Choice best served cold

It's that time of the weather when icecream and popsicles mean a lot to our throat. The lil' girl in this story remembers her childhood as those days when the icecreamwallah meant much more. He'd arrive in her neighbourhood with his box of icecream rolling on small wheels accompanied by a ringing bell. His entry wasn't as ordinary as it seemed to adult eyes. He was indubitably the star of the summer afternoon as kids would encircle him. His tiny customers didn't know how to maintain decorum because some things were much more important than discipline. It was a matter of taste and (almost) existential crisis: Kids squabbling about one flavour over another was routine for a reason. Just like grownups silently wonder what to order at a restaurant. Our minisized heroine happened to be of the silent type so the noise wouldn't make much of a difference to her choice. She knew what she wanted...for the most part, that is. She had tried orange a few days ago so it was not going to be orange again. She wasn't fond of milk so white was out of question. She liked the plum-y coloured one but she wasn't really sure whether it'd be worth the bet. What if it disappointed her the way pomegranate disappointed her as a fruit? She couldn't go back and demand another one, now could she? The parental quota was restricted to just one. So chocolate flavour it'd be—usually—followed by her cute young triangular smugface. 

Neither drink nor miss

I've got nothing against alcohol. I just don't like it mixing with my blood stream. I may not be the most sensible person around but i prefer to be in control of my faculties. I've spent more than a quarter of a century without it (if one excuses the occasional cough syrups) and i intend to continue doing so for the rest of my time. In the meanwhile, i've got nothing against those who consume it either—anymore. It's their liver (which is deservedly called so on the virtue of performing 500 bodily functions in order to keep us alive) so who am i to judge? However, i thoroughly resent it when somebody with a drink in his hand at a social do goes "You should try at least once". 

Here's the deal: You never try anything JUST ONCE. It isn't within human nature to quit after just one sip. Or bite. Or anything else for that matter. Our curiosity has a way with us. Which is why i find it remarkably stupid when somebody says "You can't possibly know if you haven't tried" with pretentious confidence.

Well, i know, sir. 

Just like you know that a cock in your mouth isn't good for you. You never had to suck one to be 100% sure that it isn't for you, right?
Exactly my point.

And the same applies to you too, miss.

Have you tried anal? 

OK, let's not get in there. 

A matter of choice?

If you grew up on Bollywood films too, you'd remember a dialogue—"Pyaar sirf ek baar hota hai"—that resonated with the binary nature of love. It's either one or none. Therefore, writers were naive last millennium. They propagated the idea of love happening just once, which automatically suggested that there must be only one person per life. 

But, but, but... that was in the past!

As of now, the dialogue could safely be upgraded to "Pyaar sirf ek baar nahi balki kahi baar ho sakta hai...aur woh bhi ek hi waqt mein". Which means that love can happen not only once but also to many simultaneously. If that's hard to digest, you're missing on the timeline gossip. People on Twitter come up with all kinds of rubbish as long as it suits their intellectual convenience. Day in and day out, one can witness hypocrisy of the highest order served with the finest of grammar. Going back to the main topic, there are many on my TL who are of the opinion that humans are too nimble-minded to stick with the one-person-one-love (forget one-person-one-love-one-life) policy. According to them, a person can fall for several people at the same time. And if that doesn't sound preposterously ambitious, they also believe that there's nothing wrong in pursuing 'love' while already being in an active relationship. 

Isn't that cute?

Of course, everybody has a choice like Deepika Padukone so rightly said. You can always choose...to pay later. I might not be an expert in human relationships, especially the ones where bodily fluids are bartered but i know this for sure: There's one and only love. And if that's too much to ask for, then i can edit it further: There's one and only love at a time. And if you're pure enough, you'll know it when that happens. Being greedy doesn't really help the case. You may end up as Hugh Hefner with 2000+ vaginas to your credit but were you really in love? Were you even seeking anything greater than your own needs? Will you wake up feeling the finest you ever did? Or were you too busy keeping score? 

Just to put things into perspective: Imagine somebody trying to drown you with hands forcing your nape down. When you're about to lose your life, what is it that you'd crave the most? One breath of air? Or would it be more? 

But then, you won't really know the answer if you haven't let anyone take your breath away, will you?

…jis ki zubaan Urdu ki tarah

Shakti naam ke ek sahab aaj mehmaan-e-khusoosi (chief guest) ki haisiyat se tashreef farma rahe the. Shakti sahab ka taaluq junoobi Hind (south India) se hain lekin woh Mumbai mein hi rehaaish pazeer hain aur ek Angrezi akhbaar ke tafreehi shobe mein sahafi ki haisiyat se kaam karte hain.

Shakti sahab kaam toh Angrezi akhbaar mein karte hain, magar inhein Urdu se khusoosi lagao hain. Urdu ke adeebon ke tahreeron ko Roman mein likhne aur phir unka tarjuma karne ka bhi inhein shauq hain. Zaahir hai ki ye tarjuma achha toh nahin ho pata magar wo kisi na kisi se iss ki islah zaroor karwa lete hain. Haal hi mein unhone Saadat Hasan Manto ki ek mutanazo tahreer ka tarjuma kiya. Is tarjumay ki islah Najam sahab ne kiya jis mein unke taqreeban do ghante sarf huye. Is babat Najam sahab ne kaha tha ki kisi nau-sikhye ke tarjume ki islah se ziyada aasaan kaam naye sire se tajurma karna hota hai aur is mein waqt bhi ziyada nahin lagta.

Shakti sahab ki Urdu se mohabbat ka ye alam hai ki jab wo kisi aise shakhs se milte hain jo achhi Urdu jaanta hai toh wo us ke banda-e-be-daam ho jaate hain.

Baqol Gulzar: “Woh yaar mera khushboo ki tarah, jis ki zubaan Urdu ki tarah!”

Aajkal Angrezi jaannewale aise beshumaar afraad se wasta padta rehta hai jo Urdu se mar’oob nazar aate hain magar unke khayal mein Urdu seekhna aasaan kaam nahin. Yeh afraad kisi na kisi soorat mein Urdu kehnewalon se jude rehne ki koshish karte hain taaki uss zubaan ki sheerini un ke kaanon mein ras gholti rahe aur yeh zubaan-e-Mir-o-Ghalib ko sun sun kar sar dhoonte rahein.

Urdu ke aise hi maddahon ka majma har maheene ke doosrey mangal ko Prithvi Theater ke saamne waqe “Mehfil” mein dekhne ko milta hain jahaan angrezi medium se taalluq rakhnewali do khawaateen Priyanka aur Urwa ek mehfil ka ineqaad karti hain jis mein Urdu ke adeebon aur shayron ke iqtebasaat aur kalam sunaye jaate hain. Saath hi unki mutaalliq clippings bhi dikhai jaati hain. Yeh program khusoosi taur par Javed Siddiqui aur Shama Zaidi ki nigraani mein hota hai jabki Salim Arif aur Lubna Salim bhi is mein shareek hote rehte hain. “Mehfil” ka yeh silsila taqreeban do saal se jaari hai.

Urdu se mohabbat karnewale ghair-Urdu-daan tabqe ke muqaable Shakti sahab ki Urdu ke liye mohabbat kahin aage dikhai deti hai. Wajah aap suneinge toh aap khud bhi is baat ka aiteraaf kar lein ge. Is baat se sabhi waqif hain ki ajkal naujawanon ko tattoo gudwaane ka shauq hai aur phir is shauq mein ye bhi nahin dekha jata ki unhone jo kuch gudwaya hain wo is layaq hai bhi ya nahin? Shakti sahab is maamle mein auron se mukhtalif hain. Unhone apni gardan par daayen jaanib apna naam Shakti Urdu mein gudwaya hai aur wo bhi itna bada ki door se hi padne mein aajata hai.

Shakti sahab ne kuch roz qabl kaha tha ki unki ek saathi ladki Urdu seekhna chahti hai. Kya aisa koi idaara hai jo ghair Urdu daan afraad ko Urdu sikhaata hai? Humein to maloom tha ki Charni road par waqe Mahatama Gandhi Memorial Urdu Library mein Urdu sikhaaii jaati hai magar hamare dil mein khayal aaya kyun na Shakti sahab ko Najam sahab se milaya jaye. Yehi soch kar humne Shakti sahab ko “Chai Khaana” ki daawat de di. Daftar mein jis din unki chhuti hoti hai us se qabl ki raat humne unhein shab-bedaari ke liye aamaada kiya. Daftar unka Parel mein hai aur rehaaish Sanpadaa, Navi Mumbai mein (jis ke baare mein wo kehte hain ki is ka naam “Sanpada nahin, balki Sunsanpada” hona chahiye). Jab humne unpar apna iraada zaahir kiya to woh foran raazi hogaye.

Bahar-haal hum unhein lekar Chai Khaana pahonch gaye jahan Najam sahab ke elaawa Gul Muhammad, Taj sahab aur bade Shah Sahab bhi maujood the. Taqreeban paanch ghante ka saath raha. Duniya jahan ki baatein hueen. Taarruf ke baad kuch der tak Shakti sahab sirf saamay (listener) bane rahe magar phir unhone guftagu mein badh-chadh kar hissa lena shuru kar diya. Is qism ke mahaul mein baithne ka Shakti sahab ka yeh pehla magar dilchasp tajurba tha.

Maujooda haalaat mein agar kahin guftagu ho rahi ho aur siyasat ka zikr na nikle, yeh toh namumkin hai. Siyasat par guftgu karte hue Shakti sahab ko kuch jhijhak mehsoos hui lekin aahista aahista wo bhi khulna shuru ho gaye.

Kisi mehfil mein aksariyati (majority) aur aqalliyati (minority) firqay ke afraad shamil hon to wahan mazhab ki siyasat ke saath saath Hindustan aur Pakistan ka zikr bhi zaroor chhidta hai. Unhein hum logon ke khayalaat se agahi hui aur humein unke khayalaat se. Kahin par to wo moutraz nazar aaye aur kahin moutarif. Bahar-haal mahaul khush-gawaar raha.

Shakti sahab haalanki shab-bedaar nahin hain, magar uss raat neend un se koson door nazar aa rahi thi. Aakhir mein unhein station tak chhorne ke liye gaye to raaste mein bhi baat-cheet hoti rahi. Elaaqe ki sair karte hue aur station wapsi ke dauraan unhone apne smartphone se kayi tasweerein khenchin jin mein kahin maummar afraad, mehv-e-guftugu the. Kahin billiyan gosht ki dukaan mein ghoom phir raheen thi, kahin sooni galliyan aur chahal pahal thi. Akhir mein unhone kaha ki “Admi ko safar karte rehna chahiye taaki unhein naye naye logon se sabaqa pade aur nayi nayi baatein seekhta rahe.”

Yaani yeh ki chalte raho subah-o-shaam.

— Chaalbaaz

N.B. This piece was written by Farooque Ansari for Inquilab, something i cherish, maybe because something like this will never happen again. 

Zoned in

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Priorities, mate

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?

Go back to the damn Indo-Aussie match, will ya?

You will?

Better.

A LOT BETTER.

Get your priorities right...like Saudi did against Yemen this morning.

An ear-opener

Did you know that the W in wrinkle/wrist is silent the way it is in wrong? I didn't. I continued to remain ignorant enough to lick the poor W along. It was only after moving north (I'm so glad i don't use the word Gurgaon although there's nothing silent in it, especially after what happened in NH10) that i realized i take too much leeway with my pronunciation. And we aren't even talking about tricky words like denouement, subtle, Seuss, GIF, missile, Xiaomi, schedule, forte or reservoir. I mean the basic ones like ruined, Luke, truth, conscience, dude, creatures, fragrance, jinxed and ilk (no, not this word, i already knew it). This is like my entire life has been a sham! Seriously. Being shy, i remember keeping my voice to myself. But in the meantime, i kept uploading words into my big fat vocabulary without crosschecking the exact sound they are supposed to make. This must be the reason why my reading/speaking skills are so fucked up. Forget rarer terms like vacillation, propensity, atavistic, onomatopoeia, pulchritude or somewordthatisrestrictedtodictionary, i'm learning new stuff with every passing day up here. It's an amazing experience but i need to brush up my pronunciation before spitting another word in public. And for someone who is designated as communication specialist, that's the least one can ask for.  

People syndrome

People are assholes by default. But not all of them. I know this because i am people. There are more than 7 billion of my kind on this planet and one can safely assume that quite a lot are terrible beings. They succumb to human frailties like ego, envy, anger, gossip and such exciting but ridiculous energy-consumers on a daily basis. It's a way of life to be concise. However, despite all things bad and worse, people are wonderful too. One of my excuses for continuing to believe in them. Because if i give up on strangers-who-could-be-admirable, then there's no point in assuming anything. If i can assume that there are terrible people, then i should also assume that there are really nice ones too out there. Those who make you want to believe in random individuals without expecting too much. If people don't believe in people, who will? 

Give and takeaway

You feel bad for the beggars at the traffic signal, don't you? So, what do you do about it? 

Let me take a guess.

1. You offer money hesitatingly.

2. You offer money promptly.

3. You ignore them.

4. You keep looking at them without paying them. 

Yes, the word is pay in case you haven't noticed it yet. We pay them off because we feel guilty. That's the price we pay for being better off—strictly comparatively speaking—with the vehicle we are in/on at the point of confrontation. But there's a mighty catch in place. The so-called beggars are thorough professionals. They take their work seriously. Just like any of us would about a career. Do you REALLY think they'd go back to not being beggars if they hit a jackpot in their daily/monthly/yearly collections? Unfortunately, going by the NGO records, they won't. At least that's not what happens in Indian cities. However handicapped or disparaged they appear, they know they are simply making a living on the kind-cum-unkind roads. And it's totally up to you whether you'd want to part away your hard-earned/not-so-hard-earned cash. Because either way, it's not a guilt trip as you like to believe. Both the parties are merely doing their job. 

MO: When i have two coins with me and there's a beggar in front of me, i give one away and keep another to myself. That way, both the beggars are happy. 

Words, anyone?

It just occurred to me today that words are the only constant in our life. Other than oxygen, of course. 

[Please tell me i'm wrong in less than 20 words.]

Words have been around us from the moment we took birth. They kept changing and yet they are so damn constant. They are always there through one medium or the other. A TV/radio playing in the background, people chit-chatting and you gossiping. Come to think of it, the only time words don't really make themselves known is when we read. 

Some are gems while others are precursor to noise.

The resulting question: Is that why we don't tend to remember every single word while it doesn't take us too much to register smell or taste or touch in our mind? 

Worrior

When in doubt, he worries—and vice versa. He keeps worrying what if whatever good he has fizzles out. Slip slowly out of his hands without him even noticing it. After all, hasn't it happened before? What if he doesn't wake up feeling like he did today? What if he wakes up as a different person altogether? What if the one he wakes up next to doesn't see in him anymore what she claims to see? Come to think of which, that wouldn't be as bad as him not seeing in her what he has become so used to by now.

Of course, these are just worries.

Lame thoughts at best and brilliant nots at worst.

But at the same time, he can't get over the pattern in place. He once assumed he won't be able to do without certain things but as time passed by, he managed to. He changed, didn't he? Or things changed? Or was that how it was meant to be? For all his eidetic endeavours, he can't really remember much, does he?

One of the many questions why waking up everyday hoping nothing changes has become his greatest worry of late.

Hopefully, this too shall pass. Like everything else did.

What you sea isn't what you land

Red (Morgan Freeman) doesn't remember seeing an ocean. He has heard rumours and seen images in his dreams establishing its blueness. Being institutionalized since his teens, he can only take a guess. The prison walls define his boundary and he doesn't have the freedom to enjoy freedom either. However, thanks to Andy (Tim Robbins), he manages to keep his hope alive and ends up on a beach—for the first time in his life. He primarily moved from being landlocked to a place which was bluer than sky, warm and had no memory of him.

Having grown up by the Arabian Sea, there was an inherent connection in place. We played cricket on a pitch-black ground that was at the mercy of tides. Not a week went by we didn't get a whiff of dried fish. Things didn't change even after my family shifted to Sanpada from Trombay. The bridge that connected Bombay to New-Bombay flashed more than enough for a sea voyeur. This was before i moved to Gurgaon. A place that is as alien to sea breeze as Palestine is to sustainable peace but nonetheless warm and with no memory of me.

Present, now

I have a bit of a fever. My neck is sprained. Inspired by Kamasutra, i even cut my thumb trying to chop onions sideways. Thanks to the resulting pain, there's a bulge in my armpit as well. I didn't really sleep tight last night due to recurring bad dreams. My eyes are of bloodshot hue as i type. I guess i've strained my groin too while running unnecessarily in office. I can't sit like a lady anymore. But guess what? I've never been happier in my whole fucking life. I don't remember any phase involving me where i was damn sure of what was going on. No, not in school. Not in polytechnic. Not in college. Not anywhere else. For probably the first time ever, i am at peace with what's happening. I was arguably one of the fastest transcribers around and i treasured my job as a film journo but my current profile allows me a new sense of high. Never-seen-before ocean, never-fought-before waves. I completed a month in it yesterday and i continue to be optimistic about the future. So darn unlike me! Maybe this has something to do with the fact that i'm in love. And the person in question happens to be my answer for making everything seem alright. So, to steal her words, i am content although i work for the marketing team. OK. Bad pun. Explains why i get those nightmares!

Found in mistranslation

"Manithan unarnthu kølla, ithu manitha kaathal allae...Atheyum thaandi, ithu punithamaanathu.." - Gunaa (1991)

I don't entirely understand the Tamil words mentioned in a song from the aforementioned film starring Kamal Haasan and Roshini. If only my Tamil was as basic as my Urdu! However, i can safely presume that it's beautiful. Way too intense. So touching that it doesn't really matter whether i get it completely. Or not.

Update: It means "That man should be provoked by our love, this is not mortal love. Way beyond that, this love is divine."

Wonderful, isn't it?

Chop chop

May light always bless those hands that bother to feed you. May the sun make sure there's smile on the face when they worry about your hungry. May the wind play with their hair when they're toiling in the kitchen. May the sweat that breaks on their brow never enter their eyes. May grief fail to touch their heart. May their kindness be repaid in kind. May the desire to cook be always with them. If not, may the food be with them at least. 

Getting hammered

There was a time, not very long ago, i wondered whether carrying a walking cane would be appropriate. No, not for support. Just like that. I thought it'd add character to my non-existence (FYI, this was 2011). Later, i developed a fascination with smoking pipe. I simply loved the way scientists and philosophers held one in the corner of their mouths and accomplished three tasks synchronously: smoking, talking and charming. As expected, i neither got a cane nor a pipe. As of today, i've bred a new passion. A burning desire to hold a hammer in my hand and walk around. Yup, a wooden hammer. I'd love to brandish it while strolling in a mall or walking on a street and better still, even while taking the stairs in office. Just like that (again). Of course, the idea isn't to scare or hurt. If at all, anybody raises objection, i'd rebutt by pointing out that they carry around their cellphones even when they aren't using them. It could be a weapon of mass destruction too. All one needs to do is aim (to scare) and throw (to hurt) accurately, isn't it? On that note, it'd be supercool to hold a walking cane in one hand and a wooden hammer in another while balancing a non-smoking pipe in my mouth. 

Why birds don't fly

During my days as a film journo, i met Q (director of films like Gandu and Tasher Desh) in a cafe. An insightful personality, he admitted that being a filmmaker, he takes it upon himself to test his audience. His point was pretty simple: You can't always spoonfeed people. Months later, i read Nicolas Winding Refn saying something similar vis-à-vis Only God Forgives. Mr Refn went a step further though by confessing that his original intention is to fuck with the minds of those who'd bother to watch his much-derided movie. In his defense, being filmmakers, they have every right to do the way they please in their medium of expression. So, there's no point in taking up a stand on the subject of so-called artistic integrity. But the question remains: Do they really achieve what they wanted with their methods? Turns out Alejandro González Iñárritu did—and how! His Oscar-decorated Birdman was as genuine it could get. One of those rare films wherein you're taken on a walk without your hand being held. Despite all of that, people found its climax open-ended—confusing, according to some—when it's not. Whichever way you look at it, a great film is always open to interpretations. Hence, i'm forwarding mine although i could be wrong as i usually am.

Spoiler Alert: The film actually ends when Michael Keaton's Riggan Thomson shoots himself on the stage in front of the crowd. Technically, that is. Whatever happens next is pure fantasy. A possibility. An abstract vision of everybody who is involved in the making, especially the writer-director. Remember the next scene shows Thomson in a hospital? And for a pleasant change, Birdman is not bothering him anymore. In fact, this is the first time we don't get to hear him brainwash Thomson. On the contrary, we see Thomson telling him to fuck off and to add weight to that moment, Birdman is shown flushing the toilet. A shitty goodbye of sorts? Maybe, just maybe, because Thomson died on the stage itself, Birdman can't be interested in a dead protagonist. On the brighter side, Thomson is no more and with him dies his demons too. He's finally free...like a bird. Makes sense? 

Conclusion: Filmmakers should fuck with us—or our minds, whichever is less appealing—more often. 

Straight walk

What do you do after reaching the summit of Mt. Everest? After you've clicked the pictures to establish posterity while inhaling the thick cold air surrounding you? Yes, what next? Do you set up a camp there and contemplate civilization? Or do you fall asleep hoping you'd never wake up because you know in the back of your head that it can't get better? So what shall you do now? Other than packing up your stuff and descent quietly with a smirk plastered on your frozen face? Isn't it ironical that you reach the top only to walk down again? And while trying hard not to give in to gravity, you reminisce the moments that garnished your ascent. Excuse moi for terrible analogy but isn't that how relationships work too? You reach a point of absolute bliss only to become a victim of vertigo? You begin to worry what if this is the high point, ain't everything that follows going to be a steady downhill? One goofup and boom! You're falling free. What if this and what if that and what if thatis (the bastard child of this and that, ladies and gentlemen)? Two many thoughts. Two many variables. Speaking of two, they shouldn't climb a mountain in the first place. They should aim for a plateau like Tibet even if the Chinese embassy refuses to staple their visa. 

Foodie for thought

Foodie is a heavy word. No joke. It's such a heavy word that people take it lightly. Once you call yourself a foodie, you own the onus of checking out every dish in the kitchen. That surely is one heck of a task. Of course, you might have your likes and dislikes but even if you apply the principle of permutation and combination here, you'd still be having SO much to keep your taste buds excited! I find chewing a dull part of consumption. No innuendo applied. If i love you enough, i'd let you chew for me. If you love me enough, you'd rather let me have juice instead. Furthermore, it's not just about your tongue. A foodie is essentially someone who must understand between different smells and feels. Or else, why bother calling yourself something you are better off without. Like i am. I am not a foodie but if offered, i eat everything. As long as intoxication ain't part of the course. My palate isn't of gourmet quality but it's open to everything. I neither discriminate one dish from another nor do i waste food. This is the closest i'll ever get to being Mother Teresa. Since moving north, life has taught—which i recently learnt isn't pronounced as thought—me very systematically that it takes industry and creativity to make food more appealing than they were originally supposed to be. But then, i'm quite old-fashioned you see? I simply can't get over the penultimate fact that our ancestors relished bulbs and roots for hunger's sake!

Beauty and its beholder

Every time i hold her close enough to let her eyelashes stroke my cheeks, i wonder how i must look like in her eyes. Not that i bother but several thoughts run through my head while bliss is trapped by my marrow. Two of the most frequent thoughts happen to be "Is this really happening?" and "Don't you dare cry now!" To overcome them, i hold her closer than i did the last time we hugged. For what our bond is worth, my random yet inflated worries don't matter anyway. After all, she looks a lot like mine in my eyes. Who cares about her vision? 

Three Wise Men

Buddhist monks aren't someone who you'd like to associate with brands, right?
Or would you?
Well, i saw some checking out bigshot labels inside a mall in Gurgaon.
Not to judge them because they are allowed to do whatever pleases them.
But still, it's rather interesting that they were happily shopping.
Like the rest of us do.
FUCK!
And i used to think they ought to be better than us.
On a second thought, i believe they are.
Maybe these three monks have found a balance.
Somewhere between the spiritual as well as the material world.
Who knows?
Anyway, the idea behind sharing this photo i clicked is to ask questions.
Seeking answers is for the monks, not us.
Those who think i've violated their privacy, guess what?
I haven't.
True to my shoddy photography skills, i don't reveal identity.
None of my photographs do.
Unless you are non-human beings with no idea what immortality is.
Coming back to my subjects, you can't see their calmer-than-Bodhi-tree faces.
Besides, it doesn't really make a difference who they are.
They could be you.
Tomorrow.
Who knows for sure?

L-H curve

What is easier? Loving somebody or hating? According to me, the latter is. Moreover, i also believe hating comes naturally to us. We don't need an impetus to despise anything. And it's not just about something not agreeing to our constitution causing us to say the following:

"I hate this weather!"

"I hate spicy food."

"I hate you."

OK.

The last quote was stretching it too far. Regardless, isn't it obvious that our species is prone to hatred? It's almost like second nature to us. We may not say it loud—at least not as loud as we'd say that we love something—which on second thought, isn't something we do often either—but hating is natural. On the other hand, loving takes effort. How many times do we express our love to what we indeed love. No wonder we rarely hear the following: 

"I love how luck rolls."

"I love strangers for their kindness."

"I love you." 

Which might explain why there is so much chaos on this planet when we can surely do without. Better still, between hating and loving, indifference appears like a better option, doesn't it?

OK.

The last statement was stretching it too far. 

Pouring names

Muhammad Ali. Tom Cruise. George Bernard Shaw. Ben Affleck. Stephen King. Russell Brand. David Bowie. Warren Buffet. Jim Carrey. Jay Leno. Leonardo DiCaprio. Shania Twain. Al Pacino. Donald Trump. Lana Del Rey. Elton John. Bradley Cooper. Tom Cruise. Robert Downey Jr, Colin Farrell. Malcolm X. James Franco. Che Guevara. Howard Hughes. Naomi Campbell. Vladmir Putin. 50 Cent. Daniel Radcliffe. Bruce Lee. David Beckham. Kafka. Natalie Portman. Hinduja brothers. Frank Zappa. Anthony Hopkins. Abraham Lincoln. Jennifer Lopez. Adolf Hitler. Chris Martin. Akon. Andy Murray. Bruce Willis. Cristiano Ronaldo. Donald Bradman. Eminem. Eric Clapton. Samuel L Jackson. Ewan McGregor. Nietzsche. Gary Oldman. Henry David Thoreau. Tobey Maguire. Isaac Asimov. Mae West. Richard Feynman....

Q: What's common between the above mentioned personalities and me?

A: Teetotalism. Not that it makes me a bigger person but it's good to know that i have a pretty decent company although i can't really call it that yet. 

Sharp attack

Sharks never fall ill. Like never. They are not known for taking sick leave under any circumstance. So much so they are probably the only kind that doesn't succumb to cancer. Isn't that awesomeandsome? They have been around for so long—they predate even grass for the record—that they have learnt how to fight health issues. And how! As a kid, i used to be scared of sharks because of a movie my impressionable mind underwent. But today, i respect them. And it provides me immense relief to acknowledge the disturbing stat that more people are killed because of them consuming sharks than the other way around! Serves the idiots right. Which also makes me respect the fact that Steven Spielberg decided to make a film on them long before it became cool to do so.

Corporate touch

Every passing day, i am learning something new. Something i didn't even bother to sniff earlier. Something i didn't even know existed earlier. Maybe it didn't matter. Now it does. And here i am trying to figure out newer things. It's a healthy phase to be in, not to mention ballbreaking. I am not afraid of failing. Just that i think i'm never going to grow up fast enough to understand how invaluable time is. Nothing can replace time. In the same breath of thought, nothing can replace people who make your time worthwhile either. Valuing both takes practice. 

The conclusions to be drawn are as follow:

• There's no point in planning, especially when you acknowledge the fact that you're not the one who'd continue with a plan in place. 
• Keeping one's mind and eyes open help a lot, particularly when you are in a spot where you are responsible for your mess. 
• Waste time as much as you want but don't blame it on others. 
• Your decisions may be influenced by your environment, both internal as well as external, but when the back of your head hits the pillow, they are solely yours.
• Learn without expecting much in return. Even the smallest of lessons help in the future. For instance, i'm yet to come across someone who types faster than me. Reason: I took typewriting classes during SSC vacation in a room filled with elder girls in salwar-kameez. 
• Respect your seniors at work. They might be younger but they've seen more summers and are superior because of their experience. You can only benefit from their exposure. 
• Get carried away by your passion. It's alright to be crazy about a non-person entity like a company you admired from a distance not so long ago. 
• Paying attention never harmed anyone. Like it didn't harm reading what you just did. Now, did it?

For better or worse

Before i even begin to spiel, my bile has nothing to do with my genitals. 

That clarified, i genuinely believe that the so-called modern women are asking the wrong questions. To make matters worst, they are demanding even wronger answers. At least that seems to be the case in urban India. For some absurd cultural reasons, they have made themselves believe that having the right to wear what they want and use chauvinist words like bhenchod makes them superior, if not equal to whoever they are competing against. 

It doesn't. 

Thanks to misguided priorities, women of today—a growing bunch of them, to be fair—are busy inhaling the wind of change that doesn't exist in the first place. On an individual level, the thinking works for the person concerned. But not without overlooking the obvious factors that fuel this "change" in the country that is predominantly anti-female. The women who can manage to lead a life of their own conveniently forget that the sole reason why they can do so is not because of their attitude but because of their economic prowess. Until and unless they can't come up with the funds—either through earning on their own or leeching their family—they have little or no chance of living it up. 

And that's where the catch lies. 

Girls, while growing up, in our country aren't taught about the importance of money. Even the affluent families prefer to talk numbers with their sons instead of daughters. This pattern, irrespective of where a given Indian family hails from, has led to a cancerous cultural overbearing. Which is why we see more and more shehri women wondering what exactly is meant by emancipation. Which is also why that their modernity forces them to ignore their less privileged counterparts who neither get to wear what they want nor spout the beloved B-word. 

Halves and halves-not

The more you look around you, the more it becomes obvious that we are living in paradoxical times. There's a section of people with scientific temper who want us to believe that global warming is a reality. What they fail to do though is convince the world that the world is going to sink from above, not below. There's going to be rain like never before, not waves of insufferable global heat. A proper washout, if you may. So, even if the aforementioned theory mentione doesn't fit in, what behooves urgency is the lack of dissemination of basic knowledge. Even the ones who know a bit about this and a crumb about that aren't helping the case. Half-knowledge is worse than utter lack of information anyway. Whole-hearted drive along with a certain dose of PR would help make science a bigger cause than it has turned out to be so far. If not, then a theory worth propagating among those who continue to challenge science with as much irrationality as humanly possible. 

Going places

If you look at pigeons, like really look at them, you'll see that they don't belong anywhere. They always have this shiny veneer of an immigrant. As if they just moved in and hate the place so much that they can't keep themselves from shitting on it. We, the generation of immigrants, are a lot like them too except for the part where you flycrap over strangers. But then, that's what people are supposed to do. Move from one place to another. Not get stuck in one geography for the rest of their life presuming it's the best thing that ever happened to their lungs. There's so much more to explore. New places to check out. Newer places to check in. And to feel the difference between the two. Some of us are indeed lucky enough to travel. Being curious species, we often look at birds and wonder why don't they just take off...see the world...learn what lies beyond the hills. Besides, if we don't, who else will? Birds, no matter how wide their wingspan is, obey nature way too much. They have a fixed path to follow. Of course, that doesn't apply to pigeons. They can target whichever head they want.