Zindagi jhand hai phir bhi ghamand hai, charo aur ladkiya hai phir bhi haatho mein………. hai.
Sheher mein rehta to ghamand ko kayi baar thes pahunchta. Yehi soch kar mai wapas apne gaon Chamiyatown chala aaya. Socha koi dhanda shuru kar lunga. Sheher ne do hi cheez sikhaya tha - ghodo par betting aur doosro ki setting. Betting ke paise abb setting se doogna karne ke vichar se mai gaon mein ek pyaar ka consultant bana.
Bhaai maamla simple tha. Launde ko chahiye laundiya aur laundiya ko chahiye launde par inn me se kisi ko nahin aata tha patane ke fundey. To mai inhi masumo ke maseeha banke pahunch gaya.
Abb gaon mein TVC, radio spot, print ad, poster, dangler, loha lasoon prakaar ke advertising to hoti nahin. To mai bhopu lekar shuru ho gaya
Deviyo aur sajjano
Suniye suniye aur sunte jaiyye
Intezar ki ghadi hui khatam
Mohabbat ke kaksha mein abb aap aayenge pratham
Ameer ho ya gareeb
Hamesha hoga koi na koi kareeb
So kholiye dil ka darwaza
And say shaava shaava
Kyunki aa gaya hai aapka maseeha
Ishq da dhaaba
Iske saath maine bajaye gaon ka most romantic gaana “Khulla hai mera pinjra aa meri maina, chura na aise ankhiya ladne de naina, Haaaaaaaaaaan”
Mere pehle grahak the Humraaz gang ke leader Abbas Stepneywaala.
Abbas – aur hero dhanda kaise chal raha hai
Me – bas bhaai dua hai aapki
Abbas – yaar bas bhaai se dua hi lega ki kuch dega bhi
Me – hukum kijiye bhaai
Abbas Bhaai mere table par padey kuch ex and y Miss Chamiyatown ki photos ko dekhne lagey.
Abbas – yeh laundiya jawan lagti hai, kitne ki hai
Me – ji pachhis ki
Abbas – sau ya hazar
Me – ji matlab
Abbas – abbey pachhis sau ki ya pachhis hazar ki
Me – ji yeh pachhis saal ki hai
“Abbey rate bata”
Me(clearing my throat) – sir mai date set karta hun rate nahin
Abbas – abbey kamaal karta hai. Dukaan ka naam hai dhaaba aur jab khaane ka daam poocha to mana karta hai
Me - ji aapko galat faimi hui, mai yahan ladkiyo ke saath setting karwaata hun. Agar aapko kisi se pyaar hai to mai aapki setting karwa sakta hun.
Abbas (disappointed) – bhakk saala. Pyaar. Abbey pyaar to humko har doosre din hota hai. Aur setting to hum khud ki karwa sakta hai. Ladki ke ghar do hazar bhej deta hun. Maani to theek, nahin to uthwa leta hun.
Me (in a very phati huyi condition) – sahi karte hai bhaai. Aap mahaan ho bhaai. Par kya hai har koi aap jaisa nahin hai na. isliye unki madad ke liye maine yeh dukaan khola hai.
Abbas bhaai left with dejection. Pehla grahak disappointed. Bad omen. But himmat nahin haara maine.
Doosra grahak tha gaon ka sabse coolest playboy. Naam tha Jhaikisan Sharafat
Aate hi bole “call me Jhak”
Jhak – Bhattsaab doodh
Me – Humra naam Bhatt nahin, aur naahi hum doodh bechte hain
Jhak – ha ha ha. You coming from city. Your spoken English is ssit.
Me – to aaapko koi
Jhak – yo man. English talk to me. Hindi is below aukaat.
Me – ok. So do you like anyone?
Jhak – girl name Rita, sister name Sita, mother name Sangeeta, and babuji sells pheeta. Aur usi ne mera dil hai jeeta
Me (after cracking the riddle) – babuji ne?
Jhak – Ritaaaaaaaaaaaa Rita you fool
Me – so do you love her?
Jhak – no no no. her body big. Backside bigger. I want the girl. Ma babuji want bachha. Total mamla sex mein nipta.
Me – sorry but I don’t deal with sex. I will help only if you are in love.
Jhak – abbey jaa winner kahin ka
Me (dumbfounded) – winner?!? Are you trying to call me a loser?
Jhak – abbey tu kaahe ka loser tuney to abb tak virginity bhi lose nahin kiya hoga. To tu kahe ka loser.
Yeh keh ke Jhak humara jhak marwa ke nikal liye. Sar phat chukka tha aur pichwada chipak chukka tha. Itne mein ek bewde ne kadam rakha. Andar aaye aur bade pyaar se apne tashreef ko kursi par rakh diya.
Me – ji mai kaise aapki seva kar sakta hun
Bewda – ek chicken tandoori, ek kaleji fry aur paanch naan. Aur thande mein kya hai?
Me – ji yeh koi dhaaba nahin hai
Bewde – abbey bewda maar ke baitha hai kya. Baahar itna bada board mein likha hai.
Me – ji yeh ishq ka dhaaba hai
Bewda – ishq? Veg hai ya non-veg
Kisi tarah apne gusse ko shaant kar mai uss bewde ko baahar nikaala. Thaka hara mai wapas apni kursi par baitha ki woh balkhaate huye aa gayi. Chamiyatown ki highest TRP waali Miss Baaki Sawant.
Baaki – ji my name ijj Baaki
Me – of course aapko kaun nahin jaanta. Kahiye mai kaise aapki……
Baaki – Ji mai Jejus pe bahut trust karti hun. Jejus ne hamesha mera saath diya. Jesus har dookh mein mere saath rehte hai. Jejus nahin hotey to main nahin hoti. Kal raat Jejus mere sapne mein aaye, boley aapke dukan mein mujhe Jejus jaisa ladka milega. To mai aapke dukaan mein Jejus jaisa ladka dhundne aayi hun.
Me – ji yeh to thoda tough hai
Baaki – dekjhiye agar aap meri help nahin karenge to Jejus bahut naraaz honge.
Me (dharam sankat mein) – dekhiye waise to ek ladka hai. Aaj ke yug mein wahi Jejus hai.
Baaki – kya naam hai
Me – TRP
Baaki – ji?
Me – Aaj ke date mein TRP hi bhagwan hai, wahi decide karta hai kaun jeeta kaun haara, kaun hit hai kaun flop hai. Aapke liye TRP is sabse apt hoga. Mai jald hi aapka setting karwaata hun.
Baaki Sawant khush ho gayi apni cleavage ki ek jhalak dikhakar chali gayi.Woh dekh mere totey udd gaye, saath mein ande bhi le gaye. Dil mein dhande ko aage badhane ki hui tarang.
Aa gaye agle grahak. Pyaar mein harey huye ek bhooke sher. Naam tha inka Khaskar Laundry.
Me – to Khaaskar ji, kya karte hai aap
Khaaskar – Ji mai chitrakaar hun
Me – waah lajawab. To kahiye aapko kissey pyaar hai
Khaaskar – ji pyaar par se to mera vishwas uth gaya hota, agar woh naa aayi hoti.
Mere wann mein hiran
Mere darkness ki kiran
Woh hai mere pyaar ka bubble
Jiske saath mai hona chahta hun double
Me – Bhaai waah, aap chitrakaar kam aur lekhak zyaada maloom padhte hai
Khaskar – Ji bas raunchypana jab hadd se guzar jaaye to gaa lete hai
Ladkiyo ke baap ke land par shabdo ke ped gaad dete hai
Me – Ji aapke aawaz ne to mujhe Rafi sahab ki yaad dila di
Khaaskar – Khamosh!!! Dobara aisi baatein mat karma, warna mai tumhe friend-list se hata dunga.
Me – ok ok relax. To naam kya hai aapke iss bubbleti kiran ka
Khaskar – Naam mat pooch. Itna pyaar hai ki zubaan par naam nahin laa sakta
Me – kamsekam tasveer to hogi
Khaskar – ji nahin
Me – kamal hai. Pyaar karte ho aur tasveer bhi nahin hai
Khakar (annoyed) – kya Majnu ke paas Laila ki tasveer thi, Kya Ranjhe ke paas Heer ki tasveer thi, Kya Bappa ke paas Bappi ki tasveer thi
Me – acha naraaz mat hoiyye. Kam se kam pata to batiye
Khaskar – yaahan se meelo durr ek gaon hai jiska naam hai
Khanak-churi. Wahin rehti hai woh.
Me – Khaskar ji. Aapka pyaar mujhe sachha lagta hai, aapka saath mujhe achha lagta hai. Mai aapki madad zaroor karunga. Hum kal ki Khanakchuri jaayenge. Ek baar mai mil lun. Phir aapki setting guaranteed.
Khaskar ji prasann huye aur jaate jaate Kishore Da ka ek geet suna gaye.
Shaam ho gayi thi. Dukaan bandh karne ka waqt ho gaya tha. Mai bas nikalne ki taiyyari kar hi raha tha ki, aa gaye ek aur grahak. Naam tha inka Toy Toota.
Toy – Ji hum Toy hai
Me – To kahiye Toy Ji kisne aapko chaabi ki
Toy – Ek Bangaali ladki ne. Naam hai Beerpina Dorkaar
Me – Waah kya madhosh naam hai. Koi tasveer hai aapke paas
Toy – Ji mere blog pe hai. Aapke yahan net connection hai?
Me – ji hai. Link bataiye
Toy – bullkiraakh.slogspot.com
Me – waah kya naam hai
Toy – achha jab aapne blog khola hi hai to mere kahani padh ke phatafat ek comment kijiye na
Me – ji zaroor padhunga, pehle aap apni kahani to bataiye
Toy – arey main kahan bhaaga jaa raha hun. Padhiye comment kijiye phir baat karte hai
Cut to 4 posts par comment maarne ke baad
Me (pareshan ho kar) – Toy ji abb to bataiyye. Koi tasveer hai aapke paas
Toy Ji ne tasveer nikaal ke saamne rakh diya
Me – Toy Ji beer ki nahin beerpeene waali ki tasveer dikhaiye
Finally Toy Ji ne apne album mein kaafi ladkiyo ke tasveero mein se ek tasveer nikal ke diya.
Allah kasam ladki to bambilaak maal thi. Toy Ji jaise jaise uske bare bolne lage, humara charitra waise waise phisalta gaya.
Kahani ke anth tak humey beerpeene waali se pyaar ho gaya. Phir humara professionalism jaag utha. Humey laga ki yeh dukaan humne doosro ke bhalai ke liye khola hai. Lekin phir humne socha ki agar dhande mein munafa na ho to dhande ka fayda kya. To humne Toy Ji ka patta kaatna shuru kiya.
Me – Toy ji, bura mat maniye par humko laundiya theek nahin lagi
Toy – kaahe?!? kaisi baatey kar rahe ho, ladki to achhi hai
Me – Kahan Toy Ji? Ladki kitni peeti hai, peene ke baad kitna bakwas karti hogi. Abb aap to samjhenge, kal ko gharwaalo ko tang karegi, phir mohalle waalo ko. Aisi ladki ke saath..
Toy – bakwas aap kar rahe hai. Uske bare bura mat kahiye. Woh meri Dorkaar hai.
Me – Toy Ji, zara apne hunar ko pehchaniye. Aap itne jaane mane blogwriter hai, aapke dil mein hi nahin album mein bhi ladkiyo ki bheed hai. Aap chahe to kya kuch nahin kar sakte. Arey aap jis par ungli rakhenge wahi pategi. In fact aapke liye mere nazar mein ek bahut hi khoobsoorat ladki hai. Naam hai Kateena Saif
Jiss tarah loha lohe ko kaat-ta hai, usti tarah ek khoobsurat ladki hi doosre khoobsurat ladki ka patta kaat sakta hai. Kateena ne patta kaata. Uski tasveer ne maano Toy ke dil ko chaata. Toy khusi se hua paagal. Dobara uske aankho ke saamne chaa gaya pyaar ke baadal.
Toy – yehi yehi chahiye mujhe. Aap bhagwaan ho. Mohabbat ke farmaan ho, nahane ka saaman ho. Mujhe isi ladki ke saath setting karni hai.
Toy Ji ko maine kiya setting ka waada. Toy Ji khush hokar chale gaye. Humne bhi apne dukaaan ka shutter down kiya. Subah jaldi uthna bhi to tha. Aakhir Khaaskar Ji ki setting bhi to karwani thi. Par dil khush tha, kyunki aaj mujhe mere dhande ki taakt samajh aayi. Mohabbat karne waalo abb to tumhaari shaamat aayi.
…………………………to be continued
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Love Cartridge
Chapter 1 - The Last Bullet
Day - Friday, June 13, 2008
Time – 9:30 PM
Shopkeepers close down the shutters as Harsh drives a black Alto through the narrow cramped lanes of Birsanagar. Not the best lanes for people who love driving. Harsh steers his car in a narrower lane and parks it there. He walks down the narrow lane and climbs up a flight of stairs. As he unlocks his door he senses the presence of another soul. His intense eyes frantically looks everywhere. Unable to spot a shadow, he enters the room..
He picks a bottle of Old Monk and drops in a few tablets in it. Pulls a chair. Turns on his laptop. Composes a mail.
To: neha_luvsu@yahoo.com
Subject: Where are you? :( :(
Hey, m sorry
BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A bullet pierces Harsh’s skull. His corpse lies flat on the floor. Blood spilled on the laptop and on a photo frame that enshrined Harsh’s and Riya’s most special moment.
Neha removes her black hood and comes closer to Harsh’s dead body. She looks at the photo frame and empties the cartridge on Harsh. She sets his apartment on fire and leaves.
Chapter 2 – The Assured Bullet
Day – Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Time – 6:30 PM
“Yeh fiza itni madhosh hai
Kyunki isme tumhari saanse basi hai
Yeh sham itni khoobsurat hai
Kyunki isme..............”
“Stop it Harsh, mai mazak ke mood mein hain hun”, Riya screams agitatedly. Harsh quietly rises from his kneeling pose and sits beside Riya on the bench.
“Abb jaane bhi do, kuch na kuch raasta nikal aayega” Harsh consoles Riya
“Kab raasta niklega. Tumhe to jaise koi fikr hi nahin”
Harsh caresses Riya’s soft hair and says “Fikhr hai, bharosa rakho, mai jald hi kuch...
Riya looks at Harsh. Tears roll down from the corner of her eyes to the corner of her cheeks.
“Monday ko papa mujhe Munger le jaa rahe hai. Wahan unhone ladka pasand kiya hai. Brahmin hai. Wahin shaadi karwa denge”.
Harsh hugged Riya. “Don’t worry sab theek ho jaayega”, Harsh tries to comfort Riya
“Tum log kahin bhaag kyun nahin jaate” Neha screams from behind.
“Neha tu yahan?” Riya asks curiously
“Sorry Didi, friends’ ke saath aayi thi, aapko dekha to bas aa gayi” she says as she kissed Riya on her forehead.
“To Harsh, mai yeh keh rahi thi tum didi ko bhaga ke kyun nahin le jaate”
Riya interrupts “Bewakufi ki baatein mat karo, papa maar dalenge”
“Kuch dino ki baat hai didi, Harsh aapko bhaga kar Kareli le jaayega, wahan kuch din reh lena.”
“Papa dhund lenge” Riya interrupts
“India ke map mein koi Kareli ko dhund nahi sakta aapko Kareli mein kahan se dhund lenge.” Neha smirks as she retorts
“Ek baar hum Kareli pahunch jaaye, wahan koi humara baal bhi baaka nahi kar sakta” Harsh assures
Riya and Neha look at Harsh. His eyes provided assurance.
“Tumhe chutti mil jaayegi?” Riya inquires
“Chutti kisey chahiye? Tum par aise sau Tata Motors kurbaan”
They hug each other as Neha leaves them to have a private moment.
Chapter 3 – The Planned Bullet
Day – Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Time – 9:00 PM
Vikrant parks his car as he answers his phone.
“Hello Vikrant, Harsh bol raha hun” Harsh’s tensed voice spoke from the other end.
“Kya hua Harsh pareshan kyun hai”
“Bhaai kal teri gaadi chahiye”
“Hatt saaley, girlfriend ko chamkane ke liye meri gaadi mili tere ko?”
“Chamkana nahin hai bhaai, bhagaana hai”
Kya? Matlab?
Harsh explains his situation to Vikrant. His helpless condition compels Vikrant to help. He pauses for a moment and asks, “Plan kya hai?”
“Kal raat ko kareeb 11 baje, Mai Riya ko Ram Mandir ke saamne se pick karunga. Phir raat ko hi hum Kalkatta nikal lenge. Jahan mera Chachera bhaai rehta hai. Uske yahan teri gaadi rakhwa kar hum subah ki flight pakad kar Bhopal chale jaayenge. Wahan se phir Kareli”
Vikrant thinks for a moment and says “Plan to thik hai, par Riya ke baap ko bhanak bhi lagi to tu kat jaayega”
“Ghabra mat tere aur mere alawa yeh baat sirf Riya aur Neha jaante hai.” Harsh assures him.
Chapter 4 – The Mistimed Bullet
Day – Thursday, June 12, 2008
Time – 10:30 PM
Neha drives the car through water-clogged streets as Riya checks her bag. “Didi kya dhund rahi ho?”
“Bas check kar rahi hun, make-up ka saara saaman liya ki nahin” she chuckles as she says.
Rain starts pouring heavily as they get closer to their destination. Riya is constantly glued to her phone and her face gets tensed.
“Kya hua didi, pareshan kyun ho rahi ho” Neha inquires
“Harsh apna phone nahin utha raha hai” Riya answers in a tensed way
“Uffo Didi woh drive kar raha hoga, usey bhi utni hi jaldi hai jitni ki humey”
She drives through a forsaken lane and parks the car behind the temple. As soon as Neha gets off the car something hits her head and she falls unconscious on the ground.
After sometime Neha regains consciousness. She finds herself in the car. She hurries out of the car and tries to find Riya. Tries Riya’s number. But phone was switched off. She looks at the watch; it was 11:15 PM. She cries out loud. But all she heard was her echo. She runs all around the temple. She looks for Riya everywhere possible. Her worst nightmare came true. And she had no idea who to call. She tried calling Harsh, but he didn’t answer his call. She didn’t have Vikrant’s number. She cries helplessly.
Suddenly she notices Riya’s bag at a distance. She runs towards it, but only finds Riya’s burnt clothes. She carefully looks on the ground and notices blood. Horror strikes her.
Fear and sadness crept into her. She runs towards her car. Suddenly she sees Harsh. She notices his blood stained hands, and hides behind a bush. Harsh’s shirt was drenched in blood. He was searching the car frantically. Neha’s eyes were glued to Harsh’s blood stained hands. Assumptions turned into convictions
“It was him. He killed Riya? But why?” she thought to herself.
Vengeance swept away the fear in her. She could not believe her eyes. She came out of her hiding as soon as Harsh left. She sat in her car and drove away as fast as she could. A solemn oath strengthened her: “You will pay for this Harsh”
Chapter 5 – The Deceitful Bullet
Day – Thursday, June 12, 2008
Time – 10:15 PM
Harsh was on his way to Ram Mandir. Enthused spirit. Alacrity in the heart. . Although it was a rainy day but the adrenaline rush glued Harsh’s feet to the accelerator, while his palm answered Vikrant’s call.
“Haan Vik wassup man”
“Wassup ke bachhe kahan pahuncha hai”
“Bas aur 10 minute mein pahunch jaunga
“Sahi hai Riya ko pick karne ke baad call karna”
“Pukka karta hun”
“Chal best of luck. Happy journey”
Harsh disconnected the call
Thud!!!!!!! Screeeeech!!!!!!
Harsh’s vehicle hit something. He manoeuvres the steering as fast as he could and stops the car just before it could crash against a tree. He steps out of his car. To his misfortune he finds a little girl lying on the street. He runs towards her. She was unconscious and covered in blood. Panic struck. He lifted the girl and put her in the car. Amidst this chaos Harsh drops his phone on the road without realising.
He takes the little girl to the hospital, where she is taken to the emergency ward. Harsh looks at his watch which was wrapped around his blood stained wrists. It was 11:30 PM. He looks for his phone, but is unable to find it. His clothes were soaked in the little girl’s blood. He runs out of the hospital, gets into the car and drives as fast as he could. He reaches Ram Mandir. He notices Riya’s car. He searches the car all over. He does not find her. “Riya’s father must have taken her back”, he thinks to himself.
He sits in his car and drives away. He returns to the hospital. The doctor tells him that the little girl is ok. But her family needs to be contacted. By the look of the clothes she looked like a street urchin. Harsh took her responsibility.
He goes to the hospital’s reception and calls Riya. Her phone was not reachable. He calls Neha. She didn’t answer. Harsh had Riya’s landline number, but he didn’t have the guts to call. He called Vikrant and explained everything.
Vikrant rushed to the hospital. He paid the bills and took Harsh with him.
Harsh cried all night. He had no idea what had happened to Riya. He could not contact Riya or Neha. Unanswered questions didn’t let him rest.
Next morning Harsh finally had the guts to call Riya on her landline. A rugged voice answered.
“Uncle Riya hai?” harsh asks politely
“Tu wahi launda hai na, madarjaat tu kata, teri wajah se Riya gayi, abb tu bhi katega, tu nahi bachega, saaley neechi jaati ke madarchod.
Riya gayi matlab? A cold shiver passed through Harsh’s veins as he asked this question?
“Abbey uske baap ne usey katwa kar uske tukde wahin Ram Mandir ke agey jheel mein phenk diye. Abb tu bhi jaageya madarjaat
Harsh hung up. He could not believe his ears. Riya was dead. She was murdered. Brutally. His love killed her. He cried out loud, but no voice was heard. His shrieking shout scared Vikrant who came running to him. Harsh collapsed.
Chapter 6 – The Unforgiving Bullet
Day - Friday, June 13, 2008
Time – 8:30 PM
Harsh regained consciousness. Vikrant was not at home. On a post-it he had mentioned that he is going out for some work and will be back by 9. Vikrant had left his car for Harsh. Harsh took the keys and ran out of the house. He was driven by anger, by fear, by sadness, by vengeance but at the end it was regret that overshadowed every other emotion. He stopped at a medical store and bought a bottle of rat poison and drove away to his house in Birsanagar.
Neha was already there, hiding behind a tree, waiting for him. She followed Harsh as he climbed up the stairs. She hid herself as soon as Harsh was unlocking the door. Vengeance blindfolded her. She blocked the lock.
Harsh didn’t realise. He poured the tablets in a bottle of Old Monk. He switched on his laptop and started typing.
Neha knew this was the opportunity. She entered the room and shot Harsh on the head. She went closer to check his body. She looks at Riya’s photo fires the remaining 5 bullets.
Cartridge Over!!!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Seat number 27
Warning - Long Post
Chapter 1
Red lights. Traffic. Cars honking. Dust. And finally after I finished my third cigarette I reached the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. The struggle from Mahim to CST wasn’t half struggling as compared to the struggle I struggled to reach my platform. Phew!!! Just on time for my train – Duronto Express
B2/ Seat no. 28, ideally should have been an easy find. But not when a pack of family, friends, relatives, neighbours, etc. come to bid farewell to that one traveller. Thanks to Mumbai locals I knew the USP of elbows and knees. After battling my way through the aisle I reached my seat. I kept my luggage on the upper-berth and took the window seat.
“Excuse me! Is this your luggage?” a soft voice said. I nodded, but before I could say anything she continued “That’s my berth, please remove your luggage, seat number 27 is mine”. With reluctance on my face I removed my luggage. Her hiccups told me that my abuses were delivered.
After a short nap, I felt the urge for a cigarette. I saw someone smoking at the door. As soon I asked for a lighter, my drowsy eyes decoded the hazy face. The answer to my nightmare was there. So you smoke? I asked in the politest way possible. Politeness was a virtue unheard for Miss Seat 27. She lit the cigarette for me, threw her cigarette and walked away.
Dinner was served. Miss Seat 27 refused to leave her prized upper berth. Once I was done with dinner I went for the mandatory post-dinner cigarette. And I met her again. For a change, she spoke to me, she asked, “Do you have an extra cigarette? I offered her a cigarette.
“Why are you upset?” i asked
“Nothing?” she said
“You can tell me, I might understand”
“You don’t even know me why the fuck will you understand”
“I guess you are still upset because people who know you failed to understand. For a change why don’t you try a stranger?”
The impossible happened. She smiled. My name’s Tanya Roy. She introduced herself. The mild breeze amalgamated with a few puffs of Classic Milds made me an audience to her sob story. Like every story, her had an interval as well. On this occasion the TTE announced it.
But her story continued, on seat number 27. Hitherto, she seemed charming. By the time her tale of woes ended she had tears in her eyes. A break-up led to her resigning- led to her loneliness – led to her taking a break. Since we were from different professions, there wasn’t much I could do. But her tears triggered a voice named humanity. It was then that I realised that she wasn’t really looking for a solution.
Invariably, we are so eager to solve other people’s problems that we forget, that the other person might not need one. All she needed was a pair of ears. That’s all I offered. I listened to all her woes, allowed her to cry. After her tears dried away, she hugged me. All of a sudden the boisterous me faded away and made way for a subtly caring guy. I sat by her all night. Lights went off. ACs turned chillier. Train screamed louder. Yet I could listen to all her words and the ones that hid behind her inhibition.
“Good morning” she said waking me up. I woke up to realise that I had slept on her berth, and she on mine. It was the most beautiful day of the life. I couldn’t see the bright and sunny day, the pleasant musical breeze outside didn’t touch me, yet it was a beautiful day. I told her about my profession. In fact I logged on, to make her read my blog. After all I am in advertising. I know how to sell, even myself.
For once I hoped the train gets delayed. For once I didn’t want to reach home. For once train was on time. Damm! The jostling Howrah station could not dampen her shrill words. “Goodbye” she said. We exchanged numbers and I left with an anticipation of meeting her soon.
Chapter 2
Thanks to my driver I reached Jamshedpur in 4 hours. I was meeting my family after a year. My alacrity knew no bounds. Dinner was served. Meeting your family annually means you get a lot of love. And it also means you get a lot of food. Mom made me eat until I had tears in my eyes. And then she thought they were tears of joy because I was eating home-made food after a year. And then she made me eat more.
The journey from my dining table to my bed was quite a struggle. Somehow I managed to lie down. But, nothing could tire the social animal in me. I logged on to Facebook, only to see that Tanya had sent me a friend request.
Next morning she called. She missed me. She said that she will go back to Mumbai. She said my words helped her redeem and she will give life another chance. She had booked tickets for June 1. I realised that my tickets were for May 28. I requested her to prepone hers. It wasn’t an easy job but she preponed her tickets. Surprisingly she got seat number 27 once again.
Days went by and our bond grew stronger. In those 10 days, I got habituated to her. We spoke every night, and I couldn’t think of a night beyond those 10 days.
And then on May 26, 2010, she confessed her love to me. I was ecstatic. No words matched my dance and no beat matched my song.
I told my sister about her. Tanya was so beautiful, my sister had to approve her. Just couldn’t wait to meet her again. For the first time I couldn’t wait for the day when I’ll leave home.
Chapter 3
My train was scheduled to arrive at 2:30 AM. But I reached the station at 12 AM itself. Just couldn’t wait for the train to arrive. My family was with me to bid farewell. My sister was eager to meet Tanya. Of course it was fairytale love story. The one’s I grew up watching in numerous Yash Chopra flicks.
As time passed by I grew impatient. My curiosity freaked the guy sitting at the Enquiry Counter. I was constantly looking at my watch. It was 1:15 AM. Another hour and I would be with her.
Suddenly my train’s name vanished from the digital ticker board. I was dumbfounded. I ran to my friend at the enquiry counter. “Boss Gyaneshwari express ka kya status hai” He asked me to wait as he was trying to figure that out himself. I called Tanya. Her phone was not reachable. I cursed the network provider. I grew impatient. I could not sit still. Voices around me grew louder. I was unable to decipher them. I logged on to Facebook to tell the world about the incompetency of Indian railways.
Tears rolled down my eyes as I read a status message. “RIP travellers of Gyaneshwari Express”. All of a sudden the voices around me grew clearer. I deciphered the chaos. Gyaneshwari Express had been derailed. I called Tanya numerous times. She had to be safe. There was a reason we met. There was reason I helped her recuperate. There was a reason we fell in love. Our story couldn’t have ended here. Every railway staff was thronged with questions they didn’t have an answer to. My family did try to comfort me. But an unfinished story can never be consoled.
It took me a few days to figure out that she wasn’t one of the survivors and eternity is a time too short for me to forget her. Never thought I would fall in love. Don’t think I can again.
Some moments overwhelm you in such massiveness, that it is hard to express your feelings in words. And here I am, with a heavy heart, grappling for words. I feel like killing myself each time I remember, that it was me who convinced her to prepone her tickets to May 28.
Chapter 1
Red lights. Traffic. Cars honking. Dust. And finally after I finished my third cigarette I reached the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. The struggle from Mahim to CST wasn’t half struggling as compared to the struggle I struggled to reach my platform. Phew!!! Just on time for my train – Duronto Express
B2/ Seat no. 28, ideally should have been an easy find. But not when a pack of family, friends, relatives, neighbours, etc. come to bid farewell to that one traveller. Thanks to Mumbai locals I knew the USP of elbows and knees. After battling my way through the aisle I reached my seat. I kept my luggage on the upper-berth and took the window seat.
“Excuse me! Is this your luggage?” a soft voice said. I nodded, but before I could say anything she continued “That’s my berth, please remove your luggage, seat number 27 is mine”. With reluctance on my face I removed my luggage. Her hiccups told me that my abuses were delivered.
After a short nap, I felt the urge for a cigarette. I saw someone smoking at the door. As soon I asked for a lighter, my drowsy eyes decoded the hazy face. The answer to my nightmare was there. So you smoke? I asked in the politest way possible. Politeness was a virtue unheard for Miss Seat 27. She lit the cigarette for me, threw her cigarette and walked away.
Dinner was served. Miss Seat 27 refused to leave her prized upper berth. Once I was done with dinner I went for the mandatory post-dinner cigarette. And I met her again. For a change, she spoke to me, she asked, “Do you have an extra cigarette? I offered her a cigarette.
“Why are you upset?” i asked
“Nothing?” she said
“You can tell me, I might understand”
“You don’t even know me why the fuck will you understand”
“I guess you are still upset because people who know you failed to understand. For a change why don’t you try a stranger?”
The impossible happened. She smiled. My name’s Tanya Roy. She introduced herself. The mild breeze amalgamated with a few puffs of Classic Milds made me an audience to her sob story. Like every story, her had an interval as well. On this occasion the TTE announced it.
But her story continued, on seat number 27. Hitherto, she seemed charming. By the time her tale of woes ended she had tears in her eyes. A break-up led to her resigning- led to her loneliness – led to her taking a break. Since we were from different professions, there wasn’t much I could do. But her tears triggered a voice named humanity. It was then that I realised that she wasn’t really looking for a solution.
Invariably, we are so eager to solve other people’s problems that we forget, that the other person might not need one. All she needed was a pair of ears. That’s all I offered. I listened to all her woes, allowed her to cry. After her tears dried away, she hugged me. All of a sudden the boisterous me faded away and made way for a subtly caring guy. I sat by her all night. Lights went off. ACs turned chillier. Train screamed louder. Yet I could listen to all her words and the ones that hid behind her inhibition.
“Good morning” she said waking me up. I woke up to realise that I had slept on her berth, and she on mine. It was the most beautiful day of the life. I couldn’t see the bright and sunny day, the pleasant musical breeze outside didn’t touch me, yet it was a beautiful day. I told her about my profession. In fact I logged on, to make her read my blog. After all I am in advertising. I know how to sell, even myself.
For once I hoped the train gets delayed. For once I didn’t want to reach home. For once train was on time. Damm! The jostling Howrah station could not dampen her shrill words. “Goodbye” she said. We exchanged numbers and I left with an anticipation of meeting her soon.
Chapter 2
Thanks to my driver I reached Jamshedpur in 4 hours. I was meeting my family after a year. My alacrity knew no bounds. Dinner was served. Meeting your family annually means you get a lot of love. And it also means you get a lot of food. Mom made me eat until I had tears in my eyes. And then she thought they were tears of joy because I was eating home-made food after a year. And then she made me eat more.
The journey from my dining table to my bed was quite a struggle. Somehow I managed to lie down. But, nothing could tire the social animal in me. I logged on to Facebook, only to see that Tanya had sent me a friend request.
Next morning she called. She missed me. She said that she will go back to Mumbai. She said my words helped her redeem and she will give life another chance. She had booked tickets for June 1. I realised that my tickets were for May 28. I requested her to prepone hers. It wasn’t an easy job but she preponed her tickets. Surprisingly she got seat number 27 once again.
Days went by and our bond grew stronger. In those 10 days, I got habituated to her. We spoke every night, and I couldn’t think of a night beyond those 10 days.
And then on May 26, 2010, she confessed her love to me. I was ecstatic. No words matched my dance and no beat matched my song.
I told my sister about her. Tanya was so beautiful, my sister had to approve her. Just couldn’t wait to meet her again. For the first time I couldn’t wait for the day when I’ll leave home.
Chapter 3
My train was scheduled to arrive at 2:30 AM. But I reached the station at 12 AM itself. Just couldn’t wait for the train to arrive. My family was with me to bid farewell. My sister was eager to meet Tanya. Of course it was fairytale love story. The one’s I grew up watching in numerous Yash Chopra flicks.
As time passed by I grew impatient. My curiosity freaked the guy sitting at the Enquiry Counter. I was constantly looking at my watch. It was 1:15 AM. Another hour and I would be with her.
Suddenly my train’s name vanished from the digital ticker board. I was dumbfounded. I ran to my friend at the enquiry counter. “Boss Gyaneshwari express ka kya status hai” He asked me to wait as he was trying to figure that out himself. I called Tanya. Her phone was not reachable. I cursed the network provider. I grew impatient. I could not sit still. Voices around me grew louder. I was unable to decipher them. I logged on to Facebook to tell the world about the incompetency of Indian railways.
Tears rolled down my eyes as I read a status message. “RIP travellers of Gyaneshwari Express”. All of a sudden the voices around me grew clearer. I deciphered the chaos. Gyaneshwari Express had been derailed. I called Tanya numerous times. She had to be safe. There was a reason we met. There was reason I helped her recuperate. There was a reason we fell in love. Our story couldn’t have ended here. Every railway staff was thronged with questions they didn’t have an answer to. My family did try to comfort me. But an unfinished story can never be consoled.
It took me a few days to figure out that she wasn’t one of the survivors and eternity is a time too short for me to forget her. Never thought I would fall in love. Don’t think I can again.
Some moments overwhelm you in such massiveness, that it is hard to express your feelings in words. And here I am, with a heavy heart, grappling for words. I feel like killing myself each time I remember, that it was me who convinced her to prepone her tickets to May 28.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
I hate being responsible.
Ask my parents and they’ll tell you that I am yet to achieve that virtue. Ask my friends and they’ll tell you that I am responsible, for all the wrong things. Ask my boss and he’ll judge me with a scanner called Deadlines.
Since childhood I have been taught to be cautious. That’s the first thing you learn especially if you have a Doctor father.
Be cautious or you’ll get hurt
Be cautious or you’ll lose
Be cautious or you’ll fail
I did try to be cautious. Yet, I got hurt, more than just physically. I lost, more than just games. I failed, not just in exams. And then they told me that its destiny. I was destined to lose, or fail or get hurt. So how does being cautious help?
There were times when I tasted success. And then I left an impression. My parents were impressed when I topped my class. My girlfriend was impressed when she saw me dancing. My friends were impressed when I gulped six tequila shots. My boss was impressed when I handled a campaign single-handedly. My neighbourhood kid was impressed when I helped him with Maths. But, when was the last time I impressed myself. Hard to remember. Never had the time to think. I was busy trying to impress others. But now, I don’t care. I don’t desire a heaven. It’s not real. One has to die to achieve it. I know I’ll die someday, but before that I’ll live, for myself.
I want to visit the space. I want to dive into the deepest oceans. I want to climb K2, the virgin peak. I want to stay in a place where no one knows me. Strangers don’t scare me. It’s the people I know I find hard to deal with. I want to sing the way I want to. I want to dance, but not to impress anyone. I want to write without caring about the sentiments I evoke, if any. I don’t want to impress anyone anymore.
I am tired of people telling me what to do. I am tired of being dependent on other people to make a successful plan. I am tired of living as per people’s expectations. I don’t envy celebrities or more successful counterparts. I envy kids. I envy them each time they dive into a mud-pool. I envy them when they say whatever they want, to whoever they want. I envy them each time they express their dream of being an astronaut or a rocket scientist or a scuba-diver or even Superman. Our self-claimed matured mind would say that that’s not possible. Their parents wink at each other saying they’ll grow up. To be what? Something that circumstances have taught them to be?
I don’t even remember what I wanted to be when I was in kindergarten. I know I wanted to be Amitabh Bachan of Agneepath, Salman Khan of Karan Arjun, Pierce Brosnan of James Bond, Raj of Kaho Na Pyaar Hai. But I don’t remember what I wanted to be, before any film or person influenced me.
My range of idols varies from Evel Knievel to Sachin Tendulkar, from Che Guevara to Michael Jackson. But I don’t want to be them.
Everyday I log onto Facebook and read a plethora of status messages and posts where people claim to write honestly. Are they? Then why care for comments, why justify yourself? I don’t want to be honest in a politically correct way.
This revelation didn’t happen today. Yet all this while, I chose to deceive myself. Because, as a great man said, “The world doesn’t run on petrol, it runs on PR”. I don’t want to do something just to get an experience. Experience is what you get, when you don’t get what you want to.
I love telling people that I lead a happening life because I visit the discotheques invariably with a few hot women. Or because I regularly go out for trips. That’s not what I would call a happening life.
My life would be happening when I go into unknown vicinity when I don’t know what to expect, when I am not prepared to face a challenge. Then, if I conquer the challenge, I’ll know I have made it to the next level. Fulfilling my death-wish is how I want to live.
I started this blog with the urge to write honestly. Yet, when people started judging me in the most appalling way, I started being politically correct. Although I have been honest in all my posts, yet the thought of pleasing people was imbibed always. Today I denounce that thought. Today I’ll turn deaf and blind to all critics.
Somehow the whole thing of being practical has overshadowed every daring step I wished to take. Even now, a part of me tells me to act in a certain way inside office or with friends.
Today, I want to give my friends and my colleagues an opportunity, to know the real me. But before that I need to know that myself. I wish for that day when I will stare at the mirror, raise a toast and say “Good job Joy”.
Since childhood I have been taught to be cautious. That’s the first thing you learn especially if you have a Doctor father.
Be cautious or you’ll get hurt
Be cautious or you’ll lose
Be cautious or you’ll fail
I did try to be cautious. Yet, I got hurt, more than just physically. I lost, more than just games. I failed, not just in exams. And then they told me that its destiny. I was destined to lose, or fail or get hurt. So how does being cautious help?
There were times when I tasted success. And then I left an impression. My parents were impressed when I topped my class. My girlfriend was impressed when she saw me dancing. My friends were impressed when I gulped six tequila shots. My boss was impressed when I handled a campaign single-handedly. My neighbourhood kid was impressed when I helped him with Maths. But, when was the last time I impressed myself. Hard to remember. Never had the time to think. I was busy trying to impress others. But now, I don’t care. I don’t desire a heaven. It’s not real. One has to die to achieve it. I know I’ll die someday, but before that I’ll live, for myself.
I want to visit the space. I want to dive into the deepest oceans. I want to climb K2, the virgin peak. I want to stay in a place where no one knows me. Strangers don’t scare me. It’s the people I know I find hard to deal with. I want to sing the way I want to. I want to dance, but not to impress anyone. I want to write without caring about the sentiments I evoke, if any. I don’t want to impress anyone anymore.
I am tired of people telling me what to do. I am tired of being dependent on other people to make a successful plan. I am tired of living as per people’s expectations. I don’t envy celebrities or more successful counterparts. I envy kids. I envy them each time they dive into a mud-pool. I envy them when they say whatever they want, to whoever they want. I envy them each time they express their dream of being an astronaut or a rocket scientist or a scuba-diver or even Superman. Our self-claimed matured mind would say that that’s not possible. Their parents wink at each other saying they’ll grow up. To be what? Something that circumstances have taught them to be?
I don’t even remember what I wanted to be when I was in kindergarten. I know I wanted to be Amitabh Bachan of Agneepath, Salman Khan of Karan Arjun, Pierce Brosnan of James Bond, Raj of Kaho Na Pyaar Hai. But I don’t remember what I wanted to be, before any film or person influenced me.
My range of idols varies from Evel Knievel to Sachin Tendulkar, from Che Guevara to Michael Jackson. But I don’t want to be them.
Everyday I log onto Facebook and read a plethora of status messages and posts where people claim to write honestly. Are they? Then why care for comments, why justify yourself? I don’t want to be honest in a politically correct way.
This revelation didn’t happen today. Yet all this while, I chose to deceive myself. Because, as a great man said, “The world doesn’t run on petrol, it runs on PR”. I don’t want to do something just to get an experience. Experience is what you get, when you don’t get what you want to.
I love telling people that I lead a happening life because I visit the discotheques invariably with a few hot women. Or because I regularly go out for trips. That’s not what I would call a happening life.
My life would be happening when I go into unknown vicinity when I don’t know what to expect, when I am not prepared to face a challenge. Then, if I conquer the challenge, I’ll know I have made it to the next level. Fulfilling my death-wish is how I want to live.
I started this blog with the urge to write honestly. Yet, when people started judging me in the most appalling way, I started being politically correct. Although I have been honest in all my posts, yet the thought of pleasing people was imbibed always. Today I denounce that thought. Today I’ll turn deaf and blind to all critics.
Somehow the whole thing of being practical has overshadowed every daring step I wished to take. Even now, a part of me tells me to act in a certain way inside office or with friends.
Today, I want to give my friends and my colleagues an opportunity, to know the real me. But before that I need to know that myself. I wish for that day when I will stare at the mirror, raise a toast and say “Good job Joy”.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Your pretence is pardoned, Mr. Sleaze.
This is a tale of love. My friends Mr. Sleaze and Mr. Cheese. Mr Sleaze hardly believes in struggling yet he is more diligent that Cheese. Their mentor Rahul naam To Suna Hi Hoga taught them long back – Zindagi mein hum ek baar jeete hai, ek baar marte hai, mohabbat bhi hum ek hi baar karte hai. Both understood what he meant. But, both took different ways.
Mr Cheese decided to wait, for the right girl, the right moment, the right day, the right blaaah blaaaaah. Mr Sleaze was an impatient man. He decided to go hunting for his right one. So what, if it means that he has to go through a lot of wrong ones. Finding the right one is worth every effort.
Eerie struck. Both found their right girl. In the same girl. But only one could win her.
The girl they loved was Life. She loved them both. She loved hanging around with them. She gave them ample opportunities to woo her. But Cheese spoke from his heart and Sleaze spoke from his dick. None of which could sustain a good impression.
Cheese dedicated all his Facebook status messages to Life. Poems, songs, dialogues, ghazals flooded his homepage, he left no page unturned. Seeing this Sleaze made sure he leaves no turn unstoned. He partied harder. He uploaded photos with women. The strongest emotion gifted to mankind is Envy. It can make people do things they never thought they were capable of. It can flip perceptions, topple relations, manipulate reactions and most importantly it can justify misconceptions. Sleaze knew it all. He knew Cheese is too soft to handle any of it.
While Cheese kept running after Life, Sleaze made sure Life runs after him. May be Cheese loved and respected life more, but Sleaze definitely knew what women want. He knew, a perfect guy for women would be a guy who can fit into 10 of the 15 points on their checklist. Will he keep me happy? Can he adjust with my family? Is he handsome? Does he earn enough? Sleaze had slept with enough women to know that he was sleeping with a set of very carefully calculated venal choices.
Cheese offered affections to Life, and Sleaze offered everything else. The battle began. Pompous v/s Substance. Polish v/s Principles. Looks v/s Soul. Heart v/s Mind.
Sleaze won the battle. Cheese was heartbroken. His gestures could not overshadow an impressive list of credentials that Sleaze had. Life was not fair to him. Life didn’t give him what he deserved.
Sleaze won the conquest. He was happy and his pride and arrogance knew no bounds. Poor thing was unaware that Life isn’t about one conquest. Life posed a battle every day. Sleaze was up for the task.
Monday – A bunch of red roses
Tuesday – Candlelight dinner
Wednesday – movie followed by a long drive
Thursday – no phone calls to be entertained
Friday – cook dinner
Saturday – Discotheque. No friends invited
Sunday – all of the above
Sleaze was a different man now. He was no more a rockstar. He made all the sacrifices. He changed himself. He bid farewell to friends, rocking life, Facebook, Blackberry, etc. He did everything possible to keep Life happy. And he did. Life was happy with him. Sleaze fitted into all the 15 points on her checklist. He was what Life made him.
Eerie struck once again. Life broke up with Sleaze.
Reason – Sleaze had changed as human being. She loved a different Sleaze. Today Sleaze no longer interested her. Sleaze wasn’t fun or rocking anymore. Today Sleaze had turned like his old friend Cheese. There was no difference between them.
Sleaze was heartbroken. Sleaze thought he knew it all. Sleaze thought he knew what women want. Sad and dejected he entered the pub. He saw his old friend Cheese dancing with women all over him. He tried to speak to him but Cheese didn’t recognise him. He was a different guy. He was an extrovert. He was a rockstar. Most importantly he had Life. Sleaze smiled and left the pub.
You can never know what women want. Life teaches you lessons everyday and the day you feel you’ve learnt it all. Life turns out to be a bitch. And then you die.
Mr Cheese decided to wait, for the right girl, the right moment, the right day, the right blaaah blaaaaah. Mr Sleaze was an impatient man. He decided to go hunting for his right one. So what, if it means that he has to go through a lot of wrong ones. Finding the right one is worth every effort.
Eerie struck. Both found their right girl. In the same girl. But only one could win her.
The girl they loved was Life. She loved them both. She loved hanging around with them. She gave them ample opportunities to woo her. But Cheese spoke from his heart and Sleaze spoke from his dick. None of which could sustain a good impression.
Cheese dedicated all his Facebook status messages to Life. Poems, songs, dialogues, ghazals flooded his homepage, he left no page unturned. Seeing this Sleaze made sure he leaves no turn unstoned. He partied harder. He uploaded photos with women. The strongest emotion gifted to mankind is Envy. It can make people do things they never thought they were capable of. It can flip perceptions, topple relations, manipulate reactions and most importantly it can justify misconceptions. Sleaze knew it all. He knew Cheese is too soft to handle any of it.
While Cheese kept running after Life, Sleaze made sure Life runs after him. May be Cheese loved and respected life more, but Sleaze definitely knew what women want. He knew, a perfect guy for women would be a guy who can fit into 10 of the 15 points on their checklist. Will he keep me happy? Can he adjust with my family? Is he handsome? Does he earn enough? Sleaze had slept with enough women to know that he was sleeping with a set of very carefully calculated venal choices.
Cheese offered affections to Life, and Sleaze offered everything else. The battle began. Pompous v/s Substance. Polish v/s Principles. Looks v/s Soul. Heart v/s Mind.
Sleaze won the battle. Cheese was heartbroken. His gestures could not overshadow an impressive list of credentials that Sleaze had. Life was not fair to him. Life didn’t give him what he deserved.
Sleaze won the conquest. He was happy and his pride and arrogance knew no bounds. Poor thing was unaware that Life isn’t about one conquest. Life posed a battle every day. Sleaze was up for the task.
Monday – A bunch of red roses
Tuesday – Candlelight dinner
Wednesday – movie followed by a long drive
Thursday – no phone calls to be entertained
Friday – cook dinner
Saturday – Discotheque. No friends invited
Sunday – all of the above
Sleaze was a different man now. He was no more a rockstar. He made all the sacrifices. He changed himself. He bid farewell to friends, rocking life, Facebook, Blackberry, etc. He did everything possible to keep Life happy. And he did. Life was happy with him. Sleaze fitted into all the 15 points on her checklist. He was what Life made him.
Eerie struck once again. Life broke up with Sleaze.
Reason – Sleaze had changed as human being. She loved a different Sleaze. Today Sleaze no longer interested her. Sleaze wasn’t fun or rocking anymore. Today Sleaze had turned like his old friend Cheese. There was no difference between them.
Sleaze was heartbroken. Sleaze thought he knew it all. Sleaze thought he knew what women want. Sad and dejected he entered the pub. He saw his old friend Cheese dancing with women all over him. He tried to speak to him but Cheese didn’t recognise him. He was a different guy. He was an extrovert. He was a rockstar. Most importantly he had Life. Sleaze smiled and left the pub.
You can never know what women want. Life teaches you lessons everyday and the day you feel you’ve learnt it all. Life turns out to be a bitch. And then you die.
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