Die Another Day

It has been two years since the conception of this blog and over the years it has grown like a potato shrub would even when watered and manured religiously. Well, the religious part is an exaggeration because this blog has been as regular as a std VII spoilt brat doing his social science homework. I agree. But beginning the third year with such an enviable record of hits (I did once have a sincere list of well wishers who took pride in their friend’s endeavour), I feel as contended and applauded as a Shakti Kapoor would have doing a write up on India’s Nuclear Policy or an Arjun Rampal speaking to a packed audience on child labour.

Looking back, I wonder what could have gone better to give this site a decent number of hits as would a lady’s of the age of 19 penning her day to day activities (today my earring got locked in my bf’s eyebrow piercing when we embraced each other for the 119th time; I woke up at 11:15 in the morning only to find my cutie little pie Bruzo peeing on my Ritu Kumar) and getting a 67 comments on the masterpiece in an hour with 27 ‘can we be friends’ messages. Alright, the reason is clear but hey, am I entitled to justice?

Okay, the topics aren’t as researched as the analysis of the balance of body weight on a cover drive by Sachin, or as popular as a review of the latest flick of SRK, or as sensitive as a Nandigram and as thought provoking and worthy of debate as the Gujarat riots. I have however tried and succeeded to keep my writings away from personal mumbles(I loooooove my vanilla ice with a kiss of hot choclate), accusations (today as always my boss dug his nose and emptied the contents beneath the conference table while I was on the projector), and daily chores (Ooiee ma, today I managed to add salt to the tea instead of sugar and my MIL turned into a gas balloon). The point is, if the the same is written by a lady (irrespective of age) the response is understandable. But even an acquaintence would be as interested in reading a languidbeckonings by a 29 year old asinine onh how he spent last weekend, as he would be in watching a Krishi Darshan on a Friday evening.

Over the years I have tried several gimmicks aka marketing strategy. As innocent as sneaking it beneath my e-mail signatures, as blatant as sending links of my latest writes through mail with addresses in the bcc so that recipients do not comment on reply all’s but on the official comments page, as brazen as picking up a topic on the lunch table only to end it with - I have put my thoughts on my blog that I think you should check out, as desperate as leaving comments on unknown blogs and as creative as changing the background and font of the page every other day to keep readers enthused.

But sometimes I contemplate, what is it that keeps one to writing, despite the meager response? Is it the desire again to see readers appreciate a good write and feel encouraged, or a 67 comments on your post in an hour, or is it the sense of accomplishment when given oneself the gift of a good and humourous write. I think it is safe to pick up the last one and contend myself.

This blog is close to dying a premature death, but I shall give it one more chance in its third (but nascent year) to live, see the light of eminence and Die Another Day.

The Newspaper Man

He was assiduously energetic in delivering his lot. Sundar had seen the dark side of life in his early years which had made him humble. He now immensely respected life and took all adversity in stride. Having to deliver newspapers at door steps was how he started his mornings. The first light saw him on his bicycle with a bundle tied up the at the back of his seat, each day every day.

Being from a lesser privileged background and losing his parents at an early age had brought him the gritty predisposition of character and will with which he now held is head high. As he pedaled his way through the streets in Mysore, Sundar saw all grades of life at sunrise as he had seen so as a child. He crossed the blatant streets with people in misery living in dilapidated brick houses who did not have the luxury of a newspaper, to the streets where he delivered his lot. He threw the paper in the plush lawns and there came running the pet carrying the newspaper inside to his master. He watched the money plants and crotons rising through the walls of the bungalows which had its bricks polished impeccably and windows with shining glasses. Seeing this he pedaled to the next house.

The uphill ride on his way back was a strenuous task. Every pedal stroke reminded him of the pains he had been through in the days gone by. The strokes however were no more a pain to him. It was like a daily endeavor that he mastered to perfection with his breath synchronized to his rhythm. After he reached the top he always halted and took a deep breath as a mark of celebration and accomplishment. The morning was over here and the day took over. Over the years he worked on several moderately paying jobs with equal aplomb but never quit his morning job. This was a work he was born to do. Little did the man reading the newspaper on his easy chair, sipping the hot morning coffee realize that the payment at the end of the month for the thirty rounds of paper went to the self righteous man who had once had to work at his kinfolk’s place to earn the next hours meal and who left them bidding a thank you. He was all of sixteen when he took the job and continued since.

It was on a Sunday morning with the breeze flowing gently on his face. Sundar stopped by the modest yellow house with a rose shrub mounted on a usually closed window. The walls had become pale over the years but the rose on the window pane were incredibly red. There was not a day that he saw the shrub without a flower or a bud on it. But today the shrub had been pale too with no flowers to boast. Instead of throwing the newspaper above the gate, he went in towards the window. Before this he collected some water in a container from the garden. As he was watering the plant, the window opened and there stood Savitri on the other side with a container too. She said that she had no idea why the plant was dying. They watered the plant together. As he was leaving he handed over the paper to her and said, don’t worry, times will change. The sudden breeze blew her hair back and he saw the glimmer in her eyes.

They watered the plant together for the next few days and when delivering the next Sunday Times, he saw the plant boasting a bud. That day he talked to her for over an hour and got late to work. He didn’t mind though.

Years passed by and Sundar now has two bright children. He was decisive that his end of studies after the eighth grade will never be repeated again. The children visit reputed schools in the city.

As he returns home today after delivering newspapers, a home which does not have polished bricks, shining glasses on windows or crotons rising up the wall, has Savitri waiting for him at the door with a hot cup of coffee and has the same twinkle in the eyes he had seen for the first time fifteen years ago. The rose shrub blossoming implausibly red roses in the entire town looks in awe.

[Inspired by a real life, but exaggerated at places for reader’s fervor]

Moments

The brevity of the moment
that lasted a beat of her heart,
was nothing short of a lifetime
that changed her apart.

The conceit of the erudite
the ostentation of the juvenile,
the beauty of a thousand smiles
was quietly falling apart.

She watched her reflect
and she saw her ethereal self
for once she fathomed
what the moment meant.

~Suprabhat

O Venus, I am thy Slave!

Sultry Saturday afternoon. Perfect day to grab a post lunch drink and settle on the bean bag and surf for mundane programs. I go surfing and reach the fag end of the entertainment channel band. The ice is slowly melting.

Zoom TV (isko dekho!). Bejan Daruwala is covering most of the TV screen and sermonizing in his atypical ishtyle. Scroll at the bottom reads [Court refuses to accept Amitabh Bacchhan as a farmer] and [Yes, I am married and expecting – Mahima Chaudhary] and [Shilpa shetty to be honoured by Radio Mirchi’s achievers forum]

Alright, looks interesting enough to hold on for a few more minutes.

If you haven’t heard of Bejan Daruwala, you ought to bang your head with the first stone that you can see around. Alright, hold on before you do so. Because the sermon today is all on stones, precious in this case, and a concealed marketing gimmick which the viewer will require the intelligence of a Mr. Holmes to crack.

Comes the turn of Taurus and this interests me further.

“Vrishab rashi ka grah shukr hai. Aap ki zindagi mein shukr ka bahut prabhav hai. Yadi aap apne karobar aur nizi zindagi me khushali chahte hain to Global sky shop ki nirmit Topaz stone bayen haath ke choti ungli mein pahene” - Bejan

[And a footage shows thereafter]

“Main ek businessman hoon aur kayi saalon se meri zindagi mein koi samridhi nahi thi. Main pareshan ho gaya tha. Meri biwi ke saath aksar anban hoti thi. Phir maine Global Sky shop ka Topaz pahana. Ab mein bahut khush hoon. Meri biwi se ab mere relations bahut acche hain. Mujhe karobar mein din dugni, raat chauguni munafa hua hai. Thank you global sky shop products”.

This continues with a recommendation of Turquoise for a Sagittarius, a Ruby for a Virgo …

The candor of the “real life people” shown in the footage impresses me beyond a doubt.

I too now realize the importance of Shukr in my life. Venus, in other words, influences me a lot. I realize that my daily chores, work and relationship is visibly affected by its presence. As I think about this, I recall an episode from Turning Point (Doordarshan) where queries were taken up by Prof Yashpal Sharma, the eminent Scinetist. He said that the gravitational pull that a person 1 ft away exerts on you is more than that exerted by a distant planet or even the Moon by several multiples. That way the person should influence you more than any of the planets in the solar system. I being a believer in the scientific school of thoughts agreed with this. But having watched the charisma and fame of Bejan, I now differ. I can actually feel Venus attracting me every minute and guiding me to say what I say, do what I do, feel what I feel and achieve what is destined for me.

O, mother Venus. I am thy slave.

The first thing I shall do next is call up Global Sky Shop (I made it a point to nore down the number and product code) and order for a Topaz and decorate my little finger on the left with its shine which will guide my life to prosperity and well being.

Ab meri zindagi mein bhi dher saari khushiyan hongi aur main bhi kaamyaab banunga.

Sourav on Saris

And if you thought MS Dhoni in an engine oil advertisement with propaganda of his nuances of drinking milk everyday was a well thought ad campaign (selling both the product and supplementary milk products), you have not seen it all.

Dada is being featured on the Bengali Tanter Sari in Katwa, Burdwan. "We are making about 150 pieces with Sourav Ganguly in action featured on those. We hope the Sourav saris would be in demand," said a handloom weaver at Katwa. You sure do, and I see all ladies rushing to the shops to catch the latest sensation in action depicted not in posters and banners but the all humble sari. Now, this is what is considered to be a bright selling proposition. “Aam ke aam, guthliyon ke daam”, the saris selling like hot cakes and ladies holding their head high in Pride and Honour, in support of their beloved Dada.

O Sourav, a salute to your uncompromising fan following! I am sure you will be all pleased, wrapped around beautiful ladies, which will add to your passion and belief to win matches for India. We shall support you in this WC and always by wearing the 6 yards religiously in all your forthcoming games.

The Silver Lining

She walked on the road like an impassive being and knew not what lay ahead. The clouds were turning darker by the minute. Trees swayed in the wind and the dust took over the lingering visibility. She walked withholding a lifetime in her palms which held a fistful of perpetual thoughts.

She walked across the wall much visited. The wall had a different and atypical look to its colour today. The bricks were beginning to loosen. The cementing between the bricks had turned into a lump of faded adhesive and was trying hard to hold on to the blocks. The colour had turned from a bright red to a depressing shade. The chameleon on the wall had attuned its colour too. She recalled the defining moments of her life spent inclining on the very wall. Hours of words, touch and feel that were sewn through the bricks were now splitting apart with the dilapidated wall.

The clouds meanwhile were getting darker and mysterious. There was a vitriolic rumbling in the thunder. The thunder shook the ground below her feet and she felt the earth reciprocating the sky through her. And then it poured in a sudden vehemence. The water fell and wet the dry earth in a hurry. Rivulets begun flowing and soon turned into a canal of restless water. It was ominous but there was a characteristic softness in the flow. The water made its own way traversing the most convenient path.

The specs of dust and sweat on her face were washing away in a hurry too. The tears slowly became difficult to distinguish from the water on her face. Her lips were slowly giving way to a slight upward curve and a contended smile. The droplets accumulated on her brows and then dried away.

She looked at her empty palms and she ran. And ran, like she never did before. The anklet on her left leg broke away and so did the embedded beads. The beads spread accross the sand in all quarters sparkling along with the solemn droplets. The air started smelling fresh again.

The sun was now peeking bright, through the dark billows. She was Debanjana, the silver lining in the cloud.

Profound thoughts ... You and I

Like an aaloo to a vada
And a vada to a pav
like the pav to a bhaaji
You are to Me.

Like a tree to the air
and the air to a nose
Like the nose to a Himesh
You are to Me.

Like a fuel to an engine
and an engine to a car
like the broken car to a mechanic
You are to Me.

Like a key to a lock
and a lock to a house
like the house to a robber
You are to Me.

Like cotton to a pillow
and a pillow to a bed
Like the bed to a lazy bum
You are to Me.

Like the water to the grass
and the grass to a cow
like the cow to a milkman
You are to Me.

Like the fire to a match
and a match to a bidi
like a bidi to a smoker
You are to Me.

Like the carbon to a diamond
and a diamond to a stud
like a stud to a cool dude
You are to Me.

You mean more to me ...

than a fish to a Cat
and a bone to a dog
the hay to a horse
and happiness to a remorse.

Let's be happy forever. I Love you. Sayonee.

~Suprabhat
(a letter to a Loved one)

Shallow Waters

Living in shallow waters
among the comfort of the knowns
breathing the same breath
today once more.

The falls are far
and rapids are none
ripples are rare
and the tranquil water beckons.

I see a bright silhoutte
somewhere round the horizon
only to fall again
inside the shadows of my own.

~Suprabhat

Honesty with a Twist

“Ideals are important and you should stick to them but to be in a position of choice sometimes ideals have to take a back seat. The world is a difficult place, make sure you get into the position of choice. Do not sell your soul but keep it locked for a while if need be. Once you are in a position of choice and you are successful, do not ever sell your soul or make the wrong choices. Then god, or your own conscience will never forgive you.” - SRK

Message from SRK to the youngsters of today! Integrity personified.

Well, straight from the horse’s mouth. How very true a counsel. God and your own conscience will forgive you if you do so on the path of success and climbing the ladder but once you are The Achiever and sitting atop, and you indulge yourselves in the same act of loosened disposition then God and your conscience will be belligerent. Words of immense wisdom that I will stick to my heart and soul till I die. In other words “honesty with a twist”! Right, and thou shall excuse.

I am sure this message will lead our youngsters to the path of integrity and credibility and a positive approach towards things at large.

The World is indeed a difficult place. O youngster of the day, follow the message religiously and you shall be as successful as a pack of hyenas chasing the loan deer, as satisfied as a Seamer clinching the tail ender and have a soul as clean as a Harpic cleaned WC!