Labhda fire ve tera ki kho gaya

Before this film, I knew the bare minimum about Chamkila. And that’s how Imtiaz Ali introduced Chamkila to us -  from a stage, amidst the thunderous applause of his fans. Our hero is arriving from some distant horizon, to perform for his fans but only to be silenced by some faceless killers. When Chamkila and Amarjot were shot - I was shocked, not saddened or filled with grief, just stunned. Isn't it always shocking to witness someone's demise? But the loss didn't hit close to home. And why would it? I mean I don’t even know this guy.

And so begins our odyssey, a journey through the tapestry of Chamkila's life - his struggles, his triumphs, his follies, and his love.

And before the film ends, we find ourselves back where it began but this time we are not fans waiting for him to come on stage. There’s a shift in the perspective, we are seated with them in the car, and we observe them intimately – as if they cease to be some random performers and Imtiaz did it, without stripping them of their charisma.  As they step out of the car, we feel the weight of impending tragedy. This time, when we watch them die, the grief is personal. It lingers and digs its claws deep. This time, the moment is felt, this time it evokes intimacy, sadness, and the joy of knowing them, in equal measure.

 

The song "Ishq Mitaiye," emerges within the movie at a very pivotal point. 1980s Punjab. Disturbed and burning. The lyrics, Ni Maye Mera Ishq Mitaye Haye Haye, Ishq Mitaye Haye Haye "O Mother, my love destroys/O Mother, my love creates…Long live the fire and water within me," serve as a prophetic ode to Chamkila – love both crafting and consuming him. The very essence of art breathed life into Chamkila while ultimately killing Amar Singh. He serenades his motherland, Punjab, seeking to bring a smile to her face through his songs. And amidst the violence and chaos, he says “Mein Hoon Punjab”- as if Chamkila has merged with the very soul of the land. When plagued by violence and cruelty, Punjab responds with joy and laughter. Akhadas remain crowded and undeterred. In that moment, Chamikla becomes an idea.

It’s pretty interesting that despite all the obscenity in his songs, which the DSP found Kitsch, Chamkila always sang in duet. There was a moment when he was struggling to find a steady female singer until he met Amarjot.  So far we have just seen just men engrossed in his melodies within the akharas. Where are the women? And then come the women. The women, crooning lewd songs at weddings, listening to him secretly. These women are bound by patriarchal shackles, yet still, their smiles endure, and their voices harmonize, echoing the spirit of Punjab. If Chamika was Punjab, these women were Chamkila in their clandestine obscenity. The women are largely unbothered by his lyrics because they know it's more about the flawed male psyche than about them. They embrace Chamkila as an ally in his own misogyny. And perhaps that's all they desire - honesty amidst imperfection, acceptance despite flaws. Much like the song “Ishq Mitaiye”, contrast persists. Chamkila isn't just cherished by lecherous men; he's adored by women.

The character of the DSP is a societal gaze into the life of Chamkila, without him the film falls flat. And I loved what Imtiaz has done with this character. When in an argument, one of the proteges of Chamkila says “So you think only dirty people listen to his songs” he very firmly says “Yes dirty and uncouth people”. To him, Chamkila is a non-essential rot of society. He intervenes when his constable becomes aggressive against that young protege and when he says “We have done these plays in colleges, but reality offers you different answers” we see the veneer of rigidity fading and we get a deeper gauze in his character. It appears as if he too was once filled with the idealist values. But with time, reality has chipped away at those edges. In that moment we see how most of us, like that DSP have embraced practicality, adjusting our values to fit the world as it is. The world, where idealism often takes a backseat to what's achievable.  Trading philosophy for pragmatism.

Exhaustion evident in his deep breaths, the DSP sinks into his seat as he delivers his powerful monologue. CUT! In the next scene, we see, Chamkila striding confidently toward the stage, determined to deliver his performance.  DAMNIT! That’s beautiful.

Imtiaz Ali skillfully contrasts the characters of DSP and Chamkila once more. We witness DSP entering his home, annoyed by something, he approaches the window, gazing outside with irritation. The screen splits to show Chamkila and Amarjot passionately singing their song, unaware and unconcerned. We see the irritation of DSP and the joy of Chamkila in a single frame. Pure Cinematic molten cocaine, right in the veins!

Wait! It gets better, here it seems that DSP's annoyance stems from someone outside his home listening to Chamkila's songs, something beyond the confines of his control. In his final scene, DSP is entering his house with newfound humility, his steps slower than usual. As he hears Chamkila's music playing within the house, he realizes it's his own son who is listening. His son discreetly hides the cassette, reminiscent of how he concealed it in the police van earlier in front of his constables. However, instead of reacting with anger and frustration, DSP allows his son to listen to Chamkila.

FLIPS TABLE IN EXCITEMENT YOU MF THIS IS LOVE.

 

Chamkila doesn't have answers for us. He understands his life and music but he refuses to impose his truth on us. Amar Singh Sandhiyal, christened Chamikla by mistake, but he wears the moniker with pride. Being an artist, that's his very essence, his raison d'être - even if it costs him everything. There’s a sense of acceptance in him as he says " They wield guns; they will shoot; we wield music we will sing” when he meets the journalist and in his answers, we see he's come to terms with being a product of his environment yet he rebels in his humility. The overarching narrative of the film. He doesn't allow his caste to define him entirely; he takes risks, and forms his own band. He sings lewd songs because he knows they sell; his fans want that. And yet he transcends our expectations by singing devotional songs. Chamkila rebels incessantly in his life but ever so quietly and with humility and he sings with such graceful shamelessness. A simple act of lighting a cigarette in the car, despite having agreed to not sing and smoke, becomes an act of defiance. His akharas just didn't literally break a roof but his voice, in all its vulgarity, shattered the glass ceiling that society had caged itself in. In his rebel, Rockstar’s Jordan appears as a petulant child compared with Chamkila (Also, I feel Sadda Haq and Ishq Mitaye have that Venn Diagram vibes to their differences and similarities).

 

In one of the last scenes, we see the movie "Patola," featuring a song of Chamkila, people are dancing, despite the overarching melancholy. Finding solace amid sorrow, a sentiment Chamkila himself embodied. Here, the film contrasts with reality. Onscreen, we witness the ecstatic crowd, a reflection of what the Chamkila had always done in his akharas or what the theatre audience would have been had the movie been released in theatres. 

Travelling in times of Covid.

Love is a lot like travelling. It suggest you enter someone's heart as you enter a country, through immigration and customs. Border crossed by simple conversations . Step by step.  Gradually you start putting that person above yourself and you tend to feel you're doing it out of love. Heh! naivety.  And when you do that, you give away a piece of yourself to that person. A part that completes you. If that person returns the feelings, the emotional equilibrium is balanced. If not, you feel exposed and disappointed. Because you dared to be naked. Your soul harden itself while your mind takes a flight. You get closer to yourself. You are sad and the deeper this sadness penetrates the greater you bond with your inner reservoir. Sorrow is an important ingredient, you see? That piece of yours that went missing when you're in love, poets say its heart. If it weren't for aesthetic reasons, it could have very well been liver or intestine too. But no, heart. Just below the sternum, left to third and fourth rib cage. Cage for a reason you begin to feel. After first romantic disaster you come out as a smarter person or so you think. And then it happens again. You never learn. You make new mistakes until you lose the innocence of naivety.

Loneliness is a therapy in itself

You don't always need support, sometimes it's ok to be sad and in a shell. Loneliness is a therapy in itself. Yea the insatiable need to be alone creates a disrupted balance with the insufferable need for connection but then idea is to feel so comfortable with yourself that you no longer fear what silence can do with your thoughts. It's always the moments spent alone that make you remember what you could have had but chose to let go of and it's always the moments spent with your own circumferences of existence when you taste freedom. Once you have mastered loneliness, you won't feel unfamiliarity you get when you are into some random party, awkwardness you feel among strangers like you are someone who just arrived but doesn't really know how they got here. The self that makes its appearance when we are not alone is a facade, we are incapable of being truly ourselves when in the presence of others. No one can understand the depths of your perceptions and that fact alone is as inspiring as it is isolating. We look for similarities in other people because the idea that we are alone as who and what we are is too terrifying to accept and we choose to believe we are all connected just for the sad pursuit of making sure we never feel as alone as we know we are. Every empty conversation is a testimony of why it's better to be alone. But someday you will find yourself alone but not lonely, you will know you can never feel lonely beneath the gaze of countless stars and everything will become beautiful and just fine till then never let your friends comfort you in pain because how else are you gonna preserve the narrative that you suffer alone.

Friendship

Seventeen stories down, the world looked minuscule enough to not matter. It didn't matter what these tiny people were thinking, it didn't matter how many deadlines or digits were there in their accounts​. Everything zoomed down to nothing.
This was the last straw, he didn't know any better way of dying. Pills were difficult and unreliable, "waking up in hospital with failed suicide attempt would be embarrassing". He didn't know where to get a gun. Hanging seemed like risky, "definitely the fan won't be able to bear our weight". Lying on a train track seemed too cruel to oneself. Jumping seemed like the best idea.

"So, are you sure?" Asked the tiger.

"Yea! I feel like dying. Not good or bad. Not chosen or denied. It's just a feeling. I live with it and now I wanna be lived with it" Said the man.

They both looked at each other and a smile crossed their faces.

"kinda Batman feel no? " The tiger giggled.

"Hahaha! Right. Sitting here on edge sure feels like batman thing." The man smiled.

"So... You know when you can't think of a particular word but you know there's word that goes there. You don't know the word but you know that's missing. That's how I feel, all the time. Missing something very integral to me" the man continued.

The tiger nodded as if trying to comprehend what the man just said.

"Its a cruel joke that the universe gave us this consciousness" the man continued, "we know we will die but what is the purpose? Animals have it easy, they don't have to.."

"Oh really, you think we got it easy " the tiger chided. Not hiding his discomfort.

"I am sorry... I didn't mean it that way. We have been together for so long to know this. What I mean, the inherent understanding that amassing knowledge, friends and family is of no reason. Aren't we gonna just die, anyway? What's the point, we all gonna be gone in a century".

"Its about immediate survival of your species... About your kids and their kids... Their decision to choose their philosophy and meaning of their life." Said the tiger.

"And why should I even bring them in this world? For all they will have a brief period to look back at fleeting memories. And the sun will consume the earth and the solar system and eventually all the stars will be wink out into the oblivion.  There will be nothing but emptiness in all directions for forever and infinity. With no hope of recovery and no one to remember the wretched short period of our existence in this vast universe. We are nothing but just a futile scream into the world before going quietly into the oblivion." The man resigned, struggling to breathe.

"I am reading this book which says, It's not emptiness. It's discontinuity that we suffer from. Do your regular stuff and you will feel accomplishment and fulfillment, which brings joy" the tiger said lightly, not trying to preach.

"Damnit! I can't be happy and now I have to be fulfilled. Fuck! I am jumping. You coming?"

"Ofcourse"

And they jumped.

"WoohooHobbesWeAreFlying. Look wind gushing through our hair, zero gravity" Noises were getting louder...Honk, chatter and...thaaaip! "Guhh! It hur..."




Done.

The death of Society

Ok! Can we just stop idolizing democracy because the whole concept sounds so harrowing and Ludacris and what we have is not even true democracy but a representative democracy- an illusion of democracy. We don’t vote for policies, we just vote for people who look appealing and promising. Now on paper, it sounds so cool with its three essential elements- Voters, Politicians and the System. Voters choose someone who could provide them representation and politicians have a support system to execute and cross check the functioning of it. Democracy seems efficient at a lower scale like a village or a tribe- people coming together and making a decision because it’s quick, inclusive and easy to rectify but you scale it up to a million plus or like ours a billion plus society it collapses into tiny pieces of broken governance. Its basic science, what works at one scale may not necessarily work at another scale, even universal laws break down at quantum scale but ok now let's break down the whole concept.

VOTERS: Now in a democracy a stupid drug abusing illiterate gets as much of a vote as an intelligent responsible citizen. When it comes to choosing a political candidate a rape survivor shares the table with other sexists and molesters. You probably won’t see that under normal circumstances. It's one system that values someone who doesn’t believe in evolution as much it values someone who is Post Doc fellow in evolutionary biology. It completely discards meritocracy and is blind to the inability of masses to make a sensible decision. If there is a small group that is more or less homogenous in interests this mode of governing seems fine but as the group grows and the interests of the group changes and largely becomes opposing to one another, democracy becomes meaningless, the value of a single vote decreases, people lose power and is more or less controlled by corporations, soft powers and other influencers. In a larger nation, a united front of 35% can override mostly divided opinions, that’s evident in Indian democracy- you get as much as 35% votes you win. You wont pass with that kind of score in most universities but here you not only win but you enact the will of the people who chose you. We as a civilization are in a rave party where no one has any clue what they are doing but everyone hopes the other person has a better value judgment and everything turns out good. Ideally, politicians and system should provide a coherent and safe environment to people where they can flourish and develop scientific temper but that doesn’t usually happen because <See next two points>.

POLITICIANS: Now, to become a seasoned politician it requires a lifelong, single-minded commitment to the pursuit of power. You go through smaller elections, gains the ground, adhere to the ideology of established political parties’ and go through humiliation either by public or press scrutiny. You suck up to powerful people and corporate sectors because you need funds and people who are truly power hungry or sons and daughters of politicians are only able to get on the top. Mostly the most shameless and corrupts reach the top and deserving and honest people are wiped out by treachery and lies. People who choose politics as a career know its weakness. They know politics is not a solution but a system established to prevent tyranny or dictatorship. That’s it, there is no other purpose of this form of government- JUST AVOID TYRANNY. Politicians know voters are sheep and can be swayed and manipulated with a little effort. Voters can be largely put in two categories – uninformed voters and pseudo-informed voters. Now, it's hard to be an informed voter, there are so many alternative versions of the same story floating in the media that even if voters are on news for 24/7 they are still pseudo informed about the right issues that matter. Politicians collude with media houses and make you think you are voting but they are on your shoulders nudging you who to vote each time you find yourself in a voting booth. Most politicians are one-half power hungry, one-half ignorant of core values and one-half lobbyist of corporates.

SYSTEM: A democracy is not a single cohesive entity it relies on the executive, judiciary and soft powers for it to work in the welfare of the people and keep a check on each other, which again becomes difficult in a large country. It’s a bit paradoxical but let's understand- if you have one person in charge of a department who is accountable for everything then the chances of corruptions are low because if found guilty the person cannot shun it away, accountability is paramount. If you have 10 people in a department and you can find a way to corrupt 2 of them, you control one fifth of the department but there is an accountability. Now, suppose if you have 1000 people working there, and you corrupt 20 of them you are just controlling 2 percent of the department, here one can carry out small acts of corruption but really can't influence the direction of the department but then accountability is almost negligible. Now in a country like ours, with a larger population and limited resources, our system falls somewhere between the latter two- 100 people holding a department where corruption is strong enough to influence the whole department and accountability is low enough for you to scot free. And even if you are an honest worker, the cocktail of political greed, individual ego and corporate interests burdens you down to work efficiently. The next pillar, the judiciary has more cases than they have time and resources to pull them off and the lethargic condition of the judicial system allows corrupt politicians to win despite malpractices which create a wheel of the chain of misdoings that it's almost impossible to break the wheel.

The democratic system can't work productively in its present form. To break the wheel, one spoke is needed to bend. The voters think they are unheard because they really don’t participate in this otherwise nonsense system but just to make it work, even slightly in the right direction, voters need to be proactive and anti-beliefs. No one should associate themselves with any political party- they must question and see every politician with a skeptic's eye. It’s not enough to vote once every five years and then expect things to work out (they won’t no matter what) but for things to improve slightly, even for a sliver of hope, for that 1% chance (made up stats) one need to be a rational individual. In an ideal world, we would have a good democracy heck! In an ideal world, we won’t have to deal with democracy. 

Maybe I should just... stop.

What's the single biggest advantage of being a blogger on blogspot when everybody has moved to wordpress and when you are followed practically by no one? (Hint: The single biggest advantage is also the only advantage.)

The answer is quite simple –You can write whatever shit you want, whenever you want, however you want – because no one’s reading – what does it matter? So what the fuck I am doing here in the middle of the night in a week in the middle of winter? When the dark is darker, dense fog settles itself over the ocean. I dont know, I just felt like talking without anyone actually hearing me. See! not every post needs to have something meaningful to it, just like the girl who left you without an explanation. Not every word needs to have an insightful thought attached to it, just like the boy who offered you that smile while he passed by. Crazy. right?

Ok we gotta talk something, right? Thats how things move. So imagine sometime in the mid-90s. A school classroom. Charts with drawings in crayons hanging around its walls. A serious teacher with pale eyes facing a class of kids, who sit on little wooden chairs and write whatever been told in their brown little notebooks. I remember writing something "I will be good homan being". Hesitant, unsure handwriting, words spelled wrong, I wrote it "I will be a good homan being". A simple sentence. A sentence that is made up of simple thoughts. Respect elders. Help others. Be kind. Say the truth. A lot of memories have been faded by time but somehow I managed to grip that moment and kept it in a mental safebox. Kids are cute people, they believe whatever been told to them and over the years kids evolve, they make their choices and let's just say they change. Sometimes they do things they are not proud of. And this hurt. It will never be the big things that hurt you the most. Always the tiny things. And you will always forget this.

I wish I would not have caused so much hurt to people. I really have hurt a lot of people, with rather violent repercussions. I wish there was more in my life just than eating, sleeping and disappointing people. And as if people were not enough now even my stomach is upset. But lately, I have been exploiting the stereotype so bad that people have quoted stuff from Indian Penal codes thats supposed to make me go “Boss! maaf kardo jail nahi jaana". I have been douchebag cracking lame jokes on my north eastern, muslim, reserved category, short friends that I probably deserve a special place in hell. I should probably stop chewing my butterflies. I have been losing friends faster than Modi is losing votes. Most of my friends don’t call me anymore, and those who do, call me a jerk. I mean, I have been compared to a metalic table in context of my sensitivity levels, and the table has won invariably. And to be honest, which I have seldom been, not in the college exams at least, I do not blame any of my friends, or ex-friends. I am not proud of the guy I have been lately. Those who have still stuck to me in spite of me should be brand ambassadors for Fevicol.

I dont mean to hurt people when I hurt them. Its a bit complicated... see if it looks like I took really good care of a book, it usually means I didn't like it. When people are hurt they are their most sincere. One of the most beautiful line I heard (actually heard) was by a badly hurt and heartbroken friend. I distinctly remember this friend saying "It was terrible and painful and beautiful and unforgettable and I don’t know how to be without it anymore.” she said a lot of things that day. I like listening people in the hope I’ll find fragments of me in other people’s feelings. You may think that’s exploitation of other's emotions. But it’s really quite a comfort to know there are always so many in pain. Its not that difficult to make people open their heart out. Talk to them, map the conversation in such a way it leads to heartache. Now I think of myself as lost constantly on this map. Always going somewhere or getting away from it. Somehow meaning to get someplace and yet ending up elsewhere; exactly where I ought to be.

I dont mean to hurt people, I try to understand them. Probably not the nicest way right? I know. I am working on improvement.

And a lot of times I have opened my phone, I didnt have anything in mind but to distil my sincerity in words and tell them please dont be upset and meant it everytime and chose to not send because those words felt like fraud. You cant heal emotions with a bandage of paragraphs. I don’t know what this post is all about. Maybe I am guilt tripping and trying hard not to make this one of those stupid, repetitive, meaningless and false posts about human nature and all that shit. I dont know its 4 in the morning. Maybe I am feeling lost. What have I lost today? But loss is still just a word. It’s what you’ve attached to it that makes it a fire-breathing dragon. Or a hole in your gut. All of us, there are deep cuts in all of us. At certain stage my friends might have let me look inside, but I never thought I can fix that. I know I cant. I just love the part of them that's still whole. Thats's it, pretty convenient and irresponsible. But thats ok. And I should stop writing now. Its not making any sense. But how to end it? Maybe I should just... stop.

broke but happy

The last few days have been, to say the least, atrocious. Justin Bieber's age is greater than my bank balance. I hardly read any book and am ridiculously behind on my reading challenge. I screwed some crucial presentations. My to-do list is longer than Deepika's legs. Hostel mess has been closed. In other words, I have been neck-deep in shit and broke. In add to to all this mess, every Arijit Singh song I hear for reasons unknown it reminds me of Bhisma Pithama. And I am totally going freudian crazy on this Arijit-Bhisma connection that my neurons are forming.

Also when you are broke and hungry I guess you become mature and start talking to yourself. Like those village crackheads who roam around the village mumbling to themselves. Well, kind of. So I have been thinking lately a lot about life and its purpose and stuff. Like how someday I am gonna die and things that I am really concerned about arent really that important. How easily I forget that life is lived in moments and moments form a life. How easily I get sensitive about insignificant things and how easily I get scared of uncertainties of life and how easily I suppress my inner voice. How easily I forget death and and thus how to live. No people, no smile, no money, no home, no career no Priyanka Chopra, no competition, no blog will matter after the event called death.
"Yahi end hai yaar! Ab picture baaki nahi hai dost".

"I understand"

It takes sadness to remind you of yourself. And sadness, like any other word, can be defined vaguely by all, and specifically only by you. I understand.

Sometimes you have to go. You don’t leave, but you vanish. When you go, you take me with you. When you turn invisible, I become transparent. But you had to go. I understand.

Sometimes I hear noises when it’s lonely and lazy. I fear you. I see you waiting for me, watching over me through little wormholes, faraway. It's not you. You won't do anything absurd like that. I understand.

I know I can not mount siege over your neck anymore and raid your collarbones for the polite screams and clamp my fingers on your hair. I can not. I understand.

You know it and I know it too that I don't. I am saying it all trying to make myself feel better. When I see you, the body I recognise but cannot claim my own. Some days it makes me sit and makes me sad that there is nothing I can do about it. I sit quietly, in melancholy for hours and days. I wait. And I wait. And no I don't understand.

Swades and stuff.

If there are two things good for my heart, they are avocados and movies. Whatever you have, bhojpuri to documentaries on Russian hamsters JUST GIVE IT TO ME I'LL CONSUME.

So today I watched Swades, have you seen this movie? NO? Good because now you can go and watch it.

The movie begins by a quote of Gandhi and later in a scene we see Mohan briefly handling his friend's book store and there is a book on Gandhi lying on his desk. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the same guy who came back from South Africa in a hope of bringing change in India. Sounds familiar with the plot?
So in this bookstore, aptly named Pathfinder, Mohan meets Gita and ask her about way to Charanpur. Geddit? Ok! let me say it out slowly. In a place called PATHFINDER he MET his love and asked her PATH to Charanpur. Cool? Sigh! You people.

And when Mohan reaches Charanpur he sees an old freedom fighter teaching kids about Quit India Movement. After a while Mohan gets a bit frustrated when he saw how villagers have adapted to darkness. So he tells them what can loosely be translated as "Be the change you wish to see in the world" and then with the help of villagers our hero produces electricity. Bravo! 

Not just Gandhi there is an obvious inspiration from Ramayana  in the movie, Mohan comes back home after more than a decade and just like idealist Rama, he later leaves Gita to finish his pending project. The village is called Charanpur because there were footprints of Rama and Sita and in a scene we see Mohan and Gita standing together, feet to feet in a lake. And yea! Mohan brings light to Charanpur on Diwali. 

My favourite moment of the movie is when Mohan buys a glass of water in train. Throughout the movie we see him carrying his own packed water bottles but after encountering poverty of Haridas we see a change in Mohan, somehow he embraces his motherland and in that moment he truly accepts* India and drink what I may call indigenous water of India.

In a sequence we see Mohan taking a bath and singing I've Been Waiting For A Girl Like You which is actually by a band called Foreigners. Irony! 

Swadesh 'We the people'. Inspired from the preamble of our constitution, perhaps? 

The movie is an emotional catharsis and perhaps one of the best movies of Shahrukh Khan so maybe you should watch it. Again. 

*Over lunch when Mohan is arguing with Gita about Indian problems he said "YOU Indians never accept your mistakes".

Mathuradas! Zindagi ka dusra naam confusion hai.

Friends, Romanians and Spammers,

I am back.

Back to bring down governments, grammar and common sense.In that order.

I know this blog and its lazy author have been missing in action lately. The author has also been missing action but that's same old story. I usually blame my failures on others so I'ill blame my absence to umm... Sridevi. I mean, why not? She aint going to come and defend herself anyway. You can also  blame her for getting you to such a disgusting blog.

So bhaiya life kuch kuch aisi hai, these days I am really busy doing important things like running late for classes, deleting Ebay's 12% discount offer messages from phone and mail inbox and downloading Govinda Songs in HD. Also I am sleeping like sleeping beauty high on bhaang. Exam hain toh short mei batalata hoon.

I am in Goa and I am here for like many many months and experience so far is part depressing, part wonderful but overall interesting. Also Goa can’t make up its mind about how it wants to treat me.

I wasn't sure where to go and Goa sounded glamorous so I was like heck why not. Mom was concerned though. When you have 2000 Kilometers separating you and your son, you can’t help but worry a bit. But she had seen me watching Man Vs Wild a couple of times and trusts my surviving skills. All she warned me against were spending time at beach watching desi or firangi women.

My hostel is in Taligao and here to get a coffee you need to swim across seven oceans , tap into wild mountain ranges slay some dragons on the way to get to the nearest cafe and if waiter is in good mood you may get a coffee, at a price that you can buy coffee machines for whole colony. And with my bank balance that resembles Vatican's population I toh stay away. 

This guy Satyakam is my room mate, he wakes me up for breakfast, finds my keys when I can’t, keeps the room clean, yea basically he is the male version of a sundar , susheel and tikau bhartiya wife .

Also, weirdly most songs these days weirdly reminds me of Bhisma Pitama. Strange!

Where is my sock?

My shirt is pit stained, damp patches beneath my arms. I didn't care to change. I brought two bottles of wine, drank first one quickly and felt better, tension leaching out of neck. This one taste less bitter now. Today I saw her, we were out to meet this client and there she was in traffic in her car. I know she saw me I can tell the way she looked away like she saw something distasteful. Something off pulling in some way. I almost gave her a smile and she looked away. Robbing me away of my smile but anyway it doesn't matter. I am over. I closed the chapter. She is past. She is gone. Although I was surprised to see her here, for a second forgetting everything. But does it matter? She is married and happy. I think I should get myself a tattoo or some pet, I don't know. Something fell off the bed.. Oh it's me.....

But I loved her and when I say love its putting it mildly. I threw myself in her and she spit me out. Trust me, I know me, you don't. I am in this bar's bathroom some deal in office I give rat shit is about to get finalised this week so we are giving ourselves a break and I am very angry, like very very angry. I should perhaps write it down on paper and vent but it's been ages and I am slowly getting use to these voices. Why is this guy standing beside me? What he wants? What is he doing in loo? Should I talk to him, distract myself with small talks? I am sure he thinks I am psychotically deranged. Should perhaps talk, I like his tie, should i complement him? Would it sound pansie?
"Sup with those brows man?"
Why did I even said that? He didn't look at me.
He is still silent. Is he robot? Or is he just fermenting in his own sadness like me. Who left him? I need a drink. 

 know you might be wondering I talk shit and I am not aesthetically pleasing and cohesive in academic, literary sense but hey it's my life and I do my own shit my way. I need a drink.... Fuck this shit man...

I am gonna cut that bitch and make her feel the pain I feel, I will pierce her flesh and let warm blood trickle down and then I will mercy kill her because I love her and I can't see her in pain for long. Yea! That's what I gonna do. I am drunk again, welcome back. Tonight I am missing her so extra vodka shots, because what's the point of saving all these sperms and for whom?I remember that week in college when I didn't know you were leaving me I promised you I won't drink vodka or anything and i meant it and it was all beautiful and happy and so perfect. Tonight I am making sinkhole in vodka with your all the 'I love yous' and crawling into them to hear the echo of your voice. How easily you went away like it was nothing. Bitch! And how happy and beautiful you were looking that day without a shadow of sadness.
It was so nice and so relaxing to be with you sometime it was even more nice but it also sucked a lot of time when you were having all those mood swings and other stuff but it was perfect to me. You fought. Went away leaving quagmire of memories and quite inconvenient ending. For me it was either you or you, you should have at least said why this what is leaving god happening with me.... Strange feeling...

I like partially drunk me better, I don't know who put nirvana in my playlist and I hate nirvana. I think a lot of shit. Its not always a direct translation of reality. Like I was thinking about quitting my job, I was like "Ram what the fuck are you doing with your life? Selling soaps? Really?" And i thought about giving up but I had nothing lately to give so yea job pays enough for booze and rent and chainsaw in case some employee feel like killing his ex when drunk. So yea I am a slave of corporate bullshitology but a well played slave. At one point of my life I had given up everything, you know what point I am talking right? And when I think about her I feel strange concoction of love and hate flowing through my veins.  OK! Too sentimental, what to do should I stuff a sock up my mouth to distract?

Where is my sock? 

Fuck! Shoes taste like shit. Like her. Like her kiss and now I am thinking about our intimate moments and now I am smiling like a drunk fool and I know you are also smiling. Sweetheart. This feels good. Nope! This feels like psych ward with these noises in head and ohh what I wont do to sleep peacefully. What I won't? I think I should get a tattoo like these hippies with cum drop near the eye or something. Perhaps cat is a better idea. Whatever...

Mei toh raste se ja raha tha bhelpuri kha raha tha, What happens next will blow your mind

When I was child I had a dream. I had a dream to wear red-blue pants and dance with my crush on the tunes of "Kisi Disco mei jaye". Later I realised I am no Govinda. I can never be him. Nobody can be him (Fuck you Varun Dhawan, You Chinese Govinda). He is not just an actor but a cult, my idol, mere sapno ka raajkumar.  Kasam Shilpa Shirodkar's cheeks the girl who enjoys Govinda's brand of senseless comedy is my kinda girl. If she has seen all Govinda movies then I'ill give her extra 10 points. Infact I already know what kind of conversation I want to have  in 'Ladka Ladki ek dusre ko jaan lo' stage.

Me - Hey!  Have you seen 'Aunty No. 1'?

She - I loved it. My fav.

Me - Cool. Gambler?

She - Ayie maa! Already 25 times.

Me - That's so touching. Hum tumpe marte hain.

She - Wow Govinda and Urmila were so beautiful.

Me - Arey nahi. I mean I already love you re.
She- Dulhan toh jayegi Dulhe raja ke sath *blush*.

I have plunged in to almost every genre, swam through it’s deepest realms, and then went on to another genera to explore it, throughout my life but never found anything like Govinda music. I loved my Beatles, Nirvana, Madonna but they lacked the melody I craved. They lacked quirky lines that I can use on girls. Govinda supplied it all. And why not? It was Govinda's movies that I fell in love for the first time, Rani *Sigh* Mukherjee. Govinda  taught me that the most important thing in life isn’t gaadi, bangla, paisa, degree but it's love. Remember Raja babu? Karishma loved this illiterate Govinda and continued to love him even when he  becomes verily gareeb. So I kept a mental note that in the canvas of life one must reserve the most expansive brushstrokes for love. My love for Rani Mukherjee grew deeper and my grades got weaker.

I used to imagine myself with Rani Mukherjee lying in some hotel in Shimla and proposing her while she look at me affectionately, laugh and kiss my forehead saying 'Buddhu' and me falling for her again.  When in late 90's I heard rumours of Rani-Govinda affair it broke me. It was like your girlfriend cheating you with your bestfriend. I almost cried all night listening 'Oye Raju pyaar mat kariyo dil toot jata hai'. Later when things got clear I felt ashamed of myself. How could I even Imagine Govinda, my Govinda doing this with me? So cheap of me. I let my ideal down. I disappointed him but you know he always remained by my side like a watchful protector, silent guardian. His songs are filled with just right amount of wisdom.

Those people who stereotype him as comedian need to watch Gambler, Hatya, Swarg and many more movies in which Govinda proved  mettle of his acting. Yes, he never got Oscar but neither did Brad Pitt for acting. Maybe some legends stay that way. In Swarg Govinda challenged bollywood's first super star with acting that left our eyes moist. In Chotey miya Bade Miya he convincingly left Amitabh Bacchan behind with his belly-aching comedy. He is indeed the NO. 1 we have in bollywood. Govinda at a point was working in 49 Films simultaneously and signed record 14 films within 36 Hours. Stardom, bitches.

From 'Kurta phad ke' to 'G phad ke' Chi Chi has traveled length and breadth of bollywood. I have spent almost my whole childhood watching Sachin and Govinda on TV. When kids were singing ring-a ring-a roses I was humming 'Prem jaal mei fas gayi mei toh'. I was so busy with Govinda that I had no idea what firang music is. When in class 8, a beautiful girl asked me do I listen to backstreet boys? I told her I listen to my mom only. 

If you watch enough Govinda movies you become impressive flirt. 'lal duppate wali tera naam toh bata', a trend setting number of its times, this track was the first of its kind which made introvert guys courageous and approach girls and ask their names. Wanna take things a step ahead? We have a Govinda song for that also sir - 'What is your mobile number?'. There is always a Govinda song to describe your life's each and every moment.

Govinda is perhaps the best dancer Bollywood has, grace, fluidity, expression callisthenics. It's not easy to copy him, just try dancing like Hrithik Roshan and that's closest you can ever be to Govinda's dancing style. You've failed as a couple if you have never danced to Govinda's songs in the bedroom. IT IS MUST. I still cant resist few thumkas when I see Govinda's pelvic jerks in orange pants fastened just below his cute nipples. I can go on and on but as one Govinda song goes Bye Bye Miss Goodnight See You Again .

The Scholar's Apprentice

There were a couple living in mountains in a small tribe. The brave husband was tribal king and loved by all. Wife was beautiful and loyal who had happily left comforts of rich father to live with her husband. They gave birth to Muruga. Muruga was sent on his quest for learning and adventure. The couples later gave birth to a healthy child but with huge facial disfigurement with an elongated nose that looked like elephant trunk, they called him Ekdanta. The child was pampered since birth, feasting on sweets and rich delicacies. With no one to play he resorted to 'studying and eating' while guarding his mother. He ate enough to gain weight and studied every literature available to him. He grew as a friend, philosopher and guide to people around him. Many scholars from far land began to counsel him and take his help. Then occur the great drought. Rivers dried up, society began to collapse and laws of land were lost. People suffered for 14 years and then it rained. Slowly agriculture begin to bloom and lets just say things were back to normal.
Mr V V, a scholar realized they had lost some precious literature during great drought, he picked mammoth task of compiling all the literature to save history from any future disaster. Ekdanta who was accredited young scholar agreed to assist Mr VV.  Mr VV narrated the greatest epic Mahabharata for him to jaunt down.

Incomplete

He could sense a bliss again. Someone beautiful was sitting with him, right by his side. Was she really so beautiful, or was it the alcohol?

"Why do you do it?" he asked grinning.

"Do what?"

"You know... moving from one relationship to another?"

"For the beginning part of it" She said.

They both laughed together.

"Still? " He asked after a while

She remained silent and he was mesmerized; mesmerized by her innocence. He wanted to touch her soft hands to understand the meaning of beauty.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "See! I love beauty. I love to touch beauty...to feel it. Beauty is measured not by love, attraction or lust. It has nothing to do with the purity or naivety but in the curiosity it arises in the beholder. Why people are so in love with Mona Lisa? 'coz they are curious about it. Why it was made? Who she was? And all. And when you are curious, as it is our innate nature, our quest transcends imagination and all logical possibilities and that we deem as love. And... right now I am curious about you boy" She smiled.

Journey: Rain drop

"Mumma! When I grow up I want to be a rain drop" said little Ramanujan looking outside the window at rain.
"OK. But you need to study hard for that." her mother replied casually while searching for TV remote. Few days back Ramanujan had said to his father he want to be a bus conductor because it is a coolest job to travel all day in the bus and to play with loads of coins.
"Study hard then" his father had replied then.
"Mom, in which college I have to enroll in to become a rain drop?" Ramanujan asked still looking outside.
"Why do you want to be a rain drop, Ramanujan?" His mother asked still clueless about the remote.
"Arent they beautiful mom? Falling from such height for random strangers and for what but just to reincarnate again in to a drop and continue the cycle and make millions happy for some time in this process." He said.
His mother stood still. Paused. One part amazed. One part concerned. One part happy.
"I think I put the tv remote in the fridge mom" he said and ran away outside as if he had found the purpose of his life.
"What? And where are you going now? I will beat you Ramanujan, come back" his mother shouted but the music of rain coherated with his heart beat as he ran towards playground soaked in rain.

Dilli se hoon, Jamie Lannister!

I have officially spent most of my nights staring at the sky from my bed. Delhi is altogether a different beast at night. Like some tamed dragon ready to fly you to hidden treasure. There is a strange uncertainty about her nights. You can never be sure if you will be able to find a single star in sky, let alone constellations.
मेरे शहर का चाँद शर्मिला है
रातों में बुर्का ओडे रखता है
She teases you some nights and deprives you of glimpse of celestial wonders. There is some love-hate relationship with her. All through out the day, I despise her. She makes me sweat, she makes me fight, she makes me sick, she makes me kiss hideous pollution. She makes me feel insignificant. She makes me feel lost. Bitch!

Bollywood flirts with her, authors romanticise her. They boast this city has seen very depth of both, hope and despair. Every act of crossing the road is is a miracle of existence.
In nights, lying lifeless in my bed looking our at vast infinity I fall in love with her. Everynight. Masochism at its best. What seems like a cage in day's light feels home in night's darkness. Stockholm syndrome.
It accepts everybody and from everywhere. Delhi reclaims both riches and poors. The bastards she scolds in day, she holds them in nights, close to her tattered chest. She listens to our fantasies, aspirations like a lover and pats us with eternal hope.
Like a mother, she brushes our hair and tells that I am special. In day light you question your identity in the gigantic urban sprawl of 16 millions but at night she makes you believe one day you will own her.

Lying in my bed every night, observing her façade of cruelty slipping by, I watch Delhi. Sometimes street dogs barks in protest that I am hallucinating, but like a timid kid I lift my arms hugging this beautiful beast and I exclaim "Bitch! You have pulled me back again". 

Kids, there is no quit in unrequited.

Unrequited love. When you continue love without reciprocation. Most of you must have fallen for that one. The guy who feels like your prince charming. That girl who is so cute that PETA will take offence if anything bad happens to her. That guy who is legend awesomnes made of. Whatever, if there is god even he can't make this person more better. Yep, that's a kinda love you are in. Creepy! *Pukes*
You meet this person and you don't know how to express yourself anymore. And what you do- through poetry or paintings. So much said through short verses. So much expressed in a few strokes of paint.
These are the days when you start pondering about those rhetoric philosophies-
 Is conventional beauty is everything? Are you blind to my inner beauty?
DEAR LORD, I HAVE SACRIFICED 12 ROSES HEAD. WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?
No seriously, do you know how much ferns & petals charge for a dozen roses?
But I am taller than his gf... How can he neglect this? What about genetic superiority?
I guess 26 missed calls delivered the message to her subtly.

And then reality hits you. Ouch! Ahh. Then comes the days when you lie in your bed and you don't know if you will be able to survive the day or not. You feel like slicing your wrist (dayem this shuffle for playing Ranjhana sound track now). But you are smart and you don't want poor knife to be called criminal all its life. You decide to live. For the future of knife, maybe.
Truth be told, that seldom I do, unfulfilled love is most romantic love. Largely because fulfilled love involves you buying nappy for kids and switching to colours TV when you want to watch ESPN. You, my friend is a brave soldier who chose difficult path. You are making this word a better place (How? Umm... We will come to it later). Seriously,I am proud of you, because you allowed yourself hope when others let them pulverised by despair. You tried. Don't give up. And if you feel you are losing, write some emo status on Facebook. I will personally 'Like' them all no matter how crappy they are. I feel you. 

Childhood and all that jazz

When I was a child (age wise) I never had a friend like Hobbes so it was not that epic but yes it was beautiful and now I am an adult and a bit of childhood has survived despite constant attempts of career to molest my inner child. And sometimes here and there this inner child in me comes out, I think he is claustrophobic or may be he is just annoying child who keep on prancing around and wont settle at one place. To be honest that seldom I am, it's a bit difficult to handle my inner child and that's exactly why I am looking for a hot young baby sitter for him (If interested, please contact). Coming to childhood days, I was a very stupid kid. I always wanted to be a bus conductor till class 5th, thinking it is a coolest job, you see, you travel all day in bus and get lots of coins to play with but then it was me. Young and foolish. I keep on revisiting my childhood not because they were so glorious or colorful but because there was some innocence that gone hung somewhere in the thread of time. When adulthood not only hit us but slaps on the face hard the first victim are our childhood dreams. We grow up, abandon our childhood dreams, start calling ourselves practical and live a mundane life. That's not how I thought I'ill live. Not that I wanted some 7 figure pay cheque but through out my simple life I wanted to be somebody and I am still not THAT somebody and not even close to being THAT somebody any time soon. I was just sitting and smiling on life while opportunities were passing by me, even begging me to drop a glance. But then it was me. Young and foolish. Today when I look back I wonder who drugged me, I swear somebody must have slipped some white powder in my food. Anyway, it's never too late to improve, quit or die. Or just write a blogpost  and carry on with your sorry life.

P.S: 22 years and still I dont know what THAT is. Maybe THAT is THIS. *cruel laugh* 

"Earthquake? We will sit on couch and wait"

I asked two 8 year old kids to write few lines on "What will you do during an earthquake" and I got brilliant answers. 

"First I will try to balance myself. After that I will be calm and sit at one place close my eyes and think about any another thing like some funny jokes or the thing like magic and all. Then I will take a long breath and open eyes after a little time so when I open my eyes I should not feel the earthquake."
~ Bhavya 

"If an earthquake will come, I will keep my all the things safe, so it cant be brocken or torn. I will sit on the sofa and hold it tightly. I will also say to my family to sit with me"~ Vedanshi

Once in a while we should encounter the unexpected  wisdom of children to keep the sanity in us alive between chaos and panic. 

The fault in your words

He wanted to look into those cute eyes. He wanted to touch those soft little hands. He had understood the meaning of true bliss when they kissed for the first time. Here, Sigh! here she was standing with him tonight. There was no moon in the sky, but here was she, holding the night sky with her innocence. She smiled while rubbing her eyes and arranging her curls wide as a heart, stopping his heart short for a while. 

"It's a beautiful sky tonight" She broke the spell.
"Thanks to you" he said.
"And why so?" She asked.
"Each time you lie to me your words penetrate my heart, escapes this world and get pinned in the sky. The bigger the lie, the brighter they twinkle. You saw that brightest star? the one close to moon?" he said pointing at the vast infinity in the sky.
"Yes" she said without any sign of dejection. 
"That's your 'I love you'' he was still looking somewhere in the sky. 
"No matter what you say, no matter how much you try to irritate me, it won't work tonight. I won't let you ruin this beautiful night." she smiled and hugged him gently. 

"I love you" she added and the star close to the moon twinkled a bit more brightly like it got a slimmer of a white light in it.