cerebrum summary

One neat orange juice please, thank you.

2012-01-24T21:58:00.001-08:00

This is my usual order each time I walk into a place that serves alcohol. Sometimes it changes to a diet coke, although that usually depends on how gassy I am feeling at the moment.
I'll be honest, I look around the bar after placing my order just to check if I was low enough. What follows next is the silent smirk of the bartender. Who I'm sure thinks of me as some kid who got a high just by walking inside a bar.
But he doesn't know the reason behind my amateurish order. About the horrible medical problem I suffer from. Which is commonly known as the Doctor's Advice.

Some six years back I suffered from acute pancreatitis or pancreitis I am still not sure. It was terrible pain that makes you want to wish there is a god somewhere, who can just clap his hands together and take your life away in an instant. I must have sent him atleast a 100 instant prayers per day to rid me of my pain by snapping the life chord, but I guess those prayers never made it past the ozone layer. So much for the holes in it.

Years passed and I continued to whisper orders without once questioning the doctor's logic. So once I sat at home twirling a stirrer in my neat orange juice, pondering at my plight. Some really startling questions popped up in my mind. Like, there is some problem in my pancreas, but alcohol usually affects the liver. Which means either the liver secretly passes excess alcohol to the pancreas or maybe my pancreas are those snooty neighbours who throw a strop by callign the cops on the party next door. Anyhow, it just didn't make a lot of sense.

But to be honest, I was too tempted to try what I was missing. Call it the lure of the forbidden or the non-existent peer pressure. Non-existent because I am blessed with some lucky bastards who don't let me drink. They think I am a better designated driver than a drinking buddy. And frankly, who has ever got lucky picking up a girl whilst holding a virgin mojito?

I'v decided that I am going against my doctor's prestigious educational degree and well compensated concern. At the risk of drinking myself to an early grave, I've decided to flirt with booze. I've watched people drink themselves silly and act completely bonkers. I want to do that too. I don't want to be the guy who watches people roll on the floor and then takes them back home. I want people to clean my vomit. If not as a friend then as someone who can ruin a nice sofa in their expensive apartment.

Lastly and probably the strongest reason why I drink is so that when I die because my pancreas can't take the load of a grey goose or whatever, people can say 'He went on a high'!!

Incomplete conversations

2011-11-22T20:39:00.000-08:00

Its been sometime since we last spoke. Since we last shared every little detail that makes no sense to the world but us. Since the time I told you I had bad food. Since the time I got sounded off with a warning for doing so. Its been a while since you last told me about you finally settling down in office.
I haven't bored you with football talk in the longest time. Neither have you pretended that you don't mind it.
Its been a while since you're no longer part of my life.

Wading through each day I think of things I want to tell you. Just you. No one else would get it. No one else would get me. My idiosyncrasies have a full access permit to your mind and heart. Every little detail about me finds itself in a remote corner in my mind, neatly packed, never to be opened again. So many times I've dialed your number, only to cut it before the bell goes. I hate myself for wanting to speak to you, when I clearly said I don't want to. I hate the urge to tell you every good and bad moment that passes me by.
I wanted to tell you that I climbed the highest peak in Maharashtra. That it felt good. That I couldn't feel my legs for the next two days. I thought you would like to know that I try and go for a run every 3 days or so. That I found a group who is accommodating enough to let a dilliwala play football with them.
But is it just me? I wonder if you you want to dump on me all those unsaid moments that probably were itching to be released. I wonder if those unsaid moments have found a new set of ears. If you have, I wonder if those ears are as genuine. I wonder of you still watch Gilmore Girls when you need a smile. I wonder if that nose pin still hurts. I wonder if you ever tried to reach out in one sudden burst of emotion, but restrained. Do you still wrap the tea bag around the spoon to squeeze every little drop? Do you look at the milk pot next to it and think of me? Can you pass a single day without once wanting to tell me how it was?

I don't know the answers, but I know you know me. You know me like no one else does. And I know you more than you think I do. But what we both know is the fact that we can't talk anymore. For we know each other too well.

My one trek mind

2011-10-06T20:57:00.000-07:00

I am not much of a cards guy but this particular day I was killing it. I was among seasoned seasonal gamblers and yet I had more counters than I could count. And let me tell you, I am so bad at cards that I used to think a trail of colour meant three red cards or three black ones. In all this excitement which stretched till 3 in the night, I almost forgot I had to leave in 3 hours for a trek to Kalsubai Peak - the highest natural point in Maharashtra.

So after finally encashing the counters and bidding a groggy goodbye to the people I won money off, I was off to bed, dreading the sound of the alarm I have truly come to hate. So with unmistakable six-sigma certified irritation, my alarm went off at 6. Followed by equally irritating sounds of friends who were already on their way to Dadar station. I must admit, I came really really close to calling off the trek in exchange for a few hours of sleep. But adrenalin prevailed over laziness, and so did better sense.

I met Sudeep and Nishant at Dadar station and in true mumbai fashion was greeted with well disguised inadvertent pushes and shoves at 7 am even on a Dussehra holiday. Sudeep was wearing a United jersey ( good man!) while Nishant was dressed as if he was about to hop across the whole Himalayan range just to show that he can. Anyhow, amidst commotion, confusion and lack of coordination we saw the 7:30 Local to Kasara leave the platform right before our eyes. We then had no option but to wait for the 8:50 Local now, which meant more morning mumbai maniacs to share the seats with. So we got into the train and managed to wrestle three seats from the morning mumbai maniacs. While perched on cold steel seats with our soft overfed asses, my part gujju genes helped me decode a discussion amongst a gujju group about our destination being two hours away. But I'm guessing they weren't true gujju's because in those two freaking hours they never once took out Dhokla, Khandvi or any other awesome gujju snack.

We got down at Kasara to the relief of our clenched butt cheeks. But a bigger pain in the ass awaited us in the form of taxi drivers waiting to rip us off. Which they did. We spend 550 bucks on a ride that the locals paid 80 for. That moment I felt deep sympathy for the foreign tourists who pay 250 rupees to see Qutub Minar, while our home-grown love birds pay only 10 to see the back of a 14th century medieval wall. Needless to say, we were the foreigners this time. Dresses in our touristy clothes, armed with Nishant's tripod stand, cameras and god knows how many lenses. That man was a walking photo studio willing to click anything from a dumb sleeping crab in the mud to camera friendly semi-naked men bathing in their undies. Our man with the lens saw beauty in everything except for the climb.

On our way we met a friend. A four legged one who kept following us. From now on, he( i saw his balls, plus no bitch would do what he did for us) shall be addressed as Tommy. Only because I haven't met any dog named tommy,ever since that dog name went out of fashion in the early 16th century.He walked when we walked. He ran when we ran. He eased off when we eased off. And he stopped when Nishant stopped. To be honest, our man with the photographic eye had the stamina of a chain smoking chihuahua. He stopped times to catch his breath in only the first 100 meters of the trek. Although I must say that Tommy displayed amazing patience to stick with him, for I would have just bitten the fuck out of him and carried on.
Not only was he a patient guide, Tommy was a courageous fighter as well. You know how people say that your whole life flashes before you when you are about to die? Well, its all horsepiss. When a bull comes thundering down a mud path that is big enough for only one of you, you don't see shit from the life you've been living. All you see is the bull and the fact that you will be mince meat even before you can spell it. I went through the horror of staring a rampaging bull and the only reason I am alive to tell this tale is because of Tommy. He leaped forward to my rescue by barking his guts out at the bull. The bull suddenly stopped, kicked Tommy and then changed its path. I stopped trembling after 10 minutes or so I guess, but more importantly I was alive.

One passing couple spotted the dog trailing us and very proudly boasted with their puffed up chests and sparkling eyes that the dog was a local celebrity of sorts who had even made it to a local paper for being a guide to all the non-locals.

Meanwhile me and Sudeep had already charted out pattern for our climb, which was fairly simple. Walk for 5 minutes, stop, and then bitch about Nishant while he catches up. Our plan worked well for a bit and then eventually a visibly fucked up Nishant gave up his adventurous streak in order to continue the great journey called life. Normally, we don't leave a man behind, but when the man himself wants to be left behind, its always better to scamper off before he changes his mind.

This climb to the top was the most conflicting in terms of emotions. It made me feel great on one hand, as with each step I surprised myself for making it this far. But deeply embarrassing and shame inducing on the other, as I wtinessed women in chappals and gallivanting geriatrics going about the trek at half the distress it was causing us. Now I am no fitness freak, in fact as a punju-gujju who loves overeating I am right at other end of the fitness stick.
But seeing all those locals looking at their puffing and panting city cousins with mocking eyes was a rude wake up call. But we did it. We made it to the fucking top and I am fucking proud of it. Fucking yeah! One more time. Fucking Yeah!

We made it down in almost half the time and ass breaking as it took us to ascend. We even caught up with Nishant who looked fresh as a flower in a flower shop sprayed with water every two minutes. Tommy followed us all the way till the bus stop from where we took seat in a tempo normally used to ferry goods. We perched our aching city bottoms on a tiny little plank of wood where even a rabbit would complain of discomfort. But we slugged it out like brave people who have no other option.

After 5 hours, a congested auto trip, a relatively comfortable train journey in the general compartment we finally made it to our patch. The brightly lit up city, with no trees but buildings. With cars to replace stones we dodged on the trek. The place where the closest I come to a trek is the walk to my apartment.

The three of us then wrapped up the day with a sumptuous meal to fill up spaces vacated by all the calories we burnt on our little expedition earlier. We had plentiful servings of prawn chilli, stuffed bombil fry, tandoori chicken, mushroom tikka, palak rice and dal khichdi. Along with copious amounts of beer for the other two adrenalin junkies and orange juice for me.

One final word - this trek guarantees to rip your butt cheeks apart if you're a couch potato. Which is why I had to tape mine together to wear jeans today.

You don't get it that I get it.

2011-10-01T11:00:00.001-07:00

' You don't have to be shot to know that a bullet kills'

The first time I uttered these words, I knew I had hit upon a fabulous insight capable of bringing down all the pointing fingers belonging to the Naysayers. It was like a neatly devised counter-attack at all claims that attempted to undermine my capability of 'getting it' just because I wasn't in the same situation as the person supposedly 'getting it'.

These words when used collectively perform admirably as one giant middle finger to every 'chuck it, you won't get it' ever thrown your way.

No, I would never know how it feels on the first day of chumming. Probably not even on the second or third. Fuck how many are there? Probably equal to the times a boyfriend needs to say sorry for doing nothing. I digress. So, coming back to the point -If girls chum then I have been kicked in the nuts. That too with several different objects of differing weight, sharpness and force. Which qualifies me to sympathise with the pain, if not the reason behind it.

I would also fail to shed a tear or two for the loss of your beloved pug, but my condolences will be real. I have lost toys too. Lost them to fires and sometimes even the depths of the commode. And they were precious to me. Precious because I have always been an above average student. Something my folks never quite came to terms with. For them I was Einstein reincarnated with a callous approach and normal hair. So basically, with grades like mine, new toys were as rare to come by as spotting a semi naked lady with a broken down car on a rainy afternoon, while you good sir are her only hope. Not only of a ride but also accommodation for the night.

So don't look at me with soggy eyes, a lump in the throat and mildly suppressed anger if I don't understand your loss just because I haven't picked up dog poop in parks, or in some cases secretly kicked it in the bushes after the business was done.

Because I can't take a bullet to prove that it kills. But hand me a gun and I will be more than willing to prove my theory.

Sitting Ducks

2011-07-14T00:24:00.000-07:00

So its been three months since I shifted to Mumbai. Before I came here, I got a lot of advises like - be safe, avoid crowded areas, don't take the locals.

I merely smirked and feigned gratitude at their concerns, for I was driven by logic and stats. My analytic yet gullible mind thought that post 26/11 the city of Mumbai would be a fortress, as promised by the government. You know how you protect what is more vulnerable. I thought that was the agenda after the horrific 26/11 or the train blasts or the several bomb blasts that now seem passable. I thought tough measures were being taken, as promised by the government.

My belief was driven by the simple fact that no other city in India has been a bigger target for terror than Mumbai. So according to common sense it should now be the safest city in India given the deployment of security forces in their fancy new tank like vehicles.

But it wasn't to be. It was deja-vu all over again. Like some anticipated yet dreaded yearly occurrence.

There was a blast. There were body parts strewn all over. There were horrified faces. There were faceless bodies. There was public outrage. There were police officers at the spots. There were official statements and condemnations.
There was no action taken. There was no attempt to punish the offenders. There was just an open invitation for the mercenaries of death to come and kill some more of us.

This governmental impotency aside, I don't understand the crap we are fed daily in the form of the 'spirit of Mumbai'. Its not spirit that forces people to get out of house the very next day, its need. The need to survive and provide for the family. People are used to such acts of terror that they have accepted it as a part of their daily life. Getting scared and staying at home is not an option for the regular mumbaikar, because frankly hunger kills more people than bombs do.
No one steps out in the face of a tragedy with a Rambo style bandana and wild chest thumps. People step out because that's what they have to do. Life never stops, it just ends. There is no spirit in being one of the many name in a dead list.

25 things about me

2010-02-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

1. For me Manchester United is life - the rest are mere details. People give me all kinds of looks and opinions for my obsession towards the club I love.I just turn a blind eye, for they don't know what they do.
2. Ive been on a diet since class 8th.
3. Ive put on a lot of weight since clas 8th.
4. I have a huge ego, and have lost a lotta friends as a result. Fuck it, i don't give a damn!
5. I suffer from pancreatitis. A medical condition under whch I am only allowed to do drugs, but no alcohol.
6. I have come close to dying because of this pancreatitis, twice. This experience has taught me one thing in life...you get a lot of attention when you are close death.
7. I have a small dream to be season ticket holder for life at Old Trafford, the home of the mighty Manchester United.
8. I have a bigger dream of building an OLD AGE home. Although I would never in my life set foot inside it.
9. The reason for which is that I suffer from what I call - an attachment problem. I get attached to things/people easily and to a level that it pains when you let go.
10. I used to be a big time piss taker. Taking people's case for no reason by being extremely rude and mean. Then an angel came in my life and changed me. Thank you Akhilesh.
11. I have six pack abs.
12. I have a feeling I won't succeed in life. Even though I know what I need to do to be successful, I tend to take things lightly. My parents are right.
13. I don't believe in God. Yet, there is always a silent prayer on my lips when Manchester United is playing.
14. I scored the winning penalty in a corporate football tournament. I know what it feels like to win the world cup now.
15. For a good 10 years of my life I couldn't walk straight on the road. For I was constantly making batting and bowling actions with my hands.
16. I am the best actor at acting gay.
17. Adding to the list of my ailments is the problem of Overthinking. I can give the most useless of things the deepest thought and screw myself. I love it.
18. I love spending time at the airport. Not when I am leaving on a flight, but when I am waiting to pick up a loved one. There is no better place than an airport for me when I am sad. I can sit there 24*7 even if i have nothing to do.
19. 90% of my clothes are black in colour. I have donated the rest 10%.
20. If I could travel back in time, I would definitely not go on the trip where I gained 20kgs. I was in class 8th back then.
21. I miss my school. I miss my college. I miss IIMC. I miss Ogilvy.
22. I was at a nude beach in Barcelona once, and I was more interested in the pizza i was eating.No wonder I am fat. I deserve it.
23. People say I am stuborn. I would like to tell everyone, I AM NOT STUBBORN. You get that. Whatever you think is your problem, not mine. I am not stubborn and I shall not budge from my stance.
24. I wish I had spent more time with my dadaji and nanaji. They were the greatest men I know of.
25.I love my famiy. I wish I die before them.

a brief story

2009-12-24T07:12:00.001-08:00

Sitting late in an advertising agency makes you do all kinds of things. Of which the most frequent activity is also the most futile. Thinking crap. Stuff that gets you frowns and glares in your boss' room, but virtual laughs on such blogging forums
Stuff that only feeds your ego and creativity, but is of no actual use to any living form. Servicing included.

So one such thought occured to me while holding a brief, while I was wearing one. There are many a common things between the two briefs.
Firstly, let me, for the benefit of those who are not from the world of advertising, explain what a brief is. It is a useless piece of paper handed over to the creatives by the servicing as a document that contains vital information for making an ad. But it is actually a quick and easy way for the servicing guys to feel as if they are part of the team and are actually making a contribution. That piece of paper is then generally used as a cover for wrapping chewing gums that have lost their taste or to make paper planes. Sadly, the thoughts never take off.

Coming back to the topic, these two briefs ( I am guessing we all know what the other brief is. Hint: its not a synonym for short, but quite close to shorts) have a lot in common. So here is a juxtaposition( please visit http://www.dictionay.com/) analysis of the two.

Firstly, one is full of loopholes, and the other just has holes. The loopholes get us in a lot of trouble and as for the holes, we just have to get us in. In either cases, we are left with no choice.

While one brief is supposed to throw light on important parts of making an ad, the other makes sure the important parts stay in dark. Unless you choose otherwise. I shall stay clear of the details regarding this one. Children below 18 have access to net these days.

Both have many forms. Pay a visit to my workstation and come to closet, and i shall show you enough specimens of both.

And lastly, you need to look past one to get done with your JOB. Similarly you have to do away with one to...well I'll just BLOW past this one!

Closest one

2009-12-21T03:14:00.000-08:00

Everytime I wanted to update my blog, some kind of problem would always creep up. From lack of thoughts, laziness, lack of thoughts, work to lack of thoughts, you name it.

All these roadblocks clearly pointed to just one person. The one closest to me. To whom I dedicate this post.
This person has been with me through thick and thin, despite my constant efforts to ward him off . He has always taken me for a ride and made sure it wasn't smooth at all.

Whenever I was unable to park my car right before an important meeting, he was there. Sat nicely in the cars occupying all the empty spots.
Every time the guy in front of me in the line got the last ticket for the last show, it would turn out to be him. And along with the last ticket for the last show, he would also have the last laugh.

He opens my fly before a big date. He leaves an earring that doesn't belong to the girl I am driving with, in my car, on the dashboard and makes sure I go over a pothole.
He turns green into red when I am running late for office. Something that leaves me red and green. Red for the fury and green with envy at my lack of power to undo the things he is capable of doing.

It's because of him I walk with my head turned sideways. As I am forever looking behind my shoulder. Only to find him walking beside me, as always.

He hates me I guess, but I don't. And why should I? I am constantly in his mind. He is always there for me, although I don't want him to, but that's another thing. He teaches me not be happy all the time, for I shall not enjoy happiness if it gets too much. He makes sure he is always stocked up with sorrow, so that he can shove it up my ass. Maybe that's his way of making it disappear.

This one is for you, murphy!

The Delhi Dilemma

2009-03-18T02:02:00.001-07:00

It doesn’t happen very often, but whenever I am faced with the question, “so where are you from”, I am a little dumbfounded. I don’t know why, but I want to avoid this question. Not because I am ashamed of the place I belong to, but to put it simply, I am not sure where I belong.

Born to a Punjabi father and a Gujrati mother, I am somewhere in between. So that must mean, geographically I am from Madhya Pradesh, but generally speaking I belong nowhere. I am at home whether I am in Gujarat or Punjab, but at the same time equally lost.
Maybe I belong to a different breed called - the Delhite. We delhite’s have nothing to call our own. Put more brutally, we are like parasites sucking on the city as a host. Our territory begins in Rohini and ends with the M.G. road. We cling on to nothing but our forefathers’ long left land long and long forgotten culture. So, what is it that we delhite’s represent culturally? What do we stand for?

To a girl, a delhite stands for a lecherous creature that has no respect for women on the streets. To a south Indian we are those superior bastards who look down upon everything that is a shade darker. To a mumbaikar we are more like competition. To a Bengali we are inhabitants of a state that has no soul, no history.

But to a regular normal punju-gujju boy who now proudly wears the tag of a delhite, we are a bunch of misfits who are basically misunderstood. We have a false image that always sticks like a shadow behind us.

There is a reason a Bengali director makes movies only about Delhi. There is a reason Delhi is called Dil walon ki dilli. There is a reason that even without anything to call our own, we are attributed a lot of things.

As a song puts it perfectly – Yeh dilli hai mere yaar, bus ishq mohobbat pyaar. That’s all we stand for, that’s all we want to be known for. Nothing else.

In the end, this is for a friend who almost puked at the mention of a delhite.

Wait for me

2008-12-04T23:58:00.000-08:00

Watch the road and turn back once more,
Look over your shoulder and search no more,
Coz I’ll be there, m just a lil late,

As my legs are paining, can’t run faster,
Lungs are breaking, I am panting harder ,
But when I see you, its worth the wait.

So, wait for me when you reach the sky,
Wait for me when you choose to die,
Wait for me when the cool winds blow,
Wait for me when your heart is low,

Wait for me all this while,
Wait for me, oh just wait for me
The next time you smile

I am almost there, one block away,
Can fall anytime, but you just stay,
Be there when I come, be there for me.

So wait for me, when the clock ticks away,
Wait for me when you pray,
Wait for me when the guns cry loud,
Wait for me when you’re in doubt.

Wait for me all this while,
Wait for me, oh just wait for me
The next time you smile

They are blocking me, I can see you standing,
Turn to me- I scream, turn one last time,
I know you’ve waited long enough,
It’s been too late,
So, if I don’t make it in time, I hope you never wait

The man on the scooter

2008-10-03T22:50:00.000-07:00

He swooshes past you on the road. How dare he impede the road you own. The idiot that he is doesn’t know that the one with more wheels rules the streets. Yes, the very same faceless man hiding behind his wizer, to protect himself from an accident or curses, only he knows.
Why was he speeding anyway? Is he running late for a movie? That’s understandable. Was he late for work? Huh, the lazy retard must have got up late. Its people like him that make the streets unsafe. Zipping across between cars. So what if his scooter fits in smoothly between two sedans, he has no business to disturb others.
It’s so distracting for drivers, busy on the phone with a friend planning a party this coming weekend. I mean come on, the busy lives we lead don’t leave us with much time to catch up on.

He deserves all the malicious words thrown at him, so does his mom and his sister.

Suddenly he bumps in to you, how could he not see you were talking to your friend at the backseat? Was he blind?

Damn! The headlight is broken, and you are in big trouble because your dad will ban your rights to a car for the next 2 months. So unfair, you didn’t even do anything, it was his fault.
You scream at him, but he doesn’t. Why would he, it was his fault. No, wait, he is still down on the road. Not moving at all, just lying still. Is he breathing? How much will a headlight cost? Is he alive? Will dad kill you for damaging the car?

As you ponder over your car, his family awaits the arrival of their son for lunch.
As you weep over your probable strangled freedom, his family cries over nothing. They just cry...

Stick it up for saturday

2008-09-29T05:47:00.000-07:00

For ages sunday has been the official flagbearer for everything that stands for leisure. Think of the word Holiday and your mind zooms directly on a sunday. Sunday is awaited with great enthusiasm irrespective of age. School children, corporate bigshots all look forward to the 7th day of the week as if its the last of their life.

In all this, we all miss out on one important day, a day that does not get its due recognition, a day that is not shown the respect it deserves, a day that is called Saturday.

Saturday lays the foundation for humans to build a grand sunday on. Saturday does all the hard work by providing people with a day to recover from all the head-less chicken like running of the previous 5 days. Saturday allows people to plan for a sunday. Imagine if there was no saturday, the cushion for a perfect transition from a gruelling week to a chilling sunday would be lost.

Why is sunday so over hyped anyways? Sunday fills you up with depression, as you know the week starts the very next day. it's because of a sunday that people all over the world hate monday. i mean, what has monday done?poor fellow. All he did was follow sunday.

Saturday takes all the brunt of the week where as sunday very nicely licks up the adulation.

Its time we give saturday its credit thats long overdue.

P.S: For all those living in middle east, just relpace sunday with friday and saturday with thursday and the mesage will not be lost on you.

You didn't succeed

2008-09-14T00:19:00.000-07:00

Put bombs in bins, cycles and all places imaginable you cowards. Kill as many people you want, we are a billion strong nation, we will cope with it. But, for a change show us your F***ing faces, if its a bloody fight then come forward beating your chest and then we will see who has the last laugh, in this case a last cry.
your bombs were not loud enought to shatter our hearts, your bombs weren't strong enough to hurt a nation wounded with poverty and corruption, your bombs are as useless as your plans.
Want to kill more?
I will still go to GK -1 market to hang out, i would still have nimbu soda at prince pan, i will still go to CP, i will still roam aimlessly in the centre park and i will make sure i go to gaffar market now. Are you listening cowards?? target me, you know where i will be, you know where the whole of delhi will be. OUT ON THE F***ING STREETS. target us for all we care because we won't let you succeed,ever.

Blossoming irritation

2008-07-18T05:13:00.000-07:00

The next time I receive a useless bouquet of pretty flowers that last no more than a fly's life, I swear the one who presents them is going home hungry. the fixation that people have with giving out flowers is beyond me. Gifts on special occasions are supposed to be cherished forever, or atleast a few years/months. What's the use of a gift that will become rat feed 3 days later.Or if the flowers are lucky, they will become manure and help their extended family expand.

I guess people who give flowers as gifts are the laziest people on the face of this planet. And when I say lazy,it includes both mind and body. For starters, they are lazy enough not to think of the perfect gift for the person sponsoring their food and wine for the evening. Secondly, if some manage to overcome this mind boggling question that has eluded the most brilliant of minds over the years, they won't bother lifting their sorry arse to get that prized possession.

Don't people notice the hatred and curses dripping from the receiver's eyes while he/she happily accept a burden they can easliy do without on a joyous day? And the worst part is that 90% of our relatives/ffriends belong to this breed of flower gifting people. No matter how good looking the flowers are, you can't stuff all of them in your home. imagine going for a dump in the morning only to be bothered by a lily tickling your crack.I mean after a point one runs out of space.

I guess now you have a fairly good idea of what not to bring on my birthday or else you go hungry(refer to the first line in case you got lost in between my rumbling)

Nothing will forever last

2008-07-10T00:46:00.000-07:00

To live for a second,
to die in another,
the time in between,
lasts forvere.

You live for a lifetime,
put everything at stake,
when you have shambles to yourself,
you realize - I should've been long awake.

To hate for a moment,
can destroy two worlds,
was it justified,
the thought still lurks.

You Cherish the old time,
and it makes us weak,
don't remmeber them,
makes them bleak.

you die for a lifetime,
erasing your past,
don't cling on to me my love,
nothing will forever last...

LEST WE FORGET

2008-07-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

The plane that took off never landed,
so cruel was the blow of fate,
wiped off a generation never to be born again,
their play was a spectacle to behold,
as the brave eight now play with god,
Fifty years since that cold fateful day,
eyes are moist, tears forvever stay

Road I took

2008-07-04T00:28:00.000-07:00

A long road beckons my steps,
some voices fuel my reluctance to tread forward.
The sounds are selish and malicious,
beseeching me to probe the unknown,
for a cause they know themselves.

I cry, I shout , I plead,
but the cruelty of the hands that push pay no heed,
I don't look back, accepting my fate,
coz my destiny awaits, on the treachorous road I take.

Living my blog

2008-07-03T22:31:00.000-07:00

Low work pressure makes you do all kinds of fun things. But, the fun things end after some time when they aren't fun anymore. That's the time your mind starts exploring all the untouched and useless corners that have never been visited before. Recently, on such a trip my mind stumbled upon a weird theory - I am living my blog. I discovered to my schock, the uncanny resemblence that my blog shares with my life.

For instance after its creation my blog was lying idle, being wasted just like my life. I would call my life a waste in the initial years for the simple reason that I never did things I wanted to. I never realised that missing out on the things I cherished would leave a scar so deep that it will hurt forever. Regrets can leave even the most intrepid of souls wailing like a kid.

Moving on I decided to do something with my life. Do something that held some meaning to me. Something I wanted to do. Had had enough of people guiding me for 'my betteerment'. So I picked up advertising. Just as I finally decided to paint my blog with my thoughts ( life is sometimes all about sick cliches).

Then came a time when after a strong gush of youthful exuberance and the tireless writing on my blog, I was left with a blogger's block. Ditto was happening with my life. A nice but short period of time was quickly over and I was left with nothing but vaccum.

Currently my life and blog are walkin hand in hand. I am trying hard to look for topics to write ( you would have got it by now, didn't you?) at the same time looking at my life from a distance, trying to look beyond the present and workinghard to make something out of it...

Auto - MAD-dic

2008-06-26T23:10:00.000-07:00

The last time I checked the stats, it said that Delhi alone boasts of more cars than Mumbai,Calcutta, Chennai combined. If that's the case then how come there are no AutoRickshaws available in the national capital when you need them.

9:30am - I step out of my home without my trusted Kiney. For some reason I had to take an auto today on my way to a friends place.

9:35am - It starts to rain as soon as I am about to reach the Auto stand.
Standing on the road without any tool for shelter, standing next to some wiser-than-me people who were armed with umbrellas, raincoats, newspapers etc I started the hopeful process of sticking my hand out to signal the auto wallas of my interest to take a ride.

9:36am - A dozen autos pass by me and the wiser-than-me gang, with the passengers giving us sorry looks which were at the same time mocking.

9:37am - After being ignored to the hilt I decided to start walking towards a signal hoping for luck to change.

9:40am - I reach the signal. But sadly passenger-less autos did not. Rain picked up speed.

9:41-55am - I am still standing with the wiser-than-me gang, who by that time had also reached the signal.Lazy bums.

9:56 am - I spot an auto coming towards me at a slow pace, which generally means it is empty. I stretch my neck that extra inch and narrow my eyelids for a closer and cleaner view.THE AUTO IS EMPTY! Oh sweet lord! What could go wrong now??!!

9:56:40 am - Things change. Never count you autos before they stop...NEAR YOU.

9:57am - The auto stops. Yes it does. But 20 metres away from me, near one of the wiser-than-me lazy creature who took ages to come here.

9:58 am - My temperature rose as the rain poured down.

9:59 am - Then something miraculous happened. I spotted another empty auto in a space of 3 mins. This time leaving nothing to fate I ran towards it. I am sure the wiser-than-me gang also saw me running. Who is wiser now, eh!!! Lazy bums.

10:00 am - I tell my friend I am going to be a bit late...

Our borders are unsafe - concluding part

2008-06-25T03:37:00.001-07:00

The torture starts....
All lowly people were asked to fill up the amphitheatre and all foreigners were dragged away from the maddening crowd to the safety and comfort of the space offered by the BSF jawans. Packed like sardines it was a sight to witness, but, only from a distance. People falling over each other, pushing the person in front, at the back,on the left, on the right and shouting unpleasant words at evey person who returned the favour. All this while the strong BSf 'jawans' were looking after the foreigners, the set of people whose forefathers were the sole reason why Wagha was a border and why 100 meters from my seat was a different country.

Why were the hordes of people not stopped from entering when the arena was already overflowing with people, ill words, sweat and discomfort still escapes me. HAving finally kicked and shoved a dozen people we sat down thinking what else could happen. What else? Fate had a big plan to ruin our day.

A man from the BSF camp holding a microphone came out from a BSF office like structure and greeted everyone.He did not get the response he desired for obvious reasons, so the guy had to repeat his pleasantries 3 more times asking the exhausted crowd to shout 'jai hind'. I wish i could shout or piss in his ears the fact that ' We don't have a mic in our hands and we haven't placed our asses in comfy chairs for over 2 hours'.

Moving on from the shouting display of tired patriotism, our friend with the mic then came out with two big tricolours which was greeted with, yes, loud cheers! The two flags were then passed on to random people who were asked to run with the flags towards the main gate. Why it was done, I have no clue. Young boys, young girls, old women, old men, school kids, two marathi aunties etc all got a chance to run a lap towards Pakistan with Indian national flag. The BSF jawans were still looking while thousands continued to push, shove, kick, punch.
That was not all.There were large speakers playing patriotic songs from yester years. But I guess the BSF jawans who were looking probably had enough of those numbers. So on came songs by Jazzy B, Sukhbir and some other random cheap flicks.Just perfect for the occasion.

To add to the omnipresent commotion the BSF 'jawans' who were still looking, started selling juices and chips.This had a snowball effect on the hunger stricken and thirsty public. People climbed more on other bodies not hungry for chips. More kicks flew, more anonymous punches were thrown, and the people who were supposed to be stopping all this were the instigators.

For the first time and hopefully the last time I wanted to be on the other side of the border. Where there were just a handfull of wise people who had come to watch the famous ceremony. No crowd problem, no ill mannered talk, nothing at all that would upset you on a joyous and happy day.

Banging our concerns on the BSF 'jawans' was as futile as asking Himesh to use his throat to sing/ shout or whatever. So after the 40th time when the BSF 'jawans' overlooked our pleas to ask people to sit down let alone behave, we decided to embark on another journey - that would lead us out of the arena.

My only concern is that a big post of BSF could not manage a simple show that they are running for so many years. People who had good intentions, people who were unarmed, people who came to have a good time can't be so damn difficult to control. The inefficiency and the lack of management or effort was clearly, brutally exposed that day. And like the typical Indian that I am, I promised myself to make all sorts of phone calls, emails or whatever it takes and come again to this place armed with a VIP pass.

AAAHHHH.....big load off my chest. RANT OVER

Our borders are not safe

2008-06-24T23:51:00.000-07:00

Run people, pack your bags, apply for immigration visas to Bangladesh, Myanmar or any nearby place where you can quickly escape, because our borders are not safe anymore.

Flashback: 2 weeks ago I went for a short trip to Amritsar. And like all the 20,06,345 tourists that flock the city every weekend, I decided to stop at Wagha border. I can't describe in words my level of excitement at being at a place that has witnessed so much during the course of history. Partition, wars, brotherhood, you name it and that tiny spec of land has got it all. We reached the border around 3 in the afternoon only to realise the gates would open at 4:30. With truckloads of time to kill we decided to murder it the Indian way, by having cold drinks, tea and challi( we call it Bhutta or corn).

Being at a place of such importance comes with a price. In our case it was the exorbitantly over priced bhutta. Not willing to pay 20 bucks for a bonsai looking piece of corn I decided to use the cunning emotional Indian inside me. 5 mins of blabbing to the man selling corn how it is my privilege to buy corn from the last corn seller of India. He finally did with my persuasion what I did with his corn, he bought it.

Oh and by the way you will have to bear with the whole story to reach the part where I reveal how our borders are not safe.

The next thing to battle before you enter the gates are street vendors selling VCD/DVD of the famous hoisting of the flag ceremony at Wagha border. The poor guys are blessed with just a 10 second memory. What else explains the fact that the same vendor you refused 3 mins ago comes again and again and again to sell you a CD. His lame attempts to hard sell us his product reminded me of my own job where people try to sell their ideas. So, relatively the CD guy was sweeter than most hard skinned people in advertising.

So finally the clock struck 4:30 and the gates were opened to all innocent people and foreigners who after a few hours would think of themselves as slaughter lambs. Everybody was rushing in towards the amphitheatre carrying their wailing kids, water bottles, food packets, bags and litres of sweat mixed with excitement.

After I was frisked thoroughly by BSF personnel at three different levels, I was really impressed by their efficiency. How painfully and frustratingly I would have to eat my thoughts and crush my instant admiration for them later.

Torture begins......to be continued

NO - Me better

2008-06-24T01:20:00.000-07:00

Finally the day has arrived when this 3 month old blog loses its virginity!! After pestering myself obsessively in my mind, going through countless guilt attacks of occupying cyber space and not doing anything fruitful with it, I have won the battle against my laziness to put pen to paper ( You know what I mean).

Along with the mental pressure that comes with writing a useless & aimless blog, comes greater anticipation of how people will react to my thoughts. Just thinking about torturous eyes of people who are equally jobless scanning away my posts will continue to haunt me. I might also pretend to put up a brave front and contradict myself by saying that I don't give a flying monkey's arse to what people think. But, that's not true, because I give a damn.

One rule that I should define at the beginning is that critical comments are not welcome. If you have a problem with my post - keep it to yourself or just sugar coat it nicely. For all those who have taken offence already, I am just kidding!

I am someone who thinks of himself as a jack of all trades and master of none/some!! I have an ego bigger than most big things in the world. Pamela anderson are you listening? Although, it is not something I am proud of, rather it is something I wish I could cut off like a good for nothing body part.

Blessed with a good sense of humour(at least I believe so) and an equal amount of extra weight I am a person with a really short temper. But only for those who are weaker than me! For all the brawny and strong lads I am very forgiving!

Attaching myself to things/people easily remain one of my biggest flaws along with thinking about issues bothering me over and over again. I can give the term overthinker a valid reason to commit suicide.

So that was a 'little' briefer on what I wanted to say or rather wanted you to read about me.