Joyride!

Been so many yrs since I travelled by a MTC bus. The urge was growing in me and I badly wanted to take a ride and relive the countless rides to college. Of course I didnt have the tiniest bit of inclination to hang by the window bars with one toe wedged on the footboard as I used to do in college. I guess I dont have the guts to do it now and instead wondered how I was so stupid then. I met a friend in mount road to give his car which I had borrowed for my kodai trip 5 days ago and took the bus to return back home. 23C , waited for a long while to get a bus that was reasonably empty. The buses of today are much better in terms of ride quality and I can confidently say these r the cheapest way of travel in the entire country. I paid a paltry 4.50 to travel from LIC to besant nagar, a ride of abt 90 mins cos of the traffic.

Nostalgia, can be a strong bitch at times. It sure was, today. I remembered the running after buses and handing over my bag to some random gal seated in the window seat of the bus and hopping on to the footboard. I remembered my Bus day celebration, the happy greetings we use to exchange with other bus regulars and the the conductors we playfully teased. I remembered the buses that were always empty but footboards that remained full. I remembered those now faceless but once pretty gals we used to gawk at in the bus. I remembered the last minute rush to renew our bus passes and the umpteen number of times we quarrelled with the driver and conductor.

Memories washed over me, and lulled me into a content state of mind and I was lost it seemed in an imaginary pensieve. Giggles of a couple of girls standing in front of my seat brought me to the present day reality. I was embarrased when I realised that they were giggling at me cos I was half smiling looking in their direction while I was lost in thought.

A tragedy of sorts though, the ladies seats are shifted to the right side now so in future eager lads will only get to look at boring and sometimes revolting male faces when travelling by footboard. I suspect most gals r going to miss the attention they used to get as well.

A flashback, that was a reminder of harder times but ones that we enjoyed to the core and miss today, very very much.

My knees are jelly! Mild and acidic flutters in my tummy! Phobos flits around and sings a duet with Cupid. Am in unknown territory and I hate not being in control, but u know what sometimes being not in control is gr8 fun , just like in a roller coaster. The thrill at the end of the ride is great but I dont want this thrill to end. Happy butterflies everyone!!!!!!!!

Did you ever have the urge to do something so badly, that you endangered a lot of comfort zones and even ventured into the dreaded realm of unemployment, to do it?

I watched a movie and was moved to tears. The movie had no typical father son scenes that are typical nor any mother and son parodies, that are so over-hyped everywhere.

August Rush is an unapolegetic movie. A movie that recommends and advocates optimism and regards setbacks as delays. It is seemingly an impossibly sweet and perfect do-gooder movie, but it is much more than that. The music gave me hope.

The hope that there is good in the world, the hope that we Indians remain proud of being Indians and not become whores to the country that bids the highest.This movie lit inside me a fire, one that promised motivation and sustained belief. A fire of satisfaction and one of shame. Shame , that I let my friends and relatives deceive themselves, shame that I thought I could alter the thinking of ppl who cant see beyond their own beards.

The movie reinforces the perennial and proprietary Indian thought of "perform against all odds".

Lets hope love can cross all boundaries, even of religion, if not who cares!

Obituary

I have not thought about you in a long time. I havent cared about what you were doing and what you allegedly did. I really didnt care, or so I thought. I was born with 'Thriller' , grew up with 'Bad' & 'Dangerous' , freaked out with 'Scream', fell in love with 'Earth song' , hoped with 'Heal the world' and yearnt for my love with ' You are not alone' . I realise now how much my life has been interwined with your magnificient creations. I didnt care when you were alive but sick. Why now does a tear trickle down my cheek when I see you on tv? Why does a pain gnaw away at my gut when I realise you wont be around to make magic again. I thought I didnt care Michael but I guess you had touched my heart everytime I hummed along with your songs.

I am unable to put words together to express what I feel so am borrowing some from W.H. Auden :-

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Rest in peace Michael , for rest was what you never had when you were here weaving magic and exuding hope. May your music live forever.

Drool factor!

Just like every kid I love my parents cooking. K let me cut the bullshit and say , I love my mother's cooking. I called her a lot to consult , to cook like her and to enjoy the dinner like I used to when I was 17 and ravenous. Life it seems, wanted to laugh at me in my face. I tried every single cooking secret and grandma's recipe but sorry to say it all tasted like bullshit. I yearn for the weird but wonderfully peculiar stuff that only my mom can cook. The mishmash of various greens and a dry dish made of various types of beans, the wonderful different types of rasam and the amazing makeshift gravies. My mouth waters and my eyes tear up.

Let this not sound like a mommy suck up attempt. It just, is the simple desire of the salivating child of a loving mom to taste the food that one has grown up with. Never mind if the child is 29 , drooling and desperate.

Cooking has rubbed off on me but am no bourdain , I would rather be a kwong trying to discover ones roots. The core truth is that u may cook like angel but any guy would still love and prefer his mom's cooking to ur mess. Lv u mom.

Blood lust.

Its funny that i havent written for a long time. Funny because so much has happened and I have somehow managed to drown myself in my own self deprecating logic and lethargy and have remained mum. I travelled through the highest road in the world, tasted the salty waters of the pang-gong, drove through zoji-la, tasted then-thuk and pee-shee and lived and never wrote abt it till now. Oh yes by the way I also shot some stupid guy burning a mini-bus.

Not bad eh! Enough action I would say to generate adrenaline by the gallons and also enough conscience to drain every ounce of motivation and satisfaction. If I didnt know better I would definitely say " Dementors at work".

It pinches and pricks when every ray of sunshine and every drop of rain seem to taunt and remind me of the blood I have spilled. Maybe its the guilt I feel or the cold feet I have developed, it frightens me. I never thought I could hurt somebody like that. Not in ignorance and not in haste but in pure fervour and earnest. I enjoyed the pain and the groans. When I realised and awoke from the battle inflated blood lust, I wept. I wept for the life I had taken, I wept for the tears of a mother. I thumped my hollow chest and proclaimed my mowing down of an anti-national and I cried because I had become an anti-human.

Strange thoughts to engulf one who kills by profession is nt it? The fact is we have all forgotten that killing is always by profession and not by choice and we dont enjoy it. All that I fear is that, I may be in a position again to kill and lose the nerve to let loose the ammo. I hope I can go on with my job and I fervently hope the pride and the honour swamps the guilt and the remorse.

I pray for the pride to swell my chest and press the trigger often to do what I know is necessary. I pray for the souls I injure and my own. I pray for the fortitude to do this again and again and again. I pray for the day when remorse is but a word that I hear and not an emotion I combat.

A honest wish

Our forefathers did without sugar until the 13th century; without coal-fires until the 14th century; without buttered bread until the 15th century; without potato until the 16th century; without coffee, tea, soup until the 17th century; without tomatoes till the 18th century; without gas, matches and electricity until the 19th century; without canned goods until the 20th century. What the fuck are we complaining about?

'The world is just awesome' . This is the tag line of 2009 Discovery channel promotion. Simple words , heart-gladdening video but evokes emotions, positive ones, ones that have been dormant for a long while. Life is just too good to hate, whatever the situation maybe. I just got back from work , the time is 0136 hrs, its snowing outside but you know what: I love my life , I dont yet have a wife, And I wish u a life thats as good as mine at the very least. Have a wonderful year ahead.

A craving of sorts.

The one passion that has always remained unattainable is the wild hedonistic pursuit of heavy metal music. To the uninitiated, heavy metal or rock music is more noise than music. To those who like it , it is the source of the highest high one can ever get. The unexplainable excitement in the base of the stomach, the rapid almost frantic beat of the over-excited heart just before Ironmaiden comes on stage, the gnawing emptiness when the concert is over is a testimony to the potency of this form of music.

I dream of a life in which I can be free to do the things I want. To grow my hair long, to do nothing but ride all over the country to wherever the next concert is going to be staged. To spend my life in a perpetual high I get from knowing am doing what I like the best. I would love to get tattoed all over, to get pierced as many times as I want to, to add to the four I already have. All the typical things that a Maiden fan is expected to have but viewed at with disgust by everyone other than a Maiden or Rammstein fan. Of course this is all just a dream or rather a craving, one that I know has no chance of ever happening.

We do give up many things we love for the sake of responsibilities. As a recent insurance ad on tv depicts, a man indulges in a small joy only when he is old. what a pathetic ad? I for one hate it, not because its quality is bad or that the concept is wrong but because it is so 'in your face' true that it punches me in my guts everytime I see it. I think off all that I have wanted to do but have been unable to due to various reasons. Everyone one of us would have , am sure of it, a long list of things that we wanted to do but couldnt. Maybe things, that are as small as a weekend getaway or as big as a career choice.

I am going to try beat that ad in my own way. I am going to do something , even something as small as buying that archery kit I have always wanted, something. Something.

A bibliophile's lament.

I love the very idea of a book. The very fact that so many emotions, ideas,innovations, fears,thought and inspirations are nestled between the covers waiting to clear the cobwebs between our ears is a joy beyond comparison. I for one prefer the refuge that a book gives rather than any other form of entertainment for two very simple reasons; the first because I love the feeling when a book stimulates my nerves and the synapses start firing. For the uninitiated or the couldnt care less souls , try it! it is the ultimate high. The second is the cost advantage. The boundaries of realms of thought and imagination are shattered with utter disdain by a good book for a price thats next to nothing, or so I thought.

I was in for a rude shock today when I was reading 'Times of India' sunday edition of the 21 Dec 08. You are probably wondering why would any kook read a newspaper thats two days old. In the part of the country where I live, newspapers arrive two days late but are still devoured with relish. The rude shock came when I was reading the reviews of the various new books that are due for release. Any sane person with a teeny bit of desire to read any of those books would have been put off by the prices that are being quoted. Out of the collection of titles that were reviewed only two would be worth their weight in salt but somehow the cheapest of the lot was priced at Rs.775. What a truckload of crap we are being subjected to.

I have yet to understand the entire scope of the word 'globalisation' but I know for sure the one gift it has bestowed upon us, the cost of every small joy in our lives is rising beyond heights globally achieved ever before.

Journey into Heaven

Have you ever started a journey without ever giving a thought to how and when you are going to reach your destination, or better still, without knowing what your destination is going to be? What does this thought evoke in you? Fear, cynicism, contempt, amusement or an electric ripple rising from the coccyx and searing through your spine till you involuntarily shiver with excitement. This was a question that haunted me for a long long time.

On the morning of the first day of an exceptionally long weekend, I awoke to the heartwarming blessing of a blue sky and shrieking peacocks. I decided in that instant that the next four days werent going waste. I pulled out my rucksack, stuffed in a couple of essentials, kicked my bike alive and ripped through the green, oh so lovely! green fields. I wish I could say " The wind was rushing through my hair" but I had to settle for the less exciting but safer helmet option.

The feeling of exhilaration when the mind is free of the responsibilities of making decisions, making choices or planning is one that we rarely ever experience. Dont take my word for it, feel it and you will realise that it has but one name ' True bliss'. The thumping of the heart in resonance
with the beat of the bike's engine is a rare form of music that one does not hear but feel.

A four hour ride from Jammu through Nagrota and Udhampur lands me at the mouth of a seldom appreciated engineering wonder of modern India. The Jawahar tunnel is 2540m long and bores through the heart of the lower himalayan ranges. One cannot but feel claustrophobic riding through utter darkness of the tunnel, especially since you know that you are hardly a mile and half away from blinding daylight. Roaring out of the tunnel one cant refrain from marvelling at the tenacity of those men whose made this tunnel possible. The tunnel is almost like a magical doorway which
connects to two vastly different worlds. This is the beginning of the magical valley which stretches till Srinagar and a little beyond. Another hour of a delightful ride sees me ride in to Srinagar. Steaming cups of chai and a sunset throwing out amazing colours is perhaps the wierdest and most wonderful combination all at the same time. The fishermen on the dal lake have a very strange but effective way to make sure their boats are safely moored and also form a mysterious restaurant in the parts of the lake where shadows reign. A number of shikaras are tied together and
a couple of those that are in the centre are converted to a makeshift kitchen. The meal is simple roasted fish from the lake and boiled rice with a thin but tasty dal kind of gravy. I dont dare attempt explaining what was in the drink that we had before dinner. I settled into the bottom of a
shikara open in the sides cuddled up in a blanket near a coal bukhari. I couldnt help but wonder at the way I spent the previous night in a cozy bed after a 6 course meal and compare it to what I had experienced just a little while before. I watched the dancing stars and realised the magic that
they were weaving into my heart was but a part of that day. The bike ride, the simple souls that shared their dinner and opened their makeshift home to me, the emotions in my heart that conflicted with the trepidations in my mind, all formed a part of this amazing and spontaneous day.

I pondered on for a while and realised that the answer to the conflict was staring into my face or rather was depicted on my face. The last memory of that night was the smile that played and danced on my face while I was slowly lulled into a sound sleep by the gentle bobbing of the shikaras and
the distant but haunting tunes that somebody was strumming on a sarangi. I was blessed that night by the spirits of nature and travel.
To be contd.

An addiction I love and recommend!

Have you been to a place that personifies heaven on earth and hell on fire all at the same same time? I have and let me tell you its an addictive love affair, one thats much too difficult to let go and simultaneously much too hard to get rid of. Confusing ehh!! The contrasting points of view are because the former is an opinion of tourists and the latter of those who actually live there.

There are no words to describe the assault on senses that this place unleashes. The aroma of wonderful exotic spices and insultingly abundant apples are tantalising to say the least. Injustice ,is the word to describe the absence of recognition of this land. A land that has memoirs written in 'thoth' but has yet to be credited with the allure it projects the most , in any of its 800 official languages.

The beautiful lavender blossom hued, laden badam trees and the boughs weighed down by the bride of fruits 'the green apple', present a view thats disturbed only by the oft repeated explosion of gunpowder and the disturbing 'thwaack' of bullets into the wood of these trees. The view that I have when I have my lazy breakfast at 0700hrs is one of 6 layers of mountains , all of them snow clad and each one of them bearing a resemblance to the fantasy image of a pure and innocent
(read ignorant) bride, and I wonder how many people would be lucky enough to live in places that most others can only see in coffee table books and dream about visiting.

This post may seem like a random rambling but it is rather a pathetically incomplete review on a place that deserves much more credit for its beauty and splendour than what is claimed falsely by many of its sister states in the country. This is only an addiction I would sincerely recommend to every genuine traveller.

Heads you win, tails I lose!

Let me tell you the inconvienience of choosing a career which is totally out of the box when compared to the friends that I grew up with. First is the total ignorance of each others worlds,dreams, goals and achievements. What I perceive as an earthshattering accomplishment would be something that my friends would probably deem insignificant and vice versa.

The loneliness that envelops me, when I manage to get some time off for vacations, is another. Imagine motivating oneself to do ridiculously difficult and absurdly disgusting things as part of our job all the while dreaming of the forth coming vacation. The ultimate carrot in front of a donkey with its ribs sticking out and struggling to drag a load of shit through a slushy patch in a jungle track in the rain. The hard earned vacation is all set to begin when the inevitable happens. Most of my friends who work according to the deadlines set by their bosses who sit a 22 hr flight away cant make it. I mope and groan but end up spending my vacations devouring a book a day , and curled up in front of the tv. The salt is however rubbed in when the next trip is planned and all arrangements are made and this time I cant make it. The point where I begin to pity myself is that, its either me or all of them who cant make it. Either way I end up the loser.

The freedom, of slogging like the proverbial donkey behind the carrot for 5 days of the week and eating the carrot in the weekend, is one I would adore. If that thought was not for the fun and the money and the hardwork it would definitely be for the fact that I miss the fun of spending time with friends I made wonderful memories with. I miss sharing the good and bad things in our life. A single phone call in a month in which we read out a list of what happened to each other is not nearly enough.

I guess destiny has a flowchart ready for us in which my friends and i have chosen differently at the many decision boxes and are now many page connectors away from each other.

A tattoed sin

What is it about tattoos that petrifies people? Is it the typical revulsion of the unknown? Is it an outburst of jealous energy? Or is it the realisation that one doesnt have balls sufficiently strong enough to do it? The outraged interrogation of the tattoed individual is testimony in itself that our people are not ready for the power of free expression of ones individuality. We still desire and slog like donkeys to do nothing different. Blasphemy, sacrilege it would be if one dared to follow ones dreams and indulge in ones impulses. What a world we live in? One that doesnt recognise individuality as a virtue, instead condemns it as a blemish. I for one pity those who have a rigid view of what is right and what is wrong. I wish they could experience the pain of committing a mistake, the joy of retrieving whats lost, the astonishment when one realises ones own potential, the exhilaration of a rare moment of success. what would life be without non-conformity? What would be the joy in living life if all there is to life is dour and dull? Points to ponder eh!

50 or 100 years of life expectancy! Which would u choose?

Moments of epiphany or insight often stare into our face when least expected. The most mundane of rituals or the most absurd of chores may become the most enlightening instant of our life. What could one possibly realise or visualise while standing in a maddeningly long queue in an ATM. I for one was taken aback by the happenings I witnessed.

I was in a hurry to get some money out of my account and blow it away even faster but was stuck in a lousy queue outside an ATM. I endured the passing minutes ogling the girl who was standing in front of me. She however had the annoying tendency to not face me when standing before me in a queue. I had hardly realised how stupid my frustration was when I noticed an old man hovering outside the shop next to the ATM. This was a shop that sold stuff for new born babies. Actually this was a shop that pandered to newly made mothers who bought absurdly expensive stuff to equip babies which did nothing but puke or piss on all this indulgence. The old-timer tried to get a couple of coins from the baby shop owner who very professionally threw the old-timer out. The shop next to the baby shop was incongruously a liquor shop and a very seedy one at that. It was awfully crowded even though it was monday night and the crowd was determined it seems, to drink till dawn. The old man went into the crowd and started begging among the boisterous and sometimes rowdy crowd. I was laughing internally about the old man's stupidity in begging from a most probably insensitive and drunk crowd. The old man proceeded to pick up 5 and 10 Rs from most of the crowd and probably had a couple of hundred rupees when he exited the liquor shop.

A seedy liquor shop that caters to daily wage labourers and people of mostly lesser means is not exactly a happy hunting ground for beggars. What made those early evening revellers dig into their meagre earnings and give a decent percentage of their earnings to that old man. At any other time the only collection that the old-timer would have made from this crowd would have been one of swear words.The only common factor that connected all the people there, seemed to be the spirits that had possessed their consciousness. Some would have felt the prick of their conscience, some would have felt the stirrings of their dormant emotions that form the basis of sympathy. If people were destined to be more sympathetic and more human in sentiment only when they are drunk then mankind deserves to be drunk all the time. What if drinking kills you by the time you are 50? I for one would say living 50 years as a good human being is better than living a 100 as a self-centered parasite.

A Lie is a heavenly gift

Imagine life without a lie
A life where truth rules
A life where everyone knows the reality
One where reality cant be cloaked
In the safety shield called a safe lie.

What would one say when faced with awkward questions
Imagine the grimace and the grin which says am telling the truth forgive me
Imagine the reaction when one says ' you look fat' .
Life would be fun one would think
Would it?
It would be painful.

How would one explain the lack of love
Towards ones wife , ones life
Hatred would rule the instant one reveals
The truth behind the repulsion of others
But truth it is , the unadulterated , unabridged truth.
The truth we darent say.

How would egoes be satisfied?
How would yearnings be gratified?
How would one learn to be happy?
Without the safety net called a lie.

Would you dare to reveal the truth
When you you dont touch your partner?
When you grin and say it was a wonderful party
When you put up a brave face and say life is wonderful
Would you dare reveal the truth behind reality.

Ridiculous it seems
Imagine a life with nothing but the truth
Whats the fun in that?
Lawyers and Politicians would be without a job
Only because a lie is the foundation of their career.

A lie is a universal leveller
An antidote for the bitter medicine called truth
An alternative but not entirely the right choice.
A choice thats a pain
It does work though , not always but mostly

A lie thats gifts you love
A lie that grants you piece of mind
One that bestows confidence
One that ensures success is better than truth
However against one may argue.

Love your life my friend
Utter the truth when it is required
Conserve your anger
And ration your lies
The most precious of vices is indeed
The most effective of all utterances.

Hopeless!

Do u think life is interesting?
The life that u have strived for
The life thats been the essence of every breath that u have inhaled
The very soul and spirit of every single emotion that has consumed u

A life that has been dictated by those around u
a life that has been corrupted by the public image that is u
a life led by u because u dare not lead another
a life that lives but yearns for life

What is the reward of enacting a play that is of no significance
especially to u
just because it conforms to stereotypes

The subtle pressure of our parents
the greedy pressure of our relatives
the peer pressure that we subjugate to
the merciless pressure of your inamorata

Life is sacred but is it worth living
Considering it has nothing unique to offer
Sheep in a herd is what I wud say
u , me , the beggar in the street corner temple
the flower seller and the psuedo-sophisticated bitch
In an exploited mercedes of another exploited entity.

What would u give to live what u imagine
however coarse , however expensive
however thrilling, however disgusting
however and whatever it may be.
especially because it is ultimately someone else
Who decides what is thrilling and what is disgusting.

It is not impossible to live your imagination
It is just that we dont know how to
What is life, when it is lived according to impressions?

Can we learn to be free?
Can we be the spirit that really doesnt care about others
Can this thought ever germinate
I wonder
And I feel hopeless.

I fly!

Imagine a cool january morning in the usually balmy city where I live. Am soaring against the wind, my wings flapping only when I just begin to lose lift. Gliding , soaring , diving all in a quick succession of ethereal & deft movements. So eloquent , so beautiful that it hurts when I think it may come to an end.

It was something that I had dreamt of, from the very first memory I have of when I thought about what I would love to do. Whatever the rapid and fleeting new attractions that a small boys mind can register, it all comes back to the one and only love that has possessed his heart. It is an altogether different story that often little boys tend to forget the very thing that they love and are sidetracked in to the cesspool that is the black hole called convention. By the time the little boy realises what he really loves and what his heart desires he is no longer a little boy. He has earned a lot of wealth and goodwill but in return has squandered his childhood , his youth. The question that now comes to the mind is , whether the exchange was worth it? Will any man who was once a little boy with dreams in his mind and laughter in his eyes, dare to answer this question? Will the question reassure him as to the wisdom of his choice or will it mock his inanity? The question and the answer have to come from the same entity , then why the fear of the question or the answer?

The problem begins when we in our sub-conscious mind split ourselves into two distinct personalities. The half that is true to the real us lives for us and our beliefs and our passions. Sadly this half is the submissive half in most of us. This is the half that revels in the pleasure it derives in the simple things of life. The twinkle of sunlight on a drop of dew, the smooth flowing sweet lines of a teasdale poem, the smell of a freshly brewed cup of filter coffee and the comfort of an old shirt and a torn jeans. This is the very essence of life for this submissive part.
The dominant part within us is ironically the part which gets dictated to, by most external agencies. It embraces convention and herd mentality as if it were the very purpose and meaning of its entire life. What a waste one could say but one does conform though one professes a very strident opposition to this concept of blind faith or fear of the road less travelled.

The tranquil hedonism professed by me in following my heart is a matter of deep concern for some and a manifestation of depraved brain capability for others.

I still fly, I still love the caress of the wind in my hair, the kiss of the morning sun on my cheeks, the whisper of companionship that touches my heart. If to fly is to follow the dictates of my heart then I still fly. If to fly is to let my inhibitions drop away because they cant keep pace with my progress then I still fly. If to fly is to slap the doubters, the smirkers and the abrasive gossipers then I still fly. Most of all I still fly because that is the very essence of my existence , the very purpose of what I was born to achieve and the very meaning for my chapter in this world , my life , for this, I shall always fly.

Gentleman! Would you please rot in hell.

What would you do if you are 2200 Kms from home, alone and are sitting in a train that will take you home in two days time? Sounds like an incredibly dumb question right? Hold your horses!the catch is what if you have managed to lose your wallet with 3000 Rupees in it alongwith the ticket for the journey you are about to undertake, as well as a dozen cards credit, debit, entry passcards, smart cards?

That is precisely the situation in which I found myself on arguably the most romantic day of this year 14th Feb.

I boarded a crowded TN Exp and settled into my seat in a 3 tier AC compartment fondly anticipating the next 10 days at home doing nothing. My hands were doing the habitual self frisking to ensure everything is accounted for when I felt as if somebody had stabbed me in the rear with a knitting needle which managed to skewer my stomach cavity as well. That was
probably the first time I ever broke into a cold sweat. I searched everywhere I could in the 2 mins left for the train to officially depart. The train started precisely at 2230 hrs which in itself was a rude shock,considering I had spent 26 yrs of my life consistently travelling on trains that were as a a norm late for everything. The one time our railways had to be punctual was when I had everything to lose.

The RPF were kind and very helpful and did everything but throw me out of the train, though I should be held responsible because my ticket was in my wallet alongwith everything else. No FIR filed, no proof of my ever having purchased a ticket and the RPF was ready to classify me as one those countless morons who travel ticketless almost by compulsion. What saved me was an idiosyncracy of mine. I have this habit of memorizing the 10 digit PNR number and the ticket serial number of every ticket I purchase. When I rattled out these numbers and asked the TTE and the RPF to verify this against the passenger manifest they looked at me as if I had sworn at them in aramaic. The numbers did match and the TTE reluctantly let me enter the cabin again.

Now the first hurdle was cleared , I was on the train homeward bound. Now to solve the rest. Oh yes! I forgot to mention that I was also sufferring from a 102 fever combined with an asthmatic attack. To complicate things further my throat became hoarse and I couldnt utter a word. I checked everything that I had and found that besides my luggage I had a single Five rupee coin and half of a litre bottle of bisleri. This was at 2245 hrs on 14th Feb 2008. I had to get through till 16 Feb 2008 0900 hrs with what I had.

Have you ever gone through the agony of watching people throwing away a half eaten meal while you yourself are starving? Let me inform you, I had to almost restrain myself physically to avoid throttling those people. The vadas deep fried in the probably week old mutiple times used oil, the thin watery coffee and dry-as-paper chapatis were agents from hell bent upon torturing me, a hardcore foodie. The worst part was rationing the water. I realised how spoilt I had become in the past few years because I couldnt bring myself to drink the water from the public water dispensers set up at each railway station. Instead I chose to have half a mouthful every four hours.

"No food for 30 -0dd hrs" would not have been such a daunting ordeal under ordinary circumstances, however coupled with a raging fever it was bad.

By the next night I was drained, my bedroll drenched with the sweat of my fever and I was hungry enough to gobble down a dozen big green bananas. I was trying to will myself to sleep, but Sleep, my bosom buddy till then ran off on a sudden vacation and I ended up tossing all through the night in that cramped top berth.

My deliverence was hardly 15 minutes away. I was about to reach Chennai central. I took out the jealously guarded five rupee coin and walked out of the station with my huge rucksack and booked a prepaid auto. Thirty minutes later I was home, downing hot scalding coffee and dosas. When I related this entire episode to my shocked parents all my dad said was " you are stupid". On my enquiry he revealed that one of my cousins lived in jhansi and if I had given him a call I would have probably been flush with money in time for breakfast on the 15th. The irony was that I had spoken to that cousin less than two weeks ago but had clean forgotten him when I actually needed his help.

I wonder who the gentleman was who picked my pocket and how considerate of him to do so just before I commenced a long journey. I do sincerely hope he was in dire need of that money and if not, may he please kindly rot in hell.

Love- The inside story

Love is not why I would die for you.
Love is not why you would forget everything else for me.
Love is not why thorns in my heart feel like tender blossoms.
Love is not why you think nothing else matters.
Love is not why I adore your body.
Love does not exist when you plan to mould me.
Love is not because society accepts us.
Love does not mean no more nights alone,
Love does not hope that my wishes become your dreams.
Love does not mean the moon and stars visit us everyday.
Love never says no more sighs or tears.
Love cant guarantee implicit trust forever.
Love just means no matter what,
We promise to never give up, never feel alone,
Never to feel betrayed, never to expect being said thanks,
Never to pray to have our tears wiped or be told sorry.
Love just says the hands, that are together today,
Promise each other to never let go no matter what.

Tempest

Dear Tempest, blow there-on
Do take my missive for the girl I love.

I pray my love, to be the knight
You want me to be, I sincerely do.
Not for society, not for people
Not for respectability, not for me
But for love of a girl in a far far land
With tears in her eyes and pain in her heart,
The heart she once gifted to a unworthy me.

The canvas smiles, wry and sympathetic
Paint as much, I see you in every stroke
Of the brush and of the weak flesh of my heart.

I long to rush, across the rules and wrath.
Of the countless who rise against us...
What do they know my love, of love that is.
Love that was untouched and serene, so cherished
I see you now with a cup of tea that you flavour,
With the salt of your tears, the grimace you put on
To satisfy your husband, a soul wronged.

Hurt him no further, my dear love!
Not for the sycophants, not for the hypocrites
Not for your parents, not for our love.
Love him or atleast like him
Punish him no more, for the weakness of another.

Oh Tempest! The bearer of tidings,
Do tell her I loved her, but now love she must
Her husband no other, cherish him on her bosom
Hold him tight and become precious together.
So I can see them, in the hell for myself
That I choose, but choose I will
So I can gift the honey of heaven to my love.