BMW, murder and daal-lauki

When in a span of 5 minutes, she spoke of BMW, murder and daal-lauki; I was somehow reminded of an article on Indian women I recently read in Times of India.

When I read that article, I thought it was neither definitive critique nor a mere amalgamation of facts, and I wondered what the author intended and whether the reflection is quite in cohesion.

One moment, it appeared the author’s study was comprehensive and was inspiring me to hold in my hands, a rainbow in all its glory, look through each color of the spectrum, prick the canvas and see for myself where the touch complements sight; not quite indicating where she herself found resonance, if she did and thus intelligently leaving open ends for me the reader. As I began to feel disillusioned, it struck me if there was a chance the author was trying to blame her myopia on fog and chose to celebrate the grandeur of rainbow because that was not to be challenged; if leaving the thread untied was not a choice she made but impotence she submitted to. But then, this would steal from me the pleasure of reading. So I tried not to be conclusive or judgmental and just read on.

It was around 10 in the night and a rather stretched walk around the campus had brought me to FD 1. I felt like sitting in IPC for a while. A long walk, cold winter night and nostalgia of those early days when we used to rush to IPC- between the lectures, right after the insti-hours and again after dinner, ah the days without LAN!! Time it seems has come one full circle; now the LAN is sluggish and IPC is again a better place, if  internet be on mind. My walk and my gaze must have been telling of my nostalgia ‘cos more than once, someone looked at me with what felt like sympathy, a look we don’t give to people we don’t know. I grew conscious, pulled up my shoulders and walked in.

At ease again, I logged into g-talk. A green against her name was a new thing to be seen. I pinged:
“Online at this hour and green?”
“I’m at home. Just came back from kitchen.”
“oh! Kya banaya?”
“Daal-lauki”
“Waah. Tu to expert cook hai yaar”

The conversation took the usual route. I asked about her day, she about mine. I complained I had no work to do and how my life was becoming increasingly mundane, she told me she was being burdened with too much work at office and that was making her life uneventful. Such are the ironies of life. Personally, I’ve been in both places and I can only say a tired man’s sleep is sweeter and more welcome than when she slothfully plays with you, teases you but denies to sink in before you’ve lost all hope of enjoying her. She embraces but is cold and waking up is not so much of smiling and stretching your limbs but about begging her to get back in bed when she’s already buttoning up.

I tried to humor it up with a mention of a funny bank-incident that happened with her a few days back. One of my friends had told me she got an extra paycheck accounted against her name by her previous employer. If a 10 rupee note unearthed from an old shirt, a small sum lent and forgotten when returned brings a smile, twenty five thousand in your account you don’t know of is sure one treat. Jokingly, I suggested she should plan on buying a car, pat came the reply:

“Pehli gadi to BMW hi loongi”

I replied with a laughter-smiley but soon I was not sure if it was entirely comic. She was talking about a new model from BMW, how the interiors were pamperingly posh and the horse-power better than any previous model. As she went on to explain it rose from zero to 100 kmph in less than 6 seconds, I realized I never knew more about BMW but the trademark headlights and circular logo. I began to compare her knowledge in cars with my mother’s, who only could go as far as calling dad’s mobile or mine if her car got stuck somewhere, who never knew of a word called mileage and if her humble Maruti was only cleaned with her favorite ‘Kleanex’, she would admire it more than any flashy car on road.

Indian woman sure has come of age.
I asked her when she was buying her BMW- no reply.
“kyun ferarri ka man bana liya kya?”- nothing
‘let’s cut it’ I thought.
“aur koi nayi movie dekhi?”
……………

There’s one funny thing we do when we chat. She would often break away from the chat, no notice. No replies coming my way, I would e-shout
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”

I couldn’t resist, I did that silly thing:
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”

When I finally get a reply, this is how it sounds:

“murder karne ki ichha ho rahi hai meri”

Now I am stunned. What did I do to deserve that? But I soon realize the angst is for her mentor at office who had just called, supposedly to detail her about some assignment. Thus the delay. As she put it, he was being an ***hole for some days, trying to extract too much work and behaving very rowdily. Perhaps he had read that article too and got defensive.

The author was a female and believed that women, with their inherent patience, vision and creativity are sure to outnumber men in the top ranks. She stated women already made a strong chunk of millionaires in India. There were crisp quotations from select power-women and of course how could Shobha-De be missing. For us men, it is often an easy escape to call such ideas and such people feminist. But she sounded plain in her disposition. Moreover, how can facts be feminist?

In the mean while her brother has come back, she bids adieu ‘cos she is to lay dinner- the daal-lauki she had so fondly cooked, she hopes he likes it.

A lone walk to C'not

I have been weirdly sulky for two days. I guess it’s another of those fits I get when I don’t feel like working, I’m lazy but I wouldn’t sleep, I would want to read a book but get irritated too soon.

So around 6 in the evening, I figured out there was pretty much nothing I could do to while time away, I wanted to feel active again and so in a bid to fight my boredom, I just put on my jogging shoes; it’s beginning to get cold late in the days so I put a sweatshirt on and set out for a long purposeless walk. I wore my spectacles too. Perhaps to avoid having to wave to and smile at people I barely know and might find on the way. Winter evenings are not too bright and you can’t tell through someone’s glasses whether he’s looking at you or not.

So I’m neatly packed, with my shoulders drawn up and arms folded and close to my chest, letting the arrival of another cold Pilani winter sink in. I head off. I’m still aware of people around me so I haven’t started talking to myself. But I’m lost enough not to be conscious of what routes I’m taking at crosses. Walking leisurely but dodging the mischievous crows, I reach Gulab Ji’s redi. That’s when I realize I didn’t pass the saraswati temple. I like to walk past it when I’m in an indescribable mood. At times I get pulled in by some force which inspires me to silently recite to myself, the shlokas I learnt at school. Although I never felt convinced I could be invoking God by doing this, I enjoy it because it reminds me of the days I cherish most. My days at M.H.A.C Nagbani where I learnt my early lessons in Sanskrit and memorized Vedic shlokas. In those days, I never thought these would make a fond memory.

So I see Gulab Ji busy with his chai n samosa. Oddly I don’t feel like pausing to say raam- raam which I nearly always do. But alright, my glasses come to rescue and I walk on. The smart shopper in me is poked every time I walk past akshay but I feel like a juice first. There’s a back-ache capsule I want to buy and I need a recharge coupon for my mobile. So I walk up to C’not. I quite like the early evening silence there. My hello to people there is not enthusiastic. I stop at the medical store, buy my capsules and eye-drops and come to the Blue- Moon’s. Here I order one mausammi juice without ice, to mark my submission to the dawning winter, ask for the recharge coupon and take a seat outside.

Groping in my pockets, I take out my phone to send and read a few text messages. In the mean while, mausammi has arrived. I sip on it slower than I usually drink coffee. I’m enjoying the lull. I’m beginning to think about things not quite related yet one leading to the other. One funny day at school, a fellow from school I haven’t talked to lately, a book I read about a page-3 columnist, a prank me and Deepak, my first year roomie played on our wingies. I’m wearing a smile now. I quietly get up and make a slow walk back to akshay. I walk in intending to buy a bathing soap (borrowed one in the morning) but I see a banner reading ‘penguin book festival’.

Big fancy book stores, road side book stalls, hawkers in trains with magazines and digests stuffed in their arms, my friends' personal libraries and book fairs- have always had the same effect on me as does a passing ice-cream vendor on a child. They tempt and I invariably give in. I gave in. I’ll be in the book fair in my next blog!!

jab i saw 'jab we met'

I’m not very proud of this but I have a chauvinist in me who comes alive once in a while, denies to slumber again but eventually does.

When the proud chauvinist in me dies, I search my identity in the weaker liberal in me. I seek refuge with the victor. More often than not, I convince myself that the liberal half of me has wittily won over the impulsive, stubborn chauvinist, and for good. But at times, I am left irked. Either because I feel the chauvinist was wronged or perhaps I’m not sure if he really died.

When I first saw a kareena kapoor film, I nearly pledged I wouldn’t watch another. The chauvinist didn’t like her. But out of curiosity whether he was right or plainly out of tremendous boredom, I started watching ‘jab we met’. In a bid to be true to my chauvinist self, I religiously wanted him to win. And being the optimist I am, I played unguarded.

I was convinced this would be another sisyphean attempt to produce admirable romance.
I watched for 47 minutes straight. It occurred to me I had come this far, when shahid kapoor remarked to kareena, “tu original piece hai. Maloom hai na tujhe aisa doosra nahin hai.” Amused by the unbeaten chirpiness in her character, I spoke out to myself “seriously. She is”. And that’s precisely when I realized the chauvinist was losing. And suddenly I felt no urge to be loyal to him. I sought refuge again.

Now the protagonists reach Punjab, the land of frivolling mystique. And fittingly enough pretty much all that happens in the next half hour is foolish- sweet n sour. While the character ‘Geet’ keeps me amused, kareena kapoor is bewitching me. I try to shrug myself off the enchanting lullaby but cease to be sure who I love more- kareena kapoor or ‘Geet’. The blend is perplexing. The chauvinist is irked but I deny identifying with him.

Again neatly into his character, what shahid kapoor does in the following half hour would have ordinarily made me either frown or laugh but it makes me smile. I have given in to the story. A witty soul would nominate him a gimmick. But that’s being parochial. A due share of credit has to be given to the effort previously made in enticing the viewer to clutch the wonder broom personified as ‘Geet’. Now I wish to fly along with the exhibited free spirit.

The last section sees the story winding through a series of gimps which only makes it more enthralling. Not losing the implicit humor which is to me, the trunk of the tale, the movie takes us to the predictably romantic end. I’m not complaining.

I no longer have the desire to cling on to the chauvinist, but I don’t quite know who won- Geet the character, kareena kapoor or my witty liberal self.

raring to live on

i dont know what this is- a true-to-its-name [:P]senti[:O] feeling, a realisation or an entombed sense of belongingness to this place, but i feel a lot differently about pilani and BITS from how i used to in my early days.

4 n a half years is more than a fifth of my whole life. a longer period of time @ BITS than most BITSians spend. every six months, i would discover a new connection to this place, a new relation between my dreams and this place.

from being a place i never saw in my dreams to a place where i started hatching new dreams to a place i thought would help me realise my dreams and finally THE place of my dreams, Pilani has meant different things to me in all this while, but never so significant and inseparable as it is now. when i look back at my years @ BITS, i feel i spent the most enigmatic time here. a scary place, a dreamland, a solitary meadow, a wonderland, Pilani, it seems, wore so many masks over the years. feels like i was in a halloween party and it's only fitting that i'm writing this on the halloween's day. [;)]

and like any party one njoys, i am reluctant to move out of here. i came in and i'm abt to pack- the time inbetween seems to have flown in a flash. a lot remains unseen, undiscovered. these days, when i fall asleep and i dream, each night i see myself doing something i haven't yet done. n when i wake up, pilani seems to be clutching on harder.

i know it's time to leave. time to die. but .... i'm raring to live on.

oasis 2k7

Is it really my last ???
A real journey it has been. i've spent more time in BITS than most ppl do. 4 n half years n still raring to live on. the enigma in this place does that to me.
n what greater enigma than OASIS.
to most of the new kids, OASIS is an enigma with the huge build up and endless talk of how last year's edition was awesome. it charms. it kindles. it mesmerizes. then successive editions come with less surprise, more ease.
to me, the fifth experience with OASIS did just what the first did. only, unlike the first shot of this drug, the enigma settled in after it ended. i was left asking myself- is it really my last?