Middle-Earth

Alcohol and memories are definitely not a good combination. It isn't a revelation for me. I always knew it and so avoid mixing both. But last weekend I was helpless. N was back after a long time and Z also dropped. Personally I've a very strong feeling that was the last get-together for the three of us. I don't know why but this was a sort of culmination of our 05 year-old friendship.

Let me give reasons, N, an army officer is on his way to his post in Arunachal. In the past 05 years, he hasn't changed a bit. He is still a scrooge, continues to insist on explaining everything, and still believes that girls are only good in bed. But, army has instilled some pride in him and like any other olive-green bearer, his conversations somehow unknowingly make me feel a 'bloody civilian.'

Z, is all set to join the Ambani group coming summers. He also hasn't changed a bit. Still remains jolly, much of an squanderer like me and thinks girls are made to love and forget. But being in a business school has made him talk big. Sensex has taken precedence over sex. And Bulls and bears over bollywood. So his conversations somehow unknowingly make me visualize my future - We both in his villa, sitting at his bar. He pouring me a premium scotch, vintage 1700 and smoking a Havana. And me, with my lean figure, with a half-burnt cigarette between my fingers, sitting on the bar stool and listening to his business adventures.

So I believe that yes it was the culmination of our friendship in some way. The best part was that we all knew it and just avoided it. Anyhow, I was fighting with these thoughts when Z raised the topic that I fear the most. Discussing love lives. I can talk on history for hours, discuss politics as if I am the next PM and can be a good listener on the stuff that I don't know. But Love life….except unsuccessfulness I've nothing to add. And when you're drunk you remember those who left you or vice-versa.

Anyhow N's insistence on the curves and sizes and the debate fuelled by Z over describing girls each state wise, gave me time to be in my own world. I don't know but then I remembered a quote and laughed. That thought made me pick up the phone and call. In the morning, when all were dead drunk and snoring and I had somehow helped myself without vomiting, I rued that call. I don't know why.

There are so many why's - why people are living, why we try to make a career, why we study hard, why we get involved in office politics, why we make friends, why we love and why we lose it all.

I don't have an answer for any of those why. But I still remember so many people, starting from that sparrow - my first pet, that lame girl in school whom I then thought I should love coz no one did, my cat, that old guy whom I bought a quilt and similarly so many people who did some stuff for me when I never expected. WHY?

So in that chilly morning, I came out in the open. Asking the fog to engulf me and somehow that quote flashed in my mind once again, I smiled to myself, came back inside, hugged both of them hard and then closed my eyes. May be that is what my destiny is. For, Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost. And, I know that I'm not lost, I'm just unsuccessful.

Ana 'l haqq

I'm actually very tired. For the first time in so many days, I'm really feeling tired. This gives me some happiness and also makes me question myself. Of course, I'm not tiring. For I cannot spare time even to tire. I feel like an athlete competing in a relay race. I know the line is much far and I've to cross it. As of now I even don't know what line is that and what will happen once I cross it. For I cannot be successful and that is my fate!

Somebody told me, I have become closed. I laugh upon that thought. Closed? Huh…of what. All my experiences have helped me deriving one thing – We all lie to our self. Why we do that? We want to make us feel happy but the real tragedy is that a lie always remains a lie and when it crashes against the walls of reality, we feel sorry. I want to be in such a state where all these things do not matter. Time and again I falter but instead of ruing and clinging, I prefer them to be remembered as checks and balances. But the only worry is, I don't want to be there, thinking about them. Last winter I was in a similar state and this makes me laugh. There is something wrong with winters. The fog of unsuccessfulness is dense and I'm lost.

I look at people around and feel depressed. They all seem worthless. All of them! They are so engaged in their petty things. My dislike for them is growing by leaps and bounds. I think I'm a joker among those, trying to be friendly, nice, and in some cases much to my disliking thinking about them. I don't want to do any of these. Besides my family, there are only some people (in spite of thinking hard, I cannot raise the count above 4) whom I really want. But do they deserve to be with me? I'm getting unsure about it each coming day. Somehow now I want them to falter so I have a reason to say – You don't deserve it and move out. Unsuccessful with this also, they act well and so do I. Why we fake things? May be to stay happy and if this is happiness, I don't want it. I prefer to stay unsuccessful.

J gifted me 'The Last Mughal,' after a long-long time I got a present. Made me real happy but then I tried to do a post-mortem. I hate to accept that. Anyhow, the book is engrossing, makes me feel as if Delhi is calling, should be thankful to J. He gave me what I never expected from him – a smile, a genuine smile. I think I should also gift people. Even if they do post-mortem, how does it affect me, for I have nothing to lose and their smiles they would certainly be precious.

Last but not the least, I want to be a sufi now. This is what I think I'll end up as, longing for love and belongingness, which i'll never find in this fake world. But I have some obligations and I'm sure once I'm through with these obligations – I'll be a Sufi and this is a promise and I try my best to keep up with the promises I make....

Awakened by your love,
I flicker like a candle's light
tryin to hold on in the dark.
Yet, you spare me no blows
and keep asking,
"Why do you complain?"

- By RUMI

P.S - ana 'l haqq means, I am the Truth.

If I was not to be a Cartoon!

Loyal but incredibly unsuccessful, D has to defend his unsuccessfullness. This threat itself arises from his unsuccessfullness and threatens his existence. D is doomed to spend his life on pins and needles, terrified and suspicious of anything that is ordinary. When success rears it's hideous head, D exhibits enough fearless ingenuity only to be unsuccessful.

Spirits...

In spite of my sincere attempts, I have never been able to develop a liking for alcohol. Why? I don't have reasons. Somehow my pale figure and the yellow, brown or colourless liquid do not gel. Now, if I have it in less amount, I feel disgruntled that I have spend money but still not got the full value out of it and if I overdo, then I regret, why I did so. Hence, whenever someone calls me to his place with alcohol as bait, I generally give any reason that comes to mind so as to avoid this socialising or entertainment. Let me clarify, that I have nothing against those who have a good relationship with the daughter of the grapes, irrespective of, whether they like their drink to get over in some light years or those who finish it in a wink, as if someone was to steal it. Ok,by the way, why I am writing this?


Well, Z called me up as expected. Since it was more than a week that we were avoiding calling each other, this was very much on the cards. Another common factor was N. I'll speak about him a bit later. So Z, as he always does after such incidents, asked me to come over to his place for the 'season of Rum' has started. Of course! Why not was my first reaction. But soon realisation bottled my spirits. So, unlike some past years Z and Me were not able to celebrate the onset of 'season of Rum.' He tried to cheer me up and I responded with hollow, verbose and philosophical statements. Interestingly, I've noticed this that if one of us go philosophical the other tries to sound materialistic. May be one of these days, I'll ask him to ponder upon this and then like all times we will say - "Yeh baat, aaj ham pehli baar kar rahein hai na."(We are talking about this stuff for the first time). Though, we both know that somewhere we must have talked about it nth no. of times.



Since Z is back with A, so most of the times his phone is busy. Also he told me that he is speaking on the same phone that he had once broken in anger. It again made me think, whether it's as easy to repair a relationship, like repairing a mobile and if so then I disdain the idea. Not to forget, the scar always remains and no amount of repairing can do justice to it.

Coming back to N. Well this was what that basically made Z ring me up. N is going to Arunachal, insurgency area. We're discussing about it, it has been long since we three have met, who knows how many such chances we will get. I'm sure none of us thinks about it but the desire is there. Anyhow, we discussed N, not discussing in fact debating - is N's misery better or we squanderers score a brownie. Also, Z then told that how he could not control his tears after getting that professional break. I wondered have I ever cried coz stuff like this? No, I guess. May be even I deserve to weep, of course for good reasons. It has been ages, may be the last time was when my grandpa died, some six years ago.


So I asked Z, "Will you cry, if N dies in an insurgency operation?" He said, "I don't know that but one thing I'm sure, I'll be the proudest friend that day." Bang! Z you won my heart, once again.

So that was one of the longest call that I attended in the past few weeks. I like it. My mobile silence narrates a thousand tales. Hey! Does each mobile has a tale of it's own? How interesting it would be read a book, which is written by mobiles. Describing their owners joys, happiness, plight…..nah may be I'm watching too much of cartoons. But I hate to tell that I classify cartoons as unsuccessful….why? Because we leave them as we grow up but you know what, they are there, the same, waiting for us, with their tales…. though unsuccessfully.



P.S - I have left enough indications to Z & N that I'm dying to get Dalrymple's latest book, lets see who takes the clue. Also check out my favourite cartoon of this week, Mr. SpongeBob.

Shadow

A series dedicated to all whom I know and how I interpret them, though unsuccessfully.....

We will not give her a name. Because whenever someone asks her, what she prefers being called as, she chooses any name according to her fancy. So you can call her, address her or refer to her by any name, it won't matter. In fact most of the times, it doesn't matter what she do or is trying to do.

Except now and then, she has never-ever played a major role in anyone's life. This is what that always troubled her. Come on…it will bother anyone. Most of the times she was taken for granted. In spite of her countless efforts to win hearts, to be hated and to be admired, she never got any recognition. Roll no. 32, with a nameplate on her shirt, which was pinned on her sweaters in winters, she cannot escape out of it long after school. She was just another student, another worker, another friend and another colleague.

I firmly believe that if she dies tomorrow, it will not make any major difference to anyone. (Of course except her family) Now this includes me as well and I somehow hate to admit that.

It was insane from the start. Her so-called friends were mean, they called her only when it was required - "Hey what's the class tomorrow? Do you have those notes? You know, this guy proposed me!!! I don't know what to do with my mom.".. and so on. And poor she, she was always there. Sometimes as a punching bag, most of the times as a pillow to sob on. What was she trying to find? Perhaps some good company. And more than that, this made her fool herself that she was one among them.

Being the youngest at home, she was a pampered lot but not a spoiled one. The great Indian middle class always leave something to be desired for and that what happened in her case as well. She had everything but what always pinched was she could not have everything that she wants. Perhaps this subdued her desires. And after sometime, the desires, they weaned away.

She always hooked on to the most admired, different people in her circle. Most of the times it so happens that such different people either don't have anyone or they want someone to rally around them and our dear character suited this profile. So most of the times, she was visible with such characters and lost her identity in an attempt to be identified.

About her expeditions with the male species, there is not much to be talked about. Though every girl becomes a fantasy of someone. She had real bad luck. For, she was never able to sustain that. Why? Beyond the physical structure, there were a lot of reasons behind it.

Yet she is hopeful. Whenever I look at her, I pity her and wonder why she knows only Ctrl C, Ctrl X and Ctrl V. There is a new world, where she can be herself but the only problem is - She needs to discover herself, as to be discovered. Till then, like me, she has to live up with unsuccessfulness. The difference, she tries to fight it and I love to be with it.

Candle

Last night there was no electricity. I don’t know but for me darkness means introspection. I hate to do it but I cannot escape. Resigning to my fate, I started speaking to the lonely candle and then slowly but surely, unsuccessfulness dawns -


How come darkness in the room
when a candle burning bright,
Between my heart and mind
this is an ongoing philosophical fight;

Have I become like wires
the nerves suddenly lost their current,
There! A little glow in the dark
at the expense of wax being burnt;

It trickles down her body
and she can feel the pain,
But a strange smile on her face
just watch the glowing flame;

She knows the end is near
as the clock hands dance,
Her bosom swells with tears
as liquefaction enhance;

Orange, blue and yellow
that is all what she posses,
Don’t look at her with pity
there is warmth near those curves;

She starts becoming shorter
and I am petrified,
Don’t leave me, I beg
without you, how will I survive?

Finally I bring her close
try to hold on the last sight,
It seems that she also efforts a fake smile
perhaps an attempt, to sparkle my dark night;

Some moments of glory
or another battle lost?
For the darkness again engulfs me
but she illuminates my thought;

That’s why, my mind and heart
debate over it all night,
How come darkness in the room
when a candle burning bright?
when a candle burning bright…..

Bubble

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?


Life is moving at its snail pace, just that I need to pay for the fuel now. Things have certainly changed yet I feel that I am in a time warp. As if I'm living in a bubble, which revolves. I can see the outside world that appears different every time. Some how I forget that I can only see it, I cannot feel it. And when this realisation struck - I feel both sad and happy. Is it hard to define? I think so.



Anyhow, these days I'm watching a lot of movies. The kind of stuff, otherwise I would have never thought about viewing. Don't ask me the names because I watch 2-3 movies simultaneously. I mean I keep flipping between channels. These are some of the movies that I watched
1. Don't remember the name - starring Amish, Esha and Aftab.
2. Don't remember the name - starring Winona Ryder and Adam Sandler
3. Gangster
4. Pelican Brief
5. Chocolate (Hollywood)
6. Tahalka
7. Mere Papa the Great
8. Some old movie, when Dev Anand was really young
9. Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost

10. A few movies, where some youngsters realised their dream for once.
11. A movie starring Govinda, Mahima & Raveena (an I thought Mahima never acted with Govinda…huh!
12. Janeesheen


Now one thing I've realised that movies are a lot similar like the bubble I'm in. Come on, how many times, this have happened to you, that the girl you love is your foe's sister, daughter etc. Or the town you live in has some secret that except you everyone knows, or for that matter, your dad always pretends that he is capable of doing everything, or circumstances so become that you marry twice…. I guess, all will agree to the fact that this may not happen normally but is very much possible. You can see it, may be experience it in some form but can't live it.




The other thing I've realised is why momentarily we fall in love with these cine artists (in my case actresses.) Now when I se a pretty face like Winona Ryder weeping or Miss Lohan sulking, my heart goes out for them. And you know what, you start longing for these kind off girls; I mean not necessarily the face but a heart like them.


Also, one movie where I came literally to tears was 'Mein Madhuri Dixit Banna Chahti Hoon'…. I loved the character that Rajpal Yadav played. I found it interesting that the character was totally devoted to that girl and completely hide his identity. Even in the last, once again, he killed his dreams for her or to put it in better words he started living her dream. The place where I felt bad was when that guy, who promised 'Chutki' (played by Antra) to make her a movie star ridiculed Rajpal in front of her and she joined him in doing that.



Last but not the least, I finally visited a doctor and like always my fear come true. Now I'll have to visit him again and may be again. I hate this breed, they talk so comfortingly and with so ease that sometimes you forget that you're sick or suffering with this or that.

But one thing I noticed in the movies, in my bubble and people around, there is one theme common and that brings changes and that is being unsuccessful, perhaps my time is yet to begin till then I have to live with it, either by choice or by force.

For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone.

Boredom

I am writing this, because I want to write something. As I promised to myself when I wrote Iccha Mrityua that I'll not write anymore stories on love-emotional relationships, so I'm keeping that promise. Anyhow this is not much of a read."

Start-

He was watching cartoons. Nothing wrong with that. These days he watched only news and cartoons. Perfectly all right. Can't call him insane, after all like all other morons he was more interested in what is happening around than what he is going through.

According to Mohit's standard, he was already past the age, when one is called young. But, then and now, he used to forget about it. Watching cartoons was a result of one of such follies. It was around two in the morning, a repeat telecast of 'Tom &Jerry' was going on. He fumed - "What the hell! How can they run short of ideas?" His hands pressed a number and the world changed. But even the news channel disappointed him, he moaned in frustration, "Please, not again." The only control he had over the television and his life was to - Switch it off.

Mohit was living alone. A two-room flat was at his disposal. But, he was in no mood to shatter the piece around him by inviting anyone. "This is my cave and no-one is invited," he declared to himself. Then he tried different positions, sitting on the ground, on the table, lying on the bed, standing near the door and so on.

He always had problems with the loo-door, he always felt that someone would peep in, or someone would push it by mistake, may be the chain will open all by itself. There was no good reason for this fear. Wait a minute, perhaps once his parents' beat him in the loo may be that gave birth to this unfound fear. After shifting here, he used to keep the loo door open, as if inviting - Come on see me, I'm shitting. One day he shouted as well - " I'm shitting and having a smoke, come on, see it."

The clothes were lying all around; he didn't care to arrange them. "Why should I? This is my house, and it will be the way, I like it," he debated with himself. But he was peculiar about the books. He arranged them according to his taste, promising to himself that at least he would read a few pages everyday. But soon like his other attempts, dust gathered over it. Now one can draw a figure over it, using the index finger.


November, announces the onset of winter blatantly. The chill in the morning air returns to haunt at night. Physically he was aware of this, which irate him all the more - "Why the hell, everything has to change?" he argued with himself. The day somehow was lost in the melancholic office but the nights, they were worse. "Nothing to do is the problem," he thought. Then he devised ways -
1. To switch of the lights, throw the keys and then try to find them.
2. Count 30 minutes (he tried counting more but was bored)
3. Brush teeth for 20 mins
4. If you want to watch a particular channel, you've to flip through the rest of them and decide upon two channels more


This was working fine, until one day, without any reason, the cable was disconnected. Like all days, he reached home before midnight, switched on the television and waited to hear animated voices but all there was a blue screen. His fingers frantically pressed all the buttons. The voice of a famous politician from some house confirmed, that only he was denied of this right to entertainment. Like always, the cell phone displayed - NO NETWORK COVERAGE.

The string of bad luck had just started, the tube-light refused to glow, so did the bulb. All of a sudden he was staring at the blue screen. He moved to the next room. Nervously he pressed the switch, this time fate was on his side. The room sparkled to existence.

"Thank God," he sighed. Mohit was afraid of darkness too. He never used to sleep in dark. Perhaps some odd relation with his childhood. He reminded himself the umpteenth time that he had to see a doctor for the pain has increased. He needs to call an electrician and most important ask the cable guy to correct whatever has gone wrong.

Old habits do die-hard; this was the third night when he didn't feel sleepy. But somehow he always found himself curled in that sofa near the bed or the pain in his back, make him realise that he slept on the chair. Sleep was hovering miles away from his eyes. "To sleep is to waste time and I don't have time to waste," but like everything else this was another one of those things on which he never had a control.

Yesterday, Mohit decided to restart an old game. Except himself he will kill anything alive that he see. Since then he has never felt alone. Nor he feels bored. But now there is an another problem, he wants to give all that he has killed a proper funeral but in that two-room flat, where he lives alone, where cartoons will rule for some more time, where he will keep the loo-door open, his black-hole somehow lacks a burial space. "How Unsuccessful!!!"

Q & A

So, finally I'm back to where I started.


1. Are you disappointed? For sure I'm.
2. Will you live with it? Of course, I don't have any alternatives.
3. Do you regret it? Yes, somewhat.
4. Do you feel cheated? Yes, I do.
5. Why? Well majorly because I haven't done anything like this in my life. I mean most of the times I'm sure of what I'm getting into. But I can't blame someone, I mean it's not necessary every one think on the same lines.
6. So, was it your fault? Partially Yes, I must have understood it long before but I was still trying.
7. Any comments? On..Ok…No not at all. I think I believe in - Do No Evil and Say No Evil. So 'No Comments.' Besides, I accept I forgot my rules but then you know how it overtakes you.
8. Will you be able to forget it? In a matter of time, may be. I'm not sure.
9. What are your plans now? Nothing has changed. Yeah, I'll have to do some soul searching but yes, like everyone says - I'll concentrate on work.
8. Any lessons learnt? *Smiles* Yeah surely.
10. What? I am not going to be in anything like it ever after, unless I'm forced.
11. Will you keep writing about 'Delhi'? Nothing has changed in terms of this blog. All I can say is I love this city and still there is a lot to explore.
12. So…..? So what? Please read the name of this blog…

Z & Me

I'm writing this in a spur of the moment.

Yesterday Z came; he has called it off with A. He broke his cell phone as well. Interestingly, now I know a sizeable number of people who broke their cell phones along with their relationships. What is the relation between a cell phone and a relationship? I think cell phone is overused during a relationship and that's why people break it when they part off. As if resigning to the fact that unless they get a new partner, their cell phone will not be of much use.


I haven't thrown my cell till now. I may have dropped it unknowingly but never thrown it or even thought about that. At most I have switched it off for some days. Well my case is totally different; I mean I'm not rich. The cell phone I have is going to be now 3 years old and somehow or the other I never was able to buy another one. Like always Z was reluctant to talk about it initially and then he vent it out. So….

Z - I haven't done anything wrong. I mean she was with sitting with some one in the middle of the night. How can I take that? Can you take that?

D - (Undergoing a soul search) Hmmm….I mean I don't know.

Z - What!!? You don't know.

D - I mean Yes, you're right. But you could have been more understanding and besides you were not going to marry her, right?

Z - So what? I mean. I wasn't there in that relationship just for sex. I have enough. I am 24 yaar. I'm looking for peace. You tell me, I could have also done the same then?

D - But what about that girl? With whom you recently had this fling.

Z - That was a one-off case and I was sorry about it. You know what D, I am a middle class Indian. I may be a hypocrite but then I've some values. I'm not like these metro-class babalogs who have this no problem attitude.

D - (Playing with the cig.) Haan, I think you're right. So what should I do?

Z - You? Where are 'you' in the picture?

D - (Realising my mistake) I mean, what you want me to say?

Z - (Now fuming) Nothing. I care a damn if you adhere to what I stand for. I think I've done right. It's not about 'ego'. Before it also happened.

D - what?

Z - Are yaar, this guy. He liked her and she refused but she still use to go out with him and talk to him.

D - But you can't dictate someone's' life

Z - Fuck You. I was not dictating anything; she should've the brains. I mean how can you put your faith on a guy who has already expressed his feelings for you. Tell me if I would've gone with N…you know about her. I don't become even friendly with her. Yaar, thts why I said I am a middle class bloke. I cannot take that shit that my girfriend being friendly with her ex or some one who has got other feelings for her.

D - Is about feeling insecure? That means the relationship never had any strength.

Z - How much you deny that but Yes. Also I don't think except Chinkis and babalogs anyone will take that shit? It's annonying and if you really love, forget about love, if you even are 1% emotional you won't take that. Tu bata, what would you've done?

D - I? (Lighting that cigarette)…I may have done the same after all I'm also a middle class Indian.


-----------------We both laughed and then had a chicken for dinner, played pool, cursed all the girls in our lives, decided to become entrepreneurs one day, to marry a girl which our parents will choose and then renounce this world soon after. So all this decision making took 20 B&H lights with which we excercised our lungs. Early morning when he went off to sleep, I came out, lighted another cigarette and thought - Is it much better to stay unsuccessful? I looked at my phone….it was there, as if sleeping soundly. -------------------

Number

Finally the winters are here. It rained last night. Not much I guess, because by the time the first drop fell down I was fast asleep. It was around five in the morning. Before I slept, I realised that a mosquito has bitten me. I went through the whole process of reassuring myself that the mosquito that bit me would not have that Dengue virus. I laughed upon that thought as well. Comparing it to having unprotected sex with a prostitute and then hoping not to catch AIDS…hah. Then I thought that what all I have to go through if I become another name in that long list of – dengueised. I’ll take leave, stay at home, take lot of fluids, and pop parecetamols down my throat. Or will I get admitted to a hospital. I know in government hospital nurses aren’t beautiful though some interns are. But for them I will be a case study. This thought disturbed me more and I sincerely prayed that I should not suffer from this dengue fever. I still don’t know, I haven’t yet started feeling body pain, nor yet fever has set in. I’m still scared!!!


I managed to wake at 11 a.m. It takes me 15 minutes to walk up to my bus stand. Actually it depends. If I buy a tea, half-chai and a smoke, it takes me 20 minutes. Then I think that I have managed to prolong my life for five minutes, which compensates the 11 minutes I lose. So in total I lose six minutes. I was never good with maths. While travelling in the bus, you see lot of faces, will not call them fellow human beings because once their stop comes, they get lost in the constantly swelling numbers of my country. The Population index at AIIMS is majestic, if your buswallah makes you wait, you can actually see the numbers moving. For you they are numbers, but in some families it will be a moment to celebrate or some will rue their fate. I don’t know…I will keep it to simply numbers.


Delhi looks majestic in this season. I want to explore her more. But time has chained me. Delhi is mostly responsible for this, how can she be so cruel to her lovers? Don’t she know, how painful is that, she needs to figure it out or perhaps it doesn’t matter. But she won’t and why should she? It is your problem. She has defied time before and is still doing it. One day while going towards Khan Market, I saw a Parsi Cemetery; I haven’t explored that angle of Delhi yet – The graveyards. Perhaps, one day I will. Also there is one behind my office. I don’t know how old it is. But it sometimes comes in my dreams. I’ll not visit it anymore. It reminds me of past, a past which spells out unsuccessfulness of my Delhi. Mauled through the hands of a stranger. A known stranger.


After writing all this, I feel a bit happy. I know this is momentary. I’ll not hide from the truth. I have to go in that graveyard. That stranger doesn’t matter now. The population index will keep on ticking and my math will always remain poor. Only uncertainty is Dengue, may be the noise and pollution from crackers will get us rid of that. And at last I’m also another number – How Unsuccessful?

Re-invention

It has been quite some time that I’ve written something. The use of active and passive has de-sensitised me. I want to be an insomniac, completely immersed in work but there is nothing to do. The weather has started changing, I can feel it in the air. I don’t know but suddenly it seems that I’ve not spent some time with myself, the way I use to do and that is why there are cobwebs in my head, like the way they are there in my room.

Ideas - These days all I think about is generating ideas, I am thirsty as well. Can a thirsty mind think of ideas? I don’t know, I cannot think of any. I don’t feel like writing anymore. Words have started hating me. I need a break, a long one where I am all alone as I used to be, with no one to care for, no one to think about not even me. I am like in a web, it is painful not because I feel it more because I become the source of that pain.

Sometimes you need to re-invent yourself, like Gandhi, Nehru, Rajiv, Sonia & many more like them did. They became leaders. I will also become one just that when they did so they lost someone. I am afraid of losing but as they say - “ The End or Just the beginning.” Perhaps I need to reinvent Unsuccessfullness.......

Delhi- III

Everyone says/believe that once you are in a relationship, eventually the thrill of being in it takes a nosedive, it becomes monotonous, dreary and then the future is – a painful parting. But what about people like me for whom in spite of whatever time you spend the rendezvous seems short-lived. So my amour with Delhi goes on……(for what is painful, is being unsuccessful and I’m doomed to be so).


Mehrauli
A post is not enough to write about it and a day seems too short to explore the place. But I tried the later and am now trying the first.

The ruins of Mehrauli showcases the childhood of Delhi and after the visit I have no shame in saying that I won’t mind being called a paedophile. Once Mehrauli was Delhi, won by Ghori from Prithviraj Chauhan. Then she was a child, young in years but old in wisdom. As years passed by, the Slave dynasty rulers nursed it, later caressed by the Lodhis, and finally Delhi blossomed in the Mughal era.


Today only the ruins speak of the past glory of Mehrauli. They are very much there, facing weather, negligence, encroachment and everything else. What makes them survive? Love. I don’t think so. Delhi does not love anyone. I have asked her a hundred times and she maintains a deafening silence. Now I’ve stopped asking that. The rendezvous of these monuments has been going on for the past few centuries and it seems the thrill is very much there. And that leaves me mesmerised.


Qutub Minar

Aibak wanted to make a mark on this city. He wanted to show the world that he has won her. What else can a man do to show that he possesses a woman? He erected a stone phallus. 14.32 metre long with 379 steps. But Delhi has her own way to treat idiots like him. The man who relished his daughter completed his grand monument. Aibak died while playing chaughan (medieval polo) and his son-in-law, the next king completed the structure. Some say that it was for the revered saint Qutubbdin Bakhtiyar Kaki, whose hospice is just a stone throw away. Some centuries later, Firuz Tughlaq added an another floor to it.

Another moron, Allaudin Khilji tried to outdo Iltutmish. He had grandiose plans of constructing another phallus, twice the length of Qutub Minar. All his life, in his attempt to be fair, he was cruel to my city. Delhi does not like such characters. His dream was nipped in the bud. Today ‘Alai Minar’ looks like a small wrinkled penis. Only the first floor was completed and he died. I am surprised, why Delhi gives herself to such blockheads and professes her love. She is unfair to me but then that’s the way it is.

Then there is the Quwwatul-Islam mosque. It has been constructed over what was once a Jain temple. Even today in the pillars you can see Hindu gods, whose images have been desecrated by cutting of their nose and so. Does that mean Delhi was vanquished? I looked at her, like always her lips are curved. I cannot make out if this is a smile or a face representing pain. It is like someone has done something, a relationship got broken – a parting. But she will not tell me, for her I’m just one of her admirers.

Dargah Qutubbdin Bakhtiyar Kaki

Like all religious places this dargah has also fallen prey to business. From the entrance till the mazaar, you will find people selling flowers, namazi topis (caps), symbols of Islam and another strange set asking for donations. The beggars will follow you till the end of road. If you meet an old man waving a big cloth fan don’t forget to give him a rupee or two, among all he seems the most deserving case.

Jahaaz Mahal

It is said that the last Mughal king Bhaduar Shah Zafar used to come here and write poetry. It is also said that the lake use to touch the palace and there was an open court in the middle of that there was a small pool in which the lake water use to come. In times of monsoon, it sometimes overflowed. Today the lake looks more like a sewer. I don’t know but the state in which this place is explains that in what state of penury the last king was living. Of all what I saw here was some old people playing Chopar (an old ludo sort of game). Somehow the old guys reminded of Zafar. Toothless, gumless but nevertheless enjoying. Basking in the glory of their past.

I think, I would die like Zafar. Delhi will treat me the same way. I will be exiled to a foreign land where no one will know me. But then back at the mazaar of Bakhtiyar Kaki, I saw an another mazaar of Hzt. Sheikh Aziz Bistani for which Kaki bought land from his own meagre savings. I think I deserve that. Like Lak Baksh (Aibak) I will not die in her arms, like Zafar I will not be separated from her. May whatever comes, I’ll be there, buried in her soul, continuing my rendezvous…..unsuccessfully.

Zoo- The End.

My term at the Zoo has finally ended. It was a surreal experience. I floated all this time from one extreme to another. I don’t know but my stay at the Zoo is something beyond my comprehension. I made rules and broke them. I took stands and deviated. I was there and I was never around. I have something and I have nothing to lose. Sometimes it is best to leave things unanswered and this time as well let it be so….but it pains!!!


Besides that, I explored Delhi and she did let me do that with enough resistance. Today, I am yet to explore her fully. I don’t know how she feels or will feel (am I sure of that?). But I can feel her curves, I can smell her breath, I can taste her flavour, I can see her beauty and can hear her say things on which she keeps mum (mind you, she teases a lot). There is a disconnect somewhere, somehow but that’s the fun, after all Delhi says – either develop a sixth sense or be unsuccessful, choice is yours…I am already one.

I asked my soul: What is Delhi?
she replied: The world is the body and Delhi its life.

Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Delhi- II

Once again, like always, I’ve been successful to become Unsuccessful. But this time, I’m regretful for my regrets. For the past few days I was enjoying something which didn’t make me happy and today I’ve nothing to enjoy but I’m happy.

The Tomb -

It is no less than a fort but it is a graveyard, where buried memories are living with history, protected from time. Memories and History, they both are inseparable, like Delhi and me. Those who are buried here also thought the same. Delhi laughs! I can hear her voice; she is amused at my thought. I visualise the curve of her lips and smile. We both know.


Like other graveyards, this place doesn’t makes you sad. There is something in the grandiose tomb, which is surrounded by lush gardens, that makes you think. May be, it is the place itself, so vast, so quiet that for once you forget all your sorrow, aspirations and perhaps realise the presence of god (if there is any), in my case, the understanding of unsuccessfulness gets more clearer.

The graveyard itself questions – Is death a mark of unsuccessfulness, is it an attempt to be in the annals of history, an unsuccessful attempt to remain in this mortal world. I look for Delhi. The wind is quiet, I guess she agrees with me. She knows I’m an emotional fool so she wears the drape of silence. I understand.




Humayun and me have two things in common. He loved Delhi and I do. He was unsuccessful to enjoy her true beauty and I am destined to be so. There are two differences as well – He won Delhi, I submitted to her. He lost Delhi and I never owned her. Delhi, she is standing behind me…….smirking!

Humayun lost Delhi twice, some historians’ say that he was an opium addict. I think otherwise. If he had been so he would have never come back. There is something strange in Delhi.
To someone who doesn’t know her, she would appear like a whore, she is the queen of whosoever wins her. But for her true lovers she is an addiction. An addiction that made Humayun risk his life, an addiction that I am trying to resist.

Some may give names to my Delhi, I don’t mind, Delhi also doesn’t mind swear words, they are a part of her culture. They always were. I close my eyes and I see her, she is not looking at me. She is lost perhaps thinking of Humayun and of her other admirers. I get jealous for a second but realise the futility, nah, perhaps unsuccessfulness, but of whom, mine or hers?


The tomb has two minarets that try to kiss the sky. The white dome spells peace. There are graves all around. It is said that Humayun died when he stumbled on the stairs of his library. He was in a hurry to answer the prayer’s call.

To reach the main dome, you have to go through the Bu Halima and the Arab serai gate. Before you reach them one may have a look at the carpet of bats spread on the stairs of Isa Khan tomb. But if you are game enough and decide to walk upstairs, there is a wonderful view to enjoy.

I was with my friend to whom I owe special thanks. With her I am myself. No pretensions and no expectations. Without her, I would have never been here. As we two friends walk out of this place, we promise to come again.

A promise, like the one Humayun made, the one which Monsoon did, a promise which I fancy to make. Delhi, she never promises anything. It is not her fault. She is not to blame because she is genuine. It is her nature. She never deserts but she is never yours.

She is an enigma and to make her yours is just like building a tomb. An unsuccessful attempt to maintain your presence in this mortal world. Humayun, he died in her arms. I will not, I plan to remain unsuccessful……..

In-dependence?

Well, this is an off beat stuff, I have no clues but I’m posting it cause I like it. There are hundred of things going in my mind. To believe, may bring doom and not to believe pains me every night. Do I want to be independent or I’m becoming in-dependant? Grammar, it kills me slowly. And Unsuccessfulness shares my bed. I don’t know, may be this sum it up – “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me, scatters.”

Even the tiny trots know that this is not another, regular morning assembly. For, they have been witnesses to the countless rehearsals and today it is show time. Their parents, standing at one end of the ground, on which there are symmetrical lines drawn, are trying to identify their wards amongst similarly dressed students. Tricolours of all size and shape, is the only similarity within dissimilarity.


The young ones, who perhaps can boast of remembering one or two nursery rhymes seem lost yet excited. Running around, involved in playful games – a tricolour trying to catch another one. Those in their teens are mostly in-groups, some wear a disinterested look while others chattering away to glory. But they all have assembled – standing, pushing against each other and reluctantly trying to form a queue. For this was not another, regular morning assembly.


The three colours overshadow everything around – the brown school building, the blue sky and the looks on each face. Amidst chaos they finally manage to form a queue. It didn’t take long. They are used to it, a small head followed by a larger one. The length of the tricolour banner slinging across their shoulder also varies accordingly.


A drumbeat goads the animated crowd into silence. Each face has an anticipated look. The younger lot was struggling to communicate, while the elders who by now are more or less perfect with non-verbal communication are sharing smiles. They know what to expect as against the newly schooled; who break lines to catch a glimpse of what’s happening at the podium.


The podium is crowded like a railway station. A small group tethered by their music teacher who is trying to balance the harmonium. Two girls, perhaps in the final year of their school life, are dressed up in a tricolour saree. One is holding a tray and another managing the mike. Amongst is the principal, somehow managing to stand on his feet.


The girl holding the mike welcomes all and gives a brief description of what to expect ahead. A small skit by senior secondary students, a parade by all the houses, lead by the respective house captains, an aerobic show under the aegis of school’s physical trainer. The principle speech is after the flag hoisting ceremony, which would start the Independence Day celebrations.


She further announces that the tricolour would now be unfurled followed by national anthem. The men-in-waiting in the last row of the students assembled look expectantly toward the girls standing on the podium. To their dismay, the principle moves towards the pole on which flag is to be hoisted. The music teacher gives some directions to his troupe.


A string is pulled and music fills the atmosphere. Suddenly everything changes, a sense of responsibility dawns, which cuts across age and gender. The back gets straightened and the head rises, as if communicating with the sky. The song is about the great country, its land and people – the anthem of the nation. Each note, like an adrenaline rush. Surging a new found patriotism, which wasn’t there a few moments ago, which may not be present after this but for now….Jai hai, Jai hai, Jai hai.

How Unsuccessfull? I leave this for you to decide for I still stand my ground, though unsuccessfully……

Monsoon....

The street dogs look for shelter and so do the humans. The privacy of the house is drained out on the streets and the clouds rejoice on their victory with occasional thunders. Small flotillas, made of paper appear in every nook and corner. Some of them sail to glory, whereas most succumb to constant pestering by the rain. The build-up is gradual and visible. Black clouds are not boisterous in their claims, they deliver what they promise.


Scorched for months, reeling under heat waves from all directions, Delhi yearns for Monsoon. And, so she deserves. Clouds promised her long ago – they will come twice and shower their love to her. So every year July onwards, they start their journey towards the Himalayas and return to the Indian Ocean or Bay of Bengal during November-December. Thus they meet her twice and whenever they do, they make love. A passionate, eternal yet platonic love. For the Sky and the Earth never meet and there is definitely no horizon. I don’t know why people call this Monsoon, when it’s just fulfilling a promise. Delhi knows that people keep their promises with her. And, I also fancy to make one.


It starts slowly, a drop here and two there. Some one would look at the grey sky. Then the wait starts, for the onslaught, which sometimes come as a surprise. Like the Mongols, lightning speed. It is difficult to separate nature from humans; they both are inter-linked, like clouds and drops. All you need is a lightning.

Delhi earnestly waits for Monsoon, she keeps talking about it. She gives it various names, both in regional language and that of firangs. She loves black clouds they are hunks - tall, dark, and handsome. I appreciate anything that Delhi waits for, because she waits for none. But, Black Clouds are like playboys. They quench her thirst, cool her down but expose her.
Newspapers run disgraceful pictures of my city. I hate it and it hurts me. For me Delhi is very special, in fact very-very special. But for Delhi, she never thinks about me and why she should? She got so many to think about her and vice-versa. My existence is a farce, a lie re-told to justify my pale figure in this materialistic world. And with the first shower, I am drained of to non-existence.


But after the rain, she glows. It takes her no time to get back to her own self. She radiates like a newly wed woman. Her features become more sharp and I, Oh I !......just fall in love with her all over again, and again. My anger, frustration vanishes when I see her and I am overtaken by a strange sense – to posses her and take care of her. Alas, I know, Delhi can never be mine. She chooses on her own and similarly dispossesses. Chauhans, Tuglaqs, Mughals, British…they all loved her equally. They adored her and put in efforts to adorn her. They all now rest peacefully in the pages of history and Delhi…..Oh she is the past, the present and the future.


I try to understand Delhi .She laughs at me, mocks me, she makes it clear that I don’t stand a chance. My Delhi has got so much to say but she is quiet, she wants you to think, you to understand, you to feel and then she will reveal herself, bit by bit or may be not at all.

There are no threads, after every dead-end, there has to be a new start, all afresh. She doesn’t play hide and seek but she wants you to notice and this may take ages. But like me, once you are on the trail then it is impossible to return, unless she makes you leave. It’s an addiction; you cannot leave it only death will part you away. If you shed the baggage of being yourself and try, may be she will let you close but than, like me, you can end Unsuccessful. I am destined to be so and for once, just once I regret being Unsuccessful…….

Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness'

I am sorry for my absence. It was not pre-mediated. And, I know it made no effect. But by now I am used to people being unmindful about my absence. Anyhow I am here to explain it. I was actually protesting. Our tryst with destiny arrived on the clutches of peaceful protests. Everything that we today possess owes its genesis to some or the other protest. And, I cannot dare to betray history, so I was also on protest and therefore I didn’t write.


I am now pretty sure that they are conspiring against me. And, I am shocked that they can stoop this low. I had this feeling for a long time but I was unsure about it. But the recent happenings proved, beyond any doubt, that they are out with the idea of – Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness.
To be honest, I am a bit thrilled. Come on, the idea of being hounded, though definitely unnerving, somehow makes me feel important. So after being over with the protests, I basked in the glory of being a badgered protester that prolonged this delay.


It all started on a very normal, monotonous day. I can still narrate the details as they are because days like these come few in my calendar. It started with a normal, monotonous morning; I woke up late only to sleep for 10 more minutes. Believe me, those 10 minutes are no less than being in a paradise.
While I was trying to ravish the houris of paradise, an unfamiliar sound of a newspaper being pushed inside my door came. Immediately, I then knew that this was going to be one of those days. For I had not paid my paperwallah for last two months and this generosity was totally unexpected. I subdued my excitement because I feared a knock at my door and except money I had everything to give. But as I said, this was not just another day.


The angels slipped away quietly, as soon as the familiar taste of tobacco coated my tongue. I stretched myself, picked up the newspaper and abused the paperwallah for slipping in the Times of India. Immediately a feeling of guilt overtook me and I asked for forgiveness.
With the name of God (if there is any), I headed for Delhi Times; after all, despite being girlfriendless I still enjoy my right to check out babes and my luck. Both as always were good and bad, in their respective order.
These days I lookout for the by-lines without any good reason and no name ever sound familiar. And then all of a sudden, I saw something that caught my attention. It said – Blogs Blocked. I skimmed through the article, like if someone looking at the list of dead after a major accident, trying to find the name of his/her relative, hoping against hope. But, Blogspot was there; it was there, staring at me.


I instantly took out a white sheet and wrote an application. I had read about Right to Information Act, some days before. ‘The Hindu’ is good on covering things like these. I was now determined to go lengths, even if I have to do an RDB act. After all blogging is one of those few pleasures that are left for me. Next day, I saw the government curtailing the RTI act to suit its vagaries. I was stunned. For due to Mumbai serial blasts, procurement of weapons was not possible and my contacts in Kashmir are no worth than inviting me for a day or two hence no options were left open, except protest. So I decided to protest.


Considering my lean frame, the idea of going on a hunger strike was never approached. Weighing all consequences, I decided to Boycott. Now what could I boycott? I decided that as a protest mark - I will boycott writing on web. So I didn’t blogged.

Now I follow this everywhere. I protest against dirty roads by spitting, urinating on them, and making them dirtier. This way I protest against civic callousness. I protest against lack of security for women by molesting them. I fight with people in bus over seat, don’t buy tickets and this way I protest against transportation department. I buy cigarettes from shops close to school premises and also offer to buy for children/teenagers who come for their nicotine stick. This way I protest against negligence of school authorities.


But somehow or the other, people are not happy with my protests, they think it’s preposterous. And, lately I found myself in trouble during a DTC ticket raid, once while urinating under a fly-over. I am sure they have noticed that I am doing something different and they are tracking my moves. Even now, the person sitting next to me, though watching some porno, one way or the other looks at my screen, trying to gather what I am writing.


I don’t know whether they will be successful because they are trying to sabotage unsuccessfulness.

Iccha Mrityu'

Iccha Mrityu can closely be related with the medical term euthanasia, however the story doesn’t treat the topic as its main theme. It talks about conditions other than physical, which could lead to such mental state. This is perhaps my last story trying to explore love-emotional relationships.

Like always, all characters are fictitious. Some emotions are mine rest perceived. All I did was twist them to suit my Unsuccessfulness’. Anyhow, if you go through the trouble of reading it all. Please answer some questions. If you don’t like the story, well enough, I am already Unsuccessful and strangely enough living with it and sometimes, just sometimes enjoying it too.

Start -

She was staring at the picture, on the wall, which portrayed a rising sun, somewhere among the snowcapped Himalayan Mountains. The faint smell of phenyl was still lingering in the room. The flower vase next to her bed was empty, the only voice in the room was moaning of the air-condition, with whom electricity was playing hide and seek.


Destiny is cruel; with sunrise the snow melts. One takes birth to give death to another - she thought.


Her face was as white as the bed sheet. She never had a big bosom, but of whatever it was now remain untraceable ruins. The skin was clinging hard to the bones. She looked as if blood was being slowly drained out of her body. A living carcass.

The door creaked to life, she didn’t notice. A male figure entered with nice, bright flowers. She was still evaluating the picture. He put the flowers in the vase and pressed her bony hand. She turned towards him. BLANK. NO Expression.


“Hi Chavi, feeling better”

“I am ready”

“Have you ever thought about it seriously, it’s insane. You can be treated. It is all in your mind. Why the hell you do not try to understand it.”

“Will you help me?”

“Of course. I will. We can take a second advice. There are….

“Will you help me” - she sounded firm.

“I don’t know. See Chavi, try to understand.”

She turned away her face. Small drops of water mixed with salt ran down from the hollow sockets, across the bony face.

They have been talking about this for the past one month. The death of the discussion was announced by blowing the trumpet of silence. But today, she was determined.

“Dharish, you are a liar. You don’t love me that’s why you want me to go through this pain.”

“Chavi, you know, that’s not true. How can I explain that how much I care for you. I want you in my life.”

“Lie, all lie. You enjoy it, you want me to suffer.”

Suffer. Yes Suffer. The only thing that she ever did was, to suffer. For one reason or the another only suffer.

Her childhood was robbed because someone suffered from inquisitiveness. The dreams then died. An invisible wall separated her from rest of the phony world. A world where everyone wants you for owns good reason. A world of give and take.


Parental pressure landed her in a medical college. The wall, by now was impregnable. She loathed the barter system. One day, she popped 10 different pills in her empty stomach. But suffering, was her constant companion. She was spared, from death and suspension. Life and classes, both went on.


Those years, the Internet bubble was rebuilding itself. She didn’t remain untouched. Projects, assignments, hell everything that was needed to be done was available on Google. She searched for emotions and got Yahoo.


Chavi alias Wish got her respite in the virtual world. A known among unknowns. It was here, she met Rahul. It all starts the same way -

Rahul: A/S/L plz

Wish: 19/f/del….U?

Rahul: 20/m/bby…..hw u dn?

Wish: does it matter?

Rahul: Certainly, if you are not happy or so, we can try talk something funny

Wish: lol

Rahul: See it works


- And it clicked. They soon became more than friends. She told him about her fears and he about his failed love attempts. They both were raped. One by a man, another by nature. Rahul’s left hand refused to grow after his 12th birthday. But it didn’t matter. It was all virtual. But electronic emotions soon trigged real feelings and they fell in love. She started dreaming again.


Destiny brought him to capital. She was pursuing her PG and he got a job in a software company. They explored the city and their beliefs. A journey in pursues of their dreams. No barter system. They thought their dreams were one now.

But suffering was Chavi’s constant companion. Her parents didn’t share their dream. They gave logical reasons. Emotions versus logic. Beta, you can’t marry a tunda(a person with one hand). You have no problems; you will get some one better. This is not love. You are too young to decide.


Somehow or the other, she try to make herself convince that she got convinced, while she never wanted to get convinced.


And, when she can’t do that. Guilt surfaced. She withdrew from the world. Dreams died again. She became a body without a soul. And her second attempt to separate these two failed again. This is when she met Jagdish, who was an intern at the hospital where her parents got admitted her as a case of food poisoning.

Jagdish – fast and furious. A doctor by profession and a adventurer at heart. Fast things increased his adrenaline rush. Chavi was completely overtaken by her persona. For 25 days while she was in the hospital, he made her laugh. His outlook made her see a new life, a life beyond Rahul.


On the day of her discharge, subtle, supressed emotions took over. She was standing at the window, gazing outside. He came and stood behind her. She noticed but remained still. The atmosphere suddenly became tense. She was looking like a goddess in a pink and blue combination. He put his hand on her shoulders. She was passive. He murmured something incoherent and his hand slowly slipped across her waist.

Chavi was fighting a civil war inside herself. She thought – “ He gave me a new life. Anyhow I am of no worth. Perhaps this will make him happy, may be there is something between us. What I did with Rahul was worse. I deserve this treatment. I will pay it this way for my sins.”


Jagdish was sensuously nibbling her ears. His hand slowly moved across her belly. Lifting the pink kurta, feeling the bare flesh. He pressed himself at her back, making her feel his manhood over the tight jeans.

A sound exploded in Chavi’s head – Proven guilty. Condemned to eternal suffering.


He kissed at the back of her neck as his hands fiddled with button of her blue jeans. Slowly peeling it off from her skin. He turned her. As his tongue brushed across her lips and his hands, letting air flow between her legs. His knee found the gap as he pushed her on the wall. Slowly moving his head down. And, the room took a 360 degree turn.


Chavi never met Jagdish after that. Some nurses had retold the same story which she overheard during her inquires about him. But she had no regret. She was condemned. Life is not plain and simple. One day she met Rahul at a supermarket. He was not alone. With another pretty girl. He ignored her and so did she try to do. In her attempt to run away she met a speeding bus, head on.


It was Dharish who took her to hospital. For the past three months, his attendance on the visitor list was regular. Why? Some questions do not have answers. Everything does not have a reason.

She thought it was a platonic relationship. Can any relationship be platonic? Perhaps Yes. But can we deny the existence of emotions. Who knows, when they get jettisoned either by hormones or they themselves form a bonding, strong enough to break platonic shackles. But she was sure, her dreams had died and she could not be someone else’s dream. Definitely not her fault and perhaps not his fault, as well. Perhaps platonic sums it the best. But than someone has to lose.


Chavi condition had deteriorated, each passing day. She looked at the flowers that Dharish had just put in the vase. She was once crazy about them. Once!

She turned towards him; he was searching for something in thin air.

“So, will you help me?”

He stood up, came near her, kissed on her forehead. He replied with a choked voice –“Chavi, I don’t know what to say. I am a normal human. Unlike you, I may not have suffered this much. I will always remember you. I just wish if only I could help you, but…this is your decision. Your own Iccha Mrityu.” And he walked out. Leaving her behind.....

As you took the trouble, so who is Unsuccessful?

• Dharish, cause he didn’t try enough. Or he should have left it long back and take care of his own life.
  
• Chavi, she could always have moved on, Dharish, Jagdish, Rahul or anyone, how does it matter. She compromised herself for Jagdish for no good reason. There is always a new day, some one new to meet, and a new life to live.

Move On......

Well the past week has been quite an interesting one. And I’m scared. Being scared is also somewhat fun. Just a passing thought, I am in no mood to write.


“For silence is the mother of future and noise announce the death of present”

I still remember it was a toy
for which I first understood the word ‘joy,’
One day, it somehow broke
I nearly missed a stroke,
For the kid lost its love
just with a small thud!
My mom then explained
life is not so plain,
Things never remain the same
change is the name of the game,
I asked the toy, would you be all right
it remained quiet
And I moved on,


This happened in my teens
I loved this school queen,
Me an unknown face
she had a great taste,
I was always lost in her thoughts
for her, I never existed, Boss!
I asked her once, will she be mine
she said, I’m fine,
I realised it a little late
that her calendar is full of dates’
And, I moved on


College was different place
I joined the mad race,
To prove that I am good
whether at girls or with textbooks,
Never got what I desire
adjustments extinguished my fire,
Was a loser in every term
still, to be with me was fun,
All because I never wept
for whatever gone is gone
I have to move on,


For all, what I lost
I am not surprised
it was my decision right?
I gave them a just chance
pity that they didn’t appreciate my glance,
It does pains somewhere
but I have no fear,
The road ahead is too long
and, anyhow, I have to move on.

Delhi- I

I am at crossroads, and there is nothing new about it. Being Unsuccessful is not easy, it is to be - consistently at crossroads, choosing the right path and then falter. Anyhow, I have no qualms about it. “I am too involved in negative that I have not arrived at the positive yet.”.

Delhi and I share a unique relationship. I am one of her zillion inhabitants and I think I am in love with her. I know this relationship is short-lived. It’s a matter of few weeks after which, we will be apart. I am determined to make this sojourn, a memorable one. I don’t know, what I love about her the most, perhaps her aloofness. Was she always like this, or is it a special treatment melted out to me? I don’t know and I don’t care. Delhi bewitches me. She makes me think. She comes near, just to retrace. She is always there and she is nowhere. She makes me feel special and than she makes it clear, I am just one of those zillions. But we share one thing; her history and my present speaks for it. We both are unsuccessful. I guess that’s why I love Delhi.

Today Z came. Like always our conversation travelled around the world. Z is always a big support and over alcohol he becomes a necessity. I always wonder what binds me to him, he says it’s Trust. He tells – The first thing that makes two people click is physique, the second is money but what makes them stick together is Trust. Talking about trust over whisky is funny. He lighted a cigarette for me, while I was gazing the navel of a chubby female, he said, as if mediating – You can’t buy trust. I don’t know. It seems too complicated, just like figuring the navel of that female. Trust, can I order some of it, or perhaps they give it free – one plus one, like all other drinks. Happy hours, last order till 8 P.M. I settle for gin and Z for his whisky. Delhi is still around, in that gin as well, smiling at me. I gulp it quick.

Yesterday, I visited Safdurjung Tomb and a Christian Cemetery at PrithviRaj Road. One stands for history, another for present. Safdurjung got acres to get buried and back there in cemetery, they charge a ransom for your grave. On top of that people have started burying, their dear ones over their near ones. Reason shortage of space. So Martha has Samuel on her top and James have Syria. So now it reads, For James and Syria, one departed in 1989 and another got late by 6 years. It’s is being unfair but I don’t expect anything else from Delhi. She gives everything to some and nothing to others. For me, like always she disappoints me.

Safdurjung Tomb is as big as the heart of my friend who went along with me. Both have hidden secrets. I tried to find none, only enjoyed the vastness. There were beehives hanging from the tomb and there was honey in her voice. We sat at the stairs, gazing the gardens, talking about history, present and future. The peacocks announced our arrival and the squirrels danced. I relished it. On our way out, when my friend was talking to someone on her phone, I turned back. Delhi was there, at the steps, where I sat a few moments ago, she was smiling, waving me goodbye. I hastened my steps.

Delhi Haat was the next stop. Stalls of all states. What they represent, Indianness? Whatever, cold coffee and fruit beer was enough to beat the heat. The moment we finished, what we ordered, they shut down the fan!! We talked like kids. Innocence comes at price, we both knew and are fierce enough to protect that. As we were leaving, Delhi, brushed past me. I was startled. She turned back and winked. I closed my eyes.


As I am concluding this piece, sitting in front of a computer, in a basement. I know Delhi is still around. She is cruel. She is a bad correspondent. I know, I can’t escape. But as I said, I am at crossroads and I am unsuccessful’.

The Ticket'

The idea of this story took birth in a bus, when I was trying to fight with my emotions. When I sat to write this story, I painted it with emotions, of mine, as well as of others. Some of them I understand, some of them are perceived. I don’t know if this piece is worth taking a look.


But after you read this, and you feel that this story, though fictional, connects somewhere to reality then mail this story to some of your friends, who you believe, may agree to my concept of Unsuccessfulness.

The reason is, I want all of you to answer some questions asked at the end of this story. However if you feel that it was not worth reading, even then I have nothing to loose. I am already Unsuccessful.

Start.....


A major population of Delhi travels through buses. These buses are the lifelines of Delhi. You can buy a ticket of Rs 2 for the minimum distance, Rs 5, Rs 7 and for the maximum Rs 10. This story is not about these buses nor on the transport situation. This story is just not a story…………

------

The bus was almost overcrowded. Human bodies were jostling with each other. Perhaps, Auschwitz would have been a better place. She was sitting very calmly, lost in her own world. She looked outside, everything was moving fast, like her thoughts. “Not all who wander are lost”- she mumbled it to herself. Somebody had told her this, a few days ago.

In spite of the inhuman conditions in the bus, she was the only one who seemed happy, much to the discomfort of others sitting and standing next to her. As sweat trickled down her nose, it made her more closer to him, as if it was not hers but his sweat. She can now breathe his smell, lingering all over her body.


Few minutes ago, he had made love to her. In this hot summer, in a garden, under the shade of a Banyan tree. He savaged her like an animal. Holding her close, his hands all over her body. Slowly, feeling her bosom as his tongue explored her mouth. Two bodies lusting for one another.

Just the thoughts, made goose bumps appear on her skin. The rashes caused by their animality were hiding under her kurta. She involuntarily closed her thighs, as she felt dampness between her legs. He had less time, like always and she was so eager, as if it was today or never. Even the jeans got torn at the knees in their playful scuffle. Now it was looking more of a style statement.


“Oh! How much I love him. Had he been here, they would have made love, right here, 100 times more.” – and then she laughed at her insanity.

Charu’s body ached in desire. Suddenly she felt something vibrating in her pocket. The ring tone broke the monotonous whining of the aging bus. Some eyes turned towards her, while some hands searched their pockets. Hoping against hope that it was theirs. What else one can ask for, when you are travelling in a crowded, boring bus then a phone call from someone close.


It was Dhavan on the other end. She thought twice, before pressing the green button. The moment she did that, technology turned human.

“Hi Dhavan, how are you?”

“I am good, where are you? Why didn’t you come to the office?”

“Oh! I had to go somewhere”

“Where?”

------silence--------

“OH! I am sorry. So you will come tomorrow na?”

“Haan, pucca”

“Chalo then, bye, take care”

“Bye”

All strained ears were disappointed. In no manner it was a juicy conversation. And, she got lost in her thoughts again…. “What Ravi would be doing now? Perhaps shouting at top of his voice, just like him”…..as she glanced at the conductor.


She is not a regular bus traveller but she knows the price of each ticket and till what distance it would work. She got more reasons to remember than any ordinary passenger. Ravi had explain this to her, a few days ago and that too in carnal detail.


Lost in dreams, his words echoed in her ear –

“ Rs2, teri ankhon ke liye ( Rs 2 for your eyes)

Rs5, in hoton ke liye (Rs 5 for your lips), as his coarse fingers brushed his lips

7Rs, tere mummon ki liye (Rs 7 for your breasts), his fingers trailing her curves

Aur 10Rs”……as his fingers slipped inside her wet panties. They giggled.


A sudden jolt brought her back to reality. The bus had stop for the umpteenth time now. She wondered –“ How many stops have they constructed?” She took her mobile out to check the time. There was a message from Dhavan. She deleted it without reading. By now he was used to, not getting replies.

“How much he makes life simpler for me, I don’t know how Dhavan will react to this. Will he be able to adjust to this fact? In fact, he was unknowingly instrumental for this affair or was he?” – she brooded over this for a few seconds.


Charu, always dreamed about a guy, who was 6ft. tall, with a broad chest, long hairs. He should be dashing and sensous. Love is not all about understanding or is it? Ravi, was somewhat closer to this image. There was something raw about him. His aggression was captivating. He always wore a vest, all of them has holes behind. A small towel tucked behind his ears. Chest hairs springing out of his yellowish vest. Face rained with sweat. He was no less than a modern day Greek God. She had read about such characters in her college. “What he would be doing now?”- She thought.


Ravi, at this time, a few kilometres away, was fighting with a passenger over the fare. Ravi was a bhaiyya (Brother) for half of Delhi’s girls. “Bhaiyya, Dhaula Kuan tak kitna? Bhaiya, 5Rs ka ticket dena, Bhaiyaa this, Bhaiyaa that….”

He had never thought someone would look at him. He knew he was good looking. His friends always said that he could become a model. One fine day, a boy and girl boarded the bus. “Another young pair, saale aish karne jaa rahe honge. Is chutiya se to mein zyaada teekh lagta houn” – He thought. (Another young pair, must be going to have some fun. I definitely look better than this idiot).


The girl smiled at him. He smiled back. Nothing unusual. But when they were getting down she said – “Bye”. He was startled. He thought about it for few days and almost forgot it until she met her next. She looked like an angel in that pink dress.


That day the bus was almost empty. Their eyes met.

“Kahan tak, madam?” (Till where, madam)

“Kahin tak nahi” (Till nowhere)

“Kya?” (What)

“Kuch nahi” (Nothing)……as she started opening her purse.

“Accha aap rehne do” (You please don’t pay)

“Kyon?” (why?)

“Aise hi” (just as)

“Yehan beth jao” (sit here)……as he pointed towards the empty seat next to him. He took chances. And, to his bewilderment she sat down.

“Woh patla-dubla, ladka kahan gaya, jo us din tumhare saath tha” (where is that frail guy who was with you that day?)

“Kon Dhavan, apne ghar gaya hoga. Par tum kyon pooch rahe ho” (Who Dhavan, must be at his home but why are you asking?)

He shied. She laughed.

“Accha stop aa gaya, bye” (Ok stop is here, I am leaving, bye)

“Kal aaoge” (Will you come tomorrow)

“Dekhna…..(See…..) and she left.


The whole night Ravi could not sleep. Is she a prostitute? She can’t be. Is she playing with me? Nahi, why she will do that. The whole night he asked questions and answered them himself. Let’s see what happens next’ and finally in the morning he slept.

Next…...is a long story. Now, he calls her regularly. He has started reading Rapidex English speaking course book. He has not told her that. He has bought some new clothes. Now smokes a cavanders instead of a bidi and he has made love to her innumerable times.

Dhavan, was staring at his mobile. “Will she ever understand. I hope she knows what I mean. I don’t want to hurt her. May be I am not good enough for her. I will fight these thoughts from now. But whenever she smiles, my heart beats harder. I don’t know what to do. Shall I say it, what if, she says NO. I will not be able to take that. I mean, I am ok with that but. Whatever…” and he lighted his white cigarette.


Dhavan had developed a liking for Charu. Before meeting her he had decided that Girls are not any more important for him. He practiced this for almost two years. Solitude was his only bedmate. He had chances but he never took them. “ I will go for a girl who satiates my emotions not my desires”. Desires do get satiated but emotions never……


Charu was all the same with Dhavan or any Dick or Harry. She knew that he liked her. She liked his sincerity, his concern. But he was no where close to her dream boy. Somehow they have developed this understanding of not saying anything to each other regarding this. Both of them hoping that one of them would understand the other, someday.


Dhavan and Charu were colleagues at an advertising firm. When Dhavan joined, Charu was nursing a break off. For months she lingered on the memories of his ex-boyfriend. A quick fling with Armaan brought no respite. She always thought, “Why it is so difficult to fall in love the second time?”


She liked Dhavan, he stood besides her many a times. First Dhavan envied her, than start admiring her and now it developed into liking. The phases were gradual. She was cynical about herself and He always tried to peg her up. A confused relation and lot of expectations brought misery for Dhavan. Charu never said anything. What would have happened if she was straightforward about this? Or was she not? She told him what she is looking for. But things never were straight enough, always something or the other took place and they get closer. Or it was just a figment of imagination from Dhavan’s mind. He never said it straight, she never replied straight....


To say Dhavan loved Charu would be betraying his emotions. Also it would be equivalent to maligne Charu. Charu and Dhavan and Dhavan & Charu...confused?

Charu by now had left the bus and was walking back to her home. When, Ravi called…..

“Kahan hai tu?” (Where are you?)

“Bas, I am near home”

“Terko bolo hai na, english me git-pit mat kara kar, apne samazh nahi aata” (Don’t talk in english, I don’t understand)

“accha baba…..”

“kal milna hai na” (We are meeting tomorrow?)

“haan,reh sakti hoon kya….” (Can I stay without meeting you?)

-------6 months later--------


“Dhavan, I want you to meet somebody today”

“Sure Charu, May I ask, who?”

“Chalo na, you will know”

“ Ok, you are the boss”

“Dekhna…..”, she rolled her eyes.

They drove silently to the park. She directed the way. Sometimes silence screams louder than words. Both were hiding their fear in this silence. Each wondering what will happen.

Ravi was standing near an ice-cream vendor. He had put on a new t-shirt and jeans. Charu waved his hands towards him. He started walking towards them, Dhavan prespired.
Charu thought – “why he dressed like this, can’t he come as he always do, I have to tell him. I don’t like this.”

“Dhavan this is Ravi, Ravi yeh Dhavan hai”

“Isn’t he the bus conductor” – He looked at Charu, aghast!

“Yes…” She proudly gleamed.

Dhavan forced his hand. Both men locked their fingers against each other.

“Dhavan, you need to help us. We have decided to marry. It has been more then a year now and I know He is my man.”

Dhavan was stoned.

"But Charu...."

“I am sure Dhavan. I was hoping you will understand” – tears welled in her eyes.

“Sure Charu, I am there for you, always, may whatever comes”- he managed a smile.

They talked. Ravi was silent most of time. So was Dhavan. It was Charu who was telling about them to each other.

“I guess I have to leave….Ok Ravi, bye”

"Bye Charu and don't worry"

“Bye”


The sun kissed the ground somewhere. Dhavan fumbled with his white coloured cigarette. His legs were weak as he moved towards the parking. Suddenly he stopped. Looked around and start moving towards the bus stand. Boarded the bus.

“Kahan tak?” - conductor asked

“Saare, ticket de do……”
--------------

Now since you have read it. Whether you liked it or not, it’s a different story. Please answer the following questions-

Is Charu unsuccessful? cause she never understood Dhavan and hence did hurt him somewhere. She also didn’t like the change in Ravi, which was for better. Is she confused?

Is Dhavan unsuccessful? cause he was never able to muster his courage and say it to Charu...may be she could have realised.

Is Ravi unsuccessful? cause he is changing because of Charu and thus loosing the originaltiy, which made Charu come to him.

Explaining Unsuccessfulness…….

For the past few weeks, I had no reason to write this blog. In fact, I was even thinking about writing myself an obituary. Somehow or the other the traits of unsuccessfulness are so strong and deeply embedded in my soul that whatever activity I choose or determine upon, ends up in nothing.


Anyhow, since I am back, I will use this opportunity to vent out my frustrations. Perhaps the coming weeks will be as monotonous as were the past few ones. Like always, I have accepted this and do no make any worthy efforts to change the status. Sometimes status quo is all the more important than a change. I do not fear a change but I hate to rue upon the unsuccessfulness that comes attached with it. This is despite of what so ever efforts I put in.


The Zoo is getting more and more difficult, the problem is it not being difficult but being boring. I do not know and perhaps this is too early to make a comment. Life besides the Zoo is hanging on loose threads. I wonder when they are so loose then why are they entangled. Some questions never have answers and if there are answers, they lie in the simplicity of those questions. I guess it is quite big to make statement like this.

I have started coming back through a different route. I changed so because the bus I take now is less crowded and I do get a seat. Though 502 has its own advantage, as sometimes your perversity gets satiated, etc. As I said earlier, somehow the bus journey that I use to enjoy all of a sudden became monotonous. So changing the route came in as a relief.


Today when I woke up it was raining. I like travelling when it rains in Delhi. It washes away the sins of the capital, unless it rains very hard and the city is on the verge of sinking. I thoroughly enjoyed my bus ride.


A few conversations that I picked up in the bus were amusing. A couple seated in front of me were talking about the complexities of their life. Their kids were busy gazing outside. It made me wonder that how would I have reacted when I was a kid and how will I react if I ever plan a family. The kids were mesmerized with the grandeur of Delhi and somehow I could relate them with me. I am too fascinated with Delhi, its buildings, its polluted air, its big bazaars and narrow lanes and perhaps in a distant way with its people too.


For a moment, I was transported back into my childhood. Something inside me wept, silently like as always. Yesterday was my parent’s 25th marriage anniversary. I knew that but did not call. Except congratulations, I had nothing to give. Therefore, I was apprehensive. I received a call from my home last night. I did said congratulations and added Sorry to it. Yet again, I was unsuccessful to explain my unsuccessfulness…………….

The Empress and the clouds’

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Yin and Yang'

I am 22, and I have no hesitation in speaking this aloud. I do not find any reason to hide, that I am 22, I am good-looking, supposedly intelligent and I want to be successful.
I don’t know what to say or how to start, believe me I am not confused. I am crystal clear in my thoughts, it’s just, sometimes I don’t know how to react. You can say, that I am confusing but that’s not so, I am not any ordinary girl. I just don’t want to hurt people. My boy friend feels I am cute and I think this time he is right.


Anyhow this is not about my boyfriend, he quite understands and the best part is that he gives me space and though he is not that good looking but he is patient and he is receptive and…, Ok enough of him, neither I will go on and on!

This is about an another guy, who was my colleague. When I first met him, he was cold, I too didn’t care, after all I just have to work with him, seven hours in office that’s all. He acted differently; I was amused, that however different he tried to act, he was always ended behaving like all other guys. I think this happen with all the guys, they try to show they are different, why don’t they understand it does not matter to us, all we want is a normal guy who talks sense


Days passed, I came to know him better, by now I was aware that –
a- He was chirpy
b- He is decent and guarded
c- He is talkative and humorous

Soon we became friends, it was natural as unlike others, he always had a story or two to narrate, mostly funny. I like girls talk, as they say and what’s the fun if you do not talk about others and than isn’t it that we should always learn from others mistake. Talking to this guy was always a relief, be whatever he always managed to bring a smile on my face.
I believe this is what friends are all about making each other laugh, helping in your tough times and so on.
I didn’t told him much about my boy friend, I mean when we are just colleagues, all we should be talking about our professional life, why should I discuss my past and future?


It all started when I didn’t go to office, as I was unwell. He called me up, I felt good, I was bored and than what else you can ask for rather than a good hearty laughter. I thanked him. Late at night a message, invaded my sleep, it was from him. I was irritated, I just deleted it and slept, I don’t know if I should have read it.


For 03 days he called me religiously, now it was more of a burden. I still tried not to make it apparent. Two times even I didn’t attend his call. I mean what else I could have done, I don’t want to hurt his feelings but he should understand.

I reached office on Friday, he was there, I was expecting him to come and talk but he maintained distanced, I wondered why? I thought he was hurt, I tried to make it up, I offered him lunch. He was unhappy, why? What I have done, isn’t he expecting too much? Soon it was ok; we were talking like old times, funny anecdotes about office and so on.


Why always guys behave like boys, I mean we girls never ask for anything. Does every time we talk to a guy, there has to be something. I think it’s more about being comfortable, don’t guys have their own male friends. Do they expect the same from them? I don’t know, but yes over the years I have developed this instinct, I know when to demarcate. I guess, I understood it when I was 14, at first it was repulsive but later I enjoyed it. Now it has been more of a burden.


Anyhow my instinct warned me about this, I started maintaining distance, I don’t know what he sensed but he also got into a shell. I thought I was being unrealistic, so once again, I called upon him. Now see, how much I care about him, I don’t want him to feel bad after all we were having a good time.

A month back, he proposed me, I was aghast, I don’t know what made him do so, at least not my behavior. I feel all this time I was straight, never gave any ideas. I refused; I told him I am happy with my boyfriend. He didn’t say much than.


He left the job abruptly, even didn’t care to bid farewell. I didn’t told my boyfriend anything, I don’t want him to feel unsecure. Last night when I opened my diary, a smile crossed my lips, this was the 27th name in my list, I am still behind my friend she is on 49, and like always I never did anything, did I?

The other side---

I am 23 and quite a normal person, though sometimes I get a bit proactive. I don’t think there is anything wrong in it, after all you have to show yourself, neither who cares about you.
I don’t know what to say or how to start, believe me I am not confused. I am crystal clear in my thoughts, it’s just, sometimes, I don’t know how to react. I believe that either an issue should be in Black or White and if it has to be in Grey, than it should be according to me.


This is about a girl, who was my colleague. When I first met her, I didn’t showed any enthusiasm, why should I. Ok, she is pretty, she talks intelligently but than what, there are so many. I don’t know why girls always want us to be decent and all that. I am not like other guys, who will roam behind you, I know what I am and in simple language – “ If you want to come, most welcome neither ….”


Days passed, I came to know her better, by now I was aware that –
a- She was understanding
b- She is of course good looking
c- And she has a style

Soon we became friends, I always tried that she should enjoy my company. I put in extra effort to be decent and humorous, though I loathed it. It was good talking to her, and her eyes they say it all. I don’t go and talk to all girls, I mean I am not trying to be a playboy and neither I want to be a fool. I thought she also enjoyed my company and isn’t that what is required for two people to come close. It was good to spent time with her.
I mean you talk to so many people in a day, but with some you talk what you want to talk and this girl, made me feel like that.


Even with friends you don’t talk something and with a girlfriend you can talk about your silly aspirations, desires your shortcomings and so on.

It all started when she didn’t came to office, as she was unwell. I called her up, she was surprised and happy. I felt good, at least I was of some help, and she likes my company. I messaged her at night, it was that she should take care of herself, she didn’t care to reply.
I had started missing her, so I called her up. I sensed she thought I was acting too close. On top of that, twice she didn’t picked the phone, I was irritated. I mean either you call people close to you or you don’t call.


She came to the office on Friday. I still remember it. I restrained myself, as I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. If she likes to be with me, she should come and talk.
As I said for me either you are on this side or that and isn’t it the right way? Don’t we talk to only those with whom we are comfortable or share something, for the rest exchanging pleasantries is enough.


I don’t know why but she came and offered me lunch. I f I am not comfortable with you I wont come and say “please let me take you for lunch”. Anyhow I don’t want her to feel bad, so I agreed and soon it was like normal though I distanced myself.



She also responded the same way and I was getting over it but that day once again she disturbed my normal life. How come you a guy not to think, if you flirt. Isn’t there a difference between acting normal and flirtatious? I don’t show gratitude just for the sake of it.

A month back, I proposed her. She refused, I was confused. A girl who used to spend most of her time with me, all of a sudden just shunned me. I mean don’t you think spending 8 hours in office is less. I didn’t say much than.


I left the job soon, even didn’t care to bid farewell. Why should I? How will it make a difference? Last night when I opened my diary, a smile crossed my lips, this was the 27th attempt but this time I flawed my rule of “ Something’s are better left Unsaid” and that’s why the hangover is still there, it pains.