From Noida to Guwahati While Sleeping

This is a whatever number of steps process -

1. Have an exam the day before. Obviously you did not sleep the whole previous day and night.

2. Go shopping at Palika on bikes soon afterwards even though you'd rather be sleeping.

3. Make plans for an all-night computer lan gaming party. And ofcourse go to the party. And play. And not sleep.

4. Have the plane take-off next morning.

5. Get on the metro at 6.30 am after not having a wink of sleep in 2.5 days.

6. Fall asleep leaning on your guitar. No worries because you're getting off at the last stop. Wake up just in time to get down.

7. Get an auto to the airport and fall asleep inside. Not the best plan as auto driver may take advantage and deliberately waste time as he sees you sleeping. As a precaution, tell him to get you there 30 mins before you need to be.

8. Make the driver wake you up when you reach there. Get inside, go through security, have some ridiculously overpriced sandwiches for breakfast and get on the bus which takes you to the plane. Lean on your trusty guitar and fall asleep.

9. Someone will wake you up when you reach the plane. Get down blearily, try and look the best you can to the pretty lady getting up behind you, even though drooling when asleep probably makes everything irrelevant.

10. Get to your seat and sleep. You don't remember the take-off, the cruising or the landing. As far as you're concerned they may well have used a particle transporter thingy from Star Wars (or is it Star Trek, oh yeah, Beam me up, Scotty). You just know the scene outside your window changed from Palam to home.

11. Get your luggage and get on your car. Fall asleep in the car (no, not if you're driving). Many unconscious but hot and uncomfortable minutes later land up at home.

12. Get something to eat, find the nearest bed and fall asleep again.

That makes it 12 steps. Sweet.

Light

I saw you gazing at the sky yesterday,
And I thought "what does she see?",
In the black clouds and the drops of rain,
That touch your face and scatter, disappear,
And I realised I thought, I thought in vain.

Because I realised, I realised I did not want to know,
As I saw your face light up the dark clouds,
I found out the meaning of a silver lining,
So clear, so apparent, so obvious, so true,
The silver lining is your smile, shining.

You saw me transfixed, and you blinked,
Your smile wavered for a second, I weaken,
Thirsty, needy, desperate, my eyes plead,
And you comply, and light floods,
And I realise, I realise that is all I need.

So I gaze,
So you smile
And the raindrops,
They touch, scatter,
Disappear.

The Last Metro - Revisited

Why, why is it that, just when you try and sit down to study, you find other so much better things to do, addictions you didn't know you had. Like news. Why do I need to know what's on the news when Advanced Engineering Mathematics is in my hands? Can't I do it when I'm free? What catastrophy am I expecting that may somehow make studying maths unnecessary? It's a bloody conspiracy, a great elaborate plan ( a parting gift from the Nazis probably). Even the metro just started conveniently just before our exams. Coincidence you say, I don't think so! I just can't figure out the motive. What kind of a sadist takes pleasure from torturing innocent young hopeful students, out to make a mark, taking the shine out of their eyes

Take another example - I hate coffee. But put me in front of VHDL Primer and I start craving it. At 10 pm at night. I have to have it, and not just from any roadside stall, no sir, me and my friends just have to go to Nirula's at Connaught Place. At 10.40 pm. So we take the metro (yes, the one and the same evil Delhi Metro), a day before VHDL practical end semester examinations, and land in CP.

We go to Nirula's, gorge on Ice-cream soda (suddenly cappucino doesn't sound so good, after all it's 10.50 pm) and Nutty Buddy Ice-cream (which was delicious by the way, recommend it), which a friend insisted on eating only after we cleared of all the nuts. It's nutty buddy. It has an exorbitant price only because of the nuts. I mean what's the point? Might as well eat plain vanilla. Anyways, we spent almost all our money. Meh what do we care? We've got the Metro Smart Card. Think Smart, Travel Smart. Except the Metro's smart timings have the last train for Noida leaving at 10.55 from Rajiv Chowk. Not so smart.

We walk in to the metro station at 11.15 politely asking Enquiry when the next train to Noida comes in. Shock. Horror. Stranded. No bus. No metro. We were smartly too late. And with less than Rs.100 between the three of us. One of us asks an auto-wallah how much to go to Noida. Answer - Rs. 250. We all laugh in his face, hoping he'll somehow be enraged enough to take us there for free, or at least for less than Rs. 100. Didn't work out all that well. We got out of there before either side became too abusive.

Empty streets. No place to go, and no way to go back home, we start walking in general direction east (Noida is east of Delhi, or atleast I think it is), ready to call everywhere hoping some friend would be good enough to take us in for the night. And then we see a Kwality Walls ice cream guy and ask him if he knew some cheap way to go back to Noida at midnight. Long shot but it paid off. He told us to wait in front of Barakhamba station, lots and lots of cabs going to Noida for as little as Rs. 10 per person, call centre duty. Would have bought a whole months supply of ice cream from him then and there we were so happy, if we had the money that is. So long live call centres it was as far as we were concerned.

Got a cab as soon as we hit Barakhamba Road, didn't even have to go as far as the metro station. Got in, only the three of us in an Indica, with a fat-ish and bald driver, with a considerable moustache - about all I remember. He asked for Rs. 20 per head and even then, cheapstakes that we were, we got it down to Rs.15. And so he got going, and get going he did spectacularly. There were 15 near misses in the next 15 minutes, as I was reduced to quietly hoping that the guy doesn't hit something today, he can happily go back to crashing as soon as he drops us off. So atlast he screeches to a stop at a red light somewhere near Pragati Maidan, and one of my friends passes around his mobile, in which it's written, "The guy is drunk". That was about all that we needed to make it perfect. So we start humming the songs in the radio at full volume, afraid that he may fall asleep, as he continued playing with his and everyone's life for the next 30 minutes.

And then the gates to Noida. The Buddha statue looked like a very dear and long lost friend, the stupid hoardings of the MP almost making us grateful enough to then and there sign up for the BSP. We get off as soon as we reach familiar grounds. We were Kings now, there's no worry anymore, we were in Noida. Our place, our backyard.

But there was still some distance to our homes. So we took another cab. This one had a shifty guy driving it, which prompted one of my friends to tell the one who hailed the cab that he was going to kill him, if the driver turned out to be a mass murdering psycho. No such luck. We were back, and I gave my exams the next day.

But that is a horror story for another day.

For the warmongers

When you ask me for a drop of blood,
I cannot give it because the blood is not mine.
The river's are red enough without it, overflowing,
Stop and consider the consequence, look at the sign.

When you ask me for a head,
I cannot give it because I refuse to lose,
To them, forcing on us grief, misery and death,
Or to you, trying to do the same, that's what you choose,

When you ask me to kill,
You ask too much of me,
A life taken is another life lost,
Your rage blinds you, you cannot see,

That when you ask me to die,
For you, I will always refuse,
You don't have the authority, and nor do I,
To play with life, decide it's dues.

And when you ask for vengeance,
Who is it against and what?
You'll never hurt those responsible,
Always those who are not.

And when you ask for sacrifice,
You forget that you don't have the right,
You'll stay back and stay safe,
And from your ivory tower, you'll send others to fight.

When we ask for sanity,
Will you listen to conscience and reason,
Or will you go and do the same as them,
Make more people watch their last rise of the sun.

When we ask for help,
Can you listen to us over the overpowering noise, this bedlam
Of rage, of rhetoric, of lies, of hatefulness,
Created by merchants of death, in their murders calm

And when they finally ask for forgiveness,
Will you have the choice to not give it?
Or will you choose to turn into them,
Blinded, damned, covered in blood, covered in shit.

Mumbaikar now

I'm writing for my blog again, because I need an outlet. I've watched transfixed from 12 am on the 26th. I became a Mumbaikar, a Bombayite as much as any Indian. I watched horrified as terrorists, roughly my age went through the city at will, killing, firing at innocent people with a smile on their faces. Now, I am a realist, and so I didn't expect them to be crying their eyes out on the suicide mission, but watching it for real, up close through the camera was a different experience, one that I hope is never repeated, not in Bombay, not in India, not anywhere in the world.

These were the words I wrote a day after the madness was stopped in Mumbai. I never posted this because I couldn't finish it off convincingly and I didn't feel right posting this then. A year has passed now and I think these words, to a very small extent, show honestly how I felt then, better than what I can express now, sleepless and glued to the TV, scared, helpless and impotent. This is not how it's supposed to happen, you can't just walk into my country, my home, my India and just kill us, kill me, rendering our security forces helpless and running around. Those 70-odd hours shattered our illusions of security so so much more than all the countless bomb blasts put together. This wasn't supposed to happen, you can't just do that, you cannot rape all of us, my country. Because that's what we were that night. Raped.

It sounds harsh and dramatic, but it's true. I can't find any other word that is as apt. We were raped, forced and played with, our outrage and all our efforts, our strength, our pride, all amounting to absolutely nothing. And then to endure the posturing, the political milking of the situation, the fake grief in some places. But all of that seems so much better than the indifference and the blase approach so many of us have adopted now, probably even me. But there is a residue left, which refuses to be washed off after a year, I can feel it, and I'm morbidly pleased about it. The pain and the shock is numbed, but not forgotten. And that gives me a little hope, because if I feel it, others must to. And I think I observed it through the day today on the news. Beyond the jingoism and pretentions, there was determination, grit and honest resolve, and the same residue that I feel.

And for the warmongers - Grow up. Giving Kasab a fair trial is what separates us from them. We cannot hang him or lynch him on the streets, because frankly that's not how civilised democracies and civilised people do things. We keep a distance between us and them by our actions and in a way they win if they succeed in dragging us down even a bit to their level. We cannot let that happen. As convenient as saying that we should declare a war against Pakistan is, it's neither advisable nor justified.

It's been a year. A year when we haven't had a major terrorist attack. We've pumped money into security, and we seem to have found a competent Home Minister. And maybe it's just dumb luck, or whatever, but not tuning in to see people dying left, right, centre, is a change I think I can happily get used to.

If the sun don't come

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. Nonsense. I'm not he, he's never me and we sure hell aren't all together. But I guess that's the point. To be nonsense. Everyone wants to be him, but everyone fails. Goo goo g'joob. But that makes sense, even if Lennon does say the opposite. Sorry, John, that song actually makes sense. You failed.

But then, we all fail, some fail more than others, some don't fail but think they're failing,which more or less has the same result, some fail without realising they're failing and all of us living with the fear of failure even as we know it's inevitable. I'm crying. I'm cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyying. I'm crying.

So then we come to the eggmen and the walrus. Goo goo g'joob. Who are these eggmen? Mere semi-hallucinatory, nonsensical, irreverent Lennon inventions or part of something much deeper, goo goo g'joob? Are they the authority, the 'MAN', the government, the superiors, our gods, our leaders? Who are they and what do they do, goo goo g'joob? I am the eggman, They are the eggmen, we are to blame for them as we are them. So sing along - Goo goo g'joob.

But I am the Walrus. And the Walrus is free, and the Walrus knows, the Walrus can see. And he sees it all, and he sees everyone. And that is why He was the Walrus then, and I am the Walrus now. You're not the Walrus and you can never be, because you don't even know that Walruses like us even exist. You assume that we are all eggmen like you, conforming, obeying, walking along. And it's good that way, for both of us.

Look how they run, like pigs from a gun, see how they fly, see how they snide, see how they run, Semolina Pilchard, pornographic priestess, yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eyes. We are the Walruses, we are the eggmen. And we'll get a tan from the rain...

Dear Zara...

Dear Zara, I am sorry I killed you,
I apologise for the agony and the injustice,
I did it because of a reason I can't remember,
Reasons that were important once, a time for which I wish.

When the lives of others didn't seem so important,
So weak, fragile, vulnerable, precious, unique,
That slips away from a bullet like sand from my closed fist,
Your open vacant eyes make me forget my convictions, my certainties,
Make me doubt all the answers I seek.

Why did you have to come in my path?
I was sure in my sedation, happy in my misconception,
Content in my hatred, satisfied in my lust for blood and death,
Determined, driven, clear in my eyes, red in my vision,

And I believed what I heard, without question,
Without demand, without complaints or doubts,
Breathing in death, breathing out bullets from my gun,
Taking in orders, carrying out executions amidst screams and shouts.

Until you came in that day, one moment that changed the game,
Until the moment when you walked in through the door,
Until then I killed you and others in cold blood, no remorse, no shame,
Until I saw your pretty eyes.... why couldn't you wait a moment more?

Wait now, wait just a moment more,
Wait till I pass, wait till I go, wait till I die,
Wait and watch the clouds, listen to old stories and lore,
Wait just a second more and grow up and live, smile, laugh, cry,

I've tried and I've wished and I've screamed and I've prayed,
But I could not roll back time, could not stop you, could not hold you back
Just that one moment and an eternity, for that moment any price I'd have paid,
Paid with everything I have and everything I lack.

Dear Zara, speak to me with your sweet sweet voice,
Sing songs of love, freedom, happiness, hope,
And dance to them, so graceful, so pretty, with such poise,
And smile, and laugh, and love, till none can cope,

Spread your innocence, spread your naivete,
Share your jokes, your anecdotes, your story,
Travel the world, see the sights, talk to people, greet, meet
Love your life, be safe, be right, be wrong, be sorry.

And find a man that will love you,
And find a cause that you believe in,
Find successes to celebrate and failures to rue,
Reduce your loads, expand your kin,

Get married, give birth to children, a boy and a girl,
Raise them up far away from all this hatred and pain,
Give them hope, give them reason, give their ideas space to unfurl,
Keep them free, keep them safe, most of all keep them sane,

Far away from this madness, these unholy red waters of blood,
Far away from people like me, far far away from us,
Far away from this place, our land, our dirt, our mud,
Our rivers, our lakes, our mountains, our trees, our people, far far away from us.

Dear Zara, you will never hear me, and I'm thankful for that,
My pitiful voice, with these pathetic words,
My screams and my ravings, from where you lie, where you're sat,
I can't get through to you, not my entreaties, and it hurts.

And it hurts me more than a bullet ever could,
It hurts so much more than my beliefs could cure me,

It hurts so much I can't cry, and I don't know if I should
Feel your pain, hear, taste, touch, see.

And I failed, I failed so bad, I failed forever,
I failed in life, in death, couldn't give you life, nor kill myself,
I failed in ideas, in belief, in faith and it's over,
I failed you Zara, I killed you, I failed myself.

And you shattrered my thoughts and my life,
You shattered my mind and my heart,
You shattrered me to pieces, cut me up with a knife,
You shattered my life, you shattered my religion, and I'll never again start.

And it hurts and I failed and I'm shattered,
And I know if you knew, you still would be sad,

Sad that I'm hurt, I failed, I shattered,
But you don't, and that is happiness more than everything I ever had.

Dear Zara, only you can heal me, but don't,
I don't deserve to be healed by your sacred hands,
The guilt and the blame will remain and I won't,
I won't ever let myself escape these sands,

These sands of my hatred and sins,
These sands of the souls that I've destroyed, decimated,
These sands that are sucking my blood away by poking me with a million pins,
These sands where I'm stranded, I'm stuck, I'm cremated,


These sands where I'm lost, where I call out to you, in this desert,
This barren, lifeless land, stranded on this Sahara,
Where I will die everyday, each pin piercing my heart,
Forever calling out to you, beautiful, sweet, innocent, Dear Zara...

Reloaded

And I'm back, to keep it short and simple. Hope you weren't holding your breath, because if you did, you're obviously dead. And I don't want that. As it is, considering the number of visitors this blog would have, I'm probably talking to myself and I definitely don't want myself dead. I'm a pretty good guy once you come to know me, and I know me better than anyone else.

And my first post will be a poem...