Bring back those colors !

Nature had just begun to change its bed sheet on earth, as it does possibly every financial quarter. The frost white sheet had been lifted and a vibrant replacement was about to be flung. Since it also coincides with the financial year end, I suppose its the most beautiful one. Quilts were slowly being packed and fans swirled again in full swing - half at least.

Rohan and his friends were chirping till late into the night. No, his Dad was at home and gruesome as ever, yet he wasn't being pestered to be back within the walls. They were accumulating pieces, placing them in bizarre fashion. pieces - all pieces from furniture to logs and all that had the slightest chance to burn.

Yes, it was a bon-fire. I knew they were on an outing. Kids now knew their sophisticated ways of enjoyment- sit and chat around a bon-fire like corporate honchos.

It was a fine morning next day. Fine, by all standards - a bright, brimming day when all seemed honky dory, alive and cocky.

Rohan opened his eyes, moistened, calm, serene and satisfied like a saint, after what seemed a much needed sound sleep after last night's enjoyment. One look at the clock and he sprang like a frog out of boiling water, from the bed, as if racing against time. No, he wasn't to his usual errands. He went busy in something less or non monotonous.

Rohan - six or seven - an understatement for his built still - clad in all white - a tee and nylon shorts, doing something with a bucket, mug and water. He appeared a miniature scientist, a child prodigy may be, gleeful at his experiment and the joy on his fat laden chubby face could have outrun that of a nuclear scientist in his expressions when they'd have succeeded on the fusion reactors.

He was mixing what appeared as strontium or may be cobalt chloride hexa-hydrate (a child prodigy indeed), in a bucket full of water (or may be mental). Bemused, I stood, startled at his act, guessing, towards what end? The next instance he was filling the chemical mixture in balloons, with a what looked like a suction pump - a big injection.

DAMN IT!

It was Holi. How on earth did I miss that!

I sat there, thrown in the wombs of time, swimming airs,bunching like a ball, spreadeagled against the almost infinity of the utmost dawn, adopting heradic postures, rampant, pitying levity against time - thrown back.

I sat there, recalling the times, not so long ago, when I used to be a Rohan. The bon-fire was "Holika", the chemical were "colours" - they were chemicals back then too - but now they claim it to be organic. The suction pump was the fountain gun - "pichkari". The legends of this colorful engagement, coinciding with nature's crossed my sub-conscious mind, as I drove back. There were as good as five o'em - from Krishna to Holika, from Shiva to Pootna. I knew them all, I cherished them as a child, indulged in all sorts of play, the festival brought along.

And yet I recalled, the trees smiling of tender leaves and blooming flowers, when I were and may be now I am not - a child at heart. A time when spring not just hailed ecstasy but brought along Holi - an experience of content and harmony and delight - a spring of unbounded fun and frolic.

Now I rest on the couch, which till yesterday soothed my bum, but today the effect was none. And yet I am reminded of those color filled balloons, bursting upon me, ending me up as a canvas with modern art on the draw. Those multi-colored faces, the traces left on ground, the songs and chivalrous "bhaang" and all the wild sound. Those horrific faces with black, grey, silver and golden paints, gender irrespective, the attacks and the restraints.

I sense uneasiness, yet I am reminded again, of all those years , school when it was, celebrating holi in adolescence  with friends, wandering door to door like a vagabond, in search of food, frolic and more fun. Those days when the Holi was awaited - as now the slips are every month. Those days, when touching the cheeks of beautiful, blossoming girls, even for rogues like us, was more than welcome. The chases, the capture, the drenching and rapture, all resonated in the ears. A smile bursts and disappears.

I lean back now, yearning for some solace, when yet again the college days come to mind, those days of madness and immaterial race. Those bursting of pots, standing on human towers, the tearing of shirts, the giggles, the smiles and all. All which could have spurred a war, were solemnly accepted "Chill! Holi hai Yaar".

I sense dampness, the nostalgia has to end now, before I succumb to them.Those memories, when I first saw Rohan, doodling with his pichkaari, have turned into mixed feelings.

Now, my horizon widens, encompassing all who lie with me, in my state, missing those times. How from a jubilant celebration, we have landed ourselves into this - just memory lane. I think of all friends who colored me and I returned, those back at home, those here - so close yet so far, those who now have become a diaspora in States, Spore, Kingdom, Germany and more. Those all around the globe - the one in Vellore, Delhi, Mumbai, Goa, Singroli and Mysore.

Now the canal ruptures - I sleep to sleep it off.

I dream of colors and gulaal, it has to be a celebration after all. I can't play inside, the carpets - we may taint, not in the yard - we may unknowingly paint. Can't play drums nor music outside - the sophisticated neighbors, for sure won't like the noise.

The horrifying dream ends. I will - do hell with the world - I will - I may have grown, but the child in me still says - I will.

My mind says,"So why not now?"

I recline back, the aforementioned friends come to mind. I will - when we shall unite, in the full moon, encircling the bon-fire, in any part of the world. Next morning, we will get up, make buckets of colored water - none in the neighborhood will be spared.

The Explosion- Episode 1

All characters in this story are truly non fictitious and any resemblance to their lives is purely non-coincidental

There was a sharp audible series of blows on the door.

Mr G, Mr B and I were sitting in the room, chit chatting about something irrelevant (may be why Arsenal lost so much or the moon hoax or something nowhere related to us :)). Mr G, just as always super clad in a smart t-shirt and tracks, was at the table, solving geeky mathematics questions simultaneously. Mr B, super nude in his smallest ever shorts, covered in a light brown silk sheet, trying to be a Kangna Ranaut in the song "tu hi meri shab hai subaah hai", with a book in front, was lying on the bed in a yogic position. The third in the room of two was me, just filling in the conversation, when suddenly there was a sharp audible series of blows on the door, which left us startled.

I was nearest to the door, Mr B second and Mr G the farthest and guess who in his sheer swiftness opened the door.

Mr G opened the door.

On the other side, stood a man, as dark as an iron pan, broad, bandy legged, with a walrus moustache, square hands, puffed and muscled on the palms, eyes full of distrust, showering a feeling of disgust. Hair matching his colour, protruded from the stetson hat. Clad in a soldier's blue uniform, with a belt, showing worn shiny places opposite each hole, due to the gradual increase in his middle over the years. His appearance was so monstrous, it could make a freshman hit his own balls and fall senseless rather than looking at him.

A few hours earlier...........

There was a sudden explosion in the block, a sudden explosion, with the warden in house. It was indiscipline at the strongest condemn-able. Some crazy but brave students had lit up what others were talking about pre and post diwali. Instant patrols were spree on the lookout for the culprit. Every room was being sniffed for a suspect. The explosion had shaken the very base of Mr UMD.

Mr UMD was a squared faced, button eyed, thick lipped, chevron moustached, military haired, well bulit, tall and stout ex army man (at least what he claimed to be), who used to walk like a half drunken elephant. He thought it was his style or may be just tried walking in this guile. He was the warden of the block, a teacher at the mechanical workshops. He illusion-ed himself as smart, perceptive, inventive, witty, pragmatic, insightful, considerate, gentle, graceful, but in the truth he was dull, irritating, pensive and all not he thought of himself. He believed himself to be the Buddha, spreading the values of life, but in the reality he tormented them to a level which if utilized well could make Al-Qaida cough up all their plans.

The night before, he had caught a few students, strolling back after a post dinner stroll, and made them fit to see an ENT, kept all the fraction o second late comers stand outside the gate till they begged for mercy, twice, and two nights before, had caught all the students out on the corridors giving them an earful for doing so. This routine had been on for months. The rebel was rising, his pot of sins was full. Something had to be done. What? How? Nobody knew.

The night before............

Mr UMD had disappeared from block after the foreplay only he enjoyed, to probably indulge in the nuptial ceremonies (I bet even that involved a lot more unwanted words than actions :)), leaving all the block inmates to what they did best - hanging around in one room for a movie or some nasty, irrelevant talks, or for a game of counter strike. To say the least, it fell back to the normal affairs of a boy's hostel. But something abnormal was being hatched, somewhere, by someone. Room 317 was abuzz.

To be continued............

The Explosion- Episode 2

The night before, post Mr UMD's exit.........

Mr B, MR L and Mr TBL were sitting in the room, talking about the day's affairs, abusing all that didn't fair the eye, when I walked in. As usual, crazy ideas were sparking off the brains of all like dream horses with halter in someone's hands, so that it can be pulled back before it takes off to reality. But one such horse came without it. Mr B, strongly seconded by Mr L came up with the idea of exploding a bomb right under the nose of Mr UMD. The room was 317.

Before proceeding, let me tell you about the "good morning to you all" guy, Mr TBL (The Blue Lotus) and the more than needed tall guy Mr L. Rumors had it, that when students got their laptops from college and went door to door for videos, songs, games and movies transfer, Mr TBL was on a mission to procure all the sleazy wallpapers of Jennifer Lopez and Angelina Jolie. Mr TBL, average heighted, wheatish, calculative, receptive and hell of a guy. Mr L, on the other hand was a friend of Mr B since their school days. Well built and full of so much energy that he dissipated it by moving his body like one in an epileptic fit.

The idea sparked by Mr B and fueled by Mr L had sent Mr TBL rolling on the floors. Moments later, realizing that it had put Mr B and Mr L into their "thing".

Now here's the "thing" about Mr L and Mr B. They would "stoot their own horns" if scorned at their idea, just to prove they were right about it.

Since the "thing" had begun, it was sure to pushed further. Calls were sent over to Mr RS.

Mr RS, some one who could ride a bike, taming a snake in one hand and puffing smoke with the other. Tall, dusky and tusky with the affairs that sent a chill down others spine. Involving him meant that even at any point of time, the hatched plan was to be taken off, he wouldn't agree. There was no stop button in his head once he started off.

And as if things were not worse enough, moving in unexpected directions, Mr G entered the room, with his immaculately articulated expressions. Mr G - a short and stout fellow, in those days looked like a con on the run.

I was there, standing speechless, or may be a yes or no in between, seeing before me, the rise of the destructive, stupid idea. Only to realize that I was already a part of it.

Human nature professes an idea, which one is a part of, suddenly turns from a stupid one to an exciting and adventurous idea. So, this adventurous idea had taken off in a flash from one mind to another, adding more destructive loops in it, till it stood before us, a herculean task which by now, was already resolved to be done. Mr RS had taken over.

To be continued............

At last I got time to sit and think

"At last I got time to sit and think, what I said, did and believed, was it worthwhile or over drink. If it appeared any good then, why does it now stink, if it were to empower me, why now do I feel a slink."

I wake up each day to a stereotype IT Professional life, which may sound fundoo but it ain't one bit better than that of a Doodie-man (look it up in Google). Punching keys, scratching heads, breakfast to dinner on the system bed.

Sometime back someone asked me,"What contribution have you made till now in any field in your life?"

This had to be a sitter, right, but it wasn't. 24 years and I haven't done nothing! Really nothing!

They called me lazy, even I believed so, but when I pulled myself from the instance to have an eagle's eye, I saw myself as a character in a black and white mute movie, running on a fast forward mode on a VCR. Waking, eating, working, eating, working, eating, working and sleeping. After this herculean phenomenon, none of which I really like or crave for, I haven't ever had time to do anything constructive at all.

My idle brain shouts,"USE ME" and I procrastinate it by saying what we say to death everyday,"NOT TODAY". But the other guy in me shouts, laughs and scorns at me, teases me for doing nothing. And before he can ally himself with the mind and heart and rub me into the guilt salt, I sleep off to wake up for the marathon of nothing again.

So basically its a life where we do "nothing", and since it now makes me feel a lilliputian, I will rephrase it to "nothing of repute".

How did I get here? This is not where I wanted to be when I started the journey some half a decade back. Oh, the journey and oh, the destination!

When I fell to my wits, I was standing ashore with a mob, a huge mob, astray, running hither and thither like bees out of a disturbed honeycomb, like men being chased by a raging bull, except, there was no bull. I stood, gazing for a moment on the banks of the river. It took me less than a moment to realize that I was on the wrong shore, I stepped back but couldn't, I cried for way, they wouldn't. I still search him who pushed me in the river with a gentle push, and the currents took me then to where they could. I was already in it, pushed, paddled and manhandled into the engineer's world. Never did, yet achieved(sounds respectful as compared to just happened). Call it fate, call it accident. It was like standing on a shore, pushed by a friend frantically, and streamed away to some other shore.

Never thought how and why, just meandered along senselessly, thoughtlessly, lifelessly.

"At last I got time to sit and think, what I said, did and believed, was it worthwhile or over drink. If it appeared any good then, why does it now stink, if it were to empower me, why now do I feel a slink."

I was colorful as a rainbow, vibrant as the sun. I was the north star just sometime back. My mind was scared, indecisive, what I had left behind, and now when I think, I wish I could rewind.

"Yes, I'll excel", came to my mind, I'd rather run into time, pushing the arms with full strength, not realizing, the faster I do, the faster I'd fall in the next drench.

It wasn't a competition, it was a run of thieves, a barter of give and take, an endless rugby game. And now they ask,"Why you failed?"

Why I walked this path? Why, when I knew I'd be without laurels and stars? Sometimes I wonder too, "Have I really failed? Have all my dreams and aspirations of making it big, been nailed?"

"At last I got time to sit and think, what I said, did and believed, was it worthwhile or over drink. If it appeared any good then, why does it now stink, if it were to empower me, why now do I feel a slink."

Witty, I thought, by the time I came out, on the confluence of study and job, thought I'd now be away from that spine chilling mob. And yet, now I realize, witty I was not, I was just the same bot strung with time and tide, yet absent mind and thought. Sheepishly, another wave had usurped me, pushing, paddling, and manhandling me into the IT job.

I now rebel, to every compel. I now rebel, no more compel.

However lost, I find myself, yet there lives a belief of finding the shelf, where I'd arrange my dreams and aspirations. A belief that surfaces every now an then, a belief that will push me to satisfaction. Amen!

Time has to be thanked, even for the turmoils it flanked, all along my way; but always pushing me to bay.
Time has to be thanked as it always swooped me away from the sights of failure, whenever I was about to cry; it threw me on another scene where every time I had to get to get up and try, again and again.

"At last I got time to sit and think, what I said, did and believed, was it worthwhile or over drink. If it appeared any good then, why does it now stink, if it were to empower me, why now do I feel a slink."

It is a journey I must continue, for that is exactly what I am supposed to do. But enough, I shall do it with my own "slow pace", I ain't running no more in the world's "rat race".

Baseless Hue And Cry Over The Noose

“Let’s do away with the noose.”
I know they are in the truth, I know they are in the right, I know they may win hands down in what they term as the civilized society, but that was my dream last night. Today I raise the pen to bite the nimble flesh of misleading dictions.
I have been sick and tired of the innumerable articles flowing in every time a culprit is taken to task. However, they remain mute spectators when the very subjects shower wrath on the innocent lives with their heinous crimes, committed in the name of anything and everything. Where were these messengers of morality and preachers of “doing away with the noose”, when Mumbai was attacked on 26/11, or rigged in 1993, when a 14 year adolescent was raped and strangled to death, and various other incidents when the humanity was shaken to the base. Every instance witnessed a wife losing her husband, a child his/her father and vice versa. Was it wrong to have struck a dialogue with the criminals to undo their acts? They say, “We condemn it.” Really! From an air conditioned chamber, condemnation is but being politically correct. India is luckily a country with Article 19. I pray don’t abuse it by marring those who have been patient with all that came by.
I read citations of Gandhi and the Buddha, how the former preached non violence and the latter taught the world peace and harmony. I bet even these great men wouldn’t preach what they did for such monsters in the question.
India has always given a fair trial to the convicts. We have never punished a person with vengeance in mind. Ajmal Kasab, Afzal Guru, Dhananjoy Chatterjee and Auto Shankar are the recent ones to be awarded death sentence. The sincerity of their crimes is beyond imagination and unpardonable. Nevertheless, they were given free trial by the law of the land, precisely why such a procrastination in their execution. Should we not be applauded to be fair in the first place to them who have never been fair to nobody? Kasab, alone depleted 30 cr while his royal stay in India. How fairer could we be? We never raised a voice, not even those who bled their hearts. They just lay faith in the country’s constitution. Wouldn’t we be cheating on them by letting these cowardly acts let go without a fitting judgment? Yes, an eye for eye is quite extreme, but an eye for 332 seems pretty just. Letting off the hook, wouldn’t we send out a message yet again to the world, of being a country who invites perpetrations just as we did some centuries back? They preach for LIWP, and why should that be acceptable – to give terrorists a chance to do yet another Kandhar, or to spend the tax payer’s hard earned money in keeping alive their wrong doers?  
When America killed hundreds and thousands after 9/11, there was one message perceived, that “America will not tolerate terrorism upon its lands.” Why then, India is seen any different when we just penalize the sole perpetrators and cheaters of humanity?
We can do away with the noose, but come up with something that will soothe the hearts of those who lost their loved ones needlessly. We sure aren’t putting an end to the wrong doers, but at least we are giving them food for thought, and as an Indian, we are giving our brothers enough to feel that any wrong upon them will be seriously conjured and condemned in action, not just words.

LONG LIVE THE COUNTRY AND HAIL ALL INDIANS