Simply Put

There's always a certain amount of satisfaction when one gets to blog while at work. It makes me feel I'm getting to do what I always wanted to, though indirectly. I mean, getting to write for money.

Somehow it always happens that I return to my blog, as and when a certain something in my life has changed. It's been a month, since I last sat down and wrote something, I guess every blog post has its day. I don't know why, but it had to come today of all days. A realisation that springs up time and again is that there is a certain threshold to the sheer 'quantity' of thought that can be parallely analysed by the brain. (Yes, this is the Associate Analyst speaking.) As and when the barometer reaches a ' I cannot handle more' level, you tend to dump it somewhere. Sometimes you dump it speaking to yourself ( not many people can do that), othertimes talking to your close confidants. Yet there are still other people, who try removing the haze in the canopy of a blog.

Office is like a pandora's box. There is so much happening around , but it's still difficult to put one's thoughts in order. One might as well pass off this post as me rambling randomly. ( Ah! alliteration) Small talks always keep happening. So I get to know why abc is late for office, why xyz hates dunnhumby food so much ,why ghj thinks that he should get married before he loses all his hair. These are strands of information that one inevitably and unhelpably enjoys at office. They're majoritarily silly, sometimes serious, and othertimes intriguing. I think I'm getting more than used to them. To be honest, I'm enjoying them. I get to mock abc, if she's late for office tommorrow too, I could offer xyz that I'd accompany him to Subway in lunch time, and ofcourse he could always pay the bill if wants to, and I insist. Although, ghj's case is somewhat serious, I haven't been able to 'derive anything' out of it.

 

So that was office, at a glance. And I realise it's almost 7 in my watch, with the needles enclosing the angle, that I covet seeing most in the evening since June 13th 2011 .Time to wrap up, and run the victory lap. 

 

Garg Ka Swarg

A little obfuscated as you might be by the title, I can only say , if there could be a Khosla ka Ghosla, then why not a 'Garg Ka Swarg' per se. 

Over time I've always realised how obnoxious a family we are. And I don't mean it in a bad sense really. There have always been certain floating characteristics that have differentiated each member of this family , not only from each other, but every other soul that exists. In short , we're pretty much a set of people, with mutually exclusive tastes and characteristics, trying to fit under one roof. As I wait for distant relatives, who're all set to arrive with their Band Baaja Baarat , seeing everybody running around from one corner to the other, only exemplifies my case, or should I say 'our' case.

I might as well start off with dad. The real 'Papa Garg' you see. Dads are such intriguing things. Such coconut characters. They always have to pretend to have a hard outside, albeit a softer inside. Isn't that the case with all dads? Maybe. The keepers of all available plastic money, dads, always command a little respect. Respect given. Moving on to Bubbly. The, perpetually at verbal war with me, Bubbly. I think she's another coconut , just a little harder on outside, and a little softer on the inside. If only one could penetrate her feminist ego, which I do, rather frequently, one could see the soft her. Just for the record, Bubbly is my mom.

Sometimes, I feel so surrounded by emotional women. They don't realise, while they're trying to put in an emotional point, I'm mentally denigrating their entire species. That someday, all the women in my life will connive together and kill me, is an undisclosed nightmare. That someday, all these women, will leave in  complete peace and harmony, is another. Where will all the enti come from if it happens? :-}

At the look of things , I'm the lone 'nut' in this house of coconuts. 

Random Regrets

At the obvious risk of screwing up Mobile Communication tomorrow, I'm writing this post with an earnest desire to freak out and start studying. So far , it ain't happening. The thought that it's the last exam makes it terribly hard to study, the thought that it's the last ''engineering exam'' makes it look like something may be I won't be able to express. There are days when you want to study, days when you have to study, and then there are days like today, when you just can't. So what do you do in such circumstances: you talk.

It's always a little mysterious to write without a topic in hand. May be that's the way exams are. All one wants to do, is to not think about them, and all one doesn't , is to not forget then entirely. It languishes somewhere in the corner of the neural networks, but it's always there.

If only I knew, that there were so much happening behind a simple phone call, I'd have considered making a phone call, a process equivalent to shaking up a coalition government. But whatever.You-gotta-do-what-you-gotta-do, eh?  Still 20 hours to go before this last over in the innings of engineering, and here I am talking about something.

May be I should talk about something I regret having done, so much so, that if there was anything that I'd have wanted to go back in time and do differently, and I mean anything, then that would be it. I do have one such story.

It was a day to go for the first midsem when a random plan to drink with friends sprung up. It wasn't a plan I initiated, but it wasn't one I wasn't enthusiastic about. I sat on the driver seat with music playing at a volume that was audaciously audible. That's what the idea of getting drunk does to you. You begin losing your sanity ,even before you have it. At least I do. If my memory supports me well, it was a narrow lane in the sector-4 market of Dwarka, when I broke all hell loose with the accelerator. I was driving too fast, but I knew I was in control. It was a sudden something that came in front, and screeeech came the brakes ! Stopped just in time. At the outset, yes, it had all the ingredients of a terrible accident. I sat at driver seat, unaffected, rather unperturbed. 

It would perhaps have been my apathy that sparked off a man watching it all, standing at the side of the road. I still remember his face. He must be a decade older than my father, tall and carried a french beard. In short, moderately sophisticated. "Is this the way to drive?" , he said with an ignominy in his tone. It was all too justified , both the question and the ignominy.  For a minute there, I was taken aback. It wasn't something I was used to. Not in front of friends for sure. That's what ego does to you, it makes you an arrogant fool. In this rush of arrogance I replied : " Yes , it is."  I knew he was expecting an apology, and I was too weak to give him one. 

He was offended. Had I been him, I'd have been too. I remember having rushed the car, while he kept speaking something, something I don't even want to recall. The only part I do remember though was about what a ruptured upbringing my parents had given me. In one moment, all that my parents had done for me, taught me, was squashed with my false sense of propriety. 

For a minute everybody sat in the car in silence, just to get to terms with the fact that somebody amongst them had the guts to misbehave to this extent. I wore my mask of apathy as usual. I was ashamed, and I so bloody knew it. Fuck I was ashamed of myself. I felt like stopping the car and banging my head against the wall. Obviously, to express regret explicitly isn't a trait I share. Perhaps it's too afflicting on the male ego.

I could elaborate more, but I don't have that much time. I have an exam , remember ! Even today when I'm idling ,the horrors of that incident haunt me. As the memory retraces itself to that day, it sends chills down my spine. There is a sullen inclination to whack yourself hard. So hard , that you may finally be able to forgive yourself for it. Perhaps I'm not that strong, neither physically nor morally.

You may not believe me, but I must have thought so many times to go to that very place, find that person, just so that I can fold my hands in shame and apologize. It's just the chances of finding him seem too scarce and the notion too weird.

What use is all the success in the world if one feels ashamed to apologize at one's mistake as and when it happens, and feel ashamed about it his entire life, when the damage seems irreparable. Sometimes, I just can't help being sorry for myself. Sorry uncle. I really am. I hope this blog gets very famous someday, and one of your grand children reads this post and tells you about this guy on the blogosphere who felt terribly regretful to have misbehaved with an elderly man, and some supernatural power forces you to read this article. 

What a pleasure it'll be if it happens, the blog getting famous I mean. :P  

Bitter Sweet

It's tough to start a day with nostalgia, believe me , it really is. It's tough to say to oneself that: This is It ! You're on your own now. No more rushing to the college in the morning, no more  metro rides, no more making fun of teachers, no more "See you tomorrow then". The subtle mutiny inside, the mutiny of being an engineering student at NSIT counts its last breath. 

I can't say I've made much out of my college life. A lot of time was just spent in creating a mess, and more time spent cleaning it up. Bad jokes still kept the spirit alive. So much ambition crept up sitting on those white marbles, so much of it died down sitting in the classroom. So much adrenaline flowed through the veins in a JAM, though so much less before an EXAM. Does that rhyme? :P

So, yes, coming back. I'm not digressing today. This is going to be a serious nostalgic post.

It all boils down to this one day, The Mighty Farewell Party. It's not as if I'm not going to meet these people ever. In a place like Delhi, catching acquainted people hanging out in equally acquainted places, isn't too difficult a task. It's a common coincidence you see. But come to think of it, the next time there's got to be a purpose behind everything. There's got to be an agenda of the meeting. Yeah, you could obviously retort :"Who needs a reason to meet friends?" . You're right, may be you don't, but I know I will. It'll take more than sheer will to call up a friend and ask him to meet-up, and it'll take more than courage to write on his wall :"Long time, let's hang out someday". It's hard to imagine myself doing that, but you never know, you know. Solitude makes you do things. 

I'm not ashamed to accept that four years of college life have injected in me more regret, than enthusiasm. But I'm happy that it came in the early stages of life itself. Here on, things are not going to be the same. You can't enter a brawl with a matched indulgence , you can't take a day off at your whim , you can't just bunk and head off for a movie. And of all things, you can't have the liberty of not doing what you didn't want to do. Here on, life's thrown to you like a buffet, you'll have to have what's served to you. College, I swear was different. It was what I call : A Candid Commotion of Choices.

People, yes, I must talk about the people. So technically, college is like this giant aquarium with fishes, crocodiles, sharks etc. pretending to live in peace and vowing not to eat each other up. No doubt, you enter the threshold like an innocent fish, but what you retire as is entirely your prerogative. Honestly, it's always better to stay the fish. You get bumped around all too often. 'Make, break and brake' starts to seems like a motto. One day, you'd grow comfortable staying that way, and then that'll be a way of life. Well yes, that's strictly opinionated, but then that's strictly personal too.     

You may be the who's who of college, but you're all going to end up leaving this place with a taste, not in your mouth, but in your head : Bitter Sweet. 


It's OKAY to accept it. Adios NSIT.

Dudify this

It's conceivable reality that in a matter of time conversations would start and end at the word 'dude'. Imagine a letter denoted to you : Respected dude, followed by regular blahmatism. Sounds strange, doesn't it? Why does it come into play that much these days? Why is there always a moral inclination to denote fellow dudes , by 'dude'. Believe me, it's like the byword of the language of persistent persuasion.

Think about it. How easy it has been to persuade people when you dudify them, how they can be cajoled into believing that they really are the 'quintessential dudes' , at least in the vicinity, if not in entirety. It has a certain hypnotic effect on men, the reason for which is hard to get. 

Another thing that works in favor of the entire 'dude' convention is probably its gender neutrality. Girls are equally comfortable being passed off as dudes. Dudette/dudess is the official word though. It probably shows their wretched desire to equalize men.( Yes, I'm a chauvinist pig, hands down) However, if I were a woman, I'd have chosen 'dudette' , for at the least it'd have given me an opportunity to feel slightly differentiated, if nothing else. Tiny things you see. 

Imagine one of your friends seeing you with one of those coveted girls, the kind for which guys are willing to ditch a thousand other women.  

After the event, whilst you're cursing yourself about how close you were to kissing her and how you missed the opportunity and all, he calls you up, and guess how he starts : with an elongated, filled with contempt, curiosity and carousal, Deeewed!  Unable to get a hang of the situation immediately, our protagonist replies: What dude? with a genuine pretension of ' I-dunno-wat-ur-talkin-bout' . Your friend on other side replies: Don't you dude me, dude. By this time, both parties are pretty clear on their concepts , as in they know what the other person knows. So, our genuine pretender takes away his mask of unknowingness, and replies with a sly smirk on his face: Oh yeah, dude. The friend , as if, to pat him on the back, says: Deeeeeeewd(h), with a sparkle in his eyes. Translated to Hindi, this would mean : Sahi hai beta! 

It's only to be seen how this innocent word can affect so many lives, say so many things, and still be qualified as slang. Well, I'm sure this would change one day. I'm sure, one day fathers would talk to their spoiled sons: Itne kam marks? Saari dudegiri nikaal doonga!  Corporate meetings would clamour 'Dude' in all shapes, colours and sizes. Mothers would worry : Pata nahi mera dude kab wapas aayega? Thakur would request Gabbar, hitherto much more persuasively : Yeh Haath mujhe dede dude, de na dude? The ageing mother, in Karan Arjun would go : Mere dono dudes aayenege! Mere dono dudes zaroor aayenge!!! 

Went a little too far, did I? The Whole Dude Syndrome dude! Come on dude, you gotta agree. Dude?

Are you on the same page?

Are you feeling sufficiently useless? Do you ogle at the wall clock, waiting for it to strike 12 so that you could guiltlessly ping the two three usual people you'd ping? Has this sudden revelation that 'I was much better off when I was at something' dawned on you too? Do you wake up in the morning thinking ,' how can I waste this day innovatively? Well, bravo. If the questions have had the better of you, I welcome you to the party.

Life has boiled down to the little things. Happiness is no longer in ' getting placed '.( Even though, I won't mind another shot at them.) It's in the tiny things that were otherwise irrelevant. From the anticipation of rajma-chawal in dinner, to the shiver of chocolate chip ice-cream in dessert, anything could make it worth living just one more day. Then there are also the serious things to live for. (h)Our holy parents. (h)Our ambition in life. (h)Our zeal to do reasonably well in life. But as I said, these are the serious things. Not that much fun to talk about. Boring Bhasad, you see. On the other hand, girlfriends are separate institutions. They're commodities to 'die for'. ( Khush?)

'Don't sweat the small stuff, it's always in the small stuff'. No, I'm not taking credit for having penned it. 

So, the little things, Oh, the little things. Stupid little things. Corny little things. Creepy little things. Life is in those sublime underlying moments, the kind you never even thought could bring about a change in your emotional momentum. Subconsciously speaking, these moments are precisely what give you, the kick, the spike in the happiness chart. So, it could be because somebody said that you looked a gram less heavy. It could be , because you know, you'll get to order Domino's in an hour. It could be because , for once in your life, you get to waste another day at your behest, without having had to feel guilty about it. 

Little things, you see.

Just to rub it in. 

The Other Woman

Time and again, the guilt of having left this blog all to the company of itself   keeps unwinding, almost unprovoked. She's( the blog, I mean) like this girl I'm still dating, while I'm in a relationship with another. If you'd call her, she's probably the first woman, I got into a relationship with. Does this sound convincingly bigamous? It ought to. 

So here I am, doing justice to my widow, making her feel , that she still holds some relevance in my life. For once , I let her speak , for I am merely the interpreter.
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Dear owner,

Ever since you started telling me your fuzzy tales, the first of which came sometime in 2008, I realised that you weren't one of those run of the mill men, who'd use me for a few articles, and throw me away as if I was a top you bought last week from Janpath. You were a tad different, not that I mean 'different' in a good sense.

You shared with me your stories, your griefs. It was only a matter of time that you allowed me to give your random strands of thought, a direction. You talked to me when you were sad, but you never shared your happiness, which was, so to say, perfectly acceptable, for it's only in bad times that you rely on the people you trust. I've seen you hallucinate, blurt the highest approachable levels of non-sense, and listened to it, more so, told it to more people, just to be able to get your point across. But those were old times, lately things have changed.

If I may bring to your notice, ever since you brought 'her' into your life, our talks have been more mundane than awry. I thought, you were sensitive enough to realise, how I'd have felt about it. If I must add here, you gave me not an iota of premonition that she was going to hijack our lives, but even then I was conscious enough to not let jealousy take over. I thought she was the 'second' woman in your life, the thought in itself was infuriating. However time determined that perhaps, I was the 'second'. You couldn't possibly imagine, how I must have had felt then, as much you say you try, you possibly couldn't.

To be honest, I never lost faith, never did I lose myself to the delirium of losing you ; a symptom you were most likely to succumb to, had something like this happened to you. I knew you'd come back to me, and that someday I would get to win you over, to make you realise who your real 'companion' was and is. Much to my anticipation, one day you did, and you kept coming. So high was frequency of your posts, that the pinch of being the 'other' woman almost faded away. But alas, it was that one cursed eve , when you discussed 'her' with me, giving all the importance that there virtually existed, the kind that I aspired to relish, to her. That day, you really hit the nail on the head. 

For me, it was over. We've been on amicable terms since then, and I too have started indulging in other men. The 1170 odd people who visited the blog, should give you an idea of the levels of infidelity I'm capable of( Ha, now you feel jealous), and I'm only expecting more, if my letter strikes a chord with your palpable but invisible audience.

Waiting for your reply.

Ms. A Beautiful Mind