Although I had promised that I am not going to crib before the year ends, something absolutely forced me to crib again.
Ø I am unable to understand what’s up with my lenses. Every time I wear them, my right eye becomes watery and forces me to fill buckets. It grows red giving me a dopey look. It has also made my right eye look smaller than my left one. Hell! Interestingly, I cry only with one eye (the right one of course) and seeing the condition of the eye, the nose starts crying and running at the same time.
Ø Another thing that is troubling me is my boss’s attitude. He treats me like an outcaste and a fathead who doesn’t understand anything. He makes me feel that my dad wasted his money by in trying to educate me as I am (he thinks so) still an uneducated ass.
Ø Why does my father insist on occupying the bathroom only after 8:30 am? Why not around 8:25 am? He should understand that now even I have to go to office and it’s not just him who’s working now. Is he aware that a word called ‘adjustment’ exists in the world?
Ø Why does Tanaz have to say “so sweet” to every darned thing?
Most people make resolutions for the New Year, I am making a Wish List and I hope that the chap who lives in the skies and calls himself God fulfills these wishes. Here goes the list:
Ø I wish that my college and college mates behave properly with me and try to understand that it is hateful to keep on thinking about their own selves and comfort.
Ø I wish that Delhi Jal Board does not goof up on the water supply in our locality so that we are not forced to go to the temple a street away to fill our buckets and that my grandmother sees the logic behind my so many arguments on leaving this locality for good.
Ø I wish that my lenses stop troubling my eyes and try not to turn them into hosepipes.
Ø I wish that my boss stops behaving like that.
Ø I wish that my father occupies the bathroom by 8:25 in the morning and vacates it by 8:50.
Ø I wish that I get lectured less from now on.
Ø I wish Tanaz stops saying “so sweet” to every darned thing.
Ø I wish my hypocrisy level goes down by the same time next year.
Ø I wish that I will have fewer reasons to crib next year.
Ø I wish that God grants me two more wishes the next year just in case I need to ask for more.
Cheers and wish you all a very Happy New Year!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Life in the Metro
This has been a rather frustrating end of the year. However, I want to end it on a humorous note. So, now I present a little anecdote from my life in the Metro (Metro as in the Metro train), though I must admit my Haryanvi language is extremely bad. So my apologies.
As usual the day began with lectures—that how I do not exercise and stuff like that. As usual I ignored it and settled down with the newspaper and shouted at my brother to stop bothering me with his set of Maths problems (Maths and I hardly go together and nor can we tolerate each other. I refuse to solve its problems and its problems just refuse to be solved by me). Anyways, we are digressing from the topic. Finally got ready to go to office after wondering what to wear today as everything that was staring at me from my wardrobe was O! so boring! The water as usual was hot and I was still feeling cold. After dressing up in all the finery and having had a typical unexciting breakfast of bread and butter with Bournvita milk, I stepped out of my house armed with a P.G. Wodehouse to read in the Metro. As usual I contemplated what mode of transport should I use—rickshaw or bus. I settled down in favour of the bus thinking that since it is winters, I would be better off in a warm bus, even if it is crowded, rather than a windy rickshaw. So left-right-left (I had just watched this programme on TV. The effects were still to wear off. The programme is about army cadets and features quite a number of eye-candies. Anyways, back to the topic again) I went to the bus-stop, boarded the bus and thanked God that it wasn’t too crowded and mentally uttered abuses at a few gawk-ers (Lord! How I hate such people) and finally reached the Metro station.
Again the usual—huffing and puffing, I finally climbed the stairs of the Metro station (They do not make escalators in our part of the metro station. This is what happens to the minority community in this country— injustice. The number of people who travel in the Metro from our part of the station is smaller than the other side—this makes us the minority community among the Metro travellers. We want reservation! We want reservation! Hopefully I will get a seat in the train from now on). Oho! Again we digress. Coming back, this time I got the escalator and climbed up. You see, that makes it quick—climbing the escalators with the escalator climbing in the same direction takes you up faster (This is Nobody’s Devil Law of Motion! But I hate Physics too!). And so I am on the platform now. The train arrives 1 minute late and I mentally reprimand the driver for being “so” late forgetting that it is India we live in. Then as usual, I stand back bemused watching the way in which people are trying to get into the train, literally pushing and pulling each other as if the train is going to leave them there and the next train isn’t going to come. I make a mental note of this and nod to myself in a righteous sort of way that at least I am not a part of this rat race quite forgetting the fact that it is me who has made an effort to remember the exact point on the platform where a door of the train opens.
(And now for the real bit) After being successful in finding my favourite place to stand in the train, I look around just to make sure nobody is gawking at me (if I had found such a person, I would have taken the pleasure of calling him a few names as well. Sadistic! One may say. However, I have found a new victim for that—my boss). Then I fished out my P.G., as I lovingly call it, and started reading. The train keeps halting at Metro station and moving again, as it is supposed to do. Comes: Pratap Nagar Metro Station. Enter: Mr. Haryanvi Jaat.
Mr Haryanvi Jaat (let’s call him HJ just like that weirdo Michael Jackson—MJ or maybe Mary Jane of Spiderman fame): Oh bhai! Ye Shahadra jayegi k nahi? [Will this train go to Shahadra?]
Helpful Passenger: Haan haan jayegi tau. [Yes, yes, it will uncle]
(Methought: Is it a f*****g bus?)
HJ is unable to balance himself. Falls on the passenger standing nearby who is looking distraught at having been relegated to such a torture. I, meanwhile, try to contain my laughter.
HJ: Ib is goley ka k karoon main? [What am I supposed to do with this token. Please note, the gola in question is the Metro token?]
Helpful Passenger: Is ko jab Shahadra utrogey tab dabbe me daal dena. [When you arrive at Shahadra, put it in the box].
HJ: Ye Shahadra jayegi na? [Will this go to Shahadra or not?]
(Methought: How many times are you going to ask that? Shut up now and let me read! The fool!)
The guy standing opposite to me is gaping at HJ in wonder contemplating whether he belongs to some other planet. I grin at him. He doesn’t grin back, clearly lost in thoughts. (Methought: Of course HJ belongs to the other planet—Haryana. Now that was a racial slur. Bad girl!)
By now it seemed that Helpful Passenger had gotten tired of him.
Helpful Passenger: Tau Metro me zyada bolna mana hai. [Uncle speaking too much is banned in Metro]
But HJ is damn smart.
HJ: Ib dikha de k kidhar likha hai Silence. [Show me where is it written: Silence, obviously he meant Maintain Silence.] (But this was no time to display my subbing skills. There was too much excitement on the ground, or maybe in the air, or mid-air. Oh whatever! Just read on!)
Repeats the dialogue a number of times, much to the amusement of the people around.
(Methought: This guy is just too cool. I am his fan. Autograph please!)
HJ: Acha beta! Manne ye bata k je tumhara thaila kho jaye, to kahan report likhwani padti hai. Mera thaila kho gaya tha pichli baar Metro me. K wo mil jayega? [Son! Tell me where should I report if I lose my bag in the Metro. I lost my bag last time here. Will I get it back?]
By now it seemed to me as if Helpful Passenger was in a mood to have fun with HJ.
Helpful Passenger: Tau agar paise honge to kabhi na milega. [If it had money, you will never find it]
HJ: Na beta. Paise na the. Bas kuch kagaz they, kachcha aur baniyan tha. [It did not have money. It had a pair of undergarments]
Helpful Passenger: Driver se pooch lena. [Ask the driver].
(Methought: The driver must be wearing your kachcha [underwear] and baniyan [vest] right now. That too over this pants playing Superman. Now that was an old joke)
In between the conversation, HJ had already asked whether the train will go to Shahadra at least once more. While most of us were getting down at Kashmiri Gate (wonder why Kashmiri Gate. Kashmir is in Jammu and Kashmir, not in Delhi), he asked once more the same question.
(Methought: If he says it once more, I am gonna scream and say... No, this one goes to Timbaktu)
As usual the day began with lectures—that how I do not exercise and stuff like that. As usual I ignored it and settled down with the newspaper and shouted at my brother to stop bothering me with his set of Maths problems (Maths and I hardly go together and nor can we tolerate each other. I refuse to solve its problems and its problems just refuse to be solved by me). Anyways, we are digressing from the topic. Finally got ready to go to office after wondering what to wear today as everything that was staring at me from my wardrobe was O! so boring! The water as usual was hot and I was still feeling cold. After dressing up in all the finery and having had a typical unexciting breakfast of bread and butter with Bournvita milk, I stepped out of my house armed with a P.G. Wodehouse to read in the Metro. As usual I contemplated what mode of transport should I use—rickshaw or bus. I settled down in favour of the bus thinking that since it is winters, I would be better off in a warm bus, even if it is crowded, rather than a windy rickshaw. So left-right-left (I had just watched this programme on TV. The effects were still to wear off. The programme is about army cadets and features quite a number of eye-candies. Anyways, back to the topic again) I went to the bus-stop, boarded the bus and thanked God that it wasn’t too crowded and mentally uttered abuses at a few gawk-ers (Lord! How I hate such people) and finally reached the Metro station.
Again the usual—huffing and puffing, I finally climbed the stairs of the Metro station (They do not make escalators in our part of the metro station. This is what happens to the minority community in this country— injustice. The number of people who travel in the Metro from our part of the station is smaller than the other side—this makes us the minority community among the Metro travellers. We want reservation! We want reservation! Hopefully I will get a seat in the train from now on). Oho! Again we digress. Coming back, this time I got the escalator and climbed up. You see, that makes it quick—climbing the escalators with the escalator climbing in the same direction takes you up faster (This is Nobody’s Devil Law of Motion! But I hate Physics too!). And so I am on the platform now. The train arrives 1 minute late and I mentally reprimand the driver for being “so” late forgetting that it is India we live in. Then as usual, I stand back bemused watching the way in which people are trying to get into the train, literally pushing and pulling each other as if the train is going to leave them there and the next train isn’t going to come. I make a mental note of this and nod to myself in a righteous sort of way that at least I am not a part of this rat race quite forgetting the fact that it is me who has made an effort to remember the exact point on the platform where a door of the train opens.
(And now for the real bit) After being successful in finding my favourite place to stand in the train, I look around just to make sure nobody is gawking at me (if I had found such a person, I would have taken the pleasure of calling him a few names as well. Sadistic! One may say. However, I have found a new victim for that—my boss). Then I fished out my P.G., as I lovingly call it, and started reading. The train keeps halting at Metro station and moving again, as it is supposed to do. Comes: Pratap Nagar Metro Station. Enter: Mr. Haryanvi Jaat.
Mr Haryanvi Jaat (let’s call him HJ just like that weirdo Michael Jackson—MJ or maybe Mary Jane of Spiderman fame): Oh bhai! Ye Shahadra jayegi k nahi? [Will this train go to Shahadra?]
Helpful Passenger: Haan haan jayegi tau. [Yes, yes, it will uncle]
(Methought: Is it a f*****g bus?)
HJ is unable to balance himself. Falls on the passenger standing nearby who is looking distraught at having been relegated to such a torture. I, meanwhile, try to contain my laughter.
HJ: Ib is goley ka k karoon main? [What am I supposed to do with this token. Please note, the gola in question is the Metro token?]
Helpful Passenger: Is ko jab Shahadra utrogey tab dabbe me daal dena. [When you arrive at Shahadra, put it in the box].
HJ: Ye Shahadra jayegi na? [Will this go to Shahadra or not?]
(Methought: How many times are you going to ask that? Shut up now and let me read! The fool!)
The guy standing opposite to me is gaping at HJ in wonder contemplating whether he belongs to some other planet. I grin at him. He doesn’t grin back, clearly lost in thoughts. (Methought: Of course HJ belongs to the other planet—Haryana. Now that was a racial slur. Bad girl!)
By now it seemed that Helpful Passenger had gotten tired of him.
Helpful Passenger: Tau Metro me zyada bolna mana hai. [Uncle speaking too much is banned in Metro]
But HJ is damn smart.
HJ: Ib dikha de k kidhar likha hai Silence. [Show me where is it written: Silence, obviously he meant Maintain Silence.] (But this was no time to display my subbing skills. There was too much excitement on the ground, or maybe in the air, or mid-air. Oh whatever! Just read on!)
Repeats the dialogue a number of times, much to the amusement of the people around.
(Methought: This guy is just too cool. I am his fan. Autograph please!)
HJ: Acha beta! Manne ye bata k je tumhara thaila kho jaye, to kahan report likhwani padti hai. Mera thaila kho gaya tha pichli baar Metro me. K wo mil jayega? [Son! Tell me where should I report if I lose my bag in the Metro. I lost my bag last time here. Will I get it back?]
By now it seemed to me as if Helpful Passenger was in a mood to have fun with HJ.
Helpful Passenger: Tau agar paise honge to kabhi na milega. [If it had money, you will never find it]
HJ: Na beta. Paise na the. Bas kuch kagaz they, kachcha aur baniyan tha. [It did not have money. It had a pair of undergarments]
Helpful Passenger: Driver se pooch lena. [Ask the driver].
(Methought: The driver must be wearing your kachcha [underwear] and baniyan [vest] right now. That too over this pants playing Superman. Now that was an old joke)
In between the conversation, HJ had already asked whether the train will go to Shahadra at least once more. While most of us were getting down at Kashmiri Gate (wonder why Kashmiri Gate. Kashmir is in Jammu and Kashmir, not in Delhi), he asked once more the same question.
(Methought: If he says it once more, I am gonna scream and say... No, this one goes to Timbaktu)
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
To add to it....
Still more to add to my existing frustrations, this is what has been happening:
Ø There has been no water supply since 3 days. My grandmother refuses to leave this damned place and refuses to see the problems her children and grandchildren are facing without water. Had it been peak summer, I would have understood that there is shortage of water, but it is winters now. Areas around our locality are facing no such problems, then why only us? Everyday we have to fetch water from the temple a lane away—which has got a water booster—and carry the water to the first floor. Last year in the summers we had faced similar problems. Water had eluded us for 10 days at a stretch. I am sick of this locality, sick of this darned Haiderpur gaon.
The other day, I shouted hard at God, called him names and told him if I had friends like him, then I am better off without enemies. But he doesn't listen. There are enemies. Why is he like that?
Ø There has been no water supply since 3 days. My grandmother refuses to leave this damned place and refuses to see the problems her children and grandchildren are facing without water. Had it been peak summer, I would have understood that there is shortage of water, but it is winters now. Areas around our locality are facing no such problems, then why only us? Everyday we have to fetch water from the temple a lane away—which has got a water booster—and carry the water to the first floor. Last year in the summers we had faced similar problems. Water had eluded us for 10 days at a stretch. I am sick of this locality, sick of this darned Haiderpur gaon.
The other day, I shouted hard at God, called him names and told him if I had friends like him, then I am better off without enemies. But he doesn't listen. There are enemies. Why is he like that?
Friday, December 15, 2006
Reasons why I am frustrated...
Ø I am going to miss out on an office party. Reason—practical exam for a subject that is just about useless and is called Radio Programme Formats. when the name of the paper is so dull and drab that one can very well imagine the content of the subject. And for such a subject, I am going to miss out on a rocking office party. :( :( :(
Ø This makes me regret why, in the first place, did I agree to join the stupid course. Why did I give in? I have nothing but my own weakness to blame for the same. But there is no use crying over spilt milk now. What had to occur has occurred and it cannot be changed as much as I may want a time machine to make the necessary changes.
Ø Another thing and this one is not my fault—that college is crap. My 54 grand stands wasted. The machines do not work properly and if they do, there is no electircity and there are no generators in our part of the world (read: campus. The other parts have been connected with the generator but it is only the Centre for Media Studies that has been singled out for this step-motherly treatment. If I try and be liberal, the faculty is just about average. We have been left like orphans, trying to find our feet in the University on our own with no one to help us. The weekend programme has been converted into a weekday programme to complete all the pending work beacuse the studios were not ready on time and we lost at least 2 months. Just to make the grim picture complete, the authorities have been made to feel as if we are not serious about our studies. I mean what the hell!
Ø On top of it all, my parents are not ready to admit that taking admission into this Goddamn university was a mistake. They feel they have done the right thing. One gets post-graduate degrees in any damned correspondence course from any non-descript university and that too in peanuts if it was just the degree that they were interested in. But no… they are always correct.
Yeah, I am frustrated. Anyone will be. Everything seems to predict just doom. Doom Doom Doom and Boom, I just blew up. Some day IP University, you are gonna pay. And I will make sure that day comes soon.
Ø This makes me regret why, in the first place, did I agree to join the stupid course. Why did I give in? I have nothing but my own weakness to blame for the same. But there is no use crying over spilt milk now. What had to occur has occurred and it cannot be changed as much as I may want a time machine to make the necessary changes.
Ø Another thing and this one is not my fault—that college is crap. My 54 grand stands wasted. The machines do not work properly and if they do, there is no electircity and there are no generators in our part of the world (read: campus. The other parts have been connected with the generator but it is only the Centre for Media Studies that has been singled out for this step-motherly treatment. If I try and be liberal, the faculty is just about average. We have been left like orphans, trying to find our feet in the University on our own with no one to help us. The weekend programme has been converted into a weekday programme to complete all the pending work beacuse the studios were not ready on time and we lost at least 2 months. Just to make the grim picture complete, the authorities have been made to feel as if we are not serious about our studies. I mean what the hell!
Ø On top of it all, my parents are not ready to admit that taking admission into this Goddamn university was a mistake. They feel they have done the right thing. One gets post-graduate degrees in any damned correspondence course from any non-descript university and that too in peanuts if it was just the degree that they were interested in. But no… they are always correct.
Yeah, I am frustrated. Anyone will be. Everything seems to predict just doom. Doom Doom Doom and Boom, I just blew up. Some day IP University, you are gonna pay. And I will make sure that day comes soon.
Monday, November 13, 2006
The friends who weren't
Life charts its own course and there are things that are beyond your control. This is what Bhavya learnt the wrong way. A strong personality and a real hot-headed one too, she really trusted her friends. Although in school, she had always felt alone, she used to help her friends with their homework and all. She had been waging a battle against herself from the time she felt she had grown-up and her parents thought that she hadn’t. So, she decided in her parents’ favour and decided she hadn’t. She did whatever she was told, and learnt to keep a tight control over her needs and desires. She learnt how to pretend that she was happy, when she was not. She felt like committing suicide.
These friends of hers were her lifeline. They managed to keep her alive and kicking during those difficult days. They were able to bring a genuine smile on her lips even though her heart used to cry out at all times. Although she never told them her real feelings because she knew they wouldn’t understand, Bhavya still lived her life and tried to do that happily. She knew that these friends weren’t for real, that they would go away once they reached the first crossroad, but still she felt comforted in an odd manner. Perhaps, it was the fact that there were some people, who though cannot provide comfort, can at least provide her laughter though a short-lived one. She yearned for those bouts of laughter. Her fiery ways were gone as she was too busy trying to fight with herself and to hide her real feelings from the world outside—a world in which her parents lived and lived these so-called-friends. She helped them whenever she could, even though she knew she was being used. She let it happen and to feel happiness in a true manner, turned to books like Harry Potter, which although were a bit flighty in character, nonetheless, provided her the warmth of friendship.
Time passed by and it was time for the crossroad. She was thrown in a state of confusion, whether to be happy or to feel sad. However, it seemed that Mother Nature was smiling on her and she finally got what she wanted. Her parents deciding that she had finally grown-up, allowed her what she really wanted. She got it. She was ecstatic but had really no one except her parents to share her joy with as all her so-called-friends had deserted her and had become busy with their own careers. She didn’t blame them, for partly she was happy that this was a new beginning of sorts. And it was. She made new friends— good friends, real friends—who loved her for what she was, re-discovered herself. Discovered that she could be good, that there are people who respected her and her beliefs. That made Bhavya strong. That self-esteem which had taken a beating, raised its head yet again. She learnt how to live and live happily. Came another crossroad, but this time the friends remained with her. What’s more, she found a means to re-connect to her so-called-friends.
She got a job. She met those so-called-friends through Orkut. She thought may be we can really be friends this time. She met them quite some times and thought that they can be real good friends. But guess what, Mother Nature had thought of something else this time too. She gave a good dressing down to a school mate one day on what she thought and felt was wrong. But guess what, it turned out that the guy was one of the popular ones, and now nobody can come and take her side. Those people feel embarrassed to even wish her. They feel Bhavya is wrong, they feel she should not have said so. They know she is a strong girl and would not care about what they say and may be even give them a dressing down, they have left her alone. No one to talk to. Guess, she was wrong yet again. Guess, she again chose wrong people to be friends with. Guess, all those people are wrong about her as she still cares. Stop caring, will you? Be strong as always Bhavya, there are people in this world who care for you. Stop looking for those who were never there.
These friends of hers were her lifeline. They managed to keep her alive and kicking during those difficult days. They were able to bring a genuine smile on her lips even though her heart used to cry out at all times. Although she never told them her real feelings because she knew they wouldn’t understand, Bhavya still lived her life and tried to do that happily. She knew that these friends weren’t for real, that they would go away once they reached the first crossroad, but still she felt comforted in an odd manner. Perhaps, it was the fact that there were some people, who though cannot provide comfort, can at least provide her laughter though a short-lived one. She yearned for those bouts of laughter. Her fiery ways were gone as she was too busy trying to fight with herself and to hide her real feelings from the world outside—a world in which her parents lived and lived these so-called-friends. She helped them whenever she could, even though she knew she was being used. She let it happen and to feel happiness in a true manner, turned to books like Harry Potter, which although were a bit flighty in character, nonetheless, provided her the warmth of friendship.
Time passed by and it was time for the crossroad. She was thrown in a state of confusion, whether to be happy or to feel sad. However, it seemed that Mother Nature was smiling on her and she finally got what she wanted. Her parents deciding that she had finally grown-up, allowed her what she really wanted. She got it. She was ecstatic but had really no one except her parents to share her joy with as all her so-called-friends had deserted her and had become busy with their own careers. She didn’t blame them, for partly she was happy that this was a new beginning of sorts. And it was. She made new friends— good friends, real friends—who loved her for what she was, re-discovered herself. Discovered that she could be good, that there are people who respected her and her beliefs. That made Bhavya strong. That self-esteem which had taken a beating, raised its head yet again. She learnt how to live and live happily. Came another crossroad, but this time the friends remained with her. What’s more, she found a means to re-connect to her so-called-friends.
She got a job. She met those so-called-friends through Orkut. She thought may be we can really be friends this time. She met them quite some times and thought that they can be real good friends. But guess what, Mother Nature had thought of something else this time too. She gave a good dressing down to a school mate one day on what she thought and felt was wrong. But guess what, it turned out that the guy was one of the popular ones, and now nobody can come and take her side. Those people feel embarrassed to even wish her. They feel Bhavya is wrong, they feel she should not have said so. They know she is a strong girl and would not care about what they say and may be even give them a dressing down, they have left her alone. No one to talk to. Guess, she was wrong yet again. Guess, she again chose wrong people to be friends with. Guess, all those people are wrong about her as she still cares. Stop caring, will you? Be strong as always Bhavya, there are people in this world who care for you. Stop looking for those who were never there.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
Wanted to say something
Just wanted to say that it would be better if the readers of my blog post their names along with their comments. Just can't stand this anonymous thingy please. Not really in my nature to stand all kinds of suspense that anonymous posts bring with them. I am that sort of a person who reads the last pages of a mystery novel first just to know who-done-it. And imagine what sort of a torture you guys are inflicting on your poor devil by posting anonymous comments.
So, put down your real names please. I am not going to eat you up. See, am a pseudo-vegetarian. I do not eat non-veg until really forced to.
So, put down your real names please. I am not going to eat you up. See, am a pseudo-vegetarian. I do not eat non-veg until really forced to.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Miles to go...
The woods are lovely dark and deep,But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-By Robert Frost
(Quoted from his poem: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening)
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The sting
Yesterday while observing the people around me in the Metro train and looking for a story to put here, a sudden thought struck me. Considering the fact that I have been solving a lot of love-related problems over the week, I think I have become quite a pro. So yesterday I was merely thinking, what exactly is love. Pop comes the answer—it's a sting operation.
Just when your defences are on the lowest, it attacks you and that too at the most sensitive area—the heart. Just like in a sting operation, the journalist attacks a personality when his defences are at the lowest and at the most sensitive place—his fame, love does the same. The sting scars the personality's fame, love scars the heart. The heart bleeds and the fame bleeds.
One look at your face betrays the fact that you are in love; one look at the personality's face betrays that this is the bad guy. And you know that once you are in love, the news is sure going to leak—if not now, then at some other time, and you are gone. Same way, the news that you have done something wrong is going to leak any way. So an interesting comparison also crops up: LOVE=BAD GUY. And when you are a bad guy, the sting is deemed to follow.
And both—sting operation and love hurt. Both give you sleepless nights and both give you illusions of happiness. When the sting takes place, the celebrity feels happy as they have got a victim, you feel happy as you think you have found someone who may love you. But when reality dawns, life gets hell, and you go mad.
So beware, beware of the sting of love. And protect yourself.
Just when your defences are on the lowest, it attacks you and that too at the most sensitive area—the heart. Just like in a sting operation, the journalist attacks a personality when his defences are at the lowest and at the most sensitive place—his fame, love does the same. The sting scars the personality's fame, love scars the heart. The heart bleeds and the fame bleeds.
One look at your face betrays the fact that you are in love; one look at the personality's face betrays that this is the bad guy. And you know that once you are in love, the news is sure going to leak—if not now, then at some other time, and you are gone. Same way, the news that you have done something wrong is going to leak any way. So an interesting comparison also crops up: LOVE=BAD GUY. And when you are a bad guy, the sting is deemed to follow.
And both—sting operation and love hurt. Both give you sleepless nights and both give you illusions of happiness. When the sting takes place, the celebrity feels happy as they have got a victim, you feel happy as you think you have found someone who may love you. But when reality dawns, life gets hell, and you go mad.
So beware, beware of the sting of love. And protect yourself.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Song that celebrates life
Ever heard of this song from Hum Dono. This is a Sahir Ludhianvi creation and can best describe the way life should be led.
Main Zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... Har fikr ko dhuen me udata chala gaya...
A song that conveys the essence of life. One shouldn't let worries bog us down and continue to live life as if nothing happened.
Barbadiyon ka soudh manana fizool tha... barbadiyon ka jashn manata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhuen me.....
This is how you should take failures. One shouldn't let failure distract you from the real goal. Like sucess, failure also teaches us something and thus, should be a cause for happiness as well.
Jo mil gaya usi ko muqaddar samajh liya... jo kho gaya main usko bhulata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhen me....
This is how you should losses. There is nothing on this Earth which is worth crying for; nothing without which you cannot live. Even if you loose something, that pain shouldn't keep you off from trying to attain greater heights.
Gham aur khushi me fark na mehsoos ho jahan... main dil ko us muqaam par laata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhen me....
This is how you should handle happiness and sadness. One should't feel too elated in happiness and too dejected during times of distress.
However, this doesn't mean that you start living a mechanical life. One can be still human enough without letting small things bother us. Just remember nothing can be greater than life itself.
Main Zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... Har fikr ko dhuen me udata chala gaya...
A song that conveys the essence of life. One shouldn't let worries bog us down and continue to live life as if nothing happened.
Barbadiyon ka soudh manana fizool tha... barbadiyon ka jashn manata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhuen me.....
This is how you should take failures. One shouldn't let failure distract you from the real goal. Like sucess, failure also teaches us something and thus, should be a cause for happiness as well.
Jo mil gaya usi ko muqaddar samajh liya... jo kho gaya main usko bhulata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhen me....
This is how you should losses. There is nothing on this Earth which is worth crying for; nothing without which you cannot live. Even if you loose something, that pain shouldn't keep you off from trying to attain greater heights.
Gham aur khushi me fark na mehsoos ho jahan... main dil ko us muqaam par laata chala gaya...
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya... har fikr ko dhen me....
This is how you should handle happiness and sadness. One should't feel too elated in happiness and too dejected during times of distress.
However, this doesn't mean that you start living a mechanical life. One can be still human enough without letting small things bother us. Just remember nothing can be greater than life itself.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
In want of something
It’s just today I felt like writing something. Unable to find a real topic, I really don’t know what I am doing. It’s just this feeling of being able to write that gives me a high. But suddenly this feeling engulfs me—there are people who are unable to read and write, people who are still in the clutches of a disease called illiteracy, people who are still unable to get a high that I derive from being able to write. Even after we have entered the 21st century, even when we go on and on about India being on the brink of being a superpower, I see those kids clutching a bag full of rags, shivering in the harsh Delhi winter.
The government is trying, but what about us? Are we doing anything about this? We do feel outrage at the sight of these kids and people, but that feeling of outrage ebbs away when we step back into our own lives, we forget all about them as the humdrum of our lives gets too loud for us to hear the questions that their eyes ask of us. That feeling of kindness slowly and steadily gives way to indifference. We move away because by that time our ears have been rendered a little deaf by that loud noise of our life; but only a little as we can hear the noise not the whisper.
And then there are the complaints. The complaints about not having enough to lead a comfortable life; ask them what it means to be comfortable. For them it means being able to eat two decent meals, getting proper clothes to wear and a sound roof on there heads. Even that we haven’t been able to provide these people.
Okay, it seems the writing fever is wearing down. And me, it seems am slowly getting back to my old self; to that daily humdrum of life, too deaf to listen to their silent pleads for help and care. Back to my old guiltless self now.
P.S. It seems I finally found a topic to write on.
The government is trying, but what about us? Are we doing anything about this? We do feel outrage at the sight of these kids and people, but that feeling of outrage ebbs away when we step back into our own lives, we forget all about them as the humdrum of our lives gets too loud for us to hear the questions that their eyes ask of us. That feeling of kindness slowly and steadily gives way to indifference. We move away because by that time our ears have been rendered a little deaf by that loud noise of our life; but only a little as we can hear the noise not the whisper.
And then there are the complaints. The complaints about not having enough to lead a comfortable life; ask them what it means to be comfortable. For them it means being able to eat two decent meals, getting proper clothes to wear and a sound roof on there heads. Even that we haven’t been able to provide these people.
Okay, it seems the writing fever is wearing down. And me, it seems am slowly getting back to my old self; to that daily humdrum of life, too deaf to listen to their silent pleads for help and care. Back to my old guiltless self now.
P.S. It seems I finally found a topic to write on.
Friday, September 29, 2006
That Wretched feeling
Sometimes this feeling of worthlessness creeps in your heart, casting a chill on all the other feelings. It makes you feel dreadful; it makes you feel negative and unable to understand anything that is going on in your life. You are unable to concentrate and get over it. Something or the other consistently bogs you down. And you… you just want to run away. Run away from everything and everyone who does that you to you; run away to a place that offers you the warmth of friendship and laughter. You long for a friend to come to your rescue and take you away to a place where nobody makes you feel uncomfortable, nobody discourages you and makes you feel wretched. Is there a place that can take this refugee and provide all the comfort and warmth, just to make her little heart feel a little less dreary?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
A few questions...
Where do you belong… I mean which state? What’s your caste? What religion do you belong to? These are the first questions that one is asked.
How does it matter where I belong? Is it really important to know which state I am from? How much does my religion play a role in my being a good or a bad person? Why does my caste matter so much? I have often seen my mother bobbing up and down whenever someone mentions that they are a Bhatnagar, she seems so happy just to meet them as if they belong to her family. I feel a pang of pain whenever she says that she won’t give her daughter to a Saxena family. Heaven forbid if I fall in love with a Muslim or a Scheduled Caste. She doesn’t look amused whenever my dad even jestingly says that he will marry me to a Scheduled caste as that would be a quite advantageous for my kids.
People say that India is the most discriminating society in this world. And I seem to agree. We may all rave about the tolerance levels of our country, about how secular we are, about how India is a country of unity in diversity, that how so many cultures are blended within that Indianness, that how we are one; the truth is that we may be one but that one betrays the many decimals that make that number, the cultures may have blended but there are people who seem to know just how to disintegrate that blend, there may be unity but sometimes the diversity defeats that unity, our secularism betrays signs of pseudo-secularism, and the tolerance levels are nothing to rave about. Gujarat witnesses small communal riots on a daily basis, which largely go unreported. Malegaon in Maharashtra is a communal tinderbox.
Why is it that today every Muslim is looked upon with a suspicious gaze? Why is it that many Christians do charity in the name of their religion? Why is it that Hindus are treated as second-rate citizens here? Why is it that vote-bank politics as well caste-based politics is still practiced in India? We get the leaders that we deserve and today our politics and politicians are playing politics of hatred, then we are to blame. We do vote on caste and religion lines.
Why? It is time, perhaps, that we ask ourselves these questions before it gets too late. Too late for us to be called a nation.
How does it matter where I belong? Is it really important to know which state I am from? How much does my religion play a role in my being a good or a bad person? Why does my caste matter so much? I have often seen my mother bobbing up and down whenever someone mentions that they are a Bhatnagar, she seems so happy just to meet them as if they belong to her family. I feel a pang of pain whenever she says that she won’t give her daughter to a Saxena family. Heaven forbid if I fall in love with a Muslim or a Scheduled Caste. She doesn’t look amused whenever my dad even jestingly says that he will marry me to a Scheduled caste as that would be a quite advantageous for my kids.
People say that India is the most discriminating society in this world. And I seem to agree. We may all rave about the tolerance levels of our country, about how secular we are, about how India is a country of unity in diversity, that how so many cultures are blended within that Indianness, that how we are one; the truth is that we may be one but that one betrays the many decimals that make that number, the cultures may have blended but there are people who seem to know just how to disintegrate that blend, there may be unity but sometimes the diversity defeats that unity, our secularism betrays signs of pseudo-secularism, and the tolerance levels are nothing to rave about. Gujarat witnesses small communal riots on a daily basis, which largely go unreported. Malegaon in Maharashtra is a communal tinderbox.
Why is it that today every Muslim is looked upon with a suspicious gaze? Why is it that many Christians do charity in the name of their religion? Why is it that Hindus are treated as second-rate citizens here? Why is it that vote-bank politics as well caste-based politics is still practiced in India? We get the leaders that we deserve and today our politics and politicians are playing politics of hatred, then we are to blame. We do vote on caste and religion lines.
Why? It is time, perhaps, that we ask ourselves these questions before it gets too late. Too late for us to be called a nation.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
A Crazy Saturday Morning
Sitting at the back and listening to a crazy woman speaking, can be like hell. But yes, being a devil, I am able to take things pretty comfortably at this point of time. That is beacuse, I am not really listerning to whatever crap she's belting out.
The crazy woman is talking about attitude, speaking all wrong English. I am trying to control my urge to go ahead and correct her. Hearing someone using all sorts of cliches like a glass of water half empty or half full, can seriously get you. But the fact that I am able to write without her noticing it, has come something as a fresh breeze of air. As it is the weather outside is so very 'sexy' (as my good friend Priyanka describes), I am really restraining myself to ask her to stop blabbing away.
She's asking me to bear with her, but I think that I really can't grant her that privilege. She's a nobody for me, and I don't think I can love her as a teacher because this God damn course has made me give up my weekends. And I hate anyone and anything that makes me do that. I love my weekends and giving them up is a pain in the most uncompfortable part (I think you know what part am talking about).
As another of my uncle-cum-classmate walks in, I wonder what made me crazy enough to give up my weekends just to let this shit of a woman spoil it by chattering her heart away. On this crazy Saturday, I can do nothing except repent at my foolhardyness
The crazy woman is talking about attitude, speaking all wrong English. I am trying to control my urge to go ahead and correct her. Hearing someone using all sorts of cliches like a glass of water half empty or half full, can seriously get you. But the fact that I am able to write without her noticing it, has come something as a fresh breeze of air. As it is the weather outside is so very 'sexy' (as my good friend Priyanka describes), I am really restraining myself to ask her to stop blabbing away.
She's asking me to bear with her, but I think that I really can't grant her that privilege. She's a nobody for me, and I don't think I can love her as a teacher because this God damn course has made me give up my weekends. And I hate anyone and anything that makes me do that. I love my weekends and giving them up is a pain in the most uncompfortable part (I think you know what part am talking about).
As another of my uncle-cum-classmate walks in, I wonder what made me crazy enough to give up my weekends just to let this shit of a woman spoil it by chattering her heart away. On this crazy Saturday, I can do nothing except repent at my foolhardyness
Sunday, August 20, 2006
The villain
Say villain and the first image that comes to the mind is:
Gabbar Singh saying, "Kitne aadmi they."
And then, Amrish Puri. "Mogambo khush hua."
Gulshan Grover. "Bad Man."
Shahrukh Khan. "K-K-K-K-Kiran" (Uff, the stutterer)
The last example is something that is very true to all love stories. Where is a love story, there is a villain. All the problems that occur in the love story are because of that villain. The vilalin will surface after the honeymoon period is over and leave behind a tale of destruction, agonies and loades of tears. (Sniff... Sniff... Pass that tissue please... The villain will leave behind a trail of trissues too.)
In Munnabhai MBBS, the villain was +(no, you guessed it wrong... it wasn't Boman Irani) Dr. Suman's love for her father.
In Page 3, it was the guy's ambition and his unscrupulous ways who were the villain.
In Darr, it was Shahrukh Khan.
In Padosan, it was Bhola's inability to sing.
Moving on to the world of books. In Romeo and Juliet, the lovers' families were the villains. In Harry Potter, it is Harry's destiny. In Othello, it was Iago who was the villain. Closer home, in Ramayana, it was Ravana who was the villain. (O a personal note though, I would rather have Ravana than three mothers-in-law.) In Devdas, it was the caste system that was the villain.
In my world, there have been several villains too. Although I have never been the protagonist of the love stories (more of the extra character), I have seen things going horribly wrong. The villains were: the physical distance between the two, the tendency to lie, libido, a troubled past, family.
Wonder who would be the villain if I am the protagonist of a love story. Hmmm hmmm hmmm. Eureka!!! I know it. It;s gonna be the devil and that's me, me, me.
A dangerous game may soon begin... (Abhishek Bachchan's dad. Oh! I love Abhishek Bachchan. Now if only I get him, I promise not to play villain.)
Gabbar Singh saying, "Kitne aadmi they."
And then, Amrish Puri. "Mogambo khush hua."
Gulshan Grover. "Bad Man."
Shahrukh Khan. "K-K-K-K-Kiran" (Uff, the stutterer)
The last example is something that is very true to all love stories. Where is a love story, there is a villain. All the problems that occur in the love story are because of that villain. The vilalin will surface after the honeymoon period is over and leave behind a tale of destruction, agonies and loades of tears. (Sniff... Sniff... Pass that tissue please... The villain will leave behind a trail of trissues too.)
In Munnabhai MBBS, the villain was +(no, you guessed it wrong... it wasn't Boman Irani) Dr. Suman's love for her father.
In Page 3, it was the guy's ambition and his unscrupulous ways who were the villain.
In Darr, it was Shahrukh Khan.
In Padosan, it was Bhola's inability to sing.
Moving on to the world of books. In Romeo and Juliet, the lovers' families were the villains. In Harry Potter, it is Harry's destiny. In Othello, it was Iago who was the villain. Closer home, in Ramayana, it was Ravana who was the villain. (O a personal note though, I would rather have Ravana than three mothers-in-law.) In Devdas, it was the caste system that was the villain.
In my world, there have been several villains too. Although I have never been the protagonist of the love stories (more of the extra character), I have seen things going horribly wrong. The villains were: the physical distance between the two, the tendency to lie, libido, a troubled past, family.
Wonder who would be the villain if I am the protagonist of a love story. Hmmm hmmm hmmm. Eureka!!! I know it. It;s gonna be the devil and that's me, me, me.
A dangerous game may soon begin... (Abhishek Bachchan's dad. Oh! I love Abhishek Bachchan. Now if only I get him, I promise not to play villain.)
Sunday, August 13, 2006
The dadi ma of traffic
Cars and motorbikes. Trucks and buses. They all whizz past this gajagamini at a speed hardly visible to the naked eye. The gajagamini moves steadily and almost smilingly to herself as if it were the dadi ma of the traffic. Old, yet stable- almost like an old wine and now-a-days in a new bottle. After the IITians decided that rickshaw-walla bhaiyas would be better-off using these specially designed light rickshaws, these new bottles have been fastly replacing the old bottles in the by-lanes of Delhi. You'll find yourself lucky to find the older versions of cycle-rickshaws in Delhi today. May be in Purani Dilli.
With great impatience, I approached Hari, the Bihari rickshaw-wala bhaiya who hailed from Sirsa. Hari, his red T-shirt matching the red seat if the gajagamini, insisted that I pay him Rs 7 as he had to pay Rs 30 instead of the usual Rs 20 as the rickshaw rent. Moreover, with August 15 appeoaching, policemen had increased their pestering activities.
My growing impatience with the Universe (I returned home only to find it electricity-less. Hell! The Universe is out to get me) and the mounting interest in him persuaded me to give up my cribbing sessions of having to pay Rs 2 extra and to mount myself on the chariot. My Krishna (coincidence to the Mahabharata Krishna purely co-incidental... But hey!!!! I didn't notice that Krishna and Hari are the names of the Makhan-chor) started talking. "These policewallas are making life more and more difficult. If we get caught, we have to shell out Rs 600. After paying all sorts of rent, we are left with hardly Rs 100-125 in a day and Rs 600 comes as a big shock for us. We have to pay at least Rs 900 per month as rent. I live with 3 other people", he keeps on talking, like the Chameli of the movie Chameli, pointing expressedly to the policemen standing nearby.
"Don't you live with your family?", I goaded him into talking more. He shakes his head violently and goes on, "My family lives in the village. But there are several people here who live with their families." "So, when do you visit your family? Near Chath? (Chath is an important festival in Bihar. It is celebrated to mark the visit of Sri Ram to Bihar after he returned to Ayodhya from his Vanavas.)", I inquired. "Yes. I catch the North- east from New Delhi Raliway Station", he replied taking his eyes off from the road for a moment to look at me, eyes wondering why on earth this girl is asking so many questions.
"Do you know how to read and write? Till where have you studied?", my journalistic instinct had told me to loose all shame and ask more questions as it had the makings of a perfect little anecdote. "Yeah. I know how to read and write. I have studied upto class V. But I know only Hindi. I don't understand English", he adds sheepishly, almost ashamed. But he adds defensively, " We weren't taught English at that time before class VI. But today, even the little kids are taught English." He repeats the last line 2-3 times to strengthen the arguement that it wasn't really his fault that he didn't understand English. I agreed and mumbled a few incomprehensible sentences in agreement which Hari really didn't listen as he was already well into his story. "But I read the newspapers. These roadside vendors know me well." He puufs his chest, looking as proud as Aishwarya Rai while poiting at the newspaper vendors sitting by the road.
I noticed that it was time that I got off my stead and proceed towards my divine electricity-less abode. I ask Hari to stop the rickshaw-cum-dadi ma near the bend and climbed down clumsily. (Eating too many potatoes has turned me into a couch potato, I observe silently.) I pay him Rs. 7, never really feeling the Rs. 2 pinch as I had got the story that was much worth the extra 200 pasie I had to shell out.
Journalism is a dog's business, I conclude (Sorry, a bitch).
{But really, you guys should rather not repeat the last sentence. Remember, am a devil, out to get everyone.}
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Crossroads....
Yeah, this is what happens in life... Life moves on and sometimes... no... most times leaves a lot to be desired... You are forced to move on in life, leaving the people you knew, behind... Move, move and move.....
I believe the first time when you encounter a crossroad is when you leave school, the langotia yaars, the school teachers who have always protected you and guarded ypu from dangers... School offers a very protective environment which you surely miss when you move out into the real hell... You are afraid of the changes and yet excited... sad too at the thought of leaving behind your friends, you are sure that you will always stay in touch with them... Only later do you realise that this wasn't as easy as you had thought it would be...
Enter the next crossroad of life- College... New friends and new found freedom... Ego clashes and losses... Fun and growing up, tensions of getting into a new life... Trying to find a love for yourself and felling frustrated when you don't... thinkimg that perhaps the fault lies with you... But still managing to have a lot of fun... enter the third year and you are in doldrums at having to loose these friends of yours as by now the school experience has taught that it is really difficult to re-live the memories of the previous mile-stone... you leave college...
The next big crossroad- Job... You land up with a job, people start looking at you with exoectations, your family starts behaving differently... Complainimg that you don't have time for them and things like that... saying that your attitude has changed and you hav become too conceited now and selfish too... When in reality it is not you has changed but it is the circumstances that have changed....
The crossroads come and go and leave ypu with varied tastes in mouth, you want to move and yet try to take that past with you... But time is like sand, it slips from your hand without your knowing that it has moved away leaving you mesmerised, shocked, pained and yet happy
That's life
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The Night Sky
The Photograph is churaya hua... But I have always loved it... DT taught me how to upload the photograph... so i decided this photo must go... No one should have any problems...
Sunday, July 30, 2006
World's like that- Part II
People may wonder at the bullshit I talked about in my last post. Why I call the world a hellish place and things like that. They may think that I don't love this world, they may think that I am fed up of this life. The fact is that I love living in this hell. It is full of devils like me and that's why I like being in my (for the want of a better word, I am forced to use this) biradari. Oh yes, they stamp on your foot to get in front of you, but they say sorry as well. Oh yes, they end up hurting you, but they make you learn tyo stand independently and lick your own wounds, to bear that pain and misery and seek solace from ypurself and from Him.
This hell has different colours- colours of love coupled with fears, with hatred and jealousy, colours of care along with flashes of selfishness and ego, anger along with love and violence at the same time... It's a funny place actually. It makes you laugh and cry at the same time, it shocks you and teaches you, it's fun, dangerous and secure too. It's simple yet complex.
There are people out there out to eat you up whereas there are people who help you sustain that pressure, then there are people whom you love and there are those who love you, things can be vice versa. You need to be selfish and at the sane time unselfish too. And the first thing you need to do to understand this world is to understand yourself.
I hav accepted myself as a part of this unovese, someone who is a bit about everything, confused yet quick at taking decsions, insecure yet aggresive, foolish yet clever (call me shrewd if u want u, I will never call myself that), selfish yet sensitive...
I am like that only; even the world is like that.
Be what you are and do what you want to because those who mind do not matter, and those who matter do not mind...
Don't walk this world as if you own it, walk as if you don't care who does.
This hell has different colours- colours of love coupled with fears, with hatred and jealousy, colours of care along with flashes of selfishness and ego, anger along with love and violence at the same time... It's a funny place actually. It makes you laugh and cry at the same time, it shocks you and teaches you, it's fun, dangerous and secure too. It's simple yet complex.
There are people out there out to eat you up whereas there are people who help you sustain that pressure, then there are people whom you love and there are those who love you, things can be vice versa. You need to be selfish and at the sane time unselfish too. And the first thing you need to do to understand this world is to understand yourself.
I hav accepted myself as a part of this unovese, someone who is a bit about everything, confused yet quick at taking decsions, insecure yet aggresive, foolish yet clever (call me shrewd if u want u, I will never call myself that), selfish yet sensitive...
I am like that only; even the world is like that.
Be what you are and do what you want to because those who mind do not matter, and those who matter do not mind...
Don't walk this world as if you own it, walk as if you don't care who does.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
World’s like that
Sometimes, this world can be like a black man’s left ass- neither right, nor fair. Yeah, I know I’ve stolen the line… So what? Half the world’s ideas are stolen things… If Hedgewar hadn’t stolen Hitler’s idea of an army, would there have been an RSS… No. Simple isn’t it… However, m not here to discuss religious sentiments or the apparent lack of it… Even though I am thinking of plaguing you guys with that. But this is not the right time to do that…
I will though and I promise you guys that… And usually I am firm on my promises (usually i.e.). Anyways, so I was talking about the world. Yeah, the world is a rotten place to live in… People here change at the drop of the hat, and usually that change pricks you at the most inappropriate place… and you are bang on target in thinking which place am talking about.
U guys must be thinking, “It seems the devil has been pricked by someone today.” Here I will gladly inform you that it isn’t the case. I had a perfectly happy day at office… It was just today I was standing near the window of the Metro absorbed in my musings, that a thought suddenly entered my mind. Why am I a devil- a devil that doesn’t belong to any1 neither does it want to belong to anyone… What made me a devil like that?
I suppose I got the answer… My becoming a devil has everything to do with this world, which is becoming hell-ish day by day. And angels don’t survive in Hell, you need to be a devil to survive in Hell. So, I decided to evolve into one as well (Darwin’s theory of Evolution comes into the picture here).
Yeah, I know u wud say that I am pointing my finger at the world and forgetting that four are pointing towards mine… Yeah I know that… But ever thought why I am ready to pick up a fight with everyone? Because today everyone is fighting for their existence… U move in a Metro, there you have to literally fight with people to get out because on the other side, there is a huge wave of people coming in from other side, which doesn’t care that you have to get down. That’s why I am so competitive… I have to be… Otherwise, I am dead (Darwin’s survival of the fittest comes in here).
Yes, Darwin I fully agree with u… Darwin Zindabad.
I will though and I promise you guys that… And usually I am firm on my promises (usually i.e.). Anyways, so I was talking about the world. Yeah, the world is a rotten place to live in… People here change at the drop of the hat, and usually that change pricks you at the most inappropriate place… and you are bang on target in thinking which place am talking about.
U guys must be thinking, “It seems the devil has been pricked by someone today.” Here I will gladly inform you that it isn’t the case. I had a perfectly happy day at office… It was just today I was standing near the window of the Metro absorbed in my musings, that a thought suddenly entered my mind. Why am I a devil- a devil that doesn’t belong to any1 neither does it want to belong to anyone… What made me a devil like that?
I suppose I got the answer… My becoming a devil has everything to do with this world, which is becoming hell-ish day by day. And angels don’t survive in Hell, you need to be a devil to survive in Hell. So, I decided to evolve into one as well (Darwin’s theory of Evolution comes into the picture here).
Yeah, I know u wud say that I am pointing my finger at the world and forgetting that four are pointing towards mine… Yeah I know that… But ever thought why I am ready to pick up a fight with everyone? Because today everyone is fighting for their existence… U move in a Metro, there you have to literally fight with people to get out because on the other side, there is a huge wave of people coming in from other side, which doesn’t care that you have to get down. That’s why I am so competitive… I have to be… Otherwise, I am dead (Darwin’s survival of the fittest comes in here).
Yes, Darwin I fully agree with u… Darwin Zindabad.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
marriages made in hell
yeah, I picked this title from Today...
but the thoughts are mine... ok?
My friend Siddharth Sharma was disappointed with my first post... i see that he wants to know more abt me... well, Mr. Sharma, it isn't so easy to know so much about me in a very short span of time... U need to try harder...
Now about marriages... Marriages may be made in heaven, but they become hell on earth... oh yes, they do... There is nothing like they lived happily ever after.... That happens only in movies and let me tell you it's nothing but a bit of crap... A sucker for happy endings is telling you that... So you ought to believe me... And you better believe me... otherwise.... U know what to expect...
You start off your marriage expecting everything is gonna be hunky-dunky-enter-the Honeymoon phase- You laugh, laugh, feel happy and think now that ur love is near you everything is going to be well... You think it's cute when he asks for that towel that he left behind, you think, she's cute when she says that you do not know how to cook...
Two months later-enter-the real phase- You start arguing... You feel irritated whenever he asks for that towel, you feel insulted when she says you do not know how to cook... Hell breaks loose.... And then u have kids and your life turns into a shit... The romance goes down the drain and you end up worrying about the kids' future, their studies and their career....
After that you grow old... thats the whole story...
So, man go out and flirt... Have live-in relationships... enjoy the honeymoon period and then when the real period starts... Leave... HAVE FUN
P.S. but i would like to go through all this hell.... And why- DEVILS RESIDE IN HELL
but the thoughts are mine... ok?
My friend Siddharth Sharma was disappointed with my first post... i see that he wants to know more abt me... well, Mr. Sharma, it isn't so easy to know so much about me in a very short span of time... U need to try harder...
Now about marriages... Marriages may be made in heaven, but they become hell on earth... oh yes, they do... There is nothing like they lived happily ever after.... That happens only in movies and let me tell you it's nothing but a bit of crap... A sucker for happy endings is telling you that... So you ought to believe me... And you better believe me... otherwise.... U know what to expect...
You start off your marriage expecting everything is gonna be hunky-dunky-enter-the Honeymoon phase- You laugh, laugh, feel happy and think now that ur love is near you everything is going to be well... You think it's cute when he asks for that towel that he left behind, you think, she's cute when she says that you do not know how to cook...
Two months later-enter-the real phase- You start arguing... You feel irritated whenever he asks for that towel, you feel insulted when she says you do not know how to cook... Hell breaks loose.... And then u have kids and your life turns into a shit... The romance goes down the drain and you end up worrying about the kids' future, their studies and their career....
After that you grow old... thats the whole story...
So, man go out and flirt... Have live-in relationships... enjoy the honeymoon period and then when the real period starts... Leave... HAVE FUN
P.S. but i would like to go through all this hell.... And why- DEVILS RESIDE IN HELL
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
what about me
Yeah this is my first post, so you would do better not to criticise it... And before I write any more, I would like You guys to know that i like writing full words... I hate using words like m and u for am and you... And even if I use them, u people have no right to complain because this is my blog and I am gonna do exactly what I want to...
By now, you would have guessed it that am a dictator... Ok yes i am, what can you about it... As far as I am concerned, nothing... I am used to getting my way often but now and then I do relent and let other people have their way... So, am a bit of a mad dictator... So, am not really like Hitler... And don't even try to compare me to him because if u do, I can kill as well...
So, what else is left about me to know... Ok what do I do... Well I was born with a perennial blue pen in my hand... I have a fetish for finding faults with others and have made a career out of it...
And there is one thing that I just can't stop thanking God about... That the stork delievered me on time... Had it not, I would have been born on Fools' Day and made a fool out of myself... Now it is the other way round... I make fools of others....
By the way, do you guys have nothing to do? Going through a mad devilish sub-editor's blog... Oops, I let that slip... Well whatever, I did that deliberately...
So, I was saying that do something else, u won't find anything better in this blod except mad rants and raves... And if you plan to read my future posts as well, I would like to say, don't ever criticise me... And remember the apostrophe... Never insult an apostrophe in front of me!!!
Because I am a devil who belongs to no one... I AM NOBODY'S DEVIL
By now, you would have guessed it that am a dictator... Ok yes i am, what can you about it... As far as I am concerned, nothing... I am used to getting my way often but now and then I do relent and let other people have their way... So, am a bit of a mad dictator... So, am not really like Hitler... And don't even try to compare me to him because if u do, I can kill as well...
So, what else is left about me to know... Ok what do I do... Well I was born with a perennial blue pen in my hand... I have a fetish for finding faults with others and have made a career out of it...
And there is one thing that I just can't stop thanking God about... That the stork delievered me on time... Had it not, I would have been born on Fools' Day and made a fool out of myself... Now it is the other way round... I make fools of others....
By the way, do you guys have nothing to do? Going through a mad devilish sub-editor's blog... Oops, I let that slip... Well whatever, I did that deliberately...
So, I was saying that do something else, u won't find anything better in this blod except mad rants and raves... And if you plan to read my future posts as well, I would like to say, don't ever criticise me... And remember the apostrophe... Never insult an apostrophe in front of me!!!
Because I am a devil who belongs to no one... I AM NOBODY'S DEVIL
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