Pursuits!

We are always in pursuit mode- pursuit of happiness (or happYness J), pursuit of contentment, pursuit of six pack abs, pursuit of the best street food, pursuit of love, pursuit of instant gratification and the list continues… Sometimes these are attainable, sometimes not. But more often than not, when one pursuit ends, another one begins. It is just an endless, pointless race- a rat race, some call it. I say it is a defining journey, a pursuit of self-identification.

I am not asking you to run faster than others; but run or walk or trudge. At least move. Please just move! Move towards anything that you want to pursue- becoming a dancer; excelling at your job; singing in 4 octaves; meeting the girl next door (don’t literally move towards her, at least not when others are watching :P); learning a new language; or even getting married (a courageous friend of mine registered on shaadi.com).

Don’t be bogged down by someone else’s judgment about your pursuits. They might seem trivial or trash to everybody else but you.  But they are yours for a reason. I am obsessed with clean bathrooms! Yep, however weird that might sound, cleaning bathrooms is one, at least of late has become, one of my major pursuits.

Also, when you take up something, ensure you bring it to completion. Yeah, easier said than done! But try and give it your best shot.

So what are your pursuits? For starters, try ‘pursuing’ that bus/train to work tomorrow (on time)! 

WhatsApp Wars!

If you think this is an intelligent piece of literary work (I can be immodest sometimes) that talks about the latest WhatsApp acquisition, and the intricate financial analysis of the same, then you are on the wrong page. It is about how people (girls mostly, AND some guys) have been using (ABUSING) this powerful utility that was ingeniously devised for helping people keep in touch. It is a story about how I, a true believer of “e-social=anti-social”, fell into the trappings of this vicious social media app and became a self-proclaimed ‘WhatsApp whore’ (a seemingly sinister term that I invented purely for alliteration), and finally, after a bout of severe self-‘rehabilitation’ got rid of the excruciating addiction and became of my normal, skeptical, grumpy, self-obsessed self!

This goes back to the ancient times when blackberries became the sudden rage thanks to BBM. Everyone in college wanted one, and everyone who had one, wanted everyone else to buy one. I, true to my unconventional self, bought an android (buying an android in that day and age was unconventional, yes!) for the simple sake of my privacy. I hated the notion of ‘chatting’ with people for hours using my fingers after chatting with them for hours using my tongue (no sexual innuendos :P). Even when the disease called WhatsApp had proliferated through the masses, I remained unaffected, thanks to my no-mobile internet policy. But then, thanks to my employer, who ensured a robust wi-fi, and my cheap cable wi-fi, I started WhatsApp. This was also because people would never respond to my texts as they were using the FREE WHATSAPP, and they could spend a lot for a cool phone, but not so little on something as passé as a text message. (For some people, texting had become tacky. SIGH).

Updating my facebook profile/status was not enough anymore. I was in public domain on one more platform, thanks to WhatsApp. Uninterested, I uploaded a ho-hum picture of myself and a status that perpetually resonated  ‘Sleeping’ as opposed to the immensely unenthusiastic ‘Hey there! I am using WhatsApp’. The WhatsApp trend caught on, and some of my non-english-speaking relatives also joined the brigade, with their not-so-photogenic selfies and figured on my WhatsApp contacts. And buzz did my phone-until I found the setting to shut off notifications.

 Then came the new update- GROUPS! As if it wasn’t enough to have one on one chat conversations, the WhatsApp fanatics now focused on groupies (ahem ahem). I am a fairly amicable person, who had/has more than a few friends and thanks to that I had more and more groups. I now have a group with a bunch of friends from college, amongst which are some of my besties. The besties made another group, eliminating the extras (didn’t know how to sugarcoat this). A subset of that group was created by a friend of mine who is close to me and one other guy that came to be known on my WhatsApp wall as “Awesome Threesome” (I try not to bring any sexual overtones, but it just comes…urghhhh). My cousins formed a group, which then germinated into another group which obviously had to have a “bachelors only group”. Some long lost distant relatives, whom I didn’t even know to exist, hijacked me into one of their groups that came to be called as the “best cousins” group. When I politely excused myself from one of these groups, I was and continue to be misconstrued as rude and an imbecile.

There is more to write…so much more to rant about! How about some other time? Meanwhile, let me quickly check my WhatsApp. I have 21 unread messaged from 3 contacts. :P

Love & it’s Maladies (Part 2)

Sequels being the current fad, I decided to pen some more on the foibles of lovelorn couples. In case if you missed it, link to the prequel (http://errorcode404.blogspot.in/2013/09/anti-love-love-and-its-maladies.html). So without any beating around the bush, here’s the low down.

·         Petty Fights: The commonest thread amongst couples worldwide is to fight about insignificant, absolutely mundane things.  A guy, trying to warm up to his girlfriend, bought her a yellow t-shirt. Little did he know that this gesture of his will be misconstrued and he will get hell for it! Reason: He had given a yellow t-shirt to his ex-gf, which his current gf knew about. Hence, it was absolutely and completely crystal clear from this that he still had feelings for his ex-gf. (Please note that this is sarcasm. If you are a girl and you are agreeing with it, stop reading here and rather read about shoes or bags.)

·         Nicknames: She has a name, that too a very nice one. Why would you call her babyyyy, chocolate, shonna, shonnu, gullu, chullu? The most bizarre name that I recently overheard a girl was summoning her boyfriend with was Chottu (Read: Small). I didn’t know whether he was her man-Friday (obviously before dating), or it was a more read between the lines nickname.

·         Handbag holding chipmunk: Picture a guy, struggling to hold a lady bag in a way that would paint a masculine picture of him. Breaking News: It is an impossible feat to achieve, even if you are Arnold Schwarzenegger. So either you ask your girlfriend to carry it with her at all times, which I am sure you won’t have the balls to do, or suck it up and keep holding it in your hand until a guy, holding a bag in his hand out of choice, hits on you.

·         Free Home Delivery: Some girls treat their boyfriends as slaves (not in the 50 shades of grey way). If she needs bread from the store next to her house, Mr. super boyfriend will rent a cab, go 3 blocks, buy the bread, and deliver it on time. Still he will be scourged for not using his head, because after all when she meant bread, she obviously meant brown bread, and isn’t it a commonplace logic to buy eggs when you are asked to buy bread. The guy too will be profusely sorry for not using his intellect in making the bread+egg association.

Phew! After the previous one, I got many hate mails in my private mailbox. So I guessed that what wrote struck a chord somewhere…Even though it might have hit the wrong notes, I am just happy that it made some noise, if not music!

Anti-Love: Love and its Maladies

Some foolish, errant ‘loveholic’ once said “Love is blind”. I think what he really meant was “Love blinds you!” and maybe he didn’t find the nerve to say so because of the fear of his nagging girlfriend. I have been fortunate (sarcasm) enough to have been surrounded by people in relationships, and with the same people when they are out of relationships. If there were a graph of stupidity vs. time spent in a relationship, it would have been an exponential one, skyrocketing through the ceiling. What am I bantering about: Love makes you irrational, inconsiderate, anti-social, euphoric, possessive, and to put it is simpler words-plain stupid. Read on to find the telltale signs of individuals’ height of pettiness when in love.

·         Married to your phone: Thanks to the lack of space (physical and emotional) in our country, we often see couples talking over the phone from dawn to dusk (and to dawn again, as popularized by a commercial). To add to it are texts, whatsapps, and god knows how many more apps. There was a guy I knew who would mouth let’s say about 20 words a day, now talks through the night, not in person, and definitely not to me or his other friends, but into a phone. His girlfriend sleeps through it, she candidly confessed.

·         Gifts and Other goodies: Every day is an occasion for our love birds. And to mark every occasion is a gift. Even if they might miss buying fresh pair of underwear every month (which I feel is rule of the day), they will spend their hard-earned monies (or their parents’) on buying gifts for one another. Last silly occasion of a couple I heard was “The day we said I love you”. I puked in my mouth!

·         Misplaced Chivalry: Don’t you hate it when your rudest, most obnoxious friend suddenly becomes this mush ball? They pull the chairs not only for their girlfriends, but also her other friends; they order sophisticated & expensive food. And because of such guys, we look bad. I am NOT advocating impoliteness, but I find it impractical to go 20km out of my way to drop someone, in broad daylight.

·         Sick time, cozy time: People in relationships, you have to see them when either of them is sick. “Jaanu, take your medicine.” After 5min 32sec, “Jaanu, took your medicine? Now sleep”. After 3 min 18 sec, “Jaanu, why does your whatsapp show last seen 1 minute ago. I thought you were sleeping. Sleep now my chocolate. How will you get well?”

I have nastier dope on them, but enough toxicity for now…Maybe a sequel to this post... :P

After reading this you might want to read my earlier post: http://errorcode404.blogspot.in/2011/09/10-new-ways-to-break-up-with-your.html

Thinkers vs Doers

We box people based on anything and everything- their sex, color, caste, religion, nationality. My grandmother, however traditional she may be in her appearance, but ultra-modern in her mind, said to me “The world consists of people who do and who don’t do!” 18 years later, I believe her and I think there are people who just think and people who act. It’s completely binary- you are either a thinker or a doer; there isn’t a quasi-state!

Inherently and intrinsically, I believe that we are either of the one. But we have the ability to be a bit of the other side, when need be. However, this is just a feigned skill that fades away.

Being a thinker doesn’t equate to being a procrastinator, as a procrastinator actually acts upon his ideas, albeit with delay. I am talking about people who want to be writers , but are engineers; people who want to be singers, but are engineers; people who want to be dancers, but are engineers. The problem here is (apart from the fact the an engineering degree is very easy to get these days) that we want to “BE” rather than “DO”.

Even if you are a thinker, don’t think what you want to be, think what you want to DO. Don’t be a writer, WRITE; don’t be a singer, SING; don’t be a painter; DOODLE (especially, after you are high! You might end up painting a colorful blob and the world might get its next Picasso).

I often hear people talking about what a great thinker, say eg. Mahatma Gandhi was! Well, it would have been all thought and no act, had he not marched all the way to Dandi. Just imagine if Einstein would have just dreamt the energy-mass equation, and tossed around in his bed and continued to snore. Well, he got up and he wrote. He did and lived on the t-shirts of nerdy geeks from around the world with the famous equation scribbled across his portrait.

I know you would say that in order to do, you must think. And I completely agree with it. I am not saying to stop thinking. I am saying if you have been thinking…and you have been thinking…and you are still thinking, then I guess you are thinking too much. J

Just get up and do!

Onions are Us!

When I was a kid my father once told me that humans were like onions-layered. I am pretty sure that this was not his own creativity, but borrowed. However, those words stuck with me, but for a different reason, as at that point of time all that I associated with onions was stench, tears and a distasteful flavor. And funnily enough, that’s pretty much all I can associate with humans.

On a pessimistic day, like today, I think beneath all the layers of deceit and pungency, lies, well, nothing. I mean you peel, and peel, and peel- to get nothing. On an optimistic day, I tend to examine the layers up close. And trust me, then too, it’s not all hunky dory.

Just like the exterior of an onion, dry and deceptive, we humans too feign fake emotion, a façade. You can be what you want to be, but only for some time. Just as easy it is to peel off those outer layers; it is as simple to unearth the person beneath. It takes only a coffee date or two to know that your girlfriend belongs to the female canine species or your boyfriend, in simple English, is a dog. But you still continue to meet. Because you are a peeler! You want to see the layers, slowly uncovering every little annoyance about the person. Yet to continue with the hope of a juicy center, but it’s all hollow.

I frankly sometimes don’t see the point in knowing a person so deeply because what you are ultimately going to end up with is the hollow core. But then with a vivid mind when I think, I realize it’s the process of chopping/dicing/slicing all the layers that helps you connect with the person’s particular trait (good and ugly) that even you possess.

However jittery, hurtful, irritating, and painful the path of self-discovery is, the path of excavating someone else is sadistically easier, joyful, and critical.

 So be mindful while you peel of your onions, because while you are teary-eyed busy doing so, someone else is un-layering you!

PS: Ah well, all this from an onion that just got slaughtered and fried by me!

Alone, but not Lonely!

“Mumma, I need to go to the toilet. Please come with me!”- this is what the hazel-eyed, brown-eyed boy would say to his mother. He was scared of the dark. Funny thing was, he wasn’t scared of ghosts, he was scared that he would be trapped in the toilet for some reason. And he couldn’t think of anything that he would do inside if ever such a travesty struck.

“You are big boy, beta. 7 years old and a grown-up man! I get scared standing outside. Don’t you think I should sit inside here, safe, away from the darkness outside,” argued the mother. She was a smart woman (as if there is any other kind of women. They are all smart. Haven’t seen otherwise!).

The boy would go talking to himself or humming a song. He was always averse to the idea of being alone; actually, he was more averse to the idea of silence; the deafening eerie silence that actually gives you the impression of not being alone, but being lonely.

He grew up to be a gregarious young boy. Always talking, not only to others but also to himself. It was his way of reassuring himself that he was not alone.

“Pray like normal people once, will you? You don’t have to talk to God like he is a person”, scowled his mother. She didn’t understand that the boy was not only alone, but he was also lonely. And if the entity that accompanied him was to be called God, then be it.

In all this, this guy, who grew up much more, with premature grey, found the best remedy. He surrounded himself with a lot of friends. Oh so many of those! Constant chatter it was, whether it was with them in person, or over the phone. He very well could have run an entire call center! And talk he did-of his life, of other’s lives, of the various ideas that his head spun. People grew used to him, habituated to his constant banter.

The greys increased. The boy realized that it was during the time when he was lonely and quiet and talking to himself, he was at his best. He loved himself, not in an asinine, narcissist way. He loved his own company. It took time, but he realized that he was his best friend.

Today, he thinks back- he was never lonely, he couldn’t have been. He was only alone!

And, well, I was always there with him, like I am now, when he is typing!

Write? Yeah, Right!

Has there been a time when there’s one thing you think you are good at and then someone comes up and gives you a “reality check”? Well, I just had my share of being brought down a peg or two. I might be good at a lot of things (abysmal at many more), but there is one thing I hold close to my heart-it is my writing. I know by this time you all might be going like, “Constructive criticism, heard of it?” Yes, I have. And to be honest, some of the stuff I write is pure crap. But then there’s some that could be graded as average, if not good. So, I put my foot down and said to myself, “To Hell with them! I will write till my fingers bleed (hyperbole, inspired by many Bollywood films)! Be it verbose vomit! I don’t care!”

I am sure someone amongst you is a dancer, a singer, a musician (thanks to the plethora of talent shows on prime time television), a cricketer, an actor, and so on. And maybe that’s what you think you are, but you aren’t. You are probably the butt of all jokes at the cricket try-outs; maybe the bellowing of the buffaloes has more melody to it than your aalaaps; maybe the motionlessness of a stone is more entertaining than your wriggling and twisting your torso; or maybe John Abraham’s face (or ass) has more expressions than your face (or anything else for that matter!). But all this shouldn’t come in your way to doing what really makes you happy! If you think you are a Madhuri Dixit or a Meryl Streep or a Tendulkar or a Picasso or whoever you think you are, don’t stop thinking.

Think, but with conviction. Don’t lie to yourself. And if you are going to lie to yourself, then please don’t take yourself so seriously. You might not be the next big thing, but hey, in your own little world that you can create for yourself, you already are!

So do what you think you do well and let this be a message to all the snide people out there- that for better or for worse, they have to put up with your antics. And all said and done…I continue to write…(crap, maybe!)

Thesis on Friendly Behavior and Creatures Termed as “FRIENDS”

Man, famously known as the social-animal (despite his many anti-social elements), loves to be surrounded by a throng of people, whom he more often than not mistakenly calls his Friends. We study in this thesis the purpose and peculiarities of these creatures, their importance in one’s personal life, their detrimental effect on one’s health (smoker befriends smoker paradigm) and the mother of all questions- who are friends after all?

Oxford Dictionary has a foul, defecation-like definition of friend-“a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relation” . First of all, it’s too concise. I mean I know they had to fit in all-so-many words in one little book, but elaborating a little more wouldn’t have killed them. Moreover, I think the definition is out-dated. Mutual Affection-honestly, seems like the writers of the lexicon, were short of words. Plus, the sexual part isn’t completely true-Friends with Benefits-ring a bell to you? (this part is strictly not based on my personal life or my affiliation with my friends. It has purely been platonic.)

(Enough about the dictionary definition! Back to the theory now! The writer has a bad habit of digressing.)

Postulate 1: Total number of friends in one’s life is a fixed constant. (Partial credit to a certain friend for helping me come up with this one!)

The “capacity of friendliness” is like the power of adsorption of a substance, purely based on the composition of subject-in the former case, it’s the person’s true, innate nature. So, if you are trying to befriend more people than you can actually handle, you will realize the true paradoxical nature of this thesis- you will feel all the more alone. Lonely, to be precise!

Postulate 2: Number of Facebook friends is inversely proportional to your friends in real life

(People who have more than a 1000 Facebook friends, please dismiss the writer as a maniac and navigate back to Facebook)

The reason why you got so many friends on “The Social Network” in the first place is that you have spent a big chunk of your life liking and tagging people and pleasing them with the saccharine and sugar-sweet life. What about the bad part? Facebook doesn’t have a Dislike button. You know why? Because then people would stop going there.

Postulate 3: A Friend to All is a Friend to None

Everybody’s friend can be your friend, but never the best one. He/She will be discreet about things until you will learn about them on twitter/ Facebook or through India TV (If you are that happening and have famous friends). Litmus test to identify such friends- ask them a question about taking a stance about someone, if they fail, then they belong to this category.

Postulate 4: You can have ONLY ONE Best Friend

This is the truest of the postulates. You might have a lot of close friends and choosing one of out of the lot, might seem like a challenge (being true in the writer’s case), but there’s always one friend who’s true to you, at least truer than the rest. It may happen that one is the best out of the lot for a time-span, then there’s someone else. So if you have the time, keep a list every month. (You are a LOSER if you actually do this!)

(Enough with the thesis! Friends are Friends, with whom you can kick-back, relax, and sip a beer (sherbet in some cases, where people are from small towns, like in the case of the writer)! Families are your inheritance- you may like your aunt’s husband or may completely detest your paternal aunt, but you have to put up with them. With friends-they are the family you choose. So do as they say in any Telebrands commercial-“Choose wisely, live well”)

Below song dedicated to ONLY those friends with whom I have laughed my heart out!

PS- +1 it on google icon if you like it, or share on FB J

Have Feet...MUST Dance

Tomorrow, when half of the world gets Monday morning blues (half because there are a few geeks who like Mondays), I DON’T. Reason-HIP HOP dance session in the evening. The eventuality of the dance session keeps me going throughout the day. It is not just because I have regaled and thoroughly enjoyed dancing since I was a kid, but I find it exhilarating and liberating. It gives me a HIGH… People smoke weed and do coke, get drunk-I don’t know how that feels, but if they feel high, I need to tell them just one thing- DANCE!!! It will take you HIGHER! (if it’s a couple’s dance LOWER, if you know what I mean!)

I am not a good dancer myself - I have a tummy that bounces when I jump, hands so frail that they can’t support my weight and stamina so less that it would put Po, from Kung fu Panda to shame. But nevertheless, I feel ecstatic watching people dance. What I don’t like is, some people performing the steps to the hilt, with annoying perfection very mechanically. Dance has to come from the heart. I will cite a few dancers from my family who don’t give a damn about the way they dance…its bad...but they STILL do it anyway.

1.       My Grandma: She is 68. She jumps with joy (literally), when she listens to music. I am saying literally because her signature step is raising her both hands in the air, and jumping with her both feet, perfectly synchronized with the music. Remember Aamir Khan from Dil Chahta Hai. They borrowed it from her.

2.       My Mom’s Aunt: She points her hands skywards. And then she charges…Yep! With no offence, she charges like a bull, like a Olympic runner. However, the fun part is: she does it standing in one place, just like on an imaginary trademill.

3.       My Mother and Father: They feel the couple’s dance is in. Whether it is a devotional song, they want to Tango... But in this household, it takes 3 to tango. They pester me to teach them steps. I oblige. But they end up, moving off beat…but happily.

4.       My Maternal-Uncle: Dances as if he is in a fight with his imaginary friend. Fierce and frightening.

5.       My Maternal-Aunt: She dances with a groove. She has poise. But she needs space. And in India, where everyone wants to dance, it’s hard to make space for yourself. But not for her… She moves in circles, as if possessed. I am in tow (I am her favorite). And then we take the entire floor. Way to go Maasi.

6.       My Roommate: When he dances, he thinks Rajnikanth, he feels Rajnikanth. He does the pelvic thrusts with no or very less shame.

7.       My Best Friend: He is a non-dancer, a very gloomy, dull person. But then one day he shocked us all by jumping around here and there, wearing dupattas and Dabbang glasses. It was more of charade then a dance.

8.       My Other-Best-Friend: He loves to dance. But his problem is that he thinks that he is an amazing dancer and can perform all the steps that Hritikh can perform. But he needs a reality check..that too ASAP!

9.       Dancer Friend: She is a refined Bharat Natyam dancer, at least that’s what she claims! She is a BIG girl and thinks she smiles like Madhuri Dixit. Well, she might smile like her, but she sure hell can’t dance like her.

10.   Me: Well, as I mentioned earlier my dance repertoire is not cast in gold. I am hopeless, disoriented, sluggishly paces at dancing. But then when I dance, I feel it is a moment where I am alone, a private affair! For those moments, I experience pure spirit. A HIGH!

So people, next time you are at a party, just let go! DANCE, if not for any reason but for one- have feet, must dance!!!

(Leave your comments and share it with your friends..Spread the dancing joy!)

My DADDY Strongest

22^nd December 1989 was a day that changed mine and his life. Mine because-well, that was the day I chose to be born (Yes, I chose it. I was a premature baby) and his because- he had been waiting for my arrival for quite some time. The man was bespectacled and held me in his wintery, withered hands, unsure whether he could be an ideal father. Well, we will later find out that he could NEVER be one- because he never had played by the rules as a son, as a husband and it wasn’t going to be any different this time. My mother was happy- but she was selfishly mirthful. Why so? Because she was happier about being a mother than about having a son (Please don’t fret over it if you don’t understand it). But he was happy to have me…(and that one day I would make him proud and (since we are Sindhi) I will earn a lot of money. See, there are two things written in stone: 1. The world WON’T end in 2012 & 2. Sindhis LOVE money, however cool or unconventional they may be read Vishal Dadlani/Ramesh Taurani)

I wasn’t proud of being born into a family that had a name that people confused with housefly. So he decided and gave me a name that is now common, but he tried and I like it. My mother was unimaginative and honestly admits to having thought of simpler, commoner names than my current one. So in this naming match-we had a clear winner-Dad, whom I grew up to call Pappppa (not papa). And it wasn’t a surprise to the world when it became the first word that I learnt. My mother, I believe, would have been crushed by the betrayal of her only child. When the world starts with Maa/Mom/Aai and the variations, I broke the custom. Daughters are supposed to be Dads’, but then once it happens in a blue moon that a son & father redefine the traditional nomenclature.  It was happening once again.

My mother’s role, however, cannot be disparaged. She was instrumental in bringing me closer to my father, telling me to be like him- honest, intelligent, and most importantly, a good person. She, herself a vivaciously innocent person, always took the back seat. I gave in to her persuasion-idolized my father, and became a Papppa’s boy. Anything that happened in my life, was known to him and the rule still holds true.

In this saccharine sweet relationship, we have had our melancholic moments. The fights over the TV remote control always ended up in me slamming the door and going into bed early; quarrels over my short temperament (which I, ironically, inherit from him) where he suggested I see a shrink; arguments over my career choices that he dictated (although, I never gave in). It has been a full circle.

Remember me talking about him not being an ideal father? Well, he never could and will never be able to. Because he is a FRIEND, that too a damn good one! It hit me one day, that he never imposed rishtey mein toh hum tumhare baap lagte hain ritual on me. Never did he make me feel like a dumb teenager about to make the worst choices in life. He let me be! And in fact more than that, he respected me, my thoughts and my ideas. He was the guy who told me “Don’t study so much!” during my exams, “Don’t give a damn about your assignments!” in college, “*******” something about my boss that I cannot write, “Tell me what is your problem, I can help you find a solution. Am I not your Best Friend anymore?” a day before his birthday.

That reminds me I have to wish him today... To many more fights- Happy Birthday!

You are not a Mumbaikar IF:

You are not a Mumbaikar IF:

The Maximum City, some call it Mumbai, some call it Bombay, some call it Bambai, and a lucky few call it home. I, unfortunately, don’t call it that yet, however, like a million others, I aspire to someday. THE CITY is inundated with people- people from all walks- the rich and the poor, the beautiful and the ugly, the maalkins and the naukranis, the Mercedes-walas and the Nano-walas. Yet, they have a thin thread that ties them together-dreams! If you were born and brought up in this city doesn’t mean that you are a Mumbaikar. You can’t own this sobriquet by birth or naturalization; you can neither buy it; you HAVE to earn it.  So here is the litmus test.

 You are not a Mumbaikar:

1.       If you don’t know that this city is actually a cluster of 7 fateful islands, then you should probably seek solace in the creeks that separate them or the big, blue sea.

2.       If you haven’t travelled in the local train/BEST bus in the past one week.

3.       If you haven’t seen a filmstar or small time TV star yet. Actually, even if you haven’t seen one, but have concocted a story and told at least one person, you can be condoned.

4.       If you prefer McDonald’s over Vada-Pav, it should be reason enough for you to not only leave the city, but also the state (as some political party might say!)

5.       If you haven’t yelled at some random person, early in the morning, for no fault of theirs. This is a typical Mumbai morning, where you want to start off your day with a verbal tiff, and for the brave-hearts, it generally is a fist-fight.

6.       If you don’t know what tujhya aaila means/ or if you haven’t used it and you go for the highly urbane curse words.

7.       If you haven’t walked on the pavement of Marine Drive past midnight.

8.       If you don’t know which side is east and which side is west. For example: Wadala West is on Dadar’s East and Sakinaka lies between Andheri East and Ghatkopar West (But Powai lies nowhere, that is my general frustration) And also, Matunga Road is on Western Line and Matunga is on Central line.

9.       If you don’t know that Mumbai has more taxis than NYC.

10.   If you haven’t faced space constraints. As this is the only city were the jhuggis have 8 people sleeping in a small room which costs more than an apartment in a decent-sized town in India.

11.   If you haven’t spent an evening by the ocean (either alone, or snogging your girlfriend/boyfriend).

12.   If you hate the heat. I mean I agree no one likes the sweat, but they don’t call it khoon PASINE (sweat)ki kamai for nothing.

13.   If you think there is something in the whole world that you can’t get in Mumbai.

14.   If you don’t find friends here. And if that is the case, sorry to say, chances are that you will remain alone anywhere. Beneath tough exteriors, Mumbaikars have a soft-as-a-marshmallow heart.

15.   If you sleep dreamlessly!!! It is the city of the restless…

And the list goes on…but the most important of all is the never-say-die, don’t give-up attitude that keeps the city going. The city knows how to work hard, how to party harder, how to reach out and how to march ahead. If you want anything, out of life, I am sure this is the place to be! (I hope so, at least!)

The ‘NOT-SO’ Dirty Picture

Heaving bosoms, a plethora of pelvic thrusts, and untamed dialogues that would put even the wildest of all to shame; but the Dirty Picture is dirty just at the outset-only the title being dirty. If you have seen the movie and found more dirt than that, then you should be applauded for thinking from your penis (well, I thought if Vidya could shed all her clothes, I could shed my inhibitions and write something imprudent). I am no saint, I agree. And those who surround me would agree more that as a regular 20 something, I am as perverse as a guy my age should be (what sets me apart though is- that I agree to the perversity). All said and done, I had gone to The Dirty Picture not for the orgasmic ‘oohhhs’ and ‘aaahs’ or the omnipresent cleavage (well, to some extent, maybe), but for a story. And story it had! This is not a review, but a piece on my understanding of the woman-kind and  the delineation of an unconventional and uninhibited woman, fighting with men who loved and disgusted her at the same time.

A few weeks ago, I was actually observing that the world had become overtly kind to the fairer sex. EG. In colleges, male teachers were always kinder to the females and so were the female teachers (under the pretext of feminism). At work, women got a more patient ear from their seniors; separate queues for women; separate rakes for them in the commute system, and so on. But after the movie I felt a great amount of sympathy for women. The Gen X we say is an ancient term now. We call ourselves the GEN Y. Yet, I find a melancholic anachronism with regard to our general attitude towards women. If a guy flirts with a thousand women, he becomes the cool Casanova; whereas if a woman earns herself the commonplace sobriquet-slut. Why the dichotomy? In our mythology, Gods are shown to have many wives, even liaisons with multiple women; yet a Seeta is asked to undergo the Agneepareeksha.

The character of Silk that Balan portrayed eased her way to the top with a lot of sleaze. But then should she be blamed for craving a successful career or the men who crushed her aspirations with their carnal desires? At the end of the day, she was getting her share of fame and the men were getting their share of the bargain and both were quenched. It was barter; the men thought they were using her, while she clambered the ladder of success. But the moment she landed on the pinnacle, the men realized they were being played and she became a DIRTY, FILTHY woman.

Being a guy, I know, it can be difficult sometimes to find yourself in the company of strong, independent women. But you have to have the balls (pun intended) to appreciate women. I am appalled at the hypocrisy of our social structure, where on one hand we are in India, the only country where female deities are worshipped (even by men), and on the other hand we have such capricious attitude towards women where we want  them to be goongi gudiya (a mute doll that critics called Indira Gandhi). I think in Silk’s case it was not the sex or the oomph that bothered people, it was her mind that scared them- a free and bold mind! I think we have grown to love beautiful women, but not Bold and Beautiful!

To all the guy readers - in the long run, what lies between the ears (the brain) is what you will love more than what lies between the legs! As for the female readers-the world will bring you down even when you are not doing anything ‘dirty’, so why not do it and then be blamed.

“Zindagi ek baar milti hai, toh do baar kyun sochna”

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No Inhibitions!!!

For the past few days, I have been wondering about how we really live out our lives-in fear mostly. On the first day of pre-school, I was worried about leaving my mum’s hand. During my the first chance I got at public oration, I was scared about the 1000 or so pair of eyes ogling at me and the ears listening intently to what I had to say. When I grew up, the fear to succeed engulfed me; the fear of not living up to the expectations of others. Even with friends, I was always worried (read concerned) about their feelings towards me. And this is how, I turned 21. Yes, just like that. All the time gone! WOOOSH… Oh hold on, I am sure you’ve had your fears too, right? Show me one mai ka laal (son of a mother, an odd Indian expression) who has led on an intrepid life. And even when I have entered adulthood have fears disappeared-NO, they haven’t! They have just transformed from one into another.

As working people, you are constantly on the watch of what you say-as a small snide remark that you make (even at a party) might set the course of your career. If you see the larger picture, one is alarmed at the choice one makes even when joining the career track. Whether is it the large choice? Whether you will get what you had set on to achieve? Too many questions…

So I have decided to leave intrepidly, fiercely and more importantly uninhibitedly. The challenge is tough, but then for the next whole week I will post about how I fared in my life saying what is on my mind and doing what my instincts tell me to.

For instance, a senior at work had an emergency at home and when he returned back (happy), no one extended a polite greeting-“I hope all is well!” Did I want to? YES! Did I? No. Why? I wanted to fit in. But fit into what-a world of conundrum and abeyance where people are droids who are divested off emotions! I was chagrined at the mere thought-and this is what has compelled me to do this for a week. (The time for writing something out of my experiences has come) I will do what I feel (of course, in the realm of propriety) and I will urge you all to do so. Let’s all experiment. What could be the worst thing that could happen? People would be intimidated by your fearlessness. Who knows, you might inspire some people along the way.

So, here’s the deal. Say what you believe in and do what you have always wanted to do- you want to bunk college for nothing-DO IT; you want to tell your school bully how much you detest being bullied-DO IT;  you want to tell your colleague to stop taking credit for your work- DO IT; you want to tell your friend how much you have loved them-DO IT; you want to change your career and want to be a ‘ROCKSTAR’-DO IT;  you want to propose to a guy or a girl-DO IT; you want to tell your husband how you really feel about them-DO IT; you want to tell your wife how you really feel about her-DON’T DO IT (well, some things are inexplicable)

You will feel liberated. Trust me! And you owe it to yourself to do this much at least. I mean you will DIE one day (yes, no euphemism) and then you will look back on your life, and you know what you will have-regret. Remorse -of living cautiously; of not taking risks; of a calculated life; of a conventional role; of not LIVING!

So to avoid the travesty of ‘not living’-let this be a week of being bold, a week of NO INHIBITIONS! Life is too short.

Please share this with your friends on Facebook by clicking on FB icon below. And don’t forget to leave your comments on how you plan to be uninhibited or if you have done so in the past!

Single and NOT Ready to Mingle

This is strictly for those who have been single for a large part of their lives and/or are planning to be single i.e contriving a nasty break up and/or are surrounded by people who claim to be happy in a relationship making them want to be in one; more importantly it is for people who run-away from commitment and pee in their pants when they even hear the ‘M’ word-Marriage.

I lived a happy life with all my single-best friends who would be at my beck and call and i would be at theirs. Everything was hunky dory in my sugar sweet life, until a cupid, or actually a bunch of them, went out and bit some of  my perfectly sane friends and they fell in a dreadful 4-lettered word L.O.V.E. Every now and then i would get a call from one of my baboons telling me how crazy they were about their respective boyfriends or girlfriends. I always egged them on as any supportive friend would and showed them my not-so-cynical side. One of them deserves a mention (although i would not reveal his identity). The guy was madly and famously in love with a childhood sweetheart. He called her his best friend. I told him that please don’t tarnish the role of a best friend and ask her out. Little did i know that he would take me so seriously, that he mustered the courage to do so; poor shy-guy got a royal rejection! Lucky me, i had never been turned down in my life (which is probably owing to the fact that i never did ask anyone) but now i was feeling terrible for my friend and completely guilty as it was my encouragement that had led to this complete discouragement. I helped him move on telling him that he was better off without her (how much of it was true, i cannot reveal as i am a convincing liar when it comes to keeping my pals happy). But this was not it. On an abominable night, i don’t know what was going on in my devious mind, i said to my Neo Devdas the unthinkable—‘’dude, i think you never really loved her. I always felt you and Emily(name changed on request) belong together.’’ Emily was his new best friend. i slept peacefully that night knowing that i had consoled him well, at least that was a way that had least bloodshed and/or tears. Just like how your tiny bhatija/bhatiji/bhanja/bhanji takes to the new toy you got him or her in no time, my friend took to his. And viola-i was the cupid who had just sung a romantic ballad in the virtual world of Emily and her new boyfriend...

 Another story is of a different couple. They had, i am assuming, accomplished everything that a couple does (or does not) by maintaining that they were ‘’just friends’’. These are the types i detest the most. They will canoodle and cuddle in front of the entire world in broad daylight, claiming that this is what friends do. Oh to hell with such people. I have a million friends and if i do anything of this sort with any of my female friends, they would stick a slap on my cheek. But later, lighting struck this couple and they came out of the closet (punt intended)!

Then i am just reminded of a different couple-the geek-nerd special combo. These are the funny types. I mean they are not funny, but being around them is. They discuss equations over the phone and write lovey-dovey notes when they exchange their books and world maps et al. Conducting mock vivas is their ideal date and out ranking each other in the exams is simply orgasmic.

Then there is the master slave couple. No, no, i am not referring to any sexual act, but i am referring to the behaviour of this kind of a couple. The girl uses her boyfriend to fetch her anything and everything she needs ranging from water to nail paint remover. I am sure he must be swabbing the floors whenever her maid fails to show up.

So that leaves us to this conclusion that we all, who are alone, are lucky and should not take this for granted. If you are nauseated by the love around you, then call me...trust me i will give you a 100 more reasons to be single.

PS- Any resemblance to real life is purely co-incidental.

An Email to God

This is an article of mine published in my college magazine after I left college...Well, I edited (updated)it a bit. SO I took on the onus of writing am email to God to make him a little happy. I mean after all the anarchy around us, he too needs a little cheering up now, doesn't He? Read on to find out how to write an email to the actual Boss-GOD...comment on this post, as God, too, will be reading.

Dear God,

Hi! I hope it is not inappropriate to say ‘hi’ to the Omnipotent. But then if there are bollywood dances being performed at the Royal Wedding, in front of the Firm, the equivalent of you in the Kingdom of the west, then propriety needs to be redefined. You would wonder why an email? Well, with all the clamour of worldly noises surrounding you, it has been difficult reaching to you using the mundane methods- prayers, pujas, havans, etc. And I thought if man could progress from wired telephony, to cell-phony (and even to plain ‘phony’, You would agree), why could You not switch to more convenient media? You would be wondering why I am blabbering without any rhyme or reason, as You must be having a lot on Your agenda. Well, I have no favours to ask of You, and I don’t say this in a manner a certain angry young man from the movie-biz said. I am here to take care of You. I know, I know, You are the Caretaker, You don’t need one. But in troubled times like these, where a certain old man called Anna Hazare pulls off a Gandhi (almost a Gandhi); where chief minister after chief minister is declared to be a plunderer; where countries are still trying to see the light of freedom; where discrimination on the basis of caste, creed, sex is still rampant- you sure deserve a little entertainment. Do I promise a paisa vasool entertainer? Well, I am at least sure that you will get your money’s worth unlike the audiences of Ra.ONE.

So here is the plan. I have surveyed a few of my friends, foes, kith and kin, and asked them what they were happy about in the last year or two. With this I am trying to send you positive vibes that you  must be devoid of in this ‘Apple’ age, and yeah, I aint talking about the fruit of wisdom. So please keep up. Well, let me begin then. Something that you should know is that even in this sullen world, there are people who are partying hard. And with people, I mean my fellow TSECites. They partied, God, for various reasons- placements, last DJs in the festivals, farewell and mostly Goa. You can afford to live in a paradise, we cannot afford a 1BHK in the far off suburbs of even Navi Mumbai, but we can sure go on a trip to paradise. Off they all went, to goa, but on different dates and did a few devious things there, but I won’t mention them to you as they might upset you. But just watch Dum Maaro Dum for details. I can send you a pirated torrent link if your internet is fast enough!

Dancing, goa, partying and all must seem quite frivolous to you, I agree. But, God, when these just about to pass out BE s were and still are saying their parting words, you can see true friendship surface. It is amusing to see the college jocks, who would otherwise be stoic and never display any emotion, do an uninhibited Shabana Azmi and letting their expressive side out. The relief students had on their faces when their final journals were certified, was a moment I hope you did not miss out on. If you did, then go on to facebook and check out a few of IT students’ photos, theirs was a battle worth watching. The other refreshing change was that no one played papa kehte hai bada naam during these last few days. It has become extremely hackneyed, if you have it on your ipod, please remove it!

It was a proud moment for the country to bring home the World Cup. For that, we all owe you one! People were running down the streets and were making merry as if there was no tomorrow. Sachin Tendulkar is the new you, if you read the local dailies. Please, don’t be jealous of all the attention he is getting. He deserves it and you know it! Although I do have a petition to make- please give the poor journalists some sense so as to not abbreviate Dhoni’s name as MSD, sounds more like LSD! It is very denigrating and an unfortunate combination of alphabets to form someone’s initials.

Another thing that would please you was that this few weeks there was no or very little of Rakhi Sawant on television. I am not bad-mouthing Rakhi, but then it was becoming too much of her everywhere. She had become Omnipresent and considered herself Omnipotent, I am sure. Then again, Dolly Bhindra filled in her shoes, socks and what not, and kept us in splits with her antics. She has inspired many a scientist to find the missing link between apes and humans. But kudos to her, it was brave of her to come on national television without any make-up. It sent down chills down our spines. 

There were many more things that made me and people happy-Natural ice cream’s new flavours; the sale at Vero Moda; the Galaxy tab, I pad’s cheap cousin; the drops of rain water across my face when I first drove my bike in Mumbai; my father’s face when I wrote a story book for him; me and my best friend rejoicing on being part of the same company (2 of them); my neighbour when she realised she was cured of breast cancer; and the list is endless. I hope you did notice that happiness is found only if one sets out to find it. It is not God-gifted (pun intended). I regaled in these small, unassuming things and smiled everyday not worrying about the problems and tribulations that engulfed me. Because you know it, there were many! Isn’t that what it’s all about at the end of the day- the self-realization that no one but you yourself is the cause of happiness or sadness. So buck up old man, and go on a vacation (Goa). The world will rotate around its own axis without you. Forget about the corruption scams, recessions, global-warming and rejoice in your own name. You are God and you can do anything. If you are happy and mirthful up there, it will surely reverberate down on us!

Love to the kids and missus!

Rohit...(surname is too big L)

PS- Where did i get your email id? Let’s just say I have my sources! Don’t worry, I won’t publicise it!

:-P

 

To my Late Father- Steve Jobs

Yes, I consider Steve Jobs my father. “Why?”- You ask. Well, duhhhh, one-for he created me, meticulously and ingeniously, and two-for he held me dearer to him than his actual family. So, today, with my heart full of grief, I speak to you all about the man I loved the most. It is my eulogy to my Father-a hippie, a geek, an artist, an innovator, a techie, a visionary, actually a TECHNISIONARY! I am iPad 2, and this is my ode to that very man who redefined ‘I’nnovation.

First of all, I know my voice is sounding funny, actually very catty, but that is because I am talking through Talking Tom (TM)! This is will all sound very ridiculous in the voice of a Cat I know, but then what options do I have- to talk like a dog, hippo, or a funny little creature who’s species is not clear to me. Anyways, let me not digress. So, Steve, or iPaa as I and my siblings, iPhone and iPod address him, was a crazy person. Well, I wouldn’t lie- his craziness was sometimes good and sometimes bad. I mean hitting people and firing them for not being able to pull off a certain design after 48 straight, sleepless, working hours- is a little barbaric I know. But what people don’t know is-that with every such engineer hired by iPaa, the man himself spent sleepless nights in presenting to the world avant-garde products. He was like what Armani or Cavalli are to the Fashion Industry-a pure artist. So people, I know iPaa’s short temper is much talked about, so is his weird ways of handling things, but what is not talked about is his humane side-that he was a regular guy (although under irregular circumstances) made of bone and flesh. Why is it that accomplishments of people are always over-shadowed by one little vice that they might possess or display on an odd occasion, I would never understand.

iPaa has always proved to be a fighter- he battled cancer, his lull period in his career, his personal distress and emerged victorious-if not in all but at least in some. He was a dreamer-a big one. I remember him telling me how he had a vision of changing the way world listens to music before the inception of my brother, and how gratifying it felt that he had actually achieved it. I mean c’mon in the music world there were those big, bulky, records, then the cassettes and CDs, and then was the era of the iPod. He was always dissatisfied with his achievements; I think all great men are and that is what propels them to such great heights. Laptops everyone had-iPaa knew it. He wanted to make the slimmest and most beautiful laptop ever-a thing of beauty and was born my sister the MacBook Air. I am sure that was what Picasso had on mind when he was creating Les Demoiselles d'Avignon-something that was not drastically different, yet, something that was impactful. Picasso gave birth to Cubism, Steve gave birth to ‘I’ism.

The last few days, when he was fighting his last battle, his doctor advised to take him off electronics. But so adamant was iPaa, that he wanted me and he got it. This was the time I was closest to the Tech-Titan. I was there when I saw the man succumbing to his illness; losing the battle that he didn’t want to embark upon. He knew he was going to die long ago and he had given up-he wanted to leave with dignity. The last words he said,”Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow!”. Perhaps, another vision; or perhaps, the white light that engulfed his soul! The genius bid adieu in a mystical fashion that was expected of him. May he rest in peace! I am sure other souls in heaven would want to benefit-may be a few gadgets he would create for them! As for us mortals, I am not sure how much more of the Wisdom Fruit (APPLE) is left to be bitten!

The Death of a Princess (Part 2)

Mohammed Al-Fayed was anxious as it seemed he had knowledge about the imminent accident. Whereas, someone mysteriously called the Balmoral Estate of the Queen about Diana and how she won’t be of a problem! Read on as the mystery unfolds…(Please read the first one if you haven’t.)

2 months ago, Mohammed Al-Fayed was tipped of about an imminent possible attack on Dodi and her l’amour Princess Diana. Fayed ignored it as mere rumor. But then Paul, who was also the driver, came up to him with specific intelligence on the planned murder of the Princess. Since then, Mohammed appointed Paul on a suicide mission. Though Mohammed was not too fond of Diana, he had asked Paul to protect her and his son with utmost care. But he had failed in the mission. Dodi was dead…and so was Diana.

The Queen groggily got up to see the news in the Balmoral Mansion. Charles was already awake-he looked stoic, even it was the mother of his children who was battling for the last few moments. Charles was anyway waiting impatiently for time to pass so that he could marry Camilla Parker Bowles, the woman towards whom he had always had a soft corner. Diana had reported in an interview, “My husband is contriving to kill me!” He was worried that the world would suspect him, but at the same time he was sure that by being overtly-concerned and emotional about the whole “incident” of Diana dying, he can take the entire media glare in his stride; as the proud father grieving at the loss of his ex-wife-for the sake of his sons.

“Where are the kids, Charles? I don’t think they should know about their mother from the TV. You should tell them.”-said HRH, The Queen of England, Elizabeth II.

“Yes, that would be correct Mummy. It will be difficult for them to understand, but I will be there with them. I think I should get Diana’s body here. If we are not careful, the world will suspect us of murdering her!”

The Queen said through her gritted teeth, ”Why on earth will they think that? She was a Royal. She continues to be the mother of the future King of England and will continue to be the mother even in her death. You thinking so, disgusts me! Do what you have to!”

Charles went to the kids’ room to tell them about their mother. He intended to fly the first thing in the morning, but he was sure that the night would not be so kind to him.

Somewhere from the alley ways in Paris, an anonymous caller, dialed the same number, “No one will suspect you. I had drugged the driver. It was as natural as it could be. Just transfer the remnant of my payment to my Swiss account.”

“Yes, it all shall be done. And you don’t need to call here again. I have paid you a hefty price for the task.”

“Well, it was a cruel a task, after all. Wasn’t it, Your Majesty?”

The monarch hung up, and hushed a tear. Some things you have to do, even against your will, she thought.

No One Killed the Princess! (Part 1)

Lady Diana, “The People’s Princess”, was loved by one and all. She died in a fatal car crash. Or did she? Read on…

“More Champagne, Madame?” asked the Maitre’d himself. Of course, these were the 2 most important guests at Paris’s most expensive and exuberant hotel- the Ritz.

“Oui, Si’il vous plait!”-said Diana, in her graceful French. She always thought of herself being French- she adored them; their style, the haute-couture, their sophistication. And very much so, she was just like them.

“Cheers!”, said Dodi Fayed, the scion of the Ritz. It was a reason to celebrate after all. He had found love in the most delicately beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. And he was happy that she too was enamored by him-passionately in love with him.

In his eyes, Diana could see herself-at peace, calm and serene. This was quite a contrast to what she had become after the abysmal divorce and the consequent events that followed. From binge-eating, to bulimia, to severe manic-depression- she had seen it all. What had she done to deserve all this? A fairy-tale wedding with a Prince and a Princess had come crumbling down after a few months of blissful marriage. However, she had held her head up high-faced each day with unwavering courage and dignity.

But it was not about all that today. It was about a life that she was going to share with Dodi. With “Dodo”(she would lovingly call him) she had envisioned a future of peace and calm. But little did she know that lady luck, just like the Royalty, never favored her.

Somewhere, in Paris, Mohammed Al- Fayed, was frantically trying to reach out to his son and his beau. He had made a mistake, a grave one. He called the hotel and asked the Manager to hold Di and Dodi in until he arrived. He wanted to talk to his son before it was too late-the clock kept ticking at its usual pace, but to him it seemed as if it were moving at a lightning speed. He called his chauffeur to take him to the Ritz. Outside the window of his Limo, he saw a young man with his little kid in the hand, strolling on the pavement of Champs Elysees. In that he saw a vivid image of him and his son, a long time ago. A tear rolled down and window rolled up! He composed himself and was determined to rectify what was about to happen.

Somewhere inside the Balmoral castle, a phone rang.

“She won’t be a problem anymore!” said the caller.

In Paris, Diana and Dodi tried to escape the paparazzi mania by making a quick back door exit. The manager tried to stop Dodi, but he was in no mood to discuss anything with his father. The strain that he had been feeling from his family, especially, his father, was too much to handle at the moment. Moreover, he wanted Diana to have one evening of peace, at least, that much he owed to the Lady he loved.

Mohammed reached the hotel but missed the couple by a few seconds. Paul, whom he had trusted with a lot of things, was dying of cancer. He had given him a huge amount to protect his family after he was gone. Mohammed was a generous man, but he feared Paul’s loyalty today. He sat in his office, held his hand in his hands and waited, hoping for nothing to happen.

The rented Mercedes S280, registration number "688 LTV 75” was immediately occupied by the 2. Sitting inside was Trevor, head of security for the Fayed family and driving the car was Paul. Even though feeling a little light headed, Paul stepped on the gas. The car sped through the brightly lit streets of Paris. In an attempt to escape the paparazzi, Paul detoured and decided to go through the Place de l’Alma underpass.  Diana held Dodi’s hand and smiled elegantly. And then the world around her spiraled out of control! It was 31^st August, 1997-the night Diana died.

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Lost Innocence

“Mumma, I want to go the far off boarding school”, said the light-eyed, fair-skinned boy of 13. The mother wondered why a kid would make such an unconventional demand.

“Did anyone say anything to you, Naman?”-asked the woman, who had lost her husband a year ago. She was staying with her widowed mother-in-law and a younger brother-in-law, and strained every nerve and fiber so that her son got along with the other 2 in household and never missed his father.

“No, I just want to go! I am tired of staying in this gloomy house where you and daadi lament about my dead father,” said the boy scornfully.

All he got in reply was a slap. Naman did not speak with his mother for a whole week, until it was time to go. Her mother wept inconsolably, less for her son’s departure but more for his devious behavior. Naman had always been an obedient boy, rooted and well-behaved, who “loved his mother more than salt”, as he would say. What had gone wrong with her precious, little son?

“Uncle will drop you to your new school. I have packed all that you need. Be good! You won’t be treated like a prince there, you know! I am glad that your father is no more…” and she burst into a sob.

Naman wanted to hug her and tell her everything. He hated not being able to console her; he hated for being the cause of her sorrow. But for a boy of his age, he was so mature that no one could imagine. He withheld within him a secret so dark, that had it been out, it would have destroyed the lives of the mother-son duo. So, with eyes welled up with tears, he left.

He didn’t mutter a single world to his Uncle, neither did he look him into the eye.

“You will be back home for Diwali, you know? We will have a lot of fun together. I will buy you crackers, clothes and everything that you won’t little namoo!”- said the Uncle, as he left Naman with the Principal. The boy tried to smile back at him, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes. He left with the matron towards his room.

4 years passed by. He became quitter and quitter. Naman would go to his house as infrequently as possible. 67% was all he managed to score in his H.S.C. School was over and it was time to go back home where now lived his mother and his uncle. Grandma had succumbed to old age. Naman thought of being an electrician as that would enable him and his mother to live peacefully, and independently.

“The marriage is not something that I am entirely thrilled about. But your Uncle is a nice man. He has always taken care of us, stood by us! See, namoo, it’s for our good only. You will get a father that you didn’t have for so long.” Naman stormed out listening to his mother.

The next day’s newspaper had “Nephew killed Uncle, who was going to be step-father.” His mother cried till her eyes dried up. Since Naman was still a minor, and since they managed to prove in the court that the murder occurred in a state of mental insanity and was not preconceived, he was released after 2 years of house arrest.

For about 2 months his mother didn’t ask him, but then she gave up-“Why?”, she asked, her voice wavering, choked up with emotion.

“He did bad things to me since I was as little as I could remember. I wanted to tell you, I wanted to tell dad, but I was scared. It worsened after papa died. The wounds that I would tell you I got from playing outside, he inflicted them on me. He abused me, abused my soul. So I went to boarding school, away from the mother whom I loved so much.”

 “Last month when I came for Diwali, it was going to be a usual one- the one which was dark for me; the one where I refrained from looking into the mirror. But I mustered the courage and I beat him up. Told him to stay the f*** away from you and me, that I would work as an apprentice, and that we would live far away from him.”

Before he could finish, his mother hugged him dearly. She was so sorry for all that happened; for her son’s lost innocence! In between her sobs she managed to say to the apple of her eye, “I love you, more than salt, son!”

PS: Children are innocence personified. They play, goof around, and get all the attention. Please ensure that the attention these tiny bundles of are getting is pure and unalloyed! If otherwise, be ready to kick some ass! Molestation is equivalent to MURDER. Don’t kill innocence.