The Truth...

I now firmly believe that this is an axiomatic truth:

The amount and intensity of rain is directly proportionate to the number of clothes you have washed.

(The correlation works even better if you have woollens to be dried.)

[ Nevertheless it’s fun to have the rains here... jamke barso :) ]

Wish...fulfilled...

Finally and after a fairly long and painful wait lady-luck yielded and blessed my abode with wondrous drops from the sky. It’s hard to express the joy and that strange euphoric feeling when the sky was suddenly taken over by visitors from the land of rain. And unlike some of the previous occasions when to my utter dismay the visits were woefully short and ended without a chance of even the initial pleasantries, this time we had a long and wonderful conversation.

There is a strange beauty in rains after a long and seemingly endless summer. The dark skies, the fierce wind, the roar of the furious clouds, the lightning flashes across the length and breadth of a cowering sky...and finally with a sublime suddenness the sweet downpour. The trees getting drenched and swaying in the wind ...maybe there’s a song on their lips... tiny puddles on the ground growing bolder with each little drop...little streams flowing along happily with often a dry leaf hitching a merry ride on it...

And nothing can match the joy of sipping a hot cup of tea (with a hint of ginger of course...) and nice little onion pakodas while chatting to a group of friends or reading your favourite novel sitting in the verandah listening to the sweet song of the drizzle outside. Again nothing can be as soothing as the sound of raindrops on your terrace and on the window-panes when you are going to sleep...cosily wrapped up in your favourite quilt.

Ummm... I think I can smell the tea and the pakodas... bon appétit...

A Rain-wish...

Day after day, as a scorching summer sky bereft of even the tiniest speck of cloud imaginable greeted me in all its horrifying glory, my heart yearned for a dark rainy afternoon with dark grey rainclouds jostling for space in the sky... trees bathed in the sweet drizzle swaying gently in the intoxicating monsoon breeze.

I yearned for the wet cold feeling that you have when the sky that’s opened up generously drops big drops of rain on your outstretched open palms. I yearned for the sound of the drizzle as it hit the window panes dancing wildly in the wind outside. My eyes were parched and in some corner there was still a hope that in some distant realm there was an army of clouds which was getting ready to sweep in and quench my eternal thirst.

As the evenings stumbled in bringing in its wake a numbing darkness I fervently wished that in the utter blackness of the night the sky would conjure up silvery tufts which would soon grow up into dark rainclouds...

Rain...I’m waiting...

Fear of the Dark...

And it would soon be dark...

The alleys would put on long dark shadows and the trees which till a little while ago were glistening in the evening sun’s farewell embrace would suddenly become black hazy creatures ominously swaying in the cold breeze. The hills faraway which were so comforting in their bluish green attire suddenly transformed into pitch black monsters looming large on the horizon. The nice cosy corner beneath the tall trees that one had made clearing the bushes which till an hour ago was a safe abode and a den ...all mine...suddenly felt alien and scary. An apprehension...an unknown fear... and then we would rush out in panic towards where father would be taking a stroll.

And a place which was so comforting...so familiar...so endearing... would become an unknown realm inhabited by unknown entities from an unknown world. A fertile imagination would create shadows which would lurk behind the bushes just where the ball had gone and was still lying. Was it also scared? At night lying besides an elder brother or sister who specialised in weaving the spookiest of stories located in the immediate surroundings the mind would recreate horrors beyond imagination plunging into the scariest of adventures.

And yet as the sun would reappear and bathe everything in a joyous light the mind would lock up all the ghosts and the creatures from the unknown lands in some corner of our little brain and we would comfortably return to the cosy corner and feel at home.

Yes, all of us have, at one time or the other in our childhood days, been through such experiences.

And later as we grew up we rationalised the fear of the dark as the fear of the unknown. We argued that it was common for any living creature. For we appreciated unpredictability as long as it did not wrench control out of our hands.

And as we grew up those sweet litte ‘fears’ gave way to bigger ‘worries’. For we hardly had time. With tensions as big as career, job and postings, projects, deadlines and presentations one hardly had time for the little monsters that were patiently waiting...locked up in some little forgotten corner of our, now big and often bloated brains. The days and the nights, the sun and the hills, the trees and the shadows...all waited patiently as we lost ourselves in this blinding maze called ‘life’.

So when on answering the bell, I found aash (a close friend of mine) standing outside and asking me if she could be with me because her room was scary and haunted and because after dark it felt really ominous...that the stairs besides her room was locked, dark and unused... the ‘grown-up me’ just brushed aside her apprehensions and made a joke out of it and coaxed her to be accompanied by me to her room. And to make her more comfortable as I neared the room I declared that I would go beyond the huge cooler at the end and descend the ‘locked, dark and unused’ stairs.

As we neared her room which was the corner-most the ‘grown-up me’ took confident steps and I crossed the cooler and was hidden from view. Before me lay a row of steps, dark and hazy, with a thousand different shadows, as if winding down to an unknown world. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation and goose-bumps erupted.

I came back and triumphantly declared that there was absolutely nothing to be scared of and also put in a few intelligent sentences about how humans feared the unknown and how we were control freaks. Maybe aash was convinced or maybe not...

Walking back to my room I reflected on the experience. A smile came to my lips. After all these years I had again liberated those little monsters that had till now been locked up in some distant corner of my mind. And once again I was ready to plunge into another adventure...

Yeh Hai IPL Meri Jaan !

The bowler, a young strappy young lad, into his twenties and already with a reputation of being a pacer with a bright future, running in...a perfect run-up leading on to a smooth delivery action which generates quite some pace given his 6 ft+ well built frame...

A batsman waiting patiently on the other side, a battle hardened warrior, who’s had his sun-shine and has gracefully walked into the sun-set leaving a glorious legacy behind...but the hunger in the eyes still intact...

And then the bowler lets go a delivery which on any other day would have been a fairly decent one...but not this time... the batsman shifts his weight flawlessly and in one swift and elegant motion picks the ball over the onside field...the ball goes high and keeps climbing...until its flight is stopped by the top row of the huge stands of the stadium...the bowler stands in awe as his bewildered eyes trace the flight of the ball...soaring as if it had a life of its own...

This for me among many more unforgettable moments sums up the IPL 20-20 tournament held in South Africa this year. The bowler in question...poor chap... was young Pradip Sangwan. He definitely has a very good future ahead despite the narration above. The batter (who literally and single-handedly battered a tough opposition that evening) was Adam Gilchrist, who ultimately went on to lift the winner’s trophy of the 2nd edition of the 20-20 extravaganza.

The tournament which was in the middle of a storm even before it had started due to the controversy regarding the venue (what the...in today’s sat-TV driven world it would have been a great hit even if played in Bwindi National Park in Uganda...corporate objections aside...) started off in style and despite some predictions that this time it would end with a whimper maintained a steady acceleration. But no one could have probably predicted the twist and turns towards the ending stages that lent the tournament its flair. As Kolkata Knight Riders (who forgot to dismount and start playing until it was too late) suddenly jumped to life and sunk two heavy-weights IPL was truly alive and rife with possibilities. Then came the string of upsets as Goliaths like Chennai Super Kings and Delhi Daredevils were brushed aside by the last edition ‘s bottom two teams to set up an exciting final.

And what a final it was. As Kumble uprooted Gilchrist’s stump with a third-ball-of-the-match beauty the battle was well and truly on. From then on it was a nerve-wracking see-saw duel between two evenly matched teams until the Baba Gutkha Most Valuable Player of the Tournament Robin –‘I am dumber than the dumbest’- Utthappa came to the pitch and spoilt it all. No offence to Deccan but that worthless display of utter lack of cricketing brains did ultimately take some shine off a brilliant come-from-behind victory. Those last three horrible overs where our ‘Most Valuable Player’ lost the plot and how were probably the only blot in an otherwise spectacular tournament.(Though the closing ceremony was worse and I leave it for another day...)

Nevertheless this edition of the IPL would be remembered for the glorious display of cricketing skills by the veterans...the likes of Kumble, Tendulkar, Kallis , Jayasuriya, Dravid, Gilchrist...the list goes on...who on any given day can still give any team a run for their money. As usual this edition also threw up some exciting new stars on the horizon...Manish Tiwari, Kamran Khan, Karan Goel among others. But the stars of the tournament were players like Rohit Sharma, Yusuf Pathan and Ross Taylor who single-handedly tore into attacks and staged miraculous rescues. This IPL was truly a spectacular extravaganza of skills and leadership and at the end of the day the trophy deservingly went to the best team.

Meanwhile rumours are ripe that our very own Robin Utthapa will be the main attraction of the anxiously awited and soon to be held IPL 20-20...err... International Potato-smashers League. The spectacular tournament will host three super tems- the Ultadanga Ultras, the Bhekulimara Bombers and the Kaanchrapara Komets- captained by ...err...Robin himself. The fourth team which will be an international one is yet to be decided. But based on performance, both Zimbabwe and Bangladesh seem to be strong contenders. The teams will be coached by John Buchanan and Guru Greg will be the chief consultant. Dada is reported to be very disappointed as he again missed the top-job. Meanwhile Robin has already started intense net practice sessions with the fresh-of-the season Chandramukhi Potatoes. The venue is a major controversy but there’s a huge possibility that Bwindi National Park in Uganda will finally have its first cricket tournament.

Dhat silly rumours...

‘dnbskfrllffgrsh’

Is it important to make sense
Is it necessary to have meaning

And who would anyway understand

The world’s anyway an insane place you see

And where shall I carry all the burden of meaning

I would much rather love to run free
In the vast wide open expanses

Where there are no fences

Raised up by meaning...where there are no walls

Of sense and coherence

Where you say something

And nobody understands

And yet everyone’s at peace

Because no one has to understand

And words tumble free
Unshackled and unbound
I can find ‘me’

Idling Away...

What do I write ...?

Why is it that when you try to write something words just dry out? Thoughts evaporate and the mind becomes blank and listless like the summer sky at NADT. Methinks writing is truly (and to extend Wordsworth’s thoughts) the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions. That there’s something which triggers the torrent of words and gives it a shape. Now that ‘something’ is what evades most of us most of the time until suddenly unknown and unseen it creeps in stealthily in some corner of our minds and an urge is born. I call it the writer’s agony. Its like a strange pain which continues to throb until you dissolve it in the ink that flows from your pen or the rhythmic clicks of your keyboard.

Anyway while I was meandering through a lot of irrelevant and often completely meaningless stuff I chanced upon these quotes on the art of writng. And I leave it here for you to read for atleast there should be something worth reading in this post. So here goes...

We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. -Anne Lamott

Writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted. -Jules Renard

Every word written is victory against death. –Michel Butor

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. -Anais Nin

And finally the one that I was looking for...

Forget all the rules. Forget about being published. Write for yourself and celebrate writng. -Melinda Hatnes.

Adieu...

THE HAND THAT PLUCKED THE LOTUS (and pushed it aside...)

Well the biggest democratic exercise is over. Phew! Once the counting starts one really gets an idea of how BIG this nation of ours is!

I really liked the snazzy way in which NDTV had designed their dedicated internet page on the elections. It was extremely user friendly with a real feel of ‘information at the click of a mouse’.

On the other hand IBN’s page was a little shoddy and difficult to operate. Nevertheless it had some interesting features like the slide at the bottom-half of the page showing the victory or the downfall of birds of the same feather...PM hopefuls, tainted (yet hopefuls), mavericks(whatever that was) and so on.

And as our politicos waited for the verdict to be out the media had a field day lapping up the happenings all around (despite the fact that the really colourful ‘ishtaar’ kept his gates closed to the media till 4 in the afternoon, courtesy Indian Express 17.05.09). And what a verdict it was. Is it a faint sign that we as a nation have started thinking? That we have finally started weighing pros and cons? Only time will tell...

{Meanwhile rumour has it that Lalu had a debacle this time because Nitish had a better looking and ishtyliss helicopter than him...dhat...silly rumours :) }

{Will have a detailed write-up soon. Let me go and get some more silly rumours :) }

Of Cockroaches and Law...

So finally it happened. Despite my fervent prayers no earthquake occurred, the faculty building was as intact and as scary as ever and instead of rubble and chaos a perfectly serene morning greeted me with a sarcastic smile.” Now where shall you hide?” It seemed to remark with that look which shrinks you a zillion times.

As I woke up I could hear people outside. People getting ready for the war that was to ensue in a couple of hours. Infact some early birds were already in battle-gear. For a moment nothing made sense as I again messed my sense of time, place and era which I usually do when I wake up from sleep.(I usually wake up thinking that I’m in Guwahati and have to go to college when I’m at Nagpur and the reverse happens when I am at home.)

But one look at my table straight up ahead and I was jolted back to reality. The ultra-thick book was the exalted I-T Act and below that was the Gupta and Ahuja and half open and fluttering menacingly in the cooler air was the Hand-book on Salaries which had been opened for the first time just the night before. It seemed that they were all demons from the nether-world ready to pounce at me any moment. For a moment I wished fervently that I somehow wake up in Guwahati and do have to go to college instead of facing the home test.

Yes, that was what the scary reality was. It was the day of the first paper of the first home test. A lengthy question paper on I-T theory (without books) was lying in ambush somewhere close by. Despite unending hours of wasting time at the billiards table trying to escape reality and aimless discussions on the worthlessness of the home tests I wasn’t able to escape it after all. And here I was sitting in my bed contemplating a messed up table in front of my bed and an even messed up day that would unfold soon.

“You have faced more difficult exams a million times before... And this is not an exam after all...Nothing really matters...You will write something...Chalta hai be...” Despite all these vague attempts at reassuring myself there was something sinister about the home-tests that was psyching me out. May be it was the realization that I had not prepared at all and that finally there would be no CA or a KTP (Kind Type Probationer) to bail me out and I have to finally face the dreaded duo of law and accounts-two things which occur quite high in my ‘most hated’ list.

Maybe it was the knowledge that with a face that mirrors a thousand nerds I was quite safe from the probing gaze of the faculty which would pounce on a hapless soul trying to have a little fun here and there and haul him and shove him in the burning hell-fire of a bonds, debentures, consignment accounts, debits, credits and conduct rules.(Let me clarify that notwithstanding anything thought by anyone ‘he’/ ‘him’ includes ‘she’/’her’ without prejudice ) And with some smart questioning tactics (though I always had my doubts on the validity of the questions or even their sense!) I would camouflage my glorious ignorance and coat it with an intellectual gaze which till now was working quite well in the class-room sessions. No wonder despite being shifted to the front rows I had still managed to sit at the back and sleep without being detected even once even when others were being singled out.

What was best was that this also worked with your colleagues who would rate me quite high on the knowledge scale (I mean knowledge of the hell-fire type. P.S.- see above).So I could sleep gloriously and wander to far off realms while all the time others would think that its a great mind of a boring KTP at work.

But now I was faced with a crisis. The home tests had the potential of bringing down the curtains on my excitingly boring world. If I flunked (and there was no doubt I would) I would be a big blip on the radar of both the faculty and colleagues. The faculty would take notice and soon the decoy would be discovered while the colleagues would also discover sudden interest at finding one of their own kinds. What this meant was that my excitingly boring world would be torn to shreds with unsolicited attention of various kinds. Added to this was the spectre of extra remedial classes and even more boring sermons on how to cope up with I-T. Needless to say sitting on my bed for a moment I wished fervently that I somehow wake up in Guwahati and do have to go to college instead of facing the home test.

But this also made me realise some truths. Though as usual it made sense only to me and despite trying I could not capture its slippery fluidity, nevertheless I have tried to somehow hold it and paste it here. So I warn you beforehand that what you are going to read may not make any sense at all. Nevertheless I would go ahead with the profound realizations that I have had. They are as follows:

At NADT there are various kinds of creatures. There are the lions namely the Chartered Accountants who stroll regally putting all other creatures in awe and seamlessly come out of difficult sums when creatures like me are still contemplating whether to scream or run away.

Then there are the tigers namely the Lawyers. These creatures are masters getting the meaning of endlessly convoluted and boring sentence which go by the name of ‘sections’ of the Act. And by dint of their sheer ability to decode any amount of undecipherable mumbo-jumbo they are right at the apex along with the lions.

Then there are foxes and hyenas who are the engineers and commerce graduates (not necessarily in that order) who are masters at adapting to the situation. So when the lion or the tiger makes the kill and have their fill these creatures rule the roost.

Then there are the simple herbivores who strive endlessly by consuming endlessly. So you see them succeeding by merely devouring up any amount of theory and then ruminating over them to extract the meaning.

And finally there are cockroaches of which species I am a proud member of. These creatures are survivors. Running from one dark spot to the other to evade exposure these creatures are masters at dodging discovery by various means. But these are also one of the most worthless creatures who are just wasting time in sleep or any other pursuit except studies.
Now since I am a member of this species allow me to describe it a little more. The cockroaches also are not a homogenous group. Unfortunately and to the utter dismay of Marx, The cockroaches also have a well defined class structure though it may not be as rigid as that of their near neighbours-the humans.

Thus there are cockroaches who are the proletariat-they are an object of ridicule and everyone has given up on them including themselves. They themselves also have accepted this fact and therefore they openly indulge in more exciting activities than deciphering the I-T Act and Balance sheets. Thus they can crawl openly in the light without the fear of being swatted into oblivion. Then there are cockroaches who are the upper-middle class. They are the ones who are thought to have some potential but are thought to have no will or motivation. Finally there is the bourgeoisie. The highest yet the most worthless class of cockroaches of which I am a stellar example. These cockroaches have a exo-skeleton which resemble the lions or at the very least the foxes and the hyenas. Thus they roam round without the fear of being breached as long as there is no test to pass through. But the moment there’s a test of ability these cockroaches run the risk of being exposed and then mercilessly battered to submission. Needless to say sitting on my bed for a moment I wished fervently that I somehow wake up in Guwahati and do have to go to college instead of facing the home test.

I did have many more profound realizations but lemme keep it for some other clime for now I can hear hurried footsteps of battle hardened warriors and the glorious roar of the lions and tigers while I still sit in my bed and wish fervently that I somehow wake up in Guwahati and do have to go to college instead of facing the home test...

Disclaimer: (As worthless as the cockroach in question) Nothing personal here. So nobody should take any offence especially the tigers, the lions and the foxes and hyenas :) Treat it as (il)legal fiction created :) there you go again...

My first post...

And as I type in these letters I come into being. But who is this 'I'. 'I' could be anything. The smile on a little child's face when she sees her mother. The joy on a father's face when he sees his son beat him at chess. The glance of a lover as he tries to get as much of his beloved's face as he can.The list could go on.

And yet the it remains unsolved.

But as I sit giving shape to my meandering thoughts I sense a strange vacuum. A gnawing in my heart. And I am forced to redefine my 'I'.

I become the hungry stare of the child standing beneath the flyover with her brother in her arms, peering into an uncertain future.I become the blank gaze of the girl at the platform who still waits for someone to arrive and take her away.I become the despair in the life of one who has failed again despite his best effort.

I am the last leaf on the autumn tree. Waiting for the breeze to set me free...



{Imported from my blog 'The last leaf on the autumn tree' which I cannot operate anymore 'cause I have comfortably digested the login id and password without a trace :( }

LifeScapes-I

Walking down the long meandering road of life many a time you arrive at such junctures when you feel that this is where you belong and this is what you want the rest of your life to be. Needless to say such momentary thoughts which sometimes are quite strong often turn out to be driven more by sudden emotional surges rather than substance. Nevertheless since every single part of the journey that’s called life is special such moments are to be cherished and thus without being an exception to the rule I shall narrate excerpts from my own journey.

The first instance was very early in life when I fell in love for the first time. I was very young and there was a girl in my class who I thought was the most beautiful thing that God almighty could have created. As I sat in the class my whole energy would go in trying to look at her as long as possible without being detected by friends, the teacher and especially other girls. Though each factor mentioned above could create huge problems the last factor that is the ‘other girls’ had absolutely catastrophic capabilities as far as my germinating love story was concerned.

And many had learnt it the hard way. S my friend who was also my brother- in-arms in the matter of having lost his heart had been targeted with surgical strikes of loud comments and unending teasing sessions aimed with clinical precision so much so that the girl in question had done the ultimate unthinkable. She had bought a dreaded piece of a small thread like weapon which also went by the name of ‘Rakhi’ in our circles in the middle of September and in full view of the whole class tied it to the wrist of S thus marking indelibly the end of any possibility of a relationship.

I still remember the horror in the eyes of S as he stood before the whole class ready to be slaughtered, and the pain with which he maintained a smile in his face. That evening I had promised myself that death would be better than such dishonour. I also remember the pleasure in the eyes of that amoebic formation called the ‘other girls’ as they devoured the moment in suppressed giggles and audible remarks. Its another story that exactly a couple of months later the torturous ritual repeated itself and this time it was I who stood there like a frog trapped in a glass bottle. But the good thing is that somehow dishonour got the better of death and I survived.

Nevertheless to get back to the actual point those days I just hoped that somehow the flow of time should stop so that I could keep looking at her on and on and on. Sitting at the last but one bench and comfortably covered by N who was much taller than me I felt immensely fortunate that God gave me the opportunity to look at her as much as I wanted even though all I could manage most of the times was her hair and her starched white shirt. Somehow that was the most pleasurable thing in the world for me at that time...the incurable romantic that I was. Every morning I waited with bated breath for the time when she would get down from the bus and walk to the class touching the flowers by the gate. I made it a point to touch those very flowers just after that. I felt my life was complete and I could live on and on like that. I t was another matter that in a couple of months my blissful world would be shattered and I would be martyred in full view.

(To be continued...)

{ Imported from my blog 'The last leaf on the autumn tree' which I cannot operate anymore as I have comfortably digested the login id and password without a trace :( }