Kundera, a consultant, Friday and an ideal girl!!

My friend stores in his cellphone only the photographs of his ex-girlfriends. And of only those girls who were externally beautiful (I can't comment on the internal beauty because I am not aware of it).By externally beautiful I mean they had nice features, large eyes, pointed nose, pouted lips, thin-long neck,good jawline etc.
And every time he met a new girl he showed them the same photos of all his ex-girlfriends. I asked him why did he do it? Why did he show those pics to those beautiful girls. Every time he had the same reply that " You fool, Kundera says that girls don't go for guys who are handsome instead they go for guys who once had beautiful women!!"

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I miss my school days- and the part which I miss as well as silently laugh about was being a proud love consultant ..Probably thats wat comes easy to each one of us- love consulting, solving (or further-complicating) friend's love issues (however we may suck when it comes to consulting our own love issues)...And due to absence of phones and e-mails, love letter writing was an integral part of consulting... I, like an adept love consultant, used to imbibe the likes and dislikes of my client's girlfriend in the long letters... If she liked DDLJ i made sure to include quotes like "bade bade sheher mein chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain" or if she had finer tastes like Casablanca I ensured quotes like " Here's looking at you, kid".

But one day, one of my naive friends did not understand the importance of my role (that of a love consultant) and he wrote a letter by himself and that too without consulting me..He pushed down his choice of Titanic down his girlfriend's neck by addressing her Rose..and then and there the "love" ended in a fiasco!!

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Thanks to the corporate life,some people have stopped seeking money or happiness or love or peace or truth..In longer run they might seek anything, but in a shorter time span, they all seek is a Friday evening...Some of them even orgasm at the idea of a Friday evening..If u ask a person abt his short term goals he will pop up the same crap of wanting to go up the corporate ladder by contributing to the organisation but trust me all he will seek is a Friday evening when he can actually go and relish a perpetual escape of Fable, Art, God, Socialism, Immortality, Alcohol, Love....

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Few days back I had blogged about my ideal girl..But that was more in a lighter vein or to say that was meant to be relished by a different target group.
But now the places have changed, I have lost so much and gained so much..my perception about an ideal girl has "evolved" to wat Kundera describes about Eva:
"Eva is a cheerful man-chaser. But she doesn't chase them to marry them. She chases them the way men chase women.Not love but only friendship and sensuality exist for her. So she has many friends: men r not afraid she wants to marry them, and women have no fear she is seeking them to deprive them of a husband. Besides if she ever married her husband would be a friend she would allow everything to and demand nothing from."


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Everytime I go home

Hailing from a small town is just another thing, but visiting it after long is an experience -a hilarious one though. You witness the slow pace of life compared to the cities, the bondage amongst the people and the vast growing urban-rural divide.
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Everytime I go home, my mom takes me to an astrologer who has a poster of John Lennon hung on a wall. He seems to have lost interest in money making rat race of the cities and chose to follow his passion of astrology. But I donno how correct he predicts things as everytime I meet him, his predictions change and the maximum change occurs in the prediction of my wife-to-be. Earlier she used to be a nagging, arrogant woman and now he predicts her to be a rural simpleton.

Everytime I go home, one of my dad's friends would bring his son for career counselling and I would have to behave all polite and as a genuine role model of the youth of my town. He would ask me open ended questions like "How to crack CAT" or "How to crack IITJEE". And I would start my preachings about dreams and motivation which I am sure would put all the self-help book writers to shame.

Everytime I go home, in a train I would meet certain people who would be more interested in what others are doing. They would come and have a look at my novel and ask for which competition exam I was studying or would comment on the price of the book.

Everytime I go home, one of my dad's friend would get his son to be examined from me as in where he stands on the path to be an engineer. And then I would ask a patented question from him which would be like "A 100-metre runner accelerates for first 4 seconds at the rate of 6 metre per second square and blah blah. Find the distance covered" And he would go all ballistic on the question and use all physics formula and end up with some vague answer or would say the data is incomplete. And I would say to read the question again as a 100-metre runner would run 100 metres. The mantra being to study smart. I know thats a foolish assumption that a 100 meter can only run 100 mtrs, but as long as people buy it, it works.

Everytime I go home, a relative aunty of mine or a neighbour aunty would come and brag about her role in my genteel upbringing and how much I used to loved her when I was a kid. She would say about all the kiddish stuff I used to do when i was little (which I am sure all kids do),making all the faces and would laugh out loud on my otherwise bored face. And now her only dream would be to play with my kids on her laps. Blah.

Everytime I go home, all the uncles would ask for my package. And after listening to my real package, they would comment "so less. one of my nephews is in merchant navy and he earns far more, wat was the use of IIM" or "in the newspapers they say that IIM grads earn in crores, seems like u did not study much"..
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Above all of it, home is the best place to go. The comfort, the pampering, the care, the royal treatment, the role model personification makes it all a heaven.

PS: All the above sentences beginning with 'everytime I go home' has been purposefully hyped to bring some laugh in your otherwise morose life.

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Lifting the veil of Delhi

So like all other arranged marriage, I have finally unveiled the ghoongat of the city of Delhi. Yeah I have started liking the city. Beneath that too-much-of gaudy and that ugly bridal makeup, Delhi is a beauty. All it needs to do is to shed so much of that cosmetic make-up and try the simpleton way.

On a serious note, I found that beneath all that flashiness, Delhi has a big and tender heart. The people are accommodating and nice. The sense of humor is great here. No city other than Delhi has that a big heart to laugh on itself.

There has been a smooth transition from Bombay to Delhi. Like so many other Delhites, I have also started to love drinking inside the car by that roadside tandoori shop and the loud punjabi music by the car-stereo.I have begun to love the old monuments and the lovely food and have learnt to ignore the errant drivers, the shallow, verbose and insolent fellow city dwellers, the duping rickshaw-wallahs and the lack of sea.

While Bombay was more like a love affair to me, I had to pass thru the tests of all the phases- that love at first sight, then running after her, toiling hard to amuse her, even giving those expensive gifts, proving her that u r the man ready to behold her above all, bear all that nautankis and then u finally get her. But Delhi has been more like a typical arranged marriage,u hate her for all that gaudy bridal make up, and then u slowly unleash each other's beauty, and slowly discover each other types.

As of now i have still not converted from that Bombay-loving-self to Delhi-is-better but somehow Delhi exudes a romance which Bombay may never be able to exude in its money-making rat race.

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One who teaches learns the keenest of lessons

His life continued getting harder, the corporate world started taking a toll on him. It gets harder all the time, he once said. Harder, yet easier. One gets used to things getting harder; one ceases to be surprised that what used to be hard as hard can be grows harder yet.

Every saturday, he and his girlfriend taught some under-privileged kids in a small basti across the river Hindon passing Noida. He used to drive his Thunderbird to that basti and she used to be his hugging pillion rider. A nice couple they were, they looked good together, always jovial, happily ridiculing each other in their own world. He was an MBA and was in the sales team of some fancy beverage company while she was a doctor. But ironically he was more empathetic and social service inclined while she was more nonchalant and corporate types.

Their point of contact in the basti was a small guy who was just 18 years old and was quite talkative. The small guy told them that he was on facebook and that they should add him as a friend and hence cause an increase in his miniscule list of friends. She asked him how he felt about being the only boy in facebook from the basti, and he told that he was not happy. Facebook made him aware of things he could never achieve. It made him conscious of beautiful places in Africa, about posh malls, about gadgets while earlier he was happily ignorant.

The couple taught 16 kids and she mostly taught them English and Hindi while he taught them maths and other subjects and later told them stories to motivate. He used to love their belief that they would one day be rich if they studied hard. The kids liked him more than her because he was a storyteller and could de-metamorphose himself into a kid. He used to enact,mimic, lower his pitch and baritone and do all kiddish stuff. They used to enjoy his sessions and he used to love it. He was never aware that innocence of kids could have such an unwinding effect. It was a win-win situation for both the kids and him.

He loved to teach because it provided him peace of mind; also because it taught him humility, brought it home to him who he is in the world. While his source of enjoyment was direct, hers was moreover indirect. He enjoyed playfully teaching the kids, she enjoyed that bike ride to outskirts but above all she relished that peaceful look in her boyfriend's face.....

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Being Stupid

Off late, the world has left me feeling stupid for so many reasons that I prefer not to reveal my choices, about what I love and what I hate, about what I enjoy and what I detest. I fear to be mocked down (Of not having liked Bodyguard, of not having watched the Twilight series, of not having followed that American TV series, of not supporting the Anna movement,of not able to tolerate the series called MTV Roadies, of advocating the beauty of not having things than having them).

The recent spate of bollywood hits like Bodyguard and Singham has bestowed upon me me an inferiority complex of not being able to appreciate the beauty of these movies. Probably it hallmarks me of not having quite a taste or not being a connoisseur.So many people watched and loved these movies that I wonder I can openly call them in public as bad movies. I could avoid Singham but I could not avoid Bodyguard just because of the lovely mass marketing done by the coterie formed by all the channels (and the leader being the news channels obviously). My belief of being a a stupid was provoked further when I could not find those jokes funny to which the entire hall was laughing at.

Delhi gives me further more reasons to feel stupid. Why don't I love hanging out at malls? Last time it was raining I took a halt at India Gate in order to enjoy rains with some equally ecstatic people. I used to do it in Bombay. When it used to rain I used to walk on the marine drive and get a heightened feeling at the site of ocean changing colors and simultaneously watch people enjoy rains. But to my dismay I found the entire India Gate road empty although the rain was not in flurry but was just like kissing your face types. The only people I encountered there were cops who questioned me to what was I doing alone in rains in India Gate. I replied that I was just walking by and it isn't that heavy a rain.

Another reason for being stupid these days is people's take on photography these days. When a random cow's portrait clicked by DSLR is considered as good photography. Where the better the camera one posseses, better the photographer one has become.

I hope by now, you must have started sending your bouquet of sympathies to me.

"yun hi rakhte rahe bachpan se dil saaf hum apna....
Pata nahi tha ki keemat toh chehro ki hoti hai, dil ki nahi..."

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May be its best to end it this way

The problem with her was that her fellow friends, female or male, never realised the importance of her company. But when she was gone, they missed her, and missed her badly. She was adept in filling the gaps in their discussion, the void in their laughter and even the vacuum in their silence. Her presence was negligible but her absence was huge.

He, who was no different than her friends, could not recognize the beauty of her presence but was bulldozed under her absence. He missed her and missed her much more than loved her. Probably missing someone should be at a higher pedestal than loving the same someone.

It was last time he was meeting her, unaware of the transience of their liaison. But she was aware of it, because she knew that she could never hate him. She still loved him, until she figured out that it hurt a lot less to just not care.
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PS: I know the above piece is random and incomplete, but I sat for 3 hours thinking wat to write further but could not think of anything. So I decided to finally publish it considering my absence from this writing world for so long. May be its just the Delhi airspace which hit my writings barren or may be its best to end it this way.



Dear friend,
I had always liked to tell myself that you were something abstract, a legend and a myth, but now I knew that behind the poetry of these words hid an entirely unpoetic truth: that I didn’t know you; that I didn’t know you as you really were, as you were in and to yourself. I had been able to perceive (in my youthful egocentricity) only those aspects of your being that were turned directly to me (to my loneliness, my captivity, my yearning for tenderness and affection); you had been nothing to me but a function of my own situation; everything that went beyond that concrete situation, everything that you were in yourself, had escaped me.

-mE (inspired by Milan Kundera)

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Letter from Noida

Dear friend,

Now that I have reached your city, not specifically your city, but your ugly cousin named Noida, I am sure you would want to read about my experiences here. Well apart from food, friends and winter I have never liked Delhi much but thats ok because I haven't liked any city apart from Bombay. But then it had been too much of Bombay that the nomadic me needed to break free from it.

Here, I don't go out much, I haven't even taken a mobile number here. I don't even like going out here. I tried walking on these roads but I feel lonely. The roads are well built but there are no people but only cars. Thanks to the bundle of books I brought with me that I confine myself to it. I am reading a lot and also playing FIFA on my laptop a lot as well. In my constant attempt to stick to one-touch football, I still lose playing against the laptop.

About my new office, I told you I did not expect much from it. So I would not be able to tell you much about it except that I don't have to wear formals for 6 days any more. You know how much I hated those black shoes and those neatly ironed trousers.

I miss Bombay alot mostly when those auto waalas ask for the fare double the amount I last paid for the same route. I miss Bombay a lot when I feel claustrophobic in Delhi metro with nothing to do footboarding on. I miss khao gali which those bastards so gruesomely bombed. I miss marine drive the most because here after office I have nothing better to do than to return to the same room and go back to reading. Of course I can't go to those malls (which are in plenty here) and sit there and observe people getting a kick out of a 20% rebate on something when the shopkeeper is actually fooling them with a higher price tag.

I am still looking for a new place near my office to rent in. I will prefer living alone this time. I would like to keep my things my way. I will hang that big black and white Gateway of India framed poster on my wall. I will buy some more posters and hang it there.

Oh by the way I am reading English August and its real kick ass stuff. Its pampering me to the hilt.

With love,
vC

Droll thing life is- that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself – that comes too late – a crop of unextinguishable regrets.

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Oh Bombay, u will be missed..

Oh Bombay, u will be missed. The city which takes everyone and makes them its own..The city where I earned my first bread and butter.

The city where I lost and discovered both at the same time. Where I lost my nonchalance but discovered the beauty of struggle called life. Where I lost my piece of mind at the office but discovered solace at the sea. Where I lost friends to distances but discovered the bliss of solitude. Where I lost my blackberry but discovered the courage to handle the loss again. Where I lost seven umbrellas and discovered the beauty of rains without umbrellas...

Being one of those missing kinds, one who misses and delves in nostalgia every bit of time, Bombay will be the one to be missed all the time. The city for which I had fallen in love at first sight and then perpetually fell deeper and deeper...

I will miss-

~That struggle to board that morning fast local train and then unboarding it even before the train comes to a halt else being pushed back inside...
~Those walks down Colaba, movie at Regal, beer at Mondegar, whisky at Gokul, cakes at Theobroma..
~The daily Marine Drive walk after office,passing through those couples' neck gnawing and face swallowing until the sun went down and judging them as good kissers or bad kissers and finally sitting on those rocks at the end and having a monologue with it..
~That rush to grab that 9PM squash court at Andheri Sports Complex..
~Those perfunctory walks from Mumbai Central to Haji Ali and then listening to those combined music of sea waves and the novice Qawwali and finally giving up to the temptation of the delicious Sitafal Cream or the Anaar juice at Haji Ali Juice Center..
~That scramble to reach Prithvi theater on time but ending up sitting on those stairs (best seats according to me)
~Eating at Crystal and eating at Khao Gali with so many people that eating it seemed like eating in a fair daily..
~That special cutting chai at the BEST canteen, that yummy butter pao bhaaji at Khao Gali, that delightful keema pao at Mondegar, and that omnipresent vada-pao.


And then so many eventful days happened during my stay at Bombay:
~I got my shirt torn while boarding the local at Andheri and had to rush to Peter England show room to buy another one to office.
~The famous dance on the streets of Bombay the very day India won the world cup.
~The day I tendered my first resignation and felt that whip of freedom.
~I turned 25 and 26 both in Bombay only to realise that you get older faster than you get wiser..

Anyways, there is so much more I cud write to it. I know its more of me and my love for this city in this post and many of you have already made me feel miserable about leaving Bombay.

Good bye Bombay, you will surely be missed!

I read this somewhere...
"mil hi jaayegi manzil humein bhatak kar hi sahi,
gumraah toh woh hai jo ghar se nikle hi nahi..."

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The Psycho Boss!

**Here is a blogpost which has abusive language. There are certain people who may not be comfortable with the abusive language and hence are advised not to read further.


On his B-school farewell day, he was fully sloshed. He went on the stage and halted the DJ from playing the music. He picked up the mike and on a drunken tone he said "main shapath leta hoon ki main kabhi kisi chutiye se order nahi loonga life mein"(I swear that I will never ever take orders from a chutiya)..Rest of the drunkards clapped in unison..But the non drunkards pulled him down back to the dance floor and asked the DJ to continue.

Few days later he joined his first job and was introduced to the most fine looking gentleman as his boss. But all of that fine looks went in bin when the gentleman gave the welcome speech. The boss said "I have picked stones in my life and see where have I reached and I am sure none of u will hesitate picking up the stones for me. We are the best company in India and you are the luckiest person in the world to get a chance to learn from me".

One day in a meeting with big investment bankers, he sat with this laptop in the meeting room. He had deliberately forgotten his notepad which according to his boss was a necessary accessory in the meeting room. But he enjoyed deliberate poking of his boss and seeing all the histrionics of his psycho behavior. And then during the meeting the boss asked him to open his notebook to take some notes. He instead opened the notepad in the windows and seeing that the boss went beserk. He shouted "you retarded chutiya, half gaandu, why did not u bring your notebook. When I was of your age my boss used to hit me with a duster and I think I should do the same with you". Those investment bankers were astonished by the abusive language of the boss. But then the boss had the money and the money is what is important.
During the meeting, while taking notes on the Microsoft notepad, there was an utterance of a name with a title Chidambaram, and in a hurry he typed the spelling wrong and the boss again went beserk " You retarded chutiya, half gaandu, you even don't know the spelling of finance minister of India, this is wat they taught u at an elite B-school"

And then with all courage our victim could muster, he stood up and told the boss "you retarded chutiya, you half gaandu, Mr. P. Chidambaram is not the finance minister anymore he is the home minister and in B-schools, they have better things to teach rather than the spellings of some minister "

Our hero who had once vowed never to take orders from a chutiya was fired then and there only!!

****This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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