Does God exist?

Yes he does. We’ve heard so many tales, worshipped so many idols, he can’t not exist. He has many faces, many names (at times a single God had 108 names).
It’s said, science has no answer to God’s power. God makes every decision. As the Hindi idiom goes, “God ke marzi ke bina, parinda par bhi nahin maar sakta”.

So who is God?

I have tried to narrow down my knowledge about him to one name. Alas! I failed. Some educated people told me that God is not a person but a power whose existence can never be deciphered. He does not have a religion or a Nationality. After years of insightful research and intelligent reading I have finally found him. His name is TRP.

TRP is not a person, but a power that decides the virtuoso of each field. From best channel to the annual package of celebrities, TRP decides it all.

TRP has decided that India TV is the No.1 news channel in India. So what if it does not enlighten us about current affairs. It has always informed us about the power of India. From a sage who can tell the past to a snake which could fly, India TV has always kept us aware of such talent. So what if Indian students died in Cambodia, India TV brought us the inside story of Abhi-Ash wedding. If you want to know about the current affairs, buy a newspaper, it doesn’t cost much.

There was a time when Rishi Munis prayed for years to meet God. Most of them found him, others were distracted by an item number. But, this is 21st century. No one has that much time. Nowadays all you have to do is - a lesbian bikini shoot or get kissed by a singer, and next day you will be the most popular person. Facebook and Twitter will second me on that. Of course, you can cry in front of the camera or pass obnoxious comments about a very popular person on a reality show. You get TRP and most of your dreams are fulfilled.

Thanks to TRP we know Kasab so much, we know about his dreams and aspirations. Else, how would we ever know that he wants to become an actor. I am sure Indian Media will at least get him the khitaab for the ‘Youth Icon’. Who knows tomorrow he might be spotted in an ad for Bournvita or Chyawanprash.

Accept it guys, everyone works for TRP, News channels broadcast footages based on TRP results. Reality shows are scripted; film stars settle their personal scores in front of the media. New shows are created based on TRP’s will, to please him. I bet no one can name a person who is more powerful that TRP. Even the likes of Osama and Obama cannot match him.

Well, if you guys have a different God in mind, please ask him/her to prove that he/she is more sought after than TRP. Ask him to make a reality show which is real, a talent hunt show where cricketers aren’t judges, a news channel which shows footages that don’t feature snake-charmers and a leader whose vision is broader than his state.

International Literacy Day

This poster has been done by my colleagues and me, in Rediffusion (Delhi)

Copywriters - Joybrato Dutta, Shatrughan Tripathi and Utsav Khare

Art Director - Arijit Adhikari

Baaton ki phooljhadi

Train wo jagah hai jahan aapki mulakat kuch anokhe praniyo se hoti hai. Train jitna zyaada ghatiya hoga, anokhapan utna hi badhta jaayega (basically, uniqueness of the characters is inversely proportional to the speed of the train). Muri Express, Dilli se Jamshedpur jaane ke liye sabse ghatiya train. Jahan Rajdhani keval satrah ghante leti hai, yeh train tees ghante leti hai.

Subah ke paanch baje meri yatra shuru hui. Do din se sharer ko neend kam sharab zyaada mili thi. Iss wajah se apna suitcase seat ke neeche lock kar ke main upper-berth par chadne laga. Tabhi atthawan number ke Jha Ji bol pade, “ Aaj ke genarasion ko to jaise deemak kha gayi hai”, phir mere taraf dekh ke bole, “kyun babua, thik bole na hum”? Humne bhi palat ke jawab diya “Ab ka kare uncle ji, aajkal deemak bhi padhne-likhne lagi hai, jiss saaman ka expiry date nazdeek ho, usey muh nahin lagati”.

Mere khopche mein chaar log the, Jha Ji, aur mere alawa do IBM ke launde the. Dono ke hrishpusht sharer dekh ke Jha Ji unhe yoga ke baare samjhaane lage. Humare shareer ne jawab de diya.

Aankhe dopahar ke ek baje khuli. Tab tak Jha Ji aur IBM ke laundo mein achchi dosti ho gayi thi. Woh kuch politics ki baatien kar rahe the. Main bhi neeche utar ke unke saath baith gaya. IBM ke launde ko jaise hi maine bataya ki main advertising mein hun, to woh bade uttejit ho gaye. Sawalon ki goli-baadi shuri hui – Prasoon Joshi Piyush Pandey ka student tha na? Idea ke ‘Bacho ki padhai’ waale ad ko award mila na? Aap sirf Airtel ke ads banate the ya Vodafone ke bhi? Kya aapko saare products free ke milte hai? Kam se kam discount to milta hi hoga? Pata nahin unhe kya maloom tha advertising ke baare. Shayad unhe IBM ka laptop free ka milta hoga. Jawab dete dete khaane aa gaya. Iss bahane kuch der tak to unn zaalimo ke muh par taala lag gaya.

Khaane ke baad maine Jha Ji se unke kaam ke baare poocha. Pata chala wo kisi government firm mein bahut uche pad par karyarat hai (Firm and designation still unknown). Achanak baaju ke khopche se chayalees number waale Poddar Ji aaye. Aate hi bole “Raja Dasharath murkh nahin the”. Jawab dene se pehle unka phone baj utha.

Jha Ji attendant se lekar pantry waaley tak, sabki maar rakhi thi, “Arey yeh kaunsi sabzi hai- Main tum logo ki shikayat kar doonga – website address hai mere paas – AC itna dheere kyun chal raha hai – latrine mein saboon khatam kyun hai.” Finally humari taraf saantwana bhari nigaho se dekh kar bole – “Bacha party, ghabrao mat, inn sabko handle karna aata hai humko”.

Poddar Ji fir entry mare. “Raja Dasarath murkh nahin the. Pata hai kyun?” Hum sab utsook hokar unki taraf dekhne lage. Tabhi unhone meri god mein padi Amitav Ghosh ki kitaab ko dekha. Mere taraf dekh ke bole, “Arey Amitav toh yehin ka ladka hai, Inki biwi German hai. Uska ghar bhi yehin hain”. ‘Yehin’ se unka tatparya Jharkhand tha ya Germany tha, samajh nahin aaya. “Arey main inke ghar gaya hun, unke ghar mein sirf German kitaabe hai”. Jha Ji ko humara vaartalaap mein khaas ruchi nahin aayi, bol pade “Arey Poddarwa oo Dasarath waala ka locha hai?” Fir Poddar Ji ka phone baj gaya.

Inke bakchodiyon se pareshan hokar sooraj bhi dhal gaya. Poddar ji wapas aaye. Aate hi unhone videsho mein Hindustaniyo par badhle zulm ki baatein kehne lagey. Unke kuch dus rishtedaaro ne apne videsh waala karobar ko bandh kar Hindustan laut aaye the. Yeh sun kar Jha Ji bol pade “Arey hum saara duniya ghooma hai, par Jamshedpur se zyaada khoobsurat shehar kahin nahin dekha, sach maano business shuru karne ke liye isse behtar jagah koi nahin hai”. Yeh baat mujhe bahut achi lagi, bhai mere sheher ki tareef ho rahi thi, mujhe kyun na acha lagta.

Ek dum se subah ka bhoola attendant ne humare khopche mein kadam rakha. AC ki thandak aur latrine ka saboon jaise mahatwapoorn maslon ko Jha Ji ne unke samne rakha. Attendant bhi kam na tha, palat ke jawab dena shuru kiya. Dono saans-bahu ke bhaati jhagadne lagey. Saans-bahu ka jhagda ho aur nanad chup rahe, aisa to Hindustan ke kisi ghar mein nahin hota. IBM ke launde bhi bol pade. Yeh sun ke baaju ke khopcho ke aur log bhi aa gaye. Aakhir mein jeet ‘Saans X11’ ki hui.

Agle din subah Poddar ji fir aaye. Fir bole “Raja Dasarath murkh nahin tha”. Iss baar unhone baat poori ki – “Unhone teen shaadiyan ki, kyunki unhe pata tha, ek se guzara nahin hota. Mere khayal se hum sab ko unse seekhna chahiye”. IBM ka ek launda bol pada – “Ye sab granth ka galat matlab kuch tharkey log apne hisaab se nikalte hai aur zindagi ke philosophy me chepne ki koshish karte hai”. Poddar Ji fir jo uth ke gaye, wapas nahin aaye.

Finally train ne Tatanagar ke platform par kadam rakha. Main chupke se bhaag ke apne driver ke paas jaa hi raha tha ki Jha Ji ne haath daboch liya. “Babua, apna number de do, tum se milkar acha laga, agli baar Dilli aaya to tumse zaroor milunga”. Dil par pathar rakh ke maine unhe apna number diya. Toorant unhone missed call maara. “Babua mera number save kar lo, koi dikkat ho to batana”.

Station se bahar aate hi meri nazar ek board par gayi – ‘Patakhe kaan ke liye haanikarak ho sakta hai. Diwali surakshit dhang se maniye’.

The Basterds finally woke up!

Movies mean different things to various people. For some, its sheer fun, some learn from it, some break their monotony and of course there are the unfortunate couples who can’t get a room. For me, it means the first three.

With 2 outstanding movies this weekend, a movie-buff like me couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Inglourious Basterds:

There’s a right way of seeing things and there’s a wrong way, but then comes a third way – The ‘Tarantino’ way. With movies like Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs and Kill Bill, this director has already created a genre of his own. A lot of historians had raised eyebrows the moment they heard Tarantino was making a film based on Hitler’s assassination. But they couldn’t have imagined what Mr. Tarantino had in store for them.

He is the only director who captures gory scenes in a melodramatic way. The death scenes in his film make you smile and your palms bang against each other. IB delivers exactly the same. Power-packed performance, stupendous cinematography and the mesmerising background score makes it one of the best cinematic experience ever.

Christoph Waltz as Col. Hans Landa is one of the toughest and the most intriguing characters ever written in cinema. There has hardly been a villain so cunning yet enjoyable. It’s definitely at par with ‘Joker’ played by Heath Ledger in ‘The Dark Knight’. Brad Pitt proves it that he’s more than just good looks. He’s a versatile actor and can perfect any role.

Even the simplest things which usually a director ignores, has been shot so beautifully. Be it Perrier Lapadite lighting a cigar, or Col. Landa refilling his pen. How can one forget the most beautiful scene of the film – The Shoshhana death scene. But I think Robert Richardson (D.O.P.) doesn’t deserve the applause alone. If it hadn’t been enhanced by Mary Ramos (Music Supervisor), this scene wouldn’t have been what it is – a masterpiece. It’s one of those films where every one in the technical department deserves an appreciation (if not an award). Be it the art directors, the costume designers, make-up artists, the editors and the SFX guys, every one has made a significant contribution to augment the director’s vision.

This film is a must watch for movie lovers. It might not be a true story but it’s definitely more entertaining than the real one.

Wake Up Sid:

It’s definitely an Ayan Mukherjee film rather than a Karan Johar film, for the following reasons:
No exotic locations
No Kajol or Rani
No force-fitted dance numbers
A sensible script

It’s a movie that doesn’t preach you about your future, instead reminds you of your journey so far. Unlike Karan Shergill in Lakshya or Kabir Khan in Chak De! India, Sid won’t find a place in your list of role models. He is simply who we all are – the average guy. WUS tells us that we don’t have to win a war or a World Cup to become heroes.

Ranbir Kapoor is definitely the best actor for this role. He delivered it with utmost simplicity and brilliance. His situations, reactions and his stupidities take you for a walk down the memory lane. He has created a mark and shall no longer be known as Rishi Kapoor’s son.

Konkana Sen has proved it once again. You don’t have to be a brilliant dancer or carry a hot body to become an actress. She delivers her role perfectly. Can’t say much about her, every adjective will be an understatement.

Supriya Pathak is definitely the surprise package. She is the ideal mother – understanding, caring, hilarious and annoying (at times).

The scene where Sid and Rishi patch-up does ring a dormant chord. Anupam Kher is an actor par excellence. All in all it’s a must watch.

Why do I like this movie so much? It’s because I could relate to it.

Fact of life – You don’t discover your talent until someone else figures it out for you.

Thanks to visionaries like Anurag Kashyap, Vishal Bharadwaj, Dibakar Banerjee, Shimit Amin and Ayan Mukherjee, Indian audience won’t have to restrict themselves to over-hyped crap like Kambakht Ishq.

P.S. - I know I don’t deserve to rate a movie, but if Taran Adarsh can, why can’t I.

Yeh kaunsi gali hai?

Khushiyon ke waadiyon pe thi ek gali
Jahan har imaarat ki thi ek apni pehchaan
Par uske khidkiyon pe jo chehre the
Wo nahin tha kisi se anjaan

Na amir garib ka bhed bhao tha, na jaat paat ka
Na mann mein gile shikve na zubaan pe tiraskar tha
Fizaon mein bhi jo khushbo behti thi
Ek jaana pehchaana sa ehsaas karati thi

Par na jaane kab hawaon ne apna rukh moda
Uss mausam mein paudho ne phoolo ka saath choda
Kuch logo ki aagman ne kiya aisa asar
Meri gali ko paraya karne mein rakha nahin koi kasar

Har shaam guzarta hun iss gali se
Par aaj aisa kyun lagta hai ki bahut der kar di lautne mein
Log bi wahi imarat bhi wahi jaani pehchani si hai
To fir uske khidkiyon se jhaakne waale chehre kyun agyaat hai

Kahin andhere mein maine galat mod to nahin le liya
Ya logo ne koi avidit mukhota pehan liya
Iss gali pe to main apni jaan nichawar karta tha
To aaj ye kaisa ehsaas hai, yahan pehle to dum nahin ghut-ta tha

Aapka hukum sirji, aankho par

Office ke darwaaze pe jaise hi kadam rakhte hain
Maano hum mazdooro ke naseeb ke dwaar khul jaate hain
Cabin ka darwaaza iss kadar kholte hain
Maano prakritik aapda ka nidaan ki jaldi hain

Coffee machine ki bhi aukaat nahin
Inhe nakaar sake kya wo jigar hai kahin
Canteen ke bawarchi chahe kuch bhi banaye
Jab tak sajawat hai, tab tak swadisht hai

Biwi ki khit-pit ho, ya bacho ki padhai
Inke sar chadha to samjho shamat aayi
Agar inka mizaz theek hone se pehle aapne kaam dikhaya
To samjho aapne Bhavishya ke Kaleen ko aag lagaya

Facebook karne se wo hume mana karte hai
Par office ki har ladki ko apne friend-list mein add karte hai
Apne laptop pe roz hasgulle padhte hain
Par na jaane kyon hume dikhane se itraate hain

Kaam mein tippani dene se ye peeche nahin rehte
Ye kabhi bhi apne harkato se baaz nahin aate
Ma Baba ki yaad dila dete hain
Jab dimaag moond ke bhavishya ki gyaan dete hain

Kayi baar himmat haar ke sahara talashte hain
Par lagta hai iss shaam ki na raat hain na savera hain
Ye kaisi vipda hai, ye kaisa honsla hai
Raat ke ek baje bhi jaldi ghar jaane ki ummeed hai

Aye mere Boss ke karamchariyon
Zara zameer ko tatol ke ek sawal poocho
Ye kaisi mustaqbil ka sapna liye ghar se chale ho
Jo do waqt ki roti ke chakkar mein apni bhook ko hi bhool gaye ho

My first Beer - Birth of a legend.

Pic - Firangi and I flagging out our favourite T-shirts. Below you'll notice a black thing. It's CMKT's trunk.

Q – What happens when a girl breaks a guy’s heart?

Ans – Two guys become the best of friends.

It was a winter evening of 2003. Firangi and I were sitting in our balcony, speaking about topics which didn’t make sense (about love). With our minds engulfed in dark clouds we hardly saw the next step. Amidst that mist we chanced upon a guy carrying a crate full of beer.

We looked at each other; we’ve never been so sure in our lives. We fled down the staircase. We stared at the board which read ‘ADITYA WINE AND BEER SHOP’.

We had never tried alcohol nor were too friendly with people who were fond of it. Hum to apne Maa-baap ke ache bache the. As a result we weren’t really too sure of the brand and the kind. So considering the budget and the TV ads we decided to get a ‘Haywards 5000’. Of course I decided to pay (Firangi, if you ever happen to read this note, remember I paid for your first social lubricant).

As we were about to enter, my girlfriend called. She resolved our differences. Now, wait a minute, I was about to get drunk because that’s what grown ups with broken hearts do. Now that the damage was re-paired, I had no reason. But I couldn’t leave a man behind. So I stormed into the shop and ordered for two Haywards 5000.

Initially my request was turned down, because we were under-age (we forgot about that). But then I told him that I was from Bihar and my friend was from U.P. That worked. We got the bottles to our apartment.

There was one more problem. My room-mate CMKT was the Nerdiest (MS Word says that’s not a real word) creature on the planet. He wouldn’t allow us to turn our educational abode into a bar. So, we decided to savour it before he returns. No sooner did this idea dawn upon us than the door-bell rang. CMKT was back. With a kingkartavyavimud state of mind we hid the bottles in a trunk. Little did we realise it was CMKT’s trunk.

He wanted to study (as usual), so he opened his trunk to take his books. Have you even been unfortunate enough to watch the entire episode of any Ekta Kapoor soap? You’ll sure see a scene when a particular reaction is replayed thrice, just to reiterate the strength if that particular emotion. That’s exactly what his reaction was. He lectured in a dad-like way. Like prodigal sons Firangi and I took the bottles and walked into the other bedroom.
Beer tasted like shit the first time. But we were so used to taking shit from our fate that we continued consuming it. Finally we finished our beer. We weren’t drunk but we wanted to be drunk, so we got drunk.

Piece of gyaan – Alcohol makes you brave.

Firangi and I stormed in to CMKT’s room and abused him in a way he couldn’t imagine. We scared the shit out of that poor thing. He left the room in tears.

Such was the experience; we decided to face it more times.

And that was the start of two greatest alcoholics our friends will ever know.

Jessica Lall v/s The Police Department

No points for guessing who won the battle. Facts state the answer. March 5, 2006 (6 years after she died), the entire nation came together to fight for her. Armed with nothing but hope and fourteen thousand candles. Our indomitable spirit, dedication and courage will go down in the History books and will inspire generations to fight for justice. Every news channel, newspaper and radio station covered the event.

But, every news channel, newspaper and radio station forgot the police officer who arrested Manu Sharma – the murderer. Do we know about his whereabouts? Is he dead, or is one amongst the unfortunate who live an unknown life?

Such a shame, isn’t it? On one hand we claim to fight all odds and ensure the criminal is sent for trial, on the other we forget the people who did the job for us. Why is it that we always remember the dates and threats, yet forget the people who impeded the cataclysm?

There are numerous examples to reiterate the fact, but that’s not what I am trying to achieve. Each time there is a mishap, a police officer sacrifices his life. For someone they are completely oblivious of. To honour his great deed, his family is felicitated with a cheque of Rs. 1 lakh and a 2 bedroom apartment.

Police officers don’t endorse brands, nor are invited for ‘Page 3’ parties. Sadly, they don’t even make the headlines.

We all know the significance of 15th August, 2nd October, 26th January etc., but do we know the date of Police Commemoration Day?

21st October is the date when the families of police officers (who’ve sacrificed their lives for us) celebrate Police Commemoration day.

On this day, nothing really happens. It’s not a national holiday, no celebrity performance and definitely no media coverage. Which is not to say they want it, but sparing a few minutes would do no harm either.


For once, let’s do things differently.
On 21st October let’s remember the fearless and the forgotten.

Uthlo bayi to Kotok (Cuttack) jayi – Part 2

It’s a proverb in Bengali which means – you plan a trip just before the ‘Scheduled Departure’.

Year 2004 – Bangalore – 1st year of college

Culprits: Surdy and me

Backdrop:

As usual a boring lecture. A truth of life – No matter how good you are, or what field you choose, you’ll always get a boring lecturer.

Surdy and I were attending such a lecture. It was a Monday, Diwali was 5 days away. Surdy looks at me and asks, “Abey Diwali mein ghar chale”. Usually I am very sensible and practical when it comes to answering such ravenous questions. But all I said was “Chal ticket karate hai”. We anxiously waited for the lecture to get over. Once the Ghanti rang, we stepped out.

Bus no. 283-A, the bus that goes to Bangalore station. We boarded the bus and left the college vicinity. On the way various thoughts like, “what’ll happen if we don’t get the ticket”, or “if college decides to check attendance”, lingered in our mind. But these petty thoughts can’t dampen valiant spirits. We reached the ‘Reservation Counter’.

Wish the queue on ‘Election Day’ would have been that long. It seemed, everyone was leaving for their hometown and finally Bangalorians will have their dream come true – A city free of Northies.

The man at the ticket counter was a very patient man, or may be he was glad to see a couple of educated louts. He checked for availability in a couple of trains and finally gave us the tickets for the worst train possible. Allepy-Tata express. We had to board that train from Chennai.

The connecting train was late. By the time we reached Chennai station we just had 2 minutes. Have you ever seen Shah Rukh Khan running in Karan Johar flicks, our running wasn’t the same. We ran more like Mithun Da (when there’s a bullet chasing him). By the time we reached our train our balls were in our mouth (Literal translation of – Gote muh mein aa gaye the). As we boarded the train there was some announcement, hard for us to decipher (Tamil). But, some learned man told us that our train had been postponed by 30 minutes. We were too tired to react so all that came out of our mouth was:

WHAAAAAAATDAAAFAAAAAK?

Finally our journey started and we left the malodorous station of Chennai.

The patient man at the ticket counter forgot to mention that this was a Honeymoon Train (By the way I am talking about an era when two men going for honeymoon was illegal). It stopped at every exotic location, doesn’t matter if there wasn’t a station within miles. At times it stopped for hours.
Finally after a struggle of 36 hours we reached Jamshedpur.

Did I mention earlier that this trip was supposed to be a surprise visit?

Q – What happens when you pay a surprise visit to your family?

Ans. – 60% chances are - you’ll be surprised.

As I reached home I saw what I wanted, a surprised expression on the face of Mom and Dad. But then I saw something I didn’t want to. My
not-so-close-relatives had decided to celebrate Diwali with my family as well.

Well I guess such trips are filled with excitement and adventure, but it has its disadvantages as well.

Uthlo bayi to Kotok (Cuttack) jayi – Part 1

It’s a proverb in Bengali which means – you plan a trip just before the ‘Scheduled Departure’.

Year 2003 – Pune

Culprits – Brandy, Bhajji, Apart, Casanova, Backstabber, CMKT, Firangi, Asshole, Bigboss (a tribute to our favourite brand of condoms) and me

The backdrop:

Our 2nd Unit Test just got over, we had booze, cards and of course a never-ending stock of ‘Faf’. As we entered the 3rd round of Booze and Bakchodi my door bell rang. It was our dear friend Asshole, who had a plan. “Let’s go to Sinhgad Fort”, he screamed. We looked at the watch - 1 am, perfect time to lose our mind.

The trip:

Vroommmm vrooooooom vrrroooooooom. That’s all our neighbours must have heard. 5 bikes set out to cruise the fuckall roads of Pune. On the way we stopped at Khadakvasla at 4 am. Ideally it should have been a 90 min drive, but thanks to the fabulous road-sense of Asshole and Backstabber, we discovered a lot more about Pune than we should have. As we were fafing on the banks, CMKT got a call he couldn’t ignore. Nature’s Call.

Q - When all you see around, is open verdant space, how do you answer nature’s call?

Ans. – Run as far as you can from eyesight.

Suddenly Asshole got a call from home, and the asshole had to leave. Now 10:5 is a good ratio. Can’t say the same for 9:4. We had to drop the idea of ‘Sunrise at Sinhgad’ and return. Now there were 3 of us sitting on Apart’s bike, Bhajji the driver, Bigboss and myself. On the way Firangi and Apart came up with a brilliant (uss waqt laga tha) idea. “Let’s go to Budhwar Peth”. For people who’ve never been to Pune, let me tell you I am talking about the red-light area of Pune. But ya it’s nothing as compared to ‘Shona Gachi’ of Kolkata (Kolkata Rocks!!!). Now, of the 9 leftover culprits 4 felt it’s a perilous idea. But 5 of us thought, it was the perfect age for such perils.

So we turned our bikes towards BP. I had never been more excited in life; actually all of us were except Bhajji who was driving a Pulsar 180 (actually it was a Pulsar 150 with a sticker of '180' on it), with his balls getting crushed against the petrol tank. Chants of ‘Budhwar Peth here I come’ and ‘Don’t worry whores the pricks are here’ filled the air. Once we entered the BP vicinity, we experienced an adrenaline rush. This time it wasn’t the BP peril, instead was created by a couple of cops who stopped us. Three people on a bike, no license, no helmets, little bit drunk, enough reasons for a night behind bars. Par jab tak dimag chalega humaari saanse chalegi.

“Kuthe” –the cop asked. “Sir Sasoon Hospital” Apart answered. One good thing Brandy did in his life was he gave me the visiting card of a highly respected Shiv Senani. I flagged it out to the cop. “This is our uncle, his son and my dear friend is admitted in the hospital.” The cops had no other choice but to let us go. With pride and alacrity in out heart we drove home and promised never to talk about that night to anyone.

5 drunk Jr. College students, caught in BP. Not one of the gossips, we’d like to be a part of.

P.S. – Sorry Bhajji, Apart, Bigboss, and Casanova.

Random thoughts of an I-don't-want-to-be-committed guy.

Zindagi ke niyamo ko Khuda hi jaane
Jab talash thi ek saathi ki
Koi saath na tha
Aur ab jab akelepan bhaa ne lagi
To akelapan na raha

The late night parties, the late night conversations
When nothing could demise our temptation
Was it simply a dream?
Funny but now it seems like a divine scheme

Kitna mushkil hota hai faisla lena
Ye dimaag ke kiss taar ko dil ne cheda
Kya saboot hai ki wo alag hai unn sabse
Jinn ulfato ko bhoolane ki koshish kar raha hun kabse

When destiny has administered all my decisions
Then why give me the I’ll-decide-provision
Tell me destiny, is she the answer to my prayers
Or is she no different from you angels, who left me in despair

Na yeh koi jung hai na mai koi sipahi
Jo anjaam ki parwah kiye bina jaari rakhu ye ladhai
Par mann mei kabhi kabhi ek ajeeb si chinta utpann hoti hai
Kya mera beeta hua kal har kal se bewafai karega

May be its time to move on, to forgive the past
To do things, that leaves an impression that can't be surpassed
Let’s create new moments, let’s sing new songs
Let’s forget the past, let’s go where we belong

Love cannot be created nor destroyed. It can only be forwarded from one person to another.

Damm! I didn’t do that. Never forwarded my love or affection to anyone. And here I am today, without friends, without anyone I can love. I am more than ashamed to break this news to you dear ‘Family & Friends’, that I don’t love you nor do I care for you.

A few days back I had a lot of friends and I loved my family as well. But then, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I forgot to share a sob story.

It was a Monday evening when I received an I-decide-what-you-deserve-mail in my inbox. It was a story about a couple who faced the worst hurdles one can imagine. That story broke my heart and left me in tears. As any other mortal creature I don’t keep anything that makes me sad or gloomy. So I deleted that mail. No sooner did I click ’Delete’ than a realisation dawned upon me. The last line of the mail.

“If you love someone, send this mail to 25 people, or you’ll lose everyone you love. “

Boy, how could I’ve missed that? How can I be so careless that I ignore the one mail which could have proved my love for others?

‘Friends & Family’, if you are reading this I would like to apologise for my carelessness and hope you guys forgive me for my sanity.

Or you can all delete such I-decide-what-you-deserve-mails so that none of us are left with any one we love. That would be the mark of a fresh beginning to humanity and sanity.

(picture courtesy - www.static.squidoo.com)

Mera Bharat mahaan…….

Ye hain Hindustaan meri jaan
Yahan dakshin hai uttar se anjaan

Yahan har rajya ki hai ek apni bhasha
Bhool jaate hai, ki kya hai rashtriya bhasha

Sharab ke vigyapan se hume sankoch hai
Par ‘dry day’ ke din har gali, bas isi ki khoj hai

Rashtriya geet ka ched-chad inhe pasand nahin
Par usey likhne waale ka naam inhe yaad nahin

Koi Assam ka banda dhang ki hindi bol de
To hum kehte hai “Bhaiya tum Assam ke ho nahin sakte”

Ma aur behno ko hum bahut izzat dete
Afsoos, unka sabse zyaada zikr hum gaaliyon mein hi karte

Sarkaar ko gaali dene mein koi peeche nahin rehta hai
Par election ke din vote dene bas sattawan pratishad hi jaata hai

Mirza Gaalib aur Munshi Premchand ko hum sab hai jaante
Par bache aaj bhi T.S. Elliot ki zubaan hai kehte

Angrezi filmo se chapne ko ‘Copycat’ kehte hai
Par hindi filmo ki duniya ko aaj bhi ‘Bollywood’ kehte hai

Jinn videshi khiladiyon ka hum tiraskaar karte hain
IPL mein unhi ke liye hum seeti bajate hain

Basath saal pehle humne angrezo ko nikaala tha
Ye keh kar ki ‘wo yahan ke nahin hai’
Aaj har state se koi nikal raha hai
Yeh sochkar ki ‘wo yahan ke nahin hai’

Dastak!!!

Viraaniyon mei goonjti thi dastak
Akelepan ko door karti thi dastak

Jinki aawaz se khushnuma thi mehfil
Aaj unhi yaadon mei uljhi hui dastak

Har mod har simt fir fanaa ho gayi
Adaavat se bhari jo aayi thi dastak

Wo ulfat thi ya thi zindagi ki kashmakash
Aaj bhi chaunk jaata hun jab aati hai dastak

Kabhi hum bhi shumar the deewano ki ginti mei
Par aaj koi nahin deta iss dil pe dastak

My husband made me a prostitute.

But he didn’t have to force me. I volunteered myself. Initially my family and my in laws had a problem, but now they’ve adjusted to my new lifestyle.

In my profession I get to meet various kinds of people everyday, mostly brats and unsatisfied husbands. The more I see them the more my heart fills with pride, because I know my husband would never do something like this.

A few months back I hated prostitutes, obviously then I’d never thought I would become one. But now my perception has changed. It gives me a new name everyday, not to mention a new man as well.

The pimp who gave me this job makes sure I sleep with safe customers. He even suggested I undergo tubectomy, to avoid any sort of hindrance. I am considering his suggestion but I guess I’ll have to take my husband’s permission. But I’ll have to wait for it, because he doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He is in coma. The doctor says he needs to be operated within 2 months. We’ve sold our houses, our cars. Our parents are too old to work. With the education I have, prostitution wasn’t the only option, but I chose it, because it was the highest paid.

Sometimes I wish he hadn’t left for the party that Saturday. That’s when the truck hit him. My doctor says his spinal cord had been shattered, and it’s a miracle that he survived.

I am sure this isn’t the future he had planned for me, but I don’t mind living it. May be I die everyday, but I’m sure my husband will live one day.



It’s your family who’ll pay the price.
Don’t drink and drive.

Issued in public interest by the author of this blog.

You are no longer the same person.

We change as soon as we say, “Mera placement ho gaya”, only to realise that we’ve turned a lot of eyes green. People who we stayed with, people who've cleaned our homes after a Saturday night party (let’s not forget there’s many who puke). Such people develop a new talent ‘Back-biting’. I am sure we’ve all heard quotes like “Zyaada bhao mat kha” or “maloom hai ab tu bada aadmi ban gaya hai”, when you know none of that is true.

“You can take shit till you can handle it, once the line is crossed you give it back.”

That’s when you become a no-longer-the-same-person.

But, things get worse when you start working. You miss out on parties, evening faf-talks, latest gossips and of course you are always late for your date. There are times when you refuse to go to a party, just because you have an early morning meeting the next day. Your friends feel that your priorities have changed. What they fail to realise is that, it’s not the priorities that have changed but, your responsibilities have increased.

There are times love birds break-up just because they don’t find time for each other. At least that’s what they like to believe. People wit a gigantic ego can’t accept the fact that their guy /girl has started earning before them. Things go worse when he / she calls, and you say “hey honey I am in the middle of an important meeting, I’ll call you as soon as it’s over.” Then onwards you are no longer an understanding or a caring person. Hence you are no longer the same person.

Initially I thought such things happen with everyone, but later I realised a little bit of maturity and patience can help you survive the transition period.

So I guess once you start earning you do lose a lot, your party-animal recognition, important parties where you speak not so important facts, always-there-for-you pals and if it’s a worst case scenario you lose you sanity.

But, these are the times that make you realise the true gems of your life. Friends who always understood you, who never asked more than one question, who understood your responsibilities and was matured enough to give you the much need space. Well I guess they are same people who know so well that for them you’ll always remain the same person.