Its a wonderful life.....at NBH

"its a wonderful life!

the more i think about it, the more colourful it becomes. the positive vibes seem to be never ending. the first thing one sees after waking up is the picturesque view of the lush green undulations of our campus. sometimes i think of buying a house in the hills. it will be a treat to the soul. i have discussed myself sipping tea sitting on a white chair on a lawn with beautiful flowers in full bloom remembering the small things in life and pondering over even smaller details of this wonderful earth with many of my friends.(they didn't appreciate the idea very much though). a good novel and soothing music will just be the icing on the cake!
then there are my friends who will step out of their way to try in vain to trouble me or make me jealous or laugh on many jokes targeted at me to our heart's content. it feels good to be surrounded by people you can count on.
DS with all his dramatic expressions and chotu with his mimicry make life paradise! then there is panditji whose ...........devotion to shambhuji and some wise cracks lighten a grieving soul. he is the frusty meddy of our floor. he rang up Mr. white, eagul, at 4 in the morning and told his sad tale of leading his life as a meddy. his jealousy at seeing people from CSE sleeping all through the day and making merry at night knows no bounds. life is indeed tough, my friend.
buddhu bhaiya, his room mate............................."

The auto save option on blogger churned out this piece that i had written in a hurry in my  fifth semester. Its far from completion.


 I wish i had completed it in third year...

The next blog

This world is full of biases. Many a time my gaze keeps coming back to the "Next Blog" button. I wonder what mistake did all of us make to be handed out this injustice. Bloody politics! Its a life full of quotas.  I am yet to understand the motive behind this button though. Dear friends from CSE, was it impossible to link the previous blog or does one have to pay for the link to show up? Nonetheless, it does give all and sundry the guilt free pass to pour their hearts out about the next blog!
Now I wonder if I should utilize this pass or let it go?

A Thought.....

When at Shillong many locals used to talk to me in Khasi- the local language, I comforted myself a little thinking that I am basically from UP. I might not understand them word to word but I inferred their meaning. My childhood memories of interactions with locals at Shillong as well as at Hyderabad, my birth place, are very limited. The vegetable woman in a traditional Khasi dress – an elaborate coat and a deep basket suspended by a wide ribbon on the forehead and supported on the back would talk to me (read make fun of me) while mother would sift her basket for fresh vegetables. When she had gone later I would ask, “Ma, what did she say?” Mostly she would smirk and say, “Who knows!” Sometimes when she was free, I would get a detailed account of the happenings of the evenings. I wonder still if she understood Khasi.

Father was posted to Chandigarh next. I said adieu to the north east with a hope of feeling at home in the northern part of the country. Here, my troubles were compounded. The homely feeling vanished as soon as I set foot in the Union Territory. At school, on the road, the milk man- all conversed fluently Punjabi while I tried to read their faces. Oh! What wouldn’t have I given to read the language. 

Time flew by and soon we shifted to Pune. Marathi, sharing its script with my mother tongue, was a little easier to understand. In a few weeks I could grasp most of it. The local accent still kept the Marathis at an arm’s length from me. Agitated by the actions of the MNS sometimes to feeling alien in a Maharashtrian household to sometimes talking in broken Marathi, I would advise them to travel in UP and boast of Hindi- the most widely used language of the country. Similar was my stay at Nagpur although a little more difficult. Even the refined local accent was hard to catch.

At Delhi, it was still a mixture of people from all parts India. It is rightfully called ‘Chota Bharat.’ From Punjabis to Tamilians, gujratis and Bengalis- It has a flavour of all places far and wide. Hindi was widely understood. Oh! What a relief!

The last four years at Himachal Pradesh also flew by. Unfortunately I couldn’t make much use of it. During my travels the not mixing with the locals took away the most joy of the journey. I find the language a little coarse. Nonetheless my will to converse in Pahadi- Panjabi is still strong. Being nominated from Nagpur, many at NIT took me for a Marathi. The last 4 years have been spent in convincing them of the truth. Punjabi songs, jokes all were – and still are- bouncers to me. 

The news of us shifting to Allahabad came as a blessing to me. Finally, I thought, I would be where my roots lie.  Since the last 21 years I have called myself a UP-wallah but could never stay over here. Now here I am, twenty one years of age and still feel alien. The local accent and the language, Hindi, is far from what they teach at school or what I speak at home. Today, the postman came with a very heavy parcel of mine. He had called in the morning to enquire if we were at home. “Haanji, hum post office se bol rahe hain. Parcel aaya hai. Bahut bhaari hai.Ghar pe ho?” As simple a sentence as can be, it took me a minute to figure out what was happening. The betel leaf added to the different accent as much as his pronunciation. Later in the evening he dropped by to deliver the packages. He murmured something and I passed him a smile of acknowledgement. Waiting patiently for him to take out the receipt from his pocket and point at the place to sign it. He looked at me - His eyes waiting for something. The elderly postman asked again. “Arre bhaiya, pani nahi pilaoge?” It is boiling hot over here at Allahabad. “Oh! How could have I not done so!” was the first reaction. Mother gave him a mango drink to refresh him. Later when he had gone, I realised I couldn’t understand Hindi too! Shuddh Hindi and English are the only two languages of my lexicon. 21 years- what a waste!

Who am I? An Indian or just a spoilt city educated nobody? Where is my home? Oh boy! Why did I realise this?

the sunday that was!

after lying in the arms of Morpheus till late Sunday afternoon we-my cousin and i realised how late we were for the 3.15 play! it wasn't just any other play. paresh rawal considered king of comedy was the lead cast! we were lucky enough to reach the auditorium just in time! indians work most efficiently only when kicked in the ass! we reached the auditorium in about 1.5 hours. we never knew it would take us more than 3 hours on our way back!

the play was an eye opener yet hilarious! the man who thought himself to be atheist emerged as the most devout of His followers while the priest and other members of the temple trust-mere businessmen! "krishna vs kanihya" showcased how the "devout" hindu pours his handi of milk on a black piece of rock instead of offering it to the hungry beggars sitting at all vacant spaces in temples! well, it is a must watch for all sant maharajs and their chelas!

they say every moment is a test! the chill of the ac and mr.rawal tried desperately to get the better of our bladders! as any exam the play was three hours long! i passed His test!


on the way back, i saw a woman who seemed to be in her late twenties- her mangalsutra loudly announcing her marital status. she was utilising one the most common machines invented by alexander graham bell. her expression gave her away. i stood at the other end of the shop observing her from a distance. she was inaudible even to the guy next to her. her face bore a dejected look. she was desperate to hear a pleasant tone from the other end of the phone. then a drop of tear started gleaming in the bright street light. her legs started yielding. she was forced to lean on the table with her hands trying hard to support her.
the next scene will be etched in my memory for quite a long time.
she placed the receiver very slowly- analysing what she had been told. and lo! i beheld such a sudden and continuous out pour of tears that took away my smile! i couldn't move. it made me wonder what possibly might have happened to her or who could possibly hurt so sweet looking a lady. well, mr. rawal and his thoughts had taken a back seat for now.
it made me wonder how relatively small our eyes are yet they are capable enough of convey everything to a stranger in just a glace. inside, every human is the same. either he is happy or he is sad. many can afford that happiness only for a few moments. they cherish those memories in the difficlut times to come but life goes on. i couldnt do anything about what i saw this sunday.
man has evolved and advanced to an unimaginable extent but even today he cries at the slightest of pain and smiles at every pleasant sight!
ah, it happens!

Yesterday!

yesterday morning, after having a "sumptous" breakfast i trotted to the department for the first class. i was about 10 seconds too late. devoid of a "p" i sat down dejected and irritated. "i didnt wake up in the morning to attend this lecture without being marked present."
as planned, i started copying all of my pending assignments-4 in no.- on the last occupied bench of our classroom. the first 3 were copied letter to letter in a go. the final assignment was of management. when i half done, my pen stopped working. to my dismay, it was the only one i had. i tried the nib at all angles-making spirals, gave the pen a few jolts and various other complex sets of movements in all directions. the pen wouldn't simply write. it was as if it was protesting against its continuous use since the last 1.5 hours.
through the translucent plastic, suddenly my gaze fell on the refill.
it was dry!
well, that was the happiest moment of yesterday! in my 2 years at college, i had never achieved this feat. i had never been with a pen to witness such a thing! they are such important "things" for a student and you never seem to comfortably find one for the first class. either its stolen or dropped or....basically lost! i distinctly remember that in second year after being fed up of buying a pen everyday, i bought a Parker worth rs.350. " yeh mehnga pen toh main ni ghumaunga. plus no one will take a fountain pen." it remained with me for 3 weeks. then one day it was Hanger's birthday. we found the "Rhythm" of life and were on cloud 9. we had fun that evening. after 1am, it was all a blur. that was the last time i saw a self owned pen! that day, i decided to be in the mob and start lifting pens instead of buying them! it has been almost 2 semesters and i am yet to buy a pen.
in hostel, its the same with buckets, slippers........
and that's how i managed to survive the boring lecture. i had a unique experience; my smile-ear to ear!

machi and his woes!

people talk to share-anger, happiness, dejection........yesterday night, my bengali friend from across the corridor caught my arm and cleared his throat to express those " twitched eye-brow" expressions stamped on his fore-head. he is one of those thinking kinds who have an opinion on almost all subjects concerning a normal man.
on first thought, i wanted to get away as soon as possible. it was 2.30am and i didn't want to break the continuity of the novel that i'm reading. well, after trying my best to free my hand, i finally submitted-preparing myself for any kind of wisdom that could possibly flow out from his mouth. i have met only 2 kinds of bengalis- those who eat fish and more fish and those who drink, smoke, snort and make life paradise(they have fish anyway....)
a little high, this friend of mine whom we affectionately call machi had tasted a few beers in the evening. after parading myself for a couple of times in the corridor, building up my expectations, he finally let his tongue loose.
chumi-another alias of his-expreseed his deep regret at his inability to drink anything his entire life.
" yaar tere ko chadh gayi hai." i smirked.
he squeezed my hand in his giant fists and looked at me very innocently. he added, "we bloody bengalis have to eat everything- from a cake to fruit to water and wine."
"yaar tu so ja."
"no, listen to me man. i have a point." he demanded.
"alrite." in the last couple of years at college i have realised that every drunk guy has a point. they seem to get intellectual enlightenement and wisdom only after midnight.

"i didnt drink beer today."
"hain? then what did u have?"
"i had beer. but i didnt drink it man. i ate it. i eat water. i eat soda. we bengalis cant drink.......man...beer khabo....jal khaabo....man, its frustrating."
......and i had stereotyped people who repetitively used 'man' as drunk. this guy was out of the league. he wasnt drunk. he had gnawed at his beer.
to add to his woes,i started laughing uncontrollably. he said," yaar endley, you think of my situation man. i want to drink something. i want to desperately try drinking something."
he indeed was high. i led him to his room and subsequently his bed and convinced him to go to sleep. " But i still can't drink anything man!" i heard him shout as i closed the door behind.
i deeply sympathise with you dear friend. i tried my best to convey my helplessness at his situation.
and then i laughed..........he is the man who can never drink.

i have many friends who belong to his part of the nation, its a pity i could never strain my muscles before.....

life is pretty...oh so pretty!

it had been a couple of days since i stepped out of home at nagpur. i had made many plans to jog to get some fresh air and enjoy the rains but found myself sleepy most the rainy season. cold breeze do induce sleep a lot! so i had been sleeping after returning from bangalore. yesterday,it poured continuously and mom came home at 5 pm. she narrated her saga of how every auto on her route had water in the carburetor and how she finally got into a city bus. all this charged me up!
i had to go grocery shopping today. i thought I'll go for a jog first and then buy the stuff.
i jogged. i walked. i sat. the weather was good and i didn't have a care in the world! i decided to complete a circuit. when i had barely covered a fourth of it, it started drizzling. YAY! i reached the lake, half drenched. had roasted maze and started again. then i realised i had left my phone at home! it was a blessing in disguise. 10 minutes later it started raining heavily. like everyone else, i started looking for anything that would cover my head. it had started pouring. the road was now a stream with the big rain balls splashing on running water and exploding into nothingness. the wind made the rain come in at an acute angle. everyone was afraid to get wet and started forcing their way back away from the edge of the tin shed of a closed shop. the road had been deserted and the yellow of the street lights made the flowing water glow. every drop that hit the road turned to amber. it was such a simple phenomenon(if you call it that) but it was so beautiful.
about 10 minutes had passed when i saw an elderly couple walking right in the middle of the road enjoying their evening as if it were their last. he wore a maroon t-shirt and dark pants. his walking stick was white and matched with his clothes. his smile was toothless but i hadn't seen such an expressive smile for quite a while.
the next thing i recall is i was sprinting on the road, jumping into every pothole that crossed my way. i smiled at the old man in gratitude and ran away. it didn't seem to tire me. it felt as if i had the breath for a 100 miles. Rain drops were falling on my head and i could hear myself sing, "life is pretty, oh so pretty."
every shelter i passed, someone came out, jolly and smiling. i shouted in joy.
the closer i came to home, the less i wanted to step in. so i stood in the rain, facing the clouds-smiling at them. it was awesome.
i rang the door bell and mom came out-worried and frowning. then she saw my clothes dripping water and said, "keep whatever you have brought on the table and take a hot shower." oh! i had bought nothing. i laughed!
i looked from the veranda, it was still raining. i tied my laces again and stepped out. i ran.....