JUMP

Black city IV: Black Ink

2011-06-14T12:06:00.000+04:00

In broad day light

Shot, shot, shot, shot and shot again.

The noise of death

Silenced by the echoes of screams in comatose.

Raised by the underbelly

Of a metropolitan deemed sound for living,

He fell to blood hounds,

And was dragged to the end of the abyss.

Shrouded by his own guardians,

And incinerated

By the democratic miscarriage.

This is how years of sweat was wiped off

By blood-rivers striking down the streets.

What a price to pay for lighting up

A path of misdemeanours with black ink!

Like you were never gone...

2011-06-14T12:00:00.001+04:00

The tall glass of white wine,

Standing in my eyes,

The cafe, your favourite in town,

The bus stop, the walk,

The midnight pavement talk.

It’s for real.

But I look into those eyes and become

One with your dreams,

Standing on the boundary

Of truth and illusion.

The moment melts away in the darkness

Of the long night,

Fades away in shadows

Growing longer by the day.

A blur now, the memory finds

A home in the alleys of my mind.

When I close my eyes

You come back to me

Like you were never gone.

Black City

2011-06-14T11:58:00.000+04:00

Black city I

You have been used, abused

And exploited by your own.

Mistreated and humiliated

By those who’ve been inside you.

Raped and assaulted

By your own pimp,

And even by those you’ve fed

Your own milk and those who reached

New highs by stepping

On your corpse-like remains.

Yet flooded in tears, wounded by arms,

Slit into pieces, into sects and segments

By those who’ve grown up in your lap,

You crawl to them with open arms

And give them your last breath—

To those who took away from you

And never gave back.

(June 30, 2009)

Black City II

To the sweet sound of horn

I dance, no spot to hold

My foot. Work, work, everywhere.

I sell my feet, for you to build your tomb.

I wake to drills, and sleep to shrills;

Every season, a new reason

To cheer the falling apart

Of me, the machine

And the rich fat mansion.

I come to feed my womb,

An ant stuck in a hive of bees

I’m stung, hurt and crying for help

But the Lords just raise their hands

Bringing me down on my knees.

Surrendered to laws,

I cut my children to pieces.

But save them from the lethal water,

The guns and bullets of their father

And the hopelessness of the air.

Then they build me wings to fly,

Tracks to race and barns to feed my soul,

They show me height, only to cushion my fall.

Dying to live in a paradise sold

I survive, I dig myself a hole.

(April 17, 2010)

Black City III

The Sith whispers

The darkest scene on the brightest star—

The fashionistas, frugalistas, the arc lights,

The beefcakes and social butterflies.

The stars, the sons

And the moon-lit heights.

All shine, no glory,

They wrap their story

In a bubble of lie.

It’s no star wars, no heroes,

No Jedi. Just a shadow

Of the old, gold era of a galaxy of hitchhikers.

There is no sign of truce, no peace

No freedom fighters,

No idols for mere mortals,

Pawns in the hands of democracy.

Pawn, the twenty-first century soldier,

The winged horse with an idiosyncrasy,

The habit to look for a white queen,

A mad-hatter. No Alice,

You just see red and see clean,

Don’t weep for the coming of the Gods.

Pray for the return of the dark lords.

(April 17, 2010)

Words

2011-06-14T10:43:00.001+04:00

I try to mumble

but my broken tongue and paralyzed lips

Fail.

Can every emotion find its way

into the world of words?

A world with confused grammar,

Punctuated sentences

And organised paragraphs—

from one chaotic world into another.

tangled up in the “rules”.

I try but the wild insane overflow

Of feelings speaks in tongues

Alien to you

and powerless against the wall

you build around your senses.

I wish you could fly you blind

Filings with stray dreams

And build a nest inside

The heart of the one

Who can’t understand

the language of love.

Fireflies in rhyme

2011-06-14T10:36:00.000+04:00

Those crooked unstructured words,

Bound together by pure nickel

Sing in your eyes.

Shine in the darkness

Of a silent poem called 'night'.

Broken strings mend,

And the lines dance,

On tree-tops, in a breezy lullaby.

They discover a home

In the distant whispering sparks.

Sparks carrying love notes

And flying into the open skies,

Writing a lyric,

A sonnet, an epic

Of a million fireflies in rhyme.

Stillness

2011-06-14T10:27:00.001+04:00

Stillness I

Stillness can be unnerving.
It can toss up a few dead feelings
And bring them back to life.

It can take you back,
Sometimes to a rainy afternoon
When you and I lay down next to each other.
I stretched my hand and tried to touch your finger
I heard you say something
Now I don’t quite remember what.
but I remember I closed my eyes and felt the kiss
Even before you came close enough
For me to feel your heart beat.
When I opened my eyes,
You were still fiddling with my fingertips.

Sometimes on a rainy afternoon
In an idle moment of unusual calmness
I close my eyes
And listen to the rain touch the ground,
Sense some drops running down the shed,
Some caressing the trees, the leaves on their way.

I imagine the pictures as my ears
Wander off to the sound
Of a speeding auto,
Distant voices and shouting children
And I wonder if they are playing a game of muck football.
And then all fades, bringing the music
Of the downpour back into foreground.

Stillness II

Stillness stirs you,
Makes you see things
You wouldn’t see with open eyes.
It pushes you to follow
The footsteps of your heart,
Tells you to find yourself in being lost.
Makes you feel longing,
Makes you feel your own breath,
And makes you seek the company of your own soul.
It tells you that sometimes it’s alright
To have nothing to do but think,
Or sit around listening to your own heartbeat,
Which so often stays drowned
In the noise of things you surround yourself with,
Just so that you feel alive.

Shades of Love

2009-12-11T00:01:00.001+04:00

Light and dark
Cast like a shadow, I stand before your lamp
in a room with many walls of perception.
The light, I see it burning in your eyes,
and the darkness in me disappears.

Creation
Creation is
when the water of your faith
falls on the tender roots of my heart
buried under every granule
accumulated over years that I spent
looking for a love I never knew

Lovers
Many times I write of imaginary lovers,
lovers I never had, lovers I never knew.
lovers without a face, without a trace
and sometimes I write of you.

Longing
In the hour that your breath became mine,
a moment encompassing
those years lost in time,
I still longed for you to be mine.

You

2009-12-10T23:59:00.002+04:00

There is a beyond

And you are the only one

In this world

Who can take me there.

And there are worlds inside of me

That I can see through your eyes,

The worlds I have been blind to

For years.

New Eyes

2009-12-10T23:58:00.000+04:00

Legs folded, you sit

On the mattress.

The bulb lights half your face.

There is the other side

That I have been blind to.

Your words show praise

For a woman unknown.

Your yogic posture deceives me

And there’s more distance

Between us now than the space

Between our breath.

I know I love you

But your eyes

Drunk in love

More often felt

Never understood,

For someone who would

Be replaced next Sunday,

Changes something inside me.

Creation

2009-12-10T23:52:00.002+04:00

Creation is
when the water of your faith
falls on the tender roots of my heart
buried under every granule
accumulated over years that I spent
looking for a love I never knew.

Diamond

2009-12-10T23:51:00.000+04:00

Little sister don’t be sad,

fly by

the bright blue sky.

Once the clouds are gone

It will be your sunny day.

And little sister, when it rains

out of turn you know

that a mystery is about to unfold,

and your eyes are about to see

that at the end of it all

the night will be beautiful,

studded with diamonds.

Things

2009-12-10T23:45:00.000+04:00

Old Red bag,

tickets to a movie,

and to cities with distant names,

that restaurant bill

with the delicious soup,

long shut, replaced by a coffee shop,

the t-shirt with invisible holes,

the coaster from the garage pub,

the book with yellow pages,

with aged poems,

the image of a dim-lit night,

the creased photo of you and me

almost forgotten,

now stare at me.

Berlin night

2009-12-10T23:42:00.000+04:00

I can jump the wall

and walk hand in hand

up and down the dancing hall,

with you, happy and high

and forget to remember you

when the night is gone.

Four strange men

2009-11-21T12:31:00.002+04:00

I The Spanish fool

Sitting in the empty space

On the left side of the bench

In the autumn cathedral garden
Is the Spanish fool.

He touches her nose-ring,

Hair and hand,
Praises her beauty hoping

She has no other man.

Too fast, too cool,

He’s trying to get there too soon.

A photograph and a number

He thinks that’ll get her.

“An old trick,” she says.

And walks away.

“The park’s got many more!”

Smiles the Spanish fool.

II The Baget man

“I love baget!”

A Tunisian way

Of stringing together strands

Of broken conversations.

“I make 500, 600 every day.”

“I speak good English, no?”

He says, smiling, and the dimples

Stretch into the burnt lines on his palms

–a tiny price for extra hours

And fruits of freshly burnt cents.

I try, but only half understand
As the sound from his lips

Drowns into the music

Of the harmonious piano.

Playing for those

That are lost in translation.

French, German and Arabic

He tries them all, only to learn

That there’s just one language,

The one that’s no more necessary.

So we dance in the empty bar

Moving to bring

Two distant worlds in line

With words that no longer are
An obligation to building castles in the air.

Then stealing a rare moment
From his laborious days, he tries again.

I love Bagets!”
“I love making Bagets!”
He looks into my eyes.

“But those Bagets very cheap.

You very expensive Baget.

I love Bagets!”

A Tunisian way of saying
‘I love you’.

III The French souvenir

Billy Jean on the piano

And the man from a French
Souvenir shop.

The rose from a Bangladeshi

Flower vendor—

The cold of the rainy night.

The ‘I love Paris’ lighter,

The Indian clove cigarette,

The smoke that smells of us.

The things you said

The words I didn’t.

And the moments that were lost

In a picture you,

A picture me,

A picture of us.

From Bonjour to Bisou

And Good night to see you.

Just words of the French souvenir,

Of Billy Jean still beating my heart

And the petals still dancing inside
A notebook from a long time ago.

IV The Israeli night

There’s difference between a Berliner,

Four vodka and berry shots.

It’s the distance between the lips

Of an Indian dance and an Israeli song.

He speaks of Tel Aviv
Of Palestine and Israel

And his small town somewhere
Far beyond my dream.

I, of Indian summers

In the cold of this night,

Of Mumbai rains and the little

Joys of my life.

The night’s no longer cold.
Melted in the heat of clasped hands

And the warmth of the dance,

It turns bold.

When the music’s over

Our lips will sing to the tune

Of passion where our divorced

Worlds will meet in peace.

I find love

2009-07-14T18:46:00.000+04:00

I feel you like I feel the sunlight
On me when I close my eyes.
And I find you behind the one
(Amidst a hundred doors), I
Choose to open.

I feel you like I feel the rainbow,
In the invisible summit of rays and drops.
I find love in serendipity
Of the words yet to be born from
The seed of my thoughts.

Black city I

2009-07-08T00:40:00.001+04:00

You have been used, abused
And exploited by your own.
Mistreated and humiliated
By those who’ve been inside you.
Raped and assaulted
By your own pimp,
And even by those you’ve fed
Your own milk and those who reached
New highs by stepping
On your corpse-like remains.
Yet flooded in tears, wounded by arms,
Slit into pieces, into sects and segments
By those who’ve grown up in your lap,
You crawl to them with open arms
And give them your last breath.
Those who took away from you
And never gave back.

Anthem for the lost

2009-07-08T00:38:00.001+04:00

Who wants to sit in a rocking chair
When there’s a see-saw in the garden,
And you can go up to days of love
And down to lusty long nights
One thing at a time.

Who wants to be a raging bull
When you can hit that elusive bulls-eye
With your charming archers arrow.
Who wants to walk the oft-driven path,
When you are that doped Alice
Discovering your own burrow.

Who wants to follow the misleading compass
When your heart can show you the way.
Who wants to weigh the pros and cons
When all you want to do is play.

Who wants to bury her gift of art
When life is one big Broadway stage.
Who wants to go to the end from start
When there’s mystery in opening a random page.

Who wants to build an earthly nest
When you are fixed to the wings of fire.
Who wants to stick to measured flights
When the winds can take you higher.

And who cares for those who think you’re strange
When stranger things have happened to you!

So trip through the marathon
From monsoons to summers to frost
And stroll past the last lap,
Singing the anthem for the lost.

Smile

2009-07-07T23:16:00.002+04:00

When dark clouds surround you
And there’s no sign of the sun,
Smile, it’s going to rain on you.

When thoughts cry out
In the lost alleys of your mind.
Smile and renew your spirit.

When fears of fire
Burn your soul
Smile and pour the water of life.

When the pain of the past
Covers you in shrouds of shadows
Smile and hug the present.

When you’re blinded by light
Close your eyes
Smile, and see with your heart.

When too many voices ring
And you are deafened by chaos
Smile and feel the silence within.

When you are lost
Alone and have nowhere to go
Smile and look to me.

Unsung Heroes

2009-07-06T22:19:00.004+04:00

Their cries were silenced by
The fire shots of cowardly power.
Their silence shut up by
A mother’s cries.
You were lined up and shot
And brought down like a card
In a pack of jokers.
Fallen prey to serendipity
Of unfortunate events played out
By the Gods of violence
And makers of hatred
In a world created by the devil
Of power-play by those
Who know not that life is about living,
And not taking another life.
And you died fighting or fought dying
To a struggle for peace, unattainable
In this world where love
Is only a puppet in the hands
Of those unidentified faces.

Tears freeze in the spectators' eye,
As you perform the last dance of glory
Going down in the song of your obituary—
And become yet another unremembered name
In the midst of a thousand unsung heroes.

Silence

2009-07-01T21:24:00.000+04:00

Down, down, down you go.
Go to the depths of the dark well.
Well of grim thoughts.
Thoughts that grow on trees.
Tress whose branches run haywire.
Haywire words falling to the ground.
Ground of dead leaves.
Leaves that fly to the tune of the wind.
Wind bound in an invisible force.
Force that drives you to madness.
Madness that takes you to far off lands.
Lands that end in the brutally peaceful sea.
Sea of unfathomable silence.
Silence.

The last photograph

2009-06-29T23:08:00.003+04:00

You break into pieces
When you fall to the ground
From the picture on the wall,
Separated from the memory
that tied you down.
You fly, riding on the wings
Of your guardian angel,
Miles away from your last photograph
Taken with me(beside you),
Moments before you crossed
Into the light.

Night

2009-06-29T22:46:00.001+04:00

Bare, you move your eyes over me
Like the first rays of morning
Caressing the fresh green grass.

Bare, I covet those unknown lands in you,
Those tiny lanes and pathways
I was too afraid to cross.

Bare, you lie down for me
And I find home in your arms.

I bathe in clear waters of your bare chest,
Twiddling with the little black weeds
That shine in the light of my dim eyes.

Bare, your skin and veins become tender
Unlike the masculinity of the day.

Bare, shapely, vulnerable,
Your silhouette reminds me of
The rim of a half-moon
I saw from my fantastical window.
Your pineapple cheeks,
Apple ears,
The lean nose-ridge,
The highways of your neck
Drive me down
Into the night.

Naked

2009-06-29T22:43:00.000+04:00

Naked,
You’ve shed the clothes of fallacy—
the coats of conditioning,
the shirts of societal norms,
the pants of sexual suppression,
the ties of bogus human bonds
and now you stand naked.
Prepared to be judged
for the shape of your nipples
and the size of your genitals.
Criticized for your courage
to reveal the nooks and corners of your torso.
Ostracized for your freedom
from the illusive undercover world.
Uncovered,
undressed,
stripped,
unprotected,
exposed—
free from vanity.

Show me the way

2009-06-28T18:19:00.003+04:00

Sitting with a friend,
staring at the blues,
looking at life
from the bandstand view.
Looking for a chance
to sing and dance,
looking for that one moment
to sweep me away.
Feeling like a tiny piece
in the big puzzle of life
and blowing with the wind
of many directions.
Feeling stuck on a treadmill,
I run without covering the distance.
Waiting on you to come by
so I can follow you up there.
Show me the way
when right doesn’t feel quite right.
Show me the way,
when I lose the spirit to fight.
Show me the way
when night disguises as day.
Show me the way
When the blacks turn to grey.

Squirrel

2009-06-28T16:38:00.001+04:00

Lying safe in a bark hole,
using my poems the way
a squirrel would its tail.
Making do with plant buds
of small, simple words in time of spring.
And feeding on someone else’s ideas when faced with hunger.
For then I won’t have to migrate to keep alive
because I love to scurry around familiar territory,
discovering every new tree for a new story
and every piece of ground for nuts.
And I wish, so wish that on rainy mornings
I could snuggle in my own fur
of books, movies, music and tea, and
never have to leave my drey for inspiration.
June 28, 2009

Arrangement

2009-06-28T12:04:00.001+04:00

I place a piece of banana
Beside a drop of honey
Repeat the lines a hundred times.
With every count I wonder
Is this really me?

I pose for pictures
In the evening light
Trying to smile my true smile
I try red,
pink, brown and white
In the end I wonder
If all this is even right.

I word my qualifications,
My likes and my dislikes
As if hunting for a job,
And hiring at the same time.
Stating my good points
Leaving the bad ones out,
I attempt to sell myself,
Sell out to the business of life.

Why would I want to be with someone
Who’d want me not for me
But for what I reveal of myself
And what I promise to compromise?
But I go on
because everyone else is!
And you’ve got to fall in line.
You’ve got to be happy
With the norms of an ideal life.
Desperate, with every passing month—
As if you marry or you die!

Don’t wear your glasses
Click one in a salwar,
Smile and be decent,
Don’t tell you drink
And don’t reveal all.
Oh, you’re short, look for a 5.5 footer ,
Oh, you are old, try for someone older.
Oh, you are dark, forget the fair guy,
Oh, and you’re a fool
Fooling yourself.

But I’m running late
I need to meet the next candidate
At a coffee shop or for dinner.
And seek a connection born out of the mind
But wonder if he’s going beyond
the clothes, the salary,
And adjusting with family.
Then I meet the next one.
And question myself,
“Why am I even here?”
Then I meet another
Who has no idea what he’s looking for.
Then another who asks,
“What are your hobbies?”

And then I run, run fast
And hide away this feeling
Of utter despair
at being forced to find love
Over an arrangement—
An arrangement of convenience.

worms

2009-06-24T22:40:00.003+04:00

Little worms creep,
crawling out from tiny holes
an apology for a snake.
Longing for that one drop
they cross over
the death-like stupor to wake.
But the gaint world, unable to fathom
your lilliputian hopes
pushes you to the brink
of a shameless escape.

Language

2009-06-24T19:04:00.000+04:00

I try to mumble
but my broken tongue and paralysed lips
fail.
Can every emotion find its way
into the world of words?
A world with confused grammar,
punctuated sentences
and organised paragraphs—
from one chaotic world into another.
Tangled up in the “rules”,
I try but the wild insane overflow
of feelings speaks in tongues
alien to you
and powerless against the wall
you build around your senses.
I wish you could fly you blind
strands with stray dreams
and build a nest inside
the heart of the one
who can’t understand
the language of love.

Fool

2009-06-24T14:04:00.004+04:00

Singing the song of a romantic hero
struck by the cupid of a mushy film,
he imagined of love and its expression
under a European countryside sun
in the company of a hundred Russian dancers
jumping in joy like insane lovers.

He transported himself to a snow-clad mountain
with his skimpily-clad shivering woman.
Then to dancing and grooving in the rain,
in the city’s deserted tiny lanes
his sexy siren drenched, moving in a wet sari.
He fell into the joy of a cliched love story.

He spread out his arms
full with flamboyant charm
and mouthed lines to invisible music.
He gyrated and threw some pelvic thrusts
to shaking hips and heaving busts.

He let go of his same old boring life
with his regular so-not-starlike wife.
And went back to slow motion running
(Lalalaa..la..laa..lalalaa..la..laa)
His wife’s hair flying in winds unseen—
a fool in love with the silver screen.

I said go

2009-06-24T11:12:00.000+04:00

I said go.
But you could have stayed.
You knew the midnight moon
Was calling you to wrap
Your light around my night
Untill the ray of a new day.
But you left
Leaving my hand in hesitation
And kissing me good night
Yet another time.
One more incomplete moment
added to the hundred
Moons you saw from my curtained window
Lying in my arms.
And still you leave me behind,
Once again, to count my blessings,
Wishing you’d know
That everytime I said go,
I meant please don’t.

Celebritisation

2009-06-05T12:44:00.008+04:00

The beauty queen-
she married a tree.
It's regressive, but freaky!

That hunk
in a yellow trunk
is sleeping around
I smell a scandal!

Here's what I really love to read,
the thing that makes for headlines-
Reality TV show wannabe,
the pin-up boy's infidelity,
the item girl's fashionable tights,
Married star's bedroom fights,
A gay director's sleeping partners
A fatso actress's slimming orders,
A smoking star's self-glorification,
An infidel socialite's clarification.

I, the voyeur,
the lover
of the rich and famous.
I'm obsessed
with aspiration;
giving into
celebritisation.

CRY

2009-06-01T19:24:00.008+04:00

Indu Anto,
16,
poisoned.
"I have failed."

Abraham Biggs,
19,
drug overdose,
"I hate myself and I hate living."

B Govardhan,
18,
cut wrist.
"I was ragged and humiliated"

Rucha,
19,
hangs,
"No one loves me."

Pressure,
disillusionment,
false idea of joy.

Depression,
impatience,
loss of love.

Fear,
and the loss of love for life
cry of teenage suicide.

The soul cries
the cry for help.

Loss of innocence

2009-05-30T13:37:00.007+04:00

The crazy times
have taken the children head on.
O' you children of the modern depression!
Where do you go when your little feet
are tangled up in chains of illusion?

Satyam, you were taken away
at an age where you failed
to understand the value of your life
by those who were too young to know
that children were meant to play.

Instead they played with fire
with money and greed,
Where are the little joys?
They were shot in the head
by the child's new toys-
the gun.

And your picture flashes
in front of a million faces
who switch to another set of moving images
in a matter of minutes.
Spare a thought for the killing of prudence
Shed a tear for the loss of innocence.

Shoot that man

2009-05-21T13:39:00.006+04:00

He's filed an obscenity case
or a PIL against every free face.
From Rakhi to Mallika-
he's got them all bound.
An unhappy soul, set him free.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.

He's beaten up the "loose women".
Demands them to be slaves.
A control freak on the "loose".
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.

He takes the shutters down-
public demonstrations and burnt cards.
He's a violent lunatic on the prowl.
Let's get him down people.
Just shoot that man.

lines

2009-05-19T17:54:00.002+04:00

Creating,
lines
where there are none.
Drawing,
boundaries
to simplify
what the mind
cannot comprehend.
Forms and shapes
from the confines
of the horizon,
paint
an illusion
of a mind
that fears
the boundless.
And the mindless
chains
dissuade
the mind of
a free fall.

2009-05-19T17:45:00.003+04:00

In the heat of the afternoons
gone by thinking of you,
I take solace.
In that air
that at least brought your voice
to my ears, parched for caressing words
gone unheard
and the caring hand gone unseen
by the mind that knows not
what it means to give up
on love.

For love’s sake

2009-05-05T16:46:00.001+04:00

Don’t sleep,
don’t wake.
Lie there somewhere in the middle
Don’t use the word ‘make love’
For love’s sake.

Don’t ruin
the fun
of not going all the way.
Don’t give it a name
What’s undone is done.

Don’t think
of us as lovers.
For love can get all fake
So make me yours for this night.
Be my friend for love’s sake.

Everything's not alright

2009-05-05T14:55:00.004+04:00

Everything is alright
And everything that’s not will be
And you and I will live
in hope forever.
Yawn…go to hell eternity!

Bumpy roads, patchy lanes,
shooting dogs
And dying rats.
It’s all the same.
Another day of hope
Another day of attacks.
Born and gone in a whiff,
thrown in a shit hole at the door-step
Of a minister’s house.
Then where is it that you live hope?
In the government?
Or a poor boy’s grouse?

It takes ten to prove,
ten years to convict,
Ten days to escape.
Ten seconds for you and I
to kill but we die,
and justice is raped.

Everything’s not alright
Neither outside nor inside.
For we live by the same old thought
And fall prey to same old casteist plot,
smelling of the same old inaction,
mistrusting the power of dot.

Desperate

2009-05-01T17:17:00.005+04:00

Desperate, foolish, distraught.
I lean on someone who leans on me.
I have seen you across that line before,
at the point where light sends back a reflection.

Utopia

2009-05-01T17:04:00.003+04:00

From the space between two wishes of my mind comes the dire need to make ends meet.
The ends- one of the real and one from the realm of the extraordinary.
The space sucks me into my own desperate world of Utopia.

27

2009-04-23T19:53:00.001+04:00

I fear not joining the 27s
There's this thing
about approaching the line
between a groupie
and a rock star.

I wish I was more
Of the tattered spirit
hanging on the tattered jeans
of Cobain,
eligible to join the 27 club.

If only I was wasted
on dope,
and rose high
on the thin white lines
running in the air.

If only I got low
on booze,
woke up every morning
to the sweet smell
of beer.

If only I got laid
more than I bargained for
and woke up every morning
to the breath of
new skin.

If only the spotlight
was so bright
that I'd be blinded
And the noise
of the crowds so shrill
I'd break.

If only I lived so fast
that I'd cover the ground
even before reaching
the finishing line.
If only there'd be so much
to live for
that I'd die grabbing it.

If only I'd be caught
napping on the border
If only I'd be caught
in the crossfire-
of darkness and light.

Then I'd be a Morisson
Or a Hendrix or a Joplin.
For
real rockers don't die early
They only cross the line.

On the road again

2009-03-17T21:25:00.005+04:00

It's a crowded space.

Single out my mind.

Give me a few more seconds

to get myself out of the grind.

Get me some good old-fashioned cash

to load my cannons

and take off

to the dream I'm dying to live.

But the time's running out

and the road's long and winding.

And the destination I need

is the road I take.

For thats where I belong

- on the road;

waiting to be back home

on the road again.

music funda

2009-01-16T18:03:00.002+04:00

There is always something to learn and a lot to live for. I met the legendary Pandit Jasraj today. It was a humbling experience really. He asked me not to interview him if I haven't listened to his latest album. He asked me come back later, whenever I am free but only after I have experienced the music. "Don't treat it just like an assignment. Experience it. Experience and knowledge will always make you richer," he said.

As journos sometimes you become so mechanical. You just keep doing stories after stories. I do try to enjoy the music and the musicians I interview. But it's great to have some soul in what I write.

Fire! Fire!

2008-10-11T12:40:00.005+04:00

I had always thought of what would happen if I burn my hair! (it's all a part of my paranoia for my hair) The other day I did.
I had a candle in one hand and tried to take a call on my cell phone. My front hair was up in flames. I dropped the phone. Tried to put it off with my hand and then rushed to the basin to splash some water.
I was almost in tears. I thought my almost damaged hair will finally see its end. I kept pulling out burnt strands of hair for the next 5 mins. Thankfully not much damage was done! It's something else to live your fears. It's a small example of how by facing your fears you can overcome them.
Anyway...but the bottom line is that now I'm like dying for a haircut!

WE WANT FREEDOM!

2008-10-04T16:15:00.004+04:00

Today I felt like I was back in school. Farhana got yummy food for lunch. My colleague Ravi got a guitar to office. He played the good old college anthem- Hotel California. To top it all our "Head Mistress" left early. It felt like we were back in junior college or something. Actually, it's like a jail on other days, with the jailor to watch over. So we put up a notice on the soft board. A sign of protest (yes it does remind me of the rebellious college days!) which read "Give us back our freedom". And we all signed it. It's a great day!

For him, whoever he is

2008-09-29T16:47:00.006+04:00

I sip
from the romance
of the evening,
a far cry
from the moment where I found you.
I know I dug into your arms
feeling your heart beat.
And you held me close
making me your own.
It's then that the aroma
from your breath
seeped into me.
And that is when I looked up
searching for me
in your earl grey eyes.
I still sip.
I sip from you.

Where do you go?

2008-09-10T15:38:00.003+04:00

Don't know when it all started. I have been craving for a trip to Europe. It's quite wierd for someone who's never set foot outside the country to claim to love travelling. You meet so many people who say they love travelling but when you ask them which places they have been to, they don't really have a list. Sadly, I'm one of them.

I day dream about various places across the country and the world. Read about them, imagine myself in those places and feel good thinking about all the good things I could experience when I travel there.

But the way I have been hung up on Europe is not funny. I have already half-travelled to several cities there. Through books, maps, online articles, couchsurfing.com, info on rail passes, flight tickets etc. I have even started to prepare a budget. When I look at my bank account, there's nothing there to fund this huge ambitious PROJECT EUROPE. But somehow I know I'll go- 'when where and how' are not relevant here.

Love handles

2008-08-27T14:10:00.000+04:00

“Love handles are hot,” a friend told me. Why? “They cause pain when you squeeze them. There’s pleasure in that. So the whole idea is quite sexy as bitter sweet pain is sexy. And so love handles are hot.”

“You mean they are sexy when making sex…oops making love,” I tried to say.
She laughed.

I was like, “I don’t think men find love handles hot!” So she quickly replied, “No they do.”

A guy friend was quickly called on to testify. And he said. “Yes love handles do look hot on some women.” I was zonked. I thought to myself. “I have a chance with all my bulging fat!”

But when she gave him the pain theory even he was zonked and wondered why he even became a part of this strange conversation.

Layers

2008-08-26T16:27:00.004+04:00

There were thin,
very thin,
layers,
beneath the skin.

Layers of hues
that were shut out
by a colourblind love.

Layers invisible
to the naked eye
that wants to see
only what it believes.

Srcape them,
one by one.
They are nothing but a veil.

I know with each layer
of your skin
more blood will ooze
from within me.

But now take off that veil
and let me see the face of truth.
For each uncovering layer
reveals the real you.

Hottest Olympians of all time

2008-08-22T11:55:00.003+04:00

Here's something I put together...

Nadia Comaneci
Age: 47 years

The Soap opera ‘the young and the restless’ became associated with her after a TV program— ABC's Wide World Of Sports— used it as background music for montages of her routines. Composer, Barry De Vorzon, renamed it to ‘Nadia's Theme’ after her.

She wrote a book called ‘letters to a young gymnast’ and launched an album.

She launched her own music album in Bucharest.

Nadia Turner, singer and actress, and American Idol Season 4 Finalist was named after Nadia Comaneci.

Lance Armstrong
Age: 37 years

He dated singer-songwriter Sheryl Crow and the couple even got engaged before a sudden split.

He also later dated fashion designer Tory Burch, Ashley Olsen and most recently Kate Hudson.

Armstrong owns a house in Austin and a ranch in the Texas Hill Country. Neighbours of his ranch property claim that Armstrong polluted a local swimming hole when he was creating a dam on his ranch.

Since retirement, Armstrong has focused his efforts on the Lance Armstrong Foundation, which provides support for people affected by cancer, and on other interests

Sebastian Coe
Age: 52 years

Coe was featured in the Brass Eye (UK television show) spoof documentary on pedophilia unwittingly accusing American blue-eyed soul singers Hall & Oates of not only being the same person but also of being child abusers.
Post-divorce a handful of glamorous women have been seen on his arm.
He is a multimillionaire, a worldwide ambassador for Nike, owns a string of health clubs with a membership of 20,000 and is a member of the East India Club in London.
He has a very large collection of jazz records.

Steffi Graff
Age: 39 years

With her father dominating her personal life until the Graf tax scandal in 1995, Graf often declined social invitations and made few friends on tour.

Graff spent much of the 1990s in a relationship with race car driver Michael Bartels.

She eventually found that she had more in common with tennis superstar Andre Agassi, whom she married in 2001.

The couple have many homes, but prefer to spend much of their time in Las Vegas.

Mark Spitz
Age: 58 years

Spitz is a motivational speaker and travels to Japan, China, Hong Kong and most of Europe since he began in 1973. “My middle name is Mileage Plus,” he says.

His iconic moustache was his hottest feature and was seen as a sign of notoriety as most competitors opt to swim without facial hair, often shaving their bodies completely.

In 1991, he appeared for a sports event sans moustache. When quizzed about the absence on TV show he simply said, “it had become too grey.”

Chemist EH Bronner maintained that Spitz was a prophet. He is mentioned in Bronner's fifth MORAL ABC which appears on each bottle of Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap. Spitz sued Dr Bronner's over this reference.

Dara Torres
Age: 41

At 41, she’s the oldest woman to participate at the Olympics.

During her retirement from swimming she has worked as a reporter and announcer for television networks, NBC, ESPN, TNT, OLN and Fox News.

She also hosts a golf show called the Clubhouse on the Resort Sports Network.

She has been a model and in 1994 she was in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.

JAYNE TORVILL & CHRISTOPHER DEAN
Age: 50 years & 51 years

Dean's first ice partner was Sandra Elson. They began skating together when he was 14 and competed as ice dancers for a few years. However, despite becoming British Junior Dance champions, the team parted, as Dean and Elson did not get along well.

Dean was in the police force till 1974, when he decided to quit his job completely to concentrate on ice-skating, and so did Torvill.

Even after retiring the pair continued acted as coaches, choreographers and performers in ITV's Dancing on Ice.

They returned for a second series and third series after the 2007 & 2008 UK series of Dancing on Ice Torvill and Dean took the show on the road for a British tour.

Summer Sanders
Age: 35 years

Summer married Mark Henderson in 2001 and then World Cup skier Erik Schlopy in 2005.

Summer admitted to having a teenage crush on Kirk Cameron.

Summer published the book Champions Are Raised, Not Born: How My Parents Made Me A Success in 1999, which is a tribute to her parents.

A mother of a girl now, Summer launched the Similac Moms Alliance, an online community for moms which gives tips regarding important mothering issues.

Anger

2008-08-11T22:20:00.005+04:00

When I get angry I get so dramatic. Dramatic is an understatement. Probably, melodramatic suits better. Rather, scary is more befitting. So loud, unbearably ugly and stupidly weepy! I would cringe if I saw an angry me from a distance. Recently, I got so angry I yelled. I'm sure our neighbouring building shook. But my opponent was strong. He didn't budge. I hit my cheek, hit the wall and yelled at the top of my voice. And even then when my opponent didn't give in, I walked off slamming the door behind me. I lost. I was weeping. I wept for a long time. Then the anger subsided and my breathing got back to normal.

But the point is, no matter how I expressed my anger I lost. I wish I had just let things be. I get scared of myself when I'm angry. That's why I hate anger. What overtook next morning was a calm I hadn't felt in ages. I was numb. My hand was hurting so was my cheek. And I'm sure even that wall felt some amount of pain.

I now wish I'd rather have kept calm before. Blowing off the handle doesn't help except add drama. It's all so funny to me now. I can now see myself moving in slow motion. My hand rising slowly and then coming down on the wall. Once, and again. Tidhish tidhish...in slow motion...Indian television style. I would have garnered the highest TRPs.

Accept it dear, you could have handled things better.

I smell you

2008-08-11T17:19:00.005+04:00

Yes, I love perfumes and deodorants. I’m not faffing. I bet you can come within one metre of my radius without cringing!

Another proof is my cupboard. You open the door and at any given point there will be at least 4-5 different deodorants in there (thats how much I can affored). I feel bad when I don’t have the money because that means that I can’t have a better variety of deos in there. My room mates think that I have become a fashionista just because I have a couple more deos than them! Ask me which brands I use, and all I’ll manage is my most famous blank expression. So immediately I don't qualify. But I still maintain I love variety as far perfumes go.

While I can’t get too close to people with body odour for obvious reasons, what intrigues me more is the millions of fragrances around us. While people who stink have different stinks! People with fragrances have different fragrances too. Very often when you pass by someone in office, you get a hint of fragrance from them. I often begin to guess the fragrance. She smells like peach, he smells like lemon, while this girl smells like berries!

I love axe ads. You use axe and women will cling on to you. You use the new chocolate fragrance and all the women will want a bite of you! That’s a great concept and innovative thought process. I do feel sexy when a man asks me what perfume I’m wearing even if he doesn’t immediately want to cling on to me or bite me. Imagine walking down the street and attracting people with your smell.

Someone had once told me that when you get attracted to someone or feel positive vibrations it also means that you have caught on to that persons smell. Like dogs I guess. I don’t know if that’s true but it sounds interesting. I wish I went out and men came looking for me. Do you think I attract too many men because I often mix my deos (two deos at the same time) or use different deos every other day? I’m not complaining. Heehee…

Happy?

2008-08-10T21:25:00.004+04:00

Watch two ladies sleeping under a shed of a high rise building. Hiding from the rains. Trying to protect themselves from the cold breeze with an old piece of bedsheet. Selling water to make a living. When you come back in the evening. They smile. Greet you. Ask you how your day went. You say just about fine and enter the building. The women share a sweet joke behind you and break into a laugh. They seem happy. As I walk up the stairs I remember my day. There is too much pressure at work. I have to deliver. I can see my boss get impatient with me. I have a lot to prove. An extra story to file. Many ideas to generate. God, I wish I was paid better for all this shit I have to go through. Even as I enter my home I think of how much money the two women earn. How they manage to smile through so many problems. Their laughter still rings in my ears. Shouldn't I be happier?

Kung Fu Panda

2008-08-10T17:52:00.002+04:00

I loved Kung Fu Panda. But I guess more than anything else I was relieved. Panda couldn't see his toes because his huge tummy obstructed his view. At least, I can see my toes! And if Panda can be so confident about his kung fu why can't I be so confident about myself? Remember Oogway said, "You need to believe!" because "there is no secret recipe!"

Time to go home?

2008-07-10T14:33:00.005+04:00

A traveller had travelled miles away from home. He had taken the bus, the train and even a flight to get where he was. He had acquired some wealth on his way up to this country up north. He had grown a lot, seen a lot and was really happy about all his accomplishments. He had made lovely loyal friends in this new country. One evening as he sat in his balcony staring at the sunset, he remembered the promise he had made to his parents. "I will be back soon," he had said.

But he didn't feel like going back anymore. Though he loved the country of his birth and still had a few friends there, he was very comfortable where he was now. He didn't know whether it was the right time to leave all this behind and go back to his roots. Where are a traveller's roots really? When does a travaller know or feel that its time to go back? Does a traveller never return home? Or is it his each new experience that makes him feel more at home?

Is it time to go home?

R Balki (Cheeni Kum director) on spirituality...

2008-06-19T20:27:00.001+04:00

I don't know what spirituality is, except that when I accumulate a lot of garbage in my head, I need to shed it and be at peace with myself. I retreat to a quiet corner and am alone with myself for half an hour. Today, any job is stressful. At times, despite doing our best, bad things happen to us. I could get stressed due to my work, my wife...though she also unwinds me! I could get stressed if someone bombs my ad campaign or when nice things aren't said about a movie i have made. I learn from all of it. How you cope with stress is what matters.

I have less tolerance than most people and therefore need to introspect more often. And that's when you realise that in the end, nothing matters. Being a movie buff, I destress myself faster when I watch films or cricket. In fact, it's important to unlearn things. I believe in a supreme power which guides our destiny and who is above our control. I remember I once met a friend of mine in Delhi and she told me that on a particular day, a particular thing would happen to me. And believe me, it did. That's when i experienced God.

I am not a ritualistic person and don't go to temples or wear amulets. I remember the last time I went to Tirupati was some four-five years back and I still remember it was the special vada there that drew me. I don't believe in rituals or praying endlessly for good things to happen.

I believe that if you do good, good things should happen to you and things will work out. The truth will always prevail. For example, I believe if i have been paid for a campaign, I should do the work to the best of my ability and if I haven't, I explain to my clients that this hasn't been up to my satisfaction. And they appreciate it. Truth is the biggest con job. The solutions to most things lie within yourself.

PS: I AGREE...

The Noir

2008-06-15T18:27:00.001+04:00

Many of Bollywood’s recent releases - and forthcoming ones - are inspired by the “noir” or “black films” genre popular in Hollywood in 1940-50. Gargi Gupta talks to some of the young directors on what is driving such cinema.

Thriller” is a much-abused term in Bollywood — a blanket genre used to describe films as varying in texture, mood and quality as Bhoot and Bhool Bhullaiya. But there’s something about recent thrillers like Johnny Gaddar and Manorama Six Feet Under that’s different.
Gritty, fast-paced, morally ambivalent and with strong characters rather than stars driving the plot, these aren’t simply thrillers but local versions of “film noir” (literally black film), a genre of “stylish crime dramas… that emphasise moral ambiguity and sexual motivation” (Wikipedia definition) that refers to the Hollywood films of the 1940s-’50s like Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice.

And it isn’t just the critics who’re making the connection; most of the directors working in this genre are very consciously placing themselves within it. Director Navdeep Singh spoke to the media about Manorama being a “homage” to noir; and depicted protagonist Satyaveer watching Polanski’s classic Chinatown (incidentally, a film he was supposed to be “inspired” by). “I don’t think Johnny Gaddaar can be called a pure noir film,” says director Shriram Raghavan, adding, however, that, “It’s a term that helps us during the shoot. ‘Let’s do this scene in a noir fashion…’ Which means odd angles, contrast lighting, shadows, et cetera.”

You can see traces of the noir tone in many recent films — Ek Haseena Thi, Anthony Kaun Hai?, Being Cyrus, Ek Chalis Ki Last Local. In fact, Anurag Kashyap’s existential drama No Smoking too has traces of noir. It’s a trend that Hansal Mehta, whose Dil Pe Mat Le Yaar (2000) was an early sample of the genre in Bollywood, traces back to Sudhir Mishra’s 1996 film, Is Raat Ki Subah Nahin, and even further back to Vijay Anand.

“But if it’s film noir, it does not follow the conventions developed by the Americans or the French. The femme fatale figure, found in much of film noir, is absent; rather, our
Indian films explore the morality, political, social, economic, within our society and what happens when, out of greed or lust or any other motivation, the protagonist falls foul of it. In that sense, it’s a reflection of social reality rather than an aestheticised response.”

There are more coming up: Strangers, directed by debutant Anand L Rai, due for release next month, has two strangers meeting on a train and deciding to kill each other’s wives. Then, there’s Amir by another debutant director, Raj Kumar Gupta, which is the story of a young Muslim professional who flies into Mumbai and is caught up in an inexplicable plot, with only a cell phone, through which a faceless, nameless voice gives instructions, to help him through the maze.

Woodstock Villa, Hansal Mehta’s next, coming up for release early next year, is another of these neo noir films about the disappearance of a beautiful young women, the wife of a businessman, and what follows. Kashyap, who made Panch in 2003, on five angst-ridden urban youngsters who fall into crime (unreleased, since the censor made strident objections to it), says he’s working on another script called Bombay Velvet on the Bombay of the 1960s and “how it turned into a metro”.

Ashwini Malik, who won much acclaim with his 2002 film, Clever and Lonely, is working on Kill Chhabra, another of these dark thrillers with Onir and Sanjay Suri producing the film. And then, there’s Raghavan’s second in the Johnny series, of which all he’ll reveal now is the title, Johny Tokyo.

This is quite inexplicable since Manorama, JG or any of the other films that came before it did not exactly set the box office on fire. Far from it. Hiren Gada of Shemaroo Films, which produced Manorama, says that the film had a short two-week run at the multiplexes but he hopes to make up for it with the television and video rights. “It’s an intelligent film and it works on many levels.”

Mehta has an insight: “Today, a producer doesn’t really have to rely on the theatrical response to a film. He can make his money from all the other avenues for projection that new technologies are throwing up almost every day.

But the one important thing here, and this is something young filmmakers have to learn, is how to budget it right. I made Chhal (2002) on only Rs 1 crore. If you keep costs down, the producer has more of a chance to get back a part of the money, and then he will be more receptive to experimental ideas that you may have.”

Clearly, it is a reasoning that has found takers with many production companies— Spotboy, the UTV production house that concentrates on small-budget experimental films: Sanjay and Onir’s Fore Front Films, White Feather Films and many others. And note how they’re all putting their money on first-time directors. Clearly, it is the greenhorns today in the industry who’ve the right ideas.

Courtesy: www. nachgaana.com

Procession

2008-06-05T19:39:00.005+04:00

It's a procession of clouds
led by the furious winds.
Carrying the blazing torch of the setting sun rays,
the march is orchestrated by the evening.
And watched on by a simple soul
from the stadium on the mountain edge,
waiting for this revolution
to lead into a silent night.

Interesting

2008-06-05T15:18:00.006+04:00

Here's an excerpt from Ram Gopal Verma's blog

Question to Ram Gopal Varma: In one shot in Bhoot after the car leaves the basement the shot changes with the sound of a dolby click.

RGV's Answer: That was not a dolby click. It is the igniter sound which Urmila uses on the gas stove. Anyway as long as you felt the impact it does not matter. The psychology of that shot is that the audience would be used to the fact that the shot will be cut after the car left the frame. But the fact that it lingers on automatically puts them into a heightened tension thereby making them anticipate something terrible will happen and that’s why even an ordinary click sound will scare them. Similarly one more example of this is when Urmila comes down into the hall to go into the kitchen for a glass of water. In a wide-angle shot I show the audience that there is no one in the living room. If the camera follows behind her they will be half expecting something to jump on her from of the frame. But the fact they can see the whole room their eyes will be darting all over to see if anyone is hiding somewhere. Meanwhile Urmila takes her time to drink water and comes back. As she goes up the stairs I cut to top angle where the audience can see behind her.

Now as the audience can’t see anything in the back and from Urmila’s expression they can see that there is nothing in the front, they slowly relax as she comes close to the camera into out focus distance thereby expecting the shot to be cut. But as she crosses the camera we reveal Manjeet under the stairs making them jump out of the seat.

Strange

2008-06-03T19:51:00.002+04:00

How does it feel to be haunted by the constant memory of something you really felt amazing when you were experiencing it?

Some people don't understand the importance of a circumstance. My state of mind. There's a bigger plan. It's all happening for a reason. I need to take my lessons and move on to teh next one. But why do I have to explain? I don't want to do what is right. I want to do what I want to do.

Reckless? Yes. Careless? Yes. Carefree. Yes? I am all these but so what? Could be dangerous, risky and even harmful. But why should I tread the safe path all the time?

Change

2008-05-23T12:19:00.008+04:00

We yearn for it when we don't get it. And when we finally get it, we wish things were more settled. Life's full of contradictions. But isn't that what makes it more challenging?

I'm enjoying this though- not having time or the way I see it- not having the time to waste. I have never pre-planned so much. For the last one month, I have been extremely busy; work appointments, pending commitments, excerising, meeting friends, organising parties, spending time with family, extended family and family friends, going out of town and planning each weekend in advance and also getting the time to sit at the edge of the moutain looking at the clouds with chilled beer in my hand. I'm happy I don't have to think 'damn what do I do with so much free time'. At least for now I'm enjoying this.

Last days are always a little difficult though. You got to think you are moving on to better things and not about the people you are leaving behind. They will move on too. You got to take the whole picture in- let it sink in. My drawer, my PC, my display board, my calender, my chair etc. It happened the last time and it happened again. It's a sweet feeling. I know I will smile when I look back.

Yes, I am excited about tommorow but I'm more excited about today. For today is always a moment of transition. If you live in today, you will always be in transit. At least it's better than living in a frozen image or a farfetched fantasy. At least what I have now is real; something I can feel for real. And yet it's surreal. Everything. Everything that has ever happened to me seems surreal when I come to think of it. Probably because there were some things I always knew will happen to me, that I had seen in my mind even before they transformed into the real world. And when they did, they were almost like a dream. And then there were parts that were formed out of eventuality.

All I know is, I am uncomfortable around comfort. And restless around complacency. When unchallenged I can wither away.

Probably

2008-05-13T15:19:00.004+04:00

She sat there cross-legged, dropping her head on his shoulder from time to time. Then gathering herself. She could smell him and she tried guessing what he smelled like. 'Wet wood? Mint? Berries?' she thought. Probably it was all in her mind.

He put his arm around her, trying to steady her. She was high. She felt his breath on her forehead. He was too close. She wanted to move away. If she didn't, she might regret it for the rest of her life. He sensed her hesitancy and moved back. He suddenly stood up and walked away. She could finally breath normally. Suddenly all the loud music was back in focus. The DJ was playing 'I just died in your arms tonight.' She mulled over the words, over what she was feeling. It had felt nice to have his arm around her. He had been there for her. But the thought of feeling him so close to her, hadn't occured to her before. They had their share of moments though. Like the night when he came over to her apartment for the party. He sat across the room and sent her an sms saying she was looking kind of cute. And when they cooked the Sunday lunch together, he had held her hand to pull the knife out of her hand. There had been an elongated pause. Also, she had held him close the last time they went dancing together.

Her chain of thoughts broke and she got up to look for him. He was standing in the lobby, talking to someone on the phone. She thought of pretending to call someone too but he turned. A tiny tear rolled down her cheek. He saw it and hugged her.

The hug was longer than it should have been. "I know you are still hurting. But I want to tell you, you are an amazing girl and deserve much better," he whispered in her ear. Someone entered the lobby and she pushed him away and said, "Thanks. Let's go." He took a step forward and kissed her. She gave in. She didn't know if that was the right thing to do, but she felt something she couldn't explain. Probably, it was just good for her ego. The next few times she went out with her friends it was difficult to resist him but she would try. Sometimes she gave in...perhaps whenever she needed to feel better about herself.

Technicolor

2008-05-13T14:44:00.006+04:00

I guess life becomes easier if you look at it in black and white. Confusions reduce, emotions become more defined and we can make a judgement. Probably that's exactly what I can't do! that's why I end up getting confused, find myself not judging people or end up feeling mixed emotions. I would not say that this happens because I can see the grey areas. I think I can see various colours!

Life is made of so many colours and I feel like exploring them, understanding them and recognising them through people and relationships. What is life without an odd relationship? A wrong decision? An act to regret? A conversation on the tabooed subjects? These are things that add so much hue to our life and make it so colourful. There are more colours in this world, in our life and people than we probably have imagined.

There are some things that are wrong at the surface but there is a certain challenge and a certain amount of empathy involved when you try to understand what went beyond the very act that seems or probably just is wrong. It's an education in itself. I am not saying that one can justify their acts by saying 'hey I went through so much and so I decided to do the wrong thing'. I just feel that we should look at life with different colours and make it rich with experience. And I believe that with experience we do begin to discover more and more colours. Look at life the technicolor way! I love my Rangeela philosophy!

Zahir

2008-05-12T16:06:00.004+04:00

Something that once touched or seen, can never be forgotten, and something that gradually so fills our thoughts that we are driven to madness.
What is that something in my life? There must be something or someone that stays with me, within me. Probably, I need to know that.
Zahir has several meanings. But what is my Zahir? Someone I'm looking for. Am I seraching because I feel it will complete me. But then, am I not complete in myself? But apart from that, there's so much I'm searching. What am I looking for? Must be something that I'm secretly working towards. Unknowingly. Something that's leading me into this specific journey. I want more every day. More of all that can make me happy. I'm asking from the universe becasue I deserve it. Love.

The blinds are down

2008-05-06T15:06:00.003+04:00

In the dim yellow light
with a sunshine drink in your glass,
you search my face.
The blinds are down.
And a burning intensity
floats in this tiny place.

I spot the shadows on your forehead,
trying to find the missing piece in the puzzle.
But you just don’t give away.
You almost forget your words
in an air of awkwardness.
And you smile all the way.

You half-hear things,
half-say things.
And your eyes turn all shy.
I can sense you don’t want to leave.
But you do.
Almost forgetting to say good bye.

Aashayein

2008-05-02T12:38:00.006+04:00

Just got a glimpse of Nagesh Kukunoor's Aashayein and it at once reminded me of Iqbal and its hit song Aashayein. Yes, this film is reminiscent of Iqbal but there is certain freshness about it. A certain sincerity and warmth. John's looking refreshingly cute and sincere. It could turn out to be his best performance to date. I agree he is not the best actor we have but he definitely has become the commercial face for the not-so-commercial directors and their off-beat themes.

Promo: http://youtube.com/watch?v=UCq9h4QC1wA

random thoughts

2008-05-02T00:08:00.000+04:00

Come slow
come steady
come only when you think you're ready;
ready for love, ready to give,
ready to lose yourself to me.

It's more hurtful when the other person moves on, is happy and genuinely in love! Once you stop deluding yourself that the person still loves you, or that your love was the purest thing in the world or that life has been unfair, you'll get over it.
Love, pain and life always endure but there's always something more to experience. Something more to explore with the renewed enthusiasm and with that experience you have gained from your hurts and your past.

Complicated or simple? Eccentric or just curious? Steady or uncertain? Love or hate? I want to figure you out. Really, how difficult can it be?

Yes. I like the idea of endless possibilities. When something turns reality, something else becomes a possibility.

What’s the curiousity about the world? About things unseen and unknown? Does it come from knowing too much or thinking too much? From insatiable thirst for newer horizons? When I explore places, do I learn more about myself? And what do I want to learn about myself that I don’t already know? Guess, I need to travel.

Conversations

2008-04-30T20:41:00.003+04:00

He: I'm drunk but may I fall in love with you?
She: Only if you are going to remember being in love with me when you are sober!

'Incident' by Norman MacCaig

2008-04-28T14:01:00.001+04:00

I look across the table and think
(fiery with love)
Ask me, go on, ask me
to do something impossible,
something freakishly useless,
something unimaginable and inimitable

Like making a finger break into blossom
or walking for half an hour in twenty minutes
or remembering tomorrow.

I will you to ask it.
But all you say is
Will you give me a cigarette?
And I smile and,
returning to the marvelous world
of possibility
I give you one
with a hand that trembles
with a human trembling.

kashmir

2008-04-09T15:17:00.001+04:00

I have always dreamt of you. And the dream was always so real that I almost believed I had extended my hand and held you in between my fingers, that I had sunk my feet in you and that I filled my eyes with your image. You who look like you have just been awakened by a morning sprinkle of virgin white, you soft crisp milky flakes. And with the sun deflecting from you and piercing the gusts of cold, I have no doubt why they call you paradise on earth.

2008-04-08T14:34:00.004+04:00

shir chai
kawah
dum-aloo
chaman
Sheermal & Bakherkhani
shikharas
Doongas
Amira Kadal
Jhelum
Old brick buildings
pagoda-like mosques and shrines
Jama Masjid
Hazratbal
Khanqah of Shah Hamadan
rows of poplar trees
fir-covered hillsides
snow-covered mountains
Sindh valley
rice fields,
pine forests.
Here I come!

Current status

2008-03-28T14:38:00.006+04:00

state of mind...energitic, positive and rearing to go
my body...is happy that i am giving it some respect. i just checked my weight and was horrified!
hooked to...Fifa '08
now reading...Khalid Hosseini's The Kite Runner
learning...to exercise self control
yearning to learn...the guitar (i'm still dying to lay my hands on one)
missing...going to totos
on a humming spree…with Rehab by Amy Winehouse
hate humming...O Jane Jaan by Aatif from Race (because I keep repeating the same lines)
latest favourite...movie- Lives Of the Others
high on...swimming
hung over...my conversation with Kajol yesterday
Hung over again...with the 10 movie DVDS i bought. Yay! And it includes Makhmalbaf's The Cyclist which I have been dying to watch. Yay!
I'm off...booze
favourite food right now...Veggie delite sub
enjoying drinking...orange juice & coffee sans sugar
accessory for the week...my cell phone for its new song list
thinking...how good I can make my life.
dreaming of...my trip to europe
waiting...for April 11 when I take off for the Himalayas
drooling...over the yummy chat I'm going to eat in Solapur at my favourite chatwala
excited about...my kashmir trip
waiting to meet...my cousins in Solapur (going to see them tomorow!)
tired of...the loud music our neighbouring chawl has been playing.
proud of...myself for maintaining strict health discipline for the past 5 days.
enlightenment quotient..."Ask and you shall recieve." "Knock and the door shall be opened."

The ride

2008-03-25T14:36:00.010+04:00

I was taking in the cool waves flowing from the desert cooler on a hot summer afternoon. Aaji had retired into her room. Everyone else was taking a short nap. My mind though was wandering. There was a grey bicycle parked under the tin roof of the garage. I had been dying to ride it and I knew this was my chance. I hurried out, grabbing the key from the keyholder on the wall. I softly closed the door behind me. Even as I unlocked the cycle, there was one thought going on in my head. How will I shut this noisy main gate without making a sound? I had to try. I had to ride. I had just learned how to ride a bicycle and there was a whole new world waiting to be explored in this tiny town.
Every summer I was just cacooned in this place. I knew there was more to this town apart from Vidyanagar. Apart from the garden outside the house, the big ground located in the centre of the colony, maushai's house which was two blocks away, the sugarcane shop where we often went to cool ourselves in the killing heat and Baloo's shop. I never ever asked who Baloo really was? Or why his shop had no other name? But I had to ride beyond his shop now. And there were a lot more things I would love to find out, I thought. I somehow managed to keep the sound of the creeking gate down. Locked it behind me and before anyone could spot me sneeking out I rode out. The breeze was hot and I wished I hadn't got out in such heat. Nani always stopped us from playing outdoors in the afternoon. I used find it very annoying. If I didn't mind the heat, why did she? But now I wished I had listened to her. But soon the thought disappered from my head. I was riding the bike. The very same bike I had first learnt cycling on.
With all those thoughts in my head, I didn't even realise I was crossing Baloo's shop. I had ventured out of the familiar area now. I was free. The feeling was so good that I urged myself to paddle faster. Soon I approached the main road. I could see big vehicles driving down the road which was exactly at a right angle with the small road I was riding on. I was slightly apprehensive about whether I would be able to handle the traffic and the big highway. But somehow there was no fear. I was free after all- an explorer. Riding, feeling the breeze on my face. I took the highway and continued riding with zest. The sun was going down now and the breeze was stronger and cooler. I was smiling and going on and on. I don't remember how long I was riding, when suddenly it struck me that I had come too far. How will I get back home? I braked immediately. I took a right turn thinking that if I had taken a right turn earlier, taking another right could become a full circle and I could reach where I had started. But as I began riding, I became more and more scared as the place felt completly alien to me. Almost like a new town. And before I knew I had tears in my eyes. For the first time I had felt the fear of being lost. Something that was absent when I started my exploration. I had forgotten that explorers too need go back home at some point. The realisation has stayed with me. But that was exactly the point where I realised I knew the name of Nani's colony and I could easily ask around and find my way back. But my sense of direction was good and my instincts were taking me in the right direction. I realised that an explorer apart from a love from adventure, also needs to be careful and rely on his instincts. Before I could think further I was back in familiar territory. I was relieved to be back home. I thanked god a hundred times for being there with me when I needed him. I softly parked the bike in its place and entered the house.
But everything is transitory they say. I had been so glad when Nani had gifted me that very bicycle once I went in my seventh grade. Since the day I had set my eyes on it, I had this strange feeling that it belonged to me. It was the first bike I sat on and the one that taught me how it feels to be a rider. When I grew up a bit we had gone around the city promoting cycling too! But there was someone out there who needed it more than me- so much so that they could steal it from me. Last I had seen it leaning against the pillar in the parking of my building. A little rusted, a little less grey but still the same bike I first sat on.

Times

2008-03-18T15:37:00.006+04:00

You wrap your hands around the steering wheel. Those thick short fingers with those bulging veins running down your sturdy hands. They take me to the black and white time. Your hands often shivered. As the light creeped in from the tall glass windows of your room, you picked up that audio cassette and shivered it into the music system. It's your favourite Yanni. I didn't know him then. But I always thought I knew you. You were so gentle, so shy and so scared of hurting me. The moments were so full yet empty. They are heavier to me now as I travel back from that black and white time. Young and restless were we. Now you drive and your hands don't shiver. Something's changed. But I talk and I listen. You remember so much. There was so much you didn't see and so much I didn't see. I know circumstances can blind us. The air is tender again but nowhere close to the time when you showed me your tiny pet turtle. You placed him on your palm and asked me to touch it. Today you send me a messages. Then there was just the old-fashioned phone but you picked it up too late. Saxophone was romance and you gave Kenny G to me. All actions run smoothly through my head but it's the conversations that are muted. Through all the years there were letters, rides in the rain, there was touch, music and play. But just tiny thin threads of muted conversations. As I caress your hands with my eyes, you ask me if you can hold my hand. I allow. I guess I am just making up for the broken conversations.

Me

2008-03-18T15:25:00.004+04:00

At 15,
God: Always was and always has been, never can be created or destroyed, all that ever was, always will be, always moving into form, through form and out of form.

At 25,
Energy: Always was and always has been, never can be created or destroyed, all that ever was, always will be, always moving into form, through form and out of form.

I am an energy field just like this universe.

Lives of the Others

2008-03-12T23:23:00.010+04:00

How much can a nation's political scenario affect anyone's personal life? if you think it hardly does, you need to catch this one.

and all one requires is one good man to be able to fight an interfering and almost dictatorial establishment. how much can creativity be curbed? How much can a painter or a writer or anyone else be stopped from making a political statement or doing his or her own thing? How much can an individual be stopped from voicing his opinion? If we don't stand up for what we believe in, on a public platform, our government can even monitor us in your own house! It's scary, but it drives you to think how important it is to do what you believe in. Who is the government to decide what you are supposed to believe in, stand for or talk about?

Most touching thing about Lives of the Others is the goodness of a disillusioned man. How far can you go to support what you think is right? Think. Thats what the film makes you do.

"It's for me."- is the last sentence. It deserves an applause.

One of the best films of our times, it is as relevant in our times as it was in the 1980s East Germany.

enigma

2008-03-02T17:07:00.005+04:00

There is something about mystery. The knowledge that there is something out there undiscovered and unexplored, can lead you to unexpected places. The beauty of somethings is best when unexplained and unknown. Enigma is sensuous.

Each time she went to the station to bid him goodbye, she thought it could be the last time for a long long time to come. It could very well be the last time. But she hoped, against all odds that they would meet again, and that she would never have to say goodbye at the Railway station. She cried each time she saw him waving out to her from the window. This time too, there were tears in her eyes. She sent him a message but he didn't reply. Did he feel the way she did? Everything ended. And her worst fears came true. She knew, this time was the strongest she felt. She would never have to see him off again, because he would never come to meet her again. In that moment of pain she thought- he never did feel for me the way I did. And wiped a tear flowing down her cheek. There is no love anymore.

Am I two?

2008-03-01T14:39:00.001+04:00

Do I know something more than I consciously know? Is there a doppelganger of sorts, from whose mistakes I learn? Are my decisions mine or are they formulated by someone else—a possible destiny or higher power? There is more than what meets the eye. Am I two?

The Double Life of Veronica or La double vie de Véronique is intriguing. It’s supernatural and mysterious. Music and cinematography, in fact, are the two strongest characters of the film apart from the two Veronicas.

2008-03-01T14:16:00.002+04:00

It’s strange.

Your words caress the threads of my imagination in a way that almost everything that has touched it before seems to have dissolved into that one caress.
And it’s so overwhelming that you make me breathless.

Smooth as my breath.

Winter's meeting summer

2008-02-01T13:44:00.000+04:00

Winter’s meeting summer now.
Cold winds cross the blazing sun.
An impending storm or an approaching calm?
You come like the coming of an unknown season.
Is this what they call fantasy?
Or is this the real love I’ve been waiting for?

Why is it so difficult?

2008-01-16T14:50:00.001+04:00

I asked myself last night why it was so difficult to move on in life.

Why was it difficult to kill a moment...a date...a time...a letter....a photograph...a conversation...a video...a feeling...the touch...the pain...the joy...Yes, it is difficult to kill a memory.

Yes, it is difficult to kill something you gave birth to, nurtured for years, gave so much of yourself to- including a huge chunk of your thoughts, feelings and emotions and something that had become a part of you.

It is difficult to kill something inside you.

It is difficult but it has to be done because if you don't kill it, it will kill you- slowly but surely.

Girls of Riyadh

2007-12-27T11:04:00.000+04:00

Sometimes ancient traditional values are hidden so deep under the liberal exterior of some men that it's scary. They like to be with so-called modern women, they like to behave like men who believe in man-woman equality but when it comes to the real situation where they need to put into execution the so-called liberal outlook, the truth- the real underlying conservative attitudes come to the fore. I can talk from experience and it scares me to no end.

Well, this and several thoughts started juggling around in my head after I began reading Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea. It is the first book I have come across which deals with the personal lives of women in a conservative middle-east country like Saudi Arabia. But the issues that are spoken about are, I guess, only the exagerated versions of what we see in our own country.

After smoking, drinking and sleeping with his girl friend a guy dumps her because he thinks his parents wouldn't be able to deal with a girl as liberal as her. So what were you doing all along....contemplating how to break the news? Didn't you know this for all the years that you were with her, that she was a 21st century girl with modern values? Shouldn't you have peeped into your conservative roots before hurting the girl? A liberal girl too has a heart, you know?

Well, that is my story. But in Girls of Riyadh this man gets legally married to the girl, and the formal wedding ceremony is a few months away. While he wants to go all out into the physical relationship, each time the girl stops him and tells him to draw the line. Since their wedding date gets postponed, the girl decides to placate him by not stopping him this time around. He goes all the way, then. And after that just stops calling her up. And after three weeks sends a divorce notice without a single dailogue with the girl he had sex with. Wasn't it he who wanted to have sex. How can he judge her on this? It's crazy!

I had recently heard of the story of this guy who was the hypocrite of the first order. He was seeing this girl for a long time. But when asked when he was planning to get married to her, he replied that he wouldn't want to get married to a girl as easy as his girl friend was! This guy lives in one of the most liberal city in India- Mumbai, he is educated and stays in suburb like Bandra. Who will be able to figure out or believe that someone like him could be such a hypocrite?

Someone please tell me how to recognise a conservative hypocrite man who disguises as the modern, educated and liberal man of the 21st century! It is one of the most intruiging issues of today's youth.

A little death

2007-11-15T15:38:00.000+04:00

Come take over.
Come make me die.
Bring death upon life.

From every broken heart,
every aching soul,
every failed relationship,
and every lost friend,
comes death, and with it
A little life.

From each destruction
rises a new formation.

So go
deep, deep, deeper.
Reach the deepest spot.
A place from where
I can rise.

Yes, make me come,
make me glow.
For each part of me
I give to you.
Come take me away from myself.
For an orgasm is death—
a zenith.
An exalted state of communion
where we leave ourselves behind.
And die a small death.

So die,
Rise, regenerate, be born.
What’s life without a little death?

Simply put

2007-10-31T13:45:00.000+04:00

We all have seen loads of mushy love stories in Hindi films as well as in Hollywood. So what could possibly make yet another light hearted simple romantic film work some magic with the audience? Some of the most-loved movies in the world are films with simple themes and universal expressions. The strongest point of Jab We Met is the simplicity and emotions.

Imtiaz is an intelligent director who knows that, what connects with today's audience are emotions they can identify with. So he keeps it as real as possible. Yes, he puts in bhangra numbers and stretches the second half a little, but what he manages to do is, is to make people fall in love with the film by the time the story approaches it's weak moments. He keeps his characters real in extra-ordinary circumstances and does not go for a dramatic climax. The same elements he used in the not so successful but sweet love story Socha Na Tha.

The strongest point of the film though is the lead pair. Kareena and Shahid look like a dream when they are in the same frame. Their chemistry is amazing- a mix of hot and sweet- and their characters are very strongly etched.

Kareena delivers one of the most memorable performances of her career. She may have big films like the K3Gs and Asoka's to her name, but it is the character of Geet that people will remember her for, in the years to come. At first you think that she's too loud but in a minute or two you begin liking her. She could have easily ended up hamming but her maturity shows as she stops short of it. With dialogues like 'teri maa ki' and 'bachpanse hi mujhe shaadi karne ka bada shauk hai by God', she keeps you in splits. The best thing that Imtiaz did with her is to have her use minimum make-up.

The surprise element of the film though is Shahid Kapoor. There is a whiff of some talent here. A restrained and mature performance keeps you glued even as Kareena takes away all the acolades for her tagda portrayal of a carefree, optimistic Sikh girl.

Imtiaz has done a great job in bringing out the best in these two actors. He has also brought on screen the chemistry that has been missing in their earlier films together. Hopefully we'll get to see them together again. Shahid and Kareena play two believable characters, and do a good job at it. Music is feel good and the use of lesser known actors for other characters actually works in favour of the film.

It's romantic yet not mushy. The story is regular but the exectution is innovative. It's dramatic but not filmi. The situations are extra-ordinary yet believable. Go watch it and feel good about yourself, life, love and everything.

Enough fire in NO SMOKING

2007-10-30T14:00:00.000+04:00

It's amazing that except Sarita Tanwar from Mid Day and Indu Mirani from DNA to an extent, none of the critics could criticise the film for what it is. I don't think I should review it then. But I want to share my experiences and impressions as a member of the audience.

Why can't a regular movie goer enjoy Dawid Dhawan's Partner in the same breath as the radical No Smoking? Like my friend said, probably because the audience is not ready to open themselves up to different techniques of cinema. Yes, I understand a large mumber of the audience did not understand the film because they are so used to straight narratives, concrete endings and all answers been given on a platter. But what about the so-called critics?

Have they learnt film appreciation, literary criticism, or even watched and studied World Cinema? I agree that everyone has their own views, but when personal bias, a close minded attitude and arrogance of being a critic creep into your review, I'm sorry that's the end of you as a critic. You CANNOT let your personal bias come in, when you are writing a review. You got to review the film for what it is, not what your opinion about a particular film maker is. Playing politics through your review is sly!

Anyway, I think Anurag has said enough about the reviews on Passionforcinema.com for me to go on and on abou it. Now the film- it is one experience each one of us should go through. The story is open to interpretation because Anurag has refrained from explaining the events. He leaves you to draw your own conclusions. When was the last time a film maker gave that kind of freedom to the member of the audience. Whether it's John waking up in Siberia, or coming out of the tub- what is reality and what is fantasy? The line is blur. Was it a dream? What could have the part about Ayesha Takia going missing mean? Was Paresh Rawal a doc or a con man? Who is on who's side? Think! That's what the film makes you do. It's challening, and you feel mentally stimulated as you witness the going ons.

The influences from graphic novels and the Chaplin-style flashback could have looked gimmicky, but Anurag carries them off with so much style that they end up impressing you. It's great to come out of a movie hall thinking about the movie you just watched. Yes, you come back with more questions than answers but it is one movie that will stay with you for a long long time to come.

Isn't it a fantastic experience to delve into the realms of the subconscious? To cross the boundaries between realism and fantasy? Who said that's not entertaining? Yes, the film is not perfect. But which one is? I know that being a completely out of the box film, it is subject to more harsh criticism than others. Who has been accepted instantly for being different? Anyone who is different is considered abnormal in this society.

The point is that I'm not praising the film only because it is different, but because it is a great attempt at introducing the public to a different way of making a film, telling them that there are different ways a story can be told and that any creative work is what the perceptions and individual impressions it draws from its audience.

It definitely could be a path-breaking film, an example of new age cinema. Something that, years down the line, people might realise was a superior film- a movie well ahead of its time. Though the film has been panned by the critics and has got mixed reactions from the public, I hope that film finds its audience and gets its due in the days to come. Because you can love it or hate it but you cannot ignore it.

Yes, Anurag has critised others work, but in all fairness he has spoken freely of his opinion. He has praised Rang De Basanti as openly as he has criticised Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag. The man is arrogant but you cannot dismiss his movies- because he is a genius- someone who thinks and makes others thinks. He is self-indulgent in places, and probably tries to prove a point or two about mainstream cinema but I hope he knows that he will have to change the system only by being a part of it.

Also, two people who deserve praise for being a part of this brave movie are producer Vishal Bharadwaj who is a classic director and lyricist filmself. And leading man John Abraham who has added to the film not only with his star value and hotness but also a memorable portrayal of a arrogant man who loses his soul.

In all, a valiant effort brilliantly executed.

A little fish called Riya

2007-10-17T13:40:00.000+04:00

I made a new friend at the swimming sessions at the club yesterday- only that she called me aunty! Well, Riya is the youngest friend I've made. The first thing is wanted to do once we became friends was race. I knew I would loose since the 11-year-old had been swimming at the club for the last three years while I have just begun swimming after probably 3 years or more.
Anyway, I'm a sport. So I agreed to race. We had two races and obviously I lost both.

After that I asked her to be my coach and teach me how to do free style. She was a smart girl and a smart coach. She gave me some important lessons in swimming.

Here are some tips she gave:

Don't cough or sneeze under water. It can be dangerous.
When you swim sideways, you can breathe and then go down again while doing free style.
If you learn free style, you can easily learn butterfly stroke.
Do breathing exercises under water. It helps improve your stamina.
Leave your body to the water. Just relax and swim, you'll feel better.
That it wasn't important to win a race as tiny as the one at Wellingdon. It was more important to swim well and enjoy it!

Within half an hour I had got a hang of the stroke. I complimented her saying she was a great coach. But when she saw me do quite well for a starter she said, "I don't think I'm that good a coach. I think you are a fast learner."

Now look at that. Kids these days are really smart. They can put us adults to shame!

And apart from these tips. She told me her whole kahaani. About her school, her house, who has the best memory in her house and that her memory sucks, that she is Jain, an accident she had when she was really young, how she became fat when she was young, how she fell sick when she fell into the water at 2, what her mum scolds her for etc etc. One talkative little girl.

Anyway I'm looking forward to bumping into her at the pool this evening. I hope we do more swimming and less talking now.

Another cute thing she said- "I think I'm a fish. When I'm in the pool I can't spend too much time outside water!"

Some structure's back

2007-10-16T15:43:00.001+04:00

I don't remember the last time I had to wake up so early every day. I think not after school. I used always bunk my morning lectures at college because I didn't want to wake up early. Now, for the first time in my working experience I have to keep to reporting timings! I have to reach office at sharp 9.30 every day.
Frankly it isn't as tough as I thought it would be. After 3-4 days I started reaching on time. So my life has become more structured. I get the evening to do fruits and vegetable shopping, go swimming and watching movies. I am eating healthier since there are no places really to order in food around here. Also I can't take too many food breaks when I'm in office anyway. I'm also partying lesser since I have to wake up at 7.30 next morning. I don't know how long its going to last but I'm enjoying it while it lasts!
And then I get two days off on the weekend which is a blessing. I had never imagined that I'll have a five-day week though always hoped for it. I can go to Pune more often now and my parents are thrilled about it. After trying for years to pursuade me to go down to Pune more often, they have succeeded. Surprisingly, I'm not complaining too much. I'm enjoying the fact that I'm getting to spend more time with myself and with my family.
So we are people who don't really like an organised routine life. But somehow, now that my life has become more organised, I feel this is what I needed. I didn't want it but I needed it. It has come as a blessing in disguise.

News for the day: There surely is a surprise element in Jodhaa Akbar. Like cricket was a part of hidden plot in Lagaan, expect something else this time from director Ashutosh Gowarikar. Whether its as exciting as Lagaan's cricket factor was, is for all of us to find out. Let's wait and watch!

Moving on to B-Town

2007-10-15T15:42:00.000+04:00

I haven't written anything for a long time now. I mean nothing apart from my stories at work. Life has completely changed since the day I quit DNA. And after a 12-day long break in Pune I feel like DNA was ages ago.
So now I eat, sleep and drink movies. Didn't I do that before? It's anybody's guess.
I'm learning the ropes of writing Bollywood gossip, juicy hot stories, celeb interviews and some other filmi kahaniyan. It reminds me of my Filmfare reading days (I still have loads of them stacked away in the cupboard my tiny old desk). Yes, Sowmya rightfully teases me saying that 'mere bachpan ka sapna poora ho gaya'. I don't remember if I ever dreamt of writing about movies and movie stars, but I do remember that I loved reading about them. (Yes, I was attracted by the glimmer and often dreamt of meeting the movie stars. And even contemplated becoming a journalist so that I could meet my favourite actors. Well, as you grow up, you get over it) Just like the rest in my family. They all love the movies. They couldn't be gladder that I'm interacting with film stars. Yes, you could say the kurkure dailogue here- "kya family hai!"
But I guess most families in India love the movies. Despite the fact that I have to write about movies day-in and day-out, I would admit that it's the reading about films and watching a film that excites me more than writing. But since reading and watching inspires me so much, I manage to write decently and enjoy that process as well.
Most of my friends though are really happy that I have changed gears since now they can bank on me to give them some new gossip every day. I get a low down on a lot of what is happening in tinsel town though from my mom. She always adds one or two things to my already vast knowledge of the who's doing what in the industry. After all she's now a film journalist's mother!
Anyway, I hope to now add a filmi touch to my blog. No..no...don't decide to stop reading my blog (not that too many ppl read it anyway!) . I will only add a filmi touch. Will obviously continue to write about whatever comes to my mind.

So news for the day: Aamir has written the last post on his blog last week. He will shut the blog for lack of time and bandwidth. Bad news for Aamir Khan lovers!

Food War

2007-08-08T15:53:00.000+04:00

I really can't get into the skin of non-vegetarian and experience the agonies of watching a wonderful apartment slip out of my hand because of my food preference (I'm veg!). But this has become so common in Mumbai that people have simply shut out their options or found their way around it. I spoke to some who for the love of the flat, faked to be vegetarians!

Notes from the diary of an under-cover non-vegetarian (living in a vegetarian society):

July 9
8.00 pm: I get separation pangs. It’s been 10 days and I haven’t cooked non-vegetarian food. I stay in Goregaon west but the fear of being caught red-handed makes me drive all the way to Goregaon east to pick up some good old sea-food.

9.00 pm: I want to eat prawns but I can’t. Prawns stink and the whole neighbourhood will know I’m non-vegetarian. So I settle for some crabs. They are a safer proposition.

9.15 pm: I also pick up a packet of incense sticks.

9.45pm: I put the crabs in a black bag. Put the black bag inside another bag and put that bag into another one. I enter my society, a little nervous, like I was committing some crime. But I tried to smile at my neighbours as I passed them. I said to one of them, “Just went vegetable shopping”, even when they hadn’t asked me a thing.

July 10
9.00 am: Before I begin to cook, I open my main door and light the bunch of incense sticks outside the door. My neighbours feel proud that I energise my house with these agarbattis. Obviously, I do it to mislead the folks who pass through the staircase.

10.30am: Phew! I’m done with the cooking but damn, I forgot to keep my big windows open. The smell can’t stay in the house! But it’s not too late to mend the damage. I quickly open the windows.

10.45 am: I’m just laying the table when the door bell rings. But I don’t need to panic. I have trained my maid not to open the door without first checking out through the key-hole. That key-hole is my saviour. She does just that and not to worry, it’s just a courier boy. I collect the package and begin to enjoy my meal.

11.15 am: Ok, there’s some left-over food. I can’t possibly throw that into the dustbin. The CIA agents in my society will smell it and catch hold of me. So I ask my maid to send the food across to my secret non-vegetarian friend in the society.

11.30 am: My super-intelligent maid takes the plate of food covered only with a thin tissue paper. In five minutes I get a call from my friend who yells at me. “We both would have been thrown out of the society if that piece of tissue paper had flown on its way to my home.” I swear never to send the food like that again. I take a spare tiffin from the cabinet and make it my new secret non-vegetarian tiffin.

12pm: A fish-seller passes from outside my gate. I’m almost about to yell to him asking him to deliver some fresh fish. Just then I realise, for him to walk into our society gates would be like crossing the Pakistan border.

July 11
7am: I hear some voices arguing from the ground floor. My next door neighbour had checked the bin and he found some egg shells. They were from the omlette I made last night. The garbage boy knew which house he had got that from but pretended he didn’t. Phew, I survived again.

8pm: We meet in the society hall for a senior citizens birthday. Women start talking about how people should not kill somebody for their food. I object saying it’s a personal choice. The women disagree and stick to their point. I secretly smile to myself. “Ladies, I have been fooling you for the past 10 years!”

Here's what the food politics has done to the people of the city, and made them think if the cosmopiltan Mumbai is just a myth?

Sudha Deshpande, Goregaon
Sudha Deshpande has to sneak in meat through her society gates each time she craves for some non-vegetarian food. She has been living the life of an under-cover non-vegetarian for the past 10 years. “I loved the society and the locality was good. The broker was a vegetarian himself and he refused to sell the flat to me because I was non-vegetarian. So I had to lie and get the apartment directly from the builder,” says Deshpande.

Deshpande is not the only one. Several non-vegetarians have gone through hell finding a flat in certain vegetarian dominated pockets and societies with unwritten rules on vegetarianism even when they had cash in their pockets. Food preference is one of the first things a broker will ask you and will not show you flats that fall into the strictly vegetarian category. “There are owners who have strict instructions not to get any vegetarian clients so I cut off non-vegetarian clients at my level,” says a broker who refuses to be named.

Amar Khamkar, Lalbaug
In 2003, Amar Khamkar, who lived in Parel put up a fight against a housing society which refused to sell a flat to him because he was a non-vegetarian Maharashtrian. “I had the money. I had been living in that area for donkey’s years. They would just lie to me saying the bookings were full or would quote a price three times higher than the original one, making it impossible for me to buy the flat,” he says.

Aditya Pandya, Kandivali
Aditya Pandya, who writes on real estate says that a personal experience while trying to sell his flat in a Kandivali society made him realise how divided the city is over food preference. “Jains and Gujaratis are a majority in the area in Yoginagar where I had my flat. There was a Jain temple attached to the building. When we decided to sell the flat we were sure that we would get a good premium because of the presence of the temple. But there was a non-vegetarian family living on the ground floor, and no one would buy the flat. Non-vegetarians refused to buy it since the majority living there were vegetarians and vegetarians wouldn’t buy it because there was a non-vegetarian living in the building.”

Pandya further explains that several clusters of buildings in Kandivali and many other areas of the city become vegetarian dominated over some time and then a boundary gets drawn automatically. “You cannot define that a particular area or suburb is a vegetarian zone but the number of these vegetarian clusters has definitely increased.”

Marwari Ekta Parishad defends
Food in the city can easily become a political issue, as illustrated by the growing phenomenon of organisations, societies and pockets of the city where vegetarians try to prevent meat from being eaten or sold. Recently the Marwari Ekta Parishad had protested against meat being sold at the new retail chain of the Aditya Birla group. “A Marwari family can’t support slaughter. Should commercial interests get ahead of our culture and tradition,” says Narendrabhai Parmar of Marwari Ekta Parishad.

There have been several instances in the past where majority vegetarian communities have turned food chains and outlets in their area of interest vegetarian. The entire stretch of Marine Drive caters only to herbivores now. Dominoes, Pizza Hut and many other small time restaurants too had to go veggie. Some shut down as they could not run a vegetarian place.

Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City
The question is whether the vegetarianism has taken over public spaces from being a private choice of food? Paromita Vora’s film Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City explores just that. It talks about the politics of food, and divisions over class, caste and food, and whether cosmopolitan Mumbai is a myth. “These unsaid differences based on food always existed. But the trouble begins when people begin to control public space. It also turns into land politics,” says Vora. “Like-minded people can definitely come together to build their own society based on their preferences, but by doing this they are being intolerant upon others. You need to be tolerant if you are living in a city like Mumbai. You can’t go around telling people how to run a business or how to mould public spaces.”

Box

2007-08-04T14:15:00.000+04:00

The quaint little dark wooden box had been lying in her closet for years. It had begun to smell like the bark of an old tree preparing for a dry winter, still damp from the spell of the first rains. But Shivani often took it out, wiped it with a clean cloth and placed it amidst her pile of clothes. After her mother’s death, Shivani had sorted out all her belongings. She gave away everything except for her wedding sari, and the little box.

Her mom spoke fondly about how her father, a small time mechanic back then, had gifted this sari from his first salary. And when they eloped and got married, she had nothing else to wear but this brown sari with golden zari work. It was a small Brahmin wedding, conducted in a temple on the outskirts of Pune. They began their wedded life in a friend’s house and her father did odd mechanical jobs to keep the kitchen fires burning.

Her mother often spoke about how the sari was a symbol of the courage that her father’s love had given her. Her father had soon managed to build his own garage. And after Shivani was born, they shifted into a small one-bedroom apartment. Money came but in small spurts. When Shivani had to go to school, her father sold his Bajaj scooter to provide for her fees. But by the time Shivani was 6 years old, he had managed to own a car show room, and slowly but surely the show rooms multiplied in number, making life easier.

Shivani thought of the days when she watched her mother count the money her father gave her. But her most vivid memory of her mother was of her hiding away the wooden box in one of the cabinets atop the ledge, above the cupboard in her bedroom. Shivani often wondered what her mother put in that box. She wondered if the box contains the money that she often counted. But Shivani never got to see what was in it. Somehow her mom always managed to put her things in it when Shivani was away or sleeping. She kept it locked and Shivani could never find the key. Even after her mother’s death, Shivani searched every possible place in the house but the key wasn’t there.

She did not want to break it open. She thought that it would not to be fair to break open this beautiful box of secrets. Then she decided not to open it at all. She was scared that she would find something very disturbing in it. She also thought that her mother never wanted anyone to see what’s in it, so it would not be the right thing to do. She knew that her father never got to see what’s in it either. He died when Shivani was 16. His was a silent death much like her mother’s. Both of them died in their sleep. Her father was asleep when his car crashed into a truck on the Pune-Nasik Highway. And her mother, at the age 37, never woke up after a lovely dinner with Shivani at home.

She smiled whenever she thought about the fact that her parents didn’t have to suffer to death. Now, 24-years-old, Shivani lived alone, worked with a corporate house as a public relations officer.

Tonight, she stared at the beautiful patterns on the box. There were curved lines around the edge and flowers at the centre. There was a golden line running around the end of the lid. It was rectangular in shape and had a tiny little brass lock hanging from it. She suddenly began to feel the urge to burst it open. “I want to know what secrets it holds within,” she thought to herself. Shivani was disturbed. Siddharth had refused to go against his parents. He didn’t have the courage to fight for their relationship. She hadn’t slept the whole night and ended up not going to work in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was dry. The five-year-old fairy tale was over. She felt like she had come crashing down to the ground after she tried to fly with broken wings. Today she needed to open this box. She felt that all her questions will be answered once this box is opened.

She brought a knife from the kitchen, and prepared to go for it. Then stopped again, took a deep breath and slowly began to dig into the lock. She struggled for five minutes before the lock split open. “Will I find my answers in this box? Does this box contain a secret that I need to know at this point in life?” she thought in the fleeting second before she slowly raised the lid.

And her eyes gleamed in the low light of her bedroom as she glared at what was inside this little wooden box. Her tensed look was replaced by a grin as a mirror shone back at her from inside. And she saw herself more clearly than ever before.

Sometimes the darkest secrets are the simple truths of life.

Age of Innocence

2007-08-04T12:59:00.000+04:00

"What are Mp3 players?" she asks. "Don't mind but I'm pretty ignorant about all this things. I want it to gift it to my mother."

I wasn't surprised that she didn't know. She was over 50 years of age and her mother over 80.
I explained how Mp3 players work. Then came questions about how you can put music on the player, on Mp3 speakers, difference between Ipods and Mp3 players etc etc. Then more followed- computers, WorldSpace and so on. I answered them all.

The development in technology leaves the seniors more helpless than you can ever imagine. Instead of making their life easy, it becomes difficult. It is easier for them to operate their old landline phones, cassette players and refrigerators but makes it difficult to even switch on and switch off CD players, microwave ovens, ipods, laptops and things which have become so common in today's homes. I'm sure they feel like they are reborn into a different time suddenly, or have been transported into a new space. Kids operate gadgets more easily than most. They are born into a gadgetty environment unlike the seniors in today's time.

Anyway, the point is that there is a strange innocence that some people possess. They are not afraid to ask questions. They don't care or even give a thought to the fact that people might make fun of them. These people usually find out about life's realities the hard away, yet that does not discourage them. Derineh, my office colleague fits the description. She is growing old, but her experience hasn't made her cynical. She still has dreams, wants to learn things and asks innocent questions. You feel good about life when you see people like her. You feel everything is not lost and that the age of innocence can never pass.

A memory is born

2007-07-30T15:15:00.000+04:00

Sand slips.
The hourglass stands.

Granules fall—bit by bit,
passing through the alleys
of my mind.

I stare with unblinking eyes
at the ray of sunshine
sketching vertical lines on the wall.

Moving images turn into
a single sepia still.
A memory is born.

Of winds and fog

2007-07-16T18:56:00.000+04:00

They were alive yesterday.
Gone now, but haven’t left.
Invisible in their presence,
perhaps clouded by fog,
making figures
you once identified.

Of ghosts at war
Or self image,
Rising to kiss the earth.
In tear-shaped remnants of love.

Or is that cloud
The dead thing
We had alive between us?

Or are they fluffy pillows
My head had rested on?
Now, gliding away
In the vague winds.

And the wind still blows
And its caress haunts.
The tide is yet to turn.
The fog is yet to lift.
The mist is yet to dry.
The cloud is yet to pass.
There is a lot of rain left inside.

Searching

2007-06-09T13:38:00.000+04:00

Why is there always a fear that if you stop for a while, the world will race ahead of you? If you are not fit enough, you'll not be required. If you are not talented enough, you will not be accepted. If you are not enterprising enough, you won't be popular. If you are not quick
enough, you will lag behind.In this rat race, it has become difficult to do things as and when you want to- on your own terms. If you are down, you got to be able to take your own time to stand upright again and begin to walk. But the mind is restless. It does not want to drag itself on the floor because the of the stiff....unfit body.

There begins a constant battle between the mind and the body then. The body needs time and the mind doesn't want to give it any. The body doesn't know when it will be able to walk back again, hand-in-hand with the mind and the mind is too restless to live in this kind of uncertainty.Then the mind loosing it's patience becomes cold. Cold to it's surroundings. Disillusioned. It begins to look for resons to move on...to live on and the only reason could be life itslef.I have begun to look for motivation to be back in good form. I want to keep my positivity alive. Things will always be fine and situations will always get better. And you live on through moments of dispair, pain and hurt only because you believe that life will be better and with time the pain will subside.

I can see the clouds hovering around the skyline. Peeping from behind the skyscrappers. Bringing hope of a new life. Evoking a sense of refreshment, renewal and rejuvination. Passing on the messege that a new phase of life is about to begin. The hope of rains. Rains that will wash me clean, and make me new again.Rains, whenever they come, evoke nostalgia. I think of the happy times, of my loved ones and of love, of the romantic moments, and fun things. They always take me back in time and remind me that life is beautiful. I fell happy- plain, simple state of joy.

Pain will soon be replaced by joy. It's the hope we live on.

Pain

2007-06-07T19:50:00.000+04:00

Pain...slow poison.
Pain...a slow medicine.
Pain...slow destruction.
Pain...a slow lesson.

Pain...you make me so numb that I can't feel myself anymore.

Raindrops

2007-06-07T18:35:00.000+04:00

Thick black smoke
from tear-filled clouds.
Warm breath on water.
Vapours spring from the tea-cup
And raindrops jump on the saucer.

The smiling moon

2007-05-23T13:57:00.000+04:00

“Who took Mamma away?” Reena asked her father. It was the hundredth time she had asked the question. “When Mama was a baby she often saw the crescent moon from her crèche. Her crèche was kept right in front of the window. At night time the moon appeared outside the window and made mamma smile,” said her father.

Reena smiled as she tossed in her bed. It was 10pm and she was sleepy but she wouldn’t sleep without listening to the whole story. “Whenever the moon would get full and disappear mamma wouldn’t sleep. She would keep waiting for the moon to smile. Her parents would then take her out of the crèche and put her to sleep.”

“And then what happened Pappa?” asked Reena. She knew the whole story by heart but she had got used to asking this question exactly at this point of the story. “Then mamma grew up. But she never forgot the smiling moon. Each time she saw the crescent moon she smiled. She wanted to sit on the smile and ride the sky. It had been her childhood dream,” continued her father.

“And then one day the moon came by the window and asked mamma. ‘You want to sit on my back? I’ll take you into the sky’,” said Reena excitedly. “Yes, and mamma couldn't believe her eyes. She touched the moon repeatedly to make sure it was real. The moon said, ‘Come ride me’ and mamma went into the sky with the moon,” said her father.

“And now there she stays on the moon. And I smile everytime I see her on the crescent moon. Am I right dad?”

“Right!” said her father. “Now go off to sleep. You have to go to school tomorrow.”

“Good night papa,” said Reena and covered her face with her favourite quilt. Her father looked at her adoringly and smiled. “Good night dear,” he said and left the room. Reena often heard the story at bed time. She had been hearing the story since she was two, and she continued asking her dad to narrate the story till she was 12.

Now, Reena was a teenager. She still believed that her mamma lived on the moon. She would smile each time she saw the crescent moon because she knew that her mamma was happy wherever she was.

Love me tender

2007-04-21T02:31:00.000+04:00

In berry scents
and red candles
your hand wraps mine.
Tall twisted glasses
on the table, half filled
with Satori, my favourite red wine.

I, bathed
in creamy liquids,
anxious in the night,
and you wearing cologne.
We shine in black
through the temple light.

An odd couple
caught in a perfect time.
Away from the glare,
in an exotic room
with breath floating
in peach and strawberry air.

Love me tender,
love me sweet.
Elvis echoes my heart.
As you hold me close
and brush my lips
the night's just about to start.

Beyond you…

2007-04-17T17:14:00.000+04:00

Since the split, life has been to say the least ‘eventful’.

Dreams—however small they might be – their fulfillment always makes us happy. The excitement that comes from longing for something is replaced by sheer joy and thrill of seeing it being fulfilled. I don’t know which one’s better though. Once you get what you dreamt about, the fulfillment becomes just a distinct, memory, etched in your mind. But it is all the time that you spent yearning for it to happen that remains with you.

It is only after you that I discovered that there was so much more I wanted from life. So much more I wanted to do, so much more I had to learn about life and myself, so much more I wanted to give myself, so much more I needed to explore, and so many little dreams I had to fulfill. I existed beyond the relationship. I knew it but never realised it. A cloud that wandered about looking for the perfect time to pour on the dry earth, never realizing that it was getting heavier by the day, denser by the moment and the moment to pour down was for the cloud to choose. And it all happened after you. And I began looking at life beyond you.

Friendship
I discovered a new role of an old friendship, the very next day of the split. A friendship I never gave a chance.

Touch
How i keep rediscovering the importance of touch! But this time it meant much more than ever before. A tender and loving hand on you makes a huge difference when you are lost or upset or sad or excited. And there is something about this touch. It makes me feel safe, secure and loved. It tells me that this world is not such a bad place after all. It’s a lovely place to be in. With it i have also discovered why every relationship can't be given a name. Some relationships are too different and too special to be given a tag.

Concert
Five days later, I witnessed the lights, music and a dream. I had been dying to attend a live rock concert and it happened. The Roger Waters concert! Everything was just perfect. Better than how I had imagined it would be.

Solapur
Within 15 days I left for my much needed break. Saw my Nani’s place after two-and-a-half years. I had been yearning to go there, the place I went every summer before I began working.
Bhaiyya chi gadi, our favourite bhelpuri wala near Maidan in Solapur. The place is our family haunt since my nana’s time. My mum and dad and uncles and aunts ate there when they were in school, and I have been eating there since I was a kid. His stuff is nothing close to the chats we get in Delhi or even Mumbai. They are unique. I have no eaten this kind of food anywhere else in world. His chutney bread, kachori, thanda pani puri (which has only onions as ad ons), chutney puri….yummmmmm. I miss bhaiyya chi gadi now! He is Solapur’s shaan I think.

And yes, can’t leave out Sudha Idli Gruha. The idli and wada’s out there are characteristic of the place. Again the taste and the style of cooking are completely different from all the other cities. They keep serving you as much chutney and as much sambhar you want for no extra charge plus they serve you nice home-made kind of butter to top your idli. And a chilli chutney that served with the food is Sudha’s best stuff. And above all else, these places are dirt cheap.

If you ever go to Solapur, which is next to impossible since the place has nothing that would draw you to it unless you have grown up there, you must eat at these two places. You’ll thank me for this.
They fed me like a pig. From chapatti sabzi, shrikhand to chips, dosas and pizzas, they fed me everything they could in a span of three days. I almost died by the time I left Solapur. I felt like a child there; felt protected being around family and my lovely little cousins.

Bangalore
Then I was on the train to Bangalore. A place I visited three years back. Reading Vikram Seth’s collected poems interspersed with listening to some Jim Morrison I reached Bangalore. There is no better way to discover a place than to go around on your own, alone. I got to do that after a long time. The last time I did that was when I had moved to Mumbai the first time.

I walked in to a pub alone, in a new city, sat at the bar and ordered a drink, chatted with the bartenders, making small conversations about newspapers and the deadlines in Bangalore. The feeling was liberating. To be able to claim your private space — as a woman — in a public place is liberating. And I enjoyed every bit of it. I did it in Bangalore which is not as cool as Mumbai is, for girls. You can hardly see any girls in pubs there on weekdays. Yes on weekends of course you can see women come in but almost always in a group with men for company.
I stayed at home watching movies I had been wanting to watch, getting out in the evenings, taking the local transport only on my 4th day in the city. Walking around and getting the essence of the city was so much fun.

Cauvery Art Emporium was my land mark for several days. If I got down from the auto here I could find my way easily. The place has some lovely stuff. Toys, book marks, show pieces, several hand made works and even a Rs 35 lakh worth sandalwood piece of artifact! Yes, it is over priced but you need to find stuff that you wouldn’t mind spending on.

Shobha took to me to India Coffee House for breakfast one day. After coffee and bread jam toast, the waiter got me two instead of one scrambled egg on toast. He urged to finish it and I did. The prices were so low at that place that I could have probably downed another two if I didn’t feel stuffed with what I had eaten. The uniforms resembled the ones worn by cooks during the British Raj.

The pubs
Legends of Rock and Le Rock are what I definitely miss in Mumbai. Spacious places, that play my favourite rock music, with big screens showing videos, cheap drinks and great ambience. I fell in love with them. I shall never forget the huge 600 ml pints served in huge glasses that looked like a tower. Shrav and I went crazy about them. Had great fun at both these places each time I went there.

We had to make a trip to B11. It was a ritual. That was the one time I missed our very own Rahul. The last time I went to Bangalore, Rahul played the perfect DJ at B11. He played all OUR songs. After all it is always great to have your friend as the DJ. But this time there was no Rahul at the DJ console and the place didn’t seem even an iota of what it was when we came there every single day of our five-day trip years ago. But the best part was I remembered every single spot I had seen so long back in Jayanagar. I was proud of myself and felt nostalgic.
Pikos—a Totos kinda place. But nowhere close to it. Yes, it is dingy, smoky, old and rusty but I can’t compare it with my favourite place in Mumbai, can I?

MG Road is a conglomeration of pubs. Loads of small and big pubs spread across and behind this street. Pikos, Guzzlers Inn, Le Rock, Sticks and several others. When I witnessed it myself I understood why the city is called a pub city. The saddest part especially if you are from Mumbai is that the pubs shut at 11.30 and autos charge you 1 ½ meter after as early as 9.30pm. You will have to bargain with Bangalore auto guys. That’s weird. It’s the law and order of Bangalore that needs to get in place not the people who want pubs to be open longer. The city is safer if the city is alive and kicking longer in to the night. I witnessed a really bad drunken driving accident in the few days of my stay. So is the 11.30 deadline of any use? Surely not!

Pondicherry
I travelled to Pondicherry with a guy I met after nine years. Another dream comes true—I go on a road trip to Pondy. The little Tamil Nadu villages, the forts and the pile- of-stones like mountains were what made my trip beautiful.

But apart from that the road was bumpy in parts and it took us nine hours to get there. Our butts were numb, we had to stand and sit down repeatedly to ease them. Legs were stiff. Getting off from the bike and getting on again was a task. When we finally reached, it was 9.30—the city shuts by 10.30— we had no place to stay. The only resort we had pinned our hopes on, ‘The Banyan Resort’, was shut for renovation that week. We somehow reached the Beach Road, it’s the mini Marine Drive, small, clean with little French architecture buildings along the stretch. I managed to spot a hotel and we finally got a room. My face was black with a layer of soot. I looked like a ghost. After a well awaited and well deserved bath, when I sat on the soft bed, I saw heaven!

Pondicherry has two parts, the French square and the Tamil Square. We had decided to explore the French Sqaure since its architecture and food places were something we had been looking forward to. First we stepped into the tourism office. When we entered the air conditioned office, a guy came up to us and asked us to take the seat. We asked for the map and he handed it over to us. He told us the places we should go to and a pamphlet of the hotels to live in. The tourism office’s booklet was too good! Informative and it served us well in the entire trip. We got out of there, walked down the beach road, which is lined up with all possible government offices of Pondy, from the Court to the Vidhan Sabha.

It was lovely walking down the tiny streets except that it was too hot! The sun burnt my skin, literally despite loads of sunscreen. The walk in the heat was followed by a relaxed brunch. We had French cuisine but don’t ask me the names. I don’t know French! The food accompanied by the beer was just right. When we walked out we decided to get into a cycle-rikshaw. The last time I sat in a cycle-rikshaw was incidentally in Pondy with my parents several years ago.

Soon we checked out from this hotel and headed for Auro beach and began hunting a new place to stay. We wanted to live in a shack on the beach but discovered that all of it was taken up by foreigners. Yes, it is here that we realised that this place was a firang magnet. There were firings all over the beach. In our bid to find a place on the beach we entered a firang-packed shack place where auro cookie, auro coffee and everything auro was being sold across the counter at the joint there. Obviously the place was full so we went back to our hunting.
Finally we found a place just behind this auro-hotel. The place had lovely trees with yellow flowers, shacks built ten-feet above the ground and a fantastic balcony. So we stayed in this bamboo house, played in the waves in the evening and took a long walk on the beach. Then we got some beer and sat down on the beach till late in the night. We spoke about a whole lot of things and finally had candle-lit dinner in our balcony. There were no sounds except for the sea waves and moving branches and no lights except for the candle in front of us. I was high and it felt peaceful.

Well, the next day was our last day there. We had our breakfast outside the shack. The little wooden tables and chairs under the shade of the tree were strewn with the yellow flowers bidding us good-bye. It was one of the most peaceful breakfast I’ve ever had. I felt relieved to have come to this place and fulfilled by the discovery of a place so removed from the world I’m so used to living in.

Before leaving for Bangalore we paid a visit to Auro Ville. A half-an-hour drive from the Auro Beach, we encountered several shops owned by foreigners. The coffee shop at Auro Ville looked fantastic, and though we were tired we made the walk to Matrimandir. It’s the golden dome being built at Auro Ville since 1974. The ten-minute walk turned out to be a half-an-hour one, but we were determined to see Matrimandir before setting out for Bangalore.

On our return our goal was set. Two hours to Maghumalai, Krishna Nagar in the next two hours and another two hours to get to Bangalore. Just three breaks this time round. It was a mission and we had to fulfill it. We reached Bangalore in six hours this time!

And last but not the least I sat in a flight for the first time, got a window seat and watched the desert of clouds all the way back to Mumbai.

Life has been exciting, after all the tears and shit!

Mahim

2007-04-16T15:01:00.001+04:00

I wasn’t aware what this small stretch of Mahim Causeway wraps within itself till I began researching for the Urs festival that takes place at Mahim Durgah every year. It is one of the cities within the city of Mumbai which has somehow got lost in a whirlwind of traffic that dresses it’s roads during peak hours day after day. It has its own little history and culture which is to say the least of significant interest.

Mahim Causeway
A plaque that stands at the Mahim Causeway records the making of the Mahim Causeway. It credits Lady Jeejeebhoy, the main donor. It was built in 1845 to connect the island of Salsette with Mahim. The swampy area between the two islands made travel dangerous and thus a need for a causeway arose. The British East India Company, who governed Bombay at that time refused to fund the project. Finally it was built at a total cost of Rs 1,57,000 donated entirely by Lady Avabai Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, wife of the first baronet Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy with a stipulation that no toll would be charged to citizens for its use by the government.

Mahim Creek
A dam built on Mithi River called Mahim Causeway is how environmentalists see the Mahim Causeway. The Mahim creek is a part of Mithi River that originates at Powai and meets the sea at the creek. Mahim bay area, where Mithi River meets Arabian sea, is a nominated bird sanctuary called Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary where migratory birds come for nesting. This part is full of mangroves and this fragile eco system requires considerations from pollution point of view, so that it is not destroyed. According to environmentalists, the depleting mangroves of Mahim creek are one of the main reasons for the floods in Mumbai. Emerald Fields now a student at Massachusetts wrote in his blog about the beauty of the Mahim Creek. “I used to live 20 feet away from sea water in Mahim creek. Five to six years back, it was great, you could hear the sea waves lashing across the stone walls, hear the fishermen’s boats leaving Mahim port at dawn. Tiny lights shifting swiftly in the dark. Suddenly there was an army of trucks all around. They began dumping mud all over to make that new sea link. So, one would see dust instead of boats and listen to noisy machines all the tim. The whole beauty of it died,” says Fields.

Creek water
While many thronged the Mahim Creek to drink the miracle water earlier this year, BMC warned the people that the water is unpotable. The National Institute of Oceanography (NIO) said that the reason for the sweetening of water could be attributed to the large quantities of groundwater draining into the sea because of the rains. The creek water is said to be highly unpotable due to low chlorine levels, dangerous levels of nitrates and alarming pollution levels. According to the report on the Mithi river water submitted to the Maharashtra Pollution Control Board (MPCB) by Klean Environmental Consultants, the citizens dump raw sewage, industrial waste and garbage unchecked. Besides this, illegal activities of washing of oily drums, discharge of hazardous waste are also carried out along the course of this river.

Church
Missionary activity in Bassein, Salsette and Bombay commenced from 1534 onward. The Franciscans were the sole missionaries on the island; they were in charge of St Michael Church, Mahim. The Franciscans, who first arrived in India in 1500, were the first to establish churches in Bassein, Salsette, Bombay, Karanja and Chaul. According to Father Hugh Fonseca, around 40-50,000 devotees visit the church every week. St Michael’s Church is popular for its wednesday Novenas.

Durgah
The dargah of Makhdoom Ali Mahimi, the secular Sufi saint, is popular as the Mahim dargah. Reported to be at least 350 years old, the dargah sharief has five domes, the only dargah in Mumbai to have more than one dome. According to Durgah authorities, around 60,000 poeple turn up every week. During the annual ten day Urs festival celebrated on the 13th day of Shawwal, the Muslim calendar, millions of devotees visit the dargah.

Urs
Over 30 lakh devotees are expected to participate in the 593rd birth anniversary celebrations of Baba Makhdoom Shah at Mahim Durgah this year. Every December, during Urs, lakhs of devotees travel to the the durgah to offer prayers, putting pressure on the existing traffic situation. While hundreds of police officials participate in the celebrations, over 2000 police officials and traffic police are deployed to maintain security and traffic at Mahim Causeway. The highlight of Urs is the procession of around eight thousand which begins at the Mahim Police Station, the site of the saint’s residence. Two policemen from each of the eighty four city police stations represent the police department. A representative of the Mumbai police is the first to offer the chaddar (shawl) at the tomb on the first day of the festival. Legend has it that it was a police constable who gave water to the dying saint from his cap.

Mahim Fair
Most people who visit the Durgah are said to make a stop over at the Mahim mela held during Urs at the Mahim Creek. Different contractors install different joy rides and stalls for the fair. The rides include giant wheels, merry-go-rounds, dog shows, magic shows and the well of death. This year’s festival will attract more than 30 lakh people.

Last man standing
The only Udipi restaurant on the Mahim Causeway stretch, Shri Krishna Restaurant is the last restaurant standing at the junction. A regular outlet for the nearby residents and police personnel deputed at the signal, this is the only Udipi restaurant in the area. While its dosas have been one of the much relished food items, it has witnessed the changes in the traffic situation at this signal for years. Standing right opposite the St Michaels church his restaurant does great business on Wednesdays when people come for the weekly Novena. K Ravi who sits at the cash counter overlooking the signal says that he often watches people desperately trying to cross the road. “I often watch people crossing the road. It takes them ten minutes to do so. I’m used to the constant sound of vehicles but the honking still irritates me,” says Ravi.

Ek cutting
Basant tea and cold drink house has been standing at the junction for the last 40 years. A regular halt for foreigners and taxi drivers traveling to the International airport early morning, Vishenji Shah’s Rs 3 cutting chai is the most popular in the area. “The church goers and the workers in the bamboo market have been my regular clients for the past 30 years,” says Tekchand Shah, Vishneji’s son. Way back in the 1960’s the chai which costs Rs 6 now was sold for 25 paise at the shop. Tekchand remembers how the roads were narrower and there was space for people to walk back then. “The footpath was wider and there was a lot more free space. Even during the 10-day mela at the durgah, there was no chaos,” he recollects.

Mahim fort
How many people know that there stands a fort at the edge the western coast of Mahim with a vantage view of Mahim creek? The Mahim fort which has great historic importance is now in ruins. The Mahim Fort is a relic from the British Raj. This fort is actually a fortress- a part of the larger Bombay Castle. This castle was an important base during the time of the British Empire, but now all that remains are a few ramparts scattered about the city. All one can find are encroachers and hutments in the area. The fort which was once visible from the Mahim Causeway and Bandra Reclamation is barely visible now. The Mahim Fort is a heritage structure and the BMC in its budget proposal for 2005-2006 had intended to pay special attention to Mahim Fort but nothing has been done yet. . Conservationist Sharda Dwivedi says that the Fort is in a very bad state and needs to be restored. “A glorious structure like the Bandra fort is ruins. Encroachments have been allowed to flourish for years now. The authorities don’t care about the heritage structures,” she says.

Mahim Beach
The Mahim beach can hardly be called a beach anymore. Slum dwellers excrete and take a leak freely on the sands, leaving no free space to take a peaceful walk. The beach stinks and the shore is strewn with plastic. One of the worst beaches in the city today, it has been calling for attention from the civic authorities and needs a massive clean up drive to restore this important beach.