Thursday, January 27, 2011

When doctor met the patient..

"I am a walking contradiction. I am often complimented on my honesty, yet more often than not I am lying. I talk a lot, yet nothing is ever revealed. I mock people whose goals and ambitions aren’t clear while changing the topic when mine are questioned. I spend most of my time fantasizing about the life I missed out on and the opportunities I’ve lost, yet still refuse to accept who I am and the life that I lead. Truth be told, I have no idea who I am. If I were to meet myself in street one day, I wouldn’t even know. After introducing myself I’d walk away thinking, ‘that was one strange individual who is nothing like anyone I’ve ever met before.’ Worst part is, I’d finally be telling the truth."
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And then he met his school time girlfriend now a doctor, someone's fiancee and far more beautiful than she was in the year 2002. They both met at a shopping mall and realized that it was not the right place to go in nostalgia. So they headed towards the sea, for the sea breeze would facilitate the contemplation they were about to endeavour in.

Then they both talked about the present. Of how his physique had grown as in his school days, he was all bones. Of how that nose ring she adorned looked great on her.

They talked about future. Of how she is going to London to her fiance after she gets married. Of how he would love to open his own hedge fund one day and be the master of his own soul and the captain of his own fate, above all not being bossed by anyone.

But above all they talked about the past. How they had met in a competition at a school where neither of the two studied. She was all nerves about her dance performance and he had calmed her down. She in return had gifted him a book which contained the short stories from Ruskin Bond. He still remembered the stamp of the bookstore which said English Book Depot, Ashley Hall. They had gone to one of the most beautiful places on earth together-Dhanaulti.They preferred not roam about the Mall Road because of fear of him being spotted by any of his teachers. They would instead head to the Landour Side.

Everytime he used to bunk his school, he would hitch-hike down the Rajpur Road and they would meet near the Parade Ground.They used to bet on even a trivial matter and they knew even anyone loses, it would lead to them meeting each other and the stake would be sponsoring Falooda at Kumar Sweet Shop near the Ghanta-ghar.

She used to send cards at every occasion, while the miser he was, he would just write mushy letters to her. They both knew that childhood love was no love, it was just some immatured, calf love where they would just boast about having grown up.

People want pretty much the same things: They want to be happy. Most young people seemto think that those things lay somewhere in the future, while older people believe they lay in the past.

It was evening and the sun was about to set down the sea. She attended a call from her about to be mother-in-law and lied to her that she was meeting a patient.LOL- A Patient! Then she rushed to her car after the hug he very well deserved. She started her car and turned on the radio where he heard the receding sound of:

"Joh naina karoon bandh bandh beh jaaye boond boond! Tadpaaye kyun, sunaye geet malhar de...!"

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**This post is dedicated to all those people in whose hearts live the mountains of Mussoorie and the valley of Dehradun....Here's to my adolescence.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

A hell of a random night.

He had got high on an illegal substance and later went to Colaba to have a brownie at Theobroma. There,a certain conversation between two girls struck in his ears.
Girl 1: "You know Divya there are 1000 guys for every 933 girls in India. Bullshit. No?"
Girl 2: "Ha ha where did u get this from? I am sure ki tere liye koi nahi hai..Vodka kam pad gayi kya? "

The dope reduced his shyness and he went onto striking a conversation with the two
"Hi, perhaps I am one of those 67 guys, one of u were talking about for whom there is no girl"

He joined the two and then they ended up listening to each other's life stories.

All three spoke and spoke and he realised how similar each and every person of his generation was. They all talked about the same facebook, twitter, Coke Studio, movies, books, city life and etcetra.

He realised that he was the one who was talking most on the table. They all listened to him. He was a great story teller. They all loved the concept that he had lived on his own since he was eight. He had been independent, he took all his decisions.

He loved the idea that the two were jovial, outgoing, random girls ,similarly goofed-up and messed-up in their own ways.

They left Theobroma and entered Tantra T-shirt shop and the 2 girls chose a T-shirt each for him. Divya chose him a Bob Dylan T-shirt while Vidushi gave him T-shirt with a fancy Indian tr-color in it. He paid happily for the two T-shirt.

Then they headed for Marine Drive, where they sat for hours and talked about how stupid all three were. The common thing between them was they believed that self depreciationg jokes were the best kind of jokes. They laughed on each other's stories. They competed who was the most stupid of the three. They talked about their own embarrassments. Inebriation helped them talk freely. They talked about how they had ended up loving and losing. How the universe is so indifferent. One point they all agreed was that like pain, stupidity can also not be compared.Out of the blue one of the girls cracked this:
"Zindagi ek Chahat ka silsila hai,
Koi mil Jata hai koi bichhad jaata hai,
Jise Maangte hai hum duao mein,
Wo kisi aur ko bina maange mil jata hai."

The rest two clapped and she giggled.

Later the same girl also played on her mobile phone a song from Coke Studio " Chal dil mere". The three sang in unison with the mobile speaker.


They talked and talked and realised it was dawn. And then they watched participants and onlookeers for Mumbai Marathon gathering up. All three wondered what the people were running for. Fitness, peace,love,solidarity, showbiz?

Finally he left for Churchgate station and the other two for VT station but all agreeing to the point that it had been a hell of a random night.

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Please excuse the sorry state of story-telling of this post because it has been hampered by the sleepless night the blogger had.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The four fables.

I
He had quit smoking, long back. Love had made him do so, atleast he thought that way. Love makes people do ridiculous, crazy, beautiful things. There was a time he could do anything for her. She just asked him once to quit smoking and he did it. That was not the toughest thing he had done for her because letting-her-go was the toughest.

II
They were a bunch of thirteen people. Out of the world. Engineers. They were not like usual engineers like those who spend half of the time on facebook or orkut. They preferred playing football on the rooftop of their hostel in the rain or volleyball in the mud. They were so much of a great company to each other that they did not miss a thing. Time passed and then they had to leave. Now they face the hardships through the memories, the photographs and the songs they sang together.

III
He loves the open sky. The free air, how much polluted it may be. He often sneaks out of his office and goes to the beach nearby and watches the excitement on the face of the tourists catching the memory in a camera. He was not a tourist to Bombay but he loved observing the zeal on the first timers.
He even stole the keys to the rooftop where the Society he lives in has made it forbidden to go. He sneaks in the rooftop and watches the stars. Star gazing had always been his favourite hobby.

IV
So the new year had come and he was still wallowing in the last one. Only the calendar had changed? But with each day he was more in love with the city he lived in. In his ipod played the song by U2 "You love this town...Even if that doesn't ring true...You've been all over...And it's been all over you"- Beautiful Day.
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PS: This post is dedicated to Anurag Lal Sinha, one of the 13 engineers mentioned in the post.