I want to scream at the top of my lungs

“I want to run through the halls of my high school
I want to scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
just a lie you've got to rise above”

Well I want to scream at the top of my lungs like John Mayer. I have a story to tell. Wanting to tell your story is like wanting to have sex, it keeps you on the edge of your seat: But once you have sex, you roll over and fall asleep.

I work with an Indian Lifestyle Magazine. I work with; I believe sincerely, a rather good magazine. I am proud of my job on most days. But, more importantly, I am extremely proud of the magazine I work for. I don’t agree with everything all my colleagues do on a day to day basis. In fact I don’t think everybody agrees on everything ever. A good content room bristles with tension and awkwardness. But by and large, on the average morning, I wake up confident that we’ve put out a magazine that we are all editorially and ethically satisfied with. (Even if I live many miles away from the marketing room: my assigned area.)

What incentive does a magazine have to bring out a genuinely world-class magazine? Will writing better stories bring it more readers?  Perhaps. But then why is the newspaper most lampooned for its journalism the largest selling English title by far?

Will writing better stories convince readers to pay more for the paper? Just suggest the idea of increasing cover price to any paper’s CEO. And see the blood drain out of his face. The fear is that readers will immediately drop the title for a cheaper one. Thereby leading to plummeting circulation. And fewer ads.

Perhaps, you say, advertisers will see the merit in supporting a high-quality publication? Let us take the case of the excellent Caravan magazine. I think most people will agree that they are a good magazine. Look at the ads they have on their homepage on the right side in the form of a little slideshow. National Jute Board. Orissa Tourism Board. And two kitchen appliances companies I have never heard off. These are the companies willing to pay to advertise on the website of a truly exceptional magazine.

Think about it.Step back a little. What does this mean for the newsroom?

Newsrooms are expensive. Good newsrooms are exorbitantly expensive. Yet, as I mentioned above, investing in it actually makes little economic sense. Because the only person willing to pay for it, i.e. the advertiser, actually has little interest in what comes out of it.

This also has implications for the editorial leadership. Who is a good editor? The one who edits and puts out great content? Or the now who knows how to keep circulation up and advertisers happy?

The point of saying all this is that if you want to improve your newspapers then tweeting the mistakes in it won’t help. Sending letters to your editor may help, but it possibly won’t. Jokes about them on your blog most certainly won’t help. Instead vote with your feet. Stop subscribing. That is not enough though. Then go and subscribe to another paper that is better. Want to pass on a real message? Go and subscribe to an international paper or magazine at higher prices. Convey the message that you are willing to put your money where your sensibilities.

Get back into the equation. Get back into the newsroom.

Everything else is hot air. 

If I could leave you with one parting thought it will be this: for the love of god and country please do not subscribe to a magazine that you do not like or respect.

I TOOK A DAY OFF.....

..and I had the best day. I got up and had my coffee while sitting on the deck looking out over the yard and at the gardens.

 

So anyway I decide I am putting on my casuals, no deadlines, nothing I am just staying here with my memmories for the day.( for me this is a real treat with my job it is hard to take a day off).

 

I hadn't planned on it, but yesterday for the first time all year I didn't do any work. I've never been the type of person to call-in sick for a "mental health" day, but that's exactly what I did yesterday with my work.

 

Years ago, my friends and I used to clamor in a local tea café and discuss everything from relationships to work. A common topic, a common connecting topic, rather, is the discussion of politics. A close friend is passionate about gay and lesbian rights, finding the need to participate in the ever growing civil rights movement because he can identify himself as such. Another friend talks of her personal experiences as a Muslim in Gujarath.

I have been missing all this, so i rushed to my local tea cafe only to find it closed for he has moved to gulf for a better living. I moved to my friend's house who was passionate about gay rights only to see shamiana spread before his house, next sunday he is getting married.(No more a Gay!!)

I decided not to go further, I returned back home and started blogging.

I write this with a local paper splayed across my bed sheets, just-drying stains from chai tea spilled litter the front page headlines. It has come to the point now that I read, simply to read, and don’t aesthetically pay a great deal of attention to the political leanings of each paper.

But still I feel this break was needed.Its raining, and I feel rejuvenated after my day off.

 

This morning I have the blogging machine cranked-up and I've got posts flowing out of my finger tips.

 

I took a day off from the world today ....Just to relax and sit by the bay;It felt so good to take a breather, or two,And my thoughts, of course, drifted toward you.....

So all those out there.... take a day off..look around... May be you would find someone waiting for you, someone who is yours ... Like I did today .... Well details of that not now.:P

I am an Atheist..Is that a crime???

Well this is not what I wanted to blog about after two months of sabbatical..But ....

“I’m attracted to you, we’re compatible in bed and I love hanging out with you, but I can’t see me spending the rest of my life with you. Our values are too different.”

Ashitosh broke up with Celina. He pulled the trigger but if he hadn’t she would have within a month, they were fighting so much. They were both young (20-21) and in college, and were both each others’ first real relationship.

The break up was mutual. But the reason...VALUES!!

Values???

Ashitosh had issues when he realized that Celina comes from a family that believes in the Messiah of Nazareth. Ashitosh, a pure vegetarian, Yagnopaveetham (sacred thread) wearing,Brahmin had a tough time convincing himself and his family about Celina and her religion.

It was hard for him, but the warmth of love ruled above the discretion of the religion...He finally did convince himself and family about Celina and her religion.

But life is not fairy tale to end in a happily ever after note ....

Celina finally told Ashitosh the long kept secret . No , it had nothing to do with her virginity, she was pure as holy Mary. It was something much more trivial, Celina was a non believer an Atheist.

And that was it .. All those promises...All those dreams...All those everything ..had no meaning

And finally one day....

 

He walked in and said he didn't want to be with her anymore and before she could ask why, he was gone 

 

Celina still remembers what he said last, for that matter she remembers all that he said since she met him, but those last lines – “I’m attracted to you, we’re compatible in bed and I love hanging out with you, but I can’t see me spending the rest of my life with you. Our values are too different...Don't worry  ...You’ll be ok, you don't need me, believe me, you'll be fine “...

................................................................................................................................................................

Being an Atheist is a crime?? I guess its so in this part of the world. Here nothing changes...

I am taking a sip of the coffee. Flavor hasn't changed one bit. I cling to that fragment of status qua.

De long wait

Yesterday was my first day at a new job. If you haven't experienced it yourself, I can tell you this: it's all about the wait and the forms. First, you're directed to a worn leather chair in the lobby. After you've finished learning by rote the fine print of your resume, you look up to find the numerous faces in the office smirking at your plight. Okay, I'm exaggerating. They don't care two hoots about you. You might as well have been holding a placard advertising the fact that you're lowest in the food chain.

After what seems like an eternity, the HR comes wearing a genuinely apologetic expression. 'I'm sorry,' she says. 'Have you been waiting long?' Duh. She hands over a form where you fill in your details. You look up and ask that ubiquitous question: 'Can you write your present address in the permanent address space even though you're moving soon?' The HR looks like she doesn't care but she's paid to care so she smiles and says 'It doesn't matter.'

She turns and gets to her work and then comes the second stretch of waiting. You mentally recite the words of your resume to yourself. After all, it's good exercise for the mind. A worn-looking lady with an incandescent smile offers you a cup of chai. Clearly the message is: We might make you wait but we'll do it in style. You greedily slurp it down and wait with renewed vigour that fades as you listen to the ticking of the clock.

Around mid-day (exactly an hour and a cup of chai later) you're taken to see the CEO of the company who says a bunch of stuff that's meant to inspire you and does that so well that when you leave, you're eyeing the CEO's chair. When he hands you the appointment order you receive it reverently. After lunch begins the next wait. You ask if you can use the loo and 'Yes, but make it quick' is the curt reply. Like you don't know that all you'll miss if you arrive late is a cup of chai and if you're lucky, a few forms.

Welcome to the company,' Finally the HR says.

And then comes those dreaded forms. 'Now you can wait outside and fill a few more forms.'

You walk outside and pen your name and address for the umpteenth time.And then you protest in the best way you know how: You fall asleep at the table.

Phone friend

Pen friends that was a common term that I used to hear even till my school Days. People used to write through letters to distant people whom they have never seen.

They used to wait for the replies; they used to bug the postman asking for letters. Now the medium has changed but the basic idea still remains the same. We have the new generation Phone friends, Chat Friends and SMS Friends. Here am going to tell you the small story of my dearest Phone friend.

(PS:You can’t call an unknown girl with whom you flirt daily your Phone friend)

She was vivacious, decisive, humorous, sensible, creative, and crazy, well the list is endless.
Sometimes she may be very serious or she may make you laugh for the whole day. Sometimes she’ll sing for you, sometimes she’ll say that I am wrong. She was predictable… but still has bits of unpredictability around. The way she speaks, the way she reacts… Sometimes makes you wonder “Ho can girls be this interesting?”.

Most special thing about my Phone Friend was whenever I desperately look for someone to open up and am just wondering to whom, I can hear my phone ringing. I don’t know if it’s a mere coincidence, but her photo used to flash in my mobile whenever I needed her most. She was there always to cheer me up or to support me or to share my happiness or share my craziness. I never found a bit of artificiality in her, which sometimes used to force me to change all my opinions about women.

I have just seen her once, but I almost forgot her expressions, her smile or rather I don’t want to remember. I have my own copyright picture of her in my mind, something that I built from the way she talks, the way she laughs. That was something built slowly over a long time. I was afraid to meet her again coz I didn’t want to change that picture. But I never thought things will end up like this. Though I had someone saying it’s going to happen someday or the other, I was simply not ready to believe that.

Suddenly one day she stopped calling me. After a week, I enquired what happened.

After a few days she replied “Let’s keep our contact minimum, some things are not in our control”. I asked her the reason but I just received silence. I was a bit shocked though somehow I knew it was coming.

“How easy it’s for her to break a relationship” I thought.

“After all she’s also a girl, no wonder, nothing new” I smiled.

I closed that chapter without uttering a word. If she’s happy by keeping minimum contact, let it be so.

I know Friends come and go, but some leave so much pain while leaving that it takes a long time to heal.

Even now, sometimes when am very desperately looking for someone to open up my mind, I accidentally go in search of my phone. But when I realize that the phone will never ring again, I just smile...

Sarey jahaan say acha Hindustan hamara

The nation marked the 74th death anniversary of Dr Allama Muhammad Iqbal across the country on April 22.It was a national holiday in Pakistan while here in India it went quite unnoticed.

In our national conscience, Sir Allama Muhammad Iqbal occupies that controversial post of being the first person to have conceived the idea of Pakistan

Nobody has ever bothered to go beyond this simple fact to ascertain the reasons for this, and it is noteworthy that mostly we have only read about the part where he supports the idea of a separate homeland for Muslims.

The point of this post is not to glorify Sir Allama, but it is merely to assert that things are never as simple as they are presented and to understand the reasons behind the demand Iqbal so passionately made.

The fact is that Iqbal was in favour of a united India. He even wrote a poem extolling the virtues of that geographical region, the ‘Tarana-e-Hind,’ better known today as ‘saray jahaan say acha Hindustan hamara.’ (Our Hindustan is better than the rest of the world).

The official narrative has erased Iqbal’s advocacy of a unified India and presents only his later ideas.

Even in 1927, when the Islamic Pakistan had truly arrived, he had this to say:

“The talk of a united Pakistan is futile. In this country (Pakistan), one community is always aiming at the destruction of the other community.”

Just hoping in times to come not just Pakistan but we Indians also respect and understand this great philosopher, poet and true patriot.

Other Reads:

http://www.allamaiqbal.com/

http://www.thenewstribe.com/2012/04/21/nation-observes-allama-iqbals-74th-death-anniversary/#.T5kWjav9NMc

Umbrella Romance

Ashitosh was working in Chennai, some years ago. The devout movie buff that he is, Sunday mornings were reserved for a visit to the movie club at Mylapore, where the screened classic French films. On one such visit, the organiser drew him aside and invited him to join the movie discussion youth group. Ashitosh agreed, and on the same day was inducted into the group. The group members sat in a circle; Seated next to him was a pretty girl he’d noticed earlier in the club.

Thus began a friendship sustained by the phone and covert and not-so-covert glances at each other in club. She introduced her parents to him, and they liked the handsome, polite boy. Strangely though, Ashitosh never asked her out. Perhaps he felt the time was not ripe yet. But the relationship flowered. In the club group meetings, she invariably sat next to him. It was soon the talk of the club, if not of the town.

One day she insisted Ashitosh to come home for lunch. Her parents were eager to know him better, and a date was fixed. On the appointed day, Ashitosh took the bus to her house. On the way, the skies opened and it began to rain heavily. Ashitosh was not carrying an umbrella. So after getting down at his stop, he called her, asking her to come to the bus stop with an umbrella for him.

Soon she appeared — but with just one umbrella. Ashitosh frowned and asked: “Did I not ask you to bring an umbrella for me too?” She tossed her head, laughing, and shot back: “Sorry! I forgot!

And it was under one umbrella that they wended their way home, purring ecstatically (I like to think!) in the pouring rain. Yes, they did get a little wet, but it didn’t matter; in fact, so much the better, for they had to draw closer to each other to avoid getting wetter. And Ashitosh at first didn’t know what to do with his arms, which kept getting in the way as they walked together.

But soon he learned something that anyone who has ever shared an umbrella with another person will know: Under the umbrella, there’s just one place you can comfortably rest your arm.

In other news: - It rained yesterday in Bangalore, as Ashitosh watched the rain from his balcony and updated his blackberry status to “Feeling Nostalgic”.

Job V/S Career

Don’t ever let somebody tell you can’t do something…You got a dream, you gotta protect it…if you want something, go get it". This is something which I always fight hard to live by in my life. (Pursuit of happyness)

In the fast pace of today's practical life, we always limit our dreams. For today's executive generation, the maximum limit of dreams is a good job, marriage and children. In the middle of the war for survival, no one wants to be someone different in the crowd. No one dare to dream differently. Can we call that a dream...No it’s a job

We all had dreams in our childhood. We all had high opinions about ourselves, and somehow we knew and felt that we have a role in this world. We had a feeling that, "The whole world is for me". Nothing in this beautiful world felt denied.

That's what we call a Dream

A dream is something which you really want to execute from deep inside. So, there might be a musician asleep inside a Mathematics Professor, there may be a Novelist asleep inside a MBA mind.

This is what we call a dream or a career.

One should plan their career intelligently not hastily. Job is a need, Career is Indeed.

A job is essentially for a short period and satisfies the immediate needs, be it financial or social. Career is a long term goal and is equated with ones aspirations and ambitions. In today’s case it determines the future.

But interestingly it is you that should be deciding your future not the situation. Though many a times financial needs and moral support involves a career decision. Still one must never compromise in any given situation for a situational job.

Today i see my friends taking up jobs or appearing for placement process that has nothing to do with their dreams. And the explanation they have is I am being practical/Realistic...

I don’t say there’s any harm in being that career-oriented also. But you must have your preferences clear in your head. Why do you have to have a dream, if you are so concerned about your professional success?

Let me conclude, quoting from the famous book Alchemist by Paulo Coelho - "When you want something, the entire universe conspires in helping you to achieve it...”

The post is inspired from one of the best lecture that I had attended in my whole life.

(Captain ... Captain we bow down to you...Salute GR)

PEPSI----- Change the drink

I still remember Nov 2004....

The Andhra Pradesh High Court had issued an order banning the television commercial of Pepsi, which showed a boy taking Pepsi bottles to cricketers on the ground on a public interest litigation (PIL) filed by child labour activists . 

The court had said no advertisement should be televised "depicting or glorifying child labour, until further orders".

The particular ad showed the Indian team in a huddle celebrating the fall of a wicket on the cricket ground when a child carrying a tray of Pepsi emerges from an underground tunnel to serve them drinks.

(The banned commercial)

And now 8 years down the line... What do I see in Anekal, Bangalore???

Pepsi Truck @Anekal

I could see a child may be just under 15 unloading a Pepsi delivery van  at one of its retail outlet, in the soaring sun.

15 yr boy unloading the truck

Like in Andra Pradesh High court case, Pepsi might wash of there hands this time again, saying these are maintained by third party arrangement and has nothing to do with Pepsi. 

But aren't they responsible...???

They say to change the game... I think it is high time to Change the drink....

Passion v/s Priority

Ashitosh was sitting in the veranda of his home, watching those raindrops percolate through the coconut leaves and shatter into a million minute droplets as it fell on the pebbles. Rains always carried a wide range of emotions with it. Rain always seemed to mystify him; he understood that rain had always remained a part of himself.

And there he was - after all those years of roaming around, back in that old chair watching that slight drizzle turning into a ferocious downpour. There he was - drinking a glass of black tea, with a book in his hand.

It’s been ages since he got some time in peace to himself, like this- with just books for his company. When he looked outside of the compound wall he felt that years had not moved at all, as he watched those different shades of umbrella move as if they had lives of their own – poor ones, elderly ones, indignant ones, bouncy ones and even colored ones. An old gray umbrella that walked quite slowly, took his mind to those old days.

He wanted to go back to those times; he wanted to become a child, sitting in that veranda hearing those heroic stories again. He wanted to see that wrinkled hand holding the gray umbrella, and the kind old face that told him inspiring stories with that constant wheezing of the raindrops in background. He wanted to gape his mouth in adoration, and dream about being a good man in the future. But…there he was.

Sweet music hit him…It took him sometime to realize that the music he was hearing was not that of nature, but of the mobile in his pocket. Ashitosh woke up from the trance and kept his glass down. The black tea had gone cold.  The usual mail from Usha Rani told him about the campus placement schedule for the next week.

He looked up into the pouring skies, shivering in the cold, wondering when the rain would stop, for he need to book tickets back to Bangalore…Priorities matter !!

BEEP BEEP

As a guy without a bike, and an expenditure allowances not big enough to afford Taxis all the while, I am getting inside a BMTC bus, yes, the white and blue coloured Bus, with a brown tint shade all over.[ no, dats not dust, dats the make of the body].

Since there are many more guys and gals in the city without a bike and with an expenditure allowances as big as Kapil Sibals IQ, the bus is full….

BEEP BEEP... oh that is an SMS.

BEEP BEEP

With strain I pull my mobile out of my pocket and read the message, something that demands a reply, m trying to type with one hand, holding the overhead iron pole with the other, and here he comes... the guy next to me badly wants to read the message I m typing. I am irritated and I send the message.

Hardly 30 secs.

Beep beep.

This time when I type the reply, I add

“One bastard is peeping into my message and so I will tell you later".

Talking in the dark

I'm just going to tell you what's true for me. ... I too have lied.

Why do we lie so much?

I can only answer for myself. I have lied because I've been afraid ...I lied, faked, bluffed, concealed what was really going on inside me.

The only time I speak truth is when I talk in the dark…

Why is it that talking in the dark is so much easier?

Perhaps it’s because the words we speak seem slip away from us into the shadows, and not to belong to us anymore, so that we need fear no aftermath. Words spoken in light are clear and sharp and inescapable. Words spoken in darkness are halfway to dreams, and forgotten by morning.”

Inspiration - William Nicholson, The Trial of True Love (Best Book that I had read in long time)

Seasons Change… Do We?

CHANGE is what we all cherish. But do we really understand the changes we go through in our lives? Look out of the window pane near you. Do you see life? Do you see the seasons? Are they changing?

SEASONS of life will fascinate you, if you watch them closely.

But Seasons of life change. Friends change. You change.

So did Ashitosh and Celina, while growing up together in their beautiful innocence. They were almost inseparable. Their love for each other was indivisible.Yet, a time came when they stumble upon the truths about themselves. Suddenly, they can see themselves in a new light.

In fright and pain, they ask themselves: are we really what we think we are?

Celina had finally accepted the change….and may be Ashitosh too has learned to change with the seasons.

Though his FB status reads something like this….

Get me some poison, Iago; this night: I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago.

Ashitosh is not Othello, but he seems to be surrounded by Iagos…..

Mallu porn

Kerala is world renowned for its pornographic films that are popularly known as Mallu Porn. Through our hard work and creativity; we had built up a very good brand image for Mallu Porn. But now we have every Tom, Dick and Harry exploiting this image by labelling their movies of shady origin as Mallu. Not only are they eating into our revenues, but they are also severely affecting the perception of our brand.

It is high time to protect pornographic movies originating from the state by granting it Geographical Indication status.  Protection under the Geographical Indications of Goods Act 1999 will ensure that movies from other regions will not be able to be allowed to make use of the term Mallu.

:))

The Door is Swinging ...

Celina bid adieu to Ashitosh.

Celina never gave him an explanation because the real reason was just too painful to put into words---he had failed as a friend, let her down when she needed him, and had not supported her during some of the worst months of her life.

What could she say to him? That he was self-absorbed and completely focused on himself to the exclusion of all others? That she'd realized that their friendship was based solely upon him and his needs? That suddenly she woke up and realized this was the pattern of her life and that she intended to change it?

No. She didn’t say anything. She simply dropped him with some pathetic excuses and never did tell the painful truth.

The last conversation they had read something like this:-

Ashitosh:-Wt hapnd pa?

Celina: Wat??

Ashitosh: hmmmm

Celina: Wat Hmm..?

Ashitosh: OK. Wat happened between us??

Celina: Please do us a favour and stay away.

Ashitosh: ok pa.

The Door is Swinging ...... and he doesn't know whether to shut it, leave it ajar, or close it.






PS: "Any resemblance between the characters in this post and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle" 

Friends do matter

Today one of my friend shared a FB status which read something like this....

"I even smoke in bed. Imagine smoking a cigar in bed, reading a book. Next to your bed, there's a cigar table with a special cigar ashtray, and your wife is reading a book on how to save the environment".-Raul Julia

While my another friends read something like this.....

  

Helmet Can Take care of you heads __!

Signs may make you understand __!

Words can prevent you from quitting__!

A small Smoking awareness by my self on my Helmet __!

Hmmm Plus nd Minus...But..Friends do matter......

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. 

Ashitosh and Celina

Should intimacy always be a 2-sided affair? One question I have been debating with myself for ages. One part of me feels how much the other person contributes doesn't alter the way you feel about them. Another part of me refuses to believe that.

So if 2 people, say Ashitosh and Celina were thick friends once and at some point of time if  Celina  just drifts off(because nw she has a boy friend ), what happens?

Does Ashitosh lose all the intimacy he had for Celina   ?

When I say losing intimacy, I don’t mean not seeing each other when you couldn’t. I mean not seeing each other when you could ......:(


So people what do you think ????
Ashitosh  is Antonio(Merchant of Venice) or  Ashitosh  is just another Celina in the long run? 

PS: "Any resemblance between the characters in this post and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle"

A good looking wife who can cook well!

His jaw opened when she unfolded the painting and held it for him to see. It had everything they dreamt together ... a house at the top of a hill, a river flowing into the green valley ... and what greenery! The picture was titled "Our Dream House" and he could not agree more ... but "Did u wake up all night to finish this off?" "Yeah ... I couldnt sleep at all ... once the idea hit my mind! I wanted to paint our dream house as soon as I can!" ... she giggled.

He pulled her closer to him and she obliged happily ... "U know what I like most about you?" "What?" "The passion that u have ... how u put everything into the things u do ... I wish I could be like you ..." her knees went week and she moved closer to his body.

A month after marriage, she was busy at office and couldnt come home before 9, for a few days. Today she wanted to come back early and finish that painting for him ... she had even thought of the title ... "Man and his Wife!" He was in the living room watching the TV and looked curiously, as she picked up the stand, painting set and closed the office room door behind her, for the finishing touches. A little later, the door opened and his face popped in ... "Dinner?" "Yup ... just a minute!" and he went back.

10 minutes later, she opened the fridge, the curries and rice were heated up ... and the dinner was ready. But, she noticed that his face had a gloominess that she had not seen before. He opened the rice, smelled the curries ... and stopped! "I dont want to have this!" "Why? what happened??" "Its smelling ... how old is this curry?" "NO ... I made it yesterday only!" "Crap ..." he got up ... "Wait ... I'll make something else ... just gimme a few minutes" ... she pleaded. "No, I'll eat from outside ... dont bother" ... "Pleezzzz" she pleaded again.

 "Forget it now, u had all the time in the world to make something fresh today. All these days u were late because of office. Now, today ... u r gone with that thing!" he pointed to the office room and her half finished painting. She felt a lump in her throat when he went on shouting "I dont care what passion u have ... but make sure u r a wife first!"

The passion died that day ... and a good wife was born ... a meek, gloomy and listless version of the original! A good looking wife who can cook well!

How are you?"

This is the question that I was asked the most in the past one month and always my answer was "I am fine" or "I am doing good". I have no idea why I always lie to everyone or for that matter even to myself whenever I encounter such situations. Fact is that I was never fine and struggling to be normal all these days..

Sleep is constantly evading me when I wanted it the most.. Sometimes I used to sit up quite late just to fight the memories..Coz the moment I hit the bed, how much ever tired I am , the memories keep flowing like storm and I'll be wide awake for hours together.. I had always thought it's the sweet memories that keep you going, but now when I know none of them will ever come back again, it's becoming a pain.. I am gripped with an insecurity feeling ..…..

De MAD

One of Kerala’s leading writers, K. Satchidanandan is regarded as one of the pioneers of the New Poetry in Malayalam.Here is an English Transalation of his poem DE MAD (PRANTHAN)

The mad have no caste
Nor religion. They
transcend gender,
live outside ideologies. We
do not deserve their innocence.

Their language is not of dreams but
of another reality. Their love
is moonlight. It
overflows on full moon day.

Looking up they see
gods we have never heard of. They are
shaking their wings when
we fancy they are shrugging their shoulders. They hold
even flies have souls
and the green god of grasshoppers
leaps up on both legs.

At times they see trees bleed,
hear lions roar from the streets.
At times they watch Heaven
gleaming in a kitten’s eyes,
just as we do. But they alone
can hear ants sing in a chorus.

While patting the air
they are taming a cyclone
over the Mediterranean. And with
their heavy tread they stop
a volcano from erupting.
They have another measure
of Time. Our century is
their second. Twenty seconds,
and they reach Christ; six more, they
are with the Buddha.

In a single day they reach
the big bang at the beginning.

They go on walking restless for
their earth is boiling still.

The mad are not
mad like us.

hogi bartini - ABS

Today's sunrise was regular. Just the way it always looks like on a regular dewy, misty Bangalore morning. What's different is the realisation that I would have left this place I have been calling home for the past 2 years, very soon. Yes the farewell invitation is already having its affect.

 I'm having my morning coffee right now and I hear a bird chirping away outside. Like it's trying to tell me something. I don't quite understand bird-talk, but I wish I knew, because I badly want to have a little goodbye chat right now.

Today when I went out to the Anna shop for my daily nicotine, I wanted to tell the guy who always handed me my packet of smoke in the morning, that I'm leaving soon. I wanted to tell the guy at fudclub who used to get me the best chicken paratta ever, that I'll be gone soon.

I wanted to tell HER a lot of things too,like seeing her on my way out, worked like a lucky charm for me.Yes I am immature even now.

I wanted to go ask the Indus guy, how he remembered which poison I preferred, even when I went to him after weeks or months of abstinence.


Having said all this,There's this thing about life in a busy metropolitan city. It's like this unwritten rule that you don't really talk to people. You connect to people. That's because it is human. But you don't really talk. I can't imagine walking upto any of the above mentioned poeple and saying a goodbye. They'd probably be taken aback! Because that isn't expected around here, right? You leave the place quietly, at the break of dawn, load all your stuff into a cab and just leave. Your place in this part of the universe will be filled up by another being. They'll bring a part of themselves to this place where you leave a part of yourself behind. It just goes on.

For some reason, I also like the fact that I'm spared the goodbye ritual. Everytime you say a goodbye to someone, the sense of finality sinks in. That you'll be gone. For real. I just prefer to believe that I'll be back soon. Bangalore has been much more than a city to me. It's been this living, breathing person.

So when I pack my bags and leave before I say hi to tomorrow's Bangalore sun, my parting words will be "See you soon! hogi bartini, Bengaluru!"

THE WORST BOOK I READ IN 2012

Hi all,

Disclaimer 

Any resemblance to person living, dead or reincarnated is purely coincidental.
 No animals were injured during the writing of this review, although some asses had there feelings hurt..

“Critics are to authors what dogs are to lamp-posts.” ~ Jeffrey Robinson

 Title:  The Best Person I Met In 2007

Genre	Fiction
About	Friendship, Love and Life as we know it.

Description

There's this diary where Neil jots down the name of the best person he meets, every year. Come year 2007, he writes down a name that no one ever expected him to. Here's a story that's punctuated with a number of twists and turns that bring out a summary of what life is all about. It's about four people... naaa... scratch that... it's about just that one person; and now, it’s your turn to find out who that is...

Publisher

Independent

One thing that I realized, rather say my readers made me realize is that, somewhere unintentionally in my last book review; I disclosed a little bit too much of the story. So learning from my mistakes, this time I’ am not getting into the story part-at all.

The above synopsis about the book is a cut-copy –paste from the facebook page of the book.

The day I heard that ABC’s book is coming, I was excited.

I started reading this book at 5.30 and completed it at 7.30, 2 hrs prior to my target of 9.30.

The book takes you through life of Neil, and that one person…

 (And this is the maximum part of story I can share with you.)

The book shares a lot of funny moments, rather the book tries to be funny at lot of places but fails terribly This book is light love fiction, but like all modern day writers  ABC seems to be suffering from CBS(Chetan Bhagath Syndrome).

This book does not have the major characteristics of a fiction novel, which we usually see; the continuous use of word F#ck, the love making scene, those one line wonders. It is a clean love story, but Somewhere in this book, ABC, missed out on making sure that the readers stick to the book.

The book takes up a major issue prevailing in our society; the issue of choosing to live your dreams. The issue in broader sense brings forward a women’s prospective, her dreams to marry the man of her choice, but by making the love of her life, leave behind, but somehow fails to connect with the audience.

This book has a simple, little, sweet love story which does ‘end’ on a sad note but with a clear message of a happy ending; but…..(Everything b4 but is bullshit and everything after but is censored..:))

Richard Ford once said that it takes as much effort to produce a bad book as a good book, so I do herby place my token of appreciation for the effort made….

In my final words, I would suggest, read this book at least once; with no great expectations…Because….

“Once you've put one of his books down, you simply can't pick it up again.”

By the way my BBM status msg is " THE WORST BOOK I READ IN 2012!!"

The Italians in Kerala.

Over the years, Kerala has been host to various citizens from around the world. Some came to Kerala as refugees (Jews) while some as tradesmen/invaders/missionaries (Dutch, Portugese, Syrians and the list goes on). Almost all the Jews have left Kerala for good and the others have more or less disappeared as semi-Indians or have left the place. But it comes as a surprise to those in Kerala to still find die hard citizens from Italy!

Two Indian fishermen were shot to death by Italians for reasons only they know. The only plausible reason could be that they were drunk or were using them as targets for their practice shots. As for their claim that they mistook them for pirates, if they are indeed sailors or were guarding a ship, they should by now know the area where pirates roam freely. What if the Indian Navy had responded in kind since it was an unprovoked attack on Indian citizens? There were 9 fishermen in this boat and while 7 of them were resting, only two were fishing. And also a fisherman with a fishing rod has never been a threat to anyone and if people wielding guns and binoculars cannot properly identify threats then the only solution is to put such criminals behind bars.

And when the state is in the process of doing so, comes an Italian citizen hiding behind his Indian citizenship assuring Italy that he will do all his best to bring the innocent boys back to Italy. He even has the audacity to tell the Italians that he has already spoken to the Christian ministers. The only sane course of action would be to strip such idiots off their Indian citizenship and pack them off to Italy. But since they have the “laborious” task of tending their sheep, let them stand in queue for a visa and be denied a visa

Marriage is after all a 'license to start an extra-marital affair

It is early afternoon, a hot mid-summer day.A skinny, high old hotel comes into view. On its exposed brick side great painted letters advertise "Salt n Pepper”

A small room, a slow fan buzzing on a shelf above the narrow

bed. A card of hotel rules is pasted on the mirror above the

bureau.

A young woman is stretched out on the mussed bed. She wears a full slip, stockings, and no shoes.

She lies in and attitude of physical relaxation, but her face, seen in the dimness of the room, betrays a certain inner-tension, worrisome conflicts.

She is Ann Mary (22)

A man stands beside the bed, only the lower half of his figure visible

The man standing by the bed, wearing only trousers,is SAM ALEX.(35)

He is wiping his neck and face with a thin towel, and is staring down at Mary, a small sweet smile playing about his mouth. Mary keeps her face turned away from him.

After a moment, Sam drops the towel, sits on the bed, leans over and takes Mary into his arms, kisses her long and warmly, holds her with a firm possessiveness.

The kiss is disturbed and finally interrupted by the sounds of the inconsiderate fan.

Sam smiles, pulls away enough to allow Mary to relax again against the pillow.

He studies her, frowns at her unresponsiveness, then speaks in a low, intimate, playful voice

 

MARY:  I better get back to the office. These extended lunch hours give my boss excess acid.

She rises, goes to the bureau, takes a pair of small earrings out of her bag, and begins putting them on, not bothering or perhaps not wanting to look at herself in the mirror.

Sam watches her, concerned but unable to inhibit his cheery, humorous good mood.

SAM: Call your boss and tell him you're taking the rest of the afternoon off. It's Friday anyway... and hot.

MARY:         (soft sarcasm)

What do I do with my free afternoon, walk you to the airport?

SAM:          (meaningfully)

We could laze around here a while longer.

MARY:  Sam. This is the last time.!!

             

SAM:   For what?

MARY:  This! Meeting you in secret so we can be... secretive! You come down here on business trips and we steal lunch hours and... I wish you wouldn't even come.

SAM:   Okay. What do we do instead, spent time on phone sex??

MARY:         (about to argue, then turning away)

       I haven't time to argue. I'm a working girl.

SAM:   And I'm a working man! We're a regular working-class tragedy!

              (he laughs)  

       Sure. It's like laughing through a broken jaw, but...(goes close to Mary, touches her)

      

MARY:         (pulling away)

       I have to go, Sam.

SAM:   Mary, whenever it's possible, I want to see you. And under any conditions.

              (a smile)

       Even respectability.

MARY:  You make respectability sound...disrespectful.

SAM:          (brightly)

       I'm all for it! It requires patience and temperance and a lot of sweating-out... otherwise, though, it's only hard work.

              (a pause)

      

       I'm fed up with sweating for people who aren't there. I sweat to pay off my father's debts... and he's in his grave... and…my wife…

             

MARY:         (smiling, then with a terrible urgency)

       Sam, let's go get married.

SAM:   And live with me in the storeroom. We'll have a lot of laughs. When I send my wife her divorce petition, you can lick the stamps.

MARY:         (a deep desperation)

       I'll lick the…. (Pause) STAMPSSS!!!.

He looks at her, long, pulls her close, kisses her lightly, looks out the window and stares at the wide sky.

SAM:   Hey, we can leave together can't we?

MARY:         (at door)

       I'm late... and you have to put your shoes on.

Mary goes out quickly, closing door behind her.As Sam stares down at his shoeless feet




        “Marriage is after all a 'license to start an extra-marital affair”