#SixWordStory

Forget me. I was faking it.

#SixWordStory

Beautiful Imperfections. Because Devils need advocates.

#SixWordStory

Heart in gear. Brain in neutral.

#SixWordStory

Love is overrated. Pain is underrated.

#Fact

Fame is the ability to dominate a conversation in your absence.

Faded Ink

The new ad for Idea mobile where the world saves newsprint and used the mobile instead, is fantastic. You see, it illustrates a serious truth. One that we don’t seem to want to do anything about.

No, I am not talking about the environment here. It’s grimmer than that.

Newspapers are not worth reading anymore. One would have to be seriously optimistic to open the newspaper or flick on a news channel to get anything worth the time.

There ads, yes. Lots of them. And there’s tons and tons of crap. I guess circulation and TRPs make more business sense than anything else.

Yes, one can argue about the actual news items that make up the functionary bit. Because that is all there is to it. There is no journalistic perspective; there is no analysis of the happenings. There is just clear information that any account executive can put together like the minutes of a meeting. And there is the vagueness. The kinds that really does not warrant newsprint.

Ink is valuable. Ink on paper is sacred. Good reporting does not only uphold the truth but it pushes the whole society forward. But all that is ‘idealistic’ stuff that does not work for the ‘business’. Unless the media can take up a ‘crusade’ that promises to generate more eyeballs. Or pick on Shashi Tharoor. Anything at all as long as it's close to entertainment and away from news. Like the magazine sections, where gossip of all nature takes birth.

Twitter updates on the other hand are far more reliable for the latest happenings. For one, they are quicker. And have very little bullshit. Second, they are honest straight from the heart opinions by logical people who feel strongly about something.

That is analysis. As simple as that.

Every educated person can make a fantastic writer. It just takes linguistic common sense. From there, the road forks. The artisans and craftsmen write ads, films, songs and books. And the ones with less art and more balls to perform a greater selfless good, become journalists.

By the looks of it, the fourth estate is now well within grasp of the third gender.

Safe`yd

Kora kohra har taraaf, kora hai jahaan,
kori kori dhadkan hai, kori daastaan.

Kagaz ke panne aur pyar waali baatein,
kohra chhaya jab se hai,
safe`yd ho gayee raatein.

The Chaos Theory

For me, 2009 will never be forgotten.
This was the year I turned 30.
And this was the year I made up for a lot of growing up.

What a mind fucking mixed bag of a year.
I faced the most difficult professional crisis of my life, dealing with assholes of great magnitude, fighting liars, cheats and people with a capacity for malice I never knew existed. I saw the human value system touch a new low and I felt the thinnest part of a largely false moral fabric.

And I was in love.
Which honestly made all the aforesaid seem less than insignificant.

Then the work life got worse. And I had to quit, with scars of the umbilical cords that brought me there in the first place.

I started work at a new place. Started all over again.

And somewhere during this time, I lost my sense of love. Because I had spent too much of it on those who couldn’t return it. Or value it.

The year ended with a final nail in the coffin that convinced me this was the year of retribution for everyone I had ever hurt in my life. Because with each ache I felt, I saw their faces flash before my eyes. And I could do nothing but say ‘I’m sorry’.

But then, that is not all.

This year also gave me something I will treasure forever; over and above the harsh lessons that came my way.

This year, I made friends who became family (Kiran, Priya, Tanmay, Amit). My family came closer to me after we fought (Anuja, Simran, Anisha). And my ex boss became my anchor and teacher (Ramanuj). My current boss rocks (Rahul) simply because he lets me be and do my thing, and kissing ass is not part of my KRA. And a whole bunch of wonderful friends, who made me not only tide through but deal with all the mayhem the year threw up. All of them put together, it feels like the armour of God.

So yeah, Fuck You 2009. And Fuck all the assholes you sent my way.

I won :)

An open letter to Shashi Tharoor

Dear Shashi Tharoor

I am a big fan. I really like the points you raise in your tweets. I loved your TedTalk on Soft Power. And I’m in awe of the way you left all the goodies of a private life to take on a public role. Bravo.

But today, I am going to join the mob and question you. Because I don’t want a good man to lose hope because of a dozen or more idiots.

You should have read the fine print before becoming a minister. They really never tell you that do they?

The silent clause about not having an opinion and most definitely not voicing it. Or the clause where you are meant to show party spirit even if you don’t agree with the way things are being done. Or yes, the one where you need to abandon all wit and carry a brooding look that looks like you’re part of running a country of over a billion.

You have the voice. You have more than half a million followers. And you chose to join a party and not create one of your own?

I mean, think about it, you could do a lot more for the country by just starting a newspaper.

Because anyway the media sucks, they have nothing enlightening to talk about unless some fanatic or idiot or both do something ungodly. Even then they can’t go beyond the ‘what are your feelings right now?’ kind of news.

And by starting a newspaper or a news channel of your own, you will solve a number of problems.

You will question the government on your opinions rather than suggest them.
You will talk about the micro issues as much as the ‘larger picture’.
You can say what you want.
And above all, with a writer like yourself running the show, you can lift the overall standards of journalism this country has stooped to.

Become a media baron Shashi Tharoor. Not a politician. For one, you are not built for it. You lack the required sleaze and ambiguity. For second, politicians seldom get anything done faster than Darwin.

Start a media house. Reach out to people. Tell them what they should be asking for. Tell them how to get it. Do something like this, that makes tangible difference to one life at a time. Don’t let your efforts become the part of a long drawn process that talks to everyone and touches no one. And if you do it, I will gladly give up my private life to help you in every way I can. That is an economically independent promise.

This country does not need leaders. This country needs an outlaw. The kinds that the people look up to more than the king.

An outlaw who gets things done. An outlaw who can become the hero.

Armaan

Haqeeqat ko banaao, khwaabon se bada;

Dil tabah hai to kya… Dil tabah hai to kya.

_c a t h a r s i s

Invincible. Confident. Storyteller. Lucky. Proud. Tense. Energetic. Scared. Sick. Happy. Jealous. Angry. Exhilarated. Playful. Buzzy. Respected. Loving. Vain. Astonished. Bumpy. Empty. Foolish. Mad. Relaxed. Awe struck. Swift. Hiding. Tearful. Reassured. Horny. Vicious. Ballsy. Infuriating. Excited. Upfront. Dirty. Hungry. Guilty. Loved. Pimped. Animated. Hurting. Evil. Trusting. Safe. Stunning. Amazed. Bouncy. Greedy. Sweet. Naughty. Annoyed. Calm. Fluffy. Hunted. Confused. Charged. Dizzy. Curious. Dreamer. Brilliant. Speechless.

I feel like a mindfuck.

Imagine sneezing in reverse.

Unfacing

Deactivate your facebook account.

80% of the people on your list will assume you have deleted / blocked them.

Out of those, about 40% would have your number / email / instant messenger ID etc.

And from those, about 10% would be people you’re actually thick with.

Nobody will call or write in to check with you. But they will discuss amongst themselves as to why people were (rather unceremoniously) ejected from the list.

Many theories ensue. There are actually a few half interesting ones too. But let’s leave that to another post.

The ones, who do manage to write to you, not call, write mind you, do it with a purpose of accusation. WHY was I deleted?

This is funny actually. Two weeks since I deactivated my facebook account, I have come to a scary realization about social networking.

What was meant to support my friends’ circle suddenly became its life support.

So if I am not in touch with you on social networking or not on your list anymore, I am as good as dead. Irrespective I might have dropped coffee on my machine, the ISP had an area blackout or I was going through a phase of digital denial, off the list means off the radar. The news feed is oxygen feed. If I don’t show up, I don’t exist.

What is this? The Matrix?

Facebook was for idea sharing, mood beaming and showing off. And knowing friends birthdays and facilitating events and having contact information indexed. The idea was ‘staying in touch’ and maybe ‘meeting new people’ or even ‘making phraindsheeps’. That is it. Facebook was not about a mandatory tax you paid in the digital world in order to remain friends in the real world.

If it is, up yours.

I don't mean to expect people to fuss over me, but if you are going to make the effort to deduce on your own; why I might have done whatever you think I have done, try checking with me before you form a sub committee amongst yourselves. This communist like behaviour is seriously disgusting.

Frankly, I deactivated my account to take a break. A social detox of sorts. Getting my head in order and all that serious sounding shit which was actually pretty trivial and a result of a random mood swing. Until now, that is.

Now, seeing how people reacted, well, I think I will stay off facebook for a lot longer. It will kind of filter a lot of stuff for me. I would know how much of a friend a friend is. Or maybe do a research paper on how social networking has infact eroded the core fabric of human bonds. Sounds grand, eh? It will be. Because you already agree.

So, if you’re a friend, you know where to reach me. If there is a happening in your life you want me to be a part of, I won’t be reading updates, so try making the news; good, bad or ugly, a bit personal.

If you’re not or don’t want to because you need a facebook roll call to know who your friends are, too bad.

And if you are going to sit and wonder and discuss and ponder and call the whole world and not me, about why I deleted or blocked YOU, I understand and share your anguish (boo-fucking-hoo).

Baazi

Khwaahish hamesha poori hoti hai.

Kabhi maangne waale ki, kabhi dene waale ki.

Kab Tak ?

Kya jaaga hai koi ab tak?
Ya khushi ne di hai dastak?
Bhool ke apni khudi ko;
Soye rahoge kab tak?

Chalta hai, ho jayega…
Itne mein sab kho jayega.
Toote kaanch ke darpan mein;
Aks chhuppaaoge kab tak?

Barood ki boli;
Ya shabdon ki goli.
Syaasat ka dhanda;
Aur apnon mein danga.

Jaage hue logon ke;

Dil soye rahenge har waqt.

Chain ki neend aur khushi aakhir;
Itnee mehngee rahegi kab tak?

*Friedrich Nietzsche*

When power becomes gracious and descends into the visible — such descent I call beauty.

And there is nobody from whom I want beauty as much as from you who are powerful: let your kindness be your final self-conquest.

Exit Wounds

Stars that vanish from the sky; They all don't die cheaply.

Someone must have loved them once; In the dark, and briefly.

An open letter to the Prime Minister of India.

Dear Prime Minister

 

By now, I am sure you know none of us envy you. Atleast the educated-not-wanting-a-ministerial-chair, sane minded ones amongst us.

 

You indeed are surrounded in some murky environs:

 

Fellow politicians with an expertise in the foot in mouth syndrome to put even good old Dubya and Paris Hilton put together, to shame.

 

A motley crew of alliance members with a 'DEEP' understanding of the current geopolitical and security situation. Incidentally they would all be out of their depth even in a parking lot puddle.

 

You had to give up your best man in the worst financial meltdown thanks to Shivraj Patil finally waking up to the fact that it’s time he put his political chair holding ambitions to sleep.

 

An opposition that beats even Ekta Kapoor’s knack of thriving on human misery to release advertising using terror attacks as a subject (ironically, their reign on the chair wasn’t a bed of roses for the country either).

 

A coast guard system that makes the Indian shores seem like the open gates of Appu Ghar on Children’s Day.

 

A stickler for protocol, neighboring leader of state who actually believes that your external affairs minister called him on the cell phone to make ‘phraindsheep’ with him and then threaten dire consequences unless his demands were met.

 

Laloo Yadav. Maya “bhenji” Wati. Vijay Mallya. Barkha Dutt. And a demanding lady boss.

The list goes on.

 

You really don’t have an easy life, I know. But since you are the leader of the nation, we have no one else to turn to.

 

We do not want a war Mr. Prime Minister. We want peace.

 

We do not want to hurt Pakistan. We want to annihilate extremism. And that does not involve normal citizens of any country. Or any faith.

 

We do not want bravado. We need alertness. Where every time something goes wrong, those who are at fault have more to say than just ‘ooops’.

 

We do not want blame takers and resignations on moral grounds. We want accountability. And some basic testicular fortitude in those who hold offices.

 

We do not want Barkha Dutt. We want news. She alone can give the entire opposition a tough fight for Ekta Kapoor’s throne of the ultimate human misery exploiter. Asking people who have just lost their kin “what are your feelings right now”. And yes, the gem: asking the NSG commander as he is entering the Nariman house amidst heavy firing “what is your strategy”?

 

Barkha-e-Tauba ! I hope the UN puts her on the list as well.

 

We do not need war. No we don’t.

 

For all the people who died in Mumbai on 26/11 and the million others in the acts of terrorism that ravished this land, do not send more Indians to the battlefield.

 

Because then, this will all go on.

 

This is what I suggest you can do:

 

Tighten our borders. If they cannot get in, they cannot cause harm.

 

Pay our security forces better. If they cannot be bribed, they cannot be breached.

 

Be clinical and ruthless with the politicians. You know, I know and we all know who are the ones who need this treatment. (Have Ram Gopal Varma make a new political potboiler – DeshMoorkh. The rest of the star cast is a ready set of asteroids led by R. R. Patil. This set of politicians will go far. The sooner they start, the better.)

 

Implement into law a bill that makes every politician with an ambition to hold office, hold a basic education first. The Prime Minister being educated enough, making up for the entire cabinet and political system doesn’t work.

 

Make public the ‘evidence’ you have. There is little to be gained with secrecy and protocol. As it is, we are on cell phone - first name basis with Zardari. Let the world know who they are, where they are and who shelters them. Remember it is politicians and power brokers who you need to target. Not innocent citizens. If innocent citizens are the collateral damage for our objectives, we are no different from the ones who did 26/11.

 

Be nice to Asif Ali Zardari. It is not his fault that he is brainless, spineless and powerless. Probably you can send Barkha Dutt as your special envoy with all the evidence to convince him if you have to. And threaten to keep her there till they get their act together. Atleast one of the two national issues we face everyday will be surely solved.

 

I have lots more to say, but as I said, I am aware of your tight schedule and tighter leash.

 

I hope these suggestions help. Till you do something about it, all we can do is pray for peace and seek sanity by staying away from NDTV 24x7.

 

 

 

 

No Change in Position - A Stalemate with God.

Nobody knows Prince Thomas. Or the fact that he em-bibs brilliance and a growth path only vertical.
Or maybe nobody cares.

Well, except the Thomas family.

You see, somewhere in this country, a young man from a small village in Kerela, used to help his father and study at the same time.
Not too great one would say but when the father is a vegetable vendor and yet you manage to study, and top your class 12th exams, it really is great.

On 24 May, a few days after the board results and a few days before the competitive exam results he had written, Prince Thomas hanged himself to death.
To save his family the (economic) burden of his further studies. And it took 5 days for the media to report THAT.

Prince Thomas, gave up without trying. And gave away a life, full of promise, in exchange of hope.
A few morsels more at dinner for everyone at home.
You will be remembered Prince Thomas, for swiftness of your exit. And your hasty decision.

For you were on the Rank list of every entrance exam you wrote.

You had everything going, and you just let it go.

And there are some who had and have nothing going...

My maternal grandmother is a spectacular woman.
Besides being a fabulous cook that all grandmothers usually are, she is a person who I have myself seen - go through a lot.
The fact that she went through the socio-economic turmoil of the the partition of Punjab, and spent her entire life struggling to make ends meet, she always has a tweak of a smile and a shiny glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Her existential ambition was to make sure all her children are well settled, and that she fulfilled. And how.

She faced hell, including a family crisis of the kinds that usually happen when the man of the house passes away. Less things to do. The house is sold.
Not having any worldly assets so to speak, she travels between the houses of her children, living out of the guest room of one house to the corner couch of another.
But always with a smile :)

I share a special relationship with her.
I was a problem child, and she was my voice of support.
And I have lived with my maternal uncle for a few years (why is another post) and as she spent a majority of time at his house, we did bond exclusively.

One of the many things I tease her about is her passion for walking.
Citing the frail heart condition of all the widowers around the neighborhood, she has often blushed (and she looks gorgeous [even more] when she does) at me urging her not to go walking in the interest of senior citizens. But I cannot do that anymore. Because she refuses to walk anymore.

Or talk. Or blush. Or eat. Or drink.
She lies there I am told with various things attached to her refusing to acknowledge or react.
Making it like a silent film, where we know the climax, yet are waiting to actually see it before we shed our tears.

Everyday, as many times I call the various family folk who are currently around her, I get to hear the same answer.
'No change in position'.

From a car to a food court. From the temple and from work.
Life keeps moving ahead while the answer remains the same. Stalemate.

'No change in position'.

And the stalemate comes after the doctors say you have already reached a point of no return.
So what are we playing for?

Change position now BeeJi. You are 92. And that is too old to be throwing a starving tantrum.
Not eating your food. Not talking to us.
I do not have the courage to come and see you. I am scared. For what I might ask for you.

Because you are not the same for me anymore.
Not unless you make me my breakfast paranthas.
Not unless you sit me down for an evening prayer.
Not unless we have a mango eating and pickle pelting contest.
Not unless I grill you on the cutest looking geriatric around.
Not unless.... you are you.

All your life I heard you say that you want to go peacefully without embracing the bed.
All my life I heard you pray for it.

But I am sorry BeeJi, for I too cannot fathom the one who answers or can answer those prayers.

I am sorry for teasing you about your 'romaaance'.
I am sorry for not spending more time with you.
I am sorry for not calling often.
I am sorry to have made you make me all that food when you were tired.
I am sorry for keeping you up at night, with cold bandages when I was ill.
I am sorry for deliberately scandalizing you- just to see you blush.
I am sorry for stealing money from your purse.
And I am sorry for not having ever said that how much I love you for having always forgiven me for all of the above.

But I love you. And I cannot see you go through this.
While everyone around goes on with life, as if nothing has happened and the visit to the hospital just becomes a formality with a mandatory shake of the head and repeating into the phone, day in and day out- the practiced 'No change in position'.

Change positions now BeeJi. On your own. It is enough already.

Don't let logic rule over the bonds of the heart. Don't let practicality steal the memories of joy.
Please, don't make me make a prayer that will put me through the grinders of guilt and regret for the rest of my life.


Post Script : Beeji passed away on the morning of 07/06/07. A few hours before I was to reach Amritsar to see her. After I had finally managed to muster the courage to do so.
I was there for the funeral. But did not have to see her in the state of pain.
She did indeed love me a lot.
\Thank you all for your wishes and prayers. They meant lots. God Bless.

Yaaron ke darmiyaan....

Kuchh baatein hongi
Mulakaatein hongi
Naye doston mein
Puraani khurafaatein hongi

Tareef uthegi
Kissa sunayenge
Apna chhupaaya hua aks
Anjaanon ko dikhayenge

Hassenge, hassaayenge
Halla machayenge
Kuchh lafzon ke darmiyaan
Ab naye rishte banayenge


www.betweenusfriends.com

:|

Dhoond raha hoon raaste, dil ke ayeene mein
Kaise bechoon khwahishon ko, khwaabon ke bazaar mein.


Will be back soon.