Sometimes sitting in the cafeteria you start staring into the void. Suddenly the world around you starts to move in slow motion. You can hear nothing. You can see nothing. You can feel nothing thats happening around you. You stagnate but the world around you is changing. Your mind is blank. People pass from in front of you and you just look through them as if they never existed. As if you never existed.
The only thing that exists are the faces of your loved ones. Floating in the air as if reflections on a calm lake. Nothing else maters. Nothing else exists. This is the real world that exists beyond our imagination.
And then BANG someone drops a plate and you are suddenly thrown into the imaginary world of chaos and stir. People all around you, shouting and screaming, contesting and competing, crying and weeping, laughing and playing. The imaginary world that we live in...
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Lover Pines
"So do you want to mary her", he asked, " yes", he said. "Then whats the problem", asked the old man, "She doesnt want to marry me", he said still looking out of the window.
"So does that make you sad", said the old man, "Yes it does", Said he. "So what do u do about it", "I goto the mandir every day atleast five to six times a weak" Said he. "And why doesnt she wants to marry you", " Because she is from another religion", said he.
"Do you still meet her?" " no we are not on talking terms any more", "Why thats so sad" said the old man. " So do you go to meet her" asked the old man. "no I dont I goto to the mandir instead, whenever I think of god I feel I am close to her" he said.
"You should go to her as many times as possible and to the mandir only once in a while and you can tell her that you have given her a place which is higher than that of god's" the old man adviced.
The sardar from Infosys Mohali smiled and continued looking outside the window, as if he was trying to search her beloveds face in the river below the bridge.
"So does that make you sad", said the old man, "Yes it does", Said he. "So what do u do about it", "I goto the mandir every day atleast five to six times a weak" Said he. "And why doesnt she wants to marry you", " Because she is from another religion", said he.
"Do you still meet her?" " no we are not on talking terms any more", "Why thats so sad" said the old man. " So do you go to meet her" asked the old man. "no I dont I goto to the mandir instead, whenever I think of god I feel I am close to her" he said.
"You should go to her as many times as possible and to the mandir only once in a while and you can tell her that you have given her a place which is higher than that of god's" the old man adviced.
The sardar from Infosys Mohali smiled and continued looking outside the window, as if he was trying to search her beloveds face in the river below the bridge.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Crush
Bangalore, can be beautiful in the evening and that too on a lazy Sunday evening with less traffic, it looks even better. I had just come out of my cozy little PG room after finishing an excellent novel by Henning Mankel – The return of the dance master. Had some tea and was upon deciding on going to the nearest mall for one of my surveys for my business plan that’s when I noticed the long road towards Wilson Garden just off the K. H. Road (more popularly known as Double Road I haven’t been able to figure why). I settled for the later option. The road is lined by trees on one side mostly coconut trees and the view is magnificent. As I started to walk towards Wilson Garden I was hardly aware of the surprise that awaited at the end of the road.
Bangalore has these old buildings, Buses and even some places that seem as if they are straight out of R K Laxmans Malgudi Days books. And this road to Wilson Garden is one such place it looked absolutely beautiful with all the greenery. It is a wide road with very little traffic and the buildings that are there mostly belong to Bangalore Municipal Transport Corp. The coconut trees swayed in the breeze while some white clouds were flying in the sky. So I walked along enjoying the long lonely walk, I guess I am beginning to like this loneliness. It started to drizzle. I thought it would not rain for long as I couldn’t see any large piece of cloud in the sky. But Mother Nature can be surprising.
I continued to walk enjoying the rain. In a few minutes the drizzle became a steady rain and I was almost half soaked when I noticed a girl walking in front of me tripping on a pot hole and fall to her knees. I rushed immediately to her aid. I offered my hand, which she accepted and tried to stand erect. She grimaced with pain as she tried to straighten her left leg. It seemed she had hurt her knee badly. She put her right arm around my shoulders for support. I saw a clinic around 20 steps ahead of us. I suggested that we should go there. She agreed.
She tried to limp, all the while her right arm not leaving my shoulders and her cheeks so close to my lips that I only resisted giving her a peck (dont ask me how). My left hand was around her waist to support her and she didn’t seemed to mind. She was wearing a orange kurta and a salwar and she was as fair as a girl should be. We were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the clinic though it had been only a few steps but she walked really slowly. At last I helped her climb the last of the stairs to the clinic and she slid into a chair near by. How I wished the clinic had been a bit farther.
It turned out that the clinic had only one lady doctor and that most of the residents in that locality had chosen this very Sunday evening to fall ill. There was a long queue waiting outside the doctor’s chamber though there were enough chairs for people to sit. She tried to remove the wet strands of hair all over her temple and cheek and I thought she looked absolutely beautiful as slid into a chair beside her. She had big blakc eyes. “Does that hurt?” I asked. She nodded feeling her wounded knee. The salwar was torn at the place she was hurt and the wound showed through the torn piece of fabric. I could see she was bleeding. She saw me watching her wound and said “thank you for helping me”. I said that anyone would have done the same thing. “If I am not bugging you can stay with me until the doctor has seen me because I am dead scared of doctors especially of syringes” she said. I laughed out loud and said that it would be my pleasure; little did she know how much I was enjoying her company.
“I am Priya” she said and stretched her right hand towards me, which I took and told her my name. There was some familiarity in her face and voice, I thought that I had seen her somewhere but I was not able to place her just where. I am pretty bad at remembering faces or even names but I have this knack of remembering voices I think that’s a god’s gift. She asked me where I lived and I told her that I was living in a pg on the Double Road. I told her where I was from and what I was doing in Bangalore. She said that she had been all over India since her father had a transfer job. She said that she was born in Jamshedpur then her family had moved on to Kolkata, then guwahati, then ooty and many other cities, which I don’t remember. And now for the past one year she was living in Bangalore with her family and was working for some software firm. All the while I was staring rather stupidly at her beautiful face. I was so full of her that I forgot to mention that I was from Jamshedpur as well. She chattered about so many things and as usual I said very little encouraging her only to tell more about herself. I loved the way she spoke, the way she looked at me as if we had been friends since the 4th grade.
As the queue neared the doctor’s chamber I gave her my hand to hold and get up but she chose the door instead and limped inside the doctors chamber. Since it was a lady doctor and a lady patient as well I decided to wait outside. All the time wishing that the queue had been a little longer. She came out of the doctor’s chamber in 5 minutes and her knee looked swollen due to the bandage. I asked how she was feeling now she said that she was feeling better. I asked whether she would be able to walk and she said that she would be so I didn’t offer my hand or my shoulder this time. We slowly walked out of the clinic all this while she told me how grateful she was that I had helped her and said sorry to have kept me for so long.
We came out of the clinic and hailed an auto and she climbed into it. She said thanks once again and the auto started moving. She waved at me and so did I. I watched the tail lamp of the auto disappear round the corner. And the rain gods smiled on Bangalore once again.
By the time I found this cyber café I was fully soaked and as I sit here sneezing and keying these words into 360 I realize that I forgot to take her number or email id or any contact data of the girl who was my first crush when I was in the 4th grade.
Bangalore has these old buildings, Buses and even some places that seem as if they are straight out of R K Laxmans Malgudi Days books. And this road to Wilson Garden is one such place it looked absolutely beautiful with all the greenery. It is a wide road with very little traffic and the buildings that are there mostly belong to Bangalore Municipal Transport Corp. The coconut trees swayed in the breeze while some white clouds were flying in the sky. So I walked along enjoying the long lonely walk, I guess I am beginning to like this loneliness. It started to drizzle. I thought it would not rain for long as I couldn’t see any large piece of cloud in the sky. But Mother Nature can be surprising.
I continued to walk enjoying the rain. In a few minutes the drizzle became a steady rain and I was almost half soaked when I noticed a girl walking in front of me tripping on a pot hole and fall to her knees. I rushed immediately to her aid. I offered my hand, which she accepted and tried to stand erect. She grimaced with pain as she tried to straighten her left leg. It seemed she had hurt her knee badly. She put her right arm around my shoulders for support. I saw a clinic around 20 steps ahead of us. I suggested that we should go there. She agreed.
She tried to limp, all the while her right arm not leaving my shoulders and her cheeks so close to my lips that I only resisted giving her a peck (dont ask me how). My left hand was around her waist to support her and she didn’t seemed to mind. She was wearing a orange kurta and a salwar and she was as fair as a girl should be. We were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the clinic though it had been only a few steps but she walked really slowly. At last I helped her climb the last of the stairs to the clinic and she slid into a chair near by. How I wished the clinic had been a bit farther.
It turned out that the clinic had only one lady doctor and that most of the residents in that locality had chosen this very Sunday evening to fall ill. There was a long queue waiting outside the doctor’s chamber though there were enough chairs for people to sit. She tried to remove the wet strands of hair all over her temple and cheek and I thought she looked absolutely beautiful as slid into a chair beside her. She had big blakc eyes. “Does that hurt?” I asked. She nodded feeling her wounded knee. The salwar was torn at the place she was hurt and the wound showed through the torn piece of fabric. I could see she was bleeding. She saw me watching her wound and said “thank you for helping me”. I said that anyone would have done the same thing. “If I am not bugging you can stay with me until the doctor has seen me because I am dead scared of doctors especially of syringes” she said. I laughed out loud and said that it would be my pleasure; little did she know how much I was enjoying her company.
“I am Priya” she said and stretched her right hand towards me, which I took and told her my name. There was some familiarity in her face and voice, I thought that I had seen her somewhere but I was not able to place her just where. I am pretty bad at remembering faces or even names but I have this knack of remembering voices I think that’s a god’s gift. She asked me where I lived and I told her that I was living in a pg on the Double Road. I told her where I was from and what I was doing in Bangalore. She said that she had been all over India since her father had a transfer job. She said that she was born in Jamshedpur then her family had moved on to Kolkata, then guwahati, then ooty and many other cities, which I don’t remember. And now for the past one year she was living in Bangalore with her family and was working for some software firm. All the while I was staring rather stupidly at her beautiful face. I was so full of her that I forgot to mention that I was from Jamshedpur as well. She chattered about so many things and as usual I said very little encouraging her only to tell more about herself. I loved the way she spoke, the way she looked at me as if we had been friends since the 4th grade.
As the queue neared the doctor’s chamber I gave her my hand to hold and get up but she chose the door instead and limped inside the doctors chamber. Since it was a lady doctor and a lady patient as well I decided to wait outside. All the time wishing that the queue had been a little longer. She came out of the doctor’s chamber in 5 minutes and her knee looked swollen due to the bandage. I asked how she was feeling now she said that she was feeling better. I asked whether she would be able to walk and she said that she would be so I didn’t offer my hand or my shoulder this time. We slowly walked out of the clinic all this while she told me how grateful she was that I had helped her and said sorry to have kept me for so long.
We came out of the clinic and hailed an auto and she climbed into it. She said thanks once again and the auto started moving. She waved at me and so did I. I watched the tail lamp of the auto disappear round the corner. And the rain gods smiled on Bangalore once again.
By the time I found this cyber café I was fully soaked and as I sit here sneezing and keying these words into 360 I realize that I forgot to take her number or email id or any contact data of the girl who was my first crush when I was in the 4th grade.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The Day When Anthony Hopkins Saved My Life!
I had just finished watching World's Fastest Indian on Zee Studio and flicked through the channels. Excellent movie as it is, about the sheer power of a man's will. It had left a deep impact on my mind. I was determined now more than ever to make a fortune in this city of dreams.
Flicking through the channels I came across a news channel and saw people bashing up cars and kiosks at Dadar station. People fighting and beating up each other because they belong to some other region of the country. As if that region isnt there country. Hollywood used "Indian" to depict the power of a man's will, and here we Indians went on national television and proved that we are nothing but idiots.
Anyways like a true Indian I called up my brother and warned him regarding the happenings at various railway stations and went to sleep.
Next day I went to the office. By the end of the day things got worse with more people joining the mayhem and the whole thing took the shape of an ugly riot threatening to spread to other parts of the country. My boss advised us to leave early for the day as things might get worse.
The North Indians formed groups with the localites so that they could get a safe passage. I joined one such group and reached Dadar Station expecting to catch a train to Kurla and from there to Vashi. We saw taxis with broken windsheilds, and overturned carts all around us. The trains were relatively empty and so were the platforms.
I reached Kurla and changed my train. But as the train was about to leave 5 or 6 people stormed into the compartment with hockey sticks and cricket bats and began asking passengers there names in Marathi. At the end of the compartment four or five people got beaten. One of the goons advanced towards me and asked "aey tujha naav kai"? (hey whats your name). If I would have told my real name it would have been enough evidence for them to bash me up into a pulp.
You see India is an interesting country, you can confirm a persons caste, which region s/he belongs to, what kind of job his/her forefathers used to do by just knowing that person's name. And hence my name right now was a clear disadantage to my position.
"Aey tujha naav kai"? Cried the goon again swinging his hockey stick near my face. I couldnt give him my real name, so my mind was racing. It was like running on a treadmill, you ran but you didnot reach anywhere. He swung the hockey stick again. "Anthony Hopkins" I blurted. "Kai' he said. "Anthony Hopkins" I said again. "Christian aahe kai"? (Are you a Christian) he asked. I nodded. "Kuthe rehtat"? (Where do you stay). By now I was sweating. "Does this hockey stick swinging, human bashing goon knew that Anthony Hopkins was the one riding the motorbike in the movie last night"? I was thinking. "Was he up that late at night watching the movie"? "Kuthe rehtat"? he asked again. "Vashi", I said.
He lowered his hockey stick, and another one joined him, "kai zhala"? (what happened) He asked. "Christian aahe", the first one said. By that time the train stopped at a station and all the goons alighted and went to some other compartment. I was still sitting at my place sweating with my knapsack clutched close to my chest.
Thank you Mr Anthony Hopkins for saving my life that day.
Flicking through the channels I came across a news channel and saw people bashing up cars and kiosks at Dadar station. People fighting and beating up each other because they belong to some other region of the country. As if that region isnt there country. Hollywood used "Indian" to depict the power of a man's will, and here we Indians went on national television and proved that we are nothing but idiots.
Anyways like a true Indian I called up my brother and warned him regarding the happenings at various railway stations and went to sleep.
Next day I went to the office. By the end of the day things got worse with more people joining the mayhem and the whole thing took the shape of an ugly riot threatening to spread to other parts of the country. My boss advised us to leave early for the day as things might get worse.
The North Indians formed groups with the localites so that they could get a safe passage. I joined one such group and reached Dadar Station expecting to catch a train to Kurla and from there to Vashi. We saw taxis with broken windsheilds, and overturned carts all around us. The trains were relatively empty and so were the platforms.
I reached Kurla and changed my train. But as the train was about to leave 5 or 6 people stormed into the compartment with hockey sticks and cricket bats and began asking passengers there names in Marathi. At the end of the compartment four or five people got beaten. One of the goons advanced towards me and asked "aey tujha naav kai"? (hey whats your name). If I would have told my real name it would have been enough evidence for them to bash me up into a pulp.
You see India is an interesting country, you can confirm a persons caste, which region s/he belongs to, what kind of job his/her forefathers used to do by just knowing that person's name. And hence my name right now was a clear disadantage to my position.
"Aey tujha naav kai"? Cried the goon again swinging his hockey stick near my face. I couldnt give him my real name, so my mind was racing. It was like running on a treadmill, you ran but you didnot reach anywhere. He swung the hockey stick again. "Anthony Hopkins" I blurted. "Kai' he said. "Anthony Hopkins" I said again. "Christian aahe kai"? (Are you a Christian) he asked. I nodded. "Kuthe rehtat"? (Where do you stay). By now I was sweating. "Does this hockey stick swinging, human bashing goon knew that Anthony Hopkins was the one riding the motorbike in the movie last night"? I was thinking. "Was he up that late at night watching the movie"? "Kuthe rehtat"? he asked again. "Vashi", I said.
He lowered his hockey stick, and another one joined him, "kai zhala"? (what happened) He asked. "Christian aahe", the first one said. By that time the train stopped at a station and all the goons alighted and went to some other compartment. I was still sitting at my place sweating with my knapsack clutched close to my chest.
Thank you Mr Anthony Hopkins for saving my life that day.
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