The Twenty Something.

Hardly any posts this year and its already June. And for me June means an increment in the age column. The twenty something becomes twenty something plus one.

The twenties are fascinating. You are raw, eager and restless. There is a buzz, a new interest and a new probable course every weekend. You can afford to take risks, with full knowledge of the fact that the end sum maybe zero, or even negative. In spite of what our education system and society feeds us: that excellence from day one is a pre-requirement, it is probably this phase which determines the place and shape in which we land up in the long run.

The question is, are you going to take a leap with a rope tied around your waist, just in case anything goes bad? Yes its perfectly alright to do that, absolutely fine move.

The leap to freedom, or success for that matter, is not about strength or how far you jump. Its about that indomitable human spirit to risk it all. It is not a necessity, you can always play safe. But then you might never come out of that well.

Will be back sooner this time. Bye.

The Ring.

It was a usual late night shift. The cab driver was on his last trip, back to his home. The time ticking on my watch didn't really give me a chance to negotiate the fare. The day was not over yet, in fact it was supposed to be one long session, to bridge into the biggest day of my life. It is a very funny thing isn't it, how one old song playing over the radio can take you back to old times. My thoughts drifted, swaying between those high and low tides, the voices, those pious smells and familiar old faces. The stone steps of Sethani Ghat, the flow of Narmada and a resulting overload of nostalgia.

I scrambled with the keys at first. I have been living in Mumbai for the past five years now, and almost nine months in this flat but none of it resembles like home. The faces move too quickly to get a proper look at. Hence the scramble to identify the right key was almost regular. One leg in and I checked that old phone as usual, and as usual nothing to show for, not even a single ring. An exasperated exhale and dwindling hopes.

I picked the dinner package lying outside my door and was stuffing it down my microwave soon. A quick meal, and the work now began. An interview, "the" interview. The interview I had waited for for the last two years. A shot a glory and a chance to create history; the youngest VP in the history of the company. A bigger place to live in, a down payment of the S Class maybe. The final installments of the ancestral home back in the village to free it from mortgage. The last piece to complete the jigsaw, and the long story which began with swimming across a gorge to attend primary school. But was it that I wanted, in that moment? Knowing everything and everyone it brought together, the darkest corners of my mind were still stuck with something else, with someone else. The old Nokia phone was a testament to that. I still wait for it, to ring.

After all these years, even the gods would have given up. If it had to, it would have buzzed much earlier. But it didn't and the ring meant a tad too much to me. Even as my subsequent smartphones gave my patience a test with dwindling battery levels, it was never low on power. I made sure of the fact that it was always on, with its towers at the mightiest of the scales. It was always there, in that corner, waiting for that ring to come. But it didn't. Roommates and colleagues failed to understand my obsession with it, and I never tried explaining it to them either. It was not that simple, well it is never that simple. It was necessary to start with, a chance that came once in a while. It was ego that took it forward and it was constraints that connected the dots. In the those very darkest corners of my mind, a voice said that it was never going to ring again. The ring which lay for idle all this time. But a voice in the opposite corner said: it just might. And to that I had no counter.

Alas, I winded up that dilemma earlier than usual that day. I had much to prepare for tomorrow. A presentation to give later the same day and packing to be done for next week's trip. The coffee was brewing hot. The news presenter was claiming that their channel had unearthed a new and even bigger scam. Everything was the same, the usual.

And then there was a ring. In fact there were two, both lying next to each other. I froze, caught in the moment. The coffee was now about to spill over. In that dimly lit room, there were two things shining, both wanting to outdo the other. One was my face, lit up like the blazing fire that she wanted me to be; the other that ring which had waited for its owner all this time.

For once, it did ring.

#ThankYouSachin

Star Sports has been running this ad campaign for the past three weeks now. The BCCI is trying its best to catapult its own advertising revenues. Twitter is flooded with the hash tag #ThankYouSachin. And do you know why is that so? Because we all owe him, big-time.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar had eclipsed the status of a mere mortal long time back. The 16 year old boy who smashed the ball to every corner of the park right from the onset of his illustrious career has done and achieved everything that exists. I am sure there must be a record book which only tells us how many records belong to his name. But this post is not about me showering adulation on him. And even if I attempt to do so, I am sure there are some adjectives I will still miss out on. Tomorrow the man who represented the hopes and aspirations of a billion strong will take to the field for one last time. For one last time he will do his famous half squat to adjust his guard and we all hope that for one last time, he raises his bat in the air for us. Yes we all love him and everything but inherently we are all selfish, aren't we.

But again this post is not about all that. I am sure CricInfo has better written articles with accurate statistics to support them. Neither am I as good as someone like Harsha Bhogle to whip some magic instantaneously (the IPL final, "replays are for mortals like us"). This is all about an entire generation growing up with dreams of not becoming engineers or doctors or crickets. It is about an entire generation wanting to be the next Sachin Tendulkar. It is about trying to emulate his stance, his panache, his straight drives. It is about those quarrels for batting with a bat with a MRF sticker on it (they used to cost Rs. 10, also we used Brittania for our fondness for Rahul Dravid). It is about staying glued to our television sets when Sachin was in his 90s and then jumping with our siblings as he raised his bat and looked up in the sky. Its about a man who installed a belief in the Indian sporting community. Its about being humble and polite and not letting fame and money to turn your head around. Its about being criticized over and over again and then coming back with a not out score of  248* on the SCG (honestly I can quote about 30-40 such innings but this picture says it all).

It is about my childhood, my love for this game and my admiration for this man.

#ThankYouSachin

PS: Dear Darren Sammy, no disrespect for you or your team but this all about SRT. 

#SachinSachin

#Sachin #Dada

Final Year Chronicles 1.0

It has been a long time since I sat down and wrote something in my journal or posted something on my blog. Actually it has been a long time since I sat down with a moment's peace. All this time it has been a frenetic circle of running and trying to keep up with a schedule. Apparently I have not had an easier time table in the past three years but even so, my alacrity suffers a dip which has no apparent explanation.

Final year of engineering is a funny period. Since everybody is studying engineering these days, this universal conclusion is not hard to derive. People badger you with the same questions that have are a part of an inconclusive loop that drags for twelve months. People grow an increasing reclusive nature, and honest opinions are hard to find. Parents are concerned and in some cases worried too. It is not wrong in any sense because what we kick start from here will be a very definitive force in shaping our future careers. Up till now, even though we were already inducted in a professional world, college life shielded up from the anomalies. From now on there will be no mass bunks from office hours. The boss will not extend the submission deadline if I don't manage the assignment in due time. No endless sitcom marathons. No incessant drooling. Time flies past quickly and by the time you realize, three months are already down the drain.

But I don't understand the constant cribbing and complaining. What if you don't get placed? What if you don't get admission in your dream post graduate school? How bad can it it get than this? Does it mean the end of road? Does it mean that it is the end of everything plausible?

No, not at all. Some frustration is bound it creep in because you expect certain results and if they don't turn out the right way things do get messy. But constant whining is not taking you anywhere close to it either. The funny part is people think am I doing all the aforementioned things. In reality I am sick of such people and this is the reason why I have shunned perhaps everyone in the past month and half. All you want is a short cut to success and drink your asses off (yeah fuck vocab) on the hostel roof top. I prefer a cup of steaming tea and my books rather than raising a hue and cry about every thing instead.

I don't want that man. And hence I won't whine, I won't complaint, I won't make shitty faces each time you see me. Yes I am no better than you, and it is still a long way to go. I am bidding by time, for it will come sooner or later.

PS: This picture, it speaks for itself.

The Totem.

Part I

I stepped outside fumbling with the keys, the downpour had been incessant for the last three days. My rain coat was already half-wet by the time I locked my low key, dimly lit and poorly ventilated single room apartment. But then I had no other options- a man has needs and none more implicit as housing, food and an occupation.

I had been posted to this village for almost seven months now- Kishangarh on the banks of the holy Ganges. This monsoon she was in a ravenous mood: threatening to engulf and emancipate whatever and whomsoever came in her path. I was just a provisional officer in a bank run by the State, and had no other option other than obliging my duty. My daily routine comprised of an eight hour desk job, which I hated with every ounce of my energy. Entertainment was subject to availability of electricity and it was a major issue on most occasions. Yet I had this one unflinching, ever so consistent addition to this drab, monotonous schedule: it was this the totem.

I noticed her for the first time a month back. That I was already deprived of human companionship (read as the desired companionship in this setting), she was more than just a pleasant surprise. She walked across the opposite road, balancing a mid-sized handbag, pushing her specs back up every now and then. I kept my gaze on her for as long as I could, and she was too busy with her balancing act. And then she disappeared in the next alley. And so began the routine. I would see her for five days in the week- walk across the same street with the same handful items. I would keep my eyes on her, making sure that I didn't appear too obvious. For I was sure that I didn't look like a C grade Bollywood villain, I had no desire to be the subject of vernaculars of this orthodox community which had been very kind to me so far.    

She was my totem. Forget knowing what she did or where she belonged to, I didn't even know her name! But she was there everyday, without fail. I soon developed a liking to this routine, trotting around at a snail's pace sometimes so that I didn't miss seeing her for a single day. Yet it did happen once in a while that she won't be around and as incredulous as it may sound, and those particular days were hell. Either my manager would blame me for something which I had no connection with, or my food went bad, or there would be no power supply for the entire day. Even water would taste bitter! To be honest, even I think that it is kind of lame but then I had already started enjoying this game. It was my sole source of entertainment in the wild countryside. In fact I had started linking every good and bad thing in and around with this totem, with my totem.

Maybe it's really disrespectful to refer to one as inanimate thing as a totem. But then this is why we are blessed with the power of thought and imagination. I am sure I can find out all about her easily, if I spend one evening in the dust smitten records of my bank. But then I am happy to continue with this game for now. Sometimes I amuse myself thinking about what she must be like actually: for starters, what's her name, how she is like as a person, why does she have the exactly same routine each day and many more. I might be sounding crazy, but no I have been doing it on purpose for the past one month.

But it's lashing down hard today and my hopes of seeing the totem are slim. And already that I am late recounting this story for the umpteenth time in my mind. I must quicken my strides now.

Part II

It's raining cats and dogs this season. Honestly I have not seen such torrential rains ever in the past in all the places that I have lived. I never wanted to live this typical village life once again but my father was transferred and we had no option other than relocating. Not only does that it not have the amenities of the city life which I was just starting to grow accustomed to but I have no school in the nearby locality. Luckily I was able to find a tutor under whom I receive private tuition daily and enrolled in a private school. Still Father would have to accompany me for my exams to this school which is 38 km from Kishangarh. So much for education this government claims.

This daily drab is the perfect epitome of dullness. I have no friends, as there are no girls of my age around. I am sure that if I hang around a boy in this orthodox village then it will wreak havoc in this small community. And why will my parents support something like that? All they want is me to get through my schooling and marry me to a complete stranger. I want to join a college and study literature, and so I am trying my best to keep a level head and pass the exams with better marks. I am still not sure whether it would tip the scales in my favour but then at least I will have an argument to present.

Of all things that I expected to lift my spirits from this soporific, mundane routine was this game that I invented for myself. Well it does not involve me alone to be precise, it involves someone else too. And that somebody does not even know about it. He is there each time I step on the Badi Gali each morning. These days he is working like my totem.

I noticed him sometime back in his crisp, shirt wiping the sweat off his brow and taking quick steps while avoiding stepping on cattle filth. He looked like a polite educated fellow, with a quizzical look on his face. But after a couple of days I noticed that somehow he was always present each time I stepped in the street. He didn’t stalk me at all, didn’t stare at me, he hardly seemed to notice me making my way through all the scattered vendors. Yet he was ever present and soon I developed a liking to this stupid game too! No contact at all, verbal or non-verbal. No acknowledgement of each other’s presence but something that made me aware of the fact that life is more than just my classes and helping Amma in the kitchen. It’s about trying to find a reason and a cause to indulge and a reason to look forward to another day.

Sometimes people are so predictable, and his dressing patterns rarely went wrong by my calculation, always white-blue-white-blue-white shirts he adorned. All this was a part of the game. It didn't solve any purpose but then I was enjoying it at the same time. Later that week I overheard Father talking about the new bank clerk who solved his issues sooner than he had expected. And so he almost spoiled my game with this but I wanted to keep this totem alive so I ran outside! Luckily I didn’t hear about it again from him or anybody else. So the game is still on, I am going to see him again today (I hope so) and the totem survives for another day.

The new bank babu must have left on time. I must rush now if I want to catch him walking by past me. It’s pouring down like anything and I am only slowing myself with recounting this story for the umpteenth time. I must quicken my strides now.

Free.

Bheekhu saw more people these days in Bade Sahib's office. Ravi, his co-worker (a very modest coinage for another domestic help like him) informed his in a smart tone that it was an election year, so they will have more chores to do in the house alone. He had worked in Bade Sahib's house for almost two months; Ravi had been there ever since he was five, but even he had still not seen as much furor as this. He had overheard the driver talking about "a return to power" or some homonym. While doing the dishes, Ravi once again bragged him about Sahib hoisting a flag some day next week. Bheekhu asked what was the occasion, cursing his negligence and his naive nature. While Ravi howled he told him it was 15 Agast.

Bheekhu was an illiterate, but he was still not stupid enough to ask Ravi what it meant. But he was curious boy, and eventually rounded the cook in the late hours of a dopey afternoon next day. With a bundle of bidi he bribed him successfully. But his answer was really terse, and left more questions than it answered- it means being free, the Angrej left the country and we were free to do whatever we want.

As the day progressed the skies grew grey. He finished doing the dishes, ate his food and took his place on the kitchen floor. He looked out of the window, the lightening, the downpour being incessant. Free, the word had echoed in his mind throughout the day. He dare not discuss it with Ravi, he made enough fun of him already. But free was not a difficult word. He knew it alright. He knew that it meant doing something out one's own will. He wondered what it could be like to free for a day or two.

Would he be allowed to dress up in a smart uniform and board a shining yellow bus for an Angreji  school? Would he have two square meals each day? Would he get a a proper bed to sleep on? Would he get to see his poor parents again who had sent him to the city for some cash? Will he ever get to dress up in crisp and colorful clothes like these city folks do? Will he ever own one of these cars which run like raging bulls on the roads? Or a shiny handsome bike, which the Chota Sahib owns? Will he ever learn to read, something that he desired with all his heart. Will he ever be free of his limp, the one which he had carried since some polio thing happened to him. Will he ever be free of all these constraints that hold him back and live life as he should- free.

Bheekhu turned and tried to catch some sleep, and secondly the floor was damp while facing the window. He suddenly remembered that he had to wash Sahib's car next morning. He was not free, not yet.