tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49250655127778799562024-03-13T13:27:22.819-07:00the resurgenceyugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-89248809912306593942013-02-02T08:14:00.000-08:002013-02-02T08:14:03.610-08:00The calm resolve.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Her lips lie parched in between the urge to voice her thoughts. But she thinks and she lets it be, not succumbing to the minds pressure to release what she feels. She stares blankly ahead, the reflections on her glass making it clear as to what she is looking at. It is a fearless composed stare, into nothingness. The loose strands of hair in front of her eyes cloud her view just so much as to hide from it but not be completely oblivious to it either. She feels blank, a bit lost, but firm. At first glance, the stare stands for nothing. However, when one observes closely, it seems like a distracted stare. A stare having no meaning. A blank yet firm, a content yet a seemingly calm resolving kind of look. The thickness of her glasses converge the strength of her stare.<br />
The background fades quietly in the hindsight, leaving her alone. The shadow cast by the round corners of her nose try to hide the mole, but the mole stands out strikingly and quite aesthetically so. The corners of her lips set the teasers in a gentle reprise type of way. The hair has drowned the spectacle arms, the hair of thought drowning the instrument that holds the vision place. Yet the vision stays firm, or does it? It stays calm at least, not quivering in the fear of uncertainty. Controlling this fear, is not inherent of her, rather indifference has played its part in contributing to the calmness.<br />
She is lost in the blankness. She wants to retire from this thinking, from this thought of thinking. She just wants to be. To close this world in front of her. But yet she stares. And she stares fearlessly. But that too not with negativity or malice or anger. She just stares. But there is no innocence in the stare. There is a sense of all knowing. A sense of acceptance. A sense of disappointment. A sense of shrug. Yet she stares. There is strength in her eyes. Or is there? Or just a tired sense of acceptance? A deep desire to change things somehow, rests faintly in the background. If you stare right back into her eyes, you would notice that. The pupils tilt towards an idea, the passing thought of an idea. As it goes and fades in the hindsight, the pupils follow it from the side, till it vanishes completely. The eyes stare intently waiting for the idea to resurface. But it doesn’t. It stays as a mirage, something which would vanish if you try too hard for it. Something subtle. Something balanced and poised. Something like her very own stare. <br />
There is no hint of a smile, but no remorse or regret. The look just rests quietly over the circumstances, over the situation. The cause of the look has sunk in and disappeared but it feels as if the impression has been left behind. Maybe she’s waiting for something. Something to change. Some revolution. Something that would make everything right. There is a confusion. Not with her. But the observer. But she has created the confusion. She looks lost, but content at the same time, and yet these two expressions do not complete her picture. There is something more to it, something hidden, something important, something rare. Something more deep than what it seems to be. Something subtle. Something worthy. And meaningful. Like a resolve. But not a determined one. She is above the human traits of determination, passion, attitude et al. It is just a resolve. A calm one. <br />
<br />
</div>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-70711974762479408122012-07-29T00:13:00.002-07:002012-07-29T00:13:52.493-07:00Rise<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Shattered ribs. A loose tooth. Wobbling nose. You lie there, looking through the bright lights, ears searching for silence through the deafening roar of the crowd. Your vision is hazy and your mind wanders listlessly, succumbing to anything and everything around. The world comes to a standstill. Blood, bile and sweat. A small voice inside you tells you that its over. You were never meant to be. You thought you could, but deep down inside, you knew it was too much. You knew you couldn’t. you want to accept the cynical reality and let the count finish. You want it to be over. You want to get done with it. Down. Bleeding. Broken. You are through.<br />
<br />
You allow the weight of your tilt head itself sideways, with one of ears pressing the ground, reducing the sound to hollowness. And then you see them. People. All staring back at you. It is over, you convey with your half closed eyes. I cant do this anymore, I knew it from the start, I tried, I tried real hard, but I couldn’t. I am sorry.<br />
<br />
You close your eyes for a moment. You try to picture one face among the crowd who shared your sentiment. Possibly your mother, father, brother, sister, your friend or companion. You cant. You open your eyes. And try to read into everyone else’s. None of them reflect sympathy. You see disappointment. Hope. Concern. Determination. Faith. Patience. Belief. You look away.<br />
<br />
And then, you look inside. Yourself. You try to find that voice that was so soothingly trying to make you give up. That was telling you that you were no good. That it was over. The voice doesn’t have that courage to tell you that again. It fades away into nothingness, where it belongs. A different voice speaks up. A harsh one. A real one. Its Rocky. <i>“The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place and I don't care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done.”</i><br />
<br />
You open your eyes. You hear the count ending, you hear the crowd chanting, you hear the opponent snickering, but most importantly, you hear yourself. Its not yet over. You rest your weight on your stronger knee and reach for the rope. The tooth falls off and you hear your ribs clattering. The crowd chants louder, as you muster up all of your courage and strength to get back on your feet. The pain is incomparable, but as you rise, ten thousand people rise with you, clapping, shouting, hollering. You can barely walk, but you hold your stance and smile at the astonishment written all over your opponent’s face. There is no pain. No disappointment. No concern, hope or faith now. All you can see is victory. All everyone can see is victory. It doesn’t matter if take a another blow and drop down again, it doesn’t matter if you lose.You have risen. You have already won.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-84684435499955980252012-06-10T00:17:00.000-07:002012-06-10T00:17:07.988-07:00He said it all in one line.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">"You loving someone ...as a friend or beyond...is apparently still not a good enough reason to expect that your feelings will be always respected..<br />
very heart-rending.. <br />
and unfair..<br />
but true."<br />
<br />
--Rahul Goswami<br />
</div>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-48090496395372502322011-05-31T10:28:00.001-07:002011-05-31T10:32:34.005-07:00No moreA small coin rolled off the surface of the base of the hangar, twirling around slowly as its weight started giving way, and finally came to a halt. The dust settled on the floor served as an obstruction to its path. No one looked up. The soldier stood straight in an upright position, being a person who is accustomed to the stiffness of the official uniform. He stood there motionless with a dead blank expression on his<br />face. The mechanic went about his work, his tired oil soaked hands gnawing at the bunch of wires and soiled manuals. The hangar was cold and smelled of stale air, sweat and gasoline. As each of the F/A-22 Raptors landed, a strong burst of air filled the runway, though it was reduced to a trickle on reaching the hangar, managing to ruffle some of the rotten dust.<br /><br />The soldier craned his neck to see the woman’s reaction on dropping the coin, whom he had been ordered to accompany to base. Her expression was blank and listless, as she stared at the motionless coin for a long time. Her crossed legs were thin, her hands were small, yet her stature showed strength. She supported herself on her palms, which were glued to the bench. Her eyes closed for a moment, as some strands of her hair fell on her face. She rose slowly, without a hint of a sound, as her red rimmed<br />kajal stained eyes glistened brightly in the sidelight. Her pace was fast and her walk elegant, but her hands trembled. Her eyes spoke of fear, of guilt. She bent down to retrace the coin and put it in her front pocket. “Front pockets on such dresses? Tch tch,” he used to say. She smiled at the thought of him, as a slow tear made its way down.<br /><br />She began her slow walk back to the staging area. Soldiers, hangarmen and guards shifted uncomfortably in their positions making their nervousness evident at the sight of a woman. She didn’t care. She strolled freely, with a womanly grace, her soft elegant strides landing on the heavily paved marble. She unknowingly ignored the stares, as she thought of one man. The man whom she had spent years with, a man who could make her smile in the worst of situations, one who could do anything to<br />see her happy. A man who cared about her more than his life. A man whom she was going to disappoint. She had told everyone to stay shut. She wanted to tell him himself. She trembled at the thought as it persisted in her head.<br /><br />Dust and gravel filled the air as another Raptor landed. A dark, six foot, heavily built man climbed down the co-pilot’s cockpit. He removed his helmet and marched down to the staging area. The soldier saluted him and escorted him to his cabin, where his lady visitor stood waiting.<br /><br />He entered the cabin and she turned to face him. He smiled jovially, and wiped the sweat of his brow. She returned the smile, trying to remain calm. He looked straight into her deep dark frightened eyes, her red rimmed tear ridden eyes. He dropped his helmet and walked up to her. Her legs gave way as she slumped against his heavy frame, as he held her and comforted her. Tears streamed down her face, as he looked at her, confused. He did not demand an explanation, nor did he worry about her. He just looked at her with a calm expression on his face, patiently waiting for her to tell him what happened. His eyes quivered as he wondered what it could be. She politely distanced herself from him, looked down and whispered, her voice croaking , trying to overcome the lump in her throat.<br /><br />“Papa, Ma is no more.”yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-80934427173572434272010-07-22T00:27:00.000-07:002010-07-22T00:38:12.557-07:00“Thank you , brother.”<span style="font-style:italic;">“NSG-010 this is Team1 we have two suspects, one on the top left roof covered by NSG990 and another on the balcony opposite the entrance, he has some sort of device in his hands, exact confirmation latitude 93.74 and longi..”</span>…the trained heavily built sniper quivered in his continuation. It had been a long day, with buildings being blown up, riots and chaos. And the final call had come on the State building, Intel reported. The dust had settled down, the bullet ridden gravel filled the air and the rotting smell of blood loomed over the smoke filled afternoon. The sniper shifted his weight and suddenly gave a start. He was looking through his snipe vision, zooming in on his target. And something about the suspect caught his attention. The black and green bandana on his forehead. The one which he remembered very well. It wasn’t a symbol of any religious group, neither was it a signal for any destruction. It was just a sign of determination, a strong will, when you are about to do something big, something which could change things the way they are. Something for the good of mankind. He knew only person who had that bandana, a person he knew very well. <br /><br /><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">“team1, sniper 04, this is NSG010, you are authorized to engage, no exceptions, clean all suspects, the state building is rigged with explosives from the inside, they are waiting with the trigger for the auspicious moment, I repeat, you are authorized to engage!!”</span> <br /><br /><br /> Sniper 04 struggled to catch his breath. The person he was looking through his lens was the same person he had shared everything with in his childhood. The biggest disappointments, the happiest times, the tears, the laughter. He looked at the calm, serene face covered partly with the bandana and his hands holding up a small device as if it was an offering to God. The sniper rifle was shaking in 04 ‘ s hand. The cross air pointed to the man ‘s upper chest. Suddenly the world went quiet. There were no barking orders from the radio, no sound of the NSG choppers, no gun shots, no cries. Nothing. Everything stood still. He placed his hand around the trigger. He remembered the <span style="font-style:italic;">rose sherbet</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">mutton biryani</span> during eid, he remembered asking his friend’s father for his <span style="font-style:italic;">‘eidi’</span>, he remembered taking him home for ganpati celebrations, lighting fire crackers with him. He remembered his pass during the final of the football tournament, which he had successfully netted in. He remembered slapping him after he tried his first cigarette. And the same person, the same friend, the same old comrade stood in line with his sniper rifle.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“what have you done, Komail, what have you done..”</span><br /><br /><br />The plan had worked perfectly till now, Komail thought as he adjusted his bandana. Till now. The voice he heard on the system was one he could not forget. The tapping had worked, all NSG radio communications were audible to him. He wished they were not. For he knew who sniper 04 was, along with his location. And he knew that his best friend was on the other side ready to put a 5.45 inch bullet in his chest. He had to make a decision. Komail could press the device, walk out unscathed. But he was also aware of the time lag, even after direct orders from NSG, sniper 04 had not fired his rifle. More NSG commandos appeared at the base of the building, evacuating people. Innocent people. People with families and small children. Tears began to form at the corner of his eyes. Not because he was going to kill a hundred other people, but even when about to do so, his friend would not fire. He looked up at latitude 93.74 and longitude 65.39 on his laptop. And found the location. <span style="font-style:italic;">He was right in front of him. “why wouldn’t you shoot me…it would make this easier…!”</span> The detonator trembled in his hands, his conscience torturing him from within. Why would he have to make this decision, he asked God, why wouldn’t fate decide this for him. His hands were clammy with sweat, as he closed his eyes again. <span style="font-style:italic;">It was time. “I am sorry, brother.”</span><br /><br /><br />The base of the building erupted into a frenzy of smoke and gravel, as shouts and cries of horror filled the air. Windows shattered, foundations crumbled as the peoples’ muffled cries for help were drowned. The structure collapsed slowly, as sirens blared. Among everything, the chaos, one man smiled. The man with the green and black bandana. Komail. He smiled again as he looked down at his hand cupping his chest, warm blood oozing out of it. He slumped onto the floor. The smile remained as life drained out of him. <span style="font-style:italic;">“Thank you , brother.”</span>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-53747439837724328352010-04-18T01:06:00.000-07:002010-04-18T01:33:13.395-07:00An AnswerI look at the sky, with a genuine smile,<br />A God i try to find,<br />Grateful i am, I wish to thank,<br />But the sun downs me blind.<br /><br />Just when you feel that things have changed,<br />And things have become better,<br />A certain action, a small event,<br />And everything returns to my gutter.<br /><br />The mind is like a gutter i feel,<br />It takes in good and bad,<br />But inside itself it mixes the two,<br />And overflows the bad i had.<br /><br />It would take years for me to clean my mind,<br />As the drainage never would stop,<br />And one small 26/7 in the mind,<br />It would promptly return to the top.<br /><br />So i wish for answers from God himself,<br />Why cant i maintain my state of mind?<br />Small things distort my calmness,<br />And happiness is hard to find.<br /><br />As i walked these thoughts, across the street<br />A child I found, below a street lamp,<br />Tattered, used books lay around him,<br />It was his studying camp.<br /><br />He rocked a rhythm as he recited a poem,<br />A test he had the day after tomorrow,<br />Twinkled eyes, toothless grin,<br />I walked to hide my sorrow.<br /><br />In a bus I sat and over heard,<br />A conversation between women,<br />One of them sobbed uncontrollably,<br />For her son had done the unforgiven.<br /><br />He was a good chap, she said<br />For among the best he was, she wept,<br />But the fear of failure and performance got too much,<br />And he took the drastic step.<br /><br />Returning home, I opened the newspaper,<br />Another 'chamcha' of a politician, he was<br />Enthralled and enraged and ignited by his speeches, he was<br />And thrown in the lock up, he was<br /><br />On television too, a news was broadcast,<br />Of a soldier captive behind enemy line,<br />Being tortured and grilled for information,<br />His body rotting in blood and slime.<br /><br />He keeps calm and shut for us,<br />For us, the ignorant fools,<br />And if he does get released, he would say<br />That he was just following the rules.<br /><br />After these incidents,<br />I look up at the sky again,<br />The shining sun had disappeared in dark clouds,<br />It seems that it would rain again.<br /><br />God did answer my questions, i feel<br />As i complained about my emotional trouble,<br />He showed me people with more difficult times,<br />And who had more to grumble.<br /><br />But they didn't grumble at all, He showed me<br />They smiled their toothless grins,<br />They sobbed but fought their sorrows,<br />they were ignorant, but remained fearless,<br />They were betrayed, but upheld their valour and tolerance.<br /><br />I looked up and prayed to God, to destiny, to nature, to life<br />I prayed for the ones i cared for,<br />But i prayed more for the ones in need,<br />Cos they really needed more.<br /><br />And I didn't pray for myself at all,<br />Like I started off to try,<br />As one stops thinking about himself, he realises<br />The 'we' sounds better than 'I'.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-24151358242335292222010-04-02T09:49:00.001-07:002010-04-02T09:59:24.520-07:00Trip Diaries: ExcerptsRhythmic , soft thuds, two at a time. I knew of maddys descent before I looked up. He did so, adjusting his camera to check its working status. Chirag followed suit in almost similar fashion as I drained the sand out of my slippers. We followed a path that led us behind our rented bunglow, a path laden with white sand and shells, with small bushes and coconut trees along the sidelines, the bushes opening up to show another unused rocky path. Maddy was immediately at work, capturing each picture with utmost promptness. I strayed away from the two, engulfing the aura of the surroundings slowly. The breeze blew steadily, our t-shirts held on tightly to our bodies as the soft salty air blew sand across our faces. We didn’t flinch, enjoying every bit of it. The coconut trees swayed playfully over us as we followed the rocky path, draining the sand from our feet occasionally. As we went past the bushes, the wind got saltier and stronger. I took a moment to look around. It was around 4 p.m. with the sun beginning its descent into the sea. The sand was warm but the breeze was cool and strong and superseded the heat of the sun. a long unused fisherman’s boat lay there shredded across a couple of huge rocks. The sand was white and soft. There was no one else on the beach. The sea looked peaceful and infinite as I tried to follow my eyes to the horizon. I didn’t feel like moving or making a noise or doing anything for that matter. I just stood there surrendering myself to the deafening silence of the sea perturbed occasionally by the sound of the birds. It may have been nothing less than the carribeans. As I resumed my slow walk towards the sea, I raised my hands over my shoulders. It felt divine. It was one of those moments which on observing encourage a head up eyes down expression, with a still face and calm smiling eyes. <br /> The games had begun. After a quick session of beach football, rohit tried to match the strength of the waves with his own strokes. Amey tried to combat the waves aschirag kept getting knocked left right and center. Hansil, maddy and I were at our nonsensical best making stupid sounds and tripping over the waves. Rohan was the fastest among us and sachin complained of being allergic to sea water to which we were very ‘obliging’. Anup went hysterical. Bret had not joined us by that time and sinan conveniently missed out as he was busy digesting his excretion in his dreams in the room. Volleyball, sakhli, beachball and countless chutyagiri followed. It was a pleasurable sight- a mixture of people whom I knew extremely well, who formed an important part of my life and people I was getting to know. That’s the best part about a trip. A small photo session later, exhaustion took over us as we returned to the shore just at the point where the water ceased. We lay down on our backs and elbows, the slow waves washing the deposited sand on our legs, as we watched the sun set over the horizon. <br /><br /> We returned to our rooms but couldn’t have less of the place and were back at the beach after dinner. There wasn’t a single light bulb on the beach. But there was a full moon. An hour of kabaddi and everyone was down with aching backs and legs. As we lay down gazing up at the moon lit sky trying to count the stars, I thought about some things and had my own little introspection. All I craved for was a book and a pen. “this is what life should be like”, I thought childishly. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFi2iRG3m_Wg32PeIMO7MO4pGrgsBNWw1pVTDG8Sr569eA-fEdVoSUkKKQN3UzrVkARXg-DPwO7AqvjCfYOB6GxUUblOZfEJ8JQF5V_gnUNmtZ9jF4H3mv_whErSch_W49w25UTemrYo/s1600/path.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFi2iRG3m_Wg32PeIMO7MO4pGrgsBNWw1pVTDG8Sr569eA-fEdVoSUkKKQN3UzrVkARXg-DPwO7AqvjCfYOB6GxUUblOZfEJ8JQF5V_gnUNmtZ9jF4H3mv_whErSch_W49w25UTemrYo/s320/path.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455585526962051922" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaH-88o10VgIqqBc4ab5ePY3_4OMAtfrFFioSRd5xlUxMLBP70ZtonDqTRmvHgUHiacqe4NPwn-MOoavtaEfIAo7u-TUBa0KbGv7-DWJ35lqociwkQ60sYwbkFBY2H3byeSVF9wT1AF90/s1600/path3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaH-88o10VgIqqBc4ab5ePY3_4OMAtfrFFioSRd5xlUxMLBP70ZtonDqTRmvHgUHiacqe4NPwn-MOoavtaEfIAo7u-TUBa0KbGv7-DWJ35lqociwkQ60sYwbkFBY2H3byeSVF9wT1AF90/s320/path3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455583651144388754" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknGSIqHgz1ygnmIUUqgyY-pkgN0M2T91Cl5KLWUaDPEhzKy81TouwRrGDsybtDyKEMftRlrsLPxCvoNJtQtKGtAGEW3YsHT-Wqsfj_Mpz6bRFh8giSUkbeWULVZnXC7992qqE4rxdNfU/s1600/path4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknGSIqHgz1ygnmIUUqgyY-pkgN0M2T91Cl5KLWUaDPEhzKy81TouwRrGDsybtDyKEMftRlrsLPxCvoNJtQtKGtAGEW3YsHT-Wqsfj_Mpz6bRFh8giSUkbeWULVZnXC7992qqE4rxdNfU/s320/path4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455583657598051762" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbICXjH68WcreCuiV3kwN2NZ6Ut7A24aUrmsmUKYzDxHPbQN6cJfUtj3W4BEBcKYcb066bJkpZCHN9YorF8pCVhySW955mpoZtkcAf4z_DE3Z03ox1pghKFsPAN94nomNlIGpYOhciXo/s1600/path8.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbICXjH68WcreCuiV3kwN2NZ6Ut7A24aUrmsmUKYzDxHPbQN6cJfUtj3W4BEBcKYcb066bJkpZCHN9YorF8pCVhySW955mpoZtkcAf4z_DE3Z03ox1pghKFsPAN94nomNlIGpYOhciXo/s320/path8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455583662345723842" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5J9j-nlArlNV0eKuepW8LoDXmRUWXmWjVq7gHn4Tzu-VzWlSQur48SVsmDHV2kbpmqerm1KfAn0O3gtNEN7CY_vZMQO7DCY1UM5M7D2xFl63MGJPNhVgYn1HLDtxcugfd6cvcIH-ZS8/s1600/path5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5J9j-nlArlNV0eKuepW8LoDXmRUWXmWjVq7gHn4Tzu-VzWlSQur48SVsmDHV2kbpmqerm1KfAn0O3gtNEN7CY_vZMQO7DCY1UM5M7D2xFl63MGJPNhVgYn1HLDtxcugfd6cvcIH-ZS8/s320/path5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455583664589880466" /></a>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-50239371901071383552010-02-17T10:34:00.000-08:002010-02-17T10:36:51.943-08:00A Letter<span style="font-style:italic;">I wouldn’t want to start this letter with a ‘dear sir/madam’ for I dont find the title worth for you. It must have been some great hurry that right after the incident you didn’t stop even for a few minutes to see if everything was fine. Probably, the optimistic side of me would want to believe that you are a doctor or someone of that league acting on an emergency or to ease someone ‘s pain. Maybe hurrying to help a woman in labour. Maybe that’s why you didn’t stop after hearing the surprised yelp. You knew I was hit. There’s no doubt about that as I fell ahead rolling beside your car. Your reflexes were good, because soon after I heard the screeching of the brakes, I heard the engine rev up and the car speed down the road before I could blink twice after opening my eyes. I know you must have stopped for a split second, swallowing a lump of guilt that you have done something horrible and could not muster enough courage to face the consequences of what you had done. Even though I have not seen you, I know, if you are a normal human being, you would have felt that horrible feeling at the pit of your stomach and I hope it gives you those goose bumps forever which you have so righteously earned. The worst part would be to not know whether I lived or died and you will have to live with that uncertainty. I guess that may be your punishment and my consolation.<br />So the next time you speed down the wrong side of the road trying to hit the speedometer ,think again.<br />It won’t be another twenty one year old guy. Maybe it would be a six year old boy on his new bicycle. Or a small girl walking her dog. Or an old man buying medicines. Or a pregnant woman trying to cross the road. Imagine the guilt involving a hit and run with them. I don’t know what I would do if I come to know who you are ,eventually. But I do pray that nothing like this happens to anyone else. I can’t think of a way to end this letter but I do hope, if you are reading, you realize that I wrote this letter in the most polite way possible.<br />P.S: if you still don’t get what I want to convey then here is a sum up: BALLS TO YOU BASTARD. MAY YOU ROT IN HELL. <br /></span>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-51944396040332681332009-09-20T07:45:00.000-07:002009-09-20T09:32:40.680-07:00The Pursuit Of HappynessIt has been a really long time since I addressed my fellow readers in first person. I usually take other way-outs like assuming fictitious characters (mike), descriptive writing, and other means. But this time I want to address my friends in first person because for the very first time I am speaking my mind off entirely.<br /><br /><br />The Pursuit Of Happyness. The most wonderful movie ever made. Not only because of will smith. But because of what it showed and how much it appealed to me. Here are some of the quotes which I had remembered.<br />...........................................<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Christopher Gardner: I met my father for the first time when I was 28 years old. I made up my mind that when I had children, my children were going to know who their father was.<br /><br />………………………………………………………………………………..<br />Christopher Gardner: [about the spelling mistakes in the graffiti of a building] It's not H-A-P-P-Y-N-E-S-S Happiness is spelled with an "I" instead of a "Y" <br />Christopher: Oh, okay. Is "Fuck" spelled right? <br />Christopher Gardner: Um, yes. "Fuck" is spelled right but you shouldn't use that word. <br />Christopher: Why? What's it mean? <br />Christopher Gardner: It's, um, an adult word used to express anger and, uh, other things. But it's an adult word. It's spelled right, but don't use it. <br /><br />.......................................<br />Christopher Gardner: Hey. Don't ever let somebody tell you... You can't do something. Not even me. All right? <br />Christopher: All right. <br />Christopher Gardner: You got a dream... You gotta protect it. People can't do somethin' themselves, they wanna tell you you can't do it. If you want somethin', go get it. Period.<br /><br />………………………………………………………………………………<br /><br />Christopher Gardner: It was right then that I started thinking about Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence and the part about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And I remember thinking how did he know to put the pursuit part in there? That maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue and maybe we can actually never have it. No matter what. How did he know that?<br /></span><br />…………………………………………………………………………………..<br /><br />Sometimes these quotes are very thought provoking for my idle mind, for example today, when I should be giving a mock Cat prep test, or working on my b.e. project, or doing something innovative for my mothers birthday. But no. my mind wanders into emptiness, dives further into so called philosophical tides seeking solace and explanations. Explanations to thoughts that are vague, confused and philosophically bound which my mind does not accept because it doesn’t know if they are true. <br /><br />Happiness. Dictionary says it a state of your mind when you feel satisfied or content. Now this is untrue. I mean satisfaction or being content is usually attached to things or people. Most of the times these words are used as ‘satisfied’ on doing something and ‘content’ on having something. Then it makes sense because we have then defined happiness as an achievement rather than a state of mind. And it has become an achievement for me. If I get something which I wanted or if I do something satisfactorily which was supposed to be done by me, then I am happy. That means if I don’t get what I want or if I don’t do things am I supposed to remain unhappy? Why has it come down to this? Did you ever see a small child being unhappy ? he or she is always happy. He or she is happy on just ‘being’. Not because of anything. Just because he is there. Just because he can run with the small feet of his. Just because anything can bring a smile to his face. He doesn’t need anything to be happy. He is happy just like that. Something has to make him sad. Considering my case, something has to make me happy. What a sad transformation. Life is a journey. Not a destination. Destiny says you should be happy at all stages of your life. Because you are bound to get what you are destined to. Whatever may happen. Just do today’s work sincerely. If one remains happy and goes about his work he is bound to get what he is destined to. If one remains unhappy throughout his life, his thoughts plagued with analysis and self doubt and anxiety, he still gets what he is destined to but lives a horrible life. In the end he is left cursing his past ; why he didn’t live his life to the full. In this world the focus is so much on doing something that we tend to forget to give time to ourselves. We often say, “I’ ll achieve this then I ll be secure, then I ll be happy”. The happiness gets postponed towards achieving our goals. Am not saying that is a bad thing to go out and make one’s place in this world. But at what cost? Is it really worth to earn millions and then run around ashrams and astha and sanskar channels to have inner peace? There must be something wrong somewhere.<br /><br />Happiness is a state to be perennially maintained. It is not to be related to achievements. Do what you have to, go and achieve what you want to, but be happy regardless of everything. Come what may, nothing is worth troubling your soul. It is priceless.<br /><br />So when we look at the last quote which I wrote; did u forget already? I ll reapeat it for you:<br /> <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Christopher Gardner: It was right then that I started thinking about Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence and the part about our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And I remember thinking how did he know to put the pursuit part in there? That maybe happiness is something that we can only pursue and maybe we can actually never have it. No matter what. How did he know that?</span><br /><br />Then you know why I found it thought provoking. Pursuit of happiness. Maybe they perceived happiness in a different way to what I portrayed it above. And the whole movie, though brilliant, talks about how he struggled and got over his problems by sheer hard work and determination. How happiness is not a journey but a destination. That he postpones happiness in pursuit of his goal to be a stock broker (cant actually be harsh on him , considering his financial status). Only pursue happiness and never actually have it. Is that so?<br /><br />I would go on and on because my mind never rests. But I think this is enough for now. Thank you Mr. Steve Conrad for the Pursuit of Happyness. It really appealed a lot to me. Thank you Will Smith. I am not a movie buff but I have never missed any of your movies.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-83361757330395275052009-08-22T23:04:00.000-07:002009-08-22T23:35:53.116-07:00The First DayDecorative lights. Sticker tape. Extension cords and multi-plugs. Switched off fans. <span style="font-style:italic;">Gamlas</span>. Saffron <span style="font-style:italic;">aasans</span>. Thermocol, pins and blow paint. Stained red hands and nails. Mother running around. Tall silver and golden <span style="font-style:italic;">samais</span>. Seven and nine flame <span style="font-style:italic;">diyas</span>. Ghee and cotton diyas. Liquid ghee. Raw ghee. Burnt ghee. Sparkling floors. Perfumed smoke. <span style="font-style:italic;">Aggarbattis</span>. Ashes of aggarbattis. Flowers. Wet flowers. Fresh flowers. Orange. Yellow. Hibiscus. Rose petals. Wet rose petals. <span style="font-style:italic;">Tulsi. Durva</span>. Garlands. Crumpled fresh green leaves. Burnt matchsticks. Mother's soft experienced hands. Long, difficult <span style="font-style:italic;">sanskrit</span> words. My stammering voice. <span style="font-style:italic;">Panchamrut. Dahi</span>. Water. Stained with <span style="font-style:italic;">kumkum</span>. Camphor. Raw peculiar smell. Burning camphor. Black outline of its flame mixing wholeheartedly with the aggarbattis' white perfumed smoke. Bronze <span style="font-style:italic;">thalis</span>, mugs, vessels. Mango leaves. <span style="font-style:italic;">Kalash</span>. Coconut shavings. Raw coconut. Sweet water. Silver glasses with water and rose petals. Strewn rice grains. Gold plated wide aggarbatti stands. Apples. <span style="font-style:italic;">Kumkum</span> stained sweet lemons. Raised saffron platforms. More durva. <span style="font-style:italic;">Murti. Sanshtaang namaskar</span>. Burnt hair while holding aarti. Growling , hungry stomach. <span style="font-style:italic;">Kheer</span>. Hot, sweet aromas. Paining shoulders on rotating aarti for long. Rainy weather. Loudspeakers. Sweet, sticky , <span style="font-style:italic;">kumkum</span> stained hands. Open doors. People. Smiles. Blessings. The wait for lunch. Happy Ganeshutsav!yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-63012858730081318772009-08-18T05:20:00.000-07:002009-08-18T06:21:09.100-07:00The other side<span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side of the road. That I can't see the cars coming from behind and i may get hurt. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side on the train. If I have to get down at dadar i need to be on the other side. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side of 60. That I may have to go the extra mile to get placed. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br />They say I am on the wrong side if I am not studying enough. That I ll have trouble later in my life. That I won't be successful enough to be satisfied. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side if I plan my life. That it is wrong to bound oneself to what he or she has to do and keep bothering oneself. That it is insignificant. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side if I am confused about things. That my confusion won't get me anywhere. And it will bother me as a habit for the rest of my life. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side if worry about things. That no one has seen what the future holds for him. So there is no point in getting anxious about things you are not sure to be yours. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side if i do anything anti-social. Even if it is the smallest of things. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side if I can't decide. That I over analyse things which makes me difficult to choose. And that choice is something that is not worth the thinking. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> i am on the wrong side if I underestimate myself. If I feel that I am not strong enough. That I have all what it takes to be the one I want in this world, but I just don't know it yet. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am wrong when I am silently diplomatic. That I should be straightforward. That I should say what I feel. I listen. And still keep quiet.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side when I smile too less. Life is a gift , they say and that I have a better life than most people. I listen. And keep quiet.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">They say</span> I am on the wrong side when I think too much. That once I get rid of this habit,I ll be the happiest person in the world. I listen. And i keep quiet.<br /><br />They say a lot of things. Most of it registers. Some of it doesn't. But none can be ignored. Why? Because they have said it.<br /><br />They say a lot of things. About the wrong side. They say as if they know. What it is to be on the wrong side. <span style="font-style:italic;">To come to think of it, there is no wrong side. Its just the other side</span>. Which they don't know. Or they don't want to know. Maybe because the front side guarantees a lot of good things. And the wrong side does not. May be they are just scared to explore. May be they want a simple normal life where you sit back in a recliner chair many years from now to think about how nice (read dull and monotonous) his your life was. May be that is a good thing. I don't know. Its just that it is not to be looked as right or wrong. Its just what is yours what is not yours. <br /><br />They say a lot of things. Their saying does not affect me. It is a matter of choice. If I take it in, then it registers and I get affected. For example, suppose if some relative of yours passes away at 3 p.m. You get the news at 8 p.m. When you get the news, you are affected. That is not because of the relative dying. Because the person died at 3. If that was to make you unhappy you should have been unhappy at 3. But you were not. So there you had a choice of talking it in or just being yourself. And you unconsciously take the choice of being sad. You had another choice of being the same. Any ways, that was just an example. <br /><br />They say a lot of things. They say I write long posts. May be I should listen to them and cut this one abruptly. Or maybe i just need therapy. :)yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-7029235491931624612009-08-14T01:33:00.000-07:002009-08-14T02:23:49.668-07:00A Subtle contactHe was on the ground. Face down, his nose buried deep in the damp mud. It smelled of crumpled grass, moist stones and fresh sweat. He lay there not sure if he should get up for spasms of pain were racing their way to his head from the epicenter of the injury, his knee. A deliberate planned tackle. A whistle was heard. He looked up, supporting his body on his palms and turned around. The sun was at his maximum, laughing at him over his shoulder and beating the heat upon his neck. He closed a hand around the knee and began to wipe the small, firm streaks of blood oozing out of the wound. <span style="font-style:italic;">I could have scored this one</span>, he thought. He picturised himself just a moment ago going solo with a defender and the next moment he was down. The tackle was uncalled for and brutal. The culprit stood with his hands on his hips, with his body totally covering the referee's as he was sent off the field. A free kick. So close. He got up and stretched. The pain seemed to lesses but was present as a continual reminder. As the ball was placed, the coach looked on hopefully. Clifton was going to take it. The injured forward turned his head. He looked at Clifton and smiled. Clifton smiled back. They knew what they were going to do. This was their chance. He pulled is stockings up and tightened his laces. The stockings were looking discoloured with the blood around them. <span style="font-style:italic;">It did not matter. Now was the time. Now was the chance</span>. As Clifton readied himself, he took his stance. No one would suspect him to do it. Only clifton knew as they had practised this for months. He saw Paneerwala his eyes wide in anticipation. He saw vinesh frantically trying to get away from the opposition defender. He smiled. As the whistle blew, he ran blindly towards the far post. The moment it left Clifton's foot everyone knew where it was going to go. It was flat and low and was racing to the place towards the far post. He ran his normal pace but felt as if the ball would somehow miss him. Maybe he was weakened by the fall or Clifton fired a little too much into it. He ran putting every ounce of energy there in him. And dived, the edge of his foot making contact with the ball. A small subtle contact. The ball went faster and higher than expected and hit the crossbar on the lower side, but went in. He didn't wait to see that. He was in a world of his own, racing away. Gone was the pain of the injury, the worry of the championship, the innumerable fouls, tackles and abuses of the game. He ran along with Clifton, jumping, celebrating as his other team mates gathered. They laughed effortlessly, like small children, their shirts soaked, but their eyes shining. The final whistle sounded as they ran over the edge of the stretch, spraying each other with water. The coach smiled and let them be. He came upto the coach and gave him a hug. The sweat and dirt didn't matter. Someone was proud today and it showed. Maybe this is what it feels like to be God, he thought. And closed his eyes as vinesh emptied another bottle of water on his head.<br /><br /><br />p.s.: I miss school days! (sob sob)!!yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-89415510652543307622009-07-30T08:07:00.000-07:002009-07-30T08:14:23.374-07:00A Conversation(I keep my views about sensitive and controversial topics to myself. So these are not my opinions, nor a collection of my ideas put together in a fictional way. This is something which really happened which i would like to share. none of this is adapted or edited. Whatever i remebered perfectly, i have put it up. Dialogues which were hazy in memory i didn't refer to them at all.)<br /><br />It was sometime in sem 4. Passport renewal. I had already gone through the irritatingly painful paperwork process. Once that is done, the centre sends a police constable to your place for address confirmation. And you have to accompany him back to the head office for a signature. Being a lawyer's son, I was not new to policemen and had a few typical images of them. One is potbellied with a huge black moustache(which is too black for his age) almost covering his upper lip, with remnants of red of paan reeking from the corner of his mouth, one who has a regular need to spit or clean his nose loudly(or both) every 4.5 minutes. Other image is of tall Herculean giants, eyes bloodshot because of either excess of night duties or excess of liquor or both. Their smiles are false and timid, the latter expression is uncomfortable for them to sustain. But they are scared of layers. They have always been so. I couldn't figure out why. So i was taken aback by the constable who appeared very different from the versions of cops which I had in mind. Tall, slender, formally dressed with a pair of intelligent, alert eyes. He didn't smile and that expression deviod of it was genuine. He spoke good English, though not fluent. He accompanied me to the office, got the work done and insisted on accompanying me home. We shared a cab and the cab driver immediately struck a conversation with him. i took the back seat and buried myself in a book.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver</span>:: Kya jamana aa gaya hai... <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Constable ::</span>Haan? Kya hua?<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver</span>::Hisdustani hi Hindustani ke khilaf ho gaya hai...<br />Constable ::<span style="font-style:italic;">(an a typical way)</span> Kya baat kar raha hai be??<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver::</span> Aapne suna nahi? Raj Thakerey ke logon ne 2 bhaiyyon ko bahut peeta. Kyun? Kya guna kiya unhonien? Kya kaam karna paap hai? Paisa kamana paap hai?<br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Constable ::</span><span style="font-style:italic;">(voice rising)</span> tu bol raha hai ke maine suna nahi? abey chutiye, mein udhar duty pe tha. Udhar bhaiyyon ko daraya dhamkaya, mara nahin. Kahani banane mein mashur hote ho tum log. tum logon se hone se hum marathi logon ko khana, paani nahi milta. naukri nahi milti. Aur ab tum log mumbai mein apne vote sabha bana rahe ho? yeh galat hai. tum log aayo, paisa kamao. lekin hum logon par raj mat karo.<br /> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver::</span><span style="font-style:italic;">(Realising that he is talking to a policeman...the quivering of his voice was evident)</span>...par bhai sahab, hame Patna mein koi kaam nahi milta. Mera chota bhai engineer hai. 2500 mahine ka kamata hai. Yeh bhi koi kamai hai? Usse acha mein Bambai mein idhar taxi chala leta hoon. Kam se kam parivar ko roti toh milti hai. <span style="font-style:italic;">(The driver smiled. A false meek smile)</span> Amrika jate hai na log apne. Unko woh log kahan kuch bolte hain?<br /><br />I looked up. The conversation was much more interesitng than the book. I looked at the constable, half expecting him to be furious, half sympathetic. I failed to find any emotion.<br /><br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Constable ::</span> Hamare log Amrika jaakar apne hi dal ya sanghatan nahi banate. Udhar jaakar paisa kamate hain. Kabza nahi karte unpar jaise tum log kar rahe ho. Tum log toh mumbai aakar apne vote ke dal bana rahe ho. Sabha aur municipality mein apne hi logon ko khada kar rahe ho. Aur sunayun? Railway aur B.E.S.T. ke naukriyon ke sabhi applications Patna aur U.P. bheje ja rahe hain. Jab ki mumbai ke logon ko uske bare mein jaankari hi nahi hai. Matlab woh sabhi naukriyan khali tum logon ko hogi. Hum ko toh application ke forms bhi nahi diye gaye. Yeh Kya hai? idhar ke naukriyan aur sirf unke liye? Hum kya idhar tamasha dekhte rahein?<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(The taxi surged forward. I was waiting for the driver's reaction. It came after a long time and it changed the course of the conversation.) <br /></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver::</span> Bhai sahab <span style="font-style:italic;">(cough cough...ahem ahem...clears throat loudly and spits)</span> hum akhir hai kaun? Hindu hi hai na? Lekin yeh log to hinduon mein hi khagda laga rahe hain. Hindu ko Hindu se hi alag kar rahe hain.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(I stared fixedly at him and turned to look at the mirror. I didn't realise that my eyebrows were raised in surprise. The constable's face was a shade redder and the previous expression had undergone a complete makeover)<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Constable ::</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">(as if realisation struck him)</span> Arre haan, barabar bola. Musalmaan logon ki 18 jaati hoti hai. Koi shaadi ke liye doosre jaat ko beti nahi deta. Lekin kisi ek musalman ko chua toh sab ek hokar aate hain.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Cab driver::</span> <span style="font-style:italic;">(Pleased with himself)</span> Aur hindu kabhi ek nahi hote. Upar se marathi aur bhaiyye jhagadte hain. Agar yeh badta gaya ko musalmaan log toh hame kuchal ke rakh denge. for bhi mujhe lagta hai ki bhaikyyon se jyada asli target musalmaan hai...."<br /><br />I watched and listened with horror and amusement at the same time at how the conversation changed and progressed. They talked as if they were comrades of a long lost war and had been reunited. Gone were the maratha-bhaiyya arguments, they discussed their ancestors fights and battles. I just sat there listening, a silent anger rising. I went home, slumped into a chair, thoughtful. Religious tolerance. Secularism. Sigh.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-39131352658253231262009-05-30T10:09:00.000-07:002009-05-30T10:10:56.766-07:00A Disappointed SmileA labourer stands alone, fatigued with work and pain,<br />A ruthless master implies no more gain,<br /><br />He begs for more, just a little bit more,<br />Receives lashes till his back is sore,<br /><br />He returns home, hopeful eyes stare at him for a while,<br />He shakes his head with a disappointed smile.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A doctor he is, tired and exhausted,<br />Stares at the next patient having his blood clotted,<br /><br />He works twenty hours without a break,<br />So many commitments he failed to make,<br /><br />As his next patient retches blood and bile,<br />He takes him in with a disappointed smile.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A soldier he is, stands tall and upright,<br />And feels proud of the army’s might,<br /><br />But the person controlling him, he knows,<br />No ethics, no righteousness, after money he goes,<br /><br />The soldier feels betrayed as he marches another mile,<br />He looks up at the flag with a disappointed smile.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A journalist he is, strong and bold,<br />To the worlds wrongs his attitude is cold,<br /><br />He travels and writes about the wrongs in this world,<br />Of the people and places of high ranks, laurels and low morals,<br /><br />But as he stands and stares at his rejected file,<br />His cold eyes do not connect to his disappointed smile.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A student he is, a frustrated engineering one,<br />Three years into it and wondering what he has done,<br /><br />A lot of thoughts cloud his mind,<br />A small voice saying that everything will be fine,<br /><br />He sees his friends, in the rain, play,<br />Their faces and limbs covered with mud and clay,<br /><br />He stands there watching, the wind teasing his hair,<br />He tries to fake a impassive stare,<br /><br />He closes his eyes, letting the tension pile,<br />He looks up and wears a disappointed smile.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-12771823636546733952009-05-21T02:32:00.000-07:002009-05-21T02:43:39.867-07:00The Cold ShoulderI stood there in front of them, staring,<br />Both engrossed in each others caring,<br /><br />I stood there watching, my fastest friend he was,<br />The one who taught me that friendship had no clause,<br /><br />They stared at each other and smiled at each word,<br />While I just stood there waiting and bored,<br /><br />I looked up, looked down, to find someone I tried,<br />And kept shifting my weight to the other side,<br /><br />I wish then, there was someone beside me right,<br />With whom I could share my miserable plight,<br /><br />I waited and waited, it seemed like months and days,<br />For him to come around in his original ways,<br /><br />I always thought that changes were inevitable,<br />But never imagined they could be so pitiable,<br /><br />I thought he would come by, at least when I was in trouble,<br />But I guess it was hard for him to break that bubble,<br /><br />I waited a lot and I waited some more,<br />But inside I was hurt by what he had done many times before,<br /><br />But I realized it was my mistake, that I expected things from him,<br />Cos he wasn’t the best of them, for he was always so serious and grim,<br /><br />I smiled , shrugged, and turned around to go back,<br />The girl noticed and she called back,<br /><br />It mattered none to him as I stared at him colder,<br />For I knew what I had got from him...<span style="font-style:italic;">the cold shoulder</span>.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-78228108812311218662009-04-30T07:02:00.000-07:002009-04-30T07:19:13.809-07:00Random picturesAm not much of a photoblogger like pratap is..but just felt like updating some random pictures....<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9rrnnDcFwMnEPGWRyzVQc8o0wtmKV8uRYIenSILLYbM79KjPdzkoRnML_uiAKmVbP6q_m7Cg7DSutBRP8fhrpNK2iDosCJs4V5-8W738d2EsHcE5ws4nlYv1feP-UTc3jJXIeMCp7_80/s1600-h/Image011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9rrnnDcFwMnEPGWRyzVQc8o0wtmKV8uRYIenSILLYbM79KjPdzkoRnML_uiAKmVbP6q_m7Cg7DSutBRP8fhrpNK2iDosCJs4V5-8W738d2EsHcE5ws4nlYv1feP-UTc3jJXIeMCp7_80/s320/Image011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330485934668148050" /> Lab 133...our adda for 2 years!!</a><br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJRT6thsM5QHKd5RQP0zlNjZRcmqq0rrwnZ3ZFz5_We9xmYF9vfmyrbkficEmtlpa95X4G2eTcPGCgkX9-C7GMtHmk4yBYv0WIC2yk2XGh77QAqTCn3_kevE0x0HoPq6Z1nS8wP17ykU/s1600-h/Waitn+4+santa+cruz.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJRT6thsM5QHKd5RQP0zlNjZRcmqq0rrwnZ3ZFz5_We9xmYF9vfmyrbkficEmtlpa95X4G2eTcPGCgkX9-C7GMtHmk4yBYv0WIC2yk2XGh77QAqTCn3_kevE0x0HoPq6Z1nS8wP17ykU/s320/Waitn+4+santa+cruz.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330485937915695810" />live a dogs life they say...all they know to do is sleep eat and screw....and take free local train rides...i caught this one at andheri...got unto a churchgate slow...and got down at santacruz...interesting if not funny!!</a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktU70IQXbAMPSc62I0HUa61LBMJM5D42p0d027dU7j26XmzPUvYWj7jpQ6YYytyKLQW9hfahohWiEy3X84wE0qJOL1m5Cu2ZJAl6Zn-DtHpJwwKWRPEg1NM8izJ57jdTXojgyHSoXM14/s1600-h/My+table.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktU70IQXbAMPSc62I0HUa61LBMJM5D42p0d027dU7j26XmzPUvYWj7jpQ6YYytyKLQW9hfahohWiEy3X84wE0qJOL1m5Cu2ZJAl6Zn-DtHpJwwKWRPEg1NM8izJ57jdTXojgyHSoXM14/s320/My+table.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330485932308964034" />My messed up "study" table</a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1K0NzRpzUO5P7Ys13P3q76P62F2QQVeilEBV-ocZy4uBNU4umFmYxlaWCm72nQ75RQYpJ8B7kvrgqPLIB1W2HJ3mVjKijbQSofaz978i76xzSi1cSmdifHPradcCNkto3H6wqgkkN4tA/s1600-h/Imag1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1K0NzRpzUO5P7Ys13P3q76P62F2QQVeilEBV-ocZy4uBNU4umFmYxlaWCm72nQ75RQYpJ8B7kvrgqPLIB1W2HJ3mVjKijbQSofaz978i76xzSi1cSmdifHPradcCNkto3H6wqgkkN4tA/s320/Imag1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330485931025304674" />still life...(just a glass of water dont look too much into it)</a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF98bUexaXzGfzzC30PJpptAfmWKA45UfySh9CX1AIRjgnUOUAZlxTq215YQkH4l6VHFCT4_9WP_UYDm21NYcFedpY5sqxEVZ4NWvoSunWmB3n0Gur8L8OgVPBuu9yFmMx_mC1-M2WlcY/s1600-h/kamehameha.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF98bUexaXzGfzzC30PJpptAfmWKA45UfySh9CX1AIRjgnUOUAZlxTq215YQkH4l6VHFCT4_9WP_UYDm21NYcFedpY5sqxEVZ4NWvoSunWmB3n0Gur8L8OgVPBuu9yFmMx_mC1-M2WlcY/s320/kamehameha.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330485925772379778" />My brother karan with a friend of his on a goan beach...i loved this pic the most!! (for those who watch dragonball z its KAMEHAHMEHAAH!!! :))</a>yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-68589689357331828622009-04-28T12:09:00.000-07:002009-04-28T12:12:38.870-07:00SpeedI love my bike. A lot. Maybe more than a lot of people in this world. This is the closest I can get to being materialistic. But all of us who own a bike would agree. It’s different.<br /><br />She helps me a lot. My unicorn 150. whenever I am stressed, or depressed or just plain confused. I feel like for a long ride. On the highway. I have to then cut down other costs which are obviously directed towards fuel. But that’s ok. <br /><br />There was no one at home that night. The air was still and there was no unnecessary breeze. It was 1 a.m. and the neighbours were asleep as well. Not a sound. Perfect. I went down, tied pieces of torn cloth to the grip handle. Increased the revolutions per minute by 1000 rpm. (it can be done by loosening a small screw located to the right, just near the engine where the kick start pedal ends.) I got on top and kicked. Unicorns don’ t make any noise but in that uncomfortable silence of the night in the parking lot, it seemed to roar. I killed the engine. Lights. Check. Rear brake. Check. Disc brake. Check. Dippers. Check. Indicators. Check. Mirror positioning. Check. Fuel on. Check. Fuel level. Check. All set. Ready to go.<br /><br />Kick. Raw rumbling sound of the engine. Clutch. Gear pedal down. Gear 1. go!!!<br />Clutch, shift gear pedal up, gear 2…shift gear 3….and I was off.<br /><br />As I descended the hill and on to the highway, <span style="font-style:italic;">I thought whether I should be doing this.<br />If I was right in doing this. It was not about the risk of getting hurt that was worrying me. It was the risk of getting caught. And be grounded for an indefinite amount of time.</span> That too without the bike. <span style="font-style:italic;">That part was scary.</span><br /><br />The western express highway is particularly dangerous after 2a.m. nearly all the drivers are drunk and no one drives below 100 km/ hr. A breeze started to blow. A steady cold breeze. I was riding against it. It seeped in through the visor screen and was right into my face. I put on full throttle. 45km/hr. 55 km/hr. 70 km/ hr 85 km/ hr….now it gets dangerous as any sudden movement or anything relatively close to that would result in a one way ride to you know where. 95 km/hr. my shirt was going to be blown away. 105 km/ hr. this is the highest I have been so far… the bike starts vibrating and curves slightly to the left on going above this.. I felt like God..Riding at 105 km/hr in the middle of the night. I felt ecstatic. Free. Out of control. Crazy. And I loved myself for it. And I loved my bike even more.<br /><br />The lights appeared and went in a daze. It was still on full throttle. The bike swayed dangerously each time the speed increased. Not that I cared. Every time I accelerated, I felt this catch in the region just below the solar plexus and above the stomach. A sharp hollow feeling. Adrenaline pumping. The pulse rate quickened. The feeling persisted till the acceleration was on.<br /><br />The t shirt collar flapped rapidly at my neck as I cut through the wind and further towards Andheri.<br />I wished I had a jacket on, I thought bluntly as I sped through the occasionally present mist in between flyovers. It is an interesting thing to notice how the air becomes suddenly damp and moist and cold and again becomes dry a minute later. It feels as if there are patches of different air columns present stationary as I cut through them.<br /><br />I let go off the throttle as I neared Andheri. The speed lessened as I decremented the gear shift till it reduced to 2. I still wished my bike had a 6th gear. Life would have been so much better. I took a u turn at Andheri junction and proceeded towards home. Even with the helmet on my ears had gone cold. It was a cold November morning. as I reached Goregaon I began to feel good about the little excursion I had. In 10 minutes I pulled into the parking lot. The watchmen had made a primitive fire for themselves about which they had gathered around, playing teen patti. The meter said 9174…I had ridden 26 kilometres. 30 rupees well saved and spent. I felt good about myself. There was nothing in my head. A mind devoid of thoughts. I could feel the blood rushing to the brain as I recalled 105km/hr feeling. My stomach churned and my head started beating. I smiled. Quietly I crept to my second floor apartment and unlocked the door. I hoped the neighbours wouldn’t hear me and luckily they didn’t. my head swayed as I lied down on the floor. I smiled again. Maybe this is what being high feels like, I thought, amused.<br /><br /><br />(p.s.: I do not in any way, from this post, encourage anyone to ride or drive at night or speed above 70 km/hr. trust me it is highly dangerous. Only a stupid dumbfuck like me can be foolish enough to carry out something like that. Also try avoiding writing such articles especially when your mother uses the pc often. Because unknowingly you will be foolish enough to write such an article and save it on the desktop, thus making it available for everyone to read.>> I had to hear a lot that day. Especially since the accident I recently had..details later…amen)yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-21142105918874420552009-04-05T01:14:00.000-07:002009-04-05T01:19:29.672-07:00blogroll updatedGreetings to my reducing list of patient readers...say hi to anna, gaurav dobhal, karan, kirti, pratiksha, snehal and tanmay. <br /><br />Will update soon..Please bear with me..have been very busy...also life has been very interesting this one month :-))...adios.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-24367473525059239562009-03-07T22:15:00.000-08:002009-03-07T22:19:34.424-08:00Just This OnceThe room was dark. And quiet. It smelt of raw plywood and rotting wood polish. A damp woody smell. Perfect, thought Mike. He walked towards the window sill, his sneakers making a soft muffled sound as they passed over the wood shavings scattered on the floor. He stopped. The window sill. Perfect. the weather was cloudy. A soft drizzle followed as he stood there, watching. Darkening the sky even more. Perfect. He sat on the window sill, one leg up resting his elbow on it. Slid a window open. Fresh air greeted him. <span style="font-style:italic;">Maybe for the last time</span>, he mused. The drizzle turned into a downpour. People, children, dogs scattered for shelter. Perfect, thought mike. To be safe inside a man made structure but still feel the iron grip of nature on yourself. And to do something so unethical that even nature would be upset. He smiled. And took out his smoke. Lit it. Rested his head on the wall, closed his eyes, letting it burn idly. <span style="font-style:italic;">I am not sad, or depressed or in any trouble. Neither am I under any peer pressure</span>, he thought bluntly. I am just doing it to try it out. <span style="font-style:italic;">Just once. Just this once.</span> He looked at his Marlboro light. It was halfway through. Hell I think too much. He took a drag. A small one. His throat grew hot, his chest burnt and what followed was a series of coughs. Violent ones. Uncontrollable ones. His eyes watered. What pleasure do people derive from doing this, he thought. It was nearly over. He put it in his mouth, and inhaled slowly. This time there were no desperate coughs. No burning lungs. A floating sensation. A mind devoid of thought. Clarity to the maximum. His heartbeat went up as blood rushed to his brain. And then it slowed down. Easing it of all pain. Of the confusion. He thought the smoke would cloud his thoughts and retard his thinking capabilities. On the contrary, he had never been so clear. Or confident. He opened his eyes. The feeling started fading and he could already feel himself reaching out for a second. But he stopped himself. And smiled. Is this what they called being high? Is this what people wasted their lives on? Someone had told him that meditation gave one the same feeling after years of practice. What a quick way this was. But he promised himself he wouldn’t get addicted. <span style="font-style:italic;">Addicted? And me? Definitely not</span>, he thought. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he struggled to fight off the urge. His body swayed and his mind raged a battle against his so called ethics. <span style="font-style:italic;">Maybe I just need another one to calm myself down, just this once. Just this once.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />**(this article does not in any way promote smoking or any related activities. I have tried to show it in a bad light, how it becomes addictive. Also the character is purely fictitious. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is highly coincidental.)yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-90884326155580464792009-01-25T20:10:00.000-08:002009-01-25T20:17:34.715-08:00Thank YouThis is a post I had written 6 months back but never had the opportunity to update it. For some reason I didn’t do it. But now, since many people are changing (these may include me), I really want to thank many of my friends who have really done a lot for me. I have really been lucky to be blessed by amazing parents, amazing friends and frankly many a times I feel I don’t deserve it. My friends have influenced me in many ways. I have learnt a lot from them. <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Many of my opinions about them have changed and before they change completely I want to do justice to them by posting it</span></span>. Now I can’t list down all those who have been there for me but definitely they know it I thank them for it. Let us start. I want to thank the following people….for teaching me….<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pratap Kaul::<br /></span><br />To be a fighter, to always be the underdog, to work really hard, to stay on the ground always, to rise after being down, to put 100% in everything, to self introspect and continuously improve, to help others no matter what.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ashwathi Nambiar::</span><br /><br />To make life simple, to get maximum output through minimum effort(I have not figured out this one as yet), to not be bothered by material achievements at all but at the same time achieve them with ease, to help others, to enjoy life as it is and not how it should be.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rohit Bharadwaj::</span><br /><br />To be passionate about doing things which come your way, to understand help and trust people completely, to be selfless.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sinan Kadavath::</span><br /><br />To try and live life to the fullest, to think and act differently, to be unique and live life according to one’s own wants, to do everything, to try and do the improbable.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rahul madhavan::</span><br /><br />To not be bothered by anything, to go about one’s life in a way which is unaffected by others’ thinking, to improve, to think practically, he showed me that change need not always be bad.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rahul goswami::</span><br /><br />To be selfless, to help others and think about their good, to care for others even when he himself is in a precarious position, to think a lot, to be positive and critical at the same time, I always thought he deserves more than he achieves. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Amey desai::</span><br /><br />To be practical, to not divulge too much into peoples’ personal lives, to help others at any cost, to be lightheaded and unstressed, to make complex things simple, to not think about the past, to not regret at any point.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Dimple Nangia::</span><br /><br />To help others, to be hopelessly optimistic about everything around you.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Brett fernandes::</span><br /><br />To put minimum effort and maximum output, synergy is maximum, btw thanks for helping me in the exam.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Tushar yerandekar::</span><br /><br />To work hard, to fight for success, to help others, to be positive about everything which one faces.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Madhav Kanhere::</span><br /><br />To be a die hard self critic, to work day and night and still be unsatisfied, to compete all the time, to be the best.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Karan Gaikwad::</span><br /><br />To relax and be chilled, to work hard, to be determined at all costs.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sanket Godbole::</span><br /><br />To be humble, to have your feet rooted to the ground even though your knowledge may touch the sky, to be genuine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Anup kotalwar::</span><br /><br />To think logically all the time, to share one’s knowledge with anyone and everyone.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Shrilata murthy::</span><br /><br />To hide one’s maturity, to be highly determined at the same time not sacrificing on small events which make one happy, to behave like a kid, to be full of energy all the time.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Sachin Kondar::</span><br /><br />To help others no matter what and stay by their side when you need them.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Nikhil Khekade::</span><br /><br />To be energetic, determined, smart, to captivate everyone with humility, to admit if one doesn’t know something and to go to any lengths to explain it if he does know, to be dynamic, to do something in life, to work continuously and to enjoy life as a journey. <br /><br />There are some more names which are coming to my mind but for now, I think these should suffice. Thank you for everything. I know things are not going to be the same considering how things are right now, but I hope they do. Amen.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com240tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-7863531291083946692009-01-24T21:53:00.000-08:002009-01-24T21:56:04.130-08:00A Sunday Afternoon::(post dates back long....around three months.)<br /><br /><br />I sat there. Staring. Fixedly in front of me. Out of the window. Where two small boys played with a Frisbee. The loud chatter. The laughs. The fun. I was perhaps more jealous than envious. A warm Sunday afternoon and these children played carelessly. Laughed effortlessly. Ran the whole stretch not thinking about any projects. Or assignments. Or journals. Or presentations. Or submissions. Not worried about their future decisions. Ignorant of the challenges ahead. Swallowing all envy, I got up. Rinsed my face with cold water. And stood in front of the mirror. A pair of tired red eyes stared back at me. The haggard face showed signs of unnecessary overwork. The wrinkled, unshaven face depicted an identity of a person torn between career decisions, managing relationships and building a place for himself in this huge world. I looked away and stood in front of the window. A soft breeze went past, teasing my face and hair. Inviting me. Telling me that nature is waiting. For me. Telling me to break all bonds and shackles. To be free. Like those two children.<br /><br /><br /><br />The wind picked up speed. Windows banged against their sills, dried leaves leapt in the air. The trees swayed joyfully as I looked up at the slowly darkening sky. The children also looked up amused at the sight of their Frisbee going longer and higher in the wind. Thunder struck but the childrens’ cries of joy was louder. As the drops fell, their dance began. They sang a popular Hindi song as they continued dancing, drenching themselves. Everyone else ran for shelter. Except those two. All I could do at that moment was smile. I went down and took a long walk. The rain fell harder. Drenching my clothes, my body, and then my thoughts. It was as if mother nature was washing the negativity off me. I walked up to the hill and sat on a bench. The noises of the children were still louder than the rain. How I wished to go back in time. To be that same kid. Once again. A shout interrupted my thoughts. I smiled to see a few people getting their hands on a football. I didn’t know anyone. And later, I realized that they didn’t know each other either. But the silly game of football that followed in that small space of the parking lot was enough to change my mood completely. The silliest of jokes, the horrible barefoot play, the slipping, the laughing, the continuous swearing for the ball. A enjoyed every bit of it. Only once did I gaze up to see on the 1st floor, the same two children being reprimanded by their mother. Maybe for playing in the rain. I smiled. Just then I got the ball and scored. I looked up to celebrate with the smiling unknown people which I had met just an hour ago. I smiled again.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-47376570075991187882008-08-23T02:41:00.000-07:002008-08-23T02:42:44.574-07:00A Genius but a weakling...Terrified. He was. He looked around. Only smoke. No voices. No movement. No life. Am I in hell, he thought. His pulse raced. Searing hot pain kept him down. Resting on his shoulder, he tried to get up. Stabbing pain shot through his body. Agony. To the maximum. The air was filled with the smell of blood and bile. A hot liquid formed a pool drenching his clothes. A pool of blood. His own.<br /><br />Voices. No, not voices, shouts, screams, cries. Of people. Injured. Of people. In agony. Of people.Who saw blood for the first time. Of people. Who saw hundreds of limbs scattered around. Of children. Crying. Trying to find their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. Of news reporters. Trying to find their breakthrough report. Of cars. Of ambulances. Of fire brigades. Of people. Panicked.<br /><br />But he heard none. His hearing was damaged beyond repair. The pain was unbearable. He dragged his useless body with his hands. Crawling. Stumbling across rubble. Every time he called out, blood gushed out of his throat. The smoke started to clear. But he still couldn’t see. He didn’t know what happened. His head demanded answers. But who was going to answer them? He looked down to his feet or rather the place where his feet used to be. The flesh had turned black and was oozing a black coloured liquid. Not that it mattered. He had to find his daughter. His seven year old darling. His ‘jhoomar’ as he fondly called her.<br /><br /><br />He called out again. Sputtering blood. Everywhere. Along with his feet, a part of his lower torso was also gone. Good I had an empty stomach, he mused to himself. “jhoomar!!” No response.<br /> <br /><br />Strong hands gripped him. A stretcher was brought out. He was carried away and his incoherent cries of jhoomar were dismissed as cries of agony. There was nothing left in him. The body drained of blood. Half his flesh burnt. And limbs were a mess of things. There was nothing left in him….except one. The desire to see his daughter alive. To see her safe and in good hands. “jhoomar!”<br /><br /><br />He looked around to see countless bodies around him in similar or worse conditions.<br />He calmed himself down. His hands grew cold and blue and he took more than ten minutes to get his wallet out. He took a picture of jhoomar and looked at it for a long time. It was taken in goa when they had gone for their first outing. The sky grew dark, clouds gathered and rain fell, washing the blood of some faces and the sins of others.<br />It was as if mother nature was crying. The water mixed with blood to form small rivulets.<br />The blood from people belonging to various castes and religions, from old- young ,men –women, from people who were just having a casual day at karol baug, a few moments ago.<br /><br />Moments later, a young scout came to the very place with a young girl. The girl was asked to identify her father among the endless bodies lying around. She didn’t take much time. Her picture was lying on a man’s chest. His lower abdomen was severed and he had no feet. But his face bore an expression of peace and calamity. As the rain fell, so did her tears. Not that the body would recognize the tears from the rain, but his soul must have, she hoped.<br /><br />100 miles away, in a two room apartment, a frightened, pale young man switched on the news.<br /><br />“….wild spread chaos….hundreds killed…thousands injured….no one claims responsibility….the terrorists’ reign continues…this is anjali sharma reporting from…”<br />He switched it off. Opened the closet. Saw his prized collection. Loaded it. And held it to his head. There was no hesitation. A pool of blood. Again. His own.<br /><br /><br />Two blocks away, another man was watching the same news. He smiled. It couldn’t have been better, he thought.<br />The phone rang. <br />”he killed himself. I think he couldn’t take it. He committed….”<br />“forget it. Good that he did it himself. I didn’t want any more bloodbath among us.<br />He did a wonderful job. No one else could have engineered the blast so well. But he was a weakling. A genius but a weakling. ”yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-32185127377861681212008-06-24T12:43:00.000-07:002008-06-24T12:48:28.869-07:00insight into ...........warning::: long post ahead<br /><br />I ve been edging myself to write about this topic but there was this unnecessary reluctance in ma mind whether to write it or not since i am, at least nowadays, giving an impression to the reader that i am self centered and pompous by writing about myself..but o well anyways..here goes....<br /><br />i ve always believed that there are voices inside one s head...to tell you what to do...when...how...etc...to decide things...to distinguish between right and wrong...and more...they re always there...whether ur sleeping or standing or walking or shitting...they never cease...they go on continuously with their blabber ....some of it useful...most of it useless...and surprisingly even when your whole body is down and out...ur back is pleading you to lie down..ur limbs are giving up on you...you just want to forget about everything and rest...even in those times...these voices are there...dominating your course of action...guiding you....directing you...consoling you....reprimanding you....criticizing you...supporting you...ppl like to call them thoughts...or ideas...or opinions ...i call them voices coz at least in my head they er always shouting orders to me....<br /><br />k...where was i...aah yes...voices...this is not a general view coz i dunno how others head works....am talking solely about my empty 4 into 4 inch container above my neck...there are a million voices in my head...but only a few of them dominate others....and remain...forever,,,,one is the self critic..always tellin me that i ve done something horrible...if not then he s kind enough to tel me what a worthless piece of shit i am...he s the most powerful thing on ma mind...dunno how and to tame him.....the other one is the positive thinker...i cal him the pusher....he s a die hard optimist...always helping supporting...pushing me ahead with all his enthusiasm....these two keep fighting all the time...and i have to sit back and listen to the one who wins....and there is one more....the enlightened one....one who believes that no matter how much i struggle i am going to get what i am destined for and that there is no use struggling as life lays down a path for us to follow.....i find this guy the most stable one but he lacks aggression so ends up on the losing side all the time...these 3 voices form more than 3 quarters of my mind....we discuss...we look...we analyse...and we implement....when there is balance between these 3...i am stable....otherwise...i am a wreck....<br /><br />now i ll try to give you the most honest insight....on the day my exams got over....scenario....have just reached home....its 9.30 in the night.....lets see whats going through my mind...<br />characters:::<br />critic voice::: cv<br />optimistic voice::: ov<br />enlightened voice::: ev<br />...and myself::: me<br /><br />i just reach home....take my shoes off...just when i am taking the bag off, cv starts with his one liners....<br /><br />cv:: "before you even try to think about resting your worthless ass on the bed, please try to remember that you have a big decision pending....you have been toying with this for quite some time now and a decision is urgently required as its difficult to do both....cmon...cat or gre...temme quick...."<br /><br />i grumble ...trying not to pay attention to what cv has just said...but he s already done the damage....and he knows it...<br />me::: "am trying to get some rest here....i just came home...can i not relax and talk later?"<br /><br />cv::::"o yes i am so sorry for disturbing your highness as i conveniently forgot what a brilliant paper u wrote today...i agree u totally deserve the rest...."<br /><br />that stings....goes straight through my heart...shit....i start losing composure once again...just then,,,<br /><br />ov::: "dont listen to him yug....he s just meant to bring u down...big deal if one ppr didnt go ur way....there will be a million chances later....and u have to learn from this so that u dont repeat the blunders committed before ....u ll never learn if u dont commit mistakes...."<br /><br />cv:::: "now i see wer he gets his losing nature from....if u constantly live under the blanket of these false assurances yug,, u ll never progress in ur life...be practical...just say that u have become a waste..."<br /><br />ov:::: "thats not true...try to rem the times wen u wer down and u told ur self that u ll work hard and u did....so pull urself up...your the best...you can u will u must!!!"<br /><br />cv:::: "ppl here are so good at talking bullshit...."<br /><br />i really dont know what to do...so i just lie down and close my eyes....unfortunately that doesnt help my situation....these voices get louder,....<br /><br />cv::: "ok loser...we r moving away from the topic...decide...mba or ms?"<br /><br />Me:: "i odnt really know..."<br /><br />cv::: "wow....u do me proud bro....at least i got a pat reply for this question....now i know wat ur confident about...ur confident about the fact that u dont know anything and cant make one straight decision,,,,"<br /><br /><br />ov::::"lets see...and cv u shut up...yug u can do an mba....cat is difficult i know dat...but u hav the skills and aptitude to crack it..."<br /><br />cv::: "whoooooooooaaaaaaaa!!! there!!!! may i beg to interrupt.....a little status check here....a handful of the aspirants aactly make it to the mba courses....and may i remind u tht cat is one of the toughest exams in the world....and may i refer to wat happened at ur previous try at a really competitive exam? The iit? U sukd dude...u sukd really bad...so think again..."<br /><br /><br />ov::: "iit was a different issue...there was loads of pressure....mba is much abt aptitude than knowing many things....so there is a difference,...and it can be exploited..."<br /><br />i dunno y i did this but i mustered some courae to try and open another window of opportunity by mentioning gre....i thot that would silence cv....i needed to outwit him....in vain again....<br /><br />cv:::: "gre??? oho...the person who stil struggles with errors to write lab programs wants to do masters in computers.....i dont why but that didnt tickle....are you trying to joke....cos tht wasnt funny......accept it ur technically challlenged...."<br /><br />i was getting irritated....this was one of the times wen cv dominated and ov was at the loss of words...i hated that....this was one of the time i feel low and depressed....but i wasnt gonna let tht happen to me on tht day...at least not on the day the exams end,...so i begged ev to get me out of the situation...ev was listening to the conversation for a long time.....<br /><br />ev:::: "i think you both need to give yug a little time...its fair of him to think tht his exams are over and he does need rest...therz no use workin ur mind wen it is tired....decisions...these are some things tht we hav to take...but it may be remembered that indecision is also a decision...so it would be foolish to say that i have made this decision...things happen for ppl....same way decisions also ohappen and they are not taken....there wil be an omen tellin u wat ur decidin is incorrect...o sorry...nothin is incorrect...the omen wil tel u whether wat ur decidin is FOR YOU OR NOT....so its pointless thinkin abt it ay and night esply on the day the exams end...it is a time to relax...recouperate....and refreshen ourselves so tht we r natural enough to avoid disruptances in the path of our thinking and our omens....so for now we are not taking this conversation farther and not thinking about it for the time being..."<br /><br /><br />i smile and open my eyes to see food kept on the table....am still with my socks on and the same clothes on....the clock reads 1 a.m....i get up wash ma face....devour all the food....put the lights off ...and lie down again...closing my eyes...wen slowly as expected....cv starts off again.....yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-46745735239506630982008-05-31T20:58:00.000-07:002008-06-05T09:48:32.124-07:00oh shi(f)t ! ! !hi. exams on. Less time. So no updates.....this was one article i had written on may 10th n i dont have the patience to edit it...<br /><br />its may 10th. I have roughly 10 days to go for my sem 4 exams (read: death) to commence and here i am. Tired. Bored. Frustrated. (blame it on i.e.m.!!!). even more so because my vivas ended day before yesterday. I need a break but given the situation i am in, its better to start early.<br /><br />There are some things which i get annoyed at really quickly. One of them is my parents not telling me some things which they should. They think that it will get me thinking into these things and affect me.<br />Bullshit.<br /><br />Lately, i had been hearing the 'shift' word a lot in the maa-baap conversations (i tend to accidently eavesdrop sometimes when i am in the kitchen making myself a snack) . The discussion had taken several forms like argument, debate, vociferous declaration and what not. Especially my mom(i guess all moms are like this). I confronted my dad and he told me to mentally prepare myself as we are moving out of the house to a new one by the end of june. Even though i was expecting this, my hands and feet went cold. Now cmon, i ve been living in this house for about 17 years. You dont expect me to be happy to leave it!!<br /><br />its so bad. Shifting sucks. Dad said that there was a chance that wouldnt happen and i pray so. But its a very thin chance. Might as well forget about it. I ll miss my friends. Goes without saying. But some subtle things have been such a part and parcel of my life that i cant imagine my life without them....<br /><br />... the daily morning 4 o clock noise of the milk truck.<br /><br />...the sweet scent of chocolate wrappers in my building lift.<br /> <br />...the awesome sea view from my terrace.<br /><br />...my early morning jog at the race course.<br /><br />...smell of horse shit along my way around the race course towards mahalaxmi station everyday.<br /><br />...the futile wait for bus 124.<br /><br />...the sweet scent of agarbatti in the passage corridor.(courtesy::neighbour)<br /><br />...the ganesh visarjan proceedings in my colony every year.<br /><br />...the broken glass windows of the opposite buildings reminding me of my school days when we used to play cricket and broke those so conveniently(and how the govt has been incapable of repairing them even now!!).<br /><br />...the empty 8.17 borivali slow everyday.<br /><br />...sams-the best hajjam in tardeo.<br /><br />...haji ali juice centre.<br /><br />...walks along worli sea face.<br /><br />...troubling couples making out near lala lajpatrai college.<br /><br />...tnmc ground beside my building..<br /><br />...the 20 yr old rajdoot(its a bike..dunno whose but it looks awesome!! lol!!)<br /><br />...difficulty in crossing the 6 lane road at haji ali stretch.<br /><br />...the 9 to 10 timepass below with friends.<br /><br />...my room (sob sob!!)<br /><br />...tardeo book center ( my saviour throughout!!!)<br /><br />...sardar pav bhaji<br /><br />...kalpana restaurant<br /><br />...city bakery<br /><br />...flora<br /><br />...sealord<br /><br />..paschim<br />(the last 6 are restaurants!!!)<br /><br />...the every sunday football in lala lajpatrai colg compound<br /><br />...an isolated place near breach candy<br /><br />...the irritating tune on opening the lift door<br /><br />...phoenix mills<br /><br />...the easy access to town<br /><br />...THE TAXI!!!!<br /><br />...the usual 6.5 sec delay of my room tubelight<br /><br />...my rooms dirty curtains<br /><br />...throwing water on bhelpuriwala below<br /><br />...still but unusuallly moving cars, at the back of lala colg quadrangle!!!!(lol)<br /><br />...worli police swimming pool<br /><br /><br />,....the list is endless but i wont bore the reader (if any) furthur!!!!!!!<br /><br />bottomline:: i dont want to shift!!!!!!yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4925065512777879956.post-19580171144193640912008-05-01T04:52:00.000-07:002008-05-01T04:55:05.896-07:00Manu.warning:: long post ahead.....<br /><br /><br /><br />I was in the 10 th standard at that time. It was in the evening, after schoolthat I was walking towards the bus stop. there was traffic at one spot and to avoid it I decided to walk some distance and catch a bus from the left junction. I took a left and walked humming on a new song..and I saw her.<br /><br />She was a short, bright child who seemed to be 9or 10 years old though she claimed to be 13. she was sitting below a street lamp with a basket of vegetables in front of her and two books on her lap. That bright angel-like face , her deep dark eyes and her cute little smile………..i can remember till today. She was dressed almost in rags, but she sat with some dignity.<br /><br />I approached her little ‘shop’. My shadow appeared on her books and she looked up at me. What a sweet little child she was!!!! She smiled and asked me which vegetables she wanted. I didn’t answer.<br /><br />“ what are you reading?”<br /><br />“English balbharti”<br />the cover showed std.5.<br /><br />“which school do you go to?”<br /><br />“I don’t go to school. One of the school children was kind enough to give it to me.”<br /><br />“how do u know to read if u don’t go to school?”<br /><br />“I went to school for 3 years but dropped out as I couldn’t afford the minimal; fees.”<br /><br />“is that why you are selling vegetables? To gather enough money to go to school again?”<br /><br />“no.i am doing this because my father cant sell vegetables today.”<br /><br />I enquired why.<br /><br />“because he s drunk again and hitting my mother at home.”<br /><br />There was no remorse or sadness in her voice. All throughout the conversation her pitch was jovial and happy.<br /><br />“what is your name?”<br /><br />“manu.”<br /><br />I took out my wallet. 45 bucks. 5 to go home. I took 40 bucks and handed it over to her.<br /><br />She stared at the money and innocently enquired how many vegetables I needed.<br />“those are for your books. Buy more. Read more.”<br /><br />Her smile faded. She stood up held her hand in front. she didn’t want the money.<br />“thank you, but I am not a beggar. I sell to earn money.”<br /><br />Surprised. I didn’t expect such a reaction.<br />“I am not treating you as a beggar. Keep it for now.. return it later when you think u can.. for now get more books.”<br /><br />She clutched at the notes. The reluctance was obvious. <br />“please give me ur address and tel. No.”<br />shit. She was adamant.<br /><br />“you wouldn’t need that. I ll meet you soon.”<br />Saying that I walked away, not looking back, praying that she wont come up and hand me the money. I I gave her money to console myself . to make me feel that I tried to do at least something for that poor girl. I got into my bus and headed home.<br /><br /><br />3 years later, I walked down the same lane towards my school to take my passing certificate. The clerk wasn’t there. Disappointed, I was returning to my bus stop when I saw a girl about average height, long hair, looking up to me, smiling. She had grown but I could never forget her innocent, sparkling eyes. Manu.<br /><br /><br />“you have grown, manu.”<br /><br />“so have you…come with me.”<br /><br />A dark middle aged man with grey hair was sitting in his vendor stall. The place was respectable, not shabby.<br />Manu led me to him, her father, and told him something in a language I couldn’t understand.<br /><br />The deep lines on his face vanished and he smiled. He got up to his feet and shook my hand. He cleared his throat and said<br />““<br />I was of your age when I left my house. My father was a farmer with three sons and I was the youngest. We were a rich content family till the time we brothers started fighting for our share of land. All of us were married. I decided to come to mumbai.<br /><br />We built a shop and I sold vegetables and fruits. We were quite happy. Then it all happened. In 1993, after the bomb blasts, riots took place and my shop and house were burned down. Everything I had saved for my family went up in flames. After things turned to normal, I had no shop, no savings, no home and a family to look after. I was angry and took up drinking. I used to remove my frustration on my wife sometimes. But we were never starved. I came to know the reason much later .my little girl used to sell vegetables and bring money for my family. When you gave her the money that day, she didn’t buy books. She bought medicines for her mother. I was ashamed of myself.””<br /><br />He took out a handkerchief and tapped it under his moist eyes.<br /><br />““<br />I resolved never to drink again and go back to rebuild my shattered business. It took time but my daughter edged me on. She supported me. And now we are happy and back to how we were.””<br /><br />He reached out to manu and kissed her on the forehead.<br /><br />“I know why you told her all that about returning the money and I know ypu wont accept it now.”<br /> <br />He took out the most red apples from his collection, packed them and handed it to me.<br />“as a token of my thanks to you my child. For helping a poor family.”<br /><br />I took the bag, shook the man s extended hand. My hand was clammy with sweat .i couldn’t muster enough courage to look at manu again .when I finally did, she was there looking at me smiling her own innocent smile. It reminded me of that evening when I saw her first. Was this the same 10 year old who saved her family? how could a child so young understand so much and carry out such a difficult task all by herself> a shattered family? A drunk father? The time when most children play games and dance around… this child did so much…….<br /><br /><br />She was 5 years younger to me but I felt she was a hundred times more mature, than me.<br /><br />I said good bye to manu and walked towards my bus stop. My head was begging me to stop all the thoughts racing through my head. My mind kept me on.<br /><br />I caught my bus and took the last seat. For the first time in 9 years, I felt my eyes moisten.yugandharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15232526723038066370noreply@blogger.com8