Ek choti si love story

A long long time ago there was a young boy about to step into manhood. One day he was taking a stroll outside his village full of youthful hope and a dance in his step. As he walked on he came across a well. He wanted a drink and peered over the rim of the well. It was a dark, musky and smelly well. The water was pale brown and covered in algae. It had a sinister menacing atmosphere about it. However, all our boy saw, and to his greatest surprise, was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen sitting right at the bottom of the well. Her face shone with the radiance of a full moon on a clear night and her hair like a waving wheat field during a breezy sunset. He asked of her how a maiden like her happened to be in a well that gloomy. At first she would say nothing but when the time came for our boy to head back on the road, she finally spoke. She told him how she had been fooled and trapped in that well. How for years she was made to believe that it was her destiny. And she told our boy that she had forgotten who she was and what the world was like. I want to get out of this and see the world again ,she said. I love you.

The boy had been not been just smitten, but in awe of the maiden since he had saw her the first time. He had never experienced love before. He had only heard stories of maidens in distress and the hero who saved her and won her love. He had never known what to do with his life before. Like most boys, for him the world was full of opportunity and wonder. But at that moment it was clear to him, he knew what he must do. How can I bring you out, he asked the maiden. I am too weak. If you can down here and take me with you. Without a second thought he jumped into the well.And immediately his whole life changed.

The well you see was enchanted. It was the Well of The Devil. Anyone who was in that well lost all their happiness. Yet the two young hearts were bonded and in that hell they knew that soon they would get out and the world lay waiting for them. So the boy immediately set to work. He pushed and he shoved with all his strength but the maiden was too weak. He understood this was going to be much tougher than he could have imagined. Anyone who fell in that Well could only get out with their own strength. And the longer one stayed in the Well the weaker they became, further reducing the chances of ever getting out. The boy knew he needed to be patient. He knew he needed to be strong.

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. The boy and the maiden were madly in love with each other. However, the time spent in the well had been taking its toll on the boy. The maiden was recovering slowly. Sometimes the boy would ask her to push harder. He wanted her to share his urgency and his spirit. To the maiden however, that was scorn. The boy would sometimes go out of the well for fresh air to rejuvenate himself so that he could go back in stronger. The maiden thought those few moments were a symbol of doubt in our boys mind. The Well knew its tricks.

As time progressed the Well got stronger. The boy would sometimes become impatient, at times shout at the maiden. The maiden would shout back at times, and at times become cold and destructive. Yet the boy believed the love they both felt would keep them alive.As more time went by the boy started breaking. He had responsibilities back in his village. He was a man now and shouldered responsibilities. Sometimes he had to leave the well to fulfill them. And sometimes on his way back he would stop by and share a laugh with his friends. However, he spent most of the time day and night in the Well so that the maiden knew he was there, and this changed him more.

The maiden saw the boy change. She saw the smile disappear and a haggard countenance. She saw her own self slowly being reflected in the boy. She saw him doing the same things as her when she had started living in the Well. And she hated what she saw. She pushed the boy away from her slowly. The boy felt scared and he felt weaker. during their time in the Well, the maiden had also been his strength. The darkness of the Well was also taking its toll much heavier now. The boy started going crazy. He even imagined another man and became jealous of nothing when he knew the maiden loved only him. His mother fell sick and they ran low on money for treatment. The boy did what he could and still he would save a little to buy the maiden something. Meanwhile, the maiden started thinking she was not his priority. This hurt the boy more. However in moments of clarity he begged the maiden to fight with him, not against him. In her moments of clarity she would tell him not to worry, that she would not leave him and would fight alongside him. But mostly she saw only the bad and this hatred gave her new strength. She stood up one day, told him never to talk of love again, stabbed the boy through the heart with a knife, put her legs upon his shoulder and climbed out. The boy suddenly saw with clarity what trick the well had played.

He prayed to the maiden to understand. He was extremely angry and hurt that the maiden did this to him. Yet he asked her for help. He was the one very weak now. The maiden scorned him and said, you reaped what you sowed and turned away. Just as she turned she saw another man riding by. She decided to start her new life and she rode off with the man.


Epilogue:
The maiden never understood what she had done and how the boy was dying. The boy would keep crying from the Well for months. Sometimes the maiden would stop by the Well, and ask the boy to remember the first day and how he had changed. He tried to tell her what was the truth about him, ask her why he was treated such; but the maiden was blind in her anger. The man whom she had found by the well turned out to be a decent man and he loved the maiden well and started nursing her back to full health. Him too she promised that if he saved her she would love him. Being out of the well the maiden recovered fast. And she lived happily ever after, her anger never allowing her to see the guilt or even feel the pain, for what happened to the boy. To her she had done the rightful. The last she saw him she, she looked down at him in the well and said, I just want to have some fun, I have been in that well long enough, I hope you find the peace you are looking for, and walked.


You may ask now, what of the boy? However the well has its secrets. Only those who get out can have their story told. So if ever you hear a story about the boy again you would know how he got out too. If you don't you already must know what that means.

Forlorn Hopes

Days and nights just pass me by.
You made me forget how to lie.
To the world and to myself.
Tell me dear, how deep need I delve?

My head and heart, they know no peace.
Will it ever stop, will you tell me please.
I know naught, neither friend nor foe.
And no thoughts on where next to go.

Mired faces and searching glaces,
In their eyes the darkness dances.
Inside the head, all anger stacked,
And the heart just sings all songs of black.

As the world my dear, crashes down on me,
Behind your cold countenance, is it hope I see?

I am Mumbai.

I am born.

I am born today.

Not from the fires of hell,

Or the womb of a mother.

I am born of this city,

Its crowded stifling streets,

And the cleansing evening breeze.

I am born of contrasts

And of rioutous festivals.

I am born of hunger and greed and,

Of ravenous luxury and filth.

I am every body in the city

And everybody is me.

I am Mumbai.

Into The Wild.

Into the wild is what a movie!!Its been quite some time since any motion picture has captured me to this extent.Time and again the wild has called upon man to return to his roots and never have i seen that silent yet strong pull being depicted with such acuity.Sean Penn does a brilliant job again but this time around he is behind the camera and what he captures from that position cannot be described in words.The scenes of never-ending white capes, of savage greenery, of deep crevices and winding rivers were not shot to provide excellent wallpapers which would then go on to define nature on a random monitor.I don't know if i can express myself here but the scenes were shot as if intending to bring out nature in its actual wild and earthly form.

The story follows Christopher McCandless who after passing out of high school decides to give away all his money to charity and embark upon a journey which searches for the true nature of man.During his travels he once says "I read somewhere... how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong." and then another time he mentions "The core of man's existence is from new experiences".It has been a really long time since words have moved me so much and that too so few of them.Maybe it is their sparseness that brings forth in strength the essence of the story- Truth. Man's ultimate search.The one which might not end when we find life on Mars or discover wormholes in the fabric of the universe.This calls for a much deeper and insightful search into the heart.The word heart has long been under shadowed by its over use and misuse .When Alex(the name Christopher gave himself) cuts out the heart of a wild moose he had killed, the organ is deep bloody red and something more synonymous wihh life might be hard to portray.

All men are not the same.While some may enjoy organized and civilized life and its pleasures and pain others might feel tied down by it.And these are the men who have the heart of a wild beast.No fear, no care, no delusions, only a wild desire to live, explore and watch and learn and be awed by existence itself.I had read Jack London's Call of the Wild very many years ago but the last chapter of the book comes back to me vividly in all its gore and cold-bloodedness.Yet there is no sadness or pity or apathy, quite similar to my reactions when Alex dies at the end of the movie after having consumed the seeds of a poisonous plant. There is a certain poetic justice here which no one shall ever find in a court of law because the laws here are the laws of existence. There is the primitive rawness and manliness to life which makes every moment worth living. The only duties are ones required for survival. And the rest is an adventure of endless possibilities.

"If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed."
Alexander Supertramp.

Modern Times

It has been a long time since i posted anything on this blog and the due reason was not any disposition towards blogging.I have been amongst the constant readership of Andy's and Dhole's blog.Moreover the Hindi posts by Pandu have been great.Its just that a lot of things have been changing and one realizes the occurrence and importance of those only in retrospect.We have all reached the throes of final year, the time of the great reckoning. The year when one gets placed.An amount is placed on our head...almost literally in an obscure way.People start planning for their future.The time again for serious exams and studies. Gre,Cat,Gate,Ncfm,Cds.......the list goes on.However the basic change in mentality that the brings with itself is one where people are actually getting prepared to leave the hallows of our Alma Mater.The bells have rung and soon it shall be time for us to make our leave and make place for the next batch to take over.A hundred sleepless nights, many a drunken brawls, innumerable trips, placement parties, exams and results, a whole Incident and Engineer still hold the defenses yet time wears them down day by day.We had taken this place to be our home and four years had seemed like an epoch.And the dream lies shattered now.I might be putting it a little to strongly but behind all the frenzied activities that final year brings up lies the sole reason that people want to make the best use of the fast running out period of college life that remains. And everything that happens says that this is the the last one time. Get it right or thats another day subtracted from the best years of your life.It was a dream we all dreamed and lived for three years and the time of the awakening is here. Yet i would not want my days now to be marred by such thoughts and plan to live it to the fullest.

So to you all,
Cheers.

The Revolution

Its times like these,
When man will rise again
From the valley of darkness,
To see the good Sun
Rise above the horizon.
Hearts of men will
Be born of dust and ashes.
Valor, pride and love shall
Run in their veins.
The time has come
For gold wheat-fields and blue skies.
Man shall protect his brethren
And stand by his brother.
The war bells sound
In the depth of their minds,
And red will be their blood once more.
The time has come
For a new age,a new race.
For it is the time when
The revolution begins.

DESI DEFINED

You are a Desi if you fulfill most of these-

• You unwrap gifts very carefully, so you can save and reuse the wrapping next year.
  You only buy Diwali cards after Diwali, when they are 50% off.
  You tape cards on the wall.
  You use the dishwasher as a dish rack.
  You eat all meals in the kitchen.
  You use grocery bags to hold garbage.
  You leave your shoes at the door.
  You have a collection of shampoo sachet.
  You never order stuff online.
  You own a rice cooker or a pressure cooker.
  You wash your rice 2-3 times before cooking it.
  You curse yourself for buying a ticket if nobody checks it.
  You reuse teabags.
  You have a drawer full of old pens, most of which don’t write anymore.
  Your parents never go to the movies.
  Your parents are never happy with your grades.
  You use coke cans/ refined oil containers/ paint or distemper boxes in toilets.
  You keep used batteries, and keep checking them time & again if they work.
  You keep most of your money in a savings account.
  You call an older person you never met before “uncle.”
  No one you’re related to is a music major.
  Your parents don’t realize phone connections to foreign countries have improved in the last two decades, and still scream at the top of their lungs.
  You cook in bulk.
  You never give a tip.
  Your can’t resist spitting on the sidewalk.
  You use Vicks/ Painjon/ Amrutanjan.
  You’ve been in a bus where half the people riding are outside the bus.
  Experiencing 20 power blackouts in a single day doesn’t faze you.
  You pronounce “wary” and “very” in the same way.
  You spew forth the virtues of India, but don’t want to live there.
  You can never dream of actually buying a software.
  You majored in engineering or medicine.

Note:This post has been copied straight off Pandu's blog(satyavrat.wordpress.com)

AUDIO - SLAVE!!

No, I am not going to talk about the band as most of u must have presumed. It is an excellent band and certainly deserves a lot of cheers...but we shall leave that for later. I discuss here the root cause and impact of audio as our generation knows it today.

The world is definitely shrinking. Or maybe,its getting too congested in turn giving us a vision of compression. Today is the age of miniaturization. Bigger is no longer better...atleast not always.We see smaller gadgets everywhere...cars,mobiles,laptops,watches,washing machines...what not...u name it and they have it. We are too crammed for space. This change brought about the age of music-on-the-move. The radio has made a come-back in a big way. Mobiles come with in-built mp3 players. iPods are a common gadget. And everyone,and i mean everyone, is Plugged-In.

Whether it be the executive on his way to the office, the child coming back from school on a bus or a by-stander at the crossroads everyone is listening to something. Not that this in itself is a bad thing. However,what is happening behind the scenes is that we are slowly but surely giving less importance to our other senses. We have stopped observing the people next to us on the road,we have stopped looking out of the car to marvel at the greens next to us. We are living in a parallel world instantaneously. And our attention is divided. If one was to pull down ones car window and listen to the sounds surrounding oneself one would realize that I am not lying. We are becoming Audio - Slaves. No,we already are there...just that we are in a spell and when the spell breaks we shall all be BLIND.

"all I have to do is just close my eyes
to see the sea gulls wheeling in the far distant skies
all I wanna to tell you all I wanna say
is count me in on the journey don't expect me to stay ."
Pink Floyd

Strangers

It is very seldom that one reflects upon the importance of strangers in their lives.However the reflections or their absence is not what we are talking about here.

Indian mothers are very wary of the concept of strangers(not without reason maybe).We were all taught not to speak to that man with those delctable sweets, to run from a smile, a hoarse voice and a pair of hazy eyes.

But then all of a sudden something happens which is
least expected by our parents. We grow up. We start exploring the wonders of the new found world which exists beyond the corners of ones own street.Each one of us remembers the first time we riked our cycles on to the main road. We flew on twin-wheels along with the cars,the bikes and those big trucks. I suspect some might have carried out hat venture on foot/any other means of transport but it did happen nonetheless. Then came the sweets shop, the 'paan' dukaan, the 'sabji' bazaar,the pani puri 'thela' and life flowed like a thick syrup along the streets and we were eager to turn one more corner to taste the air there.

However, it was the expansion of the physical world.We would still refuse the toffee/chocolate unless we paid for it ourselves. Somehow for some unknown reason money validated a lot of things. I for one took quite some time to grasp the idea of money, I understood the numbers printed on them but the whole concept avoided me for long.

And thus our life became confined to the people we met in schools, in tuituions, at our own homes, colony, locality and the places where our parents took us, added to the list validated by money(namely the 'pani puri wala's, the vegetable seller, the 'paan wala's etc because one paid them). If you were ever seen trying to operate the top('lattu') with a kid from the slum nearby or any other unknown kid for that matter in all propability you were scolded back to the safety of your house.

But the time came when one day we broke that cover too.It could have been that man at the bus stand and the cricket match India lost,it could have been the old man who goes for a morning walk and his toothless grin.We started interacting with starngers. A few would go on to become a part of our lives and most would be gone in a few hours but they all leave a lingering smell in the air.Their memories crop up at the starngest of times and they make good stories to tell.These fleeting relationships somehow transcend a lot of absrtactions like respect, trust, caste, creed, sex.They are, at times, the closest person to person interaction one can have.

Starngers walk away knowing more about you than some of your closest friends and leave behind their own secrets to guard forever.

Words.

extremely strange creatures they are.....ever changing ever evolving.It is almost as if they have a mind of their own...At times they are like your best friend, flowing with you....articulating anthing you wish....and yet at times inept at expressing themselves.....as in what words are there that better describe the words pain,thought,blue....i could go on for ever.....and yet they can be powerful enough to move huge armies to war....inspire humans to do that which is impossible....to wound a person deeper than any dagger could have....am not saying that i have discovered something new....just a mere observation.A fragment of my thoughts...an impression left behind by meandering feet.

Drunk in Goa.

I wish i could drift on,
Drift on with the flow,
Let all waves flow over me,
Let the tide engulf my pride.

And the ebbing sea carries me on;
To never,never land.

Fishes and octupuses ,
And a few sea-horses too...
In never,never land.

A few Goan songs
And candlelit beer
In never ever land.

Fireworks in the nightsky
And the last cigarette butt;
In never never land.

Abroken pen,a wet diary
And an unfinished poem.
In my never never ..........

The Trap Door

I float solemnly up there,
There is eucalyptus in the air.

I have to break through,
Straight on through the trap door.

My city of smiling faces,
Of screeching tyres
And slithering steel wires
Stifles me.

I have to break through,
Straight on through the trap door.

And I float slowly up there

Monkeys turning cartwheels
And snakes dancing to the same old tune.
A hundred channels shout,
And a million phone calls
There are two more cars on the road today
And three less septagerians.
The rickshaw wala pulls on…..
His tired limbs ……he pulls on......

And I float slowly up there,
The mirth of death poisons the air.

I have to break through,
Straight on through the trap door.

The moons riding high
And it is the 21st of July;
Another glimpse of life
Another slice of my time.
Network of lampposts
Directing us down roads
We travel everyday.

And I float slowly up there
But there is no air anymore;
No one can break through,
The disillusion, the trap door......

Voices.

The muted drizzle brings to me
The sounds of the night,
As My Navy Cut and I listen;
To the story....the story of another day,
another fight ,another battle ,another epilogue.

The factories,the roads,the cash counters...
Are silent as half-dead human voices speak at last.
The laments of the drunken rickshawpuller,
The sobs of the bereaved mother
Who paid her son to the country for subsidised kerosene,
The lonely husband who awaits his wanton wife,
A young couple making love.
The sethji counts on....green notes...green leaves.
The beggar shuffles past small puddles,
Brown stains on grey pants.....
And a bright red heart with smoking black lungs.

And the night radio plays on...
Singing the epilogue to another day.
My Navy Cut and I...we burn on...
And the sounds of this wet night.

Devil's Dance

The rain pours down,
Red drops from a brilliant red sky.

Each drop reverberates....
Calling all cold-blooded creatures
To come alive.
Slithering snakes....
Copulating Turtles....
Throbbing lizards....
Dead Men.

The drops fall on deserts of dried blood,
Soaking up the evil of ages,
And forming pools of scarlet sins.
Religion,caste,war,sex.....
They all dissolve.

Hearts that had stopped beating
Once more filled with desire.
Ah ! The air so promiscous.....
Ensnares the mind.
It pains....to breathe.

The world celebrates in one big orgy.
The rain dances down,
Red drops from a brilliant red sky.
The Dance Of The Devil!!!!!

She

She is the image of a girl waltzing....
oh how she moves....
her hips...
her arms........
her legs.....
her eyes......
piercing the darkness of the cold night,
her gaze transcends horizons ,and,
shakes out of his nightmare
every man who has ever loved......