An Unusual Birthday Gift

 8^th Dec 1992:  An afternoon I vividly remember today even on its 20^th anniversary. I had turned 6 and was jumping and dancing around whole house because of my birthday party supposed to be celebrated in eve. All my colony friends and their kin were invited. The expected events included cake cutting, numerous kids’ games, and of course, the most desired gifts. Mine being a big family, we hardly had birthdays for everyone those days. In fact if I may remember, it was one of my few birthdays ever celebrated at home.  My brother’s friends (all of age 11-12) were lending him a hand in spreading ribbons and inflating balloons. Aroma of delicacies like Rasgullas, chole, custard, sandwiches and dozen other delicacies was pervasive across the rooms.  A perfect memorable evening was on the cards. Suddenly my dad’s friend who was a DIG in Police appeared at the door. They indulged in a serious conversation for around 10 minutes before he left. Dad (Abbu is what I call him) took some heavy steps towards the living room’s sofa and called for Mom. After ten minutes Mom asked me to pack few clothes and stuff of mine immediately. She said we were going to stay at a relative’s place outside the city for the next few days. Aghast as I was, I cried infuriatingly. What about my birthday party? What would my friends say? Mom was too perplexed to explain and I was too small to understand what was going on.

As it turned out, on 6^th December,1992 Babri Masjid was demolished in Ayodhya, around 120 km away from Lucknow. The event was unfolded after a series of religious fanaticism, demagogic oratory and mud-slinging from the leaders of both religious communities in an unprecedented manner in the history of independent India. In the aftermath of the demolition, communal riots broke out in various parts of the country. Mine was a ‘hindu-dominated area’. Such terms like hindu-dominated, muslim-dominated which were in oblivion before the demolition, have become essential ingredients of every media report ever since.

So Abbu’s DIG friend came to abreast him with the tensed situation and a possible communal attack on our home. He advised us to move to a safer location for few days. I, alien to all these happenings, was agonized. To console me, my brother’s friends gave me the gifts in noon instead of customary tradition of giving them at the time of party. Among the gifts, there was a book on stories of Mahabharata and Hindu mythologies.

As we spend the next ten days at the outskirts of city, elders indulged in conversations involving uncertainty and impending dangers. I was, though engrossed in the stories of Mahabharata day in and day out. The book was in Hindi, and many terms were indigestible for me so I kept bugging elders every time. Ironic it may sound, but when everyone around me was deliberating how cruel Muslims are and how bad Hindus are; I, a 6 yr old kid, was being fascinated by the stories of Arjuna’s bravery, Eklavya’s sacrifice and Yudhisthar’s magnanimity. All my growing years, I used to flaunt my grip on these stories in front of my ‘’Hindu’’ friends and teased them on me knowing more. Little did they know how much that book played a role in me acquiring that knowledge.

Today looking back, I find a profound impact of that book and those ten days 

on me being a staunch liberal and secular individual. What helped me was the fact that even at the height of communal hatred, Abbu never desisted me from reading a book on Hindu mythologies. Today, Babri Masjid/ Ram Janmbhoomi issue is in obscurity. None of the major newspapers have given any prime footage to the story on its 20^th anniversary. People born in 1990s may hardly apprehend what a dreaded monster that issue was once. But the seeds of communal hatred are still not dead.  People might let the issue go, but those who stand to benefit from it, notably politicians, will never stop infusing life in it.

 I, as a silent onlooker can’t hope to change much. But given a chance, I would like to see more kids exchanging Islamic story books and Hindu mythological stories with each other on their birthdays.

                               A Land Of Wolves

There is an old cliché that if you want to know the humane level of any society, observe the treatment of handicaps and elderly people in it. I take the liberty here to include the treatment of women and children too. Every now and then we come across few soul-stirring incidents which shake the very pedestals of human conscience or even the idea of humanism itself. The Guwahati  incidence of girl being molested in primitive barbaric manner was an epitome of that itself in full glory. A mute nation of 1.2 billion spectacled on TV this horrendous crime whose nonplussing nature left everyone flabbergasted. Many of them, the so called ‘intelligentsia’ made it a dinner table conversation. Many girls and their mothers vent out a silent prayer to God to protect them from such incidents every time they step out in a local train, bus or metro. A large population as expected flipped the channel and watched those tear-jerker soap operas or music channels. A miniscule fraction had an uneasy sleep with those horrifying images haunting them. A day later, a self-mandated ‘social panchayat’ barely a 60 km away from the National capital announced the diktat curbing the women’s independence to bare minimum. But it is not about these one or two bizarre obnoxious events only. People might say, blabbering on net won’t solve the case. I’m aware of that. I’m not solving the case. I’m presenting my resentment as an Indian and a human being. Today I feel ashamed to call myself a ‘mard’, whatever that means. If stripping down a helpless adolescent girl in a downtown area and getting away with a guffaw is a display of machismo, then I would love to spend my life in a country of hermaphrodites.  Come on people, what has got into everyone??? Enough is enough. Stop basking in the glory of being proud Indians and chanting your country as the ‘Greatest in the World’. This is blatant chauvinism which is bound to doom everyone. Yes, I don’t think ours is the greatest nation in the world, not even close to it. A nation is not about its landscapes or geographical assets. A country is what the people living in it are. And if such wolves inhabit the country in all the parts, then it’s nothing more than a jungle. Yes, a jungle where wolves wear pants and shirts. Wolves that go berserk after getting drunk on streets but treat any female consuming alcohol as a whore, a piece of raw meat which is required to satiate their hunger. These wolves issue diktats that ours is a cultural land where women shouldn’t drink or wear revealing clothes and should confine to the roles of these wolves-reproducing mothers.  What about your culture, your ethics and nationalism you leech? Stop making these frequent visits to Tirupati, Ajmer, Shirdi, Bangla Saheb, the local temples and mosques. God will never be pleased with you no matter how dark are the sandal liners on your forehead or how long the beard you keep. You may not touch non-veg and liquor for life, God won’t give you any brownie points if you’ve kept this wolf alive inside you.

I was born in an educated, unorthodox family, where the interpretation of culture didn’t vary from my sister to me. Yes, I’m a practicing Muslim and proud of my roots. No matter what the perceptions are, I vociferously vouch for the dignity and rights of the women not in spite of being a Muslim but because of it. And I know a fair amount of my religious information backing me. Prophet Mohammed PBUH said ‘’never look down upon people who’ve daughters. Remember, I’m a father of daughters too. Daughters are the blessing of Almighty upon you, a proof that He is happy with you. ’’ a reason why one can see the predominance of names like Fatima and Zainab in Muslim families.                                                  
 Alas, merely naming won’t make the prophet and his God content. Nor will establishing giant statues of Goddesses like Laxmi, Durga,Kali  and Sarasvati if their own human incarnations are pursued as sex objects.

From Mangalore to Lucknow to Mumbai to Delhi to even the perceivably liberal cities of North-East, an obnoxious breed of wolves and jackals are breeding and quadrupling. I reject this distinction of India-Bharat here. No village is better, no city is safer. People are either actors in these crimes, or worse, they are the silent onlookers.  Anxious people are worrisome about giving birth to daughters. They are dreading about their future and safety- adding one of the major reasons behind female feticide and infanticide; a reason which Amir Khan’s Satyamev Jayte missed to elucidate.

Eve-teasers, rapists and molesters are out in the jungle blatantly. The common college goers and working females on one hand have learned to be prone to the passing remarks and glares from the nooks and on the other hand, pray silently that the next victim of any wolf pack would not be them. As for the rest, we are still busy getting stuffed food in our mouth by our ‘mommies’, getting done with our share of daily rituals of worshipping Goddesses and as soon as we step out of our cozy homes, checking the neckline of the female standing near the bus stop and deducing the number of men she must’ve slept with according to the dress she is wearing. And yeah, end of the day, posting ‘’India is the greatest country’’ on facebook. Middle class indulges in cribbing about the failure of the establishment while forgetting that ‘One gets the government he deserves’. If we are demons, we can’t expect angels to be our caretakers. People like me are left wondering what type of creatures we are? Ostriches, I guess.

plight of a solitudinarian

The clock strikes the chord producing an annoying sound disturbing the silence of night. I turn in its direction to check the time- 4:00 am. The wee hours approaching and not an iota of drowsiness in my eyes. Days after days, weeks after weeks…its more than a quarter past year since I've experienced a cosy sleep in the darkness of night.

Like a mechanical device following pre-programmed instructions, I get up to make extra strong black coffee and have few long sips… People came and went from life, old friends left, new ones came, best friends parted away and soon turned into not so close ones to be gradually replaced by a new set of friends.. I weigh 12 kgs more than i used to during college days which weren't too far a distant memory, merely 2.5 years to be precise.I wear spects now mostly and when I look back at my college pics, I feel I'm fairer now. I speak less than before and think more. I spend less now and save more. Small kids get away at times by calling me uncle which cud've resulted in their bashing by me 2 years back. I prefer my macbook with a fast net connection or a good book left to all by myself rather than a fun-filled outing with friends.A weekend well spent may mean not stepping out of the flat for whole 2 days too now.

Friends of college who used to swear on our friendship tales and moaned on how would they survive without each other are incidentally doing very well in their respective jobs.Those who've gotten into US/UK universities are probably busy into swearing on new friendship tales. And those who've tied the knots are ,though left with no other choice, swearing on their spouses now …

Am I passing through the mid-life crisis now? Wait..I’m not even close to thirty.Probably mid-20s crisis wud be more appropriate. Am I finally settling down to realise that there is a difference between solitude and isolation & the former can actually be gratifying? What is it about the solitude that I’m drawn so much into it?Is it because of the comparatively high-paced life I lived during my college days engulfed in all kinds of weird habits that now I run for solace? Is it because of the unkept promises of those whom I counted upon? Or is it the stigma of myself not able to do much justice to someone’s expectations? Is it because of my hurting someone somewhere sometime that I feel this constant repulsiveness from new relations? Or is it because somewhere I might be nursing a grudge, an unfulfilled desire, a void caused by someone?

Am I the only one sailing into this peculiar boat of solitude? Probably not. Are my friends, experiencing the same mid-20s crisis, feel the perplexity time and again? Are they too at times philosophical for no reason? Alienated and silent without any extra ordinary purpose? Probably yes.

Are we drifting towards a state where we’re clueless about the inherent voids in life? Are we feeling isolated in the crowd after a while more often than before? Are we experiencing that our saddest thoughts engulf the mind immediately after coming out of a good news? Are we carrying enough baggages of our past which need to be offloaded now? Is it something which stops us from being truly liberated, totally ecstatic? Are we becoming accustomed to half-filled laughters, nods without thinking,cynical about maximum beauties of life?

Are we getting trapped into what I call the ‘dilemma of prefering to be a solitudinarian or a social’??

Conversation With a 'Different' Friend

So finally I'm back to scribble down few more vague and wild thoughts,mixing reality with fiction .Its been quite a few months since I've posted anything after my shaky start in the world of blogging.. Many times I was tempted to write something or other but always fell short somewhere in the middle, encountering a dead end. I've particularly liked the mild criticism spatted on my blogs by few,because it meant they've read the blog properly and used their own pragmatic & rational thoughts

Like earlier ones, this one too is a weird topic, but what the heck, Its my blog. And as my brother Nilesh told me once,'' its your blog, and you can write any shit you feel like to", …. The topic may prompt few people to jump out of seat in disgust, but its about a real life incidence of my conversation with a gay, which had a kinda lingering effect on me pulsating for the time longer than it should've….

Let me admit it, once u scratch the maneuvered and politically correct me, I'm as racist, stereotype and chauvinistic Indian male one can get. As expected, I always thought gays are nothing but mentally disordered people. The very image of gay in my mind was never different from what is showed in movies : a skinny plucked chicken guy, wearing floral shirts, comic enough to be laughed at, whose only pleasure in the world is through getting rammed in his backyard.Unlike females, who are more open about their slight inclination towards same gender , for men any such accusation is like molten lead poured into their ears. Many females, unapologetic, confessed to me that they'd bisexual experiences. Many went ahead by saying that a majority of women, though repressive, are attracted to other women. But for men, its still a taboo cos they exist as 'mard' who is always suppose to sweep charming women off their feet by his valor, ostensible machoism as depicted by our mythological gods. My only first hand experience with a homosexual was in front of NASA Pub,Brigade Road, Bangalore during my engineering days. One huge scrawny,drunk guy came out of nowhere in front of me and tried to whisper something. Bit amused, I asked what happened. and before I could react, he tried to drag me to himself for a hug or god know what. Shit scared, I spitted most undignified expletives and ran for my life. I experienced vicariously what women feel when eve-teased.

Anyways, coming back,this anecdote is about the encounters I had with a 33 year old guy who lives in my neighborhood in Rajinder Nagar, Delhi. A highly qualified individual, MBA from XLRI, Vertical Head of a giant MNC,a teetotaler, sole caretaker of his sick parents, a suave and sophisticated person to interact with his innocence intact. His only stigma: his sexual orientation.

It started on a cricket world cup day when I was rushing for my friend’s flat. Plan was to watch the match together. As per habit, I went to the nearby Mom n Pop’s retail shop for a large packet of chips and Cola.While returning, my hastened steps were paused by a voice from behind,’’Hey, what’s the score?” I turned back for a nanosecond in the direction of that childlike voice to find a man.I hurriedly replied,’’Match yet to start, only toss is done.’’ He nodded as I sprinted to my destination to witness Sehwag hit one more first ball boundary.

A couple of weeks later when summer started flexing its humongous muscles in Delhi and power cuts became a synonymity with evenings, I was strolling down the by-lane when the same voice interrupted me,’’Hey, is your flat’s motor (for water) working?”

I replied,’’For past couple of days, we had problems.But since today morning its been generous.”

‘’Oh, we've been facing this crisis of water since last one week’’

‘’So how are you people managing?’’I asked

‘’We call a municipal water tanker every evening to get our buckets filled.Its a tiresome job.’’

There was something strange in his mannerisms and gestures.He was in his 30s still that heaviness of voice and actions which accompany that age were absent.A little more observing and enquiry about this life and I’d a strong conviction that this man wasn’t straight.

Then he said few things which made me extra cautious if in case I already wasn’t. He said,’’You know, I’ve been noticing you since last few months,mostly in the evenings when you seem to go for the jog.’’

Saif, be alert.something is wrong.

‘’So, you are a regular at gym huh??’’He remarked.I made a mental note to never wear sleeveless tees when going to the nearby shops.I found his wink and smile too hard to bear and made an abrupt excuse to vanish from there. Later I enquired a little about him and was confirmed about his sexual orientation. What the Fuck,Maaan!!. Now everything has boiled down to this? Me being hit by a gay???Yucks….’’I felt terribly weird.

A couple of days later when I was returning from Karol Bagh Metro Station from the Sunday noon show of Transformers 3, someone patted me on shoulder.I turned back to find the same guy.Let’s call him Sanjay for the reference.

Sanjay: “Hey Saif, Wassup? I called your name thrice but you didn’t respond?”In a picosecond I composed myself and replied,’’Hey Sanjay, I’m sorry brother, was using earphones.’’

Sanjay: ‘’Where are you upto?’’

Me:’’Nothing brother,Going to my flat’’

“Oh, nice,even I was going back home only.Let’s walk.’’

‘’What?? Hmmm…Ok..Ya ..let’s walk’’

‘’So you work in Delhi or studying something?’’His scissor type tongue didn’t know the concept of break.

I’m the Al-Qaeda’s India Chief,planning to bomb your locality.He told me about his background and job profile and what not.and I just kept walking.I constantly felt the urge to shoo him away using chosen expletives but cudn’t do so.Whenever I spoke to him,the statement started with ‘brother’.

I called him brother so many times that after a point, it became awkward even for me.

As we passed his flat, he uttered one of his most reiterated statements of our conversation,’’ Wanna have tea?’’

In your dreams, you d**k crazy guy. I came up with another excuse of some urgent work at home.yes, urgent work on a Sunday evening.

I didn't like being rude, but there was no option.I cudn't let him have the slightest iota of doubt that I was OK with his advances. But later, there was a revelation by him which made me change my cold attitude.One day, after bumping into him nearby my home I exchanged casual pleasantries,unwillingly of course,and started looking for a fresh excuse to vanish asap when I saw a pile of medical reports in his hands. Curiously, I asked if everything was alright. He replied in a low tone that his father was in the last stage of stomach cancer and therefore he had to make frequent visits to the hospital.There was nobody else at home to take care of him too. I asked,'' What about your mother? She isn't there to help you in looking after your dad?'' He replied that she passed away 6 months back after being paralyzed for 27 years. And this was the reason he left many promotions which cud've resulted in him leaving the city and being away from her.

I thought, he nursed his mother for 27 years and now is on the verge of losing his father. Still he passionately nurses him like a ritual. I had recently lost my youngest uncle because of lung cancer and was aware of the trauma my mom went through. I didn't get a good feeling at all after that. Probably, I should've waited before jumping into conclusions about people. I waved goodbye to him and lit my cigarette to have few deep puffs.

Next time when I spotted him, he was in a rush and stopped by for a quick greet and explained that it being saturday, he was paying all the bills here and there and also buying new dozes of medicines for his ailing father. I enquired about his father's health and his job.But this time, I wasn't looking to run away or thrash him. I genuinely spoke like a friend, acted like a friend and meant like a friend.

Honestly speaking, I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation afterwards.. we cracked jokes, cribbed about our work and bosses, nitty-gritty of running business, commented on how the Indian Cricket team should play and how the Anna Hazare Movement is affecting the people - typical Male conversations….only part missing was we didn't talk about women… though i doubt if he even noticed that.

As he left and rushed to do his usual chores , I started pondering. What was it that made him feel like an untouchable to me?

If I've no inhibitions in sharing smoke and wine with rich spoilt brats who visit prostitutes and brag about it , If i can refer to an absolute corrupt official as Sir just because he is important for my work, why do I have apprehensions about having a harmless cup of tea with a man who looked after his paralyzed mother for 27 long years? just because his needs in his private bedroom are different from most of ours? just because naturally he has some discrepancies which we are fortunate enough not to have? we dare not make fun of a corrupt policeman who stops us at signal and demands money then why this hapless chap, who is not causing harm to my society as much as these parasites? if every female who interacts with me, laughs n shares her stories, doesn't conclude that I'm trying to get into her pants, why am I manifesting such inhibitions towards this guy.

After pondering over it for long enough, I tried to do away with this pseudo-cultured man in me. I decided the next time in case this innocent man looks for a friend for a harmless chat for 5 odd minutes, wants to share his grief or moment of success, offers me a cup of tea and smoke, I'm gonna reply,'' Ya ofcourse Dude, why not :) ''

Thoughts of a Pessimist

Yes, you got it right !! I’m probably a pessimist. That’s the reason which makes me more disturbed when I see 40 % of Mumbai’s population living in slums rather than being fascinated by Worli-Bandra Sea Link. And probably that’s why I’m less bemused by slogans like ‘India Shining, Grand success of IPL, Technology Boon, mammoth growth in GDP,etc.’ cos I know that within same period, India gained 100 million poor people, the Maoists grew stronger & the tiger slid towards extinction.

May be my cynical attitude always takes me to the darker aspects of India’s success story which my fellow Indian brothers don’t care to observe. The GDP growth of 8% excites me lesser when I see that India is still ranked 128^th in Per Capita Income chart of the world or rather say it when 77% population is surviving on less than Rs. 20 a day.

Fortune magazine may be screaming loud about the growing number of millionaires in India, but the fact that 90% of India’s wealth is in deep pockets of less than 10% fellows stands as a more truthful and clearer statement to me. Politicians, media and bureaucrats as always, chose to grin ostensibly, explaining how India is now a part of 12 biggest nations’ club and how India is shining. I too at times want to sink in this ‘feel good’ feeling but then my pessimism shivers me back to think.

What has happened to the middle class Indian today?? After witnessing everything that is going wrong, he prefers to sit back and watch Rakhi Sawant’s swyamvar or bribes some official to extend his house’ s boundary illegally.

Few people kill a woman by throwing stones assuming that she’s a daayan (witch) and she’ll engulf whole village. On the other hand there are people who spend their whole day worrying & discussing ‘who’s going to win Dance-India-Dance’. If anyone is still left, he’ll kill his whole time watching cricket.

We’re happy having a tv or mobile phone in hand but don’t care about improving sanitary conditions of the surroundings. Today in India, out of 52 crore people who go in open for attending nature call, 5 crore are the ones carrying mobile phones.

Why have we become so insensitive today? Why the meaning of India has ceased to exist only within the boundary walls of our respective homes?

Why do we call oursellves civilized and patriotic when we don’t care about the killing of our neighbor and his innocent children only because he belongs to some different religion???

Why an olympic gold medallist or IPL winner is showered with crores of award money from govt. within weeks even though a rape victim or flood victim has to wait decades for a meagre compensation???

Why nobody raised a voice on the sky rocketing of fuel & food commodities, people committing suicide due to hunger even when 3 lakh tonnes of grains, enough to feed 20% population for a whole year, was rotting in the government stores due to lack of storage place???

Why we chose to look the other side when instead of trying to satiate the poor kid’s hunger, our agriculture minister became more interested in Cricket and ICC’s chief position???

Why we were more busy in exploring our new IPhones and Blackberrys when Telecom Minister is exposed in a Rs.80,000 crore scam??

Why it doesn’t matter to us when a pizza is delivered within 30 minutes but an ambulance never does??

Why the fruits of freedom are supposed to enjoy only in cities like Delhi, Mumbai and Bangalore when dissent has become a deadly disease & stone throwing protestors in Kashmir are met with a murderous hail of bullets??

Why people waste hundreds of litres of milk on statues of Rajnikanth when farmers are commiting suicide when unable to feed their children 2 rotis a day???

Why people are dying to see a semi-naked Mallika Sherawat in cities when only few hundred kilometers away khap-panchayats, female feticides and honor killings in the guise of religious outrage is being witnessed day after day??

Even after 64 years of Independence , what kind of freedom is this? What is different today in India which was absent in British regime?? Fair skinned autocracy has changed into brown skinned administration, that’s it?? Then why is there so much fuss about this supposed independence?

May be we were never suppose to break free if we’re like this. May be it is in our genes to work under a strict master else we go haywire.

If the meaning of freedom is to spit & pee anywhere one wants, kill anyone in the name of religious sentiment, cause damage to nation’s property like railway & transport in the name of protest & agitation or molest women on Valentine’s Day in the name of Indian culture then I’m sorry mates…I beg to differ…I can’t assimilate to this ideology…….This freedom is unfit for Indians.

May be we’re better off as slaves. May be we do need to be put under such strict discipline that we don’t dare to mess with other’s pride, wealth, honor or affairs. If we aren’t moved by over neighbors agony only because he doesn’t belong to our caste, religion or culture then we’re are worse off than animals. If this is our reality then India may be great, but indeed, there is nothing remotely great about Indians.

And even though the thinkers of society can shamelessly proclaim that ‘All is Well’ , there is one pessimist Indian lying somewhere in some corner of the country, whose voice doesn’t matter, is yet to be impressed.

Bangalore Ghosts!!-episode 1

“Sir, Tea.” My peon gently says as he places the cup on my table and dips the T-Bag few times before adding 2 cubes of sugar in it. He looks at me expecting me to order him for something else. I quietly ask him to send Mr. P.K.Pandey, our administrative officer, in my chamber to start work on the pending assignments. As he leaves the chamber, I look at the fancy cup and the T-Bag. I instantly feel the urge to light up a cigarette, more out of habit, but then disappointingly have to curb the desire. This is the beginning of my usual day in office at Lucknow. I don’t really feel glad to drink tea in this fancy cup, neither do I enjoy these T-bags and sugar cubes. Worse, I can’t have a smoke in my office but one thing that I hate the most is the absence of my smoking partners Madu , Nilesh and Arjun. I feel like calling the peon and telling him to get the tea in a glass, remove T-Bags from it, and arrange a road divider for me to sit and smoke there but I keep quiet. Coz I know that even after doing all these things, I won’t have my pals sitting adjacent to me with whom I would share the smoke. I look across the tinted window partition and find my clerical staff starting the day with their usual gestures and one-liners. They play pranks; make fun of each other, sipping tea in glasses which tea vendor brought, finding humor out of the most boring topics. I feel like joining them, being a part of their pranks, pulling their legs, getting my legs pulled, to be a part of employees and not employers. I take my cup of tea in hand and enter their room. They fall silent, someone trying to sit properly, someone clearing objects from his table, someone hiding the small comb in his back pocket with which he was brushing his hair few moments back. They greet me in the most formal manner and I curse myself to play a spoilsport in their prank. I try to join the fun by taking someone’s case. I say to an accountant that there is a rumor that he behaves like a kitten in front of his wife. I look at the staff with a twinkle in my eye and they try to burst out in fake laughter. I crack few ultimate PJs, hoping at least someone will make a mockery of me but all I see is people laughing as if I’d cracked the joke of the millennium. I smile back my way to the chamber with a thought that pals in Bangalore would’ve literally kicked me in ass had I tried to make them laugh on such a PJ.

More than half a year has passed since I bid farewell to Bangalore and came to Lucknow. Much water has flown through river Cauvery in Karnataka and Gomati in Lucknow since I passed my college. Still, every morning the first thought that comes to mind is to yell “ Nilesh, Sutta hai kya tere paas??” Mom insists on me having Omelet with butter toast in breakfast while all I crave for is Ultra Mild Cigarette and full tea at Salim’s (Karnataka Tea House) followed by two banana shakes at Sharon’s which would take care of lunch as well. No rush to capture bathroom before anyone else does, no fighting for BT (Bangalore Times & not Bharat Talwar), no knocking 4-5 rooms to find sutta (Nilu’s, Madu’s, Arjun’s, & Saahil’s), no urgency to reach Java Lab on time which NARENDRA (hissssssss) used to take(confession: his name still instills a fear). I reach office on time day after day adding to my own surprise and stay till every one else has gone.

Several times a day, my subconscious asks me,” Are you really happy with this life? If luxury is something which a man craves for, you do have it in plenty. What is this thing which bothers you day and night?” I take a deep sigh everytime and answer, “ I miss the part of me which is left in Bangalore when I left it. I miss the backbench jokes, I miss nescafe’s Cold Coffee, I miss Sutta and pepsi at Smoker’s. I miss sharon’s Banana Shakes, Salim’s cardamom tea……..in all I miss being me. I miss having real friends and not people who are afraid of me, I want people to take my case and not the sycophants, I want to be with my pals day and night like I used to for more than 4 long years. I want the tension in the last days of months when money used to dry up in account, I want to feel jubilant when the Friday eve approaches, I want the fear of exams, the nervousness of approaching results, I want to be the trouble-creator in my system and not the trouble-shooter. I want to be the one who breaks discipline and not the one who punishes people for doing so.

What’s the point of having money in account when there is no one to spend it on? What’s the purpose of going to a swanky restaurant when you don’t have a company to share its experience?

How a Thousand rupee note rotting in your wallet can be any different from a useless piece of paper when it can’t get you things your heart craves for. Getting a free entry into a disc on weekend in Bangalore was always resulted in a small moral triumph. JKSS(Our Bakarchodi Sessions) with a Hukka resulted in the similar euphoria for me which a Vijay Mallya or a Richard Branson would enjoy after tasting their century old thousand dollar wine. Winning the cricket hostel cup by Ramroders resulted in a victory hug with similar intensity which Dhoni would’ve felt after winning 20-20 world cup.

Where are the Tushys? Where are the Madus? Where are the Nilus? Where are the Golus, the Modis, the Daddus, The Raos, The Arjuns, The BTs….the Demos….the Gentleys…the Kodis….All you assholes, Bloody spread in different parts of the country throughout…..Why is it so tough to get your replacement??? Why can’t I make new pals without comparing them with you??? Why? Fucking Why???…..

And sitting here in my plush office, I miss those times. I want to tell my peon to get me tea from Salim’s in a glass, allow me to have a smoke in office in front of everyone…. let me crack few informal jokes… let me be crude, undisciplined, wild, crazy, blunt, carefree as I was once…let me wear torn jeans and a red tee to the office….let me experience again with few bizarre styles…. Let me be unsophisticated for a while….let me with my friends again for a day………let my find my soul back for an instance……let me be Bangalored again for sometime…….