...Bhagwaan ke liye hi to hai

Four weeks of continuous pestering and I found myself waiting for a Volvo bus to Shirdi with my buddy Bobin. I guess the motive was to get out of Mumbai...have some good time travelling around over a weekend. I still cant figure out why he chose to have a pilgrimage. But I was up for it nonetheless. I have heard a lot about Shirdi. I think we need more saints like Sai Baba since he caters to people belonging to different religions. So there I was, waiting outside Dominos in Vikhroli. NEETA Volvo was the chosen travel agent. We had already smoked one joint...waiting for the Volvo at 11.30 pm was easier that way. I had a back-up for our return journey. Apparently our bus was late. Two buses passed by giving us the same info.

"Bhaisaab, 11.30 ki Shirdi waali Volvo yehi hai kya?"

"Nahin, woh peeche aa rahi hai"

The third bus was a sleeper, we wanted to get on it anyway but that didnt happen either. God works in unknown ways. We had a back up joint. It was 12.30 already and the bus promised to get there in 45 mins...which meant anything between 1-2 hours. We were left stranded there, with a stray dog whom I named 'Dawg' with us. Bobin took his seat on a nearby motorbike. I was trying to get Dawg interested to do some movement to amuse us. He didnt budge. Dawg preferred to sleep very close to the 1st lane of the highway...which was his prime timepass as well. Everytime a car or autorickshaw passed by, Dawg would be disturbed because there was a fear of being run over; Dawg would get up...move around for a while and again settle at the same position. This manouvre would go on for the whole night. Dawg.

Bobin and I made a healthy diplomatic decision to light up the second joint. This would give us some necessary comfort. An hour later we were on the bus. After settling down inside, we found that the AC regulator in the Volvo wasnt very effective, it was running in full swing. I was prepared for this eventuality...many bus rides in Malaysia with screwed up Aircon controls had taught me this. Bobin was caught unaware...he used his towel to save himself from the extreme weather conditions. The rest of the people inside were also troubled by this. Some were hiding under the curtains. The driver didnt respond to anyone's request...kept driving like a madman. He managed to hit all the potholes between Vikhroli and Shirdi.

It was a great relief to alight from the bus. At 6 am we reached Shirdi. There was a lot of hustle and bustle. The earliest darshan starts at 4 am...so the area around the temple is awake by 3.30 am. We hired a room for an hour for Rs.30 for the morning chores. It was the most beaten hotel room ever. I was not very bothered until I saw the bathroom. The anglo-indian commode didnt have a toilet seat...the indian way it would be. I tried mounting on it...and to my horror..it fell to one side. I jumped away. I wondered how it has been used by people before me. Finally I mount it like a gymnast on parallel bars. Some exercise after a chilling bus ride. I warn Bobin of the commode situation. He manages without a murmur.

The Darshan

The temple complex is surrounded by roads on 3 sides and a small by-lane on the fourth side. There are a lot of shops selling holy merchandize on this lane...sugar balls, nuts, sweets, saffron cloth, coconut etc. The devotee (Bobin and me in this case) has to pay exorbitant price for these items since there is no bargaining with a franchisee of His Holiness. Any attempt to get a better deal comes with a warning of sorts -

"Le lo saab, Bhagwaan ke liye hai."

So we paid Rs.130 for a packet full of such items and marched towards the main temple. Any such shrine in India also is surrounded by other smaller deities with their own little story. There was a DwarakaMai Mandir in the same complex where a lot of people had queued up. Supposedly, it used to be a Darga before something happened and it was converted to a temple. We moved on to the entry gate.

The recent terrorist attacks have made such places a little more sensitive towards security issues. There was a gaurd with a metal detector. He asked us to use the Mobile Cloak Room and not carry it inside the temple. We moved to the Mobile Cloak Room and back. The Mobile Cloak Room was across a 40ft Road. There were a lot of people selling their SaiBaba merchandize again on this street. Also, it was the chosen spot for various travel agents to park their Tata Sumos, Tempos, Trax etc. and look out for passengers. There were frequent instances of 2 Tata Sumos negotiating a U-turn simultaneously on different parts of the same street with other private vehicles waiting to pass through. Welcome to the Indian Traffic Situation. Gutkha-chewing drivers swearing at each other...making the toughest manouvres with the least tolerance...staring at some hot chick...spitting with derisive contempt on the street...yelling at the same time at some prospective customer

"chala..Shingnapur chala.."

Bobin and I were walking barefoot on that street with blobs of spit lying around. After all this, I am sure we can easily cross a field laid with visible landmines with least damage.

The re-entry to the temple complex took us inside a big hall that was designed to provide a roof to a long queue of people waiting for Darshan. That was the first bit of organized effort towards temple maintenance. The queue was long and took us around 1 hour to reach the finish line. The hall had been divided by horizontal rows of steel railing. We had to be careful about the people behind us every moment inside the hall...every turn had a scope for overtaking. Bobin and I strictly gaurded our position. There were frequent attempts by this Uncle behind us..we named him Schumacher. Now Schumacher Uncle had his own strategy. We thought that he had been in the game for a few years now...not ready to retire though. He kept up the pressure when the line was slow moving...and made his moves only when there was a gap ahead of us. He was successful also but we were no novices either. There were others who were following lane discipline and every once in a while we had some Aunty coming with a baby in hand...moving along passing everyone as if she was the Safety Car in the race...a wailing baby made her passage easier. There were a few who didnt want the pressures of this race and just jumped the railings. Two of them were caught and were asked to start afresh by the security gaurd at the end of the line..Mr. Ecclestone.

Bobin and I managed to keep a good position all through but that turned out to be only a race to get the Pole Positions. After this hall, we were guided to a staircase onto first floor where there were a few hairpin curves too. We lost a lot in this phase because of low stamina. Schumacher Uncle stepped on it somewhere before the staircase and we could see him drifting across the finish line...chilling. The last bit also had the most resistance and chaos. The gaurds kept yelling on people who took more time in front of Sri Sai Baba. Every person was allowed a contact time of 2 seconds in front of the statue...

Bobin and I left there quickly in disgust. All this for a 2 second moment with Shirdiwaale Sai Baba. We moved out of there..back on the street with irate gutkha-spitting drivers. I negotiated a deal to go to Shingnapur and back. It was 85 kms away and as per the driver's calculations, it would take around 4 hours for the whole trip. We got on the Sumo. The other seats were taken by 3 Aunties..and a group of 5 people who seemed to be from Haryana but staying around Delhi. We named them - Delhi Thugs (read De-lee). As soon as the journey started and the Delhi Thugs got busy talking about all the big cars that they had seen on Delhi streets. Bee-um-dublu, Mer-si-dis, Lambur-ginis etc. Delhi Thugs went on about all this for the next one and half hours till we reached our destination...after which they paused to get off the car and started all over again.

As soon as our car double-parked in a make-shift parking lot, a man with a saffron tika on his head came by and hung a few saffron lungis by the car window.

"Yeh dhoti pehen neka..aur wahan par nahane ka. Fir hi tum darshan ke liye ja sakte ho. Gaadi main sab saaman chhod do..koi tension nahi hai"

He was also offering a 250 gm packet of mustard oil. All this even before we got off the car. Delhi Thugs were halfway to the temple already...they were fast. Bobin and I decided to disembark. An old man came rushing towards us...searching for my wrist. He had huge strands of saffron thread around his neck. The idea was to tie a bit and then charge me for the service. It was a battle of persuasion. At last, he spoke - "Shani Bhagwaan ka ashirwaad hoga. Apka pariwar sukhi hoga..." I moved away and Bobin said - "nahi chahiye." He left. We won our first battle. I went back into the car to get some water. As soon as I came back out, the man came back to us charging again. The same battle ensued...and this time, I delivered the victory dialogue - Nahi Chahiye. The man left again to find some other car. I had the Mantra to swim across all the Holy Rivers and not be duped by a single Godman.

We didnt take the lungi and free bath offer. Bobin was disinterested to come to Shingnapur in the first place. We were hungry. The only food that we had had since morning was a cup of tea and a Batata Wada. We still moved bravely to the main temple. All along the way, I was greeted by locals and asked to take a bath before entering the temple. At the temple, there were two entrances, one for ladies..and gents who didnt want to wear the lungi...and another for the lungi clad men. I walked around the temple using the former line. There is a big rock at the centre of the temple where people pour the Mustard oil. It is supposed to be a ShivaLing. I offered my prayers and left the place.

We waited for the next 45mins at the car. There were two more instances of the saffron thread man attacking us during this period. The Delhi Thugs were not to be found. I was sure they sat down to have a heavy lunch somewhere...not caring about the fellow passengers. Frustrated, we took another vehicle back to Shirdi. It was an tempo ride back that I enjoyed...no chattering co-passengers...sugarcane fields stretching upto the horizon. We were a little tensed since we were faraway from Shirdi and our bus would leave at 4 pm. We asked our co-passenger...a calm Marathi Manus who was sitting with his family -

"Aur kitna time lagega Shirdi pahunchne mein?"

"Aur dus minute"

We relaxed the next ten minutes only to find that we were nowhere near. I asked him again and he said calmly -

"aur dus minute lagega"

I couldnt help but laugh. I tried hard but I could not come up with a name for my fellow passenger. He was a simple man..working at one of the shops around the temple selling holy merchandize. I asked him how much a plastic bag full of prasad would cost...he said around Rs.50. I told him that I paid Rs.130 for it this morning. He smiled and said -

"Bhagwaan ke liye hi to hai..."

We waited for 30 more minutes to reach Shirdi at around 4.10 pm. The bus had decided to leave at 4.30 pm. We thanked the Lord for saving our day by delaying the bus.

Meanwhile II

Mr. Stranger sits quietly at his desk...punching a keyboard. All these months of frenzied financial activity in the US has taken a toll on his health. He has been working extra hours for no extra reason. In the times of Global Meltdown, his mental breakdown was certain due to the extra pressure. Although he had managed to start working in a 9 to 5 pattern rather than 24 hour shifts, the sane work timings brought in more exposure to business hours and hence more stress. He has lost a lot of hair recently. Reluctantly he gets up to make himself a cup of some distasteful organic chinese tea. What prompted this decision was an article somewhere that he read about anti-oxidants in organic tea. While strolling lazily to the cafeteria, he was reminded of his last appraisal meeting. His Manager told him that although there was no complain about Mr. Stranger's work, his shabby dressing and lazy demeanor whilst walking around office was not a very exciting sight. Mr. Stranger straightens up and marches down the corridor to the cafeteria only to be called back in the next moment, someone from some other part of the world wants to speak to him. How the benefits of Organic Chinese Tea would never be felt.

Mungesh Rohan hadn't touched his guitar for some weeks now. His single room in a co-ed hostel arrangement in Amsterdam has failed to light up his life. The dirt inside his head troubles him so much that the unhygienic room conditions donot affect him anymore...or maybe he was always distanced from human hygiene. Charity begins at home...cleansing must begin at the head. In a bid to shed off some office stress, he shaved his head recently. But that, like so many other things in his life, has had only a temporary effect. The job is taking so much time and energy that his daily routine beyond office is getting affected. There is this urge to just quit...spend some time in oblivion. The money is good, but how better?

KhambaMan pours his last drink for the day. A plate of hot dal tadka and Jeera Rice await as the main course. The waiters at Govind Garden know this since that was the routine for quite a few weeks now. He thinks of better times spent in the past. A good salary and a better office donot gaurantee a better life. He is angry at this betrayal. He curses..lights up a cigarette and finishes the last one in one gulp. This was the most dramatic moment of his day. He pauses to think about it...only to order for another quarter and repeat the act. The stage is set. Dal Tadka and Jeera Rice can wait.

Taurav Siwari rides back from work. Its one traffic signal to another in a beautiful yet smoggy Pune evening. He recently experienced the biggest jolt of his life. The moment came like a raging Mumbai down-pour that lasts 10 mins...something that manages to drench everything under it within split-seconds and move on. He reaches the Resort and finds it empty. He knows where KhambaMan is. Also knows that Politburo must be also on his way back. A month ago, he would have joined KhambaMan for the 8 P.M. After the recent turn of events, he knows that any habit as such would only make things worse. He understands his friends...and wants to be there.

Bhai wakes up from his slumber. Its time to go to work. In an efficient routine, something that he has perfected over the months at the Resort, he gets ready to work without glitches. He takes the 9 am Metro to his workplace so that he is out by 5.30 pm. Life is peaceful. No more traffic signals. There is good Scotch Whisky at home which he sips leisurely after work; benefits to live among Englishmen. All day long his eyes pry for some new material to assimilate from the world of internet. The only time he felt lonely was when the Bollywood Big-wigs were having a strike against the Multiplex Owners Association causing an indefinite delay in new movie releases. His God was watching him during this time of peril; two movies of his favorite Cinemaman - Anurag Kashyap - were released back to back. What could be better. Maybe he will read about wonderful qualities of Organic Chinese Tea today.

Meanwhile Nedumpa and Shenon ride to another beach in Goa...

Big Bang Theory

Pune City has funny named places in it. I went to one such place - Pimpale Saudagar. The friends that I visited called the place - The Resort. A Resort it is indeed, for obvious reasons. Bhai had once given me the description of the top floor flat with its terrace opening up to Pune heights. The description did fit in beautifully...albeit a bit smaller in size. But the personalities I met therein were astronomical. They are the caretakers of the Resort now until it withers away into our glorious past.

Chomko and his friend - Derry - decided to drive down to Pune and were kind enuf to let me hitch a ride. At first I met up with BluesMan Tom aka Prem Chopra. We offered our prayers to the Gods and went on a musical trip. BluesMan being a man from the hills has maintained the quorum of his flat to be people from his region. The Yamaha guitar and the desktop with good speakers and a broadband internet connection. It was a good four hour trip with the bluesman. I left for the Resort in the evening.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, we got delayed and the people at the Resort felt all the stages of anxiety...ending in hopelessness. But finally we reached our destination. Chomko is a good driver. KhambaMan was already halfway thru his daily quota at Govind Garden Bar. Chuzukee and Politburo were at the Resort - chilling. We didnt quite settle down there...made our way to Govind Garden. A momentous bonding session ensued. KhambaMan at the head of the Table, me and Chuzukee on the two sides. Politburo beside me. Chomko and Derry taking their place beside Chuzukee. We took our turns to congratulate each other for making it to the table. It was perhaps my first session ever with Politburo. Even the others took notice of this. I named it - Gatbandhan.

We have all matured into pretty seasoned alcoholics...me being the worst of the lot. Chuzukee was giving me company for his own reasons. Chomko being the wine Baron, took responsibility of getting everyone pissed drunk. KhambaMan volunteered even before the event had started. Politburo kept his composure...maybe expecting a new move from the opposition. We spoke about how far we are from College. It was around 4 years...

Everyone of us is like a particle travelling outwards in space...ejected at the moment of culmination of the REC Durgapur life. We took different directions, but were part of the same wavefront. Every event in our lives altering our direction. But we were all still moving outward, faraway from each other every moment. Every such Govind Garden moment is like an explosion. A contraction followed by an expansion...where a few of us manage to converge to a point...spend a moment together..only to comeback to our original positions in the next instant or maybe diverge again. The College life then, KhambaMan and I agreed the next day, was the Big Bang that caused this entire creation. If it hadnt been for the Alma Mater, this would never have happened. And this is just one way of looking at it.

By now I have managed to meet many of the people from my College life. The trip to college - Shani is not doing well. He is not interested to work anymore and seeks solace in a bottle of Bangla 60. There are too many bitter memories of people who are no longer with us. Particles which just vanished/burnt away. KhambaMan also mentioned about the Lost. Chuzukee later told me that Politburo has had his share of outbursts.

KhambaMan has become a premium customer at Govind Garden. His appetite for alcohol has increased several fold. I could see my alcoholic Uncle in him...drinking his daily dose..eating food and sleeping like a baby...waking up next afternoon to some whisky and soda. Food at 3pm and sleep again. In between all this, talking about his likes and dislikes..eventually losing control and sense.

KhambaMan posed the question - What is Life? - and all its variants. Being the smartass that I am, I tried answering it to the best of my capabilities, that is, quoting a lot of facts from wherever...and eventually saying - I dont know. It is then that KhambaMan also said -

A lot of things still remain unexplained. And every now and then all u can do is just look up and heave a sigh,"Kya baat Hai!!"

I was in total agreement.

A sojourn

Riding on an a/c taxi from Changi Airport to my residence I was surprised to see the superway that looked new. On inquiring I found out that the look was changed to promote Singapore tourism. 'New plantations and flowers. This will make people like you to come to Singapore more la.' I was struck with an amazement that lasted a whole one hour. The median had been taken off and colourful flower baskets were laid in its place...giving it a very pleasurable feel in the 10 o'clock sun...probably at any hour of the day. The cars on the road followed strict lane discipline. Every 500 m there was a signboard giving directions, speed limits, time required to reach the prominent destinations nearby...a clear understatement - welcome to Singapore..we are a developed country and we would like you to feel at your comfortable best while you are here. 72 hours earlier I was rushing in a fiat taxi to Mumbai Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport to get the earliest flight to Kolkata. 6 hours prior to that I was drinking from a bottle of bourbon with a mission to accomplish - to the last drop. I was drunk and the 6 am breeze gave me the warning signs of the Mumbai madness that will soon follow as the day proceeds. My taxi was not a/c and at a erroneous traffic signal made the driver bawl out 'Bhenchod, na khud jaate hain...na kisi ko jane dete hain' My sombre self let out a smile thinking about the reaction of my co-passenger. It was my Dad. The man had come to Mumbai 35 years ago and learnt its ways. He sat there unflinchingly...the comment meant nothing to him...the indifference took away my smile. Sushil - the taxi guy - was my father's regular airportman. When you are in Mumbai and have to get around, you need such kind of point men who can answer your calls at any hour. We had called him at 5 am. I saw him rushing down the main road of Vashi and jerk to a stop...and in that quick motion throw out a passenger and his luggage...get back in and pick us up. It took him not more than 23 seconds. We were in time for the Jet Airways flight. The domestic terminal had been recently renovated. Its design will definitely evoke the Shanghai dream among all who plan to see Mumbai there. A quick check in and even quicker take off told me that the bourbon was good. Everything moved fast around me...next thing I remember is staring from the last seat of the airbus to a mega crowd of mostly bengali chatter excited to celebrate Holi in the city of their birth...or something in that effect. I dozed off. Arriving in Kolkata airport has always been a rejuvenating experience. Even the conveyor belt reflects the laziness of the staff...of the taxi unions...of the city. The whole of Kolkata wants to sit back and sip at their cup of tea and filterless Capstan while the world kills itself by running on a mega environmentally unfriendly treadmill. And the airport is a multi-holed veil that fails to mask this image completely. Outside, as the warm and humid Kolkata air played with my sweat pores...the bourbon began to fade. On an ambassador taxi that couldn't do more than a 60 kmph...we were riding through the empty streets streaked in vermillion red and occasional greens and purples and whites. There were people out there willing to take a shot at coloring my solemn face but the driver had warned against rolling down the windows before we left the airport. It was Holi (Dol in bengali) and I was riding my blues. We were on our way to a town 65 km away...and the taxi steadily moved at sixty. It was an old cab and made a lot of creak and whistle. None of the indicators worked and if the driver's hand would be off the steering wheel for 4 seconds...we would be off the road. But it kept riding like a surfboard made out of plywood on a rusted steel surface. There were frequent dents on the road and even if there weren't any...the taxi would have made us felt otherwise. We were on our way to a funeral. There had been a death in the family I had not seen them for more than 3 years...it hardly meant anything to me. I was there for my father but my indifference towards the demise was evident. To me it was a joyride before I got back to my professional lifestyle 3000 miles away. It was important for my father to see the last remains of his elder brother..I could feel that much. And I was willing to go to any length to make that happen...but as it has always been..we are all slaves of time...and I felt helpless like so many times before. We passed through shacks and railway crossings and more shacks and dilapidated buildings and more such and not in that order until my eyes met one of the highlights. I have always been overjoyed at the sight of lush green paddy fields...spreading beyond my horizon. Each square meter of paddy alongwith the hardworking farmers and the shrimps in the thin hand-dug canals and that occasional tree amidst every 30 acres of land said to me in unison - 'Welcome back to the great gangetic plains. Hope you have a safe journey.' I nodded mildly as if acknowledging their message. There were a few songs that I would like to listen at that moment and they moved back and forth in my head...browsing through them...I felt at peace with the lack of my mp3 player because there was music with me. When you are riding on a beat up taxi out on the small towns of rural India...of all the things you are blessed with...there is music somewhere. A lot can go wrong but the music is never over. I glanced through the empty dashboard of the taxi...the beat up knobs and meters. At one of the toll stations that the driver stopped at...he pulled a knob from a row of 7 knobs and the engine died. I was amazed to find this obsolete system still in use...him and the rest around him never felt the need to upgrade and so was evident across the state of Bengal...just the essential. There was a plastic idol of Sri Ramakrishna stuck in the centre of the dashboard. The driver was accompanied with a sidekick. His job was not to speak...just look out on the road and other things on it. Never to complain about anything and learn the way the driver had mastered his skill of driving that tinbox of a car. For all I could see, he was a good student. He had dropped in some jarda at the corner of his mouth when we started from the airport...and all through those 65 odd kms...he kept sucking in satisfaction. At once the driver ordered an agarbatti for Sri Ramakrishna. The sidekick moved in lazy moves to find the box of incense sticks and matches...the driver guided him to the compartment in front left. Out came the box...2 sticks...a strike at the box...2 agarbattis were lit and stuck to the dashboard at some crack. Older agarbattis had left their mild burns on the pleathery surface. 'Atleast pray to the Lord before you that baba...what to teach these young generation,' the driver quipped. The sidekick took the two agarbattis out and moved them around the idol in small circles and stuck it back...disinterestedly went back to his juice of satisfaction and his dull Holi morning. I guess he was thinking about the glass of bhang that he didn't finish before leaving...or maybe he was already stoned. Whatever it was...he didn't choose to bother others with his state. Suddenly my Dad's cell phone rang and the voice at the other end inquired about our current location. He said that the family was moving to the crematorium. They could not wait any longer. It was close to 11.30 am and were still 30 mins away. My Dad couldn't say much to stop them. He was anyway falling short of speech...away from the mild hustle bustle of taxi ride. He was riding his wave of memory with his elder brother I guess. And the lush green plains outside his window were the best screens to project from the celluloids of his memory. When a close one dies...all you care to see at that moment is the body. The Bhagwat Gita talks about the soul being immortal and the body being 'Maya'...but when it comes to the death of a loved one...we want to see the body and not think about Maya...or soul..or Bhagwat Gita..we leave that for 2 weeks after the death..when the sorrow is at a point where we need to choose between it and the pressures and committments of our own lives. I was cursing the lack of upgrade in the entire state...had it been there...it would have increased our chances to get there faster although we were doing a constant 60 given the empty roads. We reached just in time at the crematorium and saw the last of a loved one. There was an air of sadness and stench all around. In a grid of 3x3 there were 9 bodies of the very poor and helpless. My uncle was a well known Vet in the town and so had the precedence over others. All others had to wait. The longer you wait before a dead body..the harder it gets to stop the tears...to stop the images of better times in our minds...to rest the abrupt end of our promised better times. We are so populated as a country that even our dead have to wait in a queue before their last rites.

All in a cup of tea

Sharmaji sips his morning cup of tea..ciggarette in hand outside his office building. Its been a year and half since he has been following the same routine in the slick industrial area of Gurgaon. This is the ICICI building. He sees fresh faces joining the workforce..smoking their first hundred ciggerates with their first salaries..planning evenings then weekends at local pubs...together they represent the proletariat of new age India. The rupee is getting stronger...the salaries are rising higher...the sensex is doing better.. But all this does not matter to Sharmaji. He has been there done that. He does not want to be held together with the yuppy faces in front of him. He has lost his exuberant self longtime ago. This is not his kind of crowd...he remembers of a similar setting from his youthful times. He remembered a similar time with tea and ciggeratte in hand...days were spent in a shack outside his college campus. Oh they were wonderful times. There was a mishra, a pandey and a tripathi somewhere in the crowd. Sipping innumerable cups...thinking what the future would be like. There were limited pleasures, like the occasional beer from the money saved from the mess bill. And that one night that his hometown buddy Srivastav had managed to flick some biscuits from the Mess hall which lasted for an entire week in his bag. The two of them sharing 2 each at the midnight canteen tea. Those were the days. A year and a half back, he was working in Mumbai...the city that does not sleep...and it didnt let him either. He left it to find a cure for his insomnia. But the three months there with Pandeyji proved to be worthwhile. He has seen the dark sides of that city. He can proudly say - he has seen life. He remembers one of his numerous bus journeys back from work where the thin man sitting one seat ahead in the 351 ltd BEST bus talking to his unknown neighbour. Apparently the thin man's elder brother was an alcoholic. Thin man had to provide for his little 1 BHK household. The members - his aging parents, one alcoholic elder brother with family..and his own little family. How thin man wished to get away from his ordeal...get a better job with a better pay...but he was a low skilled workman. The thin man never could arrive at the possibility of leaving the city itself. But Sharmaji had chosen and that made him feel empowered. All this could have changed if the cute girl working in his office had complied to his advances. Destiny.

If it wasn't for this bright opportunity at Gurgaon...he too would have been left restless by the Mumbai madness. The yuppy faces in front of him don't know what life is. How nice it would be to have all his friends working in Gurgaon...such enjoyment...such possibilities.

Sharmaji takes his last puff of ciggeratte and dumps the remnants of his tea cup inside his mouth...nods at the shopowner..the bill will be cleared in the evening. Takes another look at the new joinees and heaves a sigh..and walks back to his office.

Meanwhile..

Mr.Stranger wakes up to a flash of lightening...a lazy look out the window..its raining. Thirty minutes later he is off to work. Its a Limo-taxi...super comfort...zero decibel ride..with the only sound of some meak volumed 90.4 FM stereo and the click of the wipers at the edge of the windshield. Its 6.15 am and still dark...the street lights coming thru the windshield...polarized by the droplets. Soon the shades of the night will be lost to the twilight. And soon the day will be lost in a blink. This choice of the early-to-rise life has taught him the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. Amidst the shaded glow of sodium vapor streetlights...he still feels a discomfort in the smooth embrace of the bucket seats of a limo-cab. Meanwhile, on another side of the globe, Shotgun Vilas drives back home after a day of work. He is living his American Dream. The GM car, the Gucci Shirt, the planned vacations, the unplanned weekends, edeals on iphone, Thanksgiving Sale...hidden grief and strife...packaged in a Walmart Life. He wishes to sip a beer before getting to his house chores...before dinner...before he goes to bed. But the beer can wait..atleast for the next couple of days..until he hits the friday. It is this wait that keeps him motivated towards his choices. Long ago he used to sip a chilled beer at 6 am in the morning...and now he chooses not to remember this part of his life. Back home in Mumbai, AsExplainedbyaJunkie moves his lazy ass from his bed to the kitchen for his occasional blues penguin walk...contemplating..and more importantly..articulating some new antidote from the mixbag of issues gathered from his scattered life...and at the same time searching involuntarily for some morsel to chew on... He has managed to keep his life to the simplest form and is still clueless about the cause of his dissatisfaction at this hour. Fully knowing the futility, he lights up another cigarette and ponders on. His posessions area at a bare minimum..mostly because maintenance of posessions is not his forte...and a bar to his wants that would puzzle Sigmund Freud. But then again...even Shotgun Vilas' persona would baffle Freud. Around the same time, in a lesser known town of Madikere, in the picturesque district of Coorg, Bomanna wakes up to the thunder of a ligthening strike nearby...only that it is the 23rd time this night. Its been a rainy week in Madikere. Even the Dussera celebrations were not blessed with a dry spell. His vacation of a little over a fortnight has been plagued by bad rainy weather. Even his trip to Bangalore was eclipsed by dark clouds and continuous drizzle. It puzzles him that it was raining in Singapore when he left there a week earlier...and its been raining ever since he landed in his hometown. For a moment, in the dark space in front of his drowsy eyes this night, he thinks that its raining all over the world. God has strange ways. There are a million lives stuck in this moment. Meanwhile...

Motorcycle Diaries

Feb 21, 1 am. Phone rings. Hello. Is this Jack? Yes. Do you know Dean and Jimmy? Yes. What happened? Where do you stay? How do you know them? I am at Canton Hill. We are friends from the same college. There has been an accident. Please come to Magnolia Hospital immediately. I am Inspector Sawhney calling. This is my number. Get here asap. How bad is..... The line goes dead. Earlier that evening. Dean finalises an apartment where he is supposed to move in next week with Jack. Jimmy and Dean go out to celebrate. They have Jack’s motorcycle. Jack reaches the hospital thirty minutes later. Emergency ward. The police waiting. None of his friends are to be seen. More questions follow. After 10 more minutes of interrogation, Jack is told that Dean is dead. Jimmy is in critical condition. They were run-over by an SUV. Story: No witnesses. The driver of the SUV fled from the scene. Police first said they brought the two to the hospital. The hospital Journal says differently. The police version keeps changing over the hour. This is the first time Jack has encountered the police. There will be a lot more first times in the next hour. A Report is lodged against the duo for reckless driving the next day by a Doctor who also fled the scene. I am Jack. This happened 2 years ago.

Choices and changes

Its a fine monday morning. For a change I wake up early at 6.30 am. Its been drizzling since an hour. After an hour of morning chores and lazing around I am struck by a thought that I cant recall the source of...I think it was AsExplainedbyaJunkie...that gets me thinking. When we were young...there were infinite possibilities to our lives. You could choose professions...a new one each day. Probably the Doctor's Set that was a gift from Uncle J kept you longest at one profession during those juvenile years. You were a Kapil Dev at bowling and a Gavaskar at batting...and well....nobody liked fielding...Maradona at the midfield...and Boris Becker or Agassi even when u never played tennis. You were Aamir Khan after you watched Qayamat se Qayamat tak and Salman Khan after Maine Pyaar Kiya....probably Amitabh Bacchan after Shehenshah with the Rishte-mein-toh-hum-tumhare-baap-lagte-hain style whenever you were in a fight with some other kid from another section at school. The only choices required were choosing notebooks and pencils and crayons and sketchpens....bats...balls...shoes...etc.. But then a point of life comes when you choose a college...a coursework...better college....exams...subjects...etc..And with each successive choice after this point....you limit your possibilities. With each further choice, you are further away from your Boris Becker...or maybe Federer. And then you meet Rentboy who doesnt wish to choose...bcos there's heroin...sensational. You were confused about how things have changed over the years and how nothing is as it seems...that were meant to be a part of the system and a Floyd or a Doors song will just hit the spot...expressions that give you some room for your situation. Your words find representation on celluloid with Tyler Durden coming over with his Project Mayhem...phenomenal. And you swear by every word that comes around by the artists of the beat...rock n roll connects to your soul...dreaming of an alterego living it out in Woodstock 69. At the same time you need to carry on with your life...choose more coursework...get a job...explaining to your friends that you are not cut out for this shit...limiting your choices to the bare minimum...your anger for the system...the betrayal of dreams...the loss of a prayer.....denial. And then one day you are hit by death. The death of a friend...a brother..and for a long moment there is a silence.. there is no anger here... no choices... a lot of questions...no answers.. just unfathomable....death. As you try to get a grip....the anger sets in...it alternates with sorrow...the music ceases to be anything more than entertainment. Some of the words fail...and all that is there around is a lot of what-ifs. Which brings me to the idea of choices and possibilities... when someone dies....his loved ones are all hit by the what-ifs. for him...there are no choices to be made....and hence infinite possibilities. Every single person close to him contemplates these sets of infinite possibilities and the realisation of their failure brings about further grief. From the point of his death, each year on....the time and the choices made by the loved ones takes them further way from the event ...reducing the no. of possibilities ...and after a long time all that remains is a speck of memory...of the loss of a friend. - In memory of Manas.

Basking under the Sun: Convocation 3

Day 2. I wake up at around 10.30 am and see Arun rushing to attend some class. Benzene waits outside. I take the room keys and get back to another 5 mins..before I realise that I can get back to sleep once I leave Durgapur. I have to go to college and see how it looks like...and also inquire about Degrees being handed over to people with authority letters. Before I go to college, I go to Techno for something to munch on...I choose my favourite nutrition during my 4 years...'Bum' and Frooti. I meet Shambu and Kailash...small talk. I move towards college from the path behind Hall 1. That patch hasnt changed. As I near college...I see another change - a fountain in front of the college building. Inside the college building...I am using the best of my corrected 6/6 vision to avoid contact with any professor who can remotely recognise me. The first floor is always emptier, so I take the first staircase to it. Outside IT dept. I meet one of my EE profs and he wishes to talk. We a 10 min conversation of i-dunno-wat but goes on the lines of where-are-you-and-how-have-you-been. I move on...Mech Dept...LG..TR..AM dept..TR..LG...the dept that screwed me...completely. I stand outside the dept looking at the signboard - Electrical Engg Dept. Below it...the doors to my hell...long corridor with the rooms on the left belonging to the demons and the rooms on the right - their workbench. At the end of the corridor- the broken window pane. The white wash still giving a very dull but calm look on the outside...probably signifying the silence before a storm. I see some students coming out of the dept. silently like we used. Somehow, none of us never had anything to say to each other whenever we walked out...there would be something when we walked in..but nothing when we came out. In the LG behind me, SKD teaches another batch of uninterested students. I peep in just for kicks...there are none. My work is done. On my way out I take the ground floor corridor...ask someone from the Academic Section about Authority letters...nobody is informed. I move to jhoops. Haria is already there...his dishevelled look remains constant with the image of jhoops...plate in hand..glass of chai on the side..asking for more...some guys sitting around...but food is prime..where are the other guys?? I see Dhiru...he came early in the morning....some guys from junior batch also have come for the convocation. The college is saving money...conducting the Convocation ceremony of 2 batches of BE and one batch of MCA and some Ph.d students. A big convocation hall belonging to the CPI(M) has been booked somewhere in citycentre. Saif has also come..there must be more people from our batch...guys working in Kolkata plan to come down in the evening. Its nice to meet batchmates that you want to meet after a period of a couple of years. They remind you how fast things are changing and how further away you have moved from your previously known self... The only sad part about such meetings is that they can't last for more than 15 mins. > kaisa hai.. >> main theek hoon...tu bata.. > bas yaar chal raha hai.. >> job shift maara kya..ya waheen hai... > arre abhi nahin yaar...dekhte hain..tu abhi bhi hyderabad main? >> haan...agle mahine shayad Bombay move hai..company relocate kar rahi hai.. > sahi..wahaan pe toh public hai apni.. >> haan..sahi hai...timepass ho jayega... ........... eventually there is nothing more you can talk about....it always veers off to this....its frustrating and at times depressing..but I guess thats all what it is all about... I have such conversations on the phone...on chat...and I had it there with Saif and Dhiru. I settle down...my poch and chai are ready without me asking for it. Jeet hands it over to me. Kya baat hai - I exclaim. Jeet smiles and leaves. Trainee Chhotu is doing the dishes these days...there is a dog around jhoops -Kalu- adopted by Shani after it bit Shani during Holi earlier that year. I go thru the HT City to find the sleaze quotient of Bengal page 3 these days...it is impressive but nothing compared to Bombay times....or Times of India actually. The Gang left for college...none of them seems to be around jhoops arnd 11.30 am...Haria observes. Within moments Kelu and Imtiyaz arrive. Guitar in hand. Shani cannot manage the smirk. He is not at his dias today...he relaxes...probably the after effects of the previous night. He calls me over and gives me an envelope...the package sent by Jitu. Before I manage to see whats inside...I smell MaryJane from shacks of Hoskote and I thank my stars...Haria turns around to see me...he knows that our prayers have been answered. An aura of excitement sweeps thru jhoops...Shani doesnt understand what makes us smile...I ask him to give me 15 mins to explain. We get to work. Kelu and Imtiyaz throw in their supply and look on...I return that. Arun and Alamin walk in..there are murmurs about logging into some strange frequency within the next half hour. I am told about a certain personality...we await his brilliance. This personality has been introduced to me in the previous evening but his talent hasnt come to the fore yet. We are talking about Kush. I ask Alamin about Kush's whereabouts, he nods and starts making frantic calls. He will arrive another half hour. What is it exactly that we are expecting..I ask. Just wait to see... While I am at work....my hands moving like that of a professional poker player..a silent guy watches me..asks - yeh kahaan ka hai? I explain...he is satisfied by the answer. Watches me work without a work...I am done in 10 mins and Shani is ready to understand. The silent guy also wishes to know...I am willing to explain because I like his questions...his way of putting them. Haria is also ready...we are honoured by having the company of Saif. The gang also waits. Within the next 10 mins...everybody is mellowed down. We are back in our own time...the Durgapur Sun at 12 pm...our hunger..the after taste of tea and nicotine...the lazy traffic of Mahatma Gandhi Avenue... The silent guy thanks me...I feel embarrased by his sense of gratitude. Meet Norbu. He is a man of the mountains...there is peace and tranquility in his ways and speech..and a wisdom begeted from the mountain gods. I stand up to deliver a discourse....one of my favourite actions at such moments...I thank Shani, every member of The Gang present for making my trip so special. Norbu is part of the gang. He accompanied us for the rest of our trip. It was a privelege and honour to have his company...and more importantly...know him. Sometime after my discourse...a guy walks in with Shades on..Kush enters. Settles down at the far end leaning to the bamboo...his weight disturbs the ants meandering in the cracks within the concrete stilt...but they are too small compared to us humans to fathom what hit them. People gather around Kush...Aks sits on the other end disinterested. They all ask him his comments about a lot of things...last night..music..kurt kobain..professor...Aks' hair...etc. His answers are....well...I can try and sample one from my memory.. Kush About Haria - Haria is a light brighter than phosphorus sunshine...like rare element inside coke that is tasty and poisonous too. I hate pepsi. That is Kush for you..and now I undertand what they mean when the talk about Kush freqeuncy. We listen to more of Kush and after a while I am bored and I speak to Norbu...learn more about him. Imtiyaz keeps fingering the fretboard. Aks remains disinterested...coming out with his own wisecracks every now and then. Arun keeps tripping on Kush. Alamin keeps laughing. Jeet keeps cooking...Chhotu is on with his training..Shani keeps a watch with an occasional chat with Haria and me and another mouthful of smoke...passing cigarettes around. Saif moves out to see other people in college...Dhiru joins him. Kelu sits silently on the side. More players of the jhoops scene drop by for lunch...more smoke goes around. Its fun to get wasted like this. Haria and I plan to go sit in the Oval sometime late in the afternoon. Anup tells us that he has planned an LC meeting for the evening when Roshan walks in...tells Haria that the arrangements are done. Roshan has planned for a small gig on the Basketball court along with Mic and Speakers...people are told to pass the word around. This is simply amazing...our own gig. Roshan is incredible..I am eternally indebted to him. Firstly for planning the Dgp trip for haria and now this. Impossible. He sits down excitedly...I ask Jeet to fulfill all food-related issues of Roshan asap (which anyway would have occured)..I order Limbu pani for him...I dont know to thank him.. He inspects the chatter around...inspects each person. Roshan and Haria have been playing this little game of categorization for some months now where they study a person's movement/actions/words and then define his intellect level - viz. concept level 1, level 2 and level 3(legend)..with each of the first two levels subdivided into lower limit and upper limit for ease. Within the next half hour I watch in amazement at the expertise that Roshan has gathered...with ease he completes labelling every one of those present there. The Gang is disturbed by this as they donot understand the game and only see Roshan pronouncing the words 'Concept Level 2 Lower limit' or its other variant with a finger pointed at someone. Haria asks them to take it light...not to bother. They agree and Aks makes a crack on Roshan...Roshan looks at him...smiles and says 'View from Top'. The birth of a new label...a new school of thought...and in the near future..a new orkut community. Anup doesn't understand any of the happenings but still keeps laughing..Aks makes a crack at LC and he stops laughing. The Gang is all-active and it is fun to see them at work. Meanwhile Kush has been silenced with some 'ghugni' and chai and Arun sits at one end of jhoops monitoring all the activities..a la Godfather. Haria and I move to Oval...Arun accompanies us but later leaves for basketball..Norbu promises to meet us later in the evening at the gig. There is some cricket match going on in the Oval...we settle down in the topmost step of the stands. It is an interesting match...inter hall I am told. We light up another joint over there...and around that time are met by Elizabeth and Paromita. Pleasantries exchanged and they move on...we were more bothered to finish our joint. Babloo is with us...he has taken off from work for the afternoon. The match is soon over and the field is empty. We go down to lie on a patch of grass. Babloo doesnt understand why we would do so..but joins us anyway. We face the college building for a while and see some profs moving out..discussing about them. Then we face LH and finally the clear blue sky lying flat on our backs.... After an hour of silence...we wake up to get something to eat and get ready for the next biggest part of the trip...LC meeting and our little gig. The moment has all the signs of a memorable evening...but like all things between Haria and me...we could screw this one up too...or it might be straight out bad luck. For reasons best known to me...I am not very hopeful about the next 5 hours..and Haria expresses his skeptism too. We drop the conversation when we are arrive at the library going towards jhoops and Haria spots his HOD...we both decide that it is best in his interests that he doesnt see us in our present condition - shorts, slippers..twigs of grass hanging from wherever..we hide behind a pillar. Another day is saved.. ..we go to the jhoops.

Inside the Den: Convocation Part II

Over the next hour...i meet familiar faces and occasional stares...by now I am comfortably set into the Durgapur evening and the guitar is out...I have an audience...it couldn't ask for more!! The chai keeps running and so does the smoke...the longing for that taste has been satisfied for the moment. We all eagerly await the arrival of Haria.. After countless doses of chai and smoke and exactly two Poch, Shani is ready to close down for the day..its getting dark...and we move to Arun's room - my pad for the 3 day gala. Certain things that i observe on my way towards Hall 5 - - the entrance to the campus near hall 4 has been closed and fortified by the newly built campus wall. - there are signboards in front of every building - the Thela's serving aloo paratha and chola batura are no longer there - the Mess has been redone with better flooring and new Nilkamal Table and chairs - the bathrooms have been redone with better equipment and flooring - the lights in all the wings still dont work - most of the students are glued to their computer screens...LAN wires running in a complex network and multiplayer games being played with vigour.. - Gtalk runs throughout the campus as the next best medium to contact someone after the cellfone - Techno is almost empty....so are the streets where people used to simply loiter during my time.. ......It is depressing to see the campus this way...but I guess this must be better than the ragging scene, the SAM going crowd, getting into fights, watching softcore movies in Bench and Luxor, doing rounds of Bench for no reason, aiming for Teku.....all the things that contributed a lot to my college life... I settle into Arun's room and there I find the most hairiest guy I have ever seen on campus..I am shocked. It is Aks. Super long hair...shoulder length...no shave either...dark pitch black lips and somewhat white teeth within..thin physique and a mild hump...and ultra dirty clothes. A total shocker. I congratulate him for his look...I thought of telling him why...he has made it to the Hall of Fame of Dirtiest people in REC Durgapur (currently NIT Durgapur.) I am told that Tulsi, one of the members of THE GANG* has gone home for personal reasons. He is the prime jester...I miss him anyway. *THE GANG is the current batch of final year students who are practising the arts of getting high, listening to loud rock music, get pissed drunk and feel the Durgapur blues despite all this... I have met three members of THE GANG already viz. Imtiyaz, Arun and Aks aka fugly (fuckin' ugly). More people come into the den...Kelu is shy and manages to say a Hi and settle down in one of the corners beside his best mate - Imtiyaz..they are Nitro partners I am told. Again I am staring at Imtiyaz strumming the guitar...he is one of the best wannabes I have seen yet. He has a girlfriend too...proves my theory on Wannabes. I meet another guy - Benzene - who is partly into the Gang mostly because his room shares a wall with the den...adjusting to the loud noise and supporting with a lot of logistics most of the time. Such people are very important for The Gang. Then a personality walks in, who's discovery is the most prime among all the happenings over the three-day period. Alamin. This guy is simply amazing. He is excited with every move, he has this excitement running all around his face...all bustling with energy...so much that he stammers a bit. Every time I look at him...his face brightens up with attention. Later in the evening I find that Alamin is one of the most active members of THE GANG..and also the most confused. His fervour to arrange for/look after our logistical requirements is simply a sensation in itself. Some more people come in..I recall their names but not their faces. There is news that Hariya has entered the campus...I ask Arun to call Hariya's cell phone for the nth time and find out how long it will take him to get to the Den. By now half of Hall 5 knows who's coming. My eyes meet Alamin's eyes...without a blink he pulls out his cell phone and makes 3 calls...Confirmation: Haria is in the building. I dont know at this moment what amazes me more...Alamin-in-action or Haria's entry. This is a new generation of DGPians we are talking about. Where people across hostels plan for a night out at Sam over Gtalk or Ymsngr or whatever and still are late..where people no longer call up the LH landline..they catch hold of some girl classmate online and the whole wing probably chat with her on the same id...where dumb women are met with Franship statements over orkut and the entire hostel knows about them and hit at will...where even your pretty schoolmates are not spared.. we are talking about a new level of transparency and security and newer fetishes here.. Suddenly there is noise outside the hostel which is louder than within the Den...and THE GANG and I am ready to give Haria a Red Carpet welcome..Alamin is confused how to react to this situation..he finds me looking at him..turns away to his cell phone..Aks is disinterested as usual and sits crouched at the PC inside the den..Imitiyaz is outside with the guitar and teaching Kelu some new tune..Kelu listens..Benzene comments smilingly about Imtiyaz's inability to play..nobody listens..moves to stand in front of his door...Arun is excited too..probably contemplating to say something to mark the ocassion. A dark figure approaches with a bobbing walk with two silhouttes following. The former, Anup...latter, ConceptLevelMan Roshan and the man himself. Loud cheers...some handshakes and hugs..the party is on...the night is live. Again people get busy in settling down and rolling...introductions are made..pleasantries exchanged... > kahan tha...tera fone try kar kar ke thak gaya. >> woh mera battery low tha...light le > itna time Howrah se?? >> woh train ka jhol ho gaya..delay tha. Mera guitar laaya > haan...harmonica bhool gaya. yahan pe bhi kisi ke paas nahin hai >> mereko laga tha tu bhulega is liye main apna laaya.... > kya baat kar raha hai...sahi..sahi >> arre yaar mujhe subah waala flight lena chahiya tha.. > light le abhi..baith..Shani se mila kya? We settle down. The Gang is busy playing music to suit our tastes...to set the mood for the evening..to get it going. There is a lot of energy in the whole scene..a lot of excitement..something that I think I last felt when I was in 2nd year or something like that..unknownst to me and probably all of us in there..there is this expectation that binds us all together..but we dont know what we want to occur.. Joints are passed around and suddenly I find myself sitting in the centre in the room...sharing space with me Haria...facing me and whole lotta crowd..some faces from 2 yrs past..longer hair on most of them.. I donot have a wall to lean on...something that I prefer at such moments..and in my search I just get up and walk out the room...its too smoky i complain...Haria also moves out...a lot of eyes following us..it is getting kind of awkward now..we have our small talk..assesing the situation. I update him about my entry and happenings since..he is excited. We talk about Shani. It seems there is a package/parcel that has been left with Shani..it was sent by Jitu via one of our batchmates Abhik 2 weeks ago...we wonder what it could be. We both pray for it to be what we think it is.. We are standing in the farthest wing of Hall 5 from the mess, first floor...when I see a familiar shadow walking in the ground below, beyond the hall 5 boundary wall. It is Babloo...behind him - Shani. They were called by none other than Alamin while we were talking. This is going to be a very strange night. We wait for them...more noise..hugs..connections...Roshan leaves...we move back into the den. Someone hands over the guitar to me...and one more to Haria. They have already been tuned..something that can never be expected in our case. Haria produces the harmonica...we start our little get together. All along the watchtower - Dave Matthews rendition. More songs follow...fotographs are taken...some videos too...my first public performance with the harmonica. Shani and Babloo are right there with us..sharing the stage...Babloo rolls one of his trademark ultra long joints. 20 mins later..we all are high. More songs follow. Haria says- abey yaar Daaru hota to sahi hota. I nod.. Alamin jumps into action from one corner of the room... Cool hai, Haria...Daaru kya chahiye..main jugadta hoon.. This is Haria's first interaction with Alamin. Haan, jo bhi ho chalega...old monk..whisky. half. Fone calls are made. 30 mins later...some people have moved out..they are done with the evening. Our bottle arrives. Along with some AndaTadka. The smell of Sam food... Eat, drink..music...catching up... At 3.30 am, we call it a day. Its been 21 hours since I have slept. End of Day 1.

An Event called Convocation

Going back to college was never on the top of my to-do list...it didnt even make it to the list....in fact...not going was high on the list. 4 years of the intensive grilling was more than enough to keep me away from those gates...besides there is always that lingering thought about the uncertainty...what if you went back and there is nobody to spend sometime with. After all, the people i met there made it more memorable. We just learnt to enjoy with what the place had to offer. Sometime after a year of my passing out, the CONVOCATION was announced...it first came as a rumor that lasted for around 3 months..then I decided put up a small ploy just to meet the aspirations of the entire batch. It was tried and tested and pretty simple... The so-called BANGUs have always reacted aggressively to rumors. I had once spread a rumor that the exams were going to be postponed because some students seemed to have the paper leaked. It spread like wildfire...like it always does...and the whole of Hall 2 knew this within the next 3 hours. The Bangus were eveready to leave for home on the weekend...they came to my room to check if this was true...the exams started on Monday. I was out drinking that evening. Seeing this many were convinced that the exams were actually getting postponed. That evening saw the most no. of Bangus doing rounds of my room..the exam never got postponed and the revelation came from a drunk teenager...but the rumour worked. This time i tried to use it constructively...I called up some of my Bangu batchmates and told them that if we donot get the degree..there will be trouble when our companies want to send us to onsite..they bought it. Two of them promised to go to college and inquire. After a week, I hear that the entire Bangu community had called up the college relentlessly and 2 weeks later it was official...the CONVOCATION was announced for the 7th of November. And suddenly I get a call from AsExplainedbyaJunkie.... >>Hello.. >haan bol.. >>kya chal raha hai >abey convocation ho raha hai.. >>haan suna maine >main toh ja rahaa hoon.. >>sahi bol... >haan..ConceptLevelMan ne poora plan banaya hai..i m sticking along..woh tickets sab kar dega.. >>acchaa...main dekhta hoon...TL chhutti dega to...pata nahin.. >dekh tu...mereko bata.. ... A day later i spoke to my mom and she said...You must go...after working so hard to become an Engineer, go get the degree!! I said...ya rite.. So it was decided...and to make it all the more special...i booked 21 day peak fare budget airline airtickets to and fro. For the next 20 days...there were innumerable fone calls dissecting the possibilites awaiting us in a land that cannot be described in a blog...only certain events that have taken place on it. We didnt care about the degree...or actually we were incapable to place it in our lives...it was the reason why we went there in the first place...and why were were getting back to it again. I was happy that AsExplainedbyaJunkie would be right there with me...in this strange homecoming of sorts. I didnt know what to expect....and my heart was racing to the boil vapours of colorful dreams with hopes that they would condense into sweet crystals of memory. Fortunately we still had friends back in college...the concerns of logistical requirements were handled. And to my surprise..they were expecting most of us to turn up...and were taking initiatives in spreading the news of the announcement. My trip started with an early morning flight..and the Dum Dum airport at 5.40am looked lazy with the employees waiting to get back home from their night shifts. No change there. Change of tense.. Outside I share a vintage kolkata ambassador taxi with another software guy who has to go to Dhanbad and is rushing to get the Shatabdi..we have small talk. I am in no hurry...he realises and eventually our conversation drops of at some unknown point because i m more interested to look out the window...Morning Calcutta...school going, office going...busy..bustling Calcutta...and i was searching for my sutta and chai...but there was a shatabdi waiting... The Howrah bridge..Hindu hotel...scum and dirt...tin-thoka bus..mini buses..beedis and cigarettes burning...and with them, a big machine running...Howrah Station.. The software guy bails out...we exchange bye-byes...Dadas and boudis running by...teenagers and children tagging along..with the eternal presence of sweaters and monkey caps...and I take a breather of the tensed air of Howrah station...pacing slowly towards a part of the station that used to be the ticket counter...and it still exists in the same way...with majority of the people buying platform tickets.. And I wonder if the Railways department ever wondered about this small occurence, why are so many platform tickets sold and yet the trains are always more crowded...and the only thing that I conclude is the love for the possibilites in our country. I buy express tickets to Durgapur. The next express train is 2 hours later...I walk towards the platform anyway. Streams of people crossing at important junctures...T-sections...L-sections..X-sections..we have them all...there are a lot of people standing at strategic locations to hear the next announcement...I hear some mumble on the microphone and suddenly people start rushing towards platform 8. I rush anyway...and ask one fellow about the details...it is a train that terminates at Burdwan via chord line...I take it. Within the next 5 mins I chart my route back to college.... I sit in a window seat that is against the trains direction...a college student sitting in front of me...Its 9 am in the morning and he is going back home...I wonder what sort of college sends its students back home at 9 in the morning...at the same time I see him staring at my cell phone.. I ask him about the no. of FM channels in Kolkata these days..he says 5.. I tune into one playing Bangla rock...to my fancy..its Fossils with their latest song for Kolkata Police... He asks to see my cellphone...inspects it and is quite happy with the design..then shows me his Nokia XXXX...i nod.. The chord line is supposed to be a shorter way to get to Burdwan frm Howrah but it has this aura of super laziness with stations with absurd names..but I am happy to experience long-sighted glimpses of paddy fields after a year...a contrast to the 200m range of vision of bangalore.... There are daily passengers on this train and their concern is that the train is losing time progressively....there is a verdict...we will be delayed by 30 mins. Finally Burdwan arrives and my anxiety also rises as I near Durgapur... I enquire about the earliest train to Durgapur..it doesnt arrive in another 2 hours..I decide to take a cycle rickshaw to the bustand and onward I go...this bus must have been the most beaten one in the entire bustand or may be it felt so after a year of relatively better roadworks of Bangalore Municipal Corporation. The journey is long and it takes me 2.5 hours to reach anywhere close to Durgapur...and then suddenly I find myself within a familiar sight of GT road...I am 30 mins away...my milestone count is intialised... The bus driver agrees to stop on Gandhi More... What I felt when my feet touched this familiar ground is unexplainable.. I turn and wait for the bus to leave. In front of me, the Hanuman Mandir... 10'o clock - some signboard that was always there..below it...a Taxi stand and pot bellied taxi drivers sleeping in a small shed...its 3 pm and I m starved...somewhere along the way I promise myself that the first morsel of food will come from Shani's...it is a promise in intend to keep and so i start walking..I have AsExplainedbyaJunkie's guitar with me..and a rucksack...and this looks very classy... I cross the ever-important junction...Gandhi More and start plodding towards jhoops...Pathik passes by...some memories go by along with it.. chota gandhi more...the bus stop with no student sitting there...a small surprise...even the tea stall is closed..Buddha's jhopdi on the other side of the road...on the edge of the mini-nilgiri forest...the juice center shack...I walk on. By now I can see the campus...freshly coloured boundary wall...and a setback..!! The entry point at that corner was no more... I can see Shani's jhups...my pace increases....at a certain point I see...Jeet at the stove...some dog lingering about..Shani's cycle parked on the bamboo...and there the man was sitting..his back facing towards me..cigarette smoke emanating... There are two recognizable faces at jhoops too...Arun...and someone grizzly looking guy with a guitar..later I am told..Imtiyaz...I enter.. Arre Boss, tera naam bhadwa hai kya?? Shani turns....explodes....we hug each other....my trip is complete..anything after this goes to Bonus points. I take my preferred seat in front of the Shani's dias...only to learn that these days the cooking is mostly done by Jeet and there is a Trainee-Chhotu undergoing induction for serving..this is Shani's Hotel Management where you learn on the job. Shani only sits and drinks and sometimes does the khata work. But on seeing me...it was as if his face regained the lost lustre of mundane activities...he sprang into action -- Bol, kya banau... I ask for chai, poch and for main course...Lottery...something that only I ordered in the history of Shani's jhups. It is whatever Shani makes of it... We start talking...Arun is quick to check out the guitar in my hand..Imtiyaz looks like he's been struck by a lightening bolt..shabby, dirty..and incomprehensible... The question everybody asks - Haria kab aa raha hai? Pata nahin yaar... .. Joints are quickly rolled and I am quickly reintroduced to the new stalwarts of the jhoops arena..the electrical students are still stuck wid some shitty lecture...couple of mechs have bunked some sessional...meta..chem..civil are also there in the quorum...some electronics are off on sessionals...the IT guys are in their rooms habituated with their afternoon sleep since first year...there are no Compu guys either... As i breath that first puff of Durgapur weed...the taste swirling a million twisters all the way to my lungs and then further on condensing into my blood....i sit speechless for a few moments before my heart asks for seconds. At the same time, my poch and tea are given to me by Jeet who has managed a smile at my return...much to my delight. No words required...no words spoken. Over the next hour...i meet familiar faces and occasional stares...by now I am comfortably set into the Durgapur evening and the guitar is out...I have an audience...it couldn't ask for more!! The chai keeps running and so does the smoke...the longing for that taste has been satisfied for the moment. We all eagerly await the arrival of Haria.. (Continued ...)

Achan's dream and Dreamersdrone...

This must have happened when Achan's God stopped thinking. Since HE didnt need it anymore, he gave his brain away too....well atleast the better part of it. A hardworking Proletariat belonging to a state with Marxist ideals was blessed with a baby boy. 17 years later... The boy had to choose a career and Achan thought of the brightest options...and since God had long stopped thinking...the boy followed suit. He was to become an Engineer. 4 years of tedious labour at one of premier institutes of the country....Achan felt secure. As the year's went by, Achan's understanding of the situation became better and his insecurities grew...but the boy had become wise in his ways....and if he had learnt anything in those 4 years of university education....it was how to maintain a near-incognito status.. While in college, boy had a passion for all this beautiful....and all things that foster connections....to name a few of his interests - women, works of literary geniuses, internet, porn and cell fone network. The former was a mystery and the latter he learnt to understand and treasure. The boy had made great attempts at sowing seeds for a brighter future, when he would step into professional life...by keeping in touch with a lot of young women but always failed to understand their needs...Up to date, there has been only one unbreakable bond between the boy and someone else....his cellphone. Donot be naive in presuming this particular NOKIA to belong in the material world. The function's of this fone once elaborated will personify its existence. It is Achan's only means to put some sense into his Son's ears. For the boy, it is Achan talking to him and the moment the fone rings, the boy shudders. It is also a way to send short messages across distances...and sometimes the boy has dared to send certain text to a certain Miss that would take him another lifetime to utter. It must be noted here that this fone has shown what the words 'Never Say Die' mean. The shelf life of all things....ALL THINGS....in the boy's life is not more than 15 days. Anything that lasts longer requires due respect and honor and all those things attached with the word - Legend. This fone has been in service for more than 3 years now. Sometime last year, catastrophe had struck and I had thought that this was the end...but no...it was a brief period of 3 months...when the fone was in coma....after which it Came back to life as soon as it was given a new battery. A flap fone lost its life in the most cruel way in this span of 3 months - it was decapitated. May its electronic soul rest in peace. The boy learnt to play the guitar....bought himself a guitar...a beautiful acoustic guitar priced at a whopping Rs.6200/-....the first time it broke was after the 14th day...this falling short for its LEGENDary status. An unsung hero because he never made it. The boy has a string of failures with women...which neednt be elaborated and it can be boldly said that the entire Bollywood will be put to shame if a biopic is ever made with the necessary masala.

The boy has successfully become the Agastya Sen of the Corporate world...his activities include - going to office at 11.30 am....sitting there for as long as he is entertained by the internet. Work only when the job needs to be saved...Among the highlights of the day include checking the blogworld for latest updates by dreamersdrone and the best friends. Also logging into Orkut to check for better photographs...

On weekends he likes to avoid fonecalls from home and spend time with some friends...thinking about past. Last weekend he was spotted at a Dandiya Raas standing and staring at the orgy of festivity in front of him....yes he is one of those young men who like to watch....because everytime he tried to move...he was pushed away. And Achan waits at home worriedly thinking....much to his own dismay.

A tribute to the bold force within Achan to keep up this battle.

A tribute to a cell fone which could stand a nuclear holocaust.

A cliche called Growing-Up

It was a summer vacation from school when we had a show called FUN TIME at 12 noon on TV. It was the most entertaining part of our summer day. It had cartoon shows and other serials that all the kids in my compound used to discuss about when we finished our evening mohalla cricket....sometimes the hangover used to last to the next day morning's session until it was replaced with the next highly awaited episode. Even the kids who wanted to play all day long in those hot suburb afternoons would retire to their TV sets for FUNTIME...some would be lucky to get out again at 1 pm after the show ended...but only to find a lack of quorum to have a decent game....they would play nevertheless. We finished that summer vacation and FUNTIME was on no.1 on all our lists to tell when we got back to school....suprisingly it made it to everyone's list back at school...except a Sathish who had to go to Guntur for his vacation and didnt have anybody to inform him about the show...also probably Vidya since she was the class topper and it was not expected that she watch TV...she had to complete the coming year's syllabus to top again... 3 months passed by..the Quarterly exams happened...and then the mid semesters and then the Diwali Vacations came over....many of us prayed for the show to return....some even spread the rumours that it will start again....everyone was posted about these events till the school closed. The show didnt start....it was rumored that many schools havent closed down yet for vacations and the show will only start once all the kids have a vacation running...but a week later we were more interested to choose our crackers from a limited budget that our parents had allocated. Soon the school reopened and the other semester also ended....and now the expectations were high....we all needed this show to make the vacation memorable. I used to switch on the TV set everyday at arnd 12....but only to find the 'machchar' screen....dots of black and white...no transmission...Doordarshan no longer wanted entertained us. We learned to live with it. ........................... Around Ten years later....we were in college....pursuing a Professional Course...hardly knowing what it all meant.. yes we had dreams...we were taught to dream in school....not many learnt...but I did...a few that I know also did... We dreamt it all.....the anger, the hatred, the happiness, the lows and the highs...the life....some of us even dreamt about peace. These were all just dreams...or in a very Pirsig way - ghosts - that we were trying to chase. Ideas that fancied our senses....sold to us in a beautiful package by the media, the institutions of whatever....the system. And we bought it all....not knowing completely about it....some of us still continue to buy it. It is required that this trade goes on, this is what the system has to offer..and unless there are takers, the system would collapse. When Tyler Durden ran around with his Project Mayhem to start his own small revolution....his answer to the apathy of millions of adults dead in their ROUTINE life.....we were the first ones to talk for it....to justify it....it was our own personal victory over the system. This was just the start....I didnt know what we were getting into... We watched the men of Rock n Roll live their lives in the fast lane...followed every detail in awe....we read about the people who tried to do things differently...and stood out after they died. We watched Vivid, MilfHunter and NaughtyAmerica to know what a woman could do, to believe how great an orgasm could be....we watched them all.....just to get an idea of what sex is all about....dreaming for a day when the on screen action would occur. And then one day....we no longer were in college. We were successful to become part of a much bigger..organised....complex...monstrous SYSTEM. It had a friend called ROUTINE. We thought we had an idea of what it would feel like...to work in 9 to 5 job for 5 days....looking forward for the weekend. We were wrong. We didnt have a gig like the Europe tour of the Doors, we didnt fight out our dislike for the Monster called Routine, and the women never came.... The complains started within a fortnight....but it took a long 2 years to come to a point where I could understand fully that this is not going to change, start making my way in this scheme of things. AsExplainedbyaJunkie was correct to elucidate that this very period is called Growing Up when an amateur starts to come to terms with his situation....and understands fully...his scope, his limitations and starts shifting gears accordingly. Dylan said that a lot of things exist and will continue to exist irrespective of his liking. And he wishes to simply acknowledge this fact. All the children finished school with beautiful memories despite being let down by Doordarshan during one summer vacation....

About a conversation

A vacation of sorts at hand and no activity besides career focussing actions can get harmful on the whole activity scene.....i feel a bit at loss of inspiration. For the past week i have been on an OD of sleep and dreaming and this has brought on a new level of all consuming laziness... To shrug it off...i call my partner-in-crime and the torchbearer of our collective conscience...mr. AsexplainedbyaJunkie. We have spent an enormous amount of talktime on the cellularphones network of wherever...and nothing...nothing has ever come between these conversations....not even the network connectivity which only has taken a bow and a promise to bonded labour to AsexplainedbyaJunkie seeing his cellfone's unexpected lifespan (despite being subjected to abuse that can be best named - Holocaust). Nobody takes the blame. So here we were discussing the various aspects of our life that has shaped up rather drastically in the past two years....the events of strange flavors.... someday i will come to terms with the EVENTS and be bold enough to confront, contemplate and get them on written format.. there are certain words that exist in our COLLECTIVE CONSCIENCE...words that have amazing versatility...that we breakthrough our limited understanding of language...strange issues psychedelic..to name a few. Whenever we talk, it is imperative that we have a section to laud the greats, the legends in their own right....those who have walked the paths that many talk about and live to tell their tale.....we assume its our tale...its the tale of life..And some people...they dont tell anything at all... We talk about Bob Dylan. There is also Eric Clapton, Mark Knopfler. We have spoken about a physicist - Stephen Hawking...though my knowledge and understanding on this particular great personality is next to zilch...come to think of it..that is true for all those who are mentioned here..But one thing is for certain - They Know. They know about what we are talking about...what some junkies and poets and artists and rock bands and bloggers are referring to...they know exactly what is the point that everyone is hinting at....scratcing around...never hitting bullseye. Because the market demands that you never hit the spot...give some idea..but never hit the spot. Cos once you hit it...no one would ask for seconds. Coming back to Dylan... Our search for music started after we left college....we used to listen to someone's dreamworld...then our dreamworld...we listened to them all....the doors, pink floyd, led Zep, CCR, Grateful Dead, acdc, deep purple, iron maiden, metallica, ....the list is available on every most pages of Orkut. We never listened to ourselves...we tried...but we never got to hear the voices. Something somewhere was missing....there was a communication problem...probably a breakdown.. I tried hard to listen what I wanted to listen to...but never hit it right... After a series of events.....i finally could listen to myself. I was on the quest for music. No more was i troubled by something called EGO...but these events I believe were too large a ransom to pay for my aquired capability. I would like to thank AsExplainedByaJunkie at this moment....something that was long overdue. Something that I would write on my Will...'AsExplainedbyaJunkie, i would like to thank you for helping me go through it' Yes we have had many such conversations...lost in the rings of smoke...lost between the legs of Vicky Vette....but we were smart enough to carry the gist. One such versatile word that has come to bind all these conversations - basically - a word that explains the gist of our ideas...whatever limitations of language experienced within. Our Man, Mr Bob Dylan - the artist - is a collection of ideas ranging from spiritual guru to folk musician to pop aritist. But the man behind this image as many of us know is Robert Allen Zimmerman. Lets get this long name out of this. Mr Dylan - the artist - stands tall, to be a voice of a generation, a persona that is capable of being a Prophet etc etc...something that he himself has denounced..and has been successfully able to keep away from..though his songs achieve the same nature. But Mr Dylan - the person - is one of the best artists that this decade has seen. He is a master of words who has written a library of songs. Songs that have gained social importance...that have given voice to a group of people. But it is this person who stays firmly grounded and not fly away with his celeb status....he has seen the life of a pop star, of a pop star junkie, of a failed pop star, of a popstar with a comeback...he has seen it all in the field of glory of the 20th century. And he still doesnt complain. He just writes his songs...and great ones too....and there are a zillion people who are ready to worship him. .................thats all i understand of Mr Dylan. There is a lot to learn from him. He is one superstar of the media who has taken all the fame but comfortably avoids the price that one needs to pay for it.

A Tribute to Contemporary Greats

Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness,and some have greatness thrust upon them. William Shakespeare Follwing is the list of illustrious awardees of the PadmaVibhushan. 1. R.K Laxman 2. Karan Singh 3. R K Narayanan 4. lata Mangeshkar As ubiquituous as the will of man to get up and make aliving each and every day of his life is present, so is the sight ofmillions of youngsters, with a badge around their necks, helmet in theirhands and hope in their eyes present, called as the 'species' of softwareengineers. But amongst the millions that go out there and try to make aliving , few rise and stand up to be counted. There are few who go beyondthe usual stereotype of choosing what to do as their profession and committo their duties through the best they can. And it is my humble pleasure, asan observer, to present before you, in my very limited capabilites as afan of such great beings, the creme of the software crop from our batch whohave risen like a phoenix and showed the true levels of excellence. Wipro, a company headed by Azim Premji, has chosen the true visionand foresight in selecting the right resources for doing their job and Ipresent before you, in equal command with the dignitaries in the listpresented above, the esteemed few before whom we must bow down. 1. J 'Quarter' Balajee 2. Vinoth Ranganathan 3. Jyoti Shankar 4. Last , but not the least, is the figure of a man in a black Tantra Tshirt with an existentialist quote and a stubble storming through the doorsof the Wipro Office in Pune, only to be stopped by the swoon of milliongirls in his ODC. The figure of 'Bhai'enters the office dressed, only inblack, as a thumb rule, with his 'tough guy' image, and sits in front ofhis workstation only after wills navy cut has been graced by his presence.When not coding vigorously and applyin his razor sharp mind to functionalSAP applications, 'Bhai' relaxes by flirting with his colleague who sitswith him and taking leisurely strolls on the Wipro gardens, where the lady,charmed by Bhai's rough guy image, gives in to his machismo and succumbs tohis fairy tales of life. But far from the magnitude of his greatness in romanticphilandery, is this man's greatness in SAP. Day after DAy, the client sitsstunned by the quality of the deliverables and can only execute a sigh ,comparable to the long sighs on seeing a sculpture of Michaelangelo.Client appreciation letters sit in droves on 'bhai's' cubicle and he giftsthem to the sweeper everyday as a token of gratitude. When done for theday, Bhai, switches off his monitor in a moment of complete disregard forthe system, which he shakes away by his near perfect and exquisite skill. What is a testament to all the qualities above, is the awardwhich I am mentioning, called as the Wipro Quarterly Award for Excellence.All these illustrious and highly regarded men, which I have just mentioned,have been concipients of this award,and, just yesterday, 'Bhai' has beenconferred this honour too. It was reported that the Delivery Head in Punedirectly got a reprimand from Premji himself that talent was recognized solate. It is not common for misguided and aimless youths like us, whosit at the ground and wait for some sign of hope to take them away fromtheir exasperation. It is just then that God gifts a guiding star in thesky whom we follow blindly in our paths of life. I , now have the honour,privilege and utmost respect to reveal 'Bhai' as none other than our ownArun Iyer, who has transformed and given a new name to 'excellence' and'attitude'. Please join me in conveying heartiest congratulations to all the four and continuing to serve as a role model for all of us. -As Explained by a Junkie

Shani's Joint - Complete Write Up

M.G Avenue Durgapur isn't exac tly Sunset Boulevard. On first glance, the road does not emit any charm for the beholder. You look for the commercial bustlings, and the droning buzz of a crowd, and it's not there. What it is though, is a seemingly endless stretch of a road , promising to give glimpses of eternity. On this road, lies a small bamboo thatched hut, situated ina 2X4 space; 'Jhoops' to the unfamiliar. Opposite it, lies a humungous (by meagre standards) sprawling educational campus, called as NIT Durgapur. Holding out to over a span of 180 acres, this institution proclaims to live on the motto 'Satyamev Jayate' upholding and supposedly deemed to instill values of love, truth, dignity and sacrifice. Ironically though, it is the small bamboo hut that acts as the mythical Gurukul and teaches a group of 400 confused, purposeless and carefree souls a thing or two about the biggest game they are yet to play called Life. Run by a small, dimunitive mustachioed guy for whom our bucket of affectionate names range from 'Sani' to 'Malik'. (Heck, God comes a close second to this guy) Jhoops was the Shangri La from the tales of epic folklore, a holiday for the soul, that every man aspires to go for one day. John Lennon once said "Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans, in its esence that was what it was. Jhoops was a collection of some lessons learnt in life, the right way. Whether it is the sublime joy that one realised on being a 'spectator' in the truest sense of the word, watching the slow traffic and streams of people moving on, endlessly sipping cups of 'chai' in between.There was also the joy learnt of bonding, one that talked about a child like baneter, a communion oblivious to the ghastly prejudices that kill an innocence in the man. But the most lesson that one learnt there was liberation. There are very few things in life that can show you the fabled stairway to heaven here on earth itself. Making love to a maiden in the wilderness is a good first. But lying on an elevated cement platform, facing the open skies and longing for every moment of that enlightened bliss to last forever, comes a very close second. - As Explained by a junkie

Winter Day Blues

chilly morning...winter is about to set in and i cannot help but think about the bad winters we had in durgapur... its probably 8 am...time to get up...else i shall be late to office...but the extra 15 mins of sleep is too satisfying..so i just dig my self deeper into the cave between the bed and my blanket. Background thoughts include mild pondering about getting late to office and my boss telling me,"you are late?"...or maybe he will just observe and save the complain for tomorrow...15 mins it is... when you have to go to office, mornings can feel so meaningless... at the same time, i am feeling the block in my nose...some difficulty in breathing..the strange taste the forms between the tongue and the roof of my mouth...signs that i wont be able to sleep longer...the bad taste, the fear of a sneeze...it takes so little to get me worried. i turn to my watch for solace...its just been 4 out of the 15 min extra time.... sinusitis has been so common to humans, these days it is considered normal. i need some more healthy sleep. last nite was heavy...saw a movie...Matrubhoomi... i had the opportunity to see it the day before....but like everyone of my age....i have priorities...given a TV and a DVD player and a plethora of movies....i would move to the movies only after the channels that tirelessly trasmit wide bandwidths of sleaze at late nights recieve my due respects....after all...cable TV has worked wonders in changing lives....uniformly..for both men and women...and i cannot help but think...what an invention..!! coming back to the movie...sensitive social issues always find it very easy to trouble me...caste system, plight of women, female infanticide...etc... i do know of some women who are also affected deeply by not so very sensitive issues like chivalry, kindness towards people's pets, feeling of oneness with a particular breed of animals(viz. cats and dogs)...and suddenly it occurs to me...there is absolutely no connection....no common thread ever to cross-over from their side to mine...in short...i should not try to hit on them...it just wont work..!! .......the movie is set in rural india, a land of villages, where the farthest any man has ever gone is the nearest city and farthest they can think of going is probably the edge of the world...very similar to the Dr.Ambedkar era in our history books, the village in focus has zamindars or some families belonging to a particular caste...and a fairly larger population of families belonging to something known as lower castes...the oppressed......the issues in question are female infanticide...dowry....and greed.as usual...the rashness of an average north indian helps in making the audience very disturbed and sympathetic...there is a lot of scope throughout the movie for the director to paint the celluloid with gory and violent scenes...but for good reasons..he doesnt....and hence it is somewhat comfortable to watch......it is a must watch.now why do i tell u all this... anna - it is very important for the system that people are aware of such movies. spread the awareness in a very able way. besides, as PAANCH is being released on the 29th dec.....u need newer things to be depressed about....good acting,direction,script,story etc.... haria - it is very important for me that u see this movie and we take the cats and dogs issue to a newer level. besides...movies form a great percentage of our thought fodder too.. jitu - just makes good reading. tu light le raha hai...fine. these are but very few reasons to tell about the movie....there is more....more to the factual side...and to the humor side...i read today in the newspapers that Anaida...that awesome petite arabic siren,,,is back with a new album....she says...she has been touring arnd the world for the past 4 yrs and made 40 song recordings....cut it down to 14 and the album is called NAYAA....she also adds that - this album is no shortcut....now scantily dressed women in the background....good music only...to which i have to reply... madam, ur pursuits to make money are nobler than mine and that should be satisfactory for ur soul...the 4 yrs since u have been gone have not affected me in any way...but yes i did enjoy seeing you on TV...plz pay attention to wat i say....i donot care about ur shortcuts or hardwork...and i donot give a shit about which country u choose to record ur songs...all i care about the scantily dressed women in ur videos...and especially u dressed scantili-est (if that is a word) of all in ur own videos...i donot care about how many radiostations play ur song...bcos they cant show me the video at the same time... i care about how many close up shots of ur body are available on the internet....if i have to listen to music...i have better choices to exercise...among few whom we could listen to together, feel happy and not understand a word or...not understand a word and feel happy...is a man from the hills. i am worried about how many sheikhs and oil barons enjoyed ur company during ur absence from the media.Period. winter day blues.