City, Sex and Friends.....

I was just looking at the number of posts I've written this month. After publishing this it will be the sixth. I wonder whether to celebrate or question myself. Because I feel I write more than what is required. But this happens when you've a lot to say and nobody in real world has patience to hear. Anyhow this post is going to be the last for this month. Perhaps I need to take a break and then as I was told - "You've nothing new to add."

Place: EDM Mall, on the outskirts of Delhi
Time: Sunday, somewhere around 9pm

A lot has been written on retail boom in India. It is so said that Walmart will soon be entering the fray. I will not write on that. EDM Mall, is located on the outskirts of Delhi. It has everything a Cineplex, Pizza Hut, Café Coffee day and showrooms of all major brands. The mall has an escalator and lift too. Not unusual, correct? But, when you see the people who throng this place, you are left amazed.
Ok, let me explain. Half of them live in dingy apartments nearby. They are first generation mall visitors who bring their parents and grandparents along (India has well-bonded families you see). Some of the oldies have pizza here for the first time. I don't if Italians use a fork and knife to eat pizzas but those who eat at such places struggle with the cutlery but still they use it. You'll see a burqa (veil) clad woman along with her three children, ordering three espressos. VOW!!! I never developed a taste for it and most often stick to cold coffee.

If you thought you need good fashion sense to choose a branded wear, change your thoughts now. The place has everything on sale. I guess if only have to have a flat you can buy the rest from here. Even the staffs are so recruited. They suit the flavour of those who throng it. So if you expect someone at Pizza Hut to explain you different pizzas they offer in detail forget it! All they know is how to explain you what is written in English in the menu.

I'm not deriding the fact that why this is so. I have no qualms. All I wonder is from where this money comes? So finally, when I was sitting alone at the stairs and having my pizza, using my hands, I heard one of those guys who brings the trolleys back from the car stand saying to his mate - "I guess he is here for the first time (Lagta hai pehli baar aaya hai)." And then I looked up at the sky and smiled. I had nothing new to add…….

Place: Ministry of Sound, New Delhi
Time: Friday, somewhere around midnight

Having journalist friends in Delhi is bliss. You get to see the best of places and drink the best of alcohol without worrying how much you've to pay. MoS attracts a much younger lot, perhaps since they don't play Bollywood numbers is the main reason. Don't know, I was too involved in my screwdrivers.
It seems everybody and anybody is living an amorous life except me. I don't regret it anymore. Or to be honest I prefer not to regret it anymore. Anyhow, I thought they were playing trance, till my well-informed friend corrected me and said that it was House. I've no idea about the different genre of music. Like all other things I prefer to be illiterate.
But you don't need to educate me when I see a couple grinding against each other, or someone palms exerting more pressure than required. Am not a sex maniac. But I feel the rest turn out to be so!
The drive back home was heady. I lighted my cigarette and thought about the girl in white pants, she was alone, dancing rhythmically and drunk. I had my chance. Why, I didn't try? As I threw the stub out of the window I saw the empty road. The city had slept. I too need one. I guess unsuccessfulness also means that you have nothing new to add……

Place: Office
Time: Unknown

This is about Mandy. Mandy is a journo and a good friend of mine. How Mandy and I met is not important. What is important that Mandy some weeks ago decided to write a blog. I was not surprised, in fact I urged her if she can write. But she writes for a daily paper and is extremely busy. Still she took on the new payless job. And to my surprise, her blog (Fashionably Yours) is a promising one. Mandy believes that I'm not unsuccessful but little she realises how near she is to the reason and we both have nothing new to add….

Exiled...

I know I've nothing new to add. And this makes me wonder, is it necessary to add something every time? What's stopping me? Ego? Not at all. Then what? Don't know. Perhaps, I've started believing that anything be it emotional or materialistic should be reciprocal in nature. I have no means to guess what's in your wallet or for that sake in your heart. I'm afraid to risk mine...I've done it. Whatever....Life moves on. It did for many and so it will happen with me as well. All I am anguished about, it didn't end on the note I wanted...........and when I thought of this, the vision of an old guy with longing eyes came to my mind and then I narrate it through the eyes of Zafar....

Place: Burma
Date: Unknown

I've been defeated. To accept defeat is also a gracious act. Acceptance of someone's supremacy is not easy and requires a lot of character. At least I think so. It took me some odd days to reach here, don't ask me the number, my memory fails me on this.

But I wonder why certain incidents and places are so fresh in my mind. I wish I can turn things around. But would that amount to my victory? NO. So I'm both happy and unhappy over my loss. It's like being in a state of perpetual dilemma. What I always wanted never got it until I was there and once I lost it, I could see that happening. But, unfortunately I was not anymore there to be a part of it. Complex, correct? But when things are simple? For they always entangle themselves.

Anyhow, now that I'm history it doesn't matter. But I believe some people like reading history. Even I like it. So, does that means I've not lost completely? Don't know. These days this is my standard response to most of the queries. It's simple and evasive.

Simple and Evasive. I somehow fear these two words, both make me feel uneasy. Because, when things become simple or situations are so as to evade, you generally lose. That happened with me as well. I lost just like that. It was very simple. I was not evasive. But I lost….

Now I think - Can I coin it a loss? I mean how you can lose something which you never own. It's hard, right? Some say it was bound to happen. But nobody questions my commitment. Some do talk about it behind my back but I guess they are not well informed.

I don't know if I want to go back. I guess I do. But there is no way out. Then I think what will happen if I go back, will things be the same? Will I get what I wanted or will it become like what was earlier. I don't know.

But Yes, this is what I'm sure about. I won it in my heart because I was not wrong. I was justified. There will be never be another one like me who can give it all. Even in history I'll have a standing – good or bad, don't know. And if my defeat does any good then it's worth it. So sometimes even being unsuccessful brings you a victory but as I started with – I've been defeated, I accept it.

Hai kitna bad naseeb Zafar dafn ke liye
Do ghaz zameen bhee na milee koo-e-yaar mein.

(How unfortunate is Zafar, as he did not even get
two yards for burial, in his homeland).

Written By Bhadur Shah Zafar in Burma. Zafar succeeded the throne of Delhi in 1837. He was tried for having taken part in the First war of Independence (what the British called Sepoy Mutinee), though he was already 78 years old and exiled to Burma in 1858. He died a very sad and dejected man in 1862. Zafar, also a formidable poet was in love with Delhi. He has composed 36780 shers (verses) using complicated rhythms.

Trishanku- The End

………It was early morning, when somebody did finally notice a dead man lying. Don't know but this is the worst that can happen with you when you go for an early morning walk - seeing a dead body in a pool of blood and that too dried. Anyhow, much to this early riser's dismay the person was no more breathing. He called up the police.
Within a few minutes, there was a huge crowd. Like flies swarming in on an open sweetshop. Some said the guy was drunk, while others postulated the theory of a hit and run case. Whatever, only two females noticed that his clothes weren't torn even after that crash. He simply died.

The police finally arrived on the scene and the crowd dispersed like someone has fanned the sweets. Some people still lingered, curious enough, like flies, which hang on at edge so as to comeback. Police interrogation was quick, the person who had called, narrated the story. Once more, all over again. Another set off human flies gathered by the end of his version but nobody cared about those that were now trying to enter the dead man's nose. There was a buzz all around……

Our dear friend woke up. Neither in the clouds nor in front of a big beautifully carved golden gate. He was at a place, where he had spent his childhood. His first home. The place, where he very much wanted to be when he was once lost at a bus station. At that time he must have been five years old and the bus station was crowded. In the mad rush, somehow his little fingers missed his mother's hands and then the panic set in. People asked him - Who he was? Where he wanted to go? His answer was Home. And right now he was in front of that home. He wanted to go inside but something bedazzled him and then….

Like a movie the scene changed. He could now see himself out of his class. Somehow he felt he has received some kind of punishment. He was almost kneeled down, waiting for someone to pull his ears. Eyes closed…eternal wait……and a sudden jerk.The dead body was lifted and put on a stretcher. The man who had spotted the corpse first was calling home and informing he'll be late. The wardboy who lifted the corpse thought to himself - "He died young."

Our dear friend was confused. He was all set to write an exam. Perplexed. According to him, he had passed the exam some few odd years ago. But why he was nervous? The exam paper can anytime be on his desk. He wanted to check each one of his pens. His father had given him a new one. He wanted to start with that………

There was chaos at the hospital. The doctor was adamant not to take the new corpse. The morgue was already overflowing. The doctor refused to co-operate, "What check? No room," was the standard reply. Police was yet to ascertain the identity. The body was almost some odd hours old, in no time it would start to smell. "Identify the corpse," said the police officer to his junior, "Fast. This is a sort of crisis," he added in a visibly rash tone.

Crisis. Our dear friend was undergoing through this right now. He was unable to comprehend, what's happening! One moment ago he was all set to write the exam and now he was in front of his college. He noticed that the beautiful girl, he was interested in was unaware of his presence. He wanted an identity. At least in front of her. She was smiling and as he moved towards her from nowhere came a door.
The agitated officer flung the doctor's door and walked out. There was no alcohol in his blood, only nicotine. Now he may have to investigate a hit and run accident. He was on night-shift but had to wait until identification….huh!

Our dear friend was investigating, this narrow passage, as soon as entered the door, which separated her from her sweetheart he was lost in this passage. It was dark and he was afraid of the dark. His hands searched his pants for a matchbox. He generally carries one. As soon he lit a matchstick. He saw the passage had come to an end, it took him to a hill top and from there he could see a beautiful city, tall minarets, busting market and a well lined road…..

Road accident no. 19. The officer filed in his office. Last night there were 19 road accidents, only one died. Bad luck both for him and the one who died. The corpse had been identified, investigation may go on, the one who died was 25, lived away from his parents, alone in this city……

The city mesmerised him. He wanted to go down that hill. But he cannot. He was in mid-air and then something bizarre happen…..like several televisions screens opened in the thin air. One of them was showing a Tamil channel and on one Discovery was on. The city was slowly fading away as if night was to begin and the pictures from screen also blinked to death.

"Body now in freezer Sir. Thank your gods, one was taken away by the Municipal authorities a few moments ago. "Is city mein bahut tension hai….yeh body to patla tha isliye ghus gaya," said the wardboy. (A lot of tension in this city, this corpse was lean that's why it got fit).
Trishanku….didn't die. He is hanging…..Waiting for the light, for the city and for those screens….I don't understand why he does not fit-in after all he has a lean body frame.

Trishanku- II

…..so we left him sleeping. He never slept in dark. The light was a constant reminder that whatever he may see in his dreams is a farce. Among other things dreams are also a reminder of being unsuccessful. Most of the times, in dreams, you see what you want to happen and get what you want or you are very close to it. So, whenever he woke up from those dreams and saw the fluorescent-lit room existing the same way before he had slept, it made him realise the futility of aspirations and expectations that plagued his dreams. He never had a control over them. Earlier he made it a habit of reading some chapters from a nondescript book so as to have nonchalant dreams. But this was of no avail. As a result he tried to sleep as less as possible.

Somewhere around 11 a.m. after the incessant pestering of that alarm turned mobile phone he woke up. Fumbled for a cigarette. There was none. He cursed himself for smoking it last night itself. Smoking is a double-edged sword. It becomes the cause of innumerable ailments that one may later suffer from and the lack of it at the very moment makes you feel non-existent. He managed to get a half-smoked butt from the ashtray. Very carefully he lighted it as to avoid burning his fingers and the lips. It ended in another three puffs. The whole exercise consumed less than 20 seconds and took both sleep and some precious minutes of life away. Nowadays, he did not think that far. The bugle for the war resounded in his mind…..the day had begun.

There is nothing much to tell about his work. To others it may sound interesting; perhaps for some it may be intellectual or may be varied. But the fact is – It didn't pay much. Though money never mattered to him. Like his other stupid rules, the one over money was - It's not important on whom you spending, it makes a difference on what makes you spend that.
So our dear friend mostly ended up in splurges of all kinds only to realise that he never bought much for himself. Perhaps, he knew that clothes do not fit in with his physique, gizmos tempted him but not for long, books he bought them only when he has read everything else that he got for free. To spend money, nah not money nor spending, for him it was to see the smile on some one's face whom he most wants was most important and if money can buy it, why not?
The question which always troubled him was - Do I too deserve a smile? But like as always he had to buy the smile, never he found anyone except few who bought it for him. And those few were nearly diminished now.

Office was all about proving himself. Throw him a challenge and he will give his everything to it. But then there was a catch, like it was there in every aspect of his life - The generation of disinterest. He feared that. It had been the root cause of his failures. No not failures. He never failed. He just opted out. Twice at peak and once when just started. His parents chided him, friends made joke but he was searching for what could satiate him.

We will not talk about his love-life. He never had one. He felt used. He acted as a tool. A living tool. Perhaps this may be his understanding. Perhaps he was not perfect. Perhaps he deserved to be so. Anyhow, all this while incident such as this, no accidents such as this, made him realise one thing, he will never get what he wants and those wants will always be there.

It was night. like always, he decided to drive through a new route. This was a new game. Interesting. He put the ignition on and zipped ahead. There was no traffic. It appeared that the city was under curfew. Not even a single policeman can be seen for miles. He drove a little fast. This route was different. He bent down to light his cigarette. The road ahead was blocked. It took two seconds or may be less than that and then everything became normal. The metal amalgamated with flesh and there was a distinct smell in the air. Something had stopped beating but there were sounds.....

Delhi - The End

There is no start or end to this post. In fact these days I have stopped bothering about that. Call it the summer effect or re-realisation but now I’m immune to most of the things. I don’t care if I’m not an ace writer, a good employee, a good friend or whatever. Perhaps this is the only best part of being ‘unsuccessful’.
Anyhow, last night, which was Saturday, I went to a happening discotheque of the city. Thanks to my journalist friend, everything was on the house. I did not want to go home last night and this offer of free drinks was a better option if not an irresistible one. But yes, once I sipped on the ice-cold vodka I was back in my zone, away from the partying crowd and suddenly I realised that perhaps this was the best time to say farewell to Delhi………….


‘Capitol’ can be a worth visiting place for some. I’m sure it depends on your company and your mood. And perhaps that stands true for all discotheques in the world. Anyhow, this place was as urban as Madison Square. Everybody was trying to live the moment.
The place was crowded with Greek gods and goddesses. Skimpy skirts showing well waxed long legs and men wearing t-shirts that displayed their well toned muscles. Lots of Aunties, who had put enough mascara to hide their now prominent wrinkles and also their husbands as well, blissfully unaware that their husbands are busy ogling at the younger ladies than worrying about their wives. I laughed at this irony and gulped another of my screwdrivers.

This drink was the one that made me start thinking about Delhi. The DJ started playing some peppy numbers and the crowd was on its feet. I was wondering if Delhi would have been around, what would be her reaction. While I was pondering over this, a couple next to me started dancing sensuously. I looked at them and smiled; they frowned and went back to their normal steps.
I went to the bar and asked for another drink. Nearby an auntie was prompting her husband to hit the floor. She must be around 40 and I’m sure her husband would have lost the zest a year or two ago. But the auntie was adamant and she turned into Shakira. I lit a cigarette and started watching her. Another glass down and then the vision hazed.

I started looking for Delhi. I don’t know how she dances or if she likes partying. But I’m sure she is good with her moves. I wish I can dance along with her, slow, rhythmic and sensuous. Alas, the moment I realised that this will always be a dream, my vision got cleared. By now the auntie was also tired and now demanding her husband to let her smoke. Smoke! I laughed at her and extinguished mine.
There were guys who were trying their best to impress girls and perhaps hook on with aunties at least. Now since I’m under no such illusion I preferred watching. Fake conversations, phoney smiles, unnecessary hugs were served as fast as drinks. I preferred sticking to Vodka. Repeat the order, please.

Another sip and Delhi resurfaced in my thoughts. The song was about the eyes of a girl and nobody can beat my Delhi on that. Sorry. Not my Delhi. Delhi only Delhi. I tried to place Delhi with all good looking men whom she may have chosen. There were many and I know Delhi may go with someone someday. I gulped this one in rage. Jealousy. Why? I’m sure may Delhi go with someone and be she happy with him but nobody can love her more than me and when I reasoned this the anger faded away.

Another good number and I decided to shake my leg. After all I was here for partying. A girl tapped my shoulder. I was taken aback. But her hands indicated what she wanted. A matchbox. I lit the cigarette for her. We got into a short conversation. Her ‘thanks’ came with a small peck on cheeks. Not Bad I thought. Let’s go and ask every lady if she wants me to light her cigarette. But the waiter had other plans. He saw my glass empty and brought another one. I feared to lose the count and decided this is the last one.
In the corner a couple were fighting with their tongues. The girl was a bit hesitant I guess but the boy was all for it. I did not smile this time. I was afraid of being bashed. I just sipped on my drink.

I don’t understand why alcohol and Delhi comes together. I guess I’ve to leave both. Here one sip down the throat and Delhi is standing before me smiling. This time I stared back at her. She too didn’t say anything. We kept looking at each other for sometime and then it dawned. I was always looking for Delhi in history, monuments, dreams and so on….but Delhi she is life and life does not reside in these places, life moves on and so did Delhi.
I saw her taking the stairs. She didn’t even turn back. I know she will not. I know she is not wrong. I know this is the truth. But I also know if she would have been with me I wouldn’t have been in Capitol, I would have been in a garden asking her to read me a book while tasting some wine…….

So as I said there is no start or end to it. Delhi deserved a practical farewell and Capitol was the best place to do so and not the ramparts of Red Fort. But I’ll go to Red Fort to find my Delhi and I’ve no regrets in being ‘unsuccessful’ to do so….

Meer Taqi Meer

I don't know but I always feel a strange, complicated closeness with Meer. I wonder why? Of all the poets, I have read and to be honest I don't understand everything that they've penned but somehow understanding Meer came quite easily.

Last time, the hair analogy had raised a few doubts. I have nothing to say on that and instead I'll quote Meer. If Meer can feel the drowsiness of alcohol in someone eyes...why can't I preserve my Delhi's hair? After all Delhi knows that everything she gives becomes a treasure. Her love, her body, her soul, anything. I just touched the surface and I was charmed. I wonder what happened to those for whom she opened her heart......and yes it rained a day after I wrote the last blog.... but this time I couldn't see my sweetheart well, my eyes were clouded........

Hastee apnee Hubaab kee see hai
ye numa'ish suraab kee see hai

My life (existence) is temporary (fragile) just like a bubble,
This exhibition (of the colorful world) is an illusion like mirage.

Naazukee uss ke lab kee kya kahiye
paNkhaRee ik gulaab kee see hai

How can I express the softness of her lips,
They are just like rose petals.

Baar-baar us ke dar pe jaata hooN
Haalat ab iztiraab kee see hai

I rush to her door again and again (in hope of having a glimpse of her),
My anxiety has reached its peak.

Main jo bola kaha ke ye aawaaz
usee KHaanah-KHaraab kee see hai

When she heard my voice, she said,
"This voice is just like the voice of that wretched man (the poet)".

Meer! un neem-baaz aaNkhoN meN
saaree mastee sharaab kee see hai

O Meer! The drowsiness in those dreamy eyes,
Is just like that of wine