Sunday, July 31, 2005

That’s it…I can’t take it any more. Please stop.

I can see a great leader in the making from the mails, one who has everyone’s interest in mind balancing the act…at least some one would walk out of the masses as a true persona…we should rather be proud to call her Sanju Boss

– A friend of past 6 years on reading the latest group emailing that I was carrying on in order to plan a trip weekend trip

You inspired me to join the group (DBM)

– A comment on my blog

That’s ok, I don’t need to…You are the greatest medicine

– Another friend on my being asked why the hell did he not keep the appointment with his shrink)

“Samy you are so kind”

– another friend on me trying to tell him how it is always better to share your feelings…to feel better

Achha ek bar phir se bol mujhe kuch nahi hoga

a friend worried about a persistent stomach ache which is there for quite some years now…every time he would call me I will have to reassure him that he is gonna be alright, he hears it from me and he believes in it.

Will you all let me remain human please…

I can’t cure your disease no matter how much I say you gonna be alright. I am not kind, kind was Mother Teresa, kind was Vivekananda…don’t call me kind. Don’t tell me I am the best medicine you won’t need me once you are cured then. No one likes medicine. Don’t embarrass others in the same league by singling me out as your inspiration. Let me remain your friend I don’t wanna be your boss I don’t wanna be your leader I just wanna be the plain me and hang out with my friends.

I am no angel sent from above you know…

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Just an ordinary Boy

It was a bad day in the vernacular class for him. Some other classmate that day, for some unknown reason, deprived him of the position of being the most ignorant and innocent boy in the class. For, as far as his memory could trace back, he have always walked into his classrooms straight upto the last bench, sat there with his back leaning against the wall, drowsy eyes, still face. So ignorant has he always been, ignorant of what was yesterday’s homework and present day’s lesson, ignorant of the consequences of not knowing such trivial matters as well.

Only one big school in the town, most of the parents who wanted their sons to grow up and be something would put them in this school. After all the shaahebs (that’s how the Bengalis call the pre-independence white administrative officers of the town) started it for their children. And there was just no scarcity of such high ambitious Bengali parents in the time, which immediately followed the independence. Memories of a missing Subhash were fresh in their minds, all sons of bongobhumi wanted to keep the honor. Coming back, the class understandably was a bit crowded. The teacher student ratio being very low giving him all the rhyme and reason for being a successful backbencher. He has not known any such day when the teacher have managed to look beyond the first-benchers and has paid any attention to him and couple of other boys like him.

But everything changed today. He could not find any other seat but the first row. He tried to scratch his brain a little and managed to recall yesterday’s class. Maashtarmoshai (the Bengali teacher) did say something about the character sketch of ‘moni babu’, certain character from certain Sarat Chandra novel. Instead of face value the teacher goes by place value. Those who were sitting in the front is to now one by one read out the character sketch which they were to asked to prepare. He has never believed in troubling his grey cells for no cause, and a good cause for him would be the final exams. The question of studying any time other than the pre exam days does not arises even though mom would wake him up at 4 am and made him sit with the books along with 6 other siblings all around one Hurricane (a kerosene lamp is known as in Bengali). But the trouble now is that being a back bencher no teacher have ever bothered him for any thing, so he wasn’t quite sure how does it feels to be scolded at or to be beaten up by a bet (a bamboo stick). And he has never been eager to learn new things. So he thought “I better give it a try. One by one the good boys stood up and read out the characterization from their notebook. He was listening to them carefully, also watching.

Finally it was his turn now to read out his work. He stood up held his note copy in his hands and started reading out ‘moni babu’s choritro’. He read out for a while and then turned the page, then the next page, he flipped through three pages, he had noticed that on an average all of the boys flipped the pages 2-3 times. As he finished reading he closed the note book and kept it on the desk looking calmly at the maashtarmoshai waiting for a permission to sit down.

He spoke for 15 minutes impromptu pretending he was reading out what he has written as a homework, he didn’t stammer once, he didn’t go haywire once, he knew what he was saying, he spoke like it was him who created ‘moni babu’. He still doesn’t know, after living in the same house for almost 15 years, which switch is for Fan and which one’s for light. He holds out the cell phone I feet away from his body as long as it rings and puts it back in his shirt pocket when the caller gives up, cause he doesn’t know which button is to be pressed to attend the call. Well, what can I say that’s my daddy strongest… Love you dad.

Monday, July 25, 2005

The VIIth Delhi Blogger's Meet

People I am back. I wasn’t blogging for some time now. First, I blamed it on lack of time…its me who have always refused to buy that crappy statement from other’s…time is never in constraint its only your priorities which governs your clock and calendar. Then, I thought lack of time wasn’t a reason enough stimulating so I blamed it on some more crappy reason like “I have got nothing more to say…silence speaks.” (the previous post turned out to be one of the most depressing post of mine and I hate the negative vibes it’s giving out). The real reason (which I now am thinking is real but might find to be crappy in couple of days) is that I got bored of blogging…lost interest…simple isn’t it.

What I am about to write now is not going to be very merry for many

It was the VIIth Delhi Blogger’s Meet or Delhi Blogger's Monsoon Meet yesterday at CafĂ© Coffee Day @ CP Its religious to write about the meet if you attend one, or attend one to write about it…whatever. It was my first blogger’s meet so it is all the more important. So how was it? Great. Doesn’t that goes without saying? I had a great time meeting some real nice humble bloggers from different walks of life (for a change it wasn’t too many of them who help people how to find ways to spend more money…that’s how one of the software engineers described his profession while introducing himself). We all had lottsa fun, we cracked up laughing like bunch of old friend’s catching up. I made some real good friends at the end of the day and am looking forward to more such meets.

Wait a min…doesn’t that experience sounds a little familiar? Doesn’t most of the post after a blogger’s meet sound the same? Well this is me…I have to sound different. Here it goes…

There were 11 participants. Out of those 11 only 2 were first timers. Rest of them were the regulars who keep meeting each other informally more as a friend rather than as fellow bloggers. Interestingly, one of the first timer has also met couple of them before informally (that being me) and the other first timer came, saw and left. So it was literally old friend’s catching up and the essence of a blogger’s meet, I am assuming such an essence do exist, correct me if I am wrong, was missing in the meet. I found out that this group, our group, has been quite a celebrated and glorified group in the past. Our meets have been covered by most of the major national dailies, we also happen to be one of the pioneers in such city specific bloggers community and meets. Somehow there was no sign of that glory in yesterday’s meet, there was nothing blogicial about it (and nothing about monsoon either). And I am seriously concerned about the why(s) and how(s). I would want to open my newspaper one fine morning 3-4 years from now to read an article Delhi Bloggers take up the cause of the Sunday book bazaar”. And on another fine morning “Delhi Bloggers Golden jubilee Meet – a Gala evening” or another one “The Third Annual DBM awards” and I guess I am gonna work upon that.

Well, I know you are calling me a dreamer and I know I am the only one…but then that’s what this space is for. To speak without inhibitions.

I would be attending all the forthcoming meets, whether they are blogicial or not, but personally would want to see the Group go places by some more meaningful event. Whether or not blogging continues to be an ‘In’ thing and whether or not the present blogger’s continue to blog…the group should exist.

Coming back to why I am back at blogging? Because yesterday’s meet inspired me…gave me direction.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

where is my truth

‘This is my truth’ was the theme of my blog. I started it coz there was, and still is, these times when I wanted to talk a lot about my life but had no one to listen to...I thought I would share the bizarre truth of my life, which I think are stranger than fictions, but where is the truth? What is my truth? What more is it than another sappy old story of love lost and heart break. Who doesn't have these stories and then what the hell do I know about other's story that I go about thinking my story is strange. Truth. Truth is I don't have a story. Just some scattered scribbled sheets. ‘Is the glass half empty or half full’ they ask. Truth is there is no glass, just a heap of crackled earthen pots, scattered petals, twisted pencil skins, few old photographs, few old wrapping papers, few old crumpled movie tickets with the name of the movie goers written on the back of it by me, some office vouchers, certain visions when i close my eyes, certain sounds I suddenly hear, certain smell I suddenly find familiar, some broken dreams, some sleepless nights, some premeditated coincidences, some long phone calls and the subsequent phone bills…all passing by. The train is moving fast. But I wish it was moving faster and faster and faster. So that all the bits and pieces of my eventful life passes by in such lightening speed that I don’t even have the time to recollect them and frame in my blog.

I have not been writing these days…may be because I don’t anymore feel like sharing. Or may be because I am not able to concentrate and be stable on a particular state of mind. Sometimes when you have lots to say…silence speaks.
On this journey called life I always carry my baggage with me but I never open my bags and see what’s in there.

Nothing is constant in my life except a constant process of beginning and ending…a great start and a bad or not so bad ending. I have always longed for a company, not necessarily a romantic involvement just a companionship. “wish good things could stay in my life for just a little longer, not for life, but at least for more than 10-15 days.”

It was already gone only I was yet to wake up...

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Feelings Yesterday:-

If I knew that was the last time, I would have at least hugged him closer and longer"
The search has come to an end not becoz she found the post but becoz She has let the baloon go off her hand...and its so much better now.
No more questions no answers, no hopes no expectations...
Am I dressed properly
am I giving out the right message
Was I able to leave an impression
Is he going to call
should I call him
Does he likes me
Are we ever gonna meet again

Fly Fly my soul...

Feelings Today:-

It was a rain not many in delhi are gonna forget in little time to come. I left my Nehruplace office at 8.50pm. It was pouring like hundrends of showers in a bollywood set would pour when the white saree tries to seduce a white shirt "tip tip barsa pani..." I hate carrying umbrella but the guard lent me one. A big black grandpa umbrella. I walked upto the busstop to get an auto. At this point I was missing the presence of a wiper on my specs. luckily found an auto soon "bhayai R.K. Puram". "R.K. Puram mein kahan""Sector-4" bhayia's chin and eyes then rolled in a semi circular shape madam 50 rupaye...itni baarish hai, gaadi ki halat kharab jo jati hai...Chalo chalo bhaiya. I am onboard.

These days they have blurring music on autos. his music was loud bot not was some unknown asha kishore song suddenly a sharmila tagore clad in pink shiffon saree with big white flower prints on it danced along a rajesh khanna in my mind. And Suddenly I felt good about everything around me. The big and small cars crossed by splashing water all over me (almost) but it didn't irritate me. The darkness of the night suddenly seemed to be so colourful to me. The billions of thin water blades falling at 60% shining in the street lights made it so beatiful. I have always heard rains make you long for someone, makes you nostalgic but today's rain was so beautiful it gave me joy. I smiled. And when I was paying him that 50 bucks, i said i'd pay rather unwillingly, I wanted to tell the autowala "bhaiyai thanks for a great ride. I enjoyed it" I did not though.