rickshaw sped towards the destination.
I have this curious habit of talking to people around so I started chatting with him. I came to know that his name was "Kishan" and he was from some small town in West Bengal. He came to Delhi 15 years back in search of a job; preferably a gate keeper’s job but he could not get any. He then, sold some belongings in his home to buy a Rickshaw and hence started his story. He moved to Gurgaon three years back because according to him in Delhi there is a fierce competition and he wanted to live in peace. We were in Chakkarpur market and all the shops were closed and hence now I had no place to go. Gurgaon the place of shining malls had no shop that could offer me a pair of socks.
Seeing my worried face, now the Rickshaw puller slipped in the chatty mood. He enquired “What is that you require so urgently?”.
“Nothing, not your business anyways”, I replied.
“Okay, but you can at least tell me, may be I can help you out!”, he continued.
“You can surely help me, only if you have a clothes store of your own”, I was still frustrated
“Tell me, I’ll try to help you out”, he replied
“Alrite, I need a pair of socks, now tell me how can you help me out”, I said.
“I can help you for sure but only if you agree to take my socks, they are brand new”, he replied.
“What, your socks”, I said more to myself than to him
“Okay, only if they are new”, I continued.
“Sure sir lets move, you are getting late”. He replied and indicated me to take a seat.
And the Rickshaw sped again. We passed the same Offices and Malls and he turned into one of the lanes. The Roads started becoming narrower and narrower and the scenes around changed drastically. The skyscrapers were now 1 storey high houses with crumbling cement and weathered paints. The malls were not there, I saw one or two low lit damp shops but they had customers flocking. There was no elite crowd in fine clothing and expensive phones but people walking around in dirty torn clothes. There were no BMWs around, I saw Rickshaws, so many of them parked neatly near the building boundaries.
“What place is this, looks horrible”, I enquired
“Horrible to you, home to us, anyways this is my home, come on get down, I’ll give you my socks.” He answered.

I entered his place. There were 8-9 rooms in a line and all of them housed a full family. The roofs were low and ground was damp. There was a hand pump outside where people were bathing and many were waiting for their turn. But they were looking like a society where one man was pushing the hand pump bar, the other was bathing and the third was cleaning the floor. I entered inside his so called home. It was very small for a family of four. He opened a trunk, put aside some clothes and then pulled out a pair of brand new navy blue socks. I took them greedily.
“So do you wear shoes too, otherwise why did you purchase socks?”, I asked
“I seldom wear them, I have an old pair of shoes but one of my cousins is getting married next month”, he replied
“I hence bought my wife a new saree and kids new clothes, did not have much money left for me so bought socks for now, would buy shirt if I happen to save something”, he finished and smiled bluntly.
Why was he smiling? I was clueless. I was still in the millennium city where people do not think before spending money. In the same city a hardworking Rickshaw Puller could buy only a pair of socks from all his savings. I tried giving him money but he did not accept that. He said “You are still studying, once you start earning come here and pay me back”. Persuasion was useless because he was an obstinate honest person. I agreed and he dropped me back to the make-believe world. Here I was, sitting in an Air conditioned room wearing an artificial smile on the face.
After I joined the firm, I went back to the place to pay him back but I came to know that the man has left this place. No body had a clue as to where he is at present. They said that sometimes he is seen pulling his rickshaw around in Gurgaon. I would indeed love to see him back and thank him for what ever good he did to me. Through this story I just wanted to tell him that a person in the elite crowd still owes a pair of socks to him.

The Fri“GAY” Night

2009-07-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so it dawned on one of us that we must go to a Discotheque tonight. Friday, night the end of a stressful week and also the first Friday of the month which ensures our pockets are all stuffed with notes. All my friends used to talk about Gurgaon night life and I ruled them over by saying Night Life is only for the call center guys who have no other option but to live this so called rock star’s life.

Probably I never wanted to be a part of the youth brigade that sips beer and taps feet on wild music in closed rooms with flash lights going on and off every alternate wink. But yeah, I was game enough to be a part of my room mate’s decision.
And it started with a beer marathon at our place. We discussed work and our future prospects in the first round. The Second round was dedicated to all the hot chicks in every conceivable place under the sun. In third round, we started calling up our college friends and talking all non sense with them. That was an alarm for us that the alcohol has made its way to our cerebrum. We still completed our fourth round and set off for the Disc.

I have been single all through my life, probably because there is absolutely no room for inspiration. I always belonged to an all male groups where no body had a girl friend. My present room mates are all single and try at every girl who have their eyes and ears at proper places but fail without a fail. And, I work in an all Male team at my office too. So While we were speeding to the destination, our chief talks were girls, how to approach them, how to convince them for a dance and how to god knows what?

The Discotheques are weird places, they allow couples to enter for free and charge money from the single ones. Algorithm is all weird, we are the ones who need partners so we should be encouraged but here they encourage the already engaged ones. Anyways, we could have broken the rules by trespassing, but the sheer size of the bouncers prevented us from even thinking that. And we entered and flocked at a common place.

There was this person in our group who made us realize that we are not drunk enough to approach a girl. And I don’t know why but we agreed to him. Solution, drink more and we started drinking again at almost four times the price that we could have got from a local shop. After 2 Pints of beers I resigned and so did everyone. The chain initiator however stayed till 4 pints.

Now, five already drunk guys who drank again to an extent that their feet weren’t able to support them standing, started dancing. I felt like standing still, and felt everything else trembling. But then realized after some time that I was the one dancing. I have been a terrible dancer through out my life. I tried my hands at dandiya once, but the girl stopped talking to me after that. It was only after four days, I came to know that I hit her finger multiple times that night.

Anyways, The Alcohol started its magic and I started mine too. “Atul Mishra, here” would you dance with me, lamest of all pick up lines but they were working. Girls were actually coming up to dance with me. I tried to wear the smartest of expressions on my face and they were working. Almost all the girls, I approached agreed to dance with me. I felt like a stud and thought of making my friends a little jealous and turned towards them and introduce them to the new refined version of Atul Mishra. But to my shock I realized, all of them were dancing with girls, piping hot all of them. I was surprised and then thought this is one lucky Friday. I kept dancing with the hottest girl that I found for half an hour. And then I thought of exchanging numbers with her.

“Buy me a Tequila first”, the girl said. “Sure” I said. “Hey Wait, what did you say?” I asked again. “I said buy me a Tequila first”, she replied. The Voice was too husky for a woman wand was relatively shrill for a man. I was bewildered. I talked to her again to make sure that my conclusion, and GOD I was correct. I was dancing with a half male from half an hour. Then I thought I should talk to all the girls I came across and Yeah, all of them were what I guessed.

I was now sure that my friends were sailing in the same boat. I went to each of them and talked to their partners. And Yes, all of them were GAY and happy. Now, I went to the one of the Bouncers and asked what the matter is and here is what I came to know.
The Delhi High Court has passed a historic verdict by legalizing consensual homosexuality.It was an all GAY night and they were celebrating their victory. Good for them, I thought but could it be any worse for us.All the alcohol was gone in a minute and we were laughing at each other. Probably I never wanted to be a part of the youth brigade that sips beer and taps feet on wild music in closed rooms with flash lights going on and off every alternate wink. Probably, I was right.

I am Patna

2009-06-13T09:23:00.000-07:00

I stretch quietly along the banks of the Ganges; my eyes have seen it all. The rise and fall of empires, the echoes of victors, the throes of the vanquished, I have heard it all. I have felt the violence and bloodshed and have cherished the peace sermons. My old eyes still remember the glory of the Gupta Kings and the unparalleled bravery of Mauryas, the grandeur of the nawabs of Bengal and the tyranny of the British Raj. My womb gave birth to Guru Govind Singh; the world knows that battle he fought and his temple Takht HarMandir Sahib still stands proudly on my chest. I am Patna, the modern Patliputra, my history as old as history itself.I still stretch along the Ganges, thinning shoreline it has now. I don’t see the elephants and cavalries marching, nor do I hear the sounds of the trumpet now. I see a busy city waking up everyday with the rising sun. I see the swirls of dust as people leave their ways for their work. I hear something something of everyone which eventually turns into nothing. I see the unity in diversity, blank faces, cheerful faces, moaning faces, laughing faces, welcoming faces, frowning faces but yes every face has got something to offer. I am Patna, the hometown of countless inquisitive brains.

Come to me when vermillion smeared foreheads bow to the sun, to pay their respect and gratitude to it. The Chhath Pooja where all one can see is the banks of the Ganga packed to the brim, all one can hear, the sweet sounds of the folk songs and all one can feel is the warmth of human love. The crackers of the Diwali burst whole night as if fighting to kick out the age old silences of ignorance. The crowd of Dussehra, where it seems as if every individual in the crowd is trying to take out the RAM hidden inside him. The delicacies of Eid, you can still find them in the old dark lanes of mine.

Fa-Hein has described my beauty in his travel accounts and Megasthanese was out of words when he was confining my beauty to his book Indaka. When the whole India was sleeping in deep dreams of unawareness, I took the pains of enlightening the dark minds. Gautam Buddha prophesized that I would be the greatest city in the world someday but he told that I would fall prey to fire and water still he missed the biggest factor that I felt prey to, Human greed!

Yes, I fell prey to the human greed. My old glory was raped by everyone who came to rule me. Everyone was thinking about him, his family, his own near and dears but every one forgot their Patna. When whole India was undergoing an economic transmutation, my greedy sons were busy plucking every conceivable thing from my soil. They looted their own home and fled like a dacoit. And, they left me crawling in the lowly dusts. When every Indian was erecting infrastructures for the coming generations, my sons were demolishing the towers of my ancient glory.

And, when this turbulence was over, I was just a piece of land. Fertile, I still was but no one wished to plant on me. My sons were still intelligent but they felt insulted to be my sons. The very feel of being attached to Patna in any shape or form was a matter of indignity for my residents. The opportunities vanished, the hopes shattered and I was christened the undeveloped part of a developing nation. Poverty that never even thought about me in her wildest dreams clutched me in her claws and hence due to a handful of betrayers, all sons of mine started suffering.

But, highs and lows are the essential constituents of god’s plan. I saw the highest of crests in my golden times and then saw the deepest trench of failures. My sons have realized the importance of their old mother, and slowly but steadily they are changing the face of mine. I am now crawling out of the mud. I am breaking the shackles of dogma and myths and I am opening my eyes to the new changes. I see a bright future which my sons have promised me. I hope they would gift me my old glories back. I have led the world in the past and I am sure I will do it in Future again.