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.

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...

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.

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.