Tilted neck, changing perception

The poets lied to us. They made a mockery of our constitution by glorifying pain. There's nothing noble about suffering. Grief sucks. It always did and it always will. Words can pretend to be a balm for the wounded souls but how many can read Maya Angelou? Pain is what we are made up of. Pinch? Hurts. Slap? Hurts. Punch? Let's not go there. Even frank words and unscripted kisses hurt at times. What's noteworthy though is pain creates. No success worth celebrating happened without a heavy dosage of discomfort. Having said that, stay tuned to something really great from my end because i've badly sprained my neck in mysterious fashion. And as we all know by now, who works in mysterious ways? Yea, right. Pain.

Theory of age relativity

Theories. Most of them don't even know what they are up to but that doesn't stop them from existing. Yes, that's one of the side-effects of thinking. So here's my two cent about something that might explain why some survive while others don't. It can't be proven scientifically but that's also the reason why it's worth a thought. Here we go: What if there's a fixed quota when it comes to life (in terms of seconds or minutes or days or weeks or months or years or decades or...of course)? In other words, our existence as a species can't be stretched beyond certain point. All in all, just a matter of maintaining balance. Children take birth; about 3,75,000 on a daily basis. People die; about 1,70,000 everyday. What if there's a math hidden in there somewhere? Yea, yea, yeah. At any given point of time, more people have died on this planet than those who are left behind. But what if some people die and their could-have-been age is transferred to somebody else's account? Like inheritance of existence. Or something close. It's like saying food never goes to waste because even microorganisms also have dreams—and micro-stomachs to fill. What if imbalance works in mysterious ways. We just haven't figured out yet. And hopefully, we won't. Ever.

NB: Just a thought. No need to kill me for wasting your not-so-valuable time.

Unfinished business

Local trains are fodder for a great deal of entertainment… sometimes, even when nothing happens! Recently two men squeezed into a packed train at Kurla, and one happened to elbow the other. As is inevitable, an argument ensued—although, if common sense had prevailed there was no need for even a mild exchange of words. But sense is not common, specially in crowded locals. So, the encounter spiralled into a full-fledged altercation with one man challenging the other to get out at the next station and settle it with fists. That may sound like a polite invitation but it was simply because there was no space for maara-maari in the compartment. As it happens, the exigencies of commuter travel prevented the dust-up, as one man was going to Chembur and the other was unwilling to accompany him. And thus the other commuters missed a free dose of entertainment.

Mind games

You never forget your first-ever headache—especially if you are me. It's like your brain losing its virginity. Or something fancy like that. The month was February and i was in my sixth grade. We were in Shirdi and that's when my head begun to burst. Very literally. I could feel the pain so intensely that it outmatched any other kind of discomfort i'd experienced till then. I always thought i was special but my debut with headache was not what specialness meant to me. Having skipped breakfast that morning and with the sun dancing on my head, it was one heck of a horror. The lunch didn't help my case either. Medicine was out of question "for a little boy". After tolerating the day, an hour before sunset, a miracle happened. We reached Panchvati and my amma asked me to step into the cold water of river Godavari and splash my face. Believe it or not, the headache disappeared. Just like that. I can still go back to the relief i felt that evening. As (annoyingly) usual, she was right. This piece of memory is so ingrained in my head that that splitting headache has become a sweet sketch of my wandering mind.

Cut to 2014. 

Of late, i've been experiencing this tinging sensation in the centre of my head. As if someone is hammering a particular point again and again with a needle. The pain is sharp and seldom lasts for more than a minute. It's not migraine. My physician believes i think too much and unnecessarily stress myself with the task of making sense out of everything that's happening around us. This is the same guy whom i thought was a dear friend 10 years ago. Turns out i shouldn't have had all those freeflowing conversations with him. He has clearly given up on me. Moreover, it's difficult to trust a patient who initially hated body art and is now carelessly tattooed. Yet, i tried telling him that i used to be fabulous with my memory, with names and dates while I fumble nowadays. That glorious era of being quick with data looks like archived for good. He thinks i think too much (again). Maybe it's plain karma for all the people i've disappointed with my wayward behaviour. If not, then it's just another phase where my brain decides to reassert itself. Everybody, including wetware, needs a break. I can only hope it doesn't tamper with my memories. Memories so sharp they'd cut you in half. At least the rare ones in which miracles indeed took place.

By the way

Wouldn't it be awesome if our office wasn't stationary. Like it kept moving from one place to another. No fixed address. No fancy pincode. What our auto-rickshawallahs are privy to. They leave their houses not knowing where they are going to land. So, although they are working, their workplace is basically the wide open world (and narrow streets). Do notice that the rickshawallahs are a kinder breed when compared to their counterparts in cabs. They seldom unacknowledge your existence. Taxiwallahs are notorious for a reason. It has something to do with their right hands perched on the front door. It's thoroughly sunburned. Or maybe this theory is mistaken because they must have turned habitual over time. Or maybe i don't know what i'm talking. Maybe, neither do you. Anyway, go back to work.

Promise

We are what we are,
We're going to be what we'd like to be,
Together—with a capital T.
If not today, then maybe tomorrow;
If not tomorrow, then maybe the day after;
If not then, then maybe sometime later.
Wait...
What if our minds are already one?
What if our skins don't need introduction?
What if we've been together since ages?
Barely knowing the failure of the space in between...
Hmm? Sounds interesting.
Sooner or later, things will fall in place,
To guide us to a space far better than this.
Where peace is galore and worries, few.
And that's a promise made to me, not you.

A not-so-open letter

Dear NaMo, 

            Let's begin with some honesty. I never really liked you. Despite all the reports suggesting that you were taking Gujarat to new heights of development, I always felt you were way too cocky. Humility was grossly missing in your persona. Maybe that's also the reason why you never felt the need to apologize for the loss of human lives during your tenure. [No, no, I'm not referring to earthquake.] Any other chief minister would have found it morally wrong to continue on his chair after what really happened. You were different. You said you weren't complicit to what ensued in the name of religion. Unfortunately, the majority sided with you saying you were protecting Hindu—if not Gujarati—asmita. To your credit, even the Supreme Court (although via a special investigation unit) found you clean. 

          Good for you.

         Today, you are the prime minister of the country. First PM to have born after India gained independence. First PM to have the fortune to call up his ma and inform her about his promotion. First PM, perhaps, to have earned so much love and admiration thanks to his incorruptible image. And that's where your real test begins. You've been entrusted with something that's much greater than your ego. Millions of people are expecting a change that might alter their life for ages to come. I hope you deliver on your promises. I hope you maintain your vision and not give into pressure or sycophancy. Going by your party's manifesto, there  is indeed hope. There are some trivial sentences there as well regarding Hindutva and temples. Speaking of which, Hindutva doesn't need politics (or politicians) to thrive. It's the other way round actually. And as far as temples are concerned, there are more than enough in this country. The roads leading to them are potholes-ridden though. A reason strong enough to set your priorities right. It's either going to be full-fledged development or mockery of people's aspiration. The choice is yours. Just like your legacy. Your sense of history is a bit distorted. I hope the same is not true about the future.

           Love is blind. After all, people blindly accepted that you've got a 56 inch chest when you've got 44. They also accepted that you were a chaiwallah when the fact is that your dad was. You were just a student who helped him in your free time. It's alright. What's the point in having a spectacle without some theatrical lies? If greatness has to emerge out of white lies, so be it. 

          The stage is yours now. Your rivals have gracefully left it. Perform and stagger us. And while you are it, please ensure that the reforms take place as early as possible. Last decade was lost on us. We can't afford to lose another. You are not know for saying sorry anyway so you better do what you are expected to before it's too late.

             Lastly, please go low on the rhetorics and high on work. 

             Good luck to you as well as us.  

                                                                                                   Sincerely, 

                                                 An acche din aficionado                                          

The hole in us

When you put someone ahead of yourself, you tend to feel you're doing it out of love. And when you do that, you give away a piece of you. A part that completes you. If that person returns the affection, the emotional equilibrium is maintained. If not, you're bound to be dismayed. Because you cared to love. Because you dared to be naked. You were selfless and mad at the same time. Not exactly a wise thing to do but something you end up doing due to absolute abandon. You take a chance with yourself, let alone the other person. Your soul stretches itself while your mind takes a flight. It's almost magical. The closest one can get to being oneself with respect to another. People think it's the pursuit of happiness. It's not. Pursuit of togetherness, perhaps. Sorrow is an important ingredient, you see? Much like that piece of yours that goes missing when you're in love. Poets call it heart. If it weren't for aesthetic reasons, it could have very well been liver or pancreas too. Anyway, you miss it before you get it back. Hopefully.

Height of irony

He was in his early 70s and arguably the oldest laundryman in the neighbourhood. Last week, he dropped dead while ironing someone's shirt. He was found with his head and torso flat on the table. For someone who thought he'll work right into his 100s, it was bit of a surprise to witness an otherwise healthy working man dying without a note of caution. As a sign of respect, all the other—and comparatively much younger—laundrymen decided to take the day off. That's what working class community is all about, right? So, shutters were rolled down and his departure was sincerely mourned. But nobody came close to grief as much as that guy whose shirt bore a burning hole in the middle.

Leaving to stay longer

What happens to words? No, not the ones written down or tweeted or documented in other forms. I mean the words that are spoken out, either softly or out loud. Where do they go? Do they accumulate somewhere? Or do they reincarnate themselves at will? How far can the wind carry the burden of words? Is there a reason why humans are blessed with languages while other living beings are recognized by their calls? Or is it actually a curse? Besides, we made our entry with our usual annoying wail, didn't we?

To NOT answer all these questions, here's one more addition to my list of falling-flat-on-face theories: Words turn into stars and shine. Truer the words, brighter they shine. False ones try to breakthrough but they fail—unlike on Earth—as the laws of sky don't suit them. The sincere ones remain eternal.

Damn. This theory doesn't work in polluted Bombay where the stars have already left. And only the ever-changing moon is left.

Conversations

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Mum's the paragraph

Medieval Europe often baffled itself with this question: What makes the world go round and round? Instead of concentrating on Heliocentric theories, the thinkers should have looked for answers close home. Mother. Or should it be mothers? They ensure the spinning of our planet. [Sounds unlikely? Well, your birth was unlikely too.] This phenomenon isn't a contribution from humankind alone. It's generic to other breathing creatures as well. Motherhood is the reason why Earth can still claim to be hatke. One doesn't have to be mamma's boy to acknowledge this fact. It's self-evident. Look around. Seek the purest form of love, devoid of derivatives or moribundity. Lo! Mother's love, it is. She might not be the world's greatest mom but she is yours to keep. And it's not just today. Science may disagree but she compels Earth's rotation/revolution/evolution/etc day in and day out.

Peace of mind

I have only one thing to say today. I've got absolutely nothing unimportant enough to stare at. Nor do you.

Enjoy your weekend... before going back to slavery!

Liquid friendship

In Western films, they often show complex protagonists taking a shower. And interestingly enough, there's nothing sexual about the representation. Not much of their body is seen except their upper part. Water, preferably hot—falls on the character's body, usually in slo-mo—for few seconds, if not more. I often wondered what water signified in such accompanied-by-sombre-music sequences. To my guess, it signifies a friend. Someone who holds you, encapsulates you and keeps you safe. Momentarily, even. It doesn't strike a conversation but its sprinkling sound is reassuring. It caresses your skin without judging you. Touch, as somebody recently made me realize, indeed says much more than words. However, wasting water is a sin too.

An excuse to be alive

There's something about 27 Club. It wants you to kill yourself. But you won't, not because you're classically lazy but because, contrary to what your convictions suggest, they won't remember you for long. Less than a handful may while the rest will move on. Speaking of which, does it matter whether you are alive in people's memory or not? Does anything matter? Cliché tells us that nothing matters except those few beautiful moments that greet us every now and then like an untimely breeze. And being human (and inherently selfish) we don't wish to give up on them. Maybe that's why we are still alive, refusing to be members of illustrious clubs that might just accept us for who we are—dead and gone. 

Q&A

Q: What's worse than being sad? A: Not knowing the reason why you're sad.
Q: What's common to God and Indians? A: Both are everywhere.
Q: What's worse than being mediocre? A: Getting addicted to mediocrity.
Q: Why do footballers dive? A: Because the grass is greener on the other side.
Q: When is Wikipedia going to be self-sufficient? A: Google.
Q: What's common to Ban Ki-moon and i? A: We do very little other than calling for an end to violence.
Q: What's the difference between an old and a new joke? A: You. 
Q: What's common to Ganpati and Terminator? A: When they say "I'll be back", they mean it. 
Q: How many tweeps does it take to change a bulb? A: Depends on the number of RTs it will fetch.
Q: What's common to each one of us? A: Others.
Q: What did the wise man tell the fucking idiot? A: "Nothing."
Q: What do we want to be? A: Right.
Q: What's the greatest factor about being a non-taxpaying citizen? A: Alive.
Q: What's the capital of Death? A: Life.
Q: What's common to all of them? A: Each one of them is different.
Q: Why do relationships have a name? A: So that we know what to call it when it's about to begin or about to end.
Q: What's common to an iceberg and a moron? A: Both don't have a clue what they're doing. 
Q: How do you recognize whether a given person is an idiot? A: S/he will let you know.
Q: What do you get when you cross Fight Club with Barfi? A: A set of rules you don't talk about.
Q: What's common to Big B and Bigg Boss? A: Both are trying their level best to bring shudh Hindi back on TV.
Q: What do you get when you cross Godfather with Sachin? A: A retirement offer you can't refuse.
Q: What's better than Gulzar? A: His poems read in his own voice.
Q: What's common between biscuits and thoughts? A: They shouldn't be half-baked no matter what.
Q: What's worse than religion? A: The use of the word 'major' in front of it.
Q: What sets AR Rahman apart from the rest of the Bollywood musicians? A: AR Rahman.
Q: What's common to Angry Birds and Eminem? A: Nobody knows what enraged them in the first place.
Q: What's the difference between a good boss and a bad boss? A: The bad boss doesn't give a damn about this answer.
Q: What are men doing in menstruation? A: Nothing, as usual.
Q: What's common to BBC and tweeps? A: Repetition.
Q: What's worse than having blues, migraine, sore throat, work and chapped lips? A: Nothing.
Q: What's common to you and the person you could have been? A: Everything.
Q:  What did one sperm say to another? A: Fuck you!
Q: What's worse than not knowing what to do with your life? A: Knowing exactly what to do but not doing it.
Q: What's worse than having a beer belly? A: Being a teetotaler.  
Q: What's the basic difference between Milind Soman and Forrest Gump? A: Forrest stopped running after a while.
Q: What's worse than getting out of a crowded train at Kurla? A: Getting into a crowded train at Kurla.
Q: What'd be worse than this world coming to an end? A: You getting left behind.
Q: What differentiate us from most other mammals? A: Complex brain, love for music, zeal, opposable thumbs, worry and social media.
Q: What'd have happened to us if there weren't any social networking sites? A: Life, perhaps.
Q: So who claimed the Battle of the Sexes? A: No won.
Q: What do we do when we've got a strong opinion but don't know what to do with it? A: Tweet.
Q: What's worse than finding a lift in a two-storey building? A: Sedentary people using it.
Q: What do you call an equally irritating sibling? A: Competition.
Q: What's common to Indian rupee and the rest of us? A: Victims of hidden depression.
Q: What she doesn't want to be? A: Lied.
Q: What do you call lakadbagga in English? A: Tiger Woods.
Q: What's common to assholes and air? A: Everywhere. 
Q: Why cricketers unnecessarily dive? A: You too would love to do the same on grass like that.
Q: What's common to Indian Army and Catholic Church? A: Both tend to protect the perpetrators, not the victims.