Feel

I feel like i am breaking,

But i will hold on.

I feel like i am withering,

But i will flower on.

I feel acute anger

But i will smile on.

I feel downright insane

But i will go on.

I feel like i burnt a hole

Right in my heart,

But I will heal on.

I feel like feeling again

But, i don’t know yet,

If i could feel on.

-Subha Ramachandran

Let's Talk

I am in denial ,

Complain,I shall.

Reason the wrong,

demolish the right.

Foul , you cry?

And,

you shall watch.

Born,

To two organs

craving work.

Raised, too,

Replicate, Impersonate

Childhood,

wringing rights,

But,

writing wrongs

Adolescence,

Hush, Stop.

Adulthood,

Proletariat?

Shut up.

Work, You will.

Middle age,

Life,left,incomplete.

Death,

Inhaled my last,

Refused to let the breath 'go'

Stifled,

to sing the silent song.

Old Age?

I never grew old.

-Subha Ramachandran

affairs I love

What is it about love stories that have women craving for more? Having grown up on a steady supply of Judith Mcnaught's Kingdom Of dreams, Whitney, My love and many such more, I hopelessly fell in love with the idea of a historic romance. So much so that the obsession even got me into a tricky situation, when months ago, I realized I was living this dream. Soon enough this bubble burst and I recognized my folly and blatantly attributed it to Judith Mcnaught!

Although I am practical when it comes to being practical, realist when its test time and a romantic at mind(!) , I cannot help but accept my love for everything grandeur. Dont you wonder that History is romantic? Thanks, but I dont harbour any sentiments of 'crush' on Bhagat Singh or Hitler. But , what I do harbour is to bathe in the glory of the grand nature of everything english. Its sex, raw greed, pompousness, polished sophistication with more than a hint of malice and their easy approval of their myriad sexcapades. I fantasize heroes, although I cant imagine myself as a damsel in distress, purely because of my lack of self-acknowledged-beauty and the works. Damsels in distress are very pretty , also very irresistible. I wonder if i'd ever qualify for that job and hence in a dignified manner I fade my memory of myself as a damsel-in-distress. But, I still like heroes.

Heroes who have horses, who necessarily dont have to be good-looking or vain. They have to be courageous though. I think I attract courage. I like courage . Courage is such a rare quality. I would love a man who comes with a open mind and a big heart laden with enough courage to confide in me his reasons that interests him about me. I have found very few men who are courageous. All of us are hypocrites hiding behind our own curtains , adjustable ones. I met a spineless man and so spineless was he that unless he proves me wrong in my reading of his varying capacity of spinelessness, I will detest the mere idea of meeting men about whom I dont know much. Spinelessness is a quality that percolates the very texture of our finely-built society. Its a quality we are all born without but like obedient slaves we agree to. And now having met people who are masters at this act , I wonder how much I would love to smash such men's skull into two. You must wonder and be amazed if not delighted about my special bias towards men in this piece. But I must say, with much remorse that women are also party to this quality. Its just their way of acting that distinguishes them in my eyes. Men suppress when spineless, women become old when spineless. I hope you understand old here, you do?

I am not cruel by nature, I am quite nice. Its just that I dislike dishonesty.

I am leaving it here. Not articulated it well.

Rotate

Lets smell each other
bosom rose buddies
near the red riverbank
lets smell each other

your chin is pointed
so is mine
my nose is long
shorter is yours

soon we adjust
soon we impose
soon we dominate
soon we suckle

suckle is passe
squeeze is that
tongue lick lick
tingle toe tinkle

square , round , rotates
still we lie
sweat beads form
still we try

Come, another winter day
my love
you shall see
we will smell each other again
no bosom buddies then, we.

Sono Aisha

I haven't seen the movie yet. Although I plan to. But the reviews are not too good. I have observed something (this time too !). Now, I have been following many reviews over the weekend and have come to the conclusion that most film critic and reviewers either like the use of the word 'Banal ' or simply think the same about the movie. How else would you explain the generous usage of the above mentioned word in almost every third review! Sanjukta Sharma of Mint used it, Mayank Shekhar of HT used it and another movie website used it. What is it with this word ?

Anyway, I guess it will become too banal if I stretch this too far . Adios!

You lier!

I am supposed to be studying right now. I have my exam on this Sunday but, well, what the heck. This , too shall pass, like all else. One thing scary about life is that someday we will grow used to it. I mean, you become immune to malaria, WOW. You become immune to your life threatening mother-in-law, Double WOW. But, you becoming immune to life , sort of scary. I casually lie to myself that this will never happen to me. But , someday , I really don't know how would life shape.

Btw, Do you remember the first time you lied to someone? I know 'the last time' was all too recent, so haven't really bothered to ask that. I remember. I set the foundation at a very young age, mind you. They don't say for nothing that kids are fast learners. That way, I intend to teach my kid trigonometry when she is, say , 5 or 6 . I have a feeling, that I would be saved the headache and cribbing of a teen at a later stage in my life when I am almost reaching dangerously close to the word 'old'.

Yes. Let me take you into flashback. (Random : Is it the season of flashback, with 'once upon a time' and now my blog ?) I stayed at Borivali's MHB colony with my parents. It was a semi- chawl-wadi set up, where residents peeped in to your life with as much transparency as yourself!
They know everything,that yesterday you and your wife decided to ditch the missionary and go for the 69/96, that your brahmin boy secretly wanders off to Mr. Sawant's to taste the oily, semolina coated, delicious fish fry, which was by the way made by shalu, the youngest daughter of the house to impress one Mr. Sonavane , who works in the near by garage and has lost his heart to rekha , the local doodwaalah's daughter. The residents know that Mrs. Gonzales intends to run a small beauty parlour camouflaging her possible intentions of running a massage parlour. They know that 2 weeks before Diwali you will start painting some remote corner of the house and pretend to not have money for any further celebration. etc etc. Life is a series of 'I know- you know' in such houses.

I stayed in MHB Colony till I was 6. In those nascent years I made my best friend, Dinku. I dont quite remember his name, but this is what I called him , then. Dinku was gujarati, fair, big-eyed and had thin, long, brown-black hair reaching upto his knee in a total frame of 2-2.5 ft. I was impressed! His mother, who badly wanted a girl child and was working really hard at it for the second round with the husband, used to dress dinku up in a , well, feminine way. The hair was neatly oiled , uniformly combed, and tied in to two plaits perched atop his tiny ears, like two tiny bulb balls.

Dinku and I decided to play badminton or whatever little we knew of it back then. We got our plastic pink and fluorescent yellow rackets out accompanied with the 'I-don't-live-longer-than-a-day' shuttle cock and reached the passage area between two blocks. We fiddled around with the ensemble for sometime and while we decided to go to our respective houses the shuttle cock fell in the verandah of a family I knew little about. The reason being their ferocious dog that ensured no decent human entered their house. The shuttle was lying right in front of the dog's feet. The dog streched itself and made himself comfortable with the shuttle to his right. The shuttle was mine and since neither Dinku nor I had the courage to go up to fetch the cock , we left it there. We left everything it did in our lives just a few minutes ago there. We forgot that we ever played badminton. We forgot that we came down that day. We shrugged ourselves and walked like any other normal human would. I reached home and coiled on my father's lap. He saw my fluorescent yellow racket(yes, the pink was dinku's) hanging close to the TV set and casually asked me where I had kept my shuttle cock. I froze. I coiled some more and said I didn't know. He asked again and I didnt reply. He asked me again, this time a bit sternly and I said I have forgotten where I had kept it. Not a good reply. He had seen me entering just minutes before this conversation and knew very well that I was playing with dinku. He reminded me of this background and asked yet again. I said I didnt know. Thud. One tight slap on my little rosy cheeks that were tired of being the teacher's pet !He took to down stairs to the crime scene and asked again. I was in tears and didnt have the courage or the energy to confuse an angry lion. I pointed towards the dog. He fetched it and thud again. He told me , you will not learn to lie to your parents at such a young age.

----- The End------

Blocked

I met a man , I met a man
At the cold storage in a blue blue can
the frozen ice decided to melt
giving sight to the cold old man

I was dressed in shimmering yellow,
my presence , I know, melted
cold ice in his four-pipe

Off my mirth,
I saw him warming hands at the fireplace,
so close was his touch, it brought me closer

He of icy demeanor, me of fiery touch
firefly like in the ruined winter castle
except shabby corners, no place could I find

In my search for fire, I forgot what ice thought,
But ice thought, ice thought to leave
shook off the firefly, rattled some hints

Returned to the cold storage never to look back again.

- Subha Ramachandran

Yeh Sunday kya cheez hoti hain?

I was thinking this sunday, while lying on my bed facing the bedroom window, staring at the host of crows seated atop a branch on the jamun tree, curling my curly hair with the forefinger of my right hand, when I suddenly realised 'What if , we never had a sunday'?

I know , for millions, sunday doesnt make a stinking difference, but it does, for me. Coutesy: Joblessness.

What better day to think of Sunday's importance in our lives than on a sunday? Hain na?

My fondest memories of sundays are from my childhood (Usually the words 'fond' and 'fondle' , somehow, find their ways in to our childhood). Till my fourth grade my sundays were quite family-oriented. I would be up by say 8 - 8 :30 and wait for my father to get hot jalebi, khandvi, dhokla and spicy vada pav from the jalaram farsan mart and Azad hind dairy. Mom , dad and I would have a longish break fast till 10:00 with Mahabharata , Sri Krishna, Chandrakanta etc playing on DD. After which would follow a long paper reading session, sunday papers, something I still relish on. Then lunch and some film on surya, star movies and then for an afternoon nap. I hated sunday evening because I had nothing much to do. We still follow this tradition, its lotsa fun.

Actually, Iwanted this post to be silly and funny but am unable to pull words together. I feel very emotional , thinking of this sunday tradition and thinking of what would happen tomorrow when there wont be a 'us' to celebrate it.

Der aayein par durust aayein (yahi hai na?)

Ya ya I know. I have been playing hide and seek with you for a long time. The other day I saw someone dressed in a strange attire standing outside the Mulund police station, all angry, like the Daya from CID. Just that this fellow /thing looked rather confused to flaunt its strength. I went closer to get an exact look and was startled to find a black and white xerox copy of what looked like a A3 size photo of , well, the world famous, super intelligent, Oh-so-good looking- Subha Ramachandran. (Thats me, btw!)

I ran, I did, I did in my new Raw Hide sandals, which according to my married friend resembles her four year old daughter's playschool shoes. Thanks huh, so much for buying Raw Hide!

Ya, so I ran and caught him /it by his shoulder and asked in my broken marathi 'Kay re, Majha fotu gheyon ekde police station chya samor kay kartos? Tu kaun re?' and what you read next will shock the hell outta you! This chap/ thing didnt understand marathi?!?! Ha! He looked at me with a "Waat?' expression on his face and replied in english 'Wat you talking about'?

Fraction of a second: this thing holds me by my arms and starts weeping and says 'Where have you been all this while?, I missed you so much.
Su: Who are you? Take your hands off me!
Thing: Its me. Me. ME.
Su: Ain? Kaun hai yaar tu?
Thing: I am your blog!

Remember the feeling, when you had dropped ink on your dad's important papers (by mistake , of course!) and he confronts everyone in the house asking for 'the person' and you trying your best to busy youself in studying want to simply melt in you shoes and evaporate in thin air? Yes, I felt something similar. My blog came searching for me when I didnt turn up at its door for more than a month. A silent wind of guilt embraced me and I just stared back.

My blog had decided to post a 'WANTED' on my name just to find me. It thought I got lost somewhere. I did, but I have come back. These months have not been too kind to me. People asked me to get out of their lives and vice-versa. But , I have finally found my way back. And I am here to stay.

So, Hi ! I am back. Btw, Dear bloggy , the next time I go missing like this, for whatever reason that may be, instead of searching at the police station, I suggest you try finding me at the nearest Monginis stores. Usually the owner knows me. Curly hair, eats chicken pattice/spicy chicken puff and Sacher with choco chips. You will find me.

Forever yours,
Subha


Afternote/Prayer to god : Thank god I found this thing on the road before Raj Thackeray's men could !

Bathrooms

Meghana.. we like you

This is phenomenal. Wow !Exactly at 7:33PM on a Monday evening , I logged in to my blog and I saw something that made my heart skip a few beats. It sent happy shivers down to , down to my heart, you idiot... aur kidhar nahi! It was a beautiful setting. She was draped in a saree with blue border and strangely the saree had lettering instead of designs. (Curious mind thinking: is it a Sabyasachi creation? No sweety, its a Subhyasachi creation!) She looked beautiful. Yes, we are not talking about Meghana. We are talking about my blog. But Meghana did make it extra beautiful. She is my bloggy's third follower. My lucky number three has Meghana written on my blog! Wow... I am on seventh heaven. (What a statement! iss gharmi mein 3rd floor pe hi jaan jaa rahi hain meri, seventh pe mein zinda bhi rahoongi kya? I guess thats why it is seventh heaven, hain na? you reach the seventh floor and die and you go to heaven!)

Ya, She even commented on the post Master of Minds. I wrote back. She gets a special prize. You don't. This post is dedicated to Meghana for making the remaining of my sour Monday really sweet. Thank you Meghana. We louve you Meghana.

My blog lost its virginity as soon as it was born. At a tender age of 12 days someone visited my blog and stole away her virginity. He is one of my buddies. But that apart, now my blog has been constantly dealing with a lot of clients... hehe. They all come to her. They scrutinize her. They play with her. They enjoy her company. They even laugh because she manages to make them laugh. They say they really like her. They say she is so beautiful that they will follow her. They say that they will hang her photo in their houses because she really deserves that sort of attention. Jhoote kahike! Sab aakar mazza lootkar gaye. Sirf pyari Meghana ne mere bloggy ko sahara diya. Subrato diya. Sirf ussne pyar ka sacha ishar kiya. Mere blog par comment kiya.

She made bloggy's day. Bloggy is going to be forever indebted to her for this. She is the first person to comment on my blog. She said some really good words. How can I ever show how much, it has really made my day.

The 'we' here is my blog. Its letters, some alone , some in groups making beautiful words, some beautiful words making memorable sentences. Of course how can I miss out those punctuations that came alive when Meghana commented on bloggy. They came to life, danced with joy, sang to me , questioned me, excited me and exclaimed in joy. Each atom of my blog wants to thank you Meghana for fulfilling that long cherished dream, of being able to see that my writing not only made people laugh , see, smile, think etc. It made them write back to me on the same platform through which I tried reaching them. Thank you.

Everyday people visited my blog, but none ever commented on anything I wrote. How depressed I would feel. How I would silently pray that atleast one , someone says something. But no one ever did. How much that broke my heart. I was almost chasing this dream. I woke up in the middle of the night and cried over my misfortune. No one ever commented on anything I wrote . But now, spring has come . I will be the cherry and the spring will do things to me. It will make me happy.

Someone commented. Meghana. Thanks. Keep coming back.

Master of Minds

This is a beautiful topic. I would want to do full justice to it, but even if I cannot, there will be no love lost between us. Again, someday I will attempt to write this topic and wait to know If I have really done any justice to it.

I am listening to Postales from Namesake and I feel like dancing, singing, loving, laughing , and strangely so, evaporating in thin air. What a feeling!

How many of you like to dream ? Day- dream? I love day-dreaming. Day- dreaming is for two kinds of people. They comprise this universe. The one who turns those dreams into reality and the one who doesn't. I can safely say that I belong in both and more so in the latter. Its contrary and its saddening. I am sure If my father reads this post and my acceptance of not being able to belong to the dream turned into reality category, he would be upset. But I seem to harbour no ill feelings towards myself, which is very surprising , considering I am quite self-critical.

You know, I am feeling very happy lately, so I am going to write on something that makes me feel even happier. Master of minds is a simple topic, my attempt to decipher how much I love my mind. Slightly ambitious , but this is also my attempt to make people fall in love with their minds. I know, very ambitious. And, I'd love to know If you have fallen in love with your mind after reading this, or love your mind more or less.

Its been with me for such a long time. Its my witness to everything I have done, I have seen. It stays with me , It wants me. It grows on me, it grows with me. It tells me , It talks to me, It laughs at me , with me, it cries for me and it loves me. It demands no attention, no love, no money, no time, no nothing.No credit cards, no phone bills, no take me shopping pleas, no I don't like your mother and no I need my personal space. Wow! My mind is definitely not a woman. Having said that I also know that its not a man. It is not chivalrous, sometimes it hides beneath the dark corridors of my heart and refuses to let me in or come out. Sometimes it is too scared of my brain. Its love doesn't make my heart melt, its touch doesn't drive me wild. Its not a man.

It is an it. It is a space. Its , I think its a tree. My mind is a tree so we shall call it mind tree. And its not subroto bagchi, but me who is popularizing it here.

The mind to a child
I can dream. I can fly. I can make the whole world mine. I can aspire , I can inspire. I cant locate where it is though.

The mind to me
I have been the happiest in my mind. I have fallen in love in my mind. I have made love in my mind. I have bathed myself in gorgeous blue - green water, looked at the moonlit sky and have felt my beauty in my mind. I have won over you, I have fought with you in my mind. I have gone red in my mind. I have apologised in my mind. When away, I have been thinking of you, falling for you in my mind. I have been talking to you in my mind. When sad, I have been crying to you in my mind. I have been a mother in my mind. I have been a lover in my mind. I have played many roles in my mind. So much have I done in my mind that I think I am quite a success.In my mind. I am powerful, leader-like, superb, beautiful, flawless, awe-inspiring and so much more. In my mind.

I am in my mind so much so that I feel my mind deserves the most beautiful place in my body. Very close to my heart. For sure. Very close to my breast. Sometimes, as a woman you tend to think from multiple locations. Hence.

No, Its not been a great attempt but I am excited thinking of the next time I get to write this topic all over again.

Salla Vegetarian

What is it? I want to write so much on this topic , I don't know what to say. Too many thoughts make for a complicated post :(

I was watching Animal Planet. In 'We-don't-have-food-to-eat-but-we-are-always-on-TV-land', the Cheetah , Dear and Wild beast share the same room. The Cheetah is the non-vegetarian here and I really like him . Please, this has nothing to do with me being a non-veg lover. I watch TV without any bias. I am not at all prejudiced. I am a fair human being . (Guess what , I am the fair sex as well .. )

What is the use of being born as a vegetarian in animal kingdom? Please tell me. The dear is good-looking , agreed, makes for good photos, eats the grass that god made. And? That's it. That's all there is to its life. Sooner or later it becomes prey to the cheetah, lion etc etc. Now my irritation with almost all vegetarian animals is this that they are super dumb.

Imagine Situation I:

The Indian barasingha is grazing. There are two barasinghas grazing now. All of a sudden a cheetah comes from behind, betraying all possible signs of warning and tries to attack the barasingha. Peeps, lets not forget that the name is 'barasingha' meaning twelve -horned! Now , If you and I had twelve horns, what all could we have done. For starters, We would all have longer mirrors at home. We will all be Horney, Oh so horney, Literally. The Indian government will think twice before asking people to wear helmets. We can add Horn polisher to our list of hair accessories. Paris Hilton will design a new range of horn stickers that you can stick to your horns and make them look, well, different , from the other horns. Mahesh Bhatt will want to grow his horn downwards from his head so that he can put it to multi-use , scratching becomes easier , you know. Yes, so on and so forth, shouldn't let my imagination take its toll on you. Kya aap dil ke mareez hain? Kripya karke mere blog par na aayein. Aapke heart beat tez hone ka karan mein ho sakhthi hoon, per mera yeh bichara blog nahi!

Ya, now that you are convinced that we can really put the horns to good use apart from self-defense of course, we will get back to what the barasingha does. It runs. Yes , It runs, when it sees the cheetah chasing him. It can't run as fast as the cheetah you know. But, it can surely defend itself with those beautiful horns. But will he use his brains to do that? No! They use their kickass horns to fight among themselves. How cool is that? and why do they fight? To win the female's attention! If they could use this same god-given horns to save their life , nobody, not even a cruel person like me would call them dumb! Yes , there have been times when they have given it back to the enemy, but they are so few!

Wild beast any day wins the 'Hey-you-can't-ever-be-dumber-than-me' award. They travel in packs. They are so many in numbers. Whatever happened to the 'united we stand, divided we fall' thingy? You can rummage right through this thick pack of wild beasts , find yourself your fav one, attack him , have him for lunch. Yes, no resistance from any other wild beasts , they are all busy playing 'who reaches the river bank first' to pay heed to such trivial incidents.

If my thinking is wrong or incomplete,tell me please. I have begun to hate these stupid vegetarian animals!

Confessions of a liftman

I love this topic! I have always wanted to write on something as interesting as this. Although I don't know how I am going to take this ahead, but I feel very good about this topic.

Lets bring some discipline in to this entry. We will categorically attack all the lift men and squeeze their stories out using cctv cameras.

Confessions of a Government Office building lift man:
I have been working here for a long time. Of course I got this job as soon as my father, the erstwhile liftman for the past 23 years decided to have excess of taadi and fall sick. He had been drinking while on duty for a long time and was proud that for 23 years no babu raised an eyebrow against him. Some in fact were friendly enough to share a peg or two from the Rajnigandha taadi that my dad specially bought from Marol. This perennial supply of taadi kept my dad drunk and happy. I was bad at studies and my dad being uber cool never pressurised me to study hard or make anything out of my life. He , obviously guaranteed me a job at his workplace. He told me he had his own cabin, that went up and down with the speed of a super fast Dombivili train. That his cabin had a small fan just for himself was an even bigger achievement. He said that a lot of people came to see him everyday and so revered was his position in the babu office that no one, absolutely no one met any babu without first meeting my father. Now how cool is that?

The only complain he ever had was that they didn't provide him a cushion chair or stool at his workplace. This complain didn't merit much attention as the babu office, full of nice men forever stealing something or the other from their office stationery etc gave my dad an old cushion in return for a few sips of the famous taadi while in the lift, that had more holes for ventilation than anything else. But he was happy. He was a man of few needs , I must say.

After he left for his sickly abode, I have taken over the reins. They respect me a lot and have also offered me a post in the new lift that covers all the floors !!! And guess what, I, unlike my drunk father do not have to pass my time sitting on a ventilated cushion , but am being given a cushion chair with a AC in my own cabin, which by the way, runs like a rajdhani. Dombivili fast is passe'. The only thing I miss a lot is the creaking wooden open door that has been replaced with a stainless steel looking material. The creaky wooden door had side openings from where I could occasionally spit the tobacco I always had, and the brown color of the door camouflaged any mucous or ear wax that I would stick to it after accidentally digging them out in times of frustration.

But all said and done I am very happy with my life. I am sure that my son who hasn't shown any aptitude in anything remotely useful will make good use of his father's position and will take the family name ahead in this tradition. Btw, his name is Roshan.


Confessions of a 30 floor sky scraper's liftman

I am from Ghaziabad and have been a bachelor for as long as I remember. At times , I used to feel very lonely, knowing fully that all my brothers, madhur, giridhar and shyam had married and were highly active on bed with their tigress wives. I also wanted a tigress for myself. Just the thought of mating sent shivers down to you know where.I unlike all my three brothers would have been more economical in giving birth to my tiger cubs, considering life is not easy in Delhi. But all I have is a cow. No no chee chee... not for mating. The cow is my mother's gift to me as I her first born was without a tigress. She felt bad and gave me her cow, which at least gave me milk at regular intervals. But even she is old.

This feeling of being dejected I felt till last month , in my old job as a lift man for a dull 7 floor building. But my new job here at the 30 storey sky scraper has made me young. I feel O la la!
Here there are lots of colourful things to see. Mrs. Mehrotra's daughter Tina (very pretty , very pretty, not a tigress though) has an affair with Mr. Khanna's son Puneet. They do lots of things in the lift when there is no one but me. I feel quite hard down there. Nice feeling .The other day I almost heard a gasp when Puneet (naughty boy) put his hand inside Tina's shirt. Tina was very embarrassed due to my presence but that didn't stop her from putting her hand inside Puneet's pants. My god. Tiger and tigress in the making.

Mrs. Bhalla is hot. She is the most beautiful thing on that 30 storey building. My fingers itch to run my hand through her lovely, dark , long jet black hair. My hands are ever ready to pounce on those juicy Langras that are big, round and so full. Her buttocks are mashallah! Even a simple saree that looks bland on Mrs. Sharma and Ms. Kumar looks like hot property on Mrs. Bhalla. Every now and then she will drop something from her heavy hand bag and more often that not her self-pride will never let her ask me, a liftman , to do the needful. Ever so enterprising, Mrs. Bhalla will herself bend down to take that thing. And mind you when she bends, she makes a lot of things straight. Real straight. Uff... She is too much for me. I have already sung duets with her in my dreams.

The only foul smelling creature is this one Mr. Gupta who is busy farting in the lift. What the hell does he think of himself? Every now and then the lift stinks. I hate him but I love Mrs. Bhalla too much to complain. Oh, Did I tell you Mrs. Bhalla and Mr. Gupta are having an affair? Nothing doing in the lift, mind you. They have elaborate plans at each other's houses. How would their love making be? Every orgasm will be reciprocated by a long fart that has been kept in the box for a long time.

Hmm... aur kya?


Enough. I have given you enough information about these liftmen. Next episode will continue as soon as we grab hold of some more on our cctv camera. Tab tak ke liye dekhte rahiye kal tak !

Confessions of a lift man

The Eunuch Theory

This is very strange huh.. I mean , probably I am the only one one who thinks this way but it's worth a thought. You may have guessed it till now that this post has got something to do with eunuchs. You are correct. Congrats. Aapko milte hain dus hazaar roopiye...

No , I am not writing on one of India's largest minorities, not on their rights and wrongs , not on Celina Jaitley, not about their irritating habits. I am writing on an observation. I'd be lying if I say this is my recent observation. I have observed this phenomenon right since my childhood, right since I was old enough to understand that, quote unquote my mom, 'they are not us' . But well I blog NOW. So I am writing now.

Thrice I have interacted with a eunuch.

Instance One: I was 9. Travelling in the Jayantijayanta to where else. The eunuch comes, shaking her not so slender waist and creating a wave of sorts in the train compartment. You know men behave very oddly when they spot a eunuch. There are three types of behaviour. Someday I'd love to study this properly.

Macho Man1: This guy is the cheapest of all the three varieties. He flirts with a eunuch. Can you beat that? The eunuch touches every other guy and toddler she spots. But this guy is impossible. He takes this touching business a level ahead and gives it back to the eunuch. A taste of her own technique. They interact , chat and gossip with the eunuchs. I don't know If they are also eunuchs in disguise but all seems well between the eunuch and this guy. She winks at him asking for money. He winks back and says 'nahi deta jaa, kya karlegi' . This is good invitation. She sits next to him [Funny but there's always space enough in the train seat to accomodate a eunuch. Ha] The coy eunuch [attempted gesture] sways her manly hands painted with blood red beauty, misses his cheek but emotion conveyed. Then we play the 'lets-see-who- gives-in-first' game. Cheap guy . Cheap tricks. Eunuch. Oh, so eunuch. This goes about for some time till either a] the cheap guy's mother , wife complains that he is wasting time and he should rather spend it taking care of munna who is pee-happy on her lap. b] the eunuch gets bored fully understanding that the cheap guy is just passing time and has no intentions of taking this flirt game ahead or paying her anything. And that is how cheap macho man1 reacts.

Macho Man 2: He is so shy, my god. Bachao iss aadmi ko , koi. The moment he sees the eunuch , he fidgets, he forgets, he wants to pee, he wants to drive shyam and chintu to the top seat and radha his wife better get herself busy with staring out of the window or snoozing off etc etc. This guy is quite a nerd. He might act all coy if the eunuch takes interest in him. Secretly he likes this attention and well, he may never confirm to it. But he doesn't want anyone to know that he likes it. The eunuch likes this guy. He gives in when you ask him money, you know. He is not much of a trouble, likes attention , will give money, look at her[the eunuch] in shy awe and will not waste her time unnecessarily like that cheap flirt. But , macho man 2 is also the one who is religious, thinks he can rinse off all his sins by taking bath in the ganga, won't cross a road if he sees the cat crossing his way, and will consider giving money to the eunuch a good habit that he saw his father, granduncle [whom he liked a lot , by the way] doing it and will also except Shyam and Chintu to follow. He is also the one who thinks the eunuch's blessings will go a long way in making his son a big man, getting him admission in engineering colleges and then finally in having a baby -SON who will take the family's progeny ahead. This is our Macho man 2.

Macho Man 3: Salla smarty. I like this guy man, I like him a lot. He doesn't care a fuck about the eunuch. He is way too obsessed with his life , consumed in its poisons to look the other way and care about a blessing or curse. Hehe.. This guy irks the eunuch coz he hardly seems to react to her gestures , moves , etc etc. He is also the guy who is almost always on a bike, wears glares and well he is quite a catch. The eunuch wants to like this guy. If in the train , this guy is as usual busy and wont pay heed to the eunuch's call. He is also the ONLY guy the eunuch gives up on. That's Macho man 3 and thank you so much for all those best wishes. I know I am really good at this.

Now coming back to the main topic, shit I almost reached Italy. Sorry for all this unnecessary descriptions in between.

My one of many observations on eunuch is this that they don't trouble woman who are reading or have any piece of literature in their hands. Well , if you already know this I am sorry for wasting so much time. I was never scared of eunuchs but I couldn't digest their presence. Why should I give you money? For fear of being cursed by you? How do I even know that you are the real incarnation of the ardhanarishwar bestowing in you powers of both a man and woman? How do I believe that the world will come to an end if you decide that it should? I don't know any of this. If someone can help me understand this I will be really happy. I respect them as a fellow human being but I refuse to take it ahead from there. No one can force me to do this , not even a curse. The day I do really get the logic , then probably I would write on Macho woman 1,2, and 3 and more.

I saw almost all women in the train giving her money. But I didn't .

During one of my train journeys, I was casually reading the newspaper, I heard the familiar clap. But me being me, hardly flinched. I continued reading or rather staring into the newspaper. She came close to me, asked every body in the train to give money, clapped thrice, touched the girl's head sitting next to me but she didn't even notice me. The first time this happened I was with my mom in the train , my mom did give her money and I dismissed her not noticing me as an one - off thing. After that several incidents and several years have passed and every time I have spotted a eunuch coming towards me I have used this technique. There have been days when I didn't have any paper in my hand , but I would have a pen and would casually pretend like I was scribbling something in my hand or wave it in the air pointedly looking at something. This has worked. Of course now I have crossed that age to be fascinated with this and have become more or less like macho man 3 but this observation is a very big part of me. It instilled in me that I don't have to fear or convince myself of anyones's power to bow down to him/her.

Its a nice feeling you know. Everyone gives money to the eunuch , I don't..

P.S: This is a very excited entry. I am sure you must have guessed it .

Till I find Something to write...

Don't read this. Seriously. Honestly.

I don't know what it is man, I just feel so depressed. My mood swings are irritating me. At times, I experience extreme happiness, so much so that I can hug any random dork walking on the road and help him sort out his life, hug him again, buy him ice gola and have paani-puri with him. At times I break into tears , without any rhyme or reason and feel like I can win the 'Hey-my-dark-circle-is-darker-than-yours' competition. Why ?!

You feel bad for me? Don't ya. I mean, I don't even know what I should feel bad about or cry about or complain about. But I am still doing all of that without any specific reason.

I wish I could go back to college. I can't believe it that until a year ago my life was quite happening. I miss those Saturday sessions at IMG. Watching people sing, listening to soothing music sitting at St. Xavier's with the wind brushing past my cheeks. Watching young girls in sari and envying their figure(I am quite tiny , you know ) and guys in FabIndia kurta with mojdis from Colaba Causeway. That rainy evening when I met Niladri Kumar and we shared a minute with each other under my umbrella till his driver could fetch his car. That evening when Sriram, Srividya, Stuti, Nikhil, Aalap and I went to see Taufiq Quereshi and Sridhar Parthasarathy create the most delightful raga together. That evening when my friends and I rummaged through the streets of VT searching for a decent joint to eat non-veg. I miss it . I miss it so much. I miss those colourful invitation cards that IMG would send me inviting me for their mini-concerts. I miss the cabbage and cheese sandwich with the sev as garnishing. I miss the double parcel which we'd take to marine drive so as to not buy anything from those expensive makkai selling guys.

I miss those Prabhat days. I miss those movies. I miss that Asian Film Festival. I miss that garlic bread and keema pav from Light of Persia. I miss the fact that for two years of my college life I was heavily into movies, making, writing, scripting etc etc .. and now and now it is soo empty !!! I miss those long discussions, I miss those weird responses, I miss those 'Happy Together' times. I miss Shobha Ghosh and the screening hall. I miss those long debates on self-governance.

I miss those bus rides from Prabhat near mantralaya from where I 'd catch a bus to drop me off at VT station.I miss those random stares, those parsi bawas, those old sindhi aunties and those Zohra Sehgal lookalikes who'd come to watch movies with us. I miss those snoring grand pa's. No wonder Prabhat made me feel too young for my age. I remember how that man got uncomfortable sitting besides me while watching the steamy scene in which the protagonists make love (sort of ) to each other in 'Train to Pakistan'.I miss the Aveva days. I miss the adulation that people around me threw when we met Majid Majidi. I miss that rush. I miss Scripted. I miss Outline. I miss Copyrights.

I think I miss company. More than anything else. I miss those bike rides. I miss those long chats. I miss those morning tea at Vidya Tea Stall and kanda Poha from outside Sion Hospital. I miss maama. I miss SB's. I miss that library. I miss marketing and Naveen Kathuria. I miss chinese bhel and mango dolly. I miss Lobo.

I miss those best years of my life. I miss my memory too. Because I can't seem to remember a lot that happened during this time.

Shay!

Let there be Fat !!!

Men I know. Men I don't. Men I like. Men I love. All seem to yap the same line to me. Subha , You need to be a bit fat ?! Why? How do all of them think the same way ?

Answer , answer , Anybody?

Breast Pockets

Hi !!!
I am so happy. Happy is such an understatement for what I feel. Bloggy , Coochie Coo.. How have you been ?I think I have a crush on you bloggy. You are so adorable.

Enough.

Today we shall discuss a very serious topic. It's breast pockets. This post of mine is dedicated to all those boobs , right and left both that have been crushed under the weight of several small purses that have signalled women's gateway to freedom ! So, who are these women who do not care much about the most-looked-at part of their bodies? Why are they so keen to stuff them with atrocious looking wallets containing money with a silvery zip? We shall find and arrest them. Oops , then we would have to arrest almost 95 % of India's rural women population and the rest 5% can be covered by the urban crowd who show similar insensitive tendencies.

Of what I have observed the breasts almost always seems to pocket money. Money in thin plastic covers, in small rexin purses, in the knotty end of an old worn-out handkerchief, or money just hiden in itself. The beauty of this system is the ease with which women plunge their hands in and out of their blouse cups. Take money, feel its presence, count it silently and tuck it back into the safety of her blouse.

Now there are two types of women in this stuffing category. Some who only stuff the left sides of their blouse cups, naturally denoting the easy access of the right hand to the breast pocket. Some who stuff it in both the right and left sides of their blouse.

Money is held very close to the heart , literally, in this big country of ours. A women's most trusted possession her breasts, which she coyly hides from the rest of the world is her safest bet. She trusts those breasts/ blouse not to betray her at times of need. When the husband is piss-drunk and searches the house wanting to take some more money to satisfy his thirst, the women knows no place in the world can escape the man's sight. But , she hides it in the most common of places, a territory where the husband has unlimited access. Yet , very rarely would the husband notice and even if he does , don't you remember the famous dialogue 'Mere Girebaan mein haath mat dalo'. Smarty, 'Mere izzat pe haath mat dalo' comes when its not the husband!

This breast pocket might also give some nostalgic memories of their childhood, when their mothers, loving aunts would shyly dig their hands in to their blouse cups , remove a anna or two and hand it to the school going boy, or the ever-so-beautiful village girl to have a candy, fruit or to buy imli, ber or star fruit with salt and chilli on it. Umm.. mouthwatering!

While travelling in the crowded second-class compartment of a train , the child on seeing a candy man pulls the hem of his mother's saree and that is when the heart connects to the breast pocket and throws a command in the direction of her hand which on impulse reaches her blouse cups and suddenly stops short of taking out the money. You ask me why ? I will tell you. It does so because the moment it touches the breast pocket it realises the gradually decreasing weight of the purse inside and the brain decides otherwise. Then all we hear is the screaming and wailing of the kid all along till the end of the journey.

Some may also remember the scene from Monsoon Wedding where the maid, Alice tucks Dubey ji's business card in to her blouse and we can see the ever-so-enchanted Dubey ji played by Vijay Raaz staring loving at Alice for her generous gesture. A gesture indicating love and union in Dubey ji's heart.

A man loves his conquest over this area. When he owns it , he rightfulls makes it his own. When he strays to own one , he either ends up demonstrating a cruel conquest or gleefully becomes the owner of many.

A woman finds it precious, sacrosanct , almost a necessity and happily opens the gate to the man whom she perceives loves her the most.

That's what it is Ladies and Gentleman. The Breast Pocket.

P.S: This entire post is written on the assumption that all women mentioned here are in a sari and blouse. For thouse who are not, the bra is what saves the day, although I may not want to discuss that.

P.P.S: Should this post be called Blouse pocket instead of breast pocket? What do you think ?

Lourve in the train !

I am in no mood to discuss this at length. I am blogging, listening to Aaja Nachle from Monsoon Wedding and I really understand why I like this song so much. It is because it represents celebration like no other song I know. Yes, coming back to Lourve in train. Lourve is no word and I must admit that I am getting better with each passing day in making up these 'Hey-I-can-use-this-in-my-blog-words'. The word here is just an extended expression of the word Love . The one in which you roll your tongue, touch the tip to the front set of your teeth and shrink your eyes the way bollywood heroines do when they want to invite their balam close to them !

Did you try that ? Haha.. Acha hain. Ya . So why am I blogging about this topic? It is because this is the most recent thing that has caught my fantasy. I went to drop ma off to Thane station from where she would catch the netravati (Every malu kid ought to know this , it is the kerala train and it also has a humble cousin called Jayantijayanta!). The moment the train arrived at platform No. 7 , the erstwhile desserted platform, house to flies, beggars and sensous looking gajrawallis with laali, I could sense the gaze of numerous men hitting me. A good number of these must be thinking to themselves , if this girl's gonna be my neighbour I can atleast gape in peace. Won't have to search far and wide to locate one decent girl who's gape-worthy(yes , one of those words!). Disclaimer : I don't look like Helen of Troy but I am not that bad , you know.

It is a game that only patient people can play. Its not for the footloose. You have to concentrate hard. Be alert. This game is for those who believe in 'real' love. This means that , they have a special appetite to think they are faling in love the instant they see a girl (potentially good-looking). There are many like this and please don't call me biased because I have known plenty of girls with the same 'special appetite'.So this applies for them as well. Now the rules of this game are simple.
1. You better learn to stare , stare in a loving way.
2. Smile and laugh as often as possible (more applicable to the girl)
3.Be aleart and be aware of the potential threats (mostly consisting of nagging mothers and serious fathers for the girls and suspicious wives or overfriendly brothers/mama for the guys)
4. Count the number of times you can acctually encounter him/her-toilet, get some fresh air, casual roaming etc etc.

And last but not the least , use all of these instances carefully and aim at the target. This could be a sure shot formula for a scandal in the family, but, well, people never learn you know. The girl will still be coy and inviting in a repressive manner and the guy will be his usual confident self, trying to be a hero in the train, by winning the card game, playing loud music, and by just being confident for no specific reason! See, there are times of role reversal and I must say it's quite a sight. The day goes in casual staring /gaping /brushing hands, elbows (if nearby)/ getting acquainted with her family (if , belonging to the same breed) and much more than this. People do innovate.

If a long distance train , then the nightime is quite the action time, where stealing kisses, tickling, passing love notes , pinching in the ass etc is common practice. Oh! How can I forget sleeplessness for the shy and meek. If it's a short distance train (read 24 hrs) then well, the night time is the last of those private moments. Young guns prepare themselves to say goodbye to each other. Some intelligent ones do exchange phone numbers and well, I am not sure If something happens after that. But for those who have managed to spend all this while in quiet submission of the fact that they are not going to meet each other ever, its the end of one stor of 'real' love for them.

The next will start in the return journey, whenever it is.

My friend the crow and me

Just born and restless...

I know , I just introduced myself. I can't write something so soon. I have to wait till this feeling sinks. 'I have opened my new blog account'. 'I am a blogger now'. W-O-W!

But as the title suggests I am restless. I have no particular topic to write on. But I thought why not yap some bull-crap that no one is going to read anyway. I will. I promise. (remember tall promise, or rather taller promise?)

I scanned through various topics to write on and have zeroed in on my friend the crow. Why? Don't you ask me any questions. This is my blog. The truth is the crow looks far appealing a topic of bloggersation, than anything else. So much for being jobless. There is no word called - Bloggersation. So? This is my blog . Remember?

So here we go. My friend the crow is a humble animal or rather a bird. He (I may not know if it's a she, close look is not quite permitted) is happy nibbling at the tiny pieces of bread and big open egg-shells that I throw at him. No wonder , he never guessed that I threw those egg shells to hurt or shoo him away when I don't wish to see his black ugly face. He eats it quietly. Says a silent thank you. (I would like to believe that). Hurries back to his abode and keeps cawing.

One of these days I saw him with another one of his kin. They both seem to discuss something quite attentively. A nod, a caw and a silent sprinkle of some fresh shit sealed their deal or whatever it was. I saw them once again the next day, same time, same venue, same get-up. This time they nodded a little less , cawed more and both of them shat. In the meantime, I started sensing in me a distaste for this new friend of my friend the crow. He/she took all of his time. They met , discussed, nodded, cawed and shat. I was jealous that I was not party to this all-so-important meeting that took place, like a ritual, everyday on my bedroom window.

What had I done to be disowned by the only animal/bird friend I had managed to make in all of my twenty-one years? Tough question. No answer. The freshly opened egg-shells couldn't persuade him to look or fly my way. He had , of-course, with his new-found friend sampled a lot of meat, fish and similar non-vegetarian delicacies that we tambrams couldn't afford at home.

For the next couple of days I was busy (Ya!) and I no more had a clue on what those crows (ya, its no more he and his friend) were hatching. I used to give it a thought almost everyday but never thought of it seriously. I always wondered what they both might have discussed. Was it me? Was it that they were not crows and great men of wisdom and learning who had transformed themselves in to crows to survive in this mortal world? I wondered till the time I couldn't believe myself spending so much time on those two crows.

Hardly a week went by, and I saw both of them perched atop the big jamun tree bang opposite my bedroom window. This time they seemed a lot less formal and there were no signs of fresh shit in the vicinity for the next 15 mins. I got bored and rolled back on my bed.

I hadn't had a clue that would be my last glimpse of my friend the crow. It seems that they both went and sat on a certain electric pole and my friend , the crow fell down on the ground rock solid, without any warning or shock and died at the spot. Was it suicide? I didn't know. You may ask, how do you know if its the same crow? I knew it. I never saw him again. I never saw them again.

And I knew it was him.

Amen.

Hi!

This is not my first blog. I had a blog long ago which vanished into thin air the moment I lost the user name and password. You might ask, what about the 'I forgot my password' option? Well, yes you guessed it right , I was too lazy to search and even lazier to write. Had run out of topics (not that I have too many now).

For all who don't know me ( and that's the most of you) and for all you do (I have assumed that you may never read my blog, anyways) this is ahbuS nardnahcamaR. Yes I know the hint serves just right! I wear glasses and I like them too. I love prawns. I have a soft corner for vodka. I enjoy long walks. I like watching TV. I don't write. Then, why blog? you may ask. Yes, that's just to show the world that I also want to be a part of the 'Hey-I-Blog-and-do-you'? fraternity. I don't have much to say, so won't take that long. Just that, now that I have opened a new account , I'd like to believe that I would write daily(tall promise) and would make it a point to read daily (taller promise).

Will catch up soon.