Metamorphosis

"Papa kehte hain...", that was the song playing on the old speaker system of the rickety bus. The bus had stopped en-route at a small village. The aroma of freshly fried samosas filled the air. The sun had just come out and slowly the golden yellow sunlight was engulfing everything in its warmth. As I stared out of the window I saw a mother lovingly combing the hair of her son, apparently getting him ready for school. Her son was a cute but restless kid who had a frown on his face. He wanted to join his friends who were waiting nearby so that they could go to school together. But the mother was taking her time ensuring that not a single hair was out of place. And why not? For a mother, the most beautiful child in the world is her own. After what seemed like an eternity for the kid, he broke out of his mother's embrace and ran fast to join his friends. I smiled at the episode played out in front of me. Here's the kid wanting to rush out to the outside world. And here I am who wants to go back, who does not want to leave, who wants to stay for some more time. I was going out of my city for the first time. My school had finished and I had got admission to a reputed college in another state. I was very excited on getting into such a good college and the prospect of leading an independent life but I never expected that I would miss home so much so soon. My smile changed into a sigh as my childhood flashed in front of my eyes. Getting dressed for school, the morning milk I hated so much, the scolding received on spoiling the clothes by playing in dirt, the craze for the wrist watch, the oh-so-dreaded visits to the barber shop, the small-at-home birthday parties with all neighbourhood kids, the big blue sky covered in small, colourful, diamond shaped tiles called kites. Aah, I am going to miss everything so much. Suddenly, a loud noise and vibration broke my reverie. Both the noise and the vibration were coming from my pocket. I fished out my cell phone and a tear rolled down my cheek as I saw on the screen, "Mom calling".

Simple fact!

Apna mood kharaab ho toh sab bekaar lagta hai!
:)

Dil Chahta Hai!!

Elections are almost there. Most of the voters have wishes and expectations from the new government. My case is different though, I would list down a few things which the government may not be able to provide, but it would definitely be a great life once I have them.

• Travel at the speed of light. Now, it does seem impossible, but lets suppose it was indeed possible. What could be the outcomes? We would have lots of such travel machines(Brand Name eg: Travelight) in the market. Just buy one, enter the latitude, longitude of where you want to be and sit in the machine. Thats it. Whenever there will be a India-Pak match going on, it would have to be held in some extra large stadium as anyone from any corner of the world could beam in to see the match. There would be no distance at all. No concept of being away, maybe no need of phones even. Well, hopefully the roads would be less crowded and people will use vehicles only for the joy of driving. Airline companies will be closed down, similar could be the fate of railways. You could go to work in Buffalo, New York and stay at Bhatinda. Possibilities are endless.
  

• Ability to fly. Now this has been the dream of mankind since ages. The thought itself is sufficient to make you feel good. Looking for some fresh air after the dinner, just find an opening to the sky and fly away. Roam around the city, play with clouds or just fly off to a hill. There could be then flying restaurants and cafetarias as well. Interesting.
  

• Ability to breathe in water. After sky, yet another unexplored area will open up for human exploration. Similar to rock climbing/trekking expeditions, we would have sea/lake diving expeditions. Hydro-tourism would be the new catch word. This may actually lead to cleaning up of over-polluted water bodies like rivers for the sake of making profit out of them. Imagine, Ambanis cleaning up the Ganga and charging a token fees for anything more than a bath in the holy river.

These are just some of the first things that came to my mind. Would post some more when I think of more. Those reading the post should comment about their wishes as well. Would love to hear about your wishes.

Idea!!

Cherries

Johnny stood beside his mother as she made her selection from the fruit-seller's wagon, and the farmer told the boy to take a handful of cherries, but the child shook his head.
"What's the matter? Don't you like them?" asked the fruit-seller.
"Yes," replied Johnny.
"Then go ahead an' take some."
Johnny hesitated, whereupon the farmer put a generous handful in the boy's cap. After the farmer had driven on, the mother asked: "Why didn't you take the cherries when he told you to?"
"'Cause his hand was bigger than mine."

Consequences of indolence

Food

Newton's Law

New Year Fortune on Orkut!

"The guy who reads your fortune didn't come to work today. But good luck, anyway!"
:)

Happy New Year to Me and all my dost aur rishtedaar!! :)

"How to make twins"

How to make twins

The Man With The Scar

It was on account of the scar that I first noticed him, for it ran, broad and red, in a great crescent from his temple to his chin. It must have been due to a formidable wound and I wondered whether this had been caused by a sabre or by a fragment of shell. It was unexpected on that round, fat and good-humoured face.

He had small and undistinguished features, and his expression was artless. His face went oddly with his corpulent body. He was a powerful man of more than common height. I never saw him in anything but a very shabby grey suit, a khaki shirt and a battered sombrero. He was far from clean. He used to come into the Palace Hotel at Guatemala City every day at cocktail time and strolling leisurely round the bar offered lottery tickets for sale. If this was the way he made his living it must have been a poor one, for I never saw anyone buy, but now and then I saw him offered a drink. He never refused it. He threaded his way among the tables with a sort of rolling walk as though he were accustomed to traverse long distances on foot, paused at each table, with a little smile mentioned the numbers he had for sale and then, when no notice was taken of him, with the same smile passed on. I think he was for the most part a trifle the worse for liquor.

I was standing at the bar one evening, my foot on the rail, with an acquaintance – they make a very good dry martini at the Palace Hotel in Guatemala City - when the man with the scar came up. I shook my head as for the twentieth time since my arrival he held out for inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded affably.

‘Qué tal, general? How is life?’

‘Not so bad. Business is none too good, but it might be worse.’

‘What will you have, general?’

‘A brandy.’

He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance. ‘Gracias. Hasta Luego.’

Then he turned away and offered tickets to the men who were standing next to us.

‘Who is your friend?’ I asked. ‘That’s a terrific scar on his face.’

‘It doesn’t add to his beauty, does it? He’s an exile from Nicaragua. He’s a ruffian of course and a bandit, but not a bad fellow. I give him a few pesos now and then. He was a revolutionary general and if his ammunition hadn’t given out he’d have upset the government and be minister of war now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatemala. They captured him, along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial. Such things are rather summary in those countries, you know, and he was sentenced to be shot at dawn. I guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught. He spent the night in gaol and he and the others, there were five of them altogether, passed the time playing poker. They used matches for chips. He told me he’d never had such a run of bad luck in his life.

When day broke and the soldiers came into the cell to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a life time.

They were led into the patio of the gaol and placed against a wall, the five of them side by side, with the firing party facing them. There was a pause and our friend asked the officer in charge of them what the devil they were keeping him waiting for. The officer said that the general commanding the government troops wished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival.

“Then I have time to smoke another cigarette,” said our friend. “He was always unpunctual.”

But he had barely lit it when the general – it was San Ignacio, by the way: I don’t know whether you ever met him – followed by his A.D.C. came into the patio. The usual formalities were performed and San Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the execution took place. Four of the five shook their heads, but our friend spoke.

“Yes, I should like to say goodbye to my wife.”

“Bueno,” said the general, “I have no objection to that. Where is she?”

“She is waiting at the prison door.”

“Then it will not cause a delay of more than five minutes.”

“Hardly that, Señor General.”

“Have him placed on one side.”

Two soldiers advanced and between them the condemned rebel walked to the spot indicated. The officer in command of the firing squad on a nod from the general gave an order, there was a ragged report, and the four men fell. They fell strangely, not together, but one after the other, with movements that were almost grotesque, as though they were puppets in a toy theatre. The officer went up to them and into one who was still alive emptied two chambers of his revolver. Our friend finished his cigarette and threw away the stub.

There was a little stir at the gateway. A woman came into the patio, with quick steps, and then, her hand on her heart, stopped suddenly. She gave a cry and with outstretched arms ran forward.

“Caramba,” said the general.

She was in black, with a veil over her hair, and her face was dead white. She was hardly more than a girl, a slim creature, with little regular features and enormous eyes. But they were distraught with anguish. Her loveliness was such that as she ran, her mouth slightly open and the agony of her face beautiful, a gasp of surprise was wrung from those indifferent soldiers who looked at her.

The rebel advanced a step or two to meet her. She flung herself into his arms and with a hoarse cry of passion: alma de mi corazón, soul of my heart, he pressed his lips to hers. And at the same moment he drew a knife from his ragged shirt – I haven’t a notion how he had managed to retain possession of it – and stabbed her in the neck. The blood spurted from the cut vein and dyed his shirt. Then he flung his arms round her and once more pressed his lips to hers.

It happened so quickly that many didn’t know what had occurred, but from the others burst a cry of horror; they sprang forward and seized him. They loosened his grasp and the girl would have fallen if the A.D.C. hadn’t caught her. She was unconscious. They laid her on the ground and with dismay on their faces stood round watching her. The rebel knew where he was striking and it was impossible to staunch the blood. In a moment the A.D.C. who had been kneeling by her side rose.

“She’s dead,” he whispered.

The rebel crossed himself.

“Why did you do it?” asked the general.

“I loved her.”

A sort of sigh passed through those men crowded together and they looked with strange faces at the murderer. The general stared at him for a while in silence.

“It was a noble gesture,” he said at last. “I cannot execute this man. Take my car and have him led to the frontier. Señor, I offer you the homage which is due from one brave man to another.”

A murmur of approbation broke from those who listened. The A.D.C. tapped the rebel on the shoulder, and between the two soldiers without a word he marched to the waiting car.’

My friend stopped and for a time I was silent. I must explain that he was a Guatemaltecan and spoke to me in Spanish. I have translated what he told me as well as I could, but I have made no attempts to tone down his rather high-flown language. To tell the truth I think it suits the story.

‘But how did he get the scar?’ I asked at length.

‘Oh, that was due to a bottle that burst when he was opening it. A bottle of ginger ale.’

‘I never liked it,’ said I.

by William Somerset Maugham

Exactly my situation

हिन्दी में लिखने का सुख!

वाह! हिन्दी में लिखने का मज़ा ही कुछ और है। मतलब कितना भी अंग्रेज़ी बोल लो, लिख लो, हिन्दी से जो भावनाएं व्यक्त हो सकती हैं वो शायद किसी दूसरी भाषा से नहीं हो सकती। शायद मेरे ऐसा सोचने के पीछे ये कारण हो सकता है कि मैं एक भारतीय हूँ। :)

Dooba dooba rehta hun...

The road in front of my house.

Paani paani re

Just outside the front door.

Tip tip barsa paani

The cloud-cover from office window.

Rain rain go away...

The rain this weekend was not romantic at all for Chennai, and "Nisha" was responsible for it. Yes, that was the name of the cyclone that hit the Tamil Nadu coast last weekend. That makes me wonder why all the cyclones are given female names(another eg. "Katrina" in US). It rained continuously for 3 days and Chennai was reduced to being an island city. My house being on ground floor was also not spared.

It started on 26th, Wednesday. It rained for the whole day and we had difficulty coming back from office. This was the same ill-fated night when the mini-war at Mumbai began. It continued to rain the whole night and by morning, I was already thinking its too much now. Crouched on the pillion seat of my friend's bike, enduring strong gusts of winds and a heavy downpour, I somehow managed to reach office. Apart from the routine work, most of the day was spent on following the news of Mumbai attack. By evening, the weather gods had made it clear, this was not going to be your usual ephemeral Chennai rain. Roads were already brimming with water and low-lying areas like the one where we live were definitely the worst hit. We scrambled back to our home hoping the water would not have entered our house as laptops and related accesories were lying on ground. Luckily, water level had risen just to the level of the doorstep. We rushed inside to secure our things. The rain stopped for an hour prompting us to believe that its finally over, but we were wrong. It started raining soon after as if the someone sky had teared the sky apart. Inspite of our stupid efforts to seal the front door, water started coming into the room around midnight through the back door. At this point, we gave up against mother nature and somehow managed to sleep on the single cot in house.

The next morning was a memorable one. Its really weird to wake up and find yourself surrounded by knee-deep water. My friend's chappals were floating around and I knew I had a difficult day ahead. I got up reluctantly and called up the office to inform about inability to come. Our landlord showed his magnanimity by inviting us to his house on the first floor. We spent the day at his place waiting for the water level to come down, watching TV and basically just sitting. Water did finally come down at around 9 PM and we cleaned the house of all the water and accompanying dirt and slept soon after tired of the exhaustion. The next morning was a sunny one and the two-day nightmare courtesy "Nisha" was finally over, coinciding ironically with the culmination of the long-drawn battle at the two symbols of affluence at Mumbai.

The whole episode clearly underlined two basic questions: Have we really conquered nature? and the second: How to make India immune to natural or man-made calamities?

P.S. Will upload some photos as well very soon.

The rime of the ancient mariner

Nowadays it is very common for a boy/girl to interact with the opposite gender freely and a possibility of having a more than "just friends" relationship always exists. Nobody is surprised to find couples going around and indulging in PDA(Public Display of Affection). I was wondering how it would have been, if someone was attracted to a person in past. Now, by past I am talking about the time when there used to be kingdoms with kings, queens to rule over.

So, starting off with a childhood TV serial's title song(there is a prize for guessing the name of the serial): Naugarh-Vijaygarh main thi Takraar...Naugarh kaa tha jo rajkumar...chandrakanta se karta tha pyaar..(there was enemity between the states of Naugarh and Vijaygarh...Prince of Naugarh named Virendra Singh loved princess of Vijaygarh named Chandrakanta). Now, suppose they want to go on a date, how will they go about it?

Firstly, they may think about gifts, especially if its a first date, or something important like either one's birthday. Guy would come up with some sort of a jewellery, or if he is more daring sorts, maybe a garment made out of skin of a tiger killed by himself(he could say while gifting, "Maine apne hathon se banaya hai.."). The girl could gift a new sword/knife. She could also gift him a new faster horse. Lets say the gift is decided.

Next, is the communication issue. No cellphones at that time, so one has to rely on our friendly pigeon (remember Bhagyashri singing "Kabootar ja ja ja, kabootar ja ja ja..", and the kabootar thinking, "AAhh...You don't have to say "ja" so many times..."). Let us say, kabootar did reach Chandrakanta and she replied back saying yes and deciding upon the time and venue. Now, here I think, they had an advantage. There were so many cool places to go. I mean, no pollution, no concrete jungles and everything free of cost(unlike the Pizza Huts, McDonald's and costly Malls). Just go out of the city and you are at a picnic spot. Virendra singh would send a baggi(horse-driven wagon) to pick Chandrakanta up. He would take care that the baggi was closed from all sides. It served two purposes, One was they avoided spies who would inform their parents of this adventure, Second and more important was they were free to behave as they wanted inside the privacy of the baggi. Now, they roamed around in the baggi, found a nice and secluded place at a beautiful river side and had their dinner. A young girl and a guy, together, alone on a moonlit riverbank, gentle breeze, the only sound comes from the leaves ruffling in the nearby trees and the breeze of course. At this point, Virendra would give her the gift, which makes her very happy and emotional. Sparks obviously fly but they can't do anything "substantial". The reason: No contraceptives available. I mean, here its fine, they will convince themselves by saying, "after marriage". But even after marriage, till the contraceptives were invented, couples must have had a hard time. Or maybe that explains why Gandhari had 100 sons.

Another advantage a couple had was there could be no hard proof for their affair. No cameras or audio/video recorders available. They could deny almost any witness by just saying, "wasn't me".

It must be a great time though. At least the prince, princesses etc. never had to work all their life. Their work involved only to find innovative ways of dating(before marriage) and innovative ways of doing "the thing"(after marriage). Rest of the wordly affairs would be taken care of for by the king and the queen. The flip side could be they were bored with life like anything.

Coming back to present, I think I should go back to work, else my boss will make sure that I don't continue with my job. My father is not a king as well. Yeah, I should definitely get back to work.

P.S. Post inspired by an unexpected conversation with someone at the most unexpected time of day.

Blogging from Microsoft word

Last few days have been very difficult. A lot of bad things happening around me. Hope the coming days are better comparatively.

Interesting

Indeed an interesting link. http://metaatem.net/words.php