Kyamon baashi bajaay shono, maathe te rakhaal..

Delhi 7: Reporting LIVE!

30^th June, 2011

New Delhi is sweltering hot during the summer (roughly from early March to end of August, with a little bit of rain thrown in once in a while, which then piles up the humidity) with temperatures dancing on the wrong side of 40 degrees Celsius with unfailing regularity & biting cold during the winter (mid-December to mid-February) with the mercury stoutly refusing to climb above 5 degrees Celsius. What’s more, last year the capital recorded the highest ever rainfall in the last 30 years, coupled with the otherwise withered up and innocuous Yamuna threatening to unleash her swollen waters! Credit some really bad drainage facilities (that resulted the flooding of roads here, there, everywhere) and you’ll have conjured for yourself a rather lively image of my inebriated tango with this city so far. I have few non-familial acquaintances here (ergo, fewer friends), but if there is one thing that this city has given me then that is experience. (Well, to be entirely true, it had also given me splitting headaches and the subsequently diagnosed sinusitis last year, but I’m trying rather hard to keep the detractors at bay here!)

Trust. What does the word mean? Does it mean anything at all anymore? What’s that? “Yes”, you say? I find disinclined to agree.. “I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore..” How many times have I heard that by now? I think I’d have a better chance at counting stars! The most recent repetition of this over-used, bordering-on-cliché phrase came to pass on Thursday, June 30, 2011, at 01:12 hours IST. (Or, as we are more comfortable with it, at twelve minutes past one at night.) It was one of my MIB classmates, oh yes. A girl. As a matter of fact, a girl who has recently had a bitter breakup, no less. Now, when I first came to know this girl halfway through my second semester here (I was blissfully ignorant of most of my classmates’ names –male and female - for most of the first semester and unawareness about the females carried on till the aforementioned halfway stage), I found her to be quite chatty & a fun person to hang around with. So hang around I did and, wonder of wonders, we became something more than acquaintances - she suggested we had become ‘friends’! (What’s the exclamation mark for, you ask? Well, you see, I used to be quite shy when around girls right from my school days, and since the very first day of attending a co-educational college, I’ve found it nothing short of a miracle every time a girl has actually become ‘friends’ with me. But, I see that I’ve digressed..) Right, so back to this girl.. Well, after she & I became ‘friends’ (once again, according to her, for I have the odd habit of taking a while to become ‘friends’ and I hadn’t yet begun to consider her as one), she told me that she had a boyfriend who was studying something somewhere (I only have selective retention capacity and I didn’t find this fellow interesting enough) and that they were going through their roughest patch yet in the four years’ commitment. Having nursed only one monumentally one-sided (albeit prolonged) ardour, I wasn’t much of an expert on the matter, but rough patches seemed to me quite commonplace in relationships. As I understood, things almost always got better sooner rather than later. Quite to the contrary, however, about a month later the girl told me – over the phone and in a fit of tears - that she and her boyfriend had broken up, (to be perfectly honest to her, she did say “He dumped me..”; quite frankly, I don’t see how who dumps who really matters either way if the relationship is discarded after all, but apparently such things are very important to people) as far as I remember due to the fact that he had told his parents and they hadn’t accepted it (or something as weak-willed and banal as that). I tried my best to console her and sympathize with her, but who was I kidding? I’ve always been a rabbit in headlights when it came to being around crying women, and this was not much different, I admit. Anyway, I did what ‘friends’ are expected to do, I guess – told her to keep a stiff upper lip and all that, told her that she didn’t deserve a spineless wimp like him (which I did think he was), told her that she’d find someone much better (which is always probable) and soon (which, truth be told, I had no way of knowing; but such things need to be told at times likes those, I gathered, and proceeded to do the needful). “I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore..” came her tear-stained self-realization.

               

Surprise, surprise! Within a fortnight of having suffered what she identified as a “shattering, life-altering” heartbreak, came this one day when we were out having pizza (courtesy good old Dominos) when she started flirting with me! (Yes, you read it right.. ME, of all the people in the whole, wide world!) Not buying it, you say? Good joke, you think? Not to worry. I couldn’t believe it myself! I mean, why on earth would any girl flirt with me?! I’m positively a woman-repellent! But, tell me, what else can “I didn’t think I could ever trust anyone anymore when _______ broke up with me, but I now know I can trust you with anything.. I think I can more than trust you.. In fact, you know who I think is the right guy for me in class? I’d tell you, but I’d only embarrass you.. I only wish you’d feel the same way about me, you know.. It’s hard for a girl to ask a guy out..” with her hand on mine (which had been lying innocently on the pizza table) possibly mean, right?! (If it wasn’t flirting, however, I plead guilty; having never attempted to ‘flirt’, so to speak, it’s one more of those entries on that ever-burgeoning list of things that I remain largely distanced from.) Thankfully, humour is my one (although sadly, only) forte, and I was able to laugh it off before it indeed became embarrassing for me.

Days later, this adventurous daughter of man went on a ‘long-drive’ with three boys and one girl from our class (none of whom have the best of reputations), got high on beer, and got kissed and groped by two of the said lads (while the third was making out with the other girl present). When this plan had originally been drafted (of the five of them going on the drive, i.e.), she had called me to ask if I thought it was safe for her and whether I wanted her to go or not. I remember telling her quite clearly that it was not in my place to want, not want, allow and/or deny her from doing anything, but that I felt that she would be invariably better off if she opted out of their company. It goes without saying that she turned a deaf ear. Eventually, she called me later that fateful day of their little escapade, crying and feeling disgusted with herself, and said - (Yes, no points for guessing..) “I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore..”

Within a week of that episode, she called me up to tell me that she and one of my male classmates had started dating, mentioning quite clearly that she had suggested the idea and that he had accepted. She further told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was a convenience thing – the two of them travelled to college by the same Metro rail, lived in more or less the same locality – and that neither of them had any plans whatsoever for considering it as a serious commitment. “We are in it just for fun..” she had said. And, now, three and a half months after the commencing of their “fun” , she called me, once again, in a fit of tears, mumbling things like “He trapped me..”, “We were physically involved, you know.. Now I realize that he used me..”, “It was all a well-laid plan.. Girls are very delicate, and guys like him swindle us like this..” And, of course, the omnipresent “I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore..”

And they say ‘Dilli.. dil waalon ki!” As Obelix the Gaul would no doubt have said had he the fortune of visiting our respected capital city, “These Delhites are crazy!” Touché.

Artists..

‎"An artist is a dreamer consenting to dream of the actual world. If we could only promote their art with such impact, perhaps we could even transform society.."

Missing you.. so very much..

I miss you so much now.. Right now.. I know we’ve had many disagreements, all the more so while I have been growing older and dumber, but now that I’m away from you, I miss you so, so much.. Maa, I miss the loving caress of your hands in my hair when I cannot sleep.. I miss you so much.. I miss you scolding me, I miss your childish simplicity and innocence.. Baba, I miss your honesty, your experienced and wise way of looking at things, your acceptance of the inevitable.. I am so, so sorry for not being able to be the son you both deserve, for not being even able to come close.. I will try very hard from right now, that I promise.. From this very moment.. till the day I wake up no more.. THAT I promise to you…

Young poets

Write as you will
In whatever style you like
Too much blood has run under the bridge
To go on believing
That only one road is right.
In poetry everything is permitted.
With only this condition of course,
You have to improve the blank page.

- Nicanor Parra

Lost-and-Found

I sometimes wish we had a Lost-and-Found box. You know, one where we could go and look for things that we have lost along this path of life. We lose so many things - books, pens and pencils, erasers, plastic rulers, personal diaries, storybooks (that we never wanted to lose), bills and memos, important (but hard to keep track of) documents, CDs and DVDs, keys, friends who have inexplicably turned strangers, loved ones who may not be so anymore, our relationships, our identities and sometimes even ourselves. Surely, it would have been rather nice to have had a place to go search for such things..

A promise made to myself

The movie “Slumdog Millionaire” should be used as a pill that awakens Indians to the plight of street-children. We shouldn’t denounce it by saying that it showcases only the dark side of India; if anything, we should acknowledge it as the fact of what happens in India today, and then try to do away with such evils. On my journey back to Kolkata from Pune on board the Azad-Hind Express, there was this little girl with a pink shirt and a black frock who was performing little tricks with a large iron ring draped around her thin shoulders. Then she approached each passenger with a bowl, begging for alms. As I dropped some coins into the bowl, I patted her on the head and whispered to myself that she didn’t deserve this. I don’t know what she made of my gesture but she gave me a smile that was so sad that I had to bite my tongue to hold back the tears. We’ve got it all wrong, I felt. Everything. We need a complete overhaul of the Indian scenario. And we need it now.

I may not remember everything that took place on my trip to Pune, but the little girl’s smile (and the world of sadness in it) will always be a part of me. And I promise to do something about it.

How cruel can we be?

How low can we sink? How cruel can we be? I learned recently that the spiny tailed lizard or ‘sanda’ (Scientific name – Uromastyx hardwickii); found primarily in UP, Rajasthan, Gujarat and Pakistan, is boiled alive in oil because it’s fat is said to have medicinal value. And no, it doesn’t end there. In order to prevent these tiny creatures (the males grow up to 415 mm and the females grow up to 375 mm) from escaping from their ordeal in the boiling oil, they are often starved for a number of days and their backs are broken. This is the 21^st century? This is where parts of our country stand? It’s said that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Tell me, of what use is an increasing GDP or a rise in standards of living if we cannot instill in our brethren the thing that makes man the highest of all living beings? Who is a human if he is not humane?

... because we are not the only ones who live on Planet Earth

The skins of Indian crocodiles (marsh, salt-water and gharials), lizards (all types) and snakes (all types) are regularly used in the manufacture of wallets, ladies’ bags, hunting boots and other footwear, belts, straps of wrist-watches, sandals, briefcases, patches on leather garments (like jackets, skirts and pants) and other ‘fashion items’. Most of the species being slaughtered mercilessly for nothing other than our personal needs are on the endangered list in India. It’s high time all of us take collective responsibility to protect our wildlife. I do not use any leather products and I urge all of you to do the same. Please remember, “If the buying stops, the killing can too…”

So what?

Of course human beings are civilized! Humans sport Peter England, John Mills, Raymonds and United Colors of Benetton, do they not? They cannot get enough of AXE and PLAYBOY; they indulge in manicures and pedicures. They watch TV, play music on iPods, drink water cooled in a refrigerator and shoot down enemy soldiers on a PlayStation. Heck, it is they who make the world go around! Of course humans are civilized! So what if they spit out the window of a bus in motion, without sparing a thought for the pedestrians? So what if they tend to their teeth with a toothpick after a wholesome meal and, on recovering pieces of unchewed food, throw them wherever they feel like? So what if they chop off the heads of live poultry and then hold them by their wings to watch the beheaded birds convulse to death? So what if they cheer on lustily, baying for blood, as farm animals are offered as sacrifices to appease a 'goddess'? So what if their hot topic of discussion the day after the worship of the said 'goddess' is whether or not the executioner managed to severe the head of he sacrificial animal with one clean blow? Humans are the torch-bearers of civilization, aren't they? Of course they're civilized then!

... ?

My mother was telling me today morning that I should try for something else next year and not retake the management exams (provided, of course, that I fail to convert any of my three remaining Interview calls). She feels that I'm like a cheetah; that I can cover a fair bit of distance rather quickly but I lack the ability to sustain that pace for longer periods of time. (Well, I thought to myself, atleast someone has found something similar between my favourite animal and me!)

My first-choice subject (after the ordeal of graduating with Economics Honours) was Journalism and/or Mass Commuinication. I wasn't allowed to sit for any of the relevant entrance exams because my parents felt that "it's a very uncertain future" (I tried making them understand that life itself is very uncertain, but it didn't quite work).

So I decided to give MBA a shot. Now, I'm being advised to try something else..

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I..." Unfortunately, that's where the buck stops. I don't yet know which road is mine to take...

               

And the failures continue to come..

CAT results came out today. The 28th of February, 2010. I got an overall score of 96.54 percentile (Verbal - 99.96 percentile, Reasoning - 85.22 percentile, QA - 67.73 percentile). The overall score is better than I quite frankly expected it to be, but that really doesn't count in the least because with my QA marks, I won't get any calls at all. So CAT is a no go at all.

One of the best songs I've ever tuned in to..

“ Dishe-haara j mon, kiishe sharthok a jeebon,

khuje phiri kotha nebo thaai..

Chaaridiike shobai mor, keu bhaalo keu mondo khub,

aapon maan jeche shetha beraai..

CHORUS: Mon-a bhabna tobu, gheere royechhe shodai,

Etoh chaowa niiye kotha jaai..

Keu ba mathaay, keu piithe, aamar bolaay haath miithe –

diiye jay koto na baahobaai..

Kaaro shondeho oti, sheshe holo ei goti –

Gyalo ki biphol-a jeebon-tai…

CHORUS (x 2)

Paagol hoye j aami, daami holaam aaro daami,

Koto daam janina aamar chaai –

Nebe k kiine aamay, taate ki ba aashe jaay?

Themey jetey bhorosha na paai…

CHORUS (x 2)

Chhilo bondhu ek aamar, pelem hothath dekha taar,

bhoboghurey, chaala-chulo naai..

Tobu khushir haashi’r resh, thot-a hoyna j taar shesh –

ki taar daam shey koreni jachaai…

CHORUS (x 2)

Shono jodi kono diin, aami hothath bhabna-heen,

rakhini kothao mor thikaanai..

Jyeno khoja aamar shesh, taai holaam j niruddesh,

saathe korey shudhu rhidoy-taai…

Mon-a bhabna tobu, gheere royechhe shodai,

Etoh chaowa niiye kotha jaai…

Mon-a bhabna tobu, gheere royechhe shodai,

Etoh chaowa niiye kotha jaai… ”

Best seats in the house..

7th February, 2010. 09:35 hours IST.

I am having a fantastic morning. Absolutely splendid. Around half-an-hour earlier, my mother and I heard this voice begin to in our gully and raced out to the verandah to get a closer look. The owner of the voice turned out to be a baul, clad in whites and an ektara cradled like a child in his arms. We listened with rapt attention (and open-mouthed awe, I must hasten to add) as he sang “Paakhi kyamne aashe jay..” (a song which, incidentally, is a firm favourite of both my mother and myself) like no one has ever sung it before, making every line, every word breathe. When he finished, my mother requested him to grant us audience for another song. It was “Tomaay rhid maajhare raakhibo..” next and, needless to say, this too was beautifully sung. His voice had this unpolished quality and yet was so perfectly melodious that we couldn’t help but hang on to his every word.. My mother and I would have liked nothing more than sit him down for the entire day and listen to him sing, but “A poor life this is full of care, / We have no time to stand and stare..” and I had an examination to sit for. So, we requested him for one final song, and out he came with “Bhalobeshe aami bhikari holaam, tumi hole raani..". Those who have had the pleasure of hearing this song earlier, know how beautiful the lyrics are and this man did a most commendable job of presenting it. We gave this man some money at the end, knowing full well however that whatever we paid him, it would be a gross underpayment. We requested him to visit our locality more often, to which he said that he stepped out of his house on the outskirts of the city very early every morning and went wherever it was that his feet took him, and it was thus not possible for him to guarantee a return. But he did say that like all artistes, he liked singing for people who appreciated his talent and that he would like to come play and sing for us again sometime.

It was a half-an-hour very, very well spent. I do hope to hear the man again.

continuation of "other failures"

Didn't merit a call from XIMB either, just like I predicted. Still, seeing the words "You have not been selected" in print is always tougher than imagining them.