My Meeting with Santa

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It is the perishing out here at the North Pole and I am only in my nightclothes. But it is amazing that I am not feeling the brutal chill of the place. I am feeling very comfortable. And here comes Santa , the King of the North Pole. "HO HO HO…… Welcome my child to the North Pole." (Though I am not a child from worldly standards, yet Santa addresses me so, because, even a person of 100 years will only be a child for him)

I beam seeing him and leap to hug him. For so many years, I have been yearning to meet this white-bearded person. The warmth of the hug has semblance of the care of a father and love of a mother. I don’t want to get out of this embrace.

But just then he shakes me and says: “Ho Ho Ho…. Come child, I will give you a tour around this place on my Reindeer Cart.”  And good lord! What speed it has! Even the Ferrari will feel ashamed before it.

In a jiffy, I reach a garden full of X-mas trees that are emitting glow of different hues and are decorated with red stockings, chocolates, and toys. There are tables and chairs placed very neatly around the garden.

“Sit my child” offers Santa, indicating towards a table.

And within a minute, two elves come with decorated plates having chocolate coffee (that is steaming hot) and fruit cake. Smiling they serve these things to me and Santa.

“So, tell my child how are you feeling here?” Asked Santa

“It is just great, fabulous and dreamy! I am really thankful to you Santa that you brought me here.”

“You have been praying for so long to visit this place that is why I thought why not bring you here on this Christmas Eve. So, you want your wishes? Ask what you want?”

“After meeting you and visiting this place I don’t feel like asking for anything. It seems strange but it is true.”

"Ho Ho Ho…. But since you have come to this place you must tell me some of your wishes."

“Umm… if they have got to be told, then Santa please give some sanity to people in India who run Hospitals, so that no sick person has to be engulfed in an inferno again; infants in my country die of mismanagement of the hospitals Santa, please erase mismanagement from the psyche of the administrative staffs  of the hospitals , girl child in my country is still considered a burden Santa, please give sanity to my countrymen who abort girl child and to the society that creates the pressure on parents to abort; my country is victim of terrorist attacks that claim several innocent lives every year, please make my country free of such attacks; and nowadays , the world is in the clutch of a slowdown again, save the world from this crisis and save the jobs of millions and create new jobs around the globe as well Santa.” I said all this at one go and stopped panting.

“Your wish is my command!”

“What!” I asked with my mouth in agape.

“Yes what you asked will be given, after all I am Santa who fulfils wishes, have faith in me my child!”

“No no… It is not like that Santa, negativity of everyday has obliterated all hopes in me, that is why when you said that my wishes will be fulfilled, I felt staggered.”

“Keep your hopes alive my child, things are there to change and will change for good."

“You are right Santa, the hopes must be kept alive.” I say while looking around me.

“What are you looking at?” Asks Santa.

“Nothing… it is just that…”

“What? Tell me”

“No, what I was thinking was that you must be getting so many prayers around the world for a visit to this place, but how come only I am here at this time with no other human being in sight. Do you have any lottery system? And it is just that my lottery came out today.”

“Ho Ho Ho….. So, this is bothering you.  Look around you once again.”

And, when I turned my eyes around, I let out:  My Gosh!

Because, there were many Santas, on many tables listening and talking to children, adults, and elderly people. Suddenly, the tranquility of the place filled with the guffaw and chatter of so many people.

“How do you do this?”

“And you thought that only your C.K.Prahalads & Peter Druckers know everything about management.” Said Santa, with a wink." I give everyone a personalized treatment here. It is only when someone wants to mingle with other humans, I allow this to happen.  I have other arrangements too."

“Such as?”

“Such as: Lovers’ park and Chocolate Park. In Lovers’ Park, couples of all age can have the privacy, it might be full of other lovers but they will feel as if they are alone. And in the Chocolate Park, mostly come the diabetics of all ages (but the children, without the ailment, are also my prime visitors).they come and have chocolate Jacuzzi and other different dishes of chocolates.” Explains Santa.

“Wow! I would also like to visit these parks.”

“Why not! But since you don’t have your beloved at this time, you can come with me to the Chocolate Park and I will also give you a tour to the toy factory. I am sure you will enjoy the tour.”

“Woohoo!!!!!”

And he makes me sit onto his cart again and we are off to the chocolaty Chocolate Park.

Hey! What you people are thinking? Shaking me off this dream, don’t dare do that and on the contrary, why not join me on the dreamy ride, now we are going to the Chocolate Park!

Such is Life… But Why It is Such?

They had gone there in search of the light of life but the smoke of cruel destiny blanketed the Sun of hope. The administrative brass of the hospital was busy polishing the veneer of the brand and ignored the layers of the rudiment safety. The brand kept getting the gleam but the aspect of safety, being ignored for years, reduced to dust. And one day this dust got livid and choked many lives.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They knew the hooch is bad for health, despite that they smooched the hooch. It became their last philandering with the intoxicating water. They are gone but the brunt is being born by their families. The wives, mothers, daughters wail but the person who was a husband, son, and father a few moments ago is just a body now, it is bereft of any sensation of relationships. They are gone leaving a tough life ahead for their families.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They smile like any other child of their age. They have dreams of being engineers and doctors like any other child of their age. They are also the apple of their mothers’ eyes as any other child of their age. But one thing that separates them is that their mothers are a commodity unlike other mothers of the children of their age. She is traded in the market of sordid desires every night.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

They pretend to be gathering at a place for few days to discuss the plight of farmers. The farmers hope that this time they will provide solution for their debt-ridden lives.  They debate, they create din in the house in the name of solving the problem. Days pass by and at the end of the day the result is cipher. After sometime, the politicians get back to the froth in the tumbler, while the farmers get back to foam in their mouths.

I know such is life… but why it is such?

The Real Fun of Life!

Flashback:

In my college days I was cool, I was hunk. Everyone liked me. They always heaped praise on me for being able to cast my spell on girls.

I liked girls and their beauty. They liked my manhood. I was Casanova personified for my friends. I was happy and content with my life. I was ruling the roost in both academic and the aphrodisiacal lives.

I discovered bliss of human body with different girls. The power of flesh enamored me and kept me in its thrall round the clock. On every second day, I was on the hunt for some flesh. After my successful escapades, I would be treated with sighs and a bit of jealousy from my friends. Though they always praised me, I considered my friends losers of the world in a sense that they were ineligible to taste the real fun of life.

Back to today (after 10 years):

Today the womanizer in me has left my body. I am a married man. I have a caring and beautiful wife and a sweet daughter, who is 3 years old. I love my family and they love me. I want every single moment to spend with them.

Now I realize that the happiness got from flesh is nothing before the happiness got from a family. My world resides in the lovely eyes of my wife and innocent prattle of my child.

While I am rapt in the thoughts of past and present, my wife stands before me with the box of medicine and a glass of water. It is time for me to take my medicines.

I am HIV+ and need to take my antiretroviral drugs on time.

I know my wife cries in alone, even if I try to console her about the fact that science is making progress on daily basis and I will get out of this situation unscathed. I, myself, am uncertain about what will become of me; still I try to put a brave face and not to cry before my wife and my child. My daughter arranges marriage for her doll and I am not sure whether I will be able to see the marriage of my doll.

Had my past not been cool, my future would not have seemed so cold.

Today, I have realized who the real loser is and what the real fun of life is. I wish I had missed those funs of life to enjoy this fun of being with family!

P.S: This is a fictional attempt mingled with a tinge of real circumstances that plague us.  

The Scenes of My Life

Scene one:

There is a house beside the tranquil pond with swans splashing in it.  And I am sitting outside the house in a chair with legs splayed on the table across it, in an  evening intoxicated with the ruddiness of the setting Sun .The cool breeze carrying the fragrance of flowers  is touching my every pore and rejuvenating them. I want to soak up this ambience. No work, no worry, no hurry. Only flowers, fragrance and feathers.

Scene two:

It is the surface of the moon and I am wading through the garden of stars with different colors. Here I meet Chanda Mama and he tells me how he was waiting for me to take me through the orchard of chocolates and rivers of milk. He shows me the fairy with whom my mom had promised to marry me off. She is stunningly sultry. Chanda Mama leaves me be alone with her for few hours.  When I go close to her, the meaning of beauty gets a new definition. She embodies the word beauty in every inch of her body. Her juicy lips, curvaceous hips, fragrant hair and skin fare cast a spell on me. I am captive of her existence. I want to clutch her in my arms and become a part of her for the eternity.

Scene Three:

It is a night of Madhuvan, and an adolescent boy with a peacock feather sticking out at his turban is playing a flute. He is lord Krishna with his flute, creating magic and making all gopis (including Radha) and cows go mad for him. I have only heard about this musician’s ability to conjure up a spell that helps one  forget that is trivial(the temporal yearnings) and achieve that is magnanimous (spiritual acme), now I am watching him in person. The sound of his flute is so mellifluous that even sweetness of honey will feel ashamed. For the very first time in my life I am having a taste while listening to a sound. The dark and handsome lad is a sorcerer. When I lift my eyes up to the sky I see something that is unbelievable. The stars and the moon are dancing to the tune of the flute. And all planets are swaying in a rhythm to the sleight of the sound from a person who will recite one day verses to argue the meaning of life and death in this universe.

By now I must be sounding mad to you, but this is what I would like to be in the extra two hours that I get in a day. I would like to be mad and foolish and relinquishing all rational and reason to enjoy a part of life that I might never get to savor if I think practically. I would like to live all these scenes on daily basis with some variations of course to experience happiness that I might never taste amid the demand of the life to be rational and practical.

The way stains are good for cloths a bit of madness is good for mind!

P.S: This write-up is the part of a contest being held by Surf Excelmatic at Indiblogger.

The Journalism that Jars

Yesterday, I was watching the news on Zee News at 10 PM in Hindi. And it had its presenter: Punya Prasoon Bajpai.

There was news on the nose-diving plight of the Kingfisher Airlines. The presenter briefed about the news to the audience and entailed how the crony capitalism has been responsible for the deplorable state of the airline.

Mr. Bajpai was rubbing his palms frequently (that can be termed as his style) and making all roundabout sentences that he is famous for to make the audience understand the occult reality behind the Kingfisher’s plight.

What amazed me was the insensitivity with which he presented the news. He even sprinkled his inopportune smile on the news as well. Though his rubbing palms and inappropriate smile may sound natural and appropriate to many of his regular audiences, but to me it seemed out of the place.

 I mean as a news presenter he should be aware of the fact that such news has two aspects. One is related with the newswallahs being excited about being able to understand the nitty- gritty of a situation (good or bad) that is transpiring or transpired and other aspect is about those people who get affected by the activities related to the situation (news).

What I am trying to say is that when there are talks in the air about the Kingfisher Airlines being on the verge of shutting down, it directly means that there are people who will lose jobs. And such news should be tackled with utter care that it doesn’t hurt when it is informing.

I know that I am not a part of the intelligentsia that these senior journalists are, still I am of the opinion that such news demand sober and sensitive attitude. Patrakarita (Journalism) is not about only informing but also about how it is informing. Feeling elated that you have presented the news and used all your trademark sentences (without caring whether they are intelligible or not) is doing injustice to the responsibilities attached to presenting a news.

Digital age journalists should understand that it is not the omniscient-beard or the squeaky-clean suits that make a presenter worthwhile the job but the attitude adopted towards presenting the news-piece.

I think that the race of TRPs have squeezed the anxiety and restlessness (that a gloomy situation engenders) from the minds of people who were once regarded as thinkers on social upheavals (developments).

P.S: I don’t have anyone, be they relatives or friends, in the Kingfisher Airlines. I don’t have anything against Mr. Punya Prasoon Bajpai at personal level either. The views are just the outcome of the observation of a situation.

Air and Hair!

I have experienced some amazing and beautiful moments of human hair. Being air works to my benefit to know about the characters of a host of hairs to a tee.

When I breeze through the hair of a child, it makes me pure and innocent as well as the child itself. I get lost in the silky smoothness of cherubic hair. When I find myself unable to control my anger (that gets manifested in shape of storms on occasions), it is the innocence of these hairs that help me calm down.

When I breeze through the hair of teenagers, I get shiver. They have a tense hair. Tension of exams and their Ex-es is always entangled in those hairs. But you know what these hairs also swing with the dreams of future! I love the complex beauty of such hairs.

The hairs are at their raunchiest when their owner is in love.  They are, round the clock, in a trance that is away from any realization of time or space. To be part of such hairs is about losing one’s existence and becoming a part of the emotion-- called love-- that humankind has understood less but claims the opposite. Every curl and every swirl is smeared with fragrance of that person who has conquered the heart.

The hairs of parents, who are busy completing every ritual religiously of their daughter’s marriage, are quite an emotional one. Despite a dream getting shaped, the hairs are as much restless as the heart is. They have an amalgam of emotions entailing simultaneous grief and glee.

The grey hairs have twilight of time splattered over them. These hairs are embodiment of experience, struggle, and achievement: experience of the life, struggle of the world and achievement of the efforts. These hairs have a foresight that sees the end that is eternal yet inspiring to live on.

Love your hair because it expresses you in return. And its expression is its love for you. Indeed love is a two way street.

P.S: This article is a part of competition being held by Dove titled: Love is a two way street, love your hair and it loves you back.

A Part of You is mine!

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Even if you are away, a part of your smile is still mine.

Even if you are not in my today, a part of your past is still mine.

I know you are not near, but a part of your fragrance is still with me,

I know you are not here, but a part of your essence is still with me.

Even if you are perfect now, a part of your dither is still mine,

Even if you are prudent now, a part of your error is still mine.

I know you run well now, but a part of your wobble is still with me,

I know you speak well now, but a part of your prattle is still with me.

Even if you are a star now, a part of your shine is still mine,

Even if you are popular now, a part of your oblivion is still mine.

Your Eyes and My Wish!

Little Sudeethi who inspired this post

I wish that your eyes savour every hue that nature has,

I wish that your eyes savour every new that future has.

I wish that your eyes ask questions that change the world,

I wish that your eyes bask situations that arrange your world.

I wish that your eyes see beyond the veneer of ordinary,

I wish that your eyes break through the layer of quandary.

I wish that your eyes witness flight of try,

I wish that your eyes witness height of sky.

A Magician’s Magic

Every time he put his ideas into the magical bag and chanted abracadabra, he brought out a new chapter in human evolution. He told you to keep eyes shut for a moment and when you opened the eyes at his behest after a few moments, you had entered a different age. Anybody save for a magician can hardly even think of wonders that he performed with sleight of his thoughts. Yes, Steve Jobs conjured up a magical lifestyle for people living in his age.

The word impossible never thought visiting the aisles of this magician’s mind fearing a brutal welcome. Passion and pluck defined the personality of the man who became legend and led the world to several awesome dawns. If it wasn’t for him, the technology would not have had experienced the emotions of utter restlessness and outright yearning from close quarters. The serpentine lines at the stores before the launch of his products are true testimony of it.

Whenever he thought, he created horizons that had rainbows full of future and fortune. It is wonderful to observe that how meticulously he designed our way of life. Always rapt in the world of software coding he devised new ways to make life enriched with a meaning that is very far from being mediocre and monotonous.

Now when the magician is sleeping, his magic is enchantingly awake and still making life unbelievable.

A Tiger that Roared and Routed!

The 22 Immutable Laws of Branding (A book by Al Ries and Laura Ries) stresses the importance of being first in the market. And first he was in giving the Indian team its true Indianness by dragging the Indian team out of the alleys of regionalism and factionalism. He was also first in snatching an overseas match and series victory for the country.

Yes you guessed it right, I am talking about Tiger Pataudi.

With so many firsts he remained an unparalleled character among his peers and juniors.

Difficulties are meant to rouse not to raze and Tiger Pataudi proved it right with his sheer diligence and dedication. Any lily-livered person would have chickned out of the game of the life but he remained and resisted.

 It was seriously no fun to face the speed of Griffiths and Halls with all body parts responding well and when it came to facing them minus one eye, it must have been a very daunting experience. But the indomitable zeal and a valiant heart compensated for the loss of one eye and he fashioned many golden chapters for himself and for India.

The Indian Cricket, which has been leveled several times with charges of nepotism and regionalism, can take a leaf out of Tiger’s book, who only gave weight to the welfare of Indian cricket and valued only meritocracy during his tenure as captain. Even if he belonged to the alleys of aristocracy, he very meticulously sewed the talent of middle class in the fabric of Indian cricket. The fruits of his efforts are being savored by Indian cricket today which has its stars from middle class families.

It was not only cricket that he played a part in but it was life in general as well that witnessed the magnanimity of his. Being a Nawab of Pataudi he ensured that the patchwork of Hindu-Muslim unity doesn’t get a beating in the area even in the worst of phases of religious upheaval in the country. He himself used to take part in Ramlila.  And this only goes to show that he could sense the subtlety and nuances of being human to a tee.

Now that he is enjoying an eternal sleep, his roar will continue to echo in the universe infinitely to make us remember that the tiger had sometime travelled on this earth and tried to make it a better place for   all those people whose lives he touched in person or otherwise!

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, a human being decided to make a product. He collected all the materials necessary to create the product and started putting the materials in a combination so that it gets a form…a shape.

When the product was being created, it was extremely happy seeing every part of its coming together to give it a form.

Even if it was incomplete, it could sense the diligent efforts of its creator to make it complete. The painstaking concentration of its creator ensured that it will become a great product and will be a proud member of the pantheon of products that has helped human beings achieve their goals of life: be it ordinary or extraordinary.

By and by, the bits of its body were being put together and it was dreaming of a life that would be extremely useful for the mankind. It had dreams of getting into the history books for serving the mankind in the best way possible.

Towards the completion of its body, it felt a palpitation of something being weaved into its body. So, I have a heart now as well that can throb: thought the product.

The product was put in a case and was carried out of its workshop.

Now the product was really happy to have got a complete body and that too with a heart! Though, it was still clueless about its use.

 Anyways, it was hoping to reach its destination quickly so that it can get to know about its use and be satisfied that it served the mankind with its best of abilities.

Suddenly, the case was put down.  “Oh! My destination has arrived. Now my creator will get me out of the case and then the whole world will know about me. And I will go down in to the history books as the best of all time products that the mankind has ever experienced. Yippee!!! I will be taught about in Management Schools in Product Development Classes and one day I will emerge as an indomitable brand. I will be talked about among the best brains of marketing world, around the globe.  And I will have a long life!” dreamt the product.

This dream got broken by the increasing heartbeat (by the passing of every second) of its newly designed heart.

 What is it happening to me? My heartbeats seem to be pacing more than normal. It wanted to yell to its master for help. It cried: O! My creator, please help me get rid of this heavy heartbeat.

But its creator didn’t listen because he wasn’t there to listen. And its heart exploded!

And with its heart, exploded the emotions of compassion, kindness, and humanity on the earth. Instead of it becoming a source of happiness for mankind, it became a source of havoc to the mankind.

It was created as a bomb!

Against its wish, it was designed to rob the mankind of its peace and its dreams.

It cried out aloud and some part of humanity got silenced forever.

I love to love you

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My life was full of questions when I happened to find you. Your warmth, smile, and care touched me and absolved me of the pesky questions of life. You personified all the answers that I needed.

My life was full of confusion when I happened to meet you. Your reason, clarity, and vision helped me see through the clutter of confusion. You embodied all the intelligence that I needed.

My life was full of dejection when I happened to find you. Your magical words and gestures fashioned a pristine smile for my lips and dejection got into smithereens. You testified for all the hope that I needed.

My life was full of void when I happened to meet you.  Your presence and your essence filled that void and made me a person imbued with life. You rectified all errors in me and made me right.

My life was full of noise when I happened to find you. The tranquility of your eyes vanquished the noise of my life and weaved an utter calmness for my soul. You pacified all commotion by giving me your every emotion.

My life was full of sorrow when I happened to meet you. The bliss of your belief in life defeated the sorrow of my life. You showed that there is always a tomorrow that will expunge the sorrow. You painted a future for me that was full of rapture.

Can I do anything less than trying to love you? I love to live you, I love to love you.

R.I.P My Dream!

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One day, as usual, I was running to earn my bread and suddenly something pricked one of my legs. I was in hurry, so neglected that prick. I kept on running. I Went to my work place and was busy there the whole day. Amid the din of livelihood, the mind couldn’t feel the pain of the prick the whole day. As usual, the day ended with its routine adjectives and I once again prepared myself to be a part of the restless throng in search of rest after a tiring day.

I got pushed by the power of the multitude to my house.

 I was tired to the core and fell flat on my bed with a thud. The numbness of fatigue kept me under its thrall for half an hour. When I got emancipated from the serfdom of fatigue, the sound of pain in my leg, knocked on the doors of my mind. I lifted my leg and when I looked the sole of my leg, I was stunned!

It was a piece of my dream that had pierced my sole.

 In the frantic race of life, I couldn’t give heed to the delicate dream of mine. And when it slipped from my mind and got into smithereens, I was so engrossed in the commotion of mundane life that I couldn’t hear the cries of my dream. It fell and got mutilated.

I stood up from the bed and ran as fast as I could in the direction of the busy square. Now it was quiet and away from the hustle bustle of mornings. I started looking for the other parts of my dream. Suddenly, my eyeballs noticed the bruised body of my dream. It was trampled badly by the legs of livelihood.

I lifted it on my palms, it was hardly breathing. However I tried to resuscitate life into it, I failed and my dream breathed its last before my eyes. It didn’t have any grievances from me that why I didn’t care for it? It just silently passed away, without blaming me.

I started sobbing but it didn’t care for my tears and evaporated in the sky: from where it had come. I couldn’t help it see the days of youth, my dream died young. R.I.P my dream!

God of Monetary Things!

What is God? Is it a feeling or an emotion? Perhaps it is both. God is alive as long as we believe it to be alive. It is alive as long as we wish it to be alive. And it is alive in those places where we believe it to be alive.

Once we stop believing, God stops to reside in those places. What remains is only a stationary stone.

But as long as we believe in God, there is a crowd around temples. And this crowd is mad to get a glimpse of their beloved God. Serpentine lines before a particular temple is proof that the God of that temple is real and all prayers are heard.

People frazzled with their daily situations seek the refuge of God to get reprieve from those situations.

But their problem only increases when brokers of God (i.e. Pujaris of Temples) trap them and exact several notes of rupees in the name of various pujas.  The real essence of God and devotion gets a beating when innocent devotees of God are cheated.

If God is sold and bought then the meaning of God dies. What remains is a rotten ritual!

Sisters: Fountainhead of love and life

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Care and affection has personified in the shape of sisters. Whether they are elder or younger, the longing for their brothers refuge to recede. The unqualified and unconditional warmth that they proffer to their brothers is unparalleled in terms of relationships.

Irrespective of age, sisters understand and fulfill their responsibility to a tee. Even if she is a toddler of five or a dodderer of sixty, the level of love remains the same in her heart for her brother.  Despite making  several relationships in her journey of life -- such as being a wife to someone, being a sister or daughter-in-law to someone-- she never forgets that she is also a sister of someone and her love remains undivided and unscathed for her brother.

They are as delicate as the petals of a flower but will support you in your need of hour with toughness of a rock. They are like melodious note of a flute but will roar like a cloud when you are in a danger and save you. The fortitude and valor of sisters make feminine emotions sublime and on many occasions the hollow hubris of masculinity seems dwarf before them. Because women are sisters also, the womanhood gets a different angle of fondness that is as limitless as the bosom of the sky. 

The purity of care and sincerity of affection makes the role of a sister inimitable in a life of a brother. A sister never stops to be a sister even if a brother forgets to be a brother. And that is the beauty of being a sister.

People are lucky who have sisters because they can experience the love that is divine and care that is pure. The female feticide in our country makes many brothers bereft of this wonderful feeling of being in a cozy and lovely company of a sister. I hope some sense prevails on the psyche of Indian population and a day comes when the birth of a sister is not considered a curse in this country.

Happy Rakshabandhan!!!!!

I Am Sorry!

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I still have warmth of your smile (that once you gave me as a gift for becoming your friend) stashed away in closet of my heart. Today, when you seem aloof and away, I am trying hard to keep that warmth warm, as the coldness of time seems to have indomitable will to trounce me.

But I will fight the time tooth and nail and save the warmth at any cost.

I still have shimmer of your eyes frozen in my eyes that you gave me as assurance that you will never move away from my life. Now when you seem upset and angry with me, the storm of tears is wickedly smiling that they will wipe that shimmer off my eyes.

But I will fight the tears with every ounce of energy in my body to save the shimmer of your eyes etched in my eyes. Even if I need to cry badly, I will cry from my heart and shed drops of blood but will never allow tears to beat me.

I still have aroma of your personality ensconced in my soul. The stench of demonic episodes of life is trying hard to wear off the fragrance of your being.

But I will fight till my last breath to preserve the passion of your personality and delight of your demeanor that reside cozily in my soul and will give those episodes a tough fight.

If at any point in time you have been forced to doubt my sincerity to shield your feelings and memories, then it must have been because of any shortcomings of mine. And I am really sorry for that!

The Cage!

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It is a closed box with sliding doors that opens at regular intervals. It devours people in its belly and digests the fatigue and sweat of them and leaves the people squeezed like a mangle machine does. Here I am talking about the coaches of a metro train.

On a casual look, people hanging to the rods look like monkeys hanging to the rods in a cage. Packed to capacity, bodies get smashed to maximum limit. It is a miracle that you come out of it without dying of suffocation. When you get pressed heavily by other bodies, for a moment the breath seems to be deceiving you, but with grace of heavenly tolerance levels that Indians develop genetically, they resist these moments bravely. Gradually, the tough times of hard pressings pass by and a bit of space gets created when the train moves ahead.

Though the journey is far from a lovely experience, there seems hardly any grievance on the faces of commuters for a lack of comfortable journey. They are so deeply embattled with other problems that these perennial pushing and shoving have stopped to attract any attention. Like a flock of sheep they mount and alight the coaches, hardly ever thinking that they deserve a comfortable journey.

Any desire for improvement in the situation seems to have died down, though it is a fact that they are the same people who brought about a sea-change in the democratic horizon by forcing a long reigning party to abdicate the throne.

Warts and all, it is inhuman to see humans suffer from a plight that would give even animals a shudder down their spine.

But, with every chugging of the metro trains, life of the common person moves ahead as well and forgetting the wrestling of the morning he/she gets ready to wrestle again in the evening with the eagerness to reach home and meet that little daughter who is waiting for the father to bring chocolates and that stubborn son who wants only his mother to feed him.

MAHANAYAK UTTAM KUMAR

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The life of luxury and decadence is characteristic of film stars. But when their existence gets adorned with utmost respect from their fans, their acting gets real and they become immortal and sublime.

Such is the case with the legend of Indian Cinema: Uttam Kumar. (I don’t want to categorize the Indian cinema with the tinge of regionalism such as Kollywood, Tollywood or Bollywood for that matter, India is one and for that very reason its cinematic endevours should be recognized as only Indian not Bengali, Tamil, Kannanda, Telugu or Hindi.)

In Kolkata, a metro station has been named after him.  The portraits and photographs of his, deck up the walls of the station. Every time, I see those pictures a sense of awe wraps me up. Mind you, I have hardly seen more than a film of his (and that is ‘Amanush’ in Hindi) and despite that his aura leaps out of the walls and catches me with utter charisma of its. His panache seems divine, his effect magical.

Every expression of his face emanates serenity and sincerity of his existence. His eyes, his lips, his cheeks, his forehead work in a synchronization to create a bewitching appeal.

The debonair, suave and uber-simple Uttam weaves a halo that seems enigmatically enchanting. You are certain to get the influence of a hangover after visiting the station.

No wonder he has been given the appellation of Mahanayak (The Great Hero). If he can cast a spell from his inanimate pictures, what used to happen when he used to come across his fans in blood and flesh! Indeed he is the great hero, because he speaks with his fans even with mute photographs of his.

Memories of You…

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Last night I was going through the pictures of the past and suddenly eyes started to well up and heart got soggy.

The memories of the past started dancing unbidden before my eyes. The gossips done with you, the excursions taken out with you, the smiles shared with you, and the life lighted with you are all torturing my mind. I feel totally unable to stop the stream of salt emanating from my eyes.

I try to reason with all rationality that life has to move on, yet I seriously yearn to revisit the past that always seemed perfect with you.

I miss the fun, the fights, the wrongs, the rights that I experienced with you. I miss your existence around me; I miss your fragrance that used to surround me.

I never knew that I would feel so lonely without you when I had the luxury of your proximity. I never knew that I would feel so lowly without you when I had the luxury of your vicinity.

Feel very horrible that I can never experience the life again that I could with you in the past; I guess I will have only memories of you till the breath that is the last.

No doubt that I am thankful to God that he showered upon me your presence but I won’t like to conceal my grief that why he made your presence only ephemeral in my life.

I know the world out there will say grow up! But this time I want to be an adamant child – who is sans reason. I want to be stubborn for getting those days back from the hands of time.

I might sound stupid and unreasonable, but all devotees got blessings of their Gods when they got called insane!

That is why I cried…

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I know things have changed and I can never experience the past again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the Sun has set and I can never experience the day again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the flowers have wilted and I can never experience the same fragrance again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the leaves have fallen and I can never experience the same glorious tree again,

And that is why I cried.

I know the smiles have evaporated and I can never experience the same happiness again,

And that is why I cried.

Encore—No More!

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Once again the guffaw of cruelty reverberated in Mumbai and silent became many smiles. Blood that is meant to paint life, painted roads. Innovations that are meant to save lives, primarily, snatched lives. 

Once again there is clamor that there is nothing to panic, so what that some people had to sleep forever; so what that some eyes will never see the light of the Sun again? We must not panic is the assurance.

Blasts after blasts, we have gone numb. It doesn’t matter to lose few more lives in blasts anymore. And that is why; we are lethargic in taking any action to protect the lives of the nation.

We have gone so numb that it has stopped to matter whether a culprit is punished or not. We have resigned everything to the will of the fate and act as an inanimate thing that is bereft of any reactionary powers.

Even if we try, we fail to create an impact.

If we don’t act as a responsible nation towards the threats that scare the existence of humanity, the history will remember us as a nation of weak minds.

Do we want to be remembered in a negative light by history? Surely not!

So, there should be no encore of the ghastly music of bombs that tears apart bodies and lives.

We must pledge to become voice for those who lost it in the attack and inform the mind of terrorism that we are prepared to stop any encore of its deadly dance!

Sycophancy: A form of art!

Art helps understand the proceedings of life in a manner that is deeper than our general viewpoints about life.  Art helps reincarnate situations from life and gives them a shape that human mind always desires for. Art is an escape from tumultuous ways of life and it has various forms: painting, dancing, singing...etc

You must be wondering how other different forms of art and sycophancy converges together. Look, as an escape from the rigorous demands of life to secure a job or to get a job done, sycophancy provides a subtle avenue that facilitates the process of a work.

Sycophancy has been practiced by human beings since eons and has been developed through ages to adapt to the changing times.

But alas! Despite all credentials to qualify as a stream of art, it is yet to be recognized as an art form. In India, it has flourished since the time of kings and queens and mainly sycophancy has been attached to the corridors of power.     

Sycophancy in India enjoys its place in esteemed quarters of politics, business, education, and sports. Despite enjoying the proximity to such distinguished sections of the society, I fail to understand that why it is still out of course curricula in India? The institute based on this subject should be floated. On the lines of IITs and IIMs, Indian Institute of Sycophancy (IIS) should get approval from our HRD ministry.

 This way the progress of the sycophancy as an art can be documented and the coming    generations can benefit a lot from past experiences. The preserved documents can reduce the amount of mental exercise to a great deal for future wannabe sycophants.

They will just have to apply the theories to derive a desired result for a given situation. And sycophancy as a stream will also flourish like other fields of academics. And equipped with scientific training in sycophancy, India will produce world class sycophants who will be unmatchable in their skills.

In the beginning any attempt to organize the valuable knowledge of sycophancy, in terms of an educational tool, will face opposition as other revolutionary doctrines of the world had to face. But a resolute stand on the part of the practicing sycophants of India can ensure that a strong educational citadel is built through legal ways and the IIS sees the light of the day as a proof of indelible existence of sycophants in this world.

Long live sycophancy!

Namaste Sir … Madam

When we enter the swanky malls and supermarkets, we get smitten by the razzmatazz of the environment. We splurge, we dine, and we have all sorts of fun that the money can buy and these malls can offer. We return with all material happiness bought by monetary elements.

When we return home, we indulge ourselves in the colors and odors of products bought. But not even by mistake we tend to indulge in thinking about the person who had greeted us by saying: Namaste Sir/Madam at the mall while we were entering.

( You might argue, is it necessary to think about that person? Well, I am not here to preach anything as to what is right or wrong, I am here just explaining how I feel.)

Greeting is an essential part of services marketing and this way customers feel more valued than without it. But often I have felt that when they greet us they lack the real essence of greeting a guest, which is greeting with happiness. And why is it?

I feel that they don’t feel connected to the materialistic opulence that the malls represent. Despite being an integral part of retail sector, they seem aloof from the prosperity that the sector churns out.

They seem completely unaffected by the retail boom in the country. And perhaps this is the reason that when they greet the customers they feel their lips strained to smile freely. And when they smile after an effort, it is bereft of warmth of a smile.

I don’t know, but I feel pain in their smile for being left behind in the race of the economy and for being only a sightseer of the progress of the country.

I understand everything is not possible for everybody to get, but I also understand how it feels to be so close to the prosperity but at the same time to be so far from it.  There should be efforts, on the part of the economy, to give a slice of economic happiness (that is balanced and reasonable in terms of social framework) to these greeters as well. So that when they greet they feel the warmth of greeting themselves as well.

P.S: This is entirely how I have felt about the situation, you might have experienced exact opposite situations with janitors of malls. And the article is restricted to and based only on my observation about the situation.