In Hiding, He Believed.

There had been only one reason for his downfall, he realized later on. And, it was that one reason, which had led to various mistakes and errors, in the due course of time. When he pondered further, he learnt there was no one to blame really, except himself; and his hurried decisions. But, what was the point of it all, really?

Nothing, was it?

There could have been some iota of hope, joy and fulfilment amidst the madness of faults and misgivings, he questioned. But, answers came none. It was then that he realized that if there to be an escape to all the confusion, he had to create an exit. Not for the surroundings, but for himself - from them.

The reservations soon began to take a backseat and the introvert into hiding. The world began to see a new side of the boy that had been 'oh-so-shy.' The silence was a way of the past and words were the new mode of expression. In confidence, he found a new avatar - a mask that he had lay aside for so long. Creatures around, were astounded and shocked, probably thinking 'there's more to him, than meets the eye.'

He found, they were correct at this judgement, but his task was to prove them all wrong.
Their questions multiplied and his answers lessened.

They looked at the boy, over and asked, "Why?"

He glared back. "Why not?"

Tripping Down Memory Lane.

This particular post may seem familiar to "Ways. And, things."
But, was written a little before that one. On a night. Away.
The 19th of October, 2009. Sitting in my room. Alone.

Life has its funny ways of making things happen, whether appreciated or not.
History, similarly, has its way of repeating things, wanted or unwanted.
And then, there are questions that don't have answers or perfect solutions.

Is it karma? Or not.
It doesn't justify. Does it?

The Story of his Mind, Inside.

At the age of sixteen, he thought he'd be wise at eighteen. But, when he came to think of it, at eighteen, it was just the same. Maybe, just maybe, a little worse. But then, who doesn't wish for the world to rotate on the Axis they create. Right?

Being the timid, nerdy-looking and thoughtful boy, had not been an easy task. Upon that, handling the girl, who came to be known as his 'girlfriend,' was not easy either. But, that's where the thoughtful part played an important role in his life. At least with the girlfriend bit of the story. Funnily, contrary to the image, he was quite the man of the relationship and the 'love' had bloomed fully. And, was ripe now. Without any interruptions and problems.

Nothing in the love story had transformed; just the bond grew stronger. The monotony had not struck either and that felt great. Their holding hands was as nice as ever and created sparks, every single time. Their first kiss, never seemed like a distant memory, and still made her blush. And, him... Smile. The silent moments were magical, and often undisturbingly pure. Something so perfect were better left untouched.

But, there was a problem? How could there not be?

He thought over it, again and again. It reminded him of her, again and again. Of that one moment. In the parking lot. He had bent forward, to hug her goodbye. Instead, he accidentally kissed her goodbye. His lips, brushed hers. Faintly, and then strongly. Why her?

Her, who came to known as, 'The Other Girl.'

Lips. Man. Highway. Easy.

His lips were close to burning,

The man who was at the turning.

The smoke, that seemed to be puffing.

On the highway that was scruffing.

And, then he were close to the boys,

Like girls who looked like toys.

There was a mind that he was losing,

For the billion pound learning.

For his legs seemed to be greasy,

And, he knew, this had not been easy.

You Must Do, As I Say.

Well, more often than not, you do something because you have no other option, but to do it. Many a times, you are supposed to do it. A lot times, you are expected to be obligated to do it. And, then most of the times you must do it, to please the artist inside of you.

Let's take a film for instance.

You make one, a film, to please and satisfy the artist in you.

People pay to watch what pleased you.

You were satisfied, becuase you believed in it.

People come, hoping it would be nice to believe in you.

And, that's when the story starts and ends. Game over-ish?

Hence, there are thoughts that may occur whilst in the process. There may be thoughts in pre-formative stages. Towards the end. In the middle. Thoughts, thoughts and some more thoughts. However, you must do. As thy mind says.

Please yourself. Only then, will thy neighbour be pleased.

A learning learnt, the not-so-hard way.

:)

Ways. And, things.

Life has its strange ways of twisting things.

Man has his eccentric ways of messing things.

History has its special ways of repeating things.

Women have their unique ways of creating things.

And, people have this weird way of destroying things.

Weirding Out: Part VII

Taking cue from a John Mayer song and the lyrics, which go something like..

"No, I'm not a colourblind,

I know the world is black and white."

Here's what I said to Jo, in one of the more relevant conversations.

On 22nd October, 3:22 PM, I said...

"I'm not colourblind.

People are black. People are white.

The rest are just fucked up man!"

Things. You Need To Know.

There are good things.

There are bad things.

And, then... There are things you will never like.

Wrong?

No.

Right.

You won't know why.

Why?

Because you're too stuck up. In your little dream.

Some Gyaan.

On a sad and boring, but somewhat eventful night, that guy who you know as, "I'm A Gujju!" on the web world, said something rather interesting. More like a statutory warning.

So, here's what Dipen said...

Around 2:09 am, on 14th October, 2009.

"Eh, Photoshop fucks your neck man!"

Photo Courtesy: Jojey

Boy Meets World.

Once, there lived a boy.

He was a failure.

Again.

He looked around.

Smiled at his sorrow.

Said, "Next time."

Plugged in his earphones.

"We keep waiting.

Waiting on the world to change."

Weird Child's Alter Ego.

The writer in me, just got killed. Murdered rather.
By someone called - The Thing, Thang Boy.
Well, that's ok. Hence, was born the Alter Ego.
Here's to my second blog.
:)

The Secret Life of Chandan Fatehpuria.

My attempt at a full-fledged adaptation of a short story.
Based on The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber.

The Story

"Abbe jaldi kar yaar! Panga ho jayega!"

Munna screamed into the phone. On hanging up, he readied himself for what was to come and seated himself on the bike, looking into the rear view mirror every now and then. Within a few minutes, as Chandu came into sight, he kick started the bike, revved up the engine a few times and could not behold his excitement. They were gone in a flash, shouting and glorifying their escape from their rival, Lakhia, by remembering either’s mothers and sisters. Lakhia, their rival, had happened to seize a lot of their money.

"Dekh saale, dekh! Kitna paisa mila hai!"

Chandu screamed into Munna's ears and simultaneously flung out a handful of the lowest denotation of the currency from the bag, into the air. The moment was theirs, and only two things were responsible for them getting carried away: one, the glorious escape and two, the marvellous weather in the valley of Lonavala. Suddenly, Munna sped the bike up.

"Abbey haraami, marweyaga kya? Aaram se chala!"

"Normally hee toh chala rahi hoon."

Payal said, over her shoulder, to Chandu, her husband, who was currently riding pillion to her on the Honda Activa.

"Sorry! Mujhe pata nahin aisa kyon laga ki tum fast jaa rahi thi!"

"Mujhe lagta hai tumhe doctor ke paas jaana chahiye. Tum subha se kaafi weird behave kar rahe ho!"

Payal said to him, worried about his health, yet determined of her assumptions. She parked the bike by the side of the road and got off to buy some groceries, giving charge to Chandan. After giving him final instructions, she walked away without saying a word.

Mr. Fatehpuria now looked at the long road ahead and suddenly found himself lost in thoughts of the great escape from the fierce Lakhia. The chase, the wind in his hair and all of a sudden he was woken up by the cacophony of multiple horns asking him to proceed. As he rode on, he wondered why Payal had asked him to buy hand sanitizer, a face mask and something else which he could not recall. As he rode around aimlessly, Chandan went past Nanavati Hospital and witnessed a long line of citizens waiting to be checked. All of them, he assumed, were victims of the new name for panic - The H1N1 Virus: Swine Flu.

"He's the famous politician, Mr. Prakash Gopinath. Central Minister for Youth Affairs and Education."

Said the nurse, who had been expecting the arrival of Dr. Fatehpuria. He slipped on his gloves and the mask and underwent silent introductions to the others in the room.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Fatehpuria. I've heard so much about your research on the various influenzas. This is Dr. Goleria. One of the best and amongst the most renowned doctors of New Delhi."

Dr. Raveshia, sped up his introduction as the others in the room, shook hands.

"And, as for me, Dr.Fatehpuria. It is indeed an honour to meet you. And, for you to come all the way from Mumbai. Thank you Doctor. Thank you very much."

Dr. Goleria hurried up with his required speech. On the other hand, Dr. Fatehpuria was closely observing the patient's medical reports and his condition simultaneously. Then, putting all small talk on hold and getting straight to business, Dr. Fatehpuria looked around the room and then at the patient and said,

"What exactly is the problem? Details? Casualties?"

After an intense and prolonged observation of the Central Minister, Dr. Fatehpuria looked up, around the room in utter shock and astonishment. Breathed heavily, sighed and spoke, after careful thought.

"The tracking of the flu has been incorrect and inaccurate, to say the least. Mr. Gopinath would've been in grave danger, had we not tracked the correct flu at this point of time. He is infected with the fast spreading H1N1 virus, also commonly known as Swine Flu. He has probably caught it from his recent trip to America, and is one of the first few cases in the country. This was not a case of bronchitis, by any stretch of the imagination."

Dr. Goleria and Dr. Raveshia looked at each other in shock and stole glares at the floor in shame. Before they realized, they found themselves apologising for the enormous blunder that they had made, risking the life of the Central Minister.

"I'll instruct your offices regarding the precautionary measures to be taken. The Minister must be kept in isolation for at least a week. Thank you. Good days, Sirs!"

As Dr. Fatehpuria walked out of the Special Care Ward, he bumped into someone...

"Dekh ke bhaiya... Kahan khoye hue ho?"

A passer-by exclaimed, on bumping into Chandan at the parking lot, located on Juhu Tara Road. He looked around, feeling strangely unfamiliar to the surroundings and walked on, remembering the urgency for a medical store. And, suddenly he wondered why the medical store. He stared blankly at the parking lot guy and remembered: hand sanitizer and face mask and his strong belief of the non-requirement of both products, which, on the other hand, his wife strongly recommended. And, also passed off as one of her hyper active 'you-must-do-as-I-say' gimmicks. In the search for a medical store, he looked up to be facing the JW Marriott. He wondered if any film stars were inside, owing to the popularity of the hotel and if would get the chance to meet any of them, if he went inside.

“Tum aa gaye Chandu… Tum aa gaye! Mujhe pata tha, tum aaoge. Zaroor aaoge…. Lekin, yeh sara khoon? Yeh kaise hua?”

Anjali frantically spoke upon seeing her lover, Chandu, trying to shoot all questions under one breath. As she ran into his arms, he said…

“Main aa gaya hoon Anjali. Bas... Aur koi sawaal mat karo. Hum dono saath hain, isse zyaada khushi ki baat aur kya ho sakti hai?” Aur haan Anjali, mujhe maaa…”

He was about to conclude his plea for apology, when Anjali cut in…

“Bas, Chandu, bas! Mujhe aur sharminda mat karo. Maafi? Maafi kis baat ki maang rahe ho? Is baat ki, ki mera bhai tumse nafrat karta hai aur tumhein uska samna karma padta hai? Nahin Chandan, galti meri hai…”

“Anjali! Ruko!”

Chandan exclaimed upon seeing her brother, Shiva, approach them, with glorified aggression.

“Mujhe yeh mamla aaj hi nipta lene do. Tumhein is tarah dukhi dekhna, mujhse aur saha nahin jaata.”

As Shiva neared, Chandan left Anjali safeguarded behind the car and walked on, with a confidence he was not aware of. And, the courage he had never dreamt of. Then, he signalled Shiva to stop. Unexpectedly, he did; Shiva stopped dead in his tracks and Chandan was confused if it were sign of fear or challenge? As he moved closer to the only pillar that barred the consummation of his relationship with Anjali, he felt a sense of confidence that surged high into the sky. He was only half a foot away, when Shiva spoke, looking straight into his eyes.

“Chandan, mujhe koi faltu baat nahin karni. Tum aaj se mere behen ke paas na aao, yeh hee behter hoga. Aur, aainda… Mere mooh mat lagna. Ab, hat jao.”

As he tried to push Chandan away, to get Anjali…

“Kutte!”

“Dog biscuit!”

Mr. Fatehpuria said to himself, as he suddenly remembered the last item on the list he was given by Payal. It was only after a slight wait outside the medical store that Chandan’s memory recollected the need for the dog biscuits.

“Now, where the hell do I find dog biscuits? Mumbai isn’t a small place and everything is so far fetched. On the other hand, petrol prices aren’t really on the lighter side of life.”

He found himself muttering away to no one else, but his own self, in what was more of an attempt to vent his frustrations that had developed towards Payal, and her antics. After some struggle, Mr. Fatehpuria finally managed to find dog biscuits and found himself waiting for his wife outside the grocery store, where she had gotten off. A particular magazine available with the vendor outside interested him in particular and he went ahead and picked it up. “Can Mumbai do it again? The Big Ranji Story.” Chandan placed himself comfortably on the staircase nearby and began reading.

“Mumbai is in a fix as the match seems to be going Delhi’s way. A hundred and thirty six runs to win from a hundred balls and Mumbai are already five wickets down. The last rays of batting hope walks in, to support the set Bhalerao on the crease. Can Mumbai do it? Five wickets down. Fatehpuria is out to face his first delivery.”

The commentator said, as Fatehpuria took guard of middle stump. The umpire signalled play, as the sun shone down with all its might despite the slightly foggy conditions in Delhi and the sweat, which had already begun to trickle down Fatehpuria’s brow. The opposition had brought in their strike bowler to break the previous partnership, which he had done, successfully in only, his second delivery of the second spell. Fatehpuria was as confident of his batting, as he was of his bowling. And, he was also aware of the National Selectors watching him, since the Indian team desperately needed an all-rounder. This was his chance. As the ball approached, he unmistakably left it, sure of what his task was.

“Phew!”

“Fatehpuria, you need to go out there and help Bhalerao stay put. Build up a game, an innings that the country will never forget. You have the capability. Wait for a couple of overs, let him take charge and then play your shots. We really need to win this match. And, not to forget the national selectors are here. And, you’re their best chance. So, deliver. For your city, for your country and most importantly for pride, respect and yourself. Go, and demolish them!”

The last few words of his coach were echoing in his ears when the equation was down to a simple four runs required off twelve balls and five wickets remaining. Their partnership now read a hundred and thirty two runs, with Fatehpuria contributing a magnificent seventy eight off just a meagre fifty two balls. The ball was delivered, outside off stump, on the up and he connected the ball to bat, ever so beautifully, down through cover and saw it go across the boundary line in no time.

“And, Mumbai have done it again! Mumbai win the Ranji Trophy for the fourth consecutive year, thanks to a champion knock by Fatehpuria. A match that will be remembered for years to come. A masterful innings and a green signal into the national team.”

The commentator signed off, as Fatehpuria punched the air and erected a stump. For memory.

“Yeah!”

He saw hundreds of people, including the rest of the team and coaching staff run towards him in hordes when he suddenly shouted.

“Oh, shit!”

Payal was running towards the Activa, which he had carelessly parked towards the road and was about to get towed away, had Payal not reached on time. He threw the magazine aside and sprinted a mere fifteen metres to the vehicle. He knew that this mistake, however insignificant was going to a disastrous one, and something he would regret once Payal was done shouting.

“Are you mad? I’m so sure you didn’t go to the doctor. I think I need to take you. Where the hell were you? I’ve been waiting over here, right where I asked you to meet me, since the last fifteen minutes. Is this where you park the bike? Do you even understand what I’m saying? Why are you behaving like this? Tum sun rahe ho kya?

“But, it was the last ball!”

“What? I’m talking parking, not batting!”

“Tumne kabhi aisa lagta hai, ki main bhi sochta hoon. Even I think, a lot of times.”

“You need to get to the doctor. Now!”

As she negotiated with the police officer, Chandan Fatehpuria looked on and dreamily went back and sat on the staircase, admiring the glorious cover page of the Ranji magazine. He looked at her adjust the groceries in the seat of the two-wheeler, took out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it up. In the meanwhile, the Mumbai rains began to play spoilsport. Pitter-patter.

“Thank God, it didn’t rain during the match.”

As he took the last drag of the cigarette, he smiled to himself, heroically and confidently, and knew how it was to be the saviour. Of every situation, that came by.

Chandan Fatehpuria, the hero, until the end.

Peace. And, Support.

Since I've been working on a really long post, which is tedious and time consuming, I came across something today which I thought I must share. Now that I've been in the habit of thanking people and borrowing stuff from them, and acknowledging them on the blog, here's another one to the list - Minnie Bose.

In some regular conversation that we, i.e., Krish, Minnie and I, shared today, the topic of peace came up and the above mentioned's fascination with the peace symbol. Then, all of a sudden she looks towards me and says...

"Dude! The deal is, I've always wanted peace.

But, it never works out man!"

- Radhika Bose a.k.a Minnie

Ha! So much for John Lennon.

Inventions. And, discoveries.

There is a fine line between inventions and discoveries.
I was told so.

Some smart ass, a few years ago invented a word called media.
Another smarter ass, discovered the scope for education in it.

One more smart ass, invented a college for media and communication, journalism?

The next smart ass, discovered the fools who enrolled into the course.

Smart ass # 6421, invented something called Self-Study Tests.

Me, the lone standing smart ass of the night, along with Rohit discovered the uselessness. Of Self Study Tests.

The final smart ASs, hunched, gave the wicked smirk and laughed all the way to his office.

Since, Self Study Tests equated joblessness, I prepared a list.

10 reasons why you're in this college:

01. You sucked/suck/will suck at Math.

02. Boards were so terribly messed up. And, you had no other option. Maybe you did.

03. You thought, the girl you were hitting on, during GD-PI, was interested in you and would get in too.

04. The college website, buildings, orientation, faculty and course structure were impressive. Bloody impressive.

05. Making movies was the easiest job, ever. Till this book happened.

06. Running away from home. Is/was a smart thing. Till Swine Flu happened.

07. Laziness was/is/will remain your forte. Forever.

08. Smoking cigarettes, aggravates concentration.

09. You never would've studied anyway.

10. You-Can-See is the smartest man, on planet SIMC.

So much for my no-more-blogging-about-college phase.

I love SIMC. And, Self Study(s).

More like, Hope-Your-Neighbour-Studies-For-The-Test.

Death of a Dream.

My first movie as an actor. Debut and all that.

Directed by Sourya Sen and written by him as well. In fact, he did everything else.

Suhani Arora, helped in terms of direction and choreography.

Co-starring Malvika Machado, who thinks she messed the movie up. Which is untrue.

However, I think we look stupid in the dance.

Sourya, doesn't think alike. :