Short Story : No it cannot be love

Inspired by true events.

M was born in jhunjunu. His father, son of the local temple priest, had been the first to go to a college in near by Lucknow, and then secure a government job in the Railways. Having grown up in a traditional Indian family, his parents wanted M to settle down and get a good government job. M was a simple boy, brought up under the close supervision of his grand parents, as his father would travel often due to his job with the railways.  He could recite the Bhagwat Geeta orally and was a practicing Hindu. There was nothing about M, which was out of the ordinary. Infact, M was a model of the ordinary, with no exceptional talent, looks, physical features whatsoever.

A quiet guy whom you would otherwise ignore, he dint have many friends back in Jhunjunu, which had been recently swept by the cable television and its associated diseases. Girls from small homes wore spaghetti tops and thongs under their salwar - kameez and the boys used more gel on their head, than soap on their face. M considered himself of a higher pedigree than the youth around him, and worked hard with a dream to fulfill the expectations of the Sharma household. He sometimes felt lonely, and yearned for company different from what his close family could provide. He knew once he clears his exams, Jhunjunu would be behind him and he would have a social group similar to himself.

M got into the IAS. The Sharma household's joy knew no bound. M was now set for life. M's parents started getting offers for his wedding, and soon, M's alliance was promised to Jhunjunu's richest businessman's only daughter, for a dowry of 10 acre land. M dint even know about the tough negotiations in the background, driven by M's parents and relatives, to get the perfect dowry deal for him, or the fact that the girl in question was only 16 and had not even finished school yet.

Finishing the busy induction program, M left for his first posting in Kashmir. M's parents were nervous but reassured by the fact that M would be posted in Gulmarg, a relatively peaceful place, with little history of any disturbance and would have adequate security.

M arrived at Gulmarg expecting a salute from a dozen or staff. Reporting on duty the first day he realized that Indian babudom is like a world in itself, and he was actually the junior-most Babu in the long chain with limited if any responsibility. Life was different now. There wasnt much to do in Gulmarg. Young officers like him would hang out at the Army officers club, play some sports or go and watch movies in the officers club. After trying unsuccessfully to blend in, M lost interest in playing the typical babu. He would spend more time talking to his caretaker staff and go for long walks, in the picture-perfect valleys of Gulmarg. His chief butler, whom he called Baba, was a muslim and would stay with him in the big house. M often chuckled, if his grand father knew that a Muslim cooks food for his Brahmin grand son, he would probably ex-communicate him from the house.

Baba would tell him stories about Gulmarg before the 1990s, a place where several Hindi movies were shot, and the biggest of Bollywood celebrities had their holiday homes. What Baba did not tell him was the fact that they were still living in clear and present danger. Humans have this tendency to believe that whatever happened in the past will not happen in future, and somehow things are better now when the evidence is to the contrary.

to be continued....

Dear Gandhis,we know your Game

india is not a democracy. It is an imperialist state, ruled by the Gandhi family with an iron fist.

the whole tamasha around having elections, election commission, police and judicial system is a fucking eyewash.

Gandhis have never been dislodged from power in India and their money and their power will ensure that even in future, they will continue to call the shots. History proves that even in the ruling party whenever any leader with a popular base has threatened the position of Gandhis he has had to pay dearly with his death. The Gandhi family's chosen method of execution is accidents. They get it arranged in air and on road as well. It seems like they get consulting services from the Italian Mafia, who are also the defacto banker and political advisor to the Italian head of Gandhi family.

The recent cases against all and sundry who have dared to raise a voice against the massive corruption in public services prove that Gandhis are a vengeful lot. I am writing this blog. So if i am fucking arrested by a CBI tomorrow for whatever bullshit excuse they come up with, you know who fucked me.

You can own newspapers, live TV, news, movies, radios, everything. You cannot own our brains and our ability to think independently. Unless you kill us in an accident. 

Samsung Phones Suck: What no expert will ever tell you

I have a Samsung Galaxy Flip

Its the last time i have bought a Samsung phone. 

The best battery backup time it has ever given me is 1 hour of non usage. Or make it 30 minutes of talk time. 

This, after i bought this phone after reading the reviews in atleast a dozen online forums. I did my research, but then realized, that even i have worked in a research firm and published research is essentially crap.

There are few companies who invest in usability research when they design consumer electronics, samsung and other korean firms are the last ones to do so. Add to it all Indian firms as well.  Phones from Nokia, Apple, Blackberry and even Sony are very well designed, with solid usability cues. Like how easily you can switch between two or three applications. If you think that you dont need this feature, think again. 

My advice, if you are buying a phone, dont buy Samsung, HTC, LG and the ilk. You will only regret it.

Short Story: Dead in My Car

This is a true story.

This happened three months back. It was supposed to be a road trip to Jaipur. It was peak winter, and winters in North India can be nasty. Thick fog reduces visibility to near zero and the winter chill can paralyze you to staying wrapped in a warm quilt all day. Life was boring and drudgery. Finally there was something exciting to look forward to.

It was supposed to be a road trip to Jaipur. A+ had relocated to Bangalore a few months back and A-, his better half was still in Delhi. Three of us had loads of fun the previous night. My frustrated job hunt finally was showing good traction and i had an offer from a global media giant. I decided to bunk office, borrowed my dad car, picked A+ and A- from their pad in Vasant kunj and hit the NH8. We explored a haunted city, went to Jaipur and explored the charms of the old palaces there. Soon it was night and we decided to drive back to Delhi, spend the night at Vasant Kunj and go home in the morning, as A+ had to leave for Delhi the following day.

It was around 12:15 am, we were some 90 km from Jaipur and A+ had taken over the wheels from me. We passed by a mangled heap of metal, with a dozen men standing by it, staring at a woman crying loudly, looking for help. There were some trucks parked before and after the mangled vehicle. Almost all vehicles were slowing down, looking at the scene, and passing on. We decided to stop and see whats wrong. A+ braked, i got off and rushed to her. She was newly married, still wearing her choora that the newly married women wear.  As soon as she saw me, she came and clung to me, shouting please save me, please save my husband, he is still trapped inside, but he is breathing, please take him to the hospital. She was sobbing, she was clueless, her helplessness was palpable. I realised, being from Delhi, she had seen a protector in me, and it was upto me to stay there, help her or just leave from there, like 99.9% people passing the highway did that night.

We took her husbands body out, then this lady, A+, A- with the body in my car drove to the nearest hospital, 26 km away. The guy died within minutes of us reaching the hospital. Next few hours were difficult, as we called her relatives through my phone, and waited for them to reach us here in this village. Police came, senior medical officer came, but they appreciated our help, no one gave us any kind of trouble. People served us tea, police people stood by us the whole night, talking to us. We couldnt save the guy. We couldnt keep our word to the lady. She had become a widow in the last few hours, it was a shock for her, and she was in a daze. When she spoke to her father in law, the words wouldnt come. We stepped out and cried, but we dint cry in front of her.

Three of us drove back to delhi at around 5 am again. Shaken, with blood on our backseat and memories of a night, we will never forget a lifetime. We often think about her. How her life would have been different if we had not gone to jaipur that day, may be none of this would have happened.

Short Story: Was Death the Only Answer ?

They found him dead a week back, in his fathers new house. He was 22, he had final year engineering and had secured admission in Germany for an advanced course. His parents had separated an year back and his mother lived in a different city with his brother, and her parents. He was happy the night before, and cooked his dad his favorite meal. They had chatted about life in Germany where he was looking forward to go.

It all started six years back, when his little brother was only 5. His parents would fight a lot, over small things, like who will drop the younger one to school, who will make breakfast, who will get the groceries etc. He could think of times when home was a happy place to come back to. When his father would play with him and his brother, while his mom sang in the living room. He dint remember the last time he had seen her smile, or sing. She was living in a different city now, along with the little one. He had left home when he started his engineering. Leaving the town, the house, dad, cousins everyone behind, to a new city over 100 km away. This was when things had gone from bad to worse. Instead of working out their differences, his parents had decided that their parental duty was now over, and they could move on. They filed for a divorce the week he landed in college and started his classes.

He got to know when he was in first trimester of mechanical engineering. Among strangers and rigorous academic schedule, he was often clocking 16 to 19 hour work days, leaving him no time to think, or share his feelings. It was then that he noticed her, a long dark haired girl with sharp features, confident and smart, social and outgoing. He was infatuated by her exuberance. She was attracted by his aloofness. When she wore the sexy LBD for college freshers party, he was the only guy who dint stare at her and made her feel safe around him. They often worked together for assignments late into nights, exchanged notes and exam tips. She had a different group of friends to hang out with who were more popular, more social like her. He was in college, he had friends, but people hardly noticed him. He was like a part of the classroom furniture whom no one noticed. Meanwhile,  they talked, but dint actually become friends till much later. His heart was a riot of emotions whenever he saw her, but by the time she would realise her feelings for him, it would be too late, and he would have left for a place so far, her feelings wouldnt reach him. The first time she noticed him was two years later, at a common friends birthday party. He dint know she was among the people present there. He loved to sing and he sang his hear out, belting out  one melody after the other, as she looked on mesmerised by the depth of his voice, his fingers strumming the guitar strings, like a ballerina dancing a practiced routine. Later when they sat alone on a moon light terrace, they chatted about the most insignificant little things. This was the happiest night in his life. He had recieved the news of his parents divorce coming through the next day. He dint go to college for a week. She would wait for him every day after classes, but even when he returned, his mind was elsewhere and he was distracted.

During the following summer, he went to his mothers new place. His brother was excited to see him, and his grandparents werent. For some reason, his Nana and Nani had never liked him much. His mother appeared aloof, but happy with her new life. He somehow felt unwelcome at the new place, and this feeling would not leave him when he left for college after the two week vacation.

In his gut he knew something was different. He had never scene any images of his birth, or as an infant. Their earliest family pics showed him atleast 2 year old. Sometimes, in his dreams, he could fainlty remember a house in the hills, a farm, and a woman whose face he couldnt recollect. But his city dint have any hills, and no one in his close family had been a farmer.

Back in college, in the final year of engineering, the pace of studies picked up, leaving him with no time to think again. Life was all about projects, placement tests, classes, exams, and also occasional music gigs with the college band. He had forced himself to get over his infatuation with her, because he belonged to a broken home, and there is no way he could have a successful relationship. The last thing he wanted now was leave college without a job or an offer from a reputed foreign university, because the alternative would be being a burden on his father or mother, something which wasnt an option right now.

He committed suicide three months later.

Fuck You Ram Gopal Vermas and other Low Life Scums of the world..

A young boy used to live in a sweet residential area of Bangalore. This was an area where good, honest people used to live a humble life, where everyone new everyone else and there was a sense of community among the people. Our Boy, Jerome was exceptional in sports and studies, always winning medals and accolades from uncles and aunts and a special someone. His crush was a vivacious young girl called Maria, who loved to sing and dance and wanted to be an actress like all teenage girls, do. Jerome and Maria got along well, their parents knew, and chose to portray like to they dont, and let nature take its own course.

Jerome joined the NAVY and went to NDA. He wanted to serve the country and have a quality life and the Navy promised him that. With his marks, he had all the options open. He would meet Maria when he would be back on his term breaks and spend time with her. He loved her, her innocence and her beauty. Sadly for him, little did he know that Maria was stepping into a world far removed from what she could expect, given her safe and sheltered upbringing.

Maria wanted to prove herself and went to Mumbai-  the city of dreams. The city of ugly everyday existence where people live for their dreams. Maria realized that she is naive, a nobody in a world of  star kids, politically connected, businessmen kids etc. Talent was under-rated, and in many cases not required. Every one was out to make a killing. Lambs were out there, competing to be slaughtered, hoping that the meat they become is likeable for the hungry and empty film producers. She began to detest Jerome, because she knew he loved her. It was important for Maria to forget who Maria was and become a struggler in the true sense. The person who reminded her most of who Maria was, and who needed her to be Maria was Jerome, now an officer in the Navy. Sometimes, Maria wanted to give it all up, and just be what Jerome wanted her to be, herself. But then, she had to fulfill her dream. The glamour, the appeal of being an actress in a movie was too big. She wanted to give it one last try before tying the knot with Jerome. She wanted to try and do everything it takes. Everything.

Vikram grew up in a village near Patna. He would run 6km to the nearest school every morning where classes were held in the open, under a tree, and where teachers never got a salary, only a satisfaction of helping children of poor farmers from the region. Vikram got a scholarship to a college in Mumbai. He worked part time to pay through his college, and managed to learn alot about Mumbai in the three years he spent there. He worked in a production house, where young beautiful girls, would do anything to get an appointment with the director or producer. He knew their types. None of these girls would even look at him or talk to him in his college, because he wasnt cool enough, he wasnt rich, and frankly, he dint have the luxury to 'chill'. He would see and notice many Marias come in and go, he was an office assistance, and they dint even acknowledge his existence, but Vikram knew one day they would have to. He would make his parents proud, but first he would prove to these girls that he is a man. Vikram did well in his studies, made right contacts in his office, and rose to join the production office. Sure enough, in a few years, he was living his dream. Young beautiful girls, from good families, daughters of bureacrats, defence officials, diplomats, were flitting in and out of his bedroom, eager to please him, a humble son of a landless farmer in Bihar, with the hope that they will get casted in a good role. He wasnt sad about what he did. He considered him better than his peers and seniors. Atleast he exercised some quality control over who he slept with. He never slept with boys, never made the girls do drugs or drink. He never drank, because his parents would be upset if they came to know. He justified his new 'lifestyle' by ensuring he did something useful for the girls he slept with. He had a reputation soon. The girls felt that if they can manage to bed Vikram, they would become something. He met Maria and called her for an audition to his home. This was a chance Maria was waiting for.  Maria met Vikram and there was a connection. Vikram had slept with many girls, but Maria was different. She still had respect for herself, despite agreeing to sleep with him. He saw her as Jerome would see her and as no other man would. As a human with a heart.Vikram proposed to Maria. Maria told him about Jerome. Vikram deleted her number and made it a point to ensure her failure. Vikram was hurt, for the first time by a woman he considered available. Maria called to apologize, for another chance and called him home. Vikram went. Jerome called Maria and realized she is with Vikram. They fought, Vikram laughed over Jerome's obsession about her being childish. She made love to Vikram and thought about Jerome. She hated him, because he loved her. She hated herself. She now loved Vikram.

Jerome was angry. Jerome wasnt an ordinary guy. He was an alpha male.Smart, suave and strong. He wasnt willing to lose his love to a semi-literate, paan-chewing Bihari. He wanted to go there and prove to him who is the man for Maria, in front of her. He had loved Maria for more than 15 years. He had loved her before she had tits, when she wore braces, put oil in her hair and tied them with ribbons in two tails. He had loved her through seasons, through ages and she had proven her love to him in so many countless ways. He wanted to go and prove to Vikram what a low-life scum he was. Jerome left the naval station that night, with nothing.  He just wanted to reach Mumbai and punch Vikram in the face.

Maria opened the door-slit and saw Jerome. Events of last nights phone call came to her mind. She was shivering. Jerome was banging the door. Neighbours would wake up. She opened the door. She wore nothing but a negligee. Jerome was surprised, but dint bother much. He hugged her and told her he would fix this guy Vikram once and for all. Maria tried to reason. Jerome looked at her carefully. She looked like she was 'well-fucked', her hair was in a mess, she had bite marks on the neck and she smelled like sex. Jerome's sixth sense was telling him there was someone in the house. Maria tried to block him, she kissed him, with the same mouth that had just minutes ago made love to Vikram's manhood. She felt sick. Jerome was clueless but welcomed the gesture.  For a moment he forgot Vikram and kissed her back. Then he saw it. Used condom, on the bedroom floor, visible from the open bedroom door, as they stood in the living room. Jerome pushed her aside and went in. Vikram was sprawled naked on the bed, as naked as he was born. Jerome looked at Maria. She was ashen white.  Without wasting another moment, Jerome starting kicking and punching Vikram. Vikram woke up with a start. He opened his eyes, only to lose consciousness in a second, as Jerome smashed consecutive blows on his face and head. Jerome stopped and challenged Vikram. Vikram was unconscious. Jerome kept hitting him, with bare hands. Maria looked on dispassionately. It was her fault, this was her punishment, she dint come in his way. Vikram was now a pulped mass of bones and blood. He died within the first couple of blows, only. His last thougths were probably "what the hell" and he could have only guessed what is happening with him.
Jerome was a national level boxer in the Navy.  Jerome dint realize till a long time that his puches were now producing a squishing and cracking sound, rather than loud thumps. He then realized, he had probably punctured Vikram's skull, face and rib cage. Maria was standing right behind him when he stopped. She brought him a glass of water, cleaned Vikram's blood off him with a towel and told him "i love you". Jerome made love to her right there, next to Vikram's pulped body. They made love the whole day. Vikram stayed there, smashed to pieces, while his parents in Bihar went about their morning routine assuming their son was in office, having just another day with his files on his desk.

This is the real story of Maria and Jerome and Vikram. Maria is free today, and RGV is casting her as a heroine in his venture.

Who is the criminal?

Vikram - because he slept with and destroyed personal lives of countless Maria's
Vikram  - because he fought with Jerome and provoked him to come to Mumbai and challenge his authority
Vikram - for spending the night at Maria's place

Maria - for sleeping with Vikram while being committed to Maria

Jerome - Love is Blind, but as an officer, he should have known when to stop. Clearly,  it was Maria's decision to sleep with him. Even if she was his wife, he dint have the right to kill Vikram.

Why is the media so biased?

Why doesnt any media channel focus on Jerome's fate. Vikram is dead, Maria is free and on her way to stardom. Jerome is behind the bars. An educated, qualified young officer of the Indian Navy is wasting his youth behind the bars.




  

The Episode of Missing Suitcase: It is raining shit

Yours truly is not only a male chauvinist pig, but also a really careless, untidy, unpolished and lazy bugger who can charm the shitting pigs to fart to their hearts content because of his honest tactlessness.

The story has its origins in a recent networking event which yours truly attended in one of the finest hotels in Mumbai. The agenda was to network. Since I have the gift of gab and my boss knew i am useless in office any way, i was shipped to this event to generate leads. I guess i should be careful hence forth.

I spent my days trying to chat up old men, bored to death with their P and L statements and port-socket dilemmas. I would wait for the day to end and the party to begin. With fellow drunk buggers, all useless MBAs occupying good positions in car-porates, we would hit the town late at night, driving drunk, listening to floyd.

I slept late and came to the last day of the conference much after the first event of the day had started. Without a much thought, i placed my luggage at the end of the seminar hall and went to occupy one of the front row seats. Have you noticed that usually, all seminars have their last rows filled up first, and the last ones to remain are the front row seats, to be taken as a punishment by the late participants. 

So anyway,  after sleeping through the day sessions, at the end of the last session, i went back to the end of the seminar hall,picked up my luggage and lugged it to the waiting cab to Pune. After 4 hours, i checked into the Pune hotel. Tired, sleepy, hungry and almost dead, i opened the bag hoping to pick up some fresh kachchas to change into. And i realize i am digging into lacy nighties, silk tops and unmistakable jasmine scent of a female's bag. Now since which day on earth did girls start carrying black business luggare from VIP? They are supposed to carry red, pink, green pieces of luggage.  Bloody bible thumping retards. Anyway, i went out, shopped for clothes, and came back to the hotel for the conference the next day.

another story to tell my retarded life.

the dead men who walk around us

they look so normal.
they are all around us.
their every day is a challenge.
life is a chore- a responsibility.
to be led in a certain way, as defined by the social norms.
they are uninispired to achieve the greater happiness in life.
the greater satisfaction of having accomplished something in life.
they have defined their lives before they start living.
they never live to their potential.
some of them, realize quite late what a waste it has been.
they walk the road of life like dead men.

who are the people who are not dead and who have defined their lives

the college friend who dropped out to start his own business?
the college crush, who fled her home to run away to married to the guy she loved?
the guy who chose to sat out the campus placement because he wanted to start something on his own?
the married guy who gave up his identity to admit he is gay and started afresh..
the tortured wife who left her thankless husband to start her life afresh...
the bored professional who decided to pursue his hobbie seriously.

the dead men will never understand you.
the dead society will never appreciate you.

you will walk alone with a smile, knowing that there is a path to heaven on the unpaved road you take.

walk on buddy, you will find me there..

Daggers in classrooms: A question of faith?

Every now and then this question comes up. Sikhs living in different parts of the world want the local legislations to be changed to allow young sikhs, in age group of 8 to 18, be allowed to carry the traditional Kirpan

This is often a contentious issue because Kirpan can easily be used as a weapon against other kids. And most developed societies are not in favour of allowing overt religious symbols in classrooms. However, for most Sikh political and advocacy groups, the issue of Daggers in Classrooms is as basic as the fundamental right to vote or right to freedom of speech as guaranteed by the constitution in a democracy.

Recently in a Bangalore Sikh community forum, a guy posted a message saying that this is an issue for the survival of sikh faith. I wrote a comment which said that it definitely is not and that i am in favour of actually banning these daggers from classrooms all together. Not only several community members ganged up against me, they questioned my faith and my beliefs, but went on to abuse me on this forum. It is not the first time i have felt isolated in a religius debate. I just dont connect with most people on questions like these i guess. But this is my blog and i want to make my opinion clear on this subject.

I am a Sikh, and I am against daggers in classrooms and in offices. This is what i think is right and i think that the Sikh faith is not doing enough to encourage a debate over the issue internally. Following are my reasons for being against "allowing students carry real daggers to schools":-

1. Kids are Kids: They will use daggers for not so noble purposes, no matter what justification you bring on the table.
2. Kirpan is a symbolic representation of faith. Technically, a small replica of the kirpan should suffice.
3. Any overt symbols of faith can create frictions in classroom from students, teachers and administrators. They should be actively discouraged. A muslim student should not be allowed to wear a burqa in a classroom, a muslim boy should not be allowed to carry a suicide vest /AK 47 /Hand grenade to classroom (sorry for the poor sense of humour).
4. When living outside India, Sikhs should respect local customs and make an attempt to integrate with the local society. They should not gheto-ize themselves and carry their 300 year old restrictions to school.

Some relevant Links in Mainstream Media:
What is a Kirpan? Link 1 
Some Michigan Schools Permit ‘Religious’ Knives, Yet Cupcakes Are Still Banned (Link 2)

Kirpan Ban Blasted By Sikhs (Canada) Link 3

Everybody Hurts Sometimes

I was sitting in this cafe with this girl. I knew i dint stand a chance with her. I have rarely met a girl who is so self assured. She has reason to be like that. Speaking to her was like i was giving a justification for being who i am. Its like when you want to possess something, you want to justify it somehow. I came out of this date feeling tense. feeling like i had given an exam and i was waiting for a result. Worse still, i called her later today, to ask her what she felt like. Even worse, she thought i am asking for an objective answer. So there ends another story of me finding my love.
Anyway, while i was giving a bottom of the heart explaination of why i am who i am and what i am, there was this song playing in the background. I just had a feeling like, soon, this moment will end, and i will be alone all over again. I will be thinking about the hurt this girl, sitting right across will cause me because i am opening up my heart to her.

Enjoy the song. I read on wikipedia that the song is "one of the best break up songs" ever. Well, for all the people who thought arranged marriages are easy. Here is to you MM!! All the best with your search for the Mr. perfect. I am not your guy!!

Poisoned Heaven: Drug problem in Punjab, a real and present danger!

 I know about this since a long time now. Long enough to think it is not important. Or may be insigificant. There are many things which are not right with Punjab or Punjabi community world over. We dont think about it. We dont talk about it. We dont even want to mention it in public dialogue.

My grandfather used to tell me about "Apheemchees", village folk who were so addicted to the naturally grown apheem, that they had lost their senses. Elderly men and even women were addicted to apheem, as the powers of the drug to cinstantly relieve all pain and loneliness, which often plagued the elderly as they waited for news from their kids settled outside, often illegally.

The problem is now more grave because of multiple reasons.

One, the form of drug abuse is now much more lethal. We are talking about LSD, cocain and assorted pills like ecstasy. These started to enter Punjab in the 80s, as a measure to increase militancy in Punjab. Origin is Pakistan. It is simply impossible for the entire value chain to exist illegally in India. My belief is that the growth happens in Afganistan, the processing and packaging happens in Pakistan. There are several ways through which these drugs end up in Punjab. 

As evidence i dont have to rely on stats. My close friend is a doctor in Punjab, in one of the largest and most prestigious hospitals in Chandi. He almost gave up his practice one day. That day he had stood helpless and seen over 4 patients die, because of drug abuse. All of them were in the 20 to 25 age group. All of them were Sikh. All of them were farmers from remote villages. Why them?

Two, the age group is getting younger. Kids as young as 8 are known to be on drugs. Most affected group is the teenagers. Why are they being targetted? Who is selling drugs to them? If the reports are true, 80% kids in Punjab have access to drugs. Why is the police sleeping over it? Why are political leaders sleeping over it?

Third, it is no longer a question of morality, only money counts. The huge stakes in the drug trade have ensured that no one complains, no one listens, no one reports, no one dies and no one is mourned. Atleast Officially.

Initially, i believe that the drug trade could have been a strategy for ISI to boost and sponsor terrorism in Punjab, but once the addiction sets in and the business starts booming, i think the business has taken its own speed now.

What can we do about it?

Talk about it. Spread Awareness. Make sure people know that this is a grave problem. Let them react. Make this appeal viral. Force them to react. If you are a celebrity, you are a critical support this mission needs right now.

Watch this documentary on the drug abuse in Punjab...

 http://vimeo.com/19815617

The real me

Who am I?
What does the inner me really want?
When do i really feel happy?
What do i strive for?
Am i doing anything that is gaking me to a direction to fulfill my life as it should be?
I crave for love. I crave for company.
Why am I incomplete?
Why cant i content with being alone?
Is being alone stopping me from achieving true happiness?
What do i do to discover true happiness?

Some moments i distinctly remember when i was really happy..

Holding my new born niece in my hands,
Playing with her when she was six months old,
watching her smile and talk, playing with her, dancing with her.

My sisters wedding. Giving her away to her new family which was so kind and so sweet.
Recieveing my sister every year at the airport when she comes visiting.

Meeting my parents on my annual breaks from my business school. Making them proud with my professional and personal achievements.

Spending time with my nana. Listening to stories about the partition, and life in Pakistan before we came to India. Spending time in summer vacations at my dada's place in gau puri. Learning to play cards, going to the kirana nearby to have kanche ki bottle and spicy lal golis with my cousins.

listening to gurbani. every day.

The time i spent in college with her.

The time i spent with my cousin brothers and sisters.

This is who i am. This is who i really am. I am not ambitious. this is the real me.

Soltitude- My only device

Its just two of us in my world. Me and my soltitude. We love each other. I hate her from the bottom of my heart as well. But we are always together. We have always been. We will always be. Sharing thoughts, sharing exoressions. She consoles me every time, i feel like i will sink to the bottom of a bottom-less pit.Yet another heart break, yet another career mistake. Fallen angels. Broken Wings. Ruptured egos. Faithless Men.
Soltitude.My only device to take on yet another day in hell, the loveless world.  

What i hate about israel?

Imagine that you have a large home where you live in a joint family with your kin. One day, you get new neighbours, who are refugees from another country. Slowly, refugees start settling in and start calling your whole village as their territory, promised to them by God, 1000 years back. You try and reason with them. They go to UN and get an agreement from the security council that the village belongs to both you and the neighbours. They break your boundary wall and build a new home. Then the break your home and extend their home. Then they throw you out of your own home and take away your civil rights. You, your kin all shift to colonies outside village, in a slum because now there are international troops ensuring that being the uncivilized muslim you are, you dont attack your civilized neighbours. You get angry and throw rocks. They attack you with fighter planes, tanks and missiles. Your rock hurts an armed trooper, it causes international concern. They blow up a childrens ward in your colony, the whole western press justifies the attack as "action against militants".You protest at UN, the UN disqualifies the protest. They tag you as jehadist and get you arrested. You have no future. They own this game.

This is probably the best summary of the israel palestine conflict - the root of all modern terrorism today. From the actions of this community, i think they have justified the hatred Germans showed towards them during the second world war.  I am against death of any unarmed civilian, muslim or jew. I am against any vendetta against any community. I strongly believe in Israeli nationhood. I love Israeli women (specially the sexy lady soldiers of IDF). But i also believe that if Israel were to make a serious attempt at allowing Palestinians to live in a respectful way, it will help demotivate a lot of Muslim youth globally. Hell, I think any rational youth would feel compelled to sympathise with the Palestinians here. The democratic revolutions at Egypt, Syria, Jordan and Yemen have given me hope that something different will happen in future. But Obama is a dissappointment.

The Curious Case of Missing Dabba

Saw the movie "stanley ka dabba" today. Total paisa vasool.
Got me thinking of the school days. The friendships and the camaraderie in school.

Anyone who has been to a school as a day scholar knows that lunch and the tiffin is the most important part of the day. The eternal wait to see what is in the tiffin: the excitement: the happiness or the disappointment.

The lunch plan would pan out something like this. On a average tiffin day, tiffin was supposed to be shared. Someone else with a better menu was to be recruited for sharing.  If it was a bad tiffin day, then money had to be arranged, for a visit to the canteen. Also the tiffin had to be disposed by gifting to perenially hungry friends.

Yours truly had the honor of losing the most number of tiffins in any school  by any student. But i guess if i had seen this movie earlier, i would never waste my tiffin. This is a must watch movie for school going kids. To make them value the privilege they have and something we and they take for granted always. Keep your eyes open for children who need your help. Your maids, your drivers, your peons all have a difficult existence. You never know, you might make someone's life beautiful.

The Case of the Exploding Cooker

The gas was still on.
The wet, yellow rice stuck to the white walls, all the way to the roof.
The black rubber gasket, the cooker lid, the whistle and anonmous parts of the cooker handle lay still on the floor mangled at odd angles, resembling a perfect morning-after.
Loud, Rhythmic music blared - reflecting a false sense of normality.
My dream of making Biryani lay ruined in front of my eyes.

Its not that i was upset that i wont have delicious biryani last night. I still managed to recoup most of my investment by having simple rice, cooked in an open vessel after the disaster. But to imagine that specially in my case, the axiom, "whatever has to go wrong, will go wrong" rings specially true.

Unka Jawaab Aya

Her words: "I was busy so i could not reply. We cannot take this forward. This is how it happens in arranged marriages."

Implication: Deal with sucker.

This is the kind reply i got from the woman i liked.
How can i like someone "So negative? So insensitive and So crass?"
And who keeps a gmail id with su*y?- sounds like name of a moll from an old hindi movie.

In Memory of My Lost Blog Posts

How can this happen? I have been writing all this week and I don’t see my blog posts on my blog. Whenever you think you have seen enough fucked up stuff in the world, the man on the top floor has a way of showing to you that things can get worse.

Among other things in the world, I lost my phone and I got a new life, felt on top of this world, and lost it in the last four days, felt like shit but I am feeling better now.

I guess I should be more direct here. Here, direct means more dramatic. This is a blog of a guy who doesn’t sleep at night if he talks to a pretty girl in the day. Fuck, there, I said it. Most of my bothers would be surprised at this admission, because I have been known to be a smooth talker. I am, I know that. But if I have a thing for the girl, I lose it. I just lose it.

So this is a story dedicated to the beauty from Ambala, who stole my heart and ruled it for 3 days and 3 nights. She then decided to break it to pieces and burnt them into thin air. My room still smells of the burnt heart, though I am fine now. I am now preparing myself for the next encounter. I don’t know how will I face it this time though.

The 75 minutes that I spoke to her were so beautiful. Her voice was like silk, she laughed like a dream and her words were like a song. She was guarded, I was serenading. I could have gone on for hours. Why not? The one hour I spent talking to her was so pleasant. The three days I couldn’t speak to her after that were hell. I messaged. I called. I mailed. I did everything modern communication would let me. At the risk of being called a maniac. And then the realization dawned. It was not meant to be.

At 27, a hot chick, a sikhni, working in a 50000 FTE coding shop in Noida. I can imagine her life. Everyone from her project manager to a fresher would chance maro on her. Most likely she wd be seeing someone. Under pressure from home, she would be meeting jerks like me who do not stand a chance any way.

Oh by the way yours truly cracked a 40k Euro deal. Thank you. Yeah, I can sell enterprise software but cant patio this chick.

It is the thing about us lonely hearts, we latch on to every smile we get and we expect things to be perfect.

In Memory of My Lost Blog Posts

How can this happen? I have been writing all this week and I don’t see my blog posts on my blog. Whenever you think you have seen enough fucked up stuff in the world, the man on the top floor has a way of showing to you that things can get worse.

Among other things in the world, I lost my phone and I got a new life, felt on top of this world, and lost it in the last four days, felt like shit but I am feeling better now.

I guess I should be more direct here. Here, direct means more dramatic. This is a blog of a guy who doesn’t sleep at night if he talks to a pretty girl in the day. Fuck, there, I said it. Most of my bothers would be surprised at this admission, because I have been known to be a smooth talker. I am, I know that. But if I have a thing for the girl, I lose it. I just lose it.

So this is a story dedicated to the beauty from Ambala, who stole my heart and ruled it for 3 days and 3 nights. She then decided to break it to pieces and burnt them into thin air. My room still smells of the burnt heart, though I am fine now. I am now preparing myself for the next encounter. I don’t know how will I face it this time though.

The 75 minutes that I spoke to her were so beautiful. Her voice was like silk, she laughed like a dream and her words were like a song. She was guarded, I was serenading. I could have gone on for hours. Why not? The one hour I spent talking to her was so pleasant. The three days I couldn’t speak to her after that were hell. I messaged. I called. I mailed. I did everything modern communication would let me. At the risk of being called a maniac. And then the realization dawned. It was not meant to be.

At 27, a hot chick, a sikhni, working in a 50000 FTE coding shop in Noida. I can imagine her life. Everyone from her project manager to a fresher would chance maro on her. Most likely she wd be seeing someone. Under pressure from home, she would be meeting jerks like me who do not stand a chance any way.

Oh by the way yours truly cracked a 40k Euro deal. Thank you. Yeah, I can sell enterprise software but cant patio this chick.

It is the thing about us lonely hearts, we latch on to every smile we get and we expect things to be perfect.

Bangalore Police Wake Up Please!!

I lost my cell today. It must have slipped from my trouser pocket. I was on my way back from Rangashankara and suddenly realised that my cell is missing.
I called 100 to report my missing phone. I thought may be if i can give my number and my IMEI number, they can track it back. No one picked up. No one called back. I guess i tried 10 times. No response. Nada.
I dont know what would happen if this was an emergency. Like what if i was being robbed and needed help from police? Where would i dial for help?

Will She Wont She?

3 days back i dint know her.
and for last 2 days i havent slept.
I want to talk to her again.
I search her name on google, i look for her on FB. I call her and cancel my call before her cell rings.
She said she will call.
She said she will add me on gtalk.
She laughed on my jokes.
She shared her stories with me.
It will be another day tomorrow. A new start. Can i go back 3 days in time and forget her?
I deleted her number from my cell today. And then i got it again from my mail box.

Why is this happening to me?
Why am i alone?
How can i break this spell of loneliness?
How can i share my life with someone i can be madly in love with?

Luckless in love.
Luckless in job.
Why the fuck do i exist?
I am waiting for you. Please come and hold me. I am breaking up from the inside.

Sleepless in Bangalore

Bangalore is a very unforgiving city. Beautiful to a fault, it makes you feel the need to love someone like no other city does. Delhi and Mumbai are large cities, which take you in, make your life so miserable with mundane chores that you don’t have any time to think about life or love. Bangalore is a small city, with very kind and social people. So what do you do when the weather outside is so pleasant, there is nice breeze in the air, there is nice music playing – you suddenly realize that there isn’t anyone you can call and have a nice conversation with. You are all alone.

The number of times I get this feeling in Bangalore has gone up manifolds. Not that I dint get this feeling when I was in Delhi. But Delhi is a brutal city. My brutal love! It is a sexy city. Flamboyant, flashy, fast. Bangalore is a kind and quiet place. But peace can be broken by some invaders down south. Like the chick s**eta who was here this week from our Delhi office. Oh what a smile!

 I wonder how many single people in this world are thinking what I am thinking right now. When will I have someone to come home to? When will I sleep next to someone I love? When will I wake up in the middle of the night to look at someone’s face and feel thankful to god for her? When will I be able to feel her breath over my shoulder? When will I be able to just hold her hand and enjoy a sunset over a pleasant conversation? Where will I meet her? When will I meet her? Does she exist?

How will you measure your life?

I read this headline in an article on the harvard business review website the other day. Like most hbr articles, the headline was good, but the article itself was crap. The essential premise of the article was to look at life like running a company. How can you compare your assets, your liabilities, your balance sheet, are these equal to your life?

The kate and William wedding yesterday was nice, and I believe it adds a few very solid points to consider for someone who thinks about living life like a company.  What I liked about this wedding?

·         It was a family affair and not a state affair. The Middleton family sat right in front. The family members including bride’s brother and sister played critical roles, like in any normal wedding.

·         Their emotions were genuine. I remember Kate’s dad, pressing her hand as he held her, standing next to William and harry, at the altar. It was what any father would do I guess. But it was a very genuine emotion.

·         The people of Britain embraced them as their own. In fact, 2 billion people watched, I am sure enthralled by the big emotional drama unfolding right in front of their eyes. It is what the fairy tales are made of right?; But to see the 1 million people stand, cheer every step the young couple took, it was so genuine. I have been to Britain, and was frankly not impressed by what I saw. I could feel the country decay. The whole multi cultural thing has damaged the genuine brit culture which I strongly believe needs to be preserved. It was great to see the Brit people show respect to their culture in such a massive way.

·         The respect the people of Britain have for their culture and tradition. When the prayers started, people went quite as a hush descended on the congregation.

How do I see myself? Where do I see myself going? Do a good job, build great relationships and then leave everything behind. Just go away. Fade away.  Fade. Alone.

I wonder how the hbr author would react in an emotionally charged happy circumstance. I think he would be clueless. 

I believe for people who take an accountant’s view of life, following would be true:

Parents: Assets if they are rich and independent: Liabilities if they are dependants and sick?

Kids: Liabilities?

Wife: Asset till she is pretty and youthful and flirty; Liability when she is a responsible mother, daughter or sister?

Your employer: people you chum off to make your phoney living.

I don’t want an accountants view of life. I don’t want an MBAs view of life. I want to live a balanced life. I want to learn new things, get new experiences, travel, make new friends and build great relationships. I want to be a genuine nice guy.

Next Chapter in Life

All right folks, i havent written in a while But all this while i have been thinking about writing. I guess i am too lazy. But i love to write. This blog is my best friend. And that is there to it. You can ignore your best friend for a while, but sooner or later you will come back to it.

I really needed a break from my job. I am excited i am moving on to a new role, in a new city. Past few days have been a mixed baggage. I have realized, that i have such few friends, because i have not kept in touch with the most precious of them. The few ones i have kept in touch are so unbelievably nice. Thanks to you guys, i feel like living still. ON my last day at work, i got a few surprises. Let me analyse them here.

These 2 people, with whom i sit and work with everyday, my team mates in my project for last 3 months, whom i have helped so many times, with personal and official work. They dont turn up for my last 3 days in office, 3 days unplanned leave running. They just call and tell me sorry dude couldnt catch you, see you later and best of luck.I mean, it is one thing to not care, not say good bye etc, But not turning up, come on guys, be a man, give it to me on my face if you have the balls. But you dont have them else you wont be working at 4.5LPA after your US MBA in this shitty profile and reporting to a stupid ass man.

My second grouse is for my pretty cab mate, with whom i have shared countless cab rides, in the morning and in the evening, every day. I actually believed we had bonded over the lame conversations which we forced on ourselves to make the two hour commute to office more bearable. I dint expect much, but no bye, no wishes, no acknowledgement of my good bye mail as well. I get the message lady and you are blocked from my facebook account. Ditto for from assholes who i hated but had to accept friend requests from. Burn in hell losers.

And now the good part.

It was indeed a pleasant surprise from my core group of friends to give me a farewell lunch at a nice place and followed by a nice dinner at a really nice place on mg road.

The bald, horny senior boss, who actually screwed up my appraisal last year, inspite of the hard work i put in, actually called me and said,  "lets chat before you leave today". There is something about personal communication, it gives you away completely. The man has such dishonest eyes. He is a senior director, bitching about the company to a guy who is several years junior, whose review he fucked last year and who will never refer him positively. He is asking me to refer him to my new workplace! Yeah sure asshole, eat shit. It felt good, to see him exposed like a loser he really is. It was fun staring back at him and not saying anything, just implying, i know your game, dont play it with me.

The hr lady who i always thought was a very mean lady, actually took me out for a coffee and we talked like old college buddies for a good hour and a half.

The team mate with whom i have never worked got me a great t-shirt. It was a pleasant surprise because i never thought we were that close. It is expensive shit. Thanks dude, you are awesome. I owe you one here.

The girl who looks up to me as a mentor good me a great card and pen holder. She is a sweet girl, I owe her for her time loads of coffees at CCD and Barista wouldnt be same without her.

I missed some great friends i have made here. Friends who will last a lifetime. I know They have moved on to other things in life, Some for the better and some for well, what they considered better. I hope this change is for good. It feels good to write again. More later!!