लाल, बाल, पाल जैसे वीरों की बदौलत बनी स्वाधीन मेरी माँ,

ऐ सियासी पुतले, इस देश को अपनी रखैल मत बना ||

It has been a long time since I wrote something real. It has been a long time since I have had a real thought to write about. Many a times I give excuses to myself that I am too busy and I just don't have the time to indulge in a worthless past-time such as blogging. After all, how many people will bother to read the garbage that I churn out. If people don't have the time to read what I write then why should I "waste" my time and write something at all. Yes, I sound so selfish!

But, as I write this, I realize that the idea behind this blog was never to get it world famous. This was the place where I could be content with myself. The very fact that I wrote something would fill me with pride and joy. Where has that feeling disappeared? Now I wait for a happy moment to write about. Gone are the days when I used to write to feel happy. This is not a good omen.

With this post I hope to shake off the slumber and start playing with words again. I will post something everyday, even if it's just two lines of absolute non-sense.

Run Lola, run!! Write Rishi, write!!

A Cheesy Tale!!

David was content with his extraordinarily sad life. His boss shouted at him ever so often, “David, I don’t know why I pay you. You are the biggest nincompoop I have ever met in my life.” David would just say, “Yes boss. I am no good.” David’s fiancée Sheila would complain in her shrill voice that could wake up even the dead. “Betty, Holly and Chloe, all have bigger rings than mine. How will you support me if you can’t even give me half a decent ring? I wonder why I ever said yes.” David would just say, “Yes Sheila. I am no good.” David’s mom would shout over the phone, “You are 28 years old. I had thought you would have started using your brains now. Oh, but no! You want to marry that witch of a woman.” David would just say, “Yes Ma. I am no good.”

David wasn’t always like this. When he was 18, David was going places. He could drive a power pitch for a home run, date the prettiest girl and debate the hell out of any competition without breaking a sweat. He was the cherry of Townsville. In his high school yearbook, David was voted as “Most likely to become President”. But when he came to the City, things changed.

You see, the City is a friend to none. You may come to her with your magical dreams and musical hopes but she will beat you down with all her might until you cry out for your mama, crushing your magical dreams and kicking your musical hopes. So was the fate of David, the cherry of Townsville. Now, all that was left of his dreams were the ashes. The City had made him mediocre. In a sad, demented sort of way, David was content with his mediocrity.

David never bothered about his Boss’ rebukes, Sheila’s ranting, or his mother’s criticism as long as he got his personal form of therapy every night. The “Leisure Hour” he would call it. Every night, David would come back home, undress into his pyjamas, put on some Mozart on the gramophone, fill his pipe with his favourite Cuban tobacco, sit down in his grandpa’s armchair by the window, switch on the table lamp and feast on his patent “Four Cheese Burger” while reading some good old-fashioned Wild West classic. That was his sole happiness in life. He would wait for this the whole day as a werewolf waits for the fresh glow of the new moon. Little did David know that even this moon would soon be eclipsed by a creature of the night.

…………….

Goliath could smell cheese from a mile away. It was his gift but it was also his curse. Many a times he would lead his horde to a family kitchen following the sinful aroma of earthy Parmesan or raid a restaurant pursuing the heart-warming fragrance of smoky Vegan. Even Armageddon wouldn’t have brought extinction as close to his colony as did Goliath’s furry nose. All the other rats were distressed. They were sick and tired of these daily adventures. They were more at peace in the city gutters rummaging through rubbish and going to bed with a full tummy on a lucky day. Everyone was unhappy with Goliath’s daredevilry. It wasn’t long before he was banished. For Goliath it meant freedom. It also meant that he was the lone rat. But to survive in the City he had to become more than the lone rat. He had to become the lone wolf. He wasn’t too worried though. He trusted his nose and had faith in his heart. So with a satisfied grin and a skip in his step Goliath set out to find that which his heart desired most. Cheese. “Ah! What is that? [sniff sniff] Smells like teen spirit. [sniff sniff] Naah!! Smells like Vermont Cheddar!! Bring It On!!”

…………….

With a start David woke up sending the newspaper covered, paperback western classic flying through the air. He had dozed off in the armchair thoroughly happy with “Leisure Hour” and dreaming about sheriffs and Mexican war lords riding stallions in the deserts of California. It was the racket in the kitchen that brought David back to reality. On inspecting what the commotion was, David found out that the shopping bags had been ransacked. Every item was in order except for the fresh Vermont cheddar cheese. It looked like a wolf had taken a bite because it sure didn’t seem like a mouse could eat so much cheese at one go. After organising all the groceries and making a mental note to always keep the cheese tucked away from the reach of the filthy rodents, David went to bed. The next morning, when he entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast he saw that the refrigerator door was open and the cheese gone. He got the shock of his life. He clearly remembered that he had put the cheese in the fridge and closed the door behind him. Or had he?

That evening something similar happened in the kitchen but this time it was the Feta cheese which was devoured and that too from the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. The next day it was Parmesan’s turn. David’s “Leisure Hour” was getting more and more unleisurely. Even mouse traps didn’t help. This had been going on for weeks and it wreaked havoc in David’s life. He had been stripped off his sole pleasure in life.

The crumbling of the smooth cheddar in Goliath’s mouth was like jazz for his tongue. He could taste the tang in the cheese. It felt exquisite. He had had just two nibbles and was already feeling drowsy. Just as he was dozing off, BAMM, he felt a searing pain. Shaken out of his reverie, he saw the half-witted human whose cheese he had been hogging till now, aiming at him with a broom. Instinctively his tiny paws jumped to action and carried him away dodging most of the blows aimed at him making a very, VERY narrow escape.

Back in his den, Goliath mused over what happened and said to himself “There can be only two possibilities for what happened today. One, the dim-wit is not as dumb as I think he is. Two, I am becoming more complacent. Either way, I can’t let down my guard or I am finished.” With that he swore to get his hands, er, paws on every piece of cheese he could get on in David’s house.

That just meant more trouble for David. That winter would be the harshest winter of David’s life. Do what he may, David could not capture the wretched rat. Do what he may, he could not protect his cheese from the wretched rat. Do what he may, he could not bring peace back in his life again, all because of the wretched rat. David used to be a sad man. He was turning into a bitter man.

That night, when David came home, he saw that the kitchen was in disarray, milk was on the floor, the coffee jar had been toppled over, the fridge was open. It was a mess. David sat on the ground holding his head. Tears were rolling down his cheek. It was two months of agony and trauma finally taking shape. “Oh! You damned rat. There was no cheese at home. Look at what you’ve done. Why don’t you just leave me alone. You want cheese? It’s cheese you want, isn’t it? Take this.” With that he took the block of fresh Vermont Cheddar out of his shopping bag and threw it on the ground, still weeping. What he saw after that is what surprised him most. Goliath slowly came out of a corner, broke a huge chunk of cheese and came to David’s feet, holding it up to him as if to say “Sorry!” David was astonished. Speechless. After giving the piece to David, Goliath had his fill and went back into the corner and vanished.

Still in a shock, David realised that the rat had won. Not against him, but against life. And the reason that it won was because it didn’t give up. Because it fought. It fought for it’s happiness and it fought for it’s life. The rat had taught David a lesson which no teacher or spiritual guru could have taught him - There is just one certainty in life: Just when you take centre stage and the spotlight is shining on you, Life will pull the curtains on you and your world will be plunged into darkness. It’s for the thespian to decide whether he wants to embrace the darkness or tear the curtains and finish his act.

On that cold winter night, David could smell the blossoms of spring. From that day on David did not need his “Leisure Hour” to find happiness in life.

Counting...

One, Two. Got no clue.
Three, Four. Confused more than ever before.
Five, Six. Getting no kicks.
Seven, Eight. It's never too late.
Nine, Ten. Ready then?

Horn Please O.K.!!

I recently got my driver's licence. I am not a kid anymore who needs to be driven to a party or who needs a pick-up after one. I can drive myself and other "kids" who need to be driven around. Not even my dad can stop me from driving a car now. At least, not on grounds that I don't know how to drive (the Indian Government thinks I can. Not that I can't. I actually can!!) and my dad is not mean enough to deny me his set of wheels. In fact, my dad is not mean at all. He lets me drive. A lot. And now I can drive with complete peace of mind. Because I have a Driver's Licence. Yay!!!

Section 130, sub-section 1 of the Indian Penal Code states "The driver of a motor vehicle in any public place shall, on demand by any police officer in uniform, produce his licence for examination:
Provided that the driver may, if his licence has been submitted to, or has been seized by, any officer or authority under this or any other Act, produce in lieu of the licence a receipt or other acknowledgment issued by such officer or authority in respect thereof and thereafter produce the licence within such period, in such manner as the Central Government may prescribe to the police officer making the demand." The gist of this law is that you cannot drive any vehicle without a valid Driver's Licence. Yeah, right!! I see so many boys riding bikes and driving cars who haven't even started shaving. Now, I can understand if there are just one or two of them on the road but it's a whole army of them. Either all of them are underage or guys in India are getting "prettier", if you know what I mean.

Don't misunderstand me. I am not being uptight about all this. I have commited my share of crime. Just like other boys I have tried to sneak out in the car past my dad to impress pretty young ladies at coaching classes. When girls are busy working their grey cells to identify the silver cation during a salt analysis test, boys are trying to figure out methods to extract the silver out of the salt in case that much is sufficient for a ring for the next Valentine's day. This is how boys think. That's what we are and there's nothing wrong about it. It's just the hormones acting up. And specially in the case of Indians, it's genetic and we can justify it by the way we drive.

You must be wondering how hormones, driving and Indians are related. Let me explain. What is the most annoying observation you can make at a traffic signal? People honking for no reason. If we can make so much noise at a place where we are supposed to stop and wait, imagine what would happen if a car breaks down in the middle of a busy road. And to top it off India dosen't have the infrastructure to support the number of vehicles plying it's roadways. Psychiatrists say that blowing horns is one of the easiest ways one can relieve stress. So, our roads are too crowded, we are the second largest population in the world and we unnecessarily blow horns to relieve our frustration. What does that make us?? Horny!! We are a horny race of people!!

Now that I have established the relation between raging hormones, driving and Indians I would say that it is just right that kids be given the opportunity to blow horns too. After all, puberty is a "hard" time. But then again, in the larger interest of the nation, it's okay if the kid dosen't drive for a while. In fact, it's good if kids don't blow horns. To avoid a crisis like teenage pregnancy stricter traffic rules for underage driving should be enforced. But I don't need to worry about all this. I've got a Driver's Licence. I have the right to be horny. But I am not a pervert. Before starting the engine I remind myself what Morrison had said :

Ah Keep your eyes on the road,
N Your hands upon the wheel.

Goat to Goatee

I was in Bhubaneswar in the last week of January to organize an event. Check out hellocm.blogspot.com. I would like to share an incident. Something very funny (at least to me) happened which made me do a lot of thinking about my choice of facial hair.

I was at the entrance of the auditorium where the competition was being held chatting with the volunteers, briefing them about the next moves. A gentleman who was waiting for his daughter to finish with the essay round was watching us from a corner. He was standing alone. I thought he must be feeling really bored and awkward among us kids so I went up to him and exchanged pleasantries. The bit of conversation I had with him in the next few minutes was really weird.

I introduced myself to which he replied "Oh! Bangaali?"
"Yes." (smile)
"So are you a Brahmin?"
"Yeah."
"But do you know this beard, this goatee of yours gives a very different impression."
I understood what he was trying to get at but I feigned ignorance.
"You know, Muslims keep beards like that. Initially I had the impression that you were one of them."
Yes, that gentleman had the nerve to say something like that.

The first thing that came to my mind was Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.
" 'All that glisters is not gold,
Often have you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well, your suit is cold.' "
I almost laughed out loud at the thought of him being the Prince of Morocco.
The second thing that came to my mind was " Sorry to have disappointed you, weirdo."
I voiced neither response, smiled and said, " Who cares? I don't." , instead.

I had thought that it was over but sadly I was wrong. The gentleman started talking about his college days where he used to tease a Muslim friend of his by the name of "goat" because he had a beard like mine. He probably thought that he was being funny and I had to go through twenty minutes of "Emosanal Atyachaar". And all this over a goatee.

I can't understand why people, specially Indians and even youngsters have a problem with the goatee. Even if they don't have a problem they will definitely ask you the reason for keeping a goatee if you sport one. Get a life people. I don't ask you why you are clean shaven. One more thing I don't understand is that why do people have a confusion about the religion of an individual just by looking at facial hair. Are clean shaven men ever confused as short haired women. Hitler is never confused with Charlie Chaplin. If you think all men with goatee beards are Muslims it just shows your cultural bias.

I keep getting comments like these about my goatee. Another person I had met (also in Bhubaneswar) made an interesting inference about my goatee. We had met through a common friend and had just finished with our introductions. The first piece of proper conversation we had was about my goatee. He asked,"Are you inspired by MTV's Raghu?".
I still don't understand what it is about this goatee of mine that triggers such remarks but whatever it is, my goatee is a damn good ice-breaker. At least I get to know how a person thinks. Coming back to my goatee, no, I am not inspired by Raghu Ram. I don't know since when Raghu has been sporting the goatee of his but for me it's been seven years. I am short and was a bit plump then. Having a short neck, a double chin was pretty evident. I started sporting the goatee to take people's attention off my double chin and the goatee has stayed ever since (with slight modifications in size and shape from time to time). I like my goatee. My girlfriend likes it and my mother is it's most ardent supporter.

So, anybody who has a problem with my goatee, I can shake my pelvis as unabashedly as Govinda and sing out loud "Main chahe yeh karoon, main chahe woh Karoon. Meri Marzi !!!".

The Circle of Life

The bubble shall burst.
Happiness strayed into my courtyard.
It stayed more than it's due.
She will fly with the chatter of windows
As the North wind breaks the lull.
After the storm,
What shall remain would be memories.
Sweet, bitter but always special.
Friends will part ways chasing the bubble.
(It's too precious)
Finally, a whiff of the North wind will lure us to places unknown.
I'll wait till Happiness strays into my courtyard again.
Till then the memories are enough!!