So there....

Let’s go and buy land in the moon.

You are crazy. We have bigger problems to deal with.

Like what?

Let’s not get into the details.

Right. Let’s go and buy land in the moon.

Really now.

I think it’s a good enough decision.

And how the hell are you going to get there?

We shall do something. But land is cheap now. So first let’s buy.

And what about our earthly problems.

They can be looked after later. They are too, erm, mundane.

Earthly?

Yes.

We don’t have the money.

How much is it for?

I don’t know. Its moon, prices should be high.

Why are we sounding like really stupid 6 year olds?

Because we are talking of buying land in moon, in an evening which has got nothing to do with alcohol.

Hmm.

Any further discussion on the issue is only going to make it more stupid.

Why did you bring it up in the first place?

I brought it up?

Of course.

You did.

Nope.

Damn. I wish we were chatting online. We could just scroll up and see who brought it up.

Wait. I can do that.

Do what?

Copy paste.

Copy paste spoken conversation?

Yes. Everything is possible in this blog silly.

Oh. Ok.

“Let’s go and buy land in the moon.
You are crazy. We have bigger problems to deal with.
Like what?
Let’s not get into the details.
Right. Let’s go and buy land in the moon.
Really now.”

See? You did.

How do you know? There’s no “A says…” or “B says…”

That’s fine. But you can see the tone of the speech. Its very you.

Well, it can as well be you.

Wait. Have we lost track of who is saying what and who should stand what ground?

You haven’t, the writer has.

We have a writer?

Of course we have a writer. We always have a writer.

So let’s just ask him.

You think if he knew, then he would indulge in this inexorable ranting in the name of writing in the first place?

Inexorable?

Yeah. Hope I got the context right.

Why is writing so tough these days?

Philosophy or rhetoric?

Frustration.

Ah, philosophy.

No seriously. Why does it have to be like this?

You can’t expect much from a piece that starts with buying land in the moon.

Did you say ‘piece’?

Once upon a time it would have been cheesy. Now it’s practical.

Oh yes. Practical is the word.

Are we going in a loop?

I think we are.

Self conversation is overrated.

I thought we were two.

Let’s just ask the writer.

Why are you so hell bent on starting a conversation with someone with no imagination?

Well, am talking to you.

I think he isn’t thinking anymore.

He never did.

Oh I think he did. He just used his apparent inability to think as an excuse for mediocrity.

Most of them do that.

Yes they do.

It hurts me to be the creation of someone who isn’t different from the rest.

I guess we are too ordinary for the moon.








Probably.

That came after a long pause.

Yeah. Guess he was thinking what to write.

Great. Now he is thinking for bad writing.

Yeah, and he came up with ‘probably’.

Look, if we are giving so much trouble, then why doesn’t he end this.

I think he isn’t finding a good enough line to conclude.

Or he is just in love with what he writes.

That’s scary.

Great. Now that we have gotten out of the loop, we are obsessing about him.

That’s all we do right?

What?

Either talk about something that does not have any conclusion. Or talk about people who are unknowingly unfortunate.

We should break out of this.

Yes. Talk about the world outside.

Yeah.

Hmm.

Do you think we will find a real estate agent for moon?

An astronaut and a broker? Tough.


(Author decides to stop)

Imperfect

I have had my days of foolish happiness when I have smiled seeing a stump of a tree standing forgotten at a dirty corner of a busy Bombay street. I have had days when I found sorrow in a balloon let loose along the sea beach cheered by the laughter of pretty children. I have pretended to understand Divine Comedy among a group of people who have pretended the same and I have refused to admit that I have read and loved The Interpreter of Maladies. There have been days when I have been woken up in the morning by a dog that hated to see me sleep, woke up getting incessantly licked on the face and started smiling when I should have been angry. There have been days when unripe mangoes have fallen after Kalbaishakhi on the dalan of my house moments before a downpour that left with the smell of wet soil, have been days when I have jumped into a pond and got scared by the infinite green of its depth, and tried writing a poem on it, and failed. I have been drawn to the monotony of Tagore’s tunes in the early mornings and made him synonymous to that time, smiled to myself thinking of the times I used to scorn those very tunes, for the same monotony. I have listened to Amma reciting Beerpurush with fire in her eyes, and imagined myself drenched in blood saving mom from a group of dacoits on our way to Jhargram. I went up to the terrace and read and reread Sukumar Ray and have been enlightened. I shouted Lokkhoner Shoktishel out of my closed room and played every character all by myself and fell in love with Ravana. I have questioned all the questions that arose in my mind and have been satisfied. And let down. I have realized that I am a Brahmin and I have been happy and ashamed about the realization for reasons that are somehow lost in a scary maze. I have been ashamed of my happiness. I have been arguably insensitive and have proudly defended my sensitivity, shamelessly. I have contradicted, and I have prayed to a god I don’t believe in. I have been jealous and have desired things for which I didn’t mind sacrificing dreams. There have been times when I saw thick clouds blanketing a village somewhere down in the valley and I have felt like a star in the sky, have been times when I have failed to comprehend the easily comprehendible, and have found the difficult things, difficult. There have been times when I looked at Mona Lisa and found it to be overrated and times when I have tried reading the Mein Kampf. I have wished and tried and wished to sketch. I have strummed the guitar chords and lost track of time, and eventually, as life caught on, lost tack of the guitar itself. I have called myself a writer; the same way sometimes I thought I could be a thinker. And laughed. I have loved. I have lost. And I have loved again, with the fear of losing. I have been angry with my parents. And there have been times when I looked at them and have been angry with myself. I have been happy with my parents. And a bit of me have withered away with a thought of mornings and nights in a world without them. As I have seen a bunch of children sun burnt and tarnished, in a dusty sand stoned village in some hated part of this loved world, vying passionately for a deflated bladder of a cheaply made ball, shouting out in exhilaration each time they scored, I have lived football. I have rolled up car windows to eunuchs on disgustingly immobile traffics, and I have run races across the dry sands of an over crowded beach. I have found myself lost amidst the mountains and have been rejected by a place that I had loved. I have missed autumns and dreamt of waking up to snowfalls in the mornings. I have loved. Madly. And I have hoped. Desperately. I have looked at my life and I have looked ahead. Discerning sometimes, and sometimes with fire in my eyes.

Like Amma reciting Beerpurush.

Inside

A little trickery that flirts with the mind every now and then tries its best to cloud the smile that somehow manages to expose itself with innocence. A little consciousness that gives a false impression of being perceptive, always tries to decipher the mind of the other, often negating the mind inside. A little mind that makes some fallen attempts at being reasonable, and romances the idea of everything that is anything but reason. A little reason, that pushes to clearly distinguish between the correct and the incorrect, and the incorrect, that is correct. A little romance, that flatters with the blessing of imagination, and threatens to inject courage that bursts out from the depths of cowardly acceptance, in the excuse of peace. A little peace that shows itself like Venus, pretending to tease the hopeless eyes to wait for it with hope. A little deceit, that guises itself in the form of love and trust and compromise, to prevent love, trust and compromise. A little happiness that competes with its littleness somehow realizes its own preciousness, showing itself for a little bit. A little anxiety, that wants to break free like a little child’s fierce desire to rule the world as he wears a hood and shouts out from the top of a hill. A little love, which threatens a little hatred which in turn threatens love in a mostly losing battle. A little others, who torture and disgrace and understand and embrace. A little others, that bring everything outside, releasing the swelling coat of privacy guarding the restless world under it.

And a little heart. Breaks and mends.

Inglorious Bastards

I will perhaps never know what it feels like to take a sharp corner at 350 km/hr. But I have seen men who have done it, and I know, that it is something that cannot be described without actually being there. Of course, journalists over the years have romanticized the feelings in different features with stylized graphics, and brought out the poetry of speed, but I dare not do so. For I think there is something more than just adrenalin when these cars race against each other, there is a sense of pushing mind and body to an extent that would perhaps make one a different individual. And I think purely at a personal level, F1 or any other form of motor racing, is more about winning battles with oneself, rather than, or before, winning it against someone else. But this isn’t a post that’s going to romanticize the high octane world of motor racing. I shall leave that to Andy Goodwin when Renault edges past BMW at the back end of Monaco. This, is a little less romantic.

I remember some eight years ago, when Michael Schumacher just realized his abnormally unfair potential and was slowly making his presence felt in the circuit, the only man who dared to give him some kind of a sense that this isn’t as ridiculous as Michael was making it out to be, was a Fin gentleman in his late 30s. Mika Hakkinen was bringing tears in the eyes of faithfuls who just weren’t ready for the surge of Ferrari, with his resilience. And in one of those valiant races, he managed to take a clear lead, much ahead of Michael’s steed in red. In the middle of the craze for Ferrari, the few who secretly loved McLaren but dared not to open their mouths, were doing a somersault waiting for the race to end and shout out to vent their pent up frustration.

And then it happened. Last lap, Michael was some 30 seconds behind Mika, and everything was ending like a fairytale. He could even see the chequered flag, when suddenly, the Williams fuel tank got a nasty sense of humour, and decided, that the old war horse, should stop. Literally. And there it was, some 30 odd yards from the finish line, the white machine came to an abrupt halt as the world watched in bewilderment.

Just as we started abusing luck and other such things, we saw the man get out and try and push it with a mocking smile on his face. However impossible the situation was, it was evident that if he could, he would. And then as he strolled across towards the pit lane even as Michael zoomed past him to yet another victory, crowd clapped for the man who walked, in the fastest sport of the world. And as we witness events like these, we realize that there are certain experiences which go beyond winning a race, experiences that might make you struggle miserably and almost cruelly, yet make you a winner in a way, only sports can.

So when Mr. M. S. Gill dismissed Formula 1 as being a technology based entertainment and that it’s “not a sport”, he ceased to be amusing for saying something ludicrous. Daftness of this stupendous level isn’t funny anymore. It’s insulting, ignorant, convenient, myopic and everything else that exemplify how things can be so simply insulted if they are controlled by moronic assholes.

What does Mr. Gill mean by ‘sport’? Something that requires physical fitness? Something that has a winner or a loser? Something that invites a passionate fan following? Something athletic? I really don’t think so. Then how the fuck is golf a sport? Or chess for that matter? They in no way adhere to all the above conditions. I will tell you what sport according to Gill is:

• Something that doesn’t question the efficacy of the Indian sports ministry, at least not more than the already existing questions.
• Something for which you don’t need to build infrastructure from scratch, and even if the corporate bodies give money to build, you will still need to get your ass moving and do some serious construction and administration work.
• And something that doesn’t need to be maintained in a way that there are absolutely no loopholes as that would come under the international scanner every year.

And I can go on, but you get the gist. And what happens when something like this unexpectedly becomes a little big and actually penetrates the rigid minds of Indians who think that cricket is a truly international sport and actually start liking it? What happens when this thing, which is not sport according to the Indian ministry, gains in popularity, so much so, that it captures the attention of the press, corporate world and sponsors? Because then, they wont have any excuse such as “lack of funds/ poor outlay to infrastructure/ no governing body / no press interest” and other such bullshit, based on which they can just dismiss the attention as a phase. Because when things start happening, they realize that the things, have actually started happening, which in their world, is like Dhoni playing the NFL. But then, politicians, after all, are intelligent men. So they resort to that one single excuse that can make any Indian’s heart melt like ice cream during the camel races of Afghanistan.

Poverty.

Let’s give it a socialist hue. Lets say that in India, where such and such percentage of people survive under the poverty line, we can’t afford to encourage things like F1 which needs investment of millions of pounds. And we will heave a sigh and revel at the shamelessness of these creatures. And like with so many zillion things that we have encountered in this wonderful country of ours, we will accept, and move on. But then, he gets cocky, and says it’s not a sport. And I say fuck you.

Don’t dismiss something that takes years of dedication and love to even try to be realized by calling them entertainment. Every time those drivers take the wheel they don’t know whether they will survive by the end of the race, every time they take a cut, they rely on more than just their adrenalin, they rely on training, reflex, sharpness and pure bravery. So don’t you sit on your ass on that government office mahogany chair of yours and nonchalantly watch a game which is played by 11 nations in the world and is fast losing its own identity because it has no backbone and call it your “religion” and dismiss this other group of professionals as rich money spending entertainers. Admit that you are too lazy to do anything about it and too much of a chicken to come under the world spot light. We shall accept. But don’t justify your daftness just because you get revenues out of a daft game.

If you are so concerned about the “upliftment” of rural sports, then give us a detailed progress report on athletics, tell us what are you doing about the talented pool of female boxers in India, tell us, you thick skinned corrupt social virus of a mongrel, what have you done about the languishing kabaddi and kho kho scene. Where is all the money going from Fifa’s Goal initiatives, why does a Somdev Devvarman have to go to USA to get himself trained well enough to give a good enough fight in the international circuit? Why does a Saina Nehwal have to depend on private funded coaching institutes to get trained with virtually no help from the holier than thou government?

For all the larynx bursting screams that we make for the overhyped pieces of shit like Sania Mirza, or for that matter the game of cricket as a whole, India really has produced only one truly international sportsman. For me, Vishwanathan Anand is the only real face of Indian sport, because people know him beyond the subcontinent, and beyond countries which were the struggling colonies of the British rule. If you walk the streets of Budapest or Helsinki, people will know Anand. Not Harbhajan Singh.

So before you become conveniently philosophical and get the balls to declare something as sport and not sport, realize that F1 is still one of the most watched “sporting” events in the world. Realize that numerous people give their blood and sweat behind every race and every practice. Realize, that they look death right at its face to conquer it with a discipline that your farting digestive system so sorely lacks. Realize that men have given their lives in the quest to conquer speed, but left footsteps for others to follow.

First understand what sport is all about. Probably then you will know what it is to insult someone else’s passion.

Till then, just concentrate on how to extract money from BCCI and AIFF, because really, that’s what is going to uplift sports and sporting activities in India.

Best wishes.

Happily never after

I think we are wonderful. We make rules and then throw it out into the open to see who follows them and who doesn’t. Following which, we judge each group differently. So for some, the ones who follow rules are disciplined and cultured people, while for others, they are boring and bland. Similarly, the ones who don’t can be rustic and loud, or can be cool and unconventional. But when it comes to certain important junctures of life, we become strikingly similar. At least most of us do. With a background story that comprises a lot of my girl pals who are about to get hitched, not to mention a very close and sweet cousin sister, I got an opportunity to know us, as in men, and what according to them, is perfect. It really feels nice, that most people in this world are good human beings.

So this post is going to be very generalized and prejudiced. But I assure you, it’s going to cover the larger section in general.

1. The safest bet

Profile: I am a very simple person with a strong sense of culture and conviction. I did my XYZ from (read really cool university) and then my ZYX (read an even cooler university). I believe in hard work and the importance of education in ones life. I love music of all forms and I think it has the power to heal anything. I also love to read, especially suspense and adventure. Recently, I have been reading a lot of non fiction like the World is Flat. I think books can be the best companions in times of loneliness or even on a nice rainy day. I love to travel and explore new places and new cultures. I think it is important to have a sense of humour as it makes the toughest times seem less strenuous. I am not such a party person and I prefer spending my weekends doing simple things like a walk across the beach or stay at home and listen to Dillon (sic). I also love Kishore Kumar and other old Hindi film songs. I am not a very strictly religious person but I do have faith in a higher being. I love playing cricket with friends and also take a keen interest in tennis. I think sports is very important for personal health and hygiene.

I am looking for a girl who will match my thought process and can hold interesting conversations. She should be the perfect mix of tradition and modernity and should, like me, understand the importance of education. She should support me in all my endeavors as I would in hers. She should have a matured mind and would be able to help me decide on any major step that I take in life. I want her to be a companion who would make life easier and fulfilling.


2. The romantic homeboy

Profile: Ever since I was young I have dreamt of having the perfect woman with whom I can share my life and have a happy existence. I have seen my parents so happy with each other and always wished that someday, I can find someone who would have that great an understanding with me. I am (same qualification as above, and probably same university, if not same batch) and now I am working with this manufacturing conglomerate because I want to contribute towards the prosperity and growth of the nation. I want to stay in India because I believe the culture we have here, is incomparable and I want my children (two boys and a girl) to grow up in this culture. I am a devout follower of Baba Sankitanand (link given with a small picture at the end of the profile) and I believe in his ideologies of simple living and renouncement of materialistic pleasure. I am a person with simple means. As long as I have my spectacles, I do not require lenses. I love watching old Hindi movies and sometimes like some Hollywood action also.

I am looking for a girl who would be just like my mother. She has been the epitome of a perfect woman for me and I believe my life partner should possess all those qualities. She should be educated and homely. She can order as well as cook, she should be simple, but understand the complex, she should be modest, and also should be knowledgeable enough to be able to take part in any conversations. Most of all, she should love me with all her heart, just the way I would love her.


3. The non believer

Profile: I am a very unconventional person who never believed in the norms laid down to be followed. I have questioned the rules and I don’t believe in living an ordinary life. I don’t believe in the system of education, as it institutionalizes everything. I don’t believe in God because there is no proof of his existence. I don’t believe in the establishment as its rules restrict ones imagination. i didn’t even believe in the concept of marriage, but I thought I shouldn’t be judgmental and give it a go. I am a photographer and have done quite well for myself. This I took up to challenge my parents who doubted my ability. I have never learnt to lose, and if I set my goals on something, NOTHING, can stop me. I love gothic and underground music, and am trying to make my own band. I play the electric guitar and in the look out for a percussionist. I don’t believe in cinema as it pastes a dialectic view of reality, and neither do I read because popular culture is a hogwash that has been painted very efficiently by media. Living with me will be like taking a different look at life itself. But if you don’t understand me, I will understand, because most people don’t.

My girl will be liberated, mentally and physically. I love piercings as I think masochism as a way of expressing the feelings of your heart is the most romantic thing, for I associate pain with romance. I do not believe in procreation and thus she should be ready to live her entire life with me, taking firm beliefs, reasoning, and radicalism as companions. I am also a hedonist and believe in indulging myself in whichever way. My partner should have the mind to understand the importance of that. I give total independence to anyone who is associated with me and I expect the same in return. I just have one pre condition, that she should be respectful to my mother. For whatever I am (or not), it is because of her.

I believe in that.


4. The Loser

Profile: I know writing down my own profile with a hope that someone would read it and find it interesting and etch some ideas about how I can be and decide to meet me seems a bit out of the ordinary, but that’s the way the system goes, and we are but products of systems. So if the reader thinks that I am self-advertising and giving the characteristics of some childhood hero rather than myself, I completely understand. To be very honest, I have always wanted to be like the person in that Robbie Williams song Come Undone (link given). A mixture of contradictions, but alas, what I come out is a very bland and simple guy. I DID do my graduation, and even went on to do a masters (I don’t want to lose the flow by naming the courses, plus this site is awesome, they gave that section separately so kindly check), but I really didn’t shatter the world with my academic chutzpah. I tried my hand at the guitar, but left it half way, mainly because I wanted to be the cool one in college, and I sing like Cacofonix (link given). But I do read. And listen to music, and hell, watch movies. My favorites are given in the appropriate sections, so I won’t include them here; anyway this site looks like another Facebook minus the subtlety in expressing the ultimate aim. I am mighty judgmental, and sometimes lazy, but I am not all that bad. I mean I love sports, and all other things a normal guy does, and I also give respect to my seniors and all that. And yes, even I am rooted to my ground, only sometimes; under the influence of alcohol (yes I drink and am proud of it) I do become a dreamer, but nothing out of ordinary. In fact, I think I am a bit too rooted, so much so that sometimes I don’t even move. But I am not irresponsible and do believe in the concept of continuous flow of income, hence do my work sincerely.

I really don’t have much preference on the kind of girl I want. Don’t get me wrong, I am not desperate, well, may be a little bit I am but nothing overt. But I cant really list down qualities of a person that are sure to tickle my senses and more. I do believe that it would probably happen looking at the unexpected attributes rather than the expected utopian qualities. So anyone who thinks that this person is worth taking a dekko, is welcome. But yes, again, I am a pretentious Indian male. So I AM shallow. So I do believe in the concept of beauty. This I say in spite of knowing that I am no Brando. This is where I take advantage of my gender and nationality, while I do that with all my shame.

So I guess I will see you soon.... or not


__________________________________________________________________

P.S.: Didn’t know he was such a favourite. And since it has been asked, here we go. What can I say, August is a giving month:

5. The NRI

Profile: I am currently working as an investment banker at New York City, New York. I have survived the recession and I am very happy to say that right now, I have a stable footing. Ever since I have come here, I have missed my country, with all my heart and soul. I try and be as close to India as possible, in every chance I get, because her culture in ingrained in me. I do intend to return to my roots as that is where I belong, but right now, I want to make a place for myself in the world, as that is very important for all of us. Owing to the really grueling schedule, I will unfortunately not have much time to spend in India. But I believe that if I am lucky enough to meet the perfect match, I will recognize her in two days flat. I like Indian food, Indian music, and the way Indians carry themselves. I am a big fan of Bollywood, and that is just one of the thousand things that I miss. I am a much grounded person, and I feel it is very important to take success with humility.

My partner, like me, should also be grounded. She should be there with me in all my turmoil and good times as I would be with her. It would be really nice if she wants to study in the US as then, she can also make a career for herself and chase her dreams. She should share my passion of upholding the tradition and culture of our country and should be a humble mix of humility and modesty. She should find joy in the simple things of life rather than the extravagant. She should remind me of everything that is related to India, so that she makes our house, a home away from home. I value the worth of financial and mental freedom, and would be happy to provide her with all the support, in case she decides to pursue her studies in the US. I hope she becomes the missing piece of my life, that would finally complete it and make it a happy one.

Dumb

People talk

Less mind more mock.

Flattery received,

And flattered deceived.

Words take shape,

In shapelessness.

Smiles fade,

And eyes red.

Teases thrown,

With a flattering tone.

Ignorance,

And false pretence.

Making traps,

And etching gaps.

Humour fails,

And laughter stains.

A twisted pun,

And a smirk begun.

Stories of past,

That threatened trust.

But smiles still graced,

With ignorance.

And they laughed,

For the less evolved.

Went back home,

And felt alone.

Losing grace....

In ignorance.

Drink milk everyday

Ok, this I have to share. I just heard that milk in Malaysia is called “susu”.

Have fun substituting the words now. :)




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