The frozen chill of the winter sweeps in as the world fades away in the smog. There is a faint smell of disappointment in the air. I soak in it in, let the endorphins kick in. With each breath I wait; essentially for the inevitable.
The song loops in my head all over again. It’s that same song by the Boss; “No surrender”. I put my head back drift away into it, into a lifetime.
You there with the killer smile and those unfathomable eyes, do you remember the promise, the one we assumed we made? Doesn’t matter if you don’t for I’d never forget the grace in the way you moved, the energy as you fluttered across the dance floor swimming upon those drumbeats. The rhythm was smooth, the music close to divine as I searched, searched amidst those lyrics, amidst those faces, searched for fulfilment, for purpose and found you.

“We learnt more from a 3 minute record, baby; than we ever learnt in school.
…Cuz we made a promise, we swore we’d always remember.
No retreat baby, no surrender”

No surrender, it was and will be, not to the all- pervasive meaninglessness of life, to the shallowness of attachments that constituted my existence. As the photographs and the journals burnt across the bonfire, lit under the careful watch of the Orion, I was still trying not to give up. There was beauty in those burning embers then and in the snow capped peaks. A hallowed beauty in the clouds of vapour formed from the warm breath, clouds that wished they were similar the ones caressing the glow of the full moon. Memories roasted upon the fires of emancipation.
But you weren’t there for any of all that were you girl; the purposeless drifting from one version of myself to another. The guilt of her departure, from my life and then life itself, the pointless amassing of fame and fortune, the loss of a friend and the loss of alternate lifetimes; you weren’t there for any of it. I forgave myself, had no choice but to. How do you justify throwing everything away? Well, you don’t, that takes the fun out of it, doesn’t it.
Memories you cannot get rid of, but mementos, well those you most certainly can. So I tossed into the fires of purgation, those CDs, books, photographs, journals, things, all except one, that particular CD. The soundtrack of my life, girl; one which you were an unknowing part of.
I didn’t realise that it would come to pass like this, as the road snaked ahead in the silent chill of the night, bathed in the full-Moon’s glow. I didn’t know that I would find myself here. My head feels heavier. Any second now.

“Knock! Knock!”
“Who’s the Hell is it?”
“The Girl,” she whispers.
“The Girl?” I ask.
“Yup!” she says with a giggle.
“Damn! How’d you get here?”
“Always been here, and always will be, true nature of time n’ stuff.”
“You know, Eternal Return and Nietzsche do not feature anywhere in my romantic conversations key-points list.”
“I know, but Vanilla Sky definitely did,” she says with a smile
“Hmm….yeah…come to think of it, this is indeed very Vanilla Skyish!”
“Yup!” she giggles again.
“I have a question though, where had you been all this while?”
“Like I said, was always here, always have been, in the moment in the time frame etc., you just gave up looking.”
“That’s, so unfair, I never really did. I still am looking. No surrender, girl.”
“Well, that implies you really cannot stay can you?” she asks.
“I guess so, have to find you somewhere.”
“Well, then you better be moving along then, must warn you it’s not at all comfortable back there.”
“I know, but I have to. What about you? Where will you go?”
“Where? Hmm…well its’ like that line from the comic you once told me;
Where does a wish go…where does a dream go, when you wake up and cannot remember it…”
“Nowhere,” we both whisper in unison.
“Goodbye it is then.”
Fade to Black.
I feel for my stomach and shiver as I put my hand up to my face. The river of crimson flows profusely.
“Not now!” I say to myself. “No tunnels, no soft lights, and no people I know; nothing. Not now Goddammit!”
I manage to crawl out of the mangled steel monster and pull myself on the road. It’s been a peach of an existence mind you. But I promised to find you someday, girl, and that is a promise I intend to keep.

Redemption train

The wait comes to an end as the train slowly pulls into the station. Pushed along with the relentless tide of people struggling to get in, getting into the local train doesn’t take much effort. A quick check of pockets for wallet and ticket and soon a place near the window seat is found.
There are people, places, lives and events unfolding in front of you between the two rusted iron rods on the window-frame. There is a sense of hurry, of frantic pace, similar to a movie viewed in the fast forward mode. That is the moment, confronted by this pace that your mind slows down and begins to reminisce.
You remember the essay you had once written in school, an amateur attempt at philosophy. ‘Human beings are like stars dotting the night-sky; a night-sky that is the sum of life-experiences. Each star has its own story to tell. Occasionally, you get one which burns brighter than the other and sometimes you get a fallen star. A star which burns away, but not without the everlasting promise of hope, manifested in a wish made upon a shooting star.’
“Bullshit!” you say to yourself. And then you remember the event that sent your life into a downward spiral.
A summer afternoon it had been, characterised by friends, cigarettes and weed. The concoction of weed, nicotine and the beer had, along with the scorching heat had blurred your perceptions and judgment considerably. So when your heard your friend scheme for help, you just ran headlong in that direction. So what if your friend was about to be stabbed by the ‘gunda’ he had been trying to avoid for quite some time. It was none of your business, for as a matter of policy these days, a person’s troubles are his own.
Your lawyer tried to construe the event as self-defense. You yourself aren’t too sure if it was that. For eventually as the media portrayed it you were a typical example of the junky college student who committed murder for the weed and got a jail term. Deservedly so they said, as it would serve as a befitting example to others.
Did your friend come forward to save you? No, he was just a leech for a weed and he of course didn’t want to get involved, he had a career to save.
What really happened you don’t know. You just remember him and the gunda struggling on the floor. You remember yourself getting in the way, the sharp pain as the knife entered the palm of your hand. You don’t remember anything between the grip on the knife and the accidental taste of someone else’s blood on your tongue. You remember the court case, the 14 year term, parole after eight years, the odd jobs here and there for three years and then the familiar stench of dried sweat as you sit on this local train to your ancestral house in the suburb of Calcutta.
The train rolls into the station, your train of thought stops too and rolls into the station of harsh reality. ‘Konnoghor’ the station board reads. If your family, which had evidently abandoned you is anywhere it is here. As you walk in the markets you see the changes too, between ‘pre-liberalisation’ India and now. Dutta Tailors with Raymond’s suiting posters earlier now sports a Reebok G-Unit poster saying ‘I am what I am’.
You find the famous ‘Madras Coffee House’ in the middle of a Calcutta Suburb. You go in to grab a cup of coffee and gather strength so that you can finally banish your demons. The coffee shop remains a witness to the antiquity of the market for innumerable coats of paint cannot hide the fact that the furniture is still the same as it was fifteen years ago.
The man at the counter hasn’t changed either. He will not recognize you with your cropped hair and beard and a face aged beyond the actual years it has been around.
You have your coffee and out of a strange impulse you ask the man at the counter a question; he always kept a tab on everyone who resided in the small community.
“Dada, do you know the Ghosh family who live in the 7th house near the lake?”
“Abhijit Ghosh you ask of?” he inquires back.
“Yes him, is he still there with his family?”
“No! The Ghosh’s moved out long time back. Four years back once their daughter finally managed to get married,” he replied.
“Their daughter is married?”
“Yes! They couldn’t find a suitor for her initially, for all of them would refuse once they would find out about the brother. Then when Mr. Ghosh passed away, God bless his soul, she got married a year after. It was a love marriage, but given the circumstances what could the mother do.”
You try and gather yourself, the succession of breaking news gets tough to handle.
“Okay! Do you know where they are now or know anyone who knows where they are?”
“No Dada, no one has heard from them since they left. They didn’t even sell the house, it lies empty and discarded,” he replies with a tinge of regret.
The coffee starts tasting sour in your mouth and after so many years you feel the urge for a cigarette. You leave the money on the table and start walking away.
“You know Dada, you seem familiar, have we met before?” he asks as you exit the shop.
You give the clichéd reply, “In another lifetime maybe.”
It is that period when twilight merges into the darkness of the night. You are seated on the steps of you house, overlooking the garden and the lake. The Marlboro Lights in your hand burns itself onto your fingers.
In that moment an epiphany occurs, you take off your slippers and run across the dusty path in your garden and dive into the lake. You float on your back, just below the surface of the lake. It begins to rain. As the raindrops fall across the surface the sight and the natural rhythm of the raindrops soothes your senses. You hear your mother from across the garden on a hot summer afternoon, telling you to stop playing in the lake and come home for lunch. You hear the whisper of the girl you thought you would love forever as she confided her secrets to you. You hear the sounds of the Sarod blend into the gentle pluckings at the Cello in Pachebel’s Canon. You hear the voice of your favorite English teacher as he read you favorite Yeat’s poem.
“
Then you wish that you could no more. There is star falling across the sky; yours. But you make a wish upon that star, a wish for another life, another chance, a wish that you could burn brighter. And then you stop yourself from doing the inevitable. For the first time you feel a strange control over your fate.
You walk out of the lake; cleansed.

Moti's Bluetoothed controversy. Maina Pyaarkiya

A piece of investigative journalism by Maina Pyaarkiya
"Love is the most natural and beautiful thing in the world, So what’s wrong in watching on video what is happening between a Man, a Woman…and a Horse?"
Sasha Baron Cohen, "The Ali-G Show"


The whole controversy started when Moti, the colony’s favourite Dalmatian, felt very horny and managed to get his paws on the neighbour’s bitch. Stuff happened and while it was happening Moti pressed the video recording button on his master’s cellphone which was left out in the backyard to dry in the sun (his master was sloshed at last night’s party and fell into a swimming pool.).

As a result very naughty things were recorded between Moti and the neighbour’s bitch. Incidentally, Moti’s arch nemesis Hiralal Spotwalla a.k.a. Hispotty managed to catch hold of the cellphone. His original idea was to just piddle on the cellphone, but he decided to play around with it before he actually piddled on it. As a consequence of this the naughty video was transmitted to his master’s friend cellphone.

Moti’s master’s friend found the clip very tantalizing and decided to pass it on to his friend, who passed it on to another friend and so on and so forth till the whole city was scandalized by Moti’s naughty deeds. Once Moti’s master got to know he called Moti and gave him a nice scolding. To this Moti replied with an unapologetic "Woof! Woof!" (‘Bugger off’ in doggy language).

Some people eventually started showing off the video on projection screens and flashy cellphones at the P3P parties. One of the P3P’s found the clip very artsy and tastefully executed and thought Spielberg might be interested in it, (his only claim to fame was that he had had coffee with Spielberg, sat in the same café more like it…). The P3P then went to the bartender paid him Rs 10 and the ‘blue-toothed’ the video clip from the bartender’s 6600.
Some people even started selling the clips in bootlegged versions and it was freely available over Kazaa networks. There was reportedly an extended clip with Hispotty and Jenna Jameson making a cameo together.

Finally police decided to do something about it as the clip was distorting the moral fabric of the human and canine society alike. But after the initial excitement this is what the police found: 1. Moti was absconding. 2. The master’s backyard had been broken down by MCD as it was illegal, thereby removing all evidence. 3. Hispotty’s piddle on the cellphone had damaged the cellphone beyond recovery 4. They had no evidence and Pappu Yadav had ordered 3 Maharaja Macs which had to be delivered to Bihar pronto.

Police didn’t know what to so when Spielberg came to India to slap the P3P who had sent him the obnoxious clip, they immediately arrested him and subsequently denied him bail. This really pissed of Dubya and he cancelled all H-1B visas for all Indians for the next 2 years and told India to release Spielberg within 2 weeks or face the consequences. If that wasn’t enough Osama Laden renewed his jihad against India proclaiming the clips were corrupting the minds of his wives, kids, cats and dogs. The constant airing of the clip on The Al-Jazeera network was also eating into his precious airtime. The Planning Commission is yet to determine the economic repercussions of all this.

Recent developments that have taken place include the arrest of Moti, once he returned from his evening walk. On interrogation he revealed nothing, and on being subjected to torture he just said "Wooow!"(‘Ouch’ in doggy language but it doesn’t count as testimony in court anyway). The P3P involved has also been arrested and he insists that the 10 bucks were tip to the bartender and not the price paid for the video. He has also offered to marry Spielberg, the bartender or Moti in an attempt to become more famous.

Spielberg is now hospitalized and waiting for the eminent invasion of India by Dubya. Osama has threatened to blow up Moti in his latest tape, but no one seems to be taking him very seriously.

Amidst this pandemonium the Neighbour finally decided to break his silence. He woke up in the morning to find hordes of reporters outside his house. The perennial question that has been haunting everyone was hurled at him:
"Mr. Neighbour can you tell us where your bitch is?" The question caught Neighbour by surprise and he replied:

"Dude! I don’t have a bitch!?!"

Valentines Day: The Socio economic effect. by Maina pyaarkiya

We all know that recently there was a decision taken by the government to dissolve the Lok Sabha early by February 6th. Opposition and all other Partygoers blamed it on the upcoming election campaign and a lack of confidence on part of the government. But recently,(since they now have nothing better to do) Tehelka revealed that there is actually a secret reason many of us have ignored. If you haven’t guessed it by now then it is (yes now you get it!) Valentine’s Day on February 14th.
Now, a major political decision and Valentine’s Day may not seem to have anything in common, but government analysts have predicted that if the government stayed in power till that date then it might have had adverse effects on their election campaign. How, you ask? Well, some insiders say that the fact that our prime minister is a bachelor might have had some serious repercussions in the season where love is in the air and result in a lack of votes from the youth.
Actually, in light of this major-decision, it has become imperative to analyse the significance of this day from a socio-economic perspective. While to most of us it is mainly about ‘going round and round’ with someone, many people do not ignore the importance of the actual message that St. Valentine tried to convey. Love has no borders; so on this day people display their deepest love towards their wives, husbands, parents, sisters, bosses, secretaries,dhobis and pets. Amazon was recently seen tapping the pet market by selling gift-wrapped cans of salmon or dog biscuits with free pet-cards, to show them how much you care!
Also, celebrities and other such popular species of humanity don’t ignore this event; all of them displaying their love for each other. Recent displays have been George Bush to Saddam Hussein (though George is still wailing over his lost love Osama), Michael Jackson to 12 year old kids, Britney Spears to Madonna, Pervez Mussharaf to his Kursi, Indian batting for the Australian bowling (and vice-versa) and Laloo Yadav to his idealistic Governor. Lalooji was quoted as saying, "I loving my state too much,that is why I keeping it family affair. So what if there being corruption? All fair is love and war! So Governor sahib don’t feel jealousy! Isme Bhi Aupposition Kaa Haath Hain! "
Economists predict that this love hysteria will step up economic reforms in the country. Valentine’s day will help start-up the music industry battling desperately against piracy, as lot of those ‘Lubby-dubby, Have I told you lately’ albums hit stores now. No comments could be received ‘on record’ regarding this matter from the piracy industry executives, but they add that fikar-not bootlegged versions by Sadaf Stereo will soon be available.
Also, this event is expected to give a major boost to the agro-based sector as the flower (and subsequently the fertiliser) sales will go up drastically. Youth organizations like the DUSU have recommended application of the MRTP Act on the numerous phoolwallas, as they will attempt to hike their prices and exploit the hapless youngsters.
But there are some political parties who are wholeheartedly opposing this event. Shiv sena is known to have issued a notice saying that if such an unconstitutional and phirangi festival is to be celebrated then they’ll dig up each and every street of Maharashtra (this is in light of their successful digging-up of cricket pitches a few years ago). On hearing this statement the Ambanis were delighted and immediately decided to undertake a gas-line project in Maharashtra, as Shiv Sena would definitely cut down their pipe-laying and digging costs.
Health experts are concerned too, considering the number of chocolates that will be sold and the amount of worms that have been found in them recently. They predict over-consumption of chocolates will lead to obesity, diabetes and loose-motions in young people. Most common (and perhaps the most drastic) fear is the rise in population by November 14th this year.
But then the government is happy as love is in the air and it will further add to their already inflated feel good factor. It’s all about feeling good, eh!
Personally, I am a believer in stability of relationships and the everlasting power of love, thus I made an extremely taxing resolution this new year’s eve: that I shall I have only one new valentine every year.
Optimists say that if this love fever prevailing around February 14th continues to grow every year then India will definitely be a superpower by 2020. So all you young lovebirds ask that female or male bird out, (one that’s been chirping at a Barista or a CCD near you) you’ll be doing your country a great favour. India Shining!

Lady in white

[Lady in White can you tell me how I got here?]

"Shit! Where were you?" said Scott with a smile and an expression of relief.
"Just late! Just late!" replied Ratin.
"I am taking a break, your turn to get this place up!" Scott said as he cleared out the vinyl and CDs from the decks.
"No problem. As long as they don’t dig Punjabi MC, I am fine with it." Ratin said with a wink, "and I’ll see you back here within an hour."
"Sure thing! If the music doesn’t kill you and the floor first!"
They both laughed as Scott picked up his jacket and made his way backstage.

[Lady in White, can you tell me why you treat me as if I were a baby? I sure don’t like it.]

There were hundreds of people on the floor. Some were here to get away from things, others mostly to celebrate. The getting away part never helped, he knew that, he had tried it. The drugs, the alcohol, the music eventually made you come back full circle. Left you wondering why you started that circle in the first place. But the music alone had the power and he felt it, every time he played here or was on his way back home; the music drifting in his earphones. It was the one thing that made everything else sublime and made life worth living.
He looked at the people on the dance floor. A lot of them did not know how to dance; they were flaying their arms in all directions. Hell! There were those who were way too good at it. There were some who were just standing there listening to the music, probably under influence. And of course there was that one pretty female as always whom he noticed in the crowd. As usual he placed a bet in his head; as to whether she would at some point of time smile at him.

[Lady in White, what’s there in that bottle you carry? It tastes sick!]

Life passes you by, a sort of fast-forward in between the pauses of your plans. His was no rags to riches story. Good family, good life. Some people, like him, get the generous genie of life that lets one live his dreams. Others, at times, get a genie that just kicks you in the face and tells you to live your own life. One that tells you that dreaming is for dreamers. He had the money, and the itsy-bitsy fame that came with his profession, but the music was the only real thing while it all lasted.

[Lady in White, turn the light off. It’s too white and bright!]

The song was slowly reaching its peak. The beats, the people, the kaleidoscope of lasers and lights, his Console made a beautiful and serene scene. A sense of serenity that does not come with silence but with the rush of the blood through your veins and into your head.
He smiled to himself. He could live forever like this. To live is beautiful and to live life the way you want to, even more so.

[Lady in White, can you tell me what am I doing here? I want to go back. It took me a long time to get to the end of the rainbow.]

"Embrace me! Surround me! As the rush comes!" the vocals screamed.
He felt the music surround him; he felt the colours dance with him. He looked down. The pretty face in the crowd smiled back at him. He won the bet this time too (he always won either way). He threw his head back and spread his arms and jumped up with the beats. He was the sultan of his rainbow kingdom, the sultanate of music, lights and colour.

[Lady in White, we are all mortals aren’t we? Why is it so? Can’t we go on living forever?]

No one saw it coming. He felt himself thrown back. There was a sharp pain in his abdomen, as if someone had just squeezed his guts out. He heard the deafening noise of the explosion and the fireball that engulfed the dance floor. He thought he heard himself scream in anguish, in pain, in a desperate attempt not to let go.
Strange, if he were dying shouldn’t the scenes from his life flash past him? Or was it all just a cliché, something that happened only in the movies. Worse still, had they already flashed past and that pretty smile in the crowd was all that now remained of them.
The roof caved in. He felt the dust and cement mix with the gushing blood in his mouth. He tasted death. Then the darkness engulfed him.

[Lady in White, I am screaming! Can you not hear me? I don’t want to let go!]

The nurse, dressed immaculately in her whites picked up the crying baby. The mother looked on tired, but glad, the happiness stemming from the act of creation.
"He must have had a bad dream," said the nurse, "they say little babies dream of their previous life, the first few days."
"And you believe that?" the mother asked.
"It makes it reassuring you know, you mess up in this life, you can always cover up in the other," she replied. The mother smiled. The baby stopped screaming.
The nurse put the baby back in its crib. On television an ordinary looking newsreader said in an excited tone:
"The Police are yet to find any leads in the twin club bombings in Goa. The two simultaneous attacks during the New Year celebrations have left, till date, 173 dead and almost 450 severely injured. No terrorist group has claimed responsibility for the attacks yet…"

[Lady in White, what use is a second shot when you know the first one was your best?]