Of Blahs and Blus

Scam-a-song

2011-09-03T17:25:00.005+05:30

Every Mantri Ghotala Karta hai

(much inspired by the new airtel ad: http://tinyurl.com/3qg9c89 )

Jaise seaming wicket par Dravid batting karta hai,

Vaise har koi mantri ghotala karta hai

Koi 2G spectrum me jhol kare

Koi market me food ki shortage kare

To koi animals ka chaara kha jaaye

B’cos har ek mantri ghotala karta hai

Kabhi faujiyo ke kafan ki chori,

To Kabhi roti kapda makan ki story

Vote ke badle, note de jaaye

Ya ballot box ko hi utha le jaaye

koi chup-chaap se, koi shameless hota hai

Lekin har ek mantri ghotala karta hai

Stadium ke badle jo apna ghar banaye

Weak bridge ki warning par bhi udhghaatan karaaye

Koi nature se chor, koi forced hota hai.

Par har ek mantri ghotala karta hai

Kabhi Kaale dhan ki setting kare,

koi money ki jhooti printing kare

Koi parliament me paise laata hai,

Koi cricket ki match ko fix karta hai

But every mantri ghotala karta hai

Martyr ki Flat churaanewaala mantri

NREGA se paisa siphon karnewala mantri

Ek chance me bada haat marne waala mantri

Baar baar chance lete rehne waala mantri

Sports Administration me ghusnewaala mantri

Filmi Partiyo me uninvited ghusnewaala mantri

Aur Koi ek mantri sabka baap hota hai

Lekin hare k mantri ghotala karta hai

Scams gin gin ke subah se sham hota hai

But I still don’t know why mantri ghotala karta hai?

Shaitan - the Review

2011-06-14T17:21:00.004+05:30

Not a scary /painful experience, neither a heady concoction. Just an entertainer.

Shaitan is the best film I have seen in a long time, NOT. For that matter, neither is the plot edge-of-the-seat stuff that keeps you hooked on from the start to finish. In terms of an approach or treatment too, it has nothing fresh to offer. For Indian Cinema has been introduced to this RAW, EDGY, HEADY and irreverent style by the same school of filmmakers. There are flaws in this film all right. But what is new in the film is the attitude. It is in-your-face and unapologetic about it, much like the bunch of friends in this movie. While the film does not aim to work on multiple levels, that actually might be the good thing about it. The film’s ‘what you see is what you get’ treatment is brilliant and does not sympathise or empathise or is not even biased towards any particular character and leaves it to the viewers judgement. No mind games here.

The plot does not shock you at any point of time and you can sure predict what happens next. It actually is well-stitched using the several kidnapping and teen murder stories we have read about in the news over the last 2-3 years. The movie begins with the introduction to the multiple characters in the movie with just the right amount of time spent in building each character. As the story unfolds, it completely immerses you in this new world revolving around the 5 friends. Most belonging to the ‘born post 1980’ generation will identify with the madness shown on screen, for most of them would have lived the same in different measures. As the movie moves on from the rich, bratty, urbane settings to the dark bylanes of Mumbai which are narrow, the plot sure grows thick. The good thing is the pace of the movie is quick and there are very few, if any, dull moments in the film. The direction is good and the entire story is well narrated. However, the director does fall into the trap of building unnecessary sub-plots and the editing could have been crisper.

The run and chase sequences in stingy bylanes, the cop and informer repartee, the bratty kid and sermon filled parents are all what we have seen on screen before; good news is these are well played out and hence are bearable. But what is welcoming are the sequences of the kidnapping being planned and executed, the Rajat Barmecha flashback in a flashback, the action filled moments with Khoya Khoya Chand as the background score.

The Music of the film is brilliant and sets the mood for the film. None of the tracks feel alien and the sound of the film is fresh and fantastic. The highpoint of the film is the camerawork and the cinematographer R.Madhi captures the settings aptly, that give the movie its Edgy, on-the-move, restless look. The casting for the movie is perfect and the freshness that each of these actors brings to this movie is well received.

Performances by Kalki, Neil, Kriti, Shiv and Gulshan are note-worthy. But what does not come as a surprise and you keep questioning why filmmakers don’t use him more, is when you see Rajeev Khandelwal on screen. He knows his job well and in doing it, gives you enough reasons to believe in his talent. Though there is the danger of getting type-casted and it will be good to see him doing more and different kinds of roles. As for Nambiar, this is a well made film and a good first attempt at that. He delivers one of the better movies that we will see this year. Quirky and full of attitude.

All in all it is an interesting piece of work and completely worth every rupee you spend. Yet, it is not what it is projected to be – RAW, unfinished, grey, hard-hitting cinema. It does try in giving you a similar experience but in a more commercial way. Just like the ethnic restaurants in malls, you enjoy it alright, but you sure know it is not the real deal.

Rating: 3/5

P.S, rather don’t miss:

The surprisingly good Nikhil Chinappa (somebody give him more acting opportunities)
Dhamaakedaar Dialoguebaazi by Pawan Malhotra to a ‘recovering-from-injuries-inspector’ played by Raj Kumar Yadav asking him to get used to the ward he is admitted in, because he will be sent in there one more time.
Rajat Barmecha delivers and how, in the little screen time his character is apportioned.

StoryTelling

2011-04-06T22:26:00.006+05:30

I lost my dad when I was 3 and don’t have any stories to share about ‘How my Dad had that twinkle in his eyes while narrating the 1983 win story.’ But a lot of things I didn’t know I will ever need in life were provided for. This story was one of them. Little did I know that My Chacha, My grandpa and My Uncle(Maternal aunt’s husband) had checked against this very 1983 win story in the ‘Rohan’s upbringing list’ and lest I forget, they never got tired of narrating this story one more time. I am sure this Story has been told and retold to a lot of us Indian boys and girls just like our grandma narrated stories from Indian Mythology. The 175 not out – captain’s knock that never got televised, the Indian batting collapse in the finals, Balwinder Singh Sandhu's inswinger clipping Gordon Greenidge's off bail beginning a downfall of sorts, the breath-taking catch Kapil took running backwards and Mohinder jogging in to bowl and trapping Mike Holding before the wicket.

As a kid if this storytelling bit was not enough, every 4 years we were reminded that we haven’t seen/witnessed Indian Cricket’s best ever moment. Over the years we saw the 1983 champion players giving motivational interviews pre-world cup, archival footage being played repeatedly and poor Kapil Dev would also have to lose his face, graphically, as some newspaper would morph the current captain’s face over his – as an aspiration we hoped we shall live up to. While everyone love the Devils of 83 for their success, everyone including them hoped they were saved off this rigmarole one more time.

1992 is when I remember seeing and understanding the game and picked up a lot from the World Cup that kept my friends and relatives entertained for long - enacting Javed Miandad’s jumping jack act and also Kiran More, who was changing his gloves as the ball was getting bowled and eventually ran himself out.

1996 is when I had definite opinions on cricket. Seeing India lose to Australia in spite of a super knock by Sachin, broke my heart, I danced on the sofa (my neighbour’s) when Prasad got back at Aamir Sohail and was stunned to see Azhar returning a gift to Kumara Dharmasena.

1999 was when a biscuit company ran a promotional campaign to collect the biscuit cover packs and get a booklet dedicated to each world cup edition. I went about collecting all these booklets as if it was my duty to eat biscuits to ensure India wins. This time we had the right mix of individuals and it just had to be this time around – but we lost to Zimbabwe. And no longer did we look or play like a champion team.

2003 had it all. The team played to potential and raised the bar every match. This time there will be no next time I thought to myself. But I was wrong. The occasion got to us and a lot of hopes - just like that Sachin Tendulkar shot in the final – went high up in the air only to come down crashing. Angered, I threw my bat saying this team had no balls.

2007 The year of Hope. Indian cricket went through a lot of controversies and finally Sourav had settled back into the team. Lot of us thought this would be the silver lining to the dark cloud surrounding Indian cricket for few months running into this tournament. But the time was still not right. Dravid over-confidently mentioned in a pre-cup interview that he saw India in the Semi Finals and I said to myself- WHY??? Stunned by what had hit us, the nation was like a computer processor that just got hanged. It took days to restart.

The wait was just getting longer. India meanwhile played some exceptional cricket – 1998 Sandstorm and Sachin winning an Opel Astra was my answer to the Áudi story I was told about by the elders. 2001 Final Frontier win was seeing a champion-like fight back, something India had never seen before. But still it was not to be the best moment. Though India grew from rank to rank last decade we also were conscious of the emptiness and hollowness because in spite having champion players like Sachin, Kumble, Ganguly and Dravid we still weren’t titled THE CHAMPION team. Yes we became the No.1 test team but we still hadn’t seen the best moment of Indian Cricket. As happy as we were with the T20 world cup win, we knew deep down this is just not ‘IT’.

Meanwhile it had been 28 years. Pranab Mukherjee then Finance minister had come a full circle and was the finance minister once again. US had decided to wage a war against Iraq - twice. Madhuri Dixit had danced along with, both, father and son. Some of the members from the Devils of 83 team got married had kids and sent their kids to play with Sachin (read IPL). Sachin himself went onto make 97 centuries and a double century in ODIs. Amitabh was still a superstar and even his son Abhishek Bachchan managed to score a hit. The politicians had learnt to not only interrupt and object parliament proceedings but completely waste an entire monsoon session. It wasn’t lakhs but lakhs of crores of money that these politicians had learnt to siphon off into SWISS ALPS and yet managed to look at the mirror shamelessly everyday and go on. India managed to score an Individual gold at Olympics and also win at the Oscars. But yet it wasn’t time for us to be World Champions at Cricket.

And then it was 2011. Ian Chappell hadn’t thought India would remain the No.1 test team for as long with a bowling unit like ours. He was wrong; we still are the best test team. India was pitted as favorites to win the World Cup. Often opposition used it to their advantage by playing mind games with Team India. But they say, ‘the more the things change the more they remain the same.’ Our batting still looked the strongest on paper; bowling and fielding were our weakest links. Our opening batsmen were still a Dasher and a little master. We had 1 strike bowler who was not express fast. A Punjabi all rounder was still going to be our Trump Card for the tournament. A tall lanky spinner would still play few matches and warm the benches more often. Pakistan still didn’t know how to win against us at the world cup. And it had to be the same day in the week – Saturday when we were to play the Finals.

But a lot of things had changed too. Here we had a team who didn’t know how to lose. Often we were accused of losing a game in the minds before we lost it on the field. But we had 15 characters who knew nothing else apart from giving their best try. We have never had a captain who was sans emotions, could keep his cool and yet identify with the pulse of the game. A Batman who had revived himself and looked like he would do this all by himself – no matter who else raises their hand up.

But little did he know that his teammates this time were cricketers who idolized him. A lot of these players picked up a bat, started playing cricket, love what they do for a living because they saw Sachin bat. A lot of them took to cricket to play with the man and win matches with him. And if Sachin wanted something - these guys wouldn’t shy from standing in front of a truck.

Yes there were those pitfalls – inexplicable bowling changes, mind-boggling team selections, hard-to-understand batting order reshuffles and failure to convert opportunities. Sachin Tendulkar enjoys God like status in this country and after the England and South African game it felt bad that his efforts weren’t paying off and this team couldn’t appreciate the value of these knocks to stay in there and fight it out. It made sachin-crazy fans say things like ‘God helps those who helps themselves’ and that the team needs to build on the platform Sachin was creating game after game.

But like Gary Kirsten said to the players– “You are the world's best team and you have to continue that. The spark is there, don’t let it extinguish.” The team had some unshakeable confidence going into the knock-out stages. The Yuvraj - Raina combine to ensure Australia’s 12 year cup domination ends, or Harbhajan’s experience showing when he bowled a full toss to Shahid Afridi, who was least expecting it, to close the Pak straight. And what can one say about Zaheer Khan’s opening spell in the finals, ensuring he puts to rest the 2003 ghosts. Dhoni saving his best for the last. But do spare a thought for the Delhi lads Gambhir and Kohli who played sensibly to negate any advantage Sri Lanka thought they had got by getting 2 early wickets. But what is special has been the mental ability of this team to cope with the pressure of living up to top billing, handling expectations of every 6th person in the world who happens to be an Indian. These cricketers know they are special and have proved just that by not forgetting to thank and pay tribute to the few good men who started this revival in Indian cricket and also one of the most loyal fans – Sudhir Gautam.

But above all, each of these players was gracious enough to dedicate this win to their idol – Sachin Tendulkar and their Coach Kirsten. There is some amazing ability in this team to speak the right thing at the right moment. Remember Kohli’s reply about carrying Tendulkar around for a victory lap. These cricketers realise what Sachin has achieved through these years and understand it would be an aberration had he not won this coveted cup. They also realize the pride and joy they have given to the country. But I hope this win triggers a change in India just like 1983 did – it gave birth to a breed of champions who believed they CAN.

I sure got a glimpse of it in a cab-ride, the cabbie was ecstatic about India’s success and exclaimed , “World Cup jeet gaye, ab aur kya chahiye. Dobara Bihar banana hai to banadenge!” (What more could we ask for after this World Cup win. If required, we could build a state as big as Bihar once more)

For me the eternal fanatic who drove 30 hours to and fro Nagpur to see Sachin scoring a century, the one who skipped his 2 year old nephew’s birthday dinner to ensure he could concentrate on the Match Finals, it doesn’t end here. The noisiest room I have ever been in, the crazy crowds dancing on the roads stopping my car, making me dance and only then letting me go, the friends with whom I lived through the moments in this final and some friends with whom the bonds only grew stronger transcending geographical boundaries. I had witnessed Indian cricket’s finest moment.

The wait was WORTH it.

Because now it is my turn to become – THE STORYTELLER.

Cynic-‘isms’

2006-06-12T19:20:00.000+05:30

Observation # 1
I just spotted an outdoor ad sometime back on a bus stand outside the British Council Library.

The copy read something like… “It took us only 11 months to become No.2”
A thought flashed in my mind “It took them (TOI) 11 months to make No.2, most of us do it so easily every morning…”

Observation # 2
I have seen many of my peers criticizing the BJP in Gujrat for the ban on Fanaa and supporting Aamir by raising questions like, “Doesn’t Aamir or any other Indian have a right to speak his mind about something in India ? Don’t we call our country the largest and the finest democracy?”

And then in a completely different discussion, they say, “Himmesh Reshammiya is a prick and all his songs should be banned!”

And this leaves me baffled, bringing a smile to my face.

Note: The author is not a BJP supporter, nor a Himmesh Reshammiya fan!

Observation # 3
I guess I am becoming denser with every passing day. I am saying this because I am sure the observation I made above must have given every Himmesh fan a shot in the arm but let me tell you the shot was aimed much lower…. So before I make too many such frenzied statements I should say I agree that for the sanity of this part of the world and for every kid who lives in this part of the world…

“Somebody please rescue them from Himmesh!”

Before a kid starts laughing at you, when you try and make him/her understand that songs are sung by the throat. Or before they call the Ustaads and Gurus of music a freak when they hear them say on TV… “Ganaa jo hai wo dil se gaya jata hai…”

The wierd ways of Indian selectors

2006-05-27T15:53:00.000+05:30

If Guru Greg has laid down a rule that any Indian cricketer willing to represent India should at least be good in two departments of the game... then one person clearly should not be in this team – Romesh Powar.

Until yesterday I thought the shoddiest and laziest piece of fielding I had seen in my life was from Sourav Ganguly. In a match against Sri Lanka, he ran from Mid-on escorting the ball past boundary. At few instance he even managed to beat the ball in the chase, but his inability to bend down and pick up the ball gifted away 4 runs to the opposition. But what Romesh Powar did yesterday, was even brilliant or equal to what Ganguly achieved. Powar ran after the ball, slid near the boundary, as if he was sliding into a swimming pool. And while doing all of this, only if he could have flicked the ball inside the ropes…

And this is just one instance of the portly cricketer not being up to the mark. His batting doesn’t impress either. So if you need a spinner, why not get Kumble back. Any ways having two off spinners doesn’t make sense. And Kumble, if not a better fielder will be far better a bowler than him for sure. By persisting with Powar, you’re being unfair to Laxman, who was ousted from the team under the garb of his bad fielding.

Ajit Bhalchandra Agarkar is Indian cricket’s biggest enigma. From debut to the 1999 world cup he was a regular in the team, but since then he has been in and out in the team regularly. At times when he least deserved a place in the team he was included in the squad. And when he performed brilliantly he is dropped without a good reason. No one knows why, no one cares to ask why….

Confessions of a gibberish mind

2006-04-24T18:03:00.000+05:30

Disclaimer: This piece is just a pigment of the author’s imagination and does not resemble the author’s life in any way. This is just an attempt at versatility by the author. Also, resemblance to any person dead or alive is entirely unintentional and coincidental…

I guess in my previous life, I would have been a very rational, logical, pragmatic guy who thought and analyzed every word twice before he uttered it with a stiff upper lip.
I would have been the one who despised African tribes for worshipping the Lord of Mumbo-jumbo and detested the nonsensical blabber unleashed by any village simpleton. No wonder the ghost of mumbo jumbo haunts me ever so often in this life.

For those who haven’t met me, I am the one who has been credited with 7 star ratings for my nonsensical blabber, which can make the stinkiest (if I can make that word up) bull shit seem like 24 karat pure gold. Yes you read it right, the sheer magnitude of hogwash reflected in each letter of the previous sentence is proof enough of my credentials.(I guess) If you are still not convinced then roll up your sleeve to signify your bravery and read ahead…

The problem I guess is the absolute ability to talk thrash without a blink… You would never hear me replying or answering a simple question with a simple answer because 9/10 times I answer a question with another question, which makes the problem bad if not worse. Is it the misanthropist in me that never lets me convey my thoughts in a simple fashion? I don’t think so, because I am a great optimist and very happy to welcome diverse perceptions. Confusing the confused is easy but with my answers the confused would suffer severe dementia. Complicating the simplest of things in style is something I am very good at… I think the reason is loquaciousness and very often have I been found guilty of being too verbose.

Golden excerpts of how I went ballistic in my thought process while trying to express the simplest of thoughts….

While trying to say, “What you say is crap…”
“If we weigh the nonsensical value of what you just said on a balance…the sense and nonsense part of it would resemble the famous comedians, Laurel and Hardy (respectively) sitting on a see-saw.”

While trying to shut up a pessimist…
“If necessity is the mother of all inventions and curiosity is its father then you are the bastard child they gave birth to, coz you are clearly a creation gone wrong, one they would be ashamed of and the only reason for your existence in a sane world is to satisfy the law of averages which says that for every genius and/or an optimist born, a prick like you will balance the equation.”

While trying to say, ‘Not a very good idea’
“This scorching idea you suggest has the potential of breaking the myth based on conventional wisdom and is truly contrary to the popular belief, which is good. But on re-evaluating it with a rational view, it looks like in the long term there is a possibility it will make all expectations go through the roof, which can be very dangerous and the burden of expectations is clearly not the need of the hour.”

While trying to say, ‘Those are too many questions you are asking’
“I know millions saw the apple fall, and it was only Newton who asked why. But I am also sure you have heard about the curious cat and if you dare ask me another question I will make sure you meet the same fate as that cat."

Now even he has a problem with Ganguly…

2006-04-18T17:42:00.000+05:30

Read this.

Some one should make a soap opera on Dada and I am sure the saga will go on and on and on…..

As the content will be original and first rate, let us only get inspired for the title - “Everybody Hates Dada”

Ironical Paradox

2006-04-18T17:12:00.000+05:30

Life is not simple… But the biggest challenge it throws at you is to live it - ‘Simply’.

A bagfool of stories

2006-04-12T11:23:00.000+05:30

“Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.” – Khalil Gibran

How true I say. Especially, when I am at the pinnacle of forgetfulness at the ripe age of 21. And, more so when it gives you a sense of precision while trying to find excuses for the foolish mistakes you have been consistently committing. One incident is all it will take to get myself entered into coveted record books of Limca or Guiness and maybe also a short story on ‘Ripley’s believe it or not’ for my forgetful nature.

They say history repeats itself and here I have put down some of my recurring experiences to corroborate that statement. To give a better perspective to things let me take you fourteen years back when I was in class 3. As soon as the school bell rang signaling end of day, I ran down the steps towards the school gate and standing there was my lovely granny welcoming me with a grin on her face. Still in top speed I crashed into her exclaiming how I beat all other students to be the first one out of school. She did not appreciate that, warning me I will hurt myself soon if I keep resorting to such idiotic antics. In the same breath she enquired, “But, where is your School Bag?” I gave a typical open-mouth reaction as if I were Kiran More fending questions asked in Swahili by a bunch of African journalists on Ganguly’s chances of a come-back at Sreesanth’s felicitation ceremony in Kochi.

“Dropped it while running? I am sure you did just that.” Still in the open-mouth mudra I didn’t bat an eye-lid. “Where is your bag, you fool!” my granny inquired. (Calling me only a fool for such a gallant feat was being very sweet to me, considering the range of thoughtless names people confer me with most times) Managed to bat an eye-lid this time but could not speak a word. I turned around and like a mad bull started running back to my classroom. Dashing and pushing students on the stairs, I reached my classroom and there on the fourth bench – third row, right next to the window was my blue & yellow bag with a smiling joker-face on it. (Yeah, Pokemeons and Beyblades of the world didn’t exist then) I heaved a sigh of relief. Picked that up and trudged down back to my granny, who was growing impatient by the minute. I waved my bag in the air as if I hunted down a bird and was returning with the prized catch. Little did I know these were the initial steps I was taking towards a bright and promising future?

-End of story 1-

Time passed by and over the years, carelessness seemed to restrict itself only to some of my examination answer sheets. Now here is one case when it was not related to the answer sheets but the examination itself. This happened during my final year BMS board exams. It was our third exam – Market Research was the subject. I reached my examination centre on time and went into the examination hall. As soon as the warning bell rang, I pulled out all the stationery required and placed it on the desk. Kept the books in the bag and was trying to pull out my hall ticket. But my hand was only creating crackling noises off the plastic bag; with air filling my grip very time I reached out for the hall ticket. Now I could feel sweat breaking behind my ear as I put my beet colored face into the bag trying to search the god damn hall ticket. My eyes almost popped into the bag trying to trace the hall ticket. It struck me! The moment of truth – I was a fucking empty-headed asshole. I didn’t carry my hall ticket to a board exam.

I rushed to the supervisor and notified her about my foolishness. But, as if she wanted to make me feel like a mere mortal by making a loud and clear statement that ‘you are not the only fool around here’, she tells me to not worry and go and sit on my desk. I was angry, tense, bewildered, amused at her statement. I punched my right fist into the left palm, completely assured that I was doomed. Meanwhile, the answer sheets were distributed and that is when people drew margins, but my shivery hands just couldn’t manage to draw a straight line; even with the help of a scale. The moderator for that examination centre came in to our classroom and that is when the supervisor told her about my heroic feat. The moderator called me, and I was shit-wrecked. She started her conversation with, “How can you be that irresponsible?” And I thought to myself ‘lady only if I knew the answer to this’. She asked me to show my college I-card. And… No, you guys guessed it wrong. I did have my college I-card. She asked other students in that classroom from my college to identify me and a friend of mine sitting in the first bench uttered this, “Rohan Nair, Batch 1, TYBMS, MCC, 1- Mayura Apts, Near Model English School, Pandurangwadi, Dombivli(E)” The moderator raised her hand with an approving smile asking him to stop before he went onto reveal my vital stats. I was allowed to write the exam.

Post-exam I couldn’t less agree with anyone who thought that I was a ‘dumbass’.
I went home and found my hall-ticket lying on my study table and promptly put it in the bag right away. For the next exam I carried it very carefully and gave it a very prominent space on my examination desk. Before the exam, the moderator made an appearance with raised eyebrows along with a questioning smile trying to find out if I had got my hall ticket. I nodded in assurance, and waved the hall ticket to get a resounding smile of approval.
The exam went fairly well and we were discussing about it after the exams on our way back home. One of my friends quipped on my foolish feat I had achieved a day back. Aghast, I cussed myself too. That’s when I said let me just check if I have it with me now. Again the irritating noisy crackles of the plastic bag. The hall ticket disappeared into thin air. Where? When? How? What? Why? I cried out loudly… Along with a friend I rushed back to the examination centre to check if the hall ticket was lying on that very fateful desk. But, the college was shut. The fucking authorities were asking me to go back home and check with them tomorrow. I rushed to my own college to get a bonafide certificate made; just in case if it was needed for next-day’s exam. My course coordinator called up the examination centre moderator and got to know that there was a hall ticket found. I was asked to reach the centre early next day to collect the hall ticket if it was mine or get the board superintendent (1 at every centre) to issue a fresh hall ticket to me.
I reached the centre much early than required and set out searching the staff room. As soon as I reached the staff room, one of the staffs greeted me with, “Ok, so you are Rohan?” He handed over the hall ticket to me with a look that clearly had ‘What a fool’ written all over his face. I had become Popular!

-End of story 2-

Now this happened few months back. The company that I work for visited my Alma matter – Mulund College of Commerce, for campus recruitments. I was tugged along by people from our HR department to give a brief presentation to the students and then also conduct an aptitude test. After the presentation, the HR guys left college leaving me alone to conduct the test. I was supposed to collect the test papers and get it back to office. I did just that and caught a train back to office. I kept the bag carrying the test-papers on the baggage stand provided in local trains and sat down enjoying the strong wind hitting my face. I flicked pages of a magazine that I’d just bought from the railway stand and got engrossed in it with every passing minute.

The smell of raw fish welcomed me to the grand Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus. Rolling the magazine in hand to form a torch I got out of the train. I was passing one soul after another and was reminded of the short film that used to be aired on Doordarshan which had some of India’s finest sporting greats running with a burning torch in their hand passing it onto another great. By the time the entire film replayed in my mind I was out of the station. The scorching rays of the sun helped bringing light to my scatterbrains. The ghost of forgetfulness from the pasts surfaced again.

“Didn’t I have a bag when I left college? Yes you’d. Fuck! How could I forget it in the train? Run asshole, run… run like there is no tomorrow… run like your ass is on fire…How are you going to answer the HR guys for this blip? Boy… you better run harder, as there is a direct/indirect correlation between the speed of every step you take and the careers of a lot of college students. You have no time for this, just run we can decide the nature of correlation once you find the papers. Entering the station, I saw the train still there on the platform; I must say it relieved me a little. As I was nearing the first-class coaches, the mental relief began to have an effect on my running speed. Just for the sake of presenting the facts right, my speed should have come down from the speed of Lance Armstrong’s bi-cycle to the speed of a cart pulled by a three-legged bullock. (That’s just a modest me)

However, barging into the compartment I checked on the stands…found nothing. “What the fuck” I heard someone say and nodded in assertion. How could my bag disappear like that? That’s when my cock-eyed vision found souls of the fairer sex seated all-over. I heard my inner voice saying “wrong compartment” amongst all the other profanities being directed towards me by the respectful women. I quickly got off and this time entered the right compartment. The shiny plastic bag I got from college was right there lying alone on the stand. As I lay my hands on it, heard the crackling noise of the plastic and I thought to myself this crackling sound had never ever sounded sweeter.

-End of story 3-

Couple of week’s back, like every other day I strutted out of home with my knapsack dangling on my back. I was not carrying a bag for the last 10 days and after long I decided to carry lunch. As usual I bought my newspaper and marched onto the platform holding the newspaper close to my chest. I was preparing to leap in to the train and manage to find a position where I can try and read bits of news pieces. By the way, reading a newspaper in a crowded compartment is an art form in itself.

With only two things (News & an opportunity to sit) occupying my mind right from Dombivli to Dadar. The crowded train forced me to take a stance that would have put any professional ballerina to shame. That’s when I could here someone’s radio singing an old song which went something like, ‘Aye janeman, mujhpar tu aisa zulum math kar’ (okay, I must have screwed up the lyrics but it meant something similar) I smiled to myself and that smile grew even wider when a guy pitying me gave away his seat. Tried making most of it by delving further into the newspaper and educating myself on the malfunctioning wardrobes. The bustling noises and the weird smell signaled the arrival of the final destination – CST. Arching my back and wincing I got up and was ready to go. Walking on the platform and towards the exit, I was amazed at the sizable number of people at CST. I ran and got into the BEST bus. Suddenly it struck me that I’d got my bag along today. I jumped off the bus and ran back, reliving my past memories of a similar kind. The only difference then and now was, “It was not peak-hours then.” The train was not there and nor was my bag, it was gone for good.

-End of story 4-

Knowing that the next day was a holiday and the pressing timelines on a report I thought of taking home some data on a CD, to work on it from home. Shyam was cussing me to be quick so that we could be on time to catch the last fast train. To irritate him a little I went into the pantry drank water very slowly and also carried a bottle along for the journey back home. Since I had no bag, he offered to keep it in his bag. I appreciated it. He also offered to keep the CDs but I very stealthily declined. We decided to give the BEST bus a miss and take a taxi so that we can reach CST on time. As our taxi sped past other vehicles on marine drive, I thought of capturing the thrill on Shyam’s new Nokia 6270.

Excited by some of the cool pix that I managed to click, I was sharing the joy with Shyam. He nodded in assertion that some of the pictures were really good but rubbished most. We reached CST, paid the cab driver but that was secondary. What was gripping my mind more was the speeding vehicles at the signal in front of CST and the wonderful opportunities it presented to a budding photographer like me. Shyam still not appreciating this talent of mine urged me to be quick. We got into the train, discussing crap like we always do. With every station passing, the nonsensical value of the discussion also rose. When 90% of the train rises together, it signifies the train reaching Dombivli. While climbing down the foot over bridge, my hands seemed very free, that is when I realized that my grip wasn’t this loose when I left office. It struck me – I had lost the CD’s in the Taxi.

-End of story 5-