a new year

A new year they say
Wake me up, pinch me
Nothing around feels quite 'new'
Reminiscence, not quite
It still feels like yesterday

A lil surprise

It happens everytime, when nothing seems right. Of days of highs and lows, of days spent wondering why does everything always go wrong. On the worst of them all, when I am slowly giving up, giving in and letting it all go.
From miles across, out of sheer instinct.....and my phone rings.....a while a mellow...and things seem to get figured out. The transition perfect, like always, the smile to the genuine laugh. Regrets remain of a lot unsaid, of times that should have been, of things that should be sorted. But all comes later, those few minutes are of being lost, of laughing hard, of letting the tears trickle, of being the kid again.
Its enough to get me convinced, distances don't matter, not those measured in miles at least.

A 'merry' Christmas

For all those who know me and have spoken to me in the past month, have in some way or the other sensed the Christmas excitement, most of those who spend time chatting with me have jheloed (I coudn't find an equally appropriate english word) my puppy faced, looking for santa talks. It all began with the Christmas issue stories forced on me....the enormous 'Michael hunt' and the 'food story' which did turn out interesting. So, ya....this made the entire spirit seep in and make me wanna do something big this time. Began with a coupla Xmas gifts for family...stupid stuff that could be laughed on...red clothes for myself (read red with white polka dots :P)...a santa hat after all the effort in finding one for which I wasn't required to buy the sleazy, slutty Xmas dress(no offence)...
All this in place...and after all the doses of so called 'anglical talk' it was certain Xmas wasnt gonna be ordinary, not the Xmas meal in the slightest way. As they usually do, my tantrums helped, and in no time my folks were convinced I'l make them dinner that nite....despite the speculative yes from mom and her exploring 'disaster management' options at the back of her mind.
So that was that, Xmas eve began with the usual waking up late (trust me....it was 'late')...and a movie at night...which drove each of us to tears and stuff...never mind.
The 3 of us got back and when reached our gate exclaimed together....its Xmas....a few exchanged looks and we decided we should pay the city church a visit just for the 'feel' of the liveliness. Off we went, having not lived here, we(me and bro) realised we'd have to ask someone. Desperate call to mom, "Ma, where's the church?" With all the are you crazy why are you going there right now she replied giving up, "Turn right from the petrol pump and go to where the road takes you next to ******uncle's place".
Click ...and off we go...the right turn taken with utmost confidence after having spotted the petrol pump in pitch darkness. We had no idea what we were in for, shocked to see a colony with a maze of roads...we took the most likely direction....ad kept doing that for a while until we realised going on our instincts to find a church at 12:30 wasn't such a brilliant idea. The easiest way I said would be look out for the cross...with lights as I presumed it would be on Xmas eve. I recieved instant approval and was allowed to navigate following a light for a while untill bro discovered we were following a light that belonged to a TV tower. Giving up on me rolling with laughter at my own blunder he pulled over next to a poor Chowkidaar wrapped in I don't know how many shawls to ask "Bhaiya yahan church kahaan hai?"
To which he goes " Aap yahan kaise aa gaye?" I burst out laughing.
Bro goes," Bhaiya ab yahan se bataa do hum pahunch jaayenge".
"Go straight and turn left and you should find the church".
Obdeintly my bro goes straight down from where we met him....takes the first left and immediately after..takes the first left again...only to see the chowkidaar at a not-so-far from the car distance standing in the middle of the road and waving out with both his hands.
" Seedha jaake left fir seedha...fir left nahi...seedha jaane ka...yahan gol gol nahi ghoomne ka", he says...to which I burst out laughing...my bro quite offended with the remark spurted out without much realisation
"Par jaana kahaan hai?" and it sent all his audience rolling into laughter....included the poor chowkidaar...
After much effort....we reached a place...which had people crowded inside reciting prayers...numerous cars outside ...lights and stuff...we got out confidently and took a peak inside. It was just before stepping in that we checked the name at the door and paid a little attention to the interiors and saw idols of Hindu gods placed inside. Walking out in utter embarssment, bro gave up at the midnight Church idea...and I threw a few tantrums...nothing more than one puppy faced expression with a 'Please, it'll be nice'...we set out again....after about 20 more minutes of following all kinds of lights we spotted a familiar house...called mom "Ma, *****uncle ke ghar se church kaise jaate hain?" (and this uncle wasn't the previously mentioned uncle who lives almost opposite the church) Not realising we had had enough of being asked such questions ma answered "*****uncle ke ghar se church kisko jaana hai?"....thankfully without more than a few words of explanations mom guided us...we discovered not one but two of them in a while.
The fact that they were closed on Christmas eve didn't seem to matter all that much, having found them was an achievement in itself. A little look at the crib and the decorations outside and we were back on task 2...how to find our way back home...but that's another story...for another time...this one's been long enough.
And ya...the dinner turned out nice..'late' though...and slightly spicier or rather just spicier than what I expected...and needed a few glasses of something(read juice) to be gulped along...but all the same it was 'edible'.....good enough...aint it?.....

Sob sob

Two weeks of endless work, the search for all the Michaels in town and the torturing Catholic families to make them reveal what they plan to eat this Christmas, and the story doesn't come. Space issues they say and make you feel your work was good enough. Good enough?...not better than a few other good things(read ads) though. Sob sob....
Someone is leaving....more reason to weep....loads....
Are these reasons enough to spend the rest of the week(read year) spent lazy without any work ?:P...
Ah!...its Christmas....n I've had a christmas gift worth jumping with excitement about. Thanks to someone....though...Woh Mario mein kuch toh fight hai...jump karte karte har baar mar jaata hai...aur bhaashan deta hai....
Anyway...a merry christmas and hope I get something to stop the sobs for all the Bible reading I've done :P....

Life's little joys

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Home again

There is so much to rant about, so much that happens every day that I'm dying to write about, yet once the day is done you never feel the same....never strong enough to write the way you had wanted to.Something just feels distant, unreal and an attempt to create the feeling that once existed in you but faded, with time and settlet as pieces of visual memory, like those small parts of a movie that stick to your mind days after you have seen it. No I am not going to spend hours blogging about why I am not blogging about all that should be blogged about.Sigh!
Anyway, I suddenly have all the time, all the space and a better computer which doesnt eat up my words. Its a great feeling to see this hateful thing being nice to me. Its cold outside, not as cold as I'd like it to be but cold all the same. The wind feels nice, so do the blankets that keep you from it. Its time for all those things that feel good. The beautifully textured clothes, the hot coffee, the warmth of being indoors, the wind outside, the sunlight that feels good for a change, occassional though, the clouds...its all so beautiful.
I shall write, a whole lot, with a little more time at hand....the last few traces of work need to go away. Its been a while.....

crazy things

My throat is so so fucked, its funny I cant quite speak normally untill every afternoon. After more than a week I've finally decided to do something about it.I have a doc to see tomo.....I have developed a strange obsession with this set of tattoo pens that I bought for my 2 year old cuz and never gave it to him coz I loved them so much myself....but its real fun.....to just play with them and draw glittery cute things over your hands. I know I am sounding like I have lost my mind, perhaps I have....but see them before you conclude so :P. I am going for a play tomorrow.yayay!!!(dances away)

of wat i've been doing

Listening to Lazarus (over and over gain) and stars Die by Porcupine tree, The drugs dont work. Reading random crap on documentaries. Trying real hard to make one. Driving like thats the only pleasure I have. Watching arbit movies and trying hard to keep awake thru them. Finally got myself rid of a hangover that seemed to last forever.Sleeping, waking up in between random dreams with random thoughts to sleep and go 
back to them again. Going places alone, walking a lot, talking to myself, humming lazarus.....thats me for a while!

and time passes...

It takes a while for hope to seep in, for you to see the other side of things, to realise this is not it. Life takes its time to make you feel, to let it strike, to let it heal. Like those lights you drive past, sitting inside a car surrounded by just whats inside, comforted, numb and unmindful of what will rush in the moment you roll down the barriers. Sudden feelings are unwelcome, most feared, shocks, even surprises. You dread, you anticipate. Its all uneasy, never as comforting as something smooth and flowing, something thats no natural that you fail to realise its things happening one after the other. The links sometimes get so covered, so well hidden, their existence seems frail until you stop by to consciously piece them out. You wake up one fine day to let it hit you, to look back and see so much has passed. You suddenly wanna feel it all, every moment, nice or unpleasant, you just wanna feel it happen, feel it pass, not just watch it go while you remain numb. Your actions just dont feel like your own, something mechanical that just happens, which you probably could but for some strange reason exercise no control over. You talk but your words dont sound your own, you speak coz you gotta be spoken to. You live coz its a habit. Until the day everything crashes on you, all the time passed, all that has happened, every word spoken, every effect its brought along, but the transitions are missing. They just dint strike when they were to. All you know at the end of it is, you cant turn back, you cant feel it happen, and you cant watch it happen again. You just remain secretely glad of the time that has passed. Waiting for hope to set in, waiting to anticipate, to fear, to feel, the coldeness, the warmth.

it felt like a dream...

It felt like a dream all along...time flew...I was lost, consumed by what was happening. Every bit, powerful, visual beyond words. I felt like I was hit by something so hard, it would leave a mark on me for days and days to come.I could feel a tear trickle with every hand held. I wish to relive the moments, to let them pass slowly, to let them flow through me. It was over and I burst into tears, felt I had been holding them back for long. I just wanted to scream out, wail though my cheeks hurt hard. Wonder what it did to me, I still dont know why it felt so strong. Feels like waking up from a dream, like something I've lived through. Its an experience, a life lived, a painting as my friend called it......Babel...

My treasure box

Last night as I sat watching a movie and looking for something to do after that, thanks to the non- functional internet connection and the lack of another bearable movie. After a while when I had given up at finding a good book I opened up drawers of my old study table, the one I had been gifted when I was in my third standard (7 years old). Out came pouring everything it held. And then it wasn't just time that seemed to have passed. Untouched as it had been for years together, I realised how it preserved small glimpses of all the years I spent at home. From pens and papers with weird calculation and notes to address books with names and numbers of childhood friends. Even their names sounded like puzzles to me now. Broken pieces of old jewellary, preserved letters, half done sketches, activity books, there seemed no end to this. Hastily pulling everything out I tried to recollect when I had acquired each of those things and how, giving up at a few times I did manage to recollect most, which included little parting gifts from friends who wept and bid goodbye as I moved from one town to another. Everything came crashing on me, and before I realised I could picture vivid images of each of them, of old homes, schools and what not.
As I dug deeper into the shelves I discovered folders stacked with papers filled with bits of kiddish poetry, of sketched and painted animals and lastly a few report cards. Pulling them out I found, they were grade sheets that belonged to me and my bro spanning every year of our schooling. It was quite funny to look through them and read those numbers which perhaps meant the world to me then, which I now laughed at. 1st grade....Maths -80....Grammar and Composition- 65....Science- 95.....I read and I am rolling with laughter even unmindful of the fact that I am at home and its not exactly the time when you can laugh out loud and let people wake up to see what you are upto and term you crazy.
Scanning through everything I collected bits of small things and put them aside to carry along. They weren't things I'd ever need or miss, but the kinds I had treasured as a kid and didn't have the heart to part with after recovering them.
I wish to do this again, collect glimpses of my life in small souveniers and stack them in a box...something like a treasure box which I can open up to look back at things and people in the past. It feels beautiful to do that, and somewhere it is a reminder of how far behind you leave people sometimes or how quickly you move on. Or perhaps simply how life is all about just moving on...

Something missing

Its beautiful out there they say, it pours and pours and pours...
I am here and I am loving being here...being away....
But something keeps me there....keeps me from distancing myself...
I have been waiting for long...for this one time to set it all right.
There's something missing I know, something that will keep me from being where I am
Its incomplete...its so not the same...its never felt this way...
Perhaps its just the space...perhaps nothing...
All I know is...I miss being there and I wonder why...I long for something and I can't figure what..

(And its not what you are thinking!)

Of simple things...

It seemed harder to leave than ever before, rained and rained all night and nothing could move me into gettin my bags packed untill the first light. I was stuck, in awe of everything around me and wondering why this happened everytime I had to leave. I finally did, snapping away from my 'normal' life to a break into the kind I had forgotten for a while. It felt nice the cold wind on my cheeks as I left smiling at everything recognizable, every place I'd have to do without for a while. Maybe I just needed a fag to get myself outta such thoughts, I fished one...perhaps my last for the fortnight to come, changed my mind and put it right back. I never really 'needed' one, theres never a time when I need external agents for a high...boredom has always qualified as a more apt reason.
Four and a half hours at the arrival terminal at Mumbai airport and I felt quite different. Here I emphasize on the arrival terminal coz its very unlike the experience of having to wait at the departure as all it provides you with is space to let yourself get starved, thirsty, irritated and frozen by the AC. Anways, after having spent those dreadful hours with a fever and nearly missing my train I reached at about 2am. I am forced to believe nothing important in my life ever happens at an earthly time...really...
Half a night's sleep, a 2 hour drive and I am driven to a place so full of everything nostalgic. The place I've felt a strong sense of affection towards, not really belonging just liking perhaps. It didn't seem a great deal this time, the sight of my old school, of all those places I've spent my most memorable times at, all those people who seemed to be the end of my world. I walked past everything whisking away memories, thoughts and all the contemplation they bring. I've moved ahead, way ahead of ever being able to return. Involving myself in errands I was obliged but not quite expected to do I let the day pass and then another untill I left.
The journey back, the usual time when I tend to reflect and regret the things I did not and ought to have done wasn't the usual either. I popped a tablet to get myself feeling better and grabbed the keys from dad....75 kms....an average of 100kmph on the expressway and I felt great. That sense of power, the thrill of speed drove away every other thought that would have occupied my mind right then.A drink and a night of slumber...surprisingly got me up and about a lil before noon.
A 5- hour drive home and all seems right. Cuddled in the back seat displacing all the pieces of luggage fitted around I slept 3 long hours, sleep so sound, I don't remember the last time I slept that sound. Opening my eyes to a sudden halt, a little rumble of something around me, the familiar smell of petrol, the sound of the ghazals I've grown up listening to, of mom and dad discussing something trifling I feel assured, secure and so much at ease. Suddenly reminded of how I've never felt or come close to feeling this way in a while I wish it lasts. Battling my sleep to keep my eyelids open, I wish to say something, something that would make them realise how I felt, of how everything felt just the same despite ages of staying away, of changes, the ups and downs. A glance thrown behind and I hear, " are you hungry?" To which I utter a casual "slightly" with half of it fading into insignificance. I turn away, look up at the window and close my eyes. Its just a moment, one like the many others you see everyday, where there is nothing unusual but the way you feel about it, just this once, all of a sudden. Its something you want to express, something you wanna cherish for its utter eventlesness. But somethings are best left unsaid, to let the moment remain true, as eventless as you'd like it to be. These thoughts and my eyes close humming the words of jagjit singh in that familiar passe rythm, I am drowsy again. It couldn't get better...

I wish...

A piece I wrote after a very long time of not having written anything I felt like writing.
And ya posting it took quite a bit of contemplation


Tired of believing what you feel
When all it seems is just a blur
People come and leave
I am here, As I read
words pinch me to be spoken
Of what they are worth,
Of what its got, life
The dusk tugs at me
My feet, they bind
working through chains that hurt
of days, of remembrance
I feel, I think
Not strong enough?
I’ve learnt it scares
I look at the glass
Lucidity, its faint
Did it ever go beyond?
Did I ever seek to break
the slightest thing profound
A need, a reason.
Am I so tired?
It doesn’t seem right
it takes a while to wake up
its effort to breathe free
Thoughts of tomorrow, wonder beneath
Its hard to look behind, hard to try
Its been a numbness, trying to engulf me
I wanted it to stay
I wish it did
I am still in search

Shaastra, my phone and randomness beyond

I didn’t quite expect myself to blog regularly…॥but I guess it went a lil too far…blame my blog which chooses to eat up words and place the second word in the place of the first and vice versa। So I get back to the dear old Ms Word, which is perhaps the only program (despite my repeated experiments with loadsa others) I use regularly and have been able to get slightly close to mastering. Its been a tiresome while and I keep wondering what exactly made it so, was it the work or was it just how I wanted to do it.
Shaastra 2007, which I thought would be a drab piece of student fest prolonging my work effort considering IIT is miles away from where I live and coz I probably wouldn’t quite figure a thing that would happen around. On the flipside, it was an amazing experience, the amount I actually saw and the times I had through it. And being not so modest I admit I did not feel lost. I felt this satisfaction of having something ‘real’ to write about for a change, which was to a large extent erased by the sheer lack of enthusiasm my paper, showed especially coz I was bursting with it. The worst being, my story getting scrapped at the cost of some celeb birthday tit- bits.
Not to mention how frustrated it made me I was given a brilliant idea of featuring it in the education supplement as a ‘trend story’! Just when I was likely to scream about it I was loaded with some celeb stories in connection with Diwali which apparently deserved priority over the rest. Ya I agree papers can be drab.
So while I ‘work’ at them life churns out more. One night while I was out for a nice dinner, my phone switched itself off for the lack of sufficient charge. I ignore do my thing; get back home enjoying the silence of my phone not ringing (which somehow annoyingly happens once every hour). How was I to predict the rest of my night (and day) would go in me dying to listen to it ring. It refused to switch on despite having been on charge for long. After tampering with it for about 4 hours I discovered some strange tactics to switch it on exactly for a minute (after which it resumed to its dead sate). So, ya after making a million dumb engineers go over it again and again, waiting like one would outside a friggin ICU, I get the answer. My contacts are lost, the whole 500 of them, 3 years of work, and 4 years of life with a phone!!! Giving up on everything I took things to myself and finally recovered every single one of them. What if it took 5 whole hours and a 100 times ( literally) of switching on and off my phone I have them all scribbled in a notepad which I now have to carry wherever I go and pull out at the very mention of having to call anyone. To my relief, I have been lent a ‘spare’ phone by a benevolent flatmate. The story ends with my phone being declared dead! So, if any of you reading this happen to call me and don’t hear the friendly hello on the other side, you’ll know why.
I don’t believe I’ve actually spent as much time as many words over blogging about my phone. Perhaps I am just bored, or its perhaps me getting used to writing about things that aren’t in the faintest ways meaningful. So folks don’t forget Diwali is round the corner as unfortunately no one lets me forget and the papers are gonna keep rubbing it in :)

Here I go!!

So...here I go...this post is titled so because of the sheer finality of the task of me starting a blog.
After days and months of having been told to do so, I decided its time I began. And the vigour I now begin with nothing will stop me from doing this, even the shit loads of work that remains piled and demands completion.
Not that I believe anyone would bother to drop by my blog for a glance, but for those some who incidently, accidently strayed by here is something about me.
I am a student though nothing can actually make you look at me and say so, I neither study nor will I be spotted loitering around college. Come to think of it, I barely ever get there.
The other big thing that I do, amongst many smaller ones is write for a paper and no amount of odds in life can keep me away from doing my work for it.
I like my work, the entire process of working for a story, meeting people and having myself heard. Isn't that what we all look for at the end of the day?

Coming back to the day, a simple paradox makes me get back to this blog after having abandoned it for quite a few hours post the beginning. On one side, I am thrilled about having a huge story published, tedious hours of work, all the running around, and bugging all those people involved beyond forgivness has finally paid off. A half page sweep, with my name in 'big bold red( literally) letters' and I am satisfied. I look at it and feel this sense of pride that I rarely get after the editors have laid their hands on my 'piece'.

With hope of some response, if not towards me towards the person who the story revolved around I get back to the day's work hunting, begging for quotes। While most people welcome me with open doors and awestruck looks (thanks to the big 
brand name)
 there are  who fail to understand the sheer impact of written words.
An incident that happened just about a few hours ago both discouraged and strengthened my already strong resolve to get people to realise the 
worth of the 'print media'.
Here's what happened, I sat like I usually do with my flatmates munching on dinner( if whatever I was eating can pass off as that or even close to it), brooding over how I was short of quotes for yet another story, threatning I'd use them as my guniea pigs if I 
didn't find anyone who gave into my pleadings. Just then one of them uttered, what difference does it make, just take a picture off the net and make up a quote, how is it gonna affect anyone, no one would ever know. Looking back m surprised at my own reactions, but I was aghast, immovable, wordless for a moment untill I finally retorted with a how can I do that its gonna go into paper. To which she said, how would someone know, I can even come up with false names to help you. My reactions of how I never resorted to any such stuff and how journalism and ethics were more than just inseparable was taken with a hearty laugh and a blow to the sternness with which I held my gaze and opinion.
I walked out, with part dejection and part work beckoning me to my comp, and being honest an online friend who I had been ignoring for a while now hoping he feels my comp was abandoned.
This did not end with the mere trifling conversation. My thoughts had the better of me as I sat working. How and where people and their thoughts are headed? and how news dosent seem to matter to a person in the process of it being created or rather collected.

Suddenly, I seemed to realise the importance of local news, something I always cribbed about having to read in a paper, especially in the first few pages। Its true people do not realise the worth or the credibility of news

or a reporter until it hits them in the face। It is indeed true, the harder the blow the more you turn to your paper and realise how it is not just 
an aid but a way of life. Ironically, it is the same people who get up and claim with examples right out of the book, of journalism losing credibility, of corruption embedding our very news making process. 'Making' thats what I call it, news aint quite the same until its collected, organized and 'made' palatable for the reader who is just about to consume it.
Having seen and heard the same from a million people around I enter an organization completely disillusioned and expecting every bit of wrong doing amongst people around. I hate to admit but it has made me half suspicious and I spend more time watching what people do while they work to catch a glimpse of the 'so-called' corruption in a media organization. frankly, I haven't incurred much. A 'little' would make me seem and feel too biased towards my industry of work. But really its not an easy job to work on something that might jus seem light to you when a million (literally in number) people might take what you write to be the final word and use it in conversations and examples for generations thereafter.

So, while my thoughts wander from this to loads of other things, and my eyes watch the clock strike 5......I end this post here....
Waiting for more to provoke me to continue blogging (I aint relying on people reading it)
I hit bed with fears of nightmares of yet another bright and sunny day (I hate them) and slight underlying hopes, that the clouds jus might be generous enough to show up early in the morning tomorrow.