‘He who can weather the storm survives in life’…

Either this was a sage’s prophecy or some atheist who was a big, damn practical. And even if I don’t claim ownership to such phrases, my mind feels as if this was phrased for me.

I seem lost … somewhere between the advancement of this website and completely subjugated by the technology that wraps it around. I like a glitter of new color, new panels and new look-and-feel, but somehow to this day, the new ibibo has not done me any good.

The other day I was trying to visit the blogs home page (blogs.ibibo.com) and clicked on the link ‘View All’ for the popular posts category. To my utter surprise the blog listings started scrolling sideways. I tried to select a few post from among my friends, but this was a merry-go-around that I failed to get into.

I could see the blog posts of Anjali (SomeOne), Rajiv, Santosh, Umbrella, InkTank participate in this virtual joyride but my mouse failed to stop and click the link to their post. All within the matter of few minutes, and finally a bit exhausted I gave up.

Now, I needed to find some other way to visit their pages.

Some of them, like Umbrella and Anjali do leave me a blurb. So kind of them, since they don’t know how hard I tried the other day to catch hold of them in that virtual merry-go-round … yet I fail each time I get in to the ride.

But what happens to those who don’t blurb (a classic example is ME!)? And many others like Rajiv, Santosh and so on. Well, life’s never easier for them … and we need to weather the storm more.

To find blog pages of the likes of Rajiv and Santosh from this maze of wannabe hunks and models, is like looking for a lost friend in the neighbourhood carnival. I could never locate a known person from within this mela since I could never really happen to find one.

Too demoralizing for men who don’t wish to weather the storm!

The fresh I-face ladies keep looking at me … hunks keep challenging my body, the I-portfolios appear to locate the hottest talent from the new-look ibiboland. This is the age of I-fashion, I-singers, I-videos, I-hunks, rab di jodis and so on.

Who am I to be among them?

At the end of the day, celebrities Mike ke Laal’s and Pussy Cat Dolls win. With a distinct advantage over me, I presume. Neither was I made to compete, nor was it my intent to outsmart those who are celebrities and take
center stage.

I remain the quintessential guy with the idle mind, whose (devil’s) workshop never needed a much-wanted renovation.

Yet I am weathering a storm, much after the Aila ravished my land!

As I finish writing this, I may well be in the merry-go-round of blogs next time you wish to search this post of mine.

The heat is on …

As they say, this year’s heat is doubled up … sorry, tripled up owing to the advent of the Elections and the hyped Indian Premier League. The combination of the trio, most of which has been covered up with the glam quotient of beautiful bodies and the unhealthy prospect of making fast bucks and failed promises, is making me see red.

I am continuously seething under the fire directly from the Sun almighty … frustrated like the wilting flower in the Devil’s garden of chaos.

What to do?

Mercury has already touched the forties, barely months before my distraught life in this revered land attempts to complete the fourth decade. Both has something in common – they’re not cool, and definitely has an element of maverick madness associated with it.

You may certainly ask – is it more than the might of Elections and IPL combined together?

Seldom has this nation witnessed two events – so totally contradictory to each other – and a continued hype in favour of both from the same mass of people. Human population in this country likes to take on anything publicized to the nth degree – and prefer to glorify them the way even gods dare not to.

Definitely, with the unending bout of relentless heat adding fuel to the fire.

Each day passes with a flared up temperature … new expletives added by those jingoist politicos in their famed passion to conquer the people’s mandate. While in a distant land so honoured by the Mahatma’s crusade, Indian tamashawallas make a more frantic effort to push the TRPs of the cricket league.

This is exactly what happens when a cocktail is made of cricket, with a dash of celluloid blitz, loads of cash and an extreme hunger for profits. A drunken crowd of believers seem to be gasping for attention … albeit the abnormal way.

Such is a summer of the twenty-first century!

A medieval entity like me … has very little to choose from. He has to either be with the times or swim against the tide in a way so as to beat the heat. Salts from the brain being sucked, sweat trickles down the body … and the parched throat longs for that drip of the magic liquid – water.

Today is the last day of campaign for the elections in my city – Kolkata. Barely two days are left for the casting, sorry pushing the magic button. Politicians who publicize themselves and their parties for five years at a stretch (that’s what most of them do) come to a halt today.

I wonder, why are they allowed to campaign till so late before the vote? They already got five years to do that, right?

Cut to the equation for the most valued team and the most valuable returns per team … to the most valuable bowler returns, cricket seems to be an industry where dollars are minted. When was cricket taken to such lower levels so a bowler weighed in terms of cost per over?

The Sun keeps shining mercilessly over my head … as I take slow steps towards the elevator to elevate myself to the eleventh floor of the building, where my office is. Recession looms large on the IT industry … there are talks of mergers, acquisitions, layoffs and so much more.

This is my promised land … where even devils fear to tread. When was the last time the summer was so hot?

My devilish brain chuckles – take on dude, life has never been a bed of virtues!!

A few months back, in a popular public gathering addressed by the Gujarat CM, Narendra Modi, a peculiar sight attracted my attention. Most of the supporters gathered there had Modi’s face put up as a mask on their faces. There was a symbol of popularity, more so was the indication of submission to a leader’s charisma.

Soon, I witnessed similar events elsewhere in this nation as a prelude to the Parliament Elections. Andhra CM, YS Rajasekhar Reddy had his supporters put up YSR masks, while the Trinamool leader in Bengal, Mamata Banerjee, also had her followers put up masks to show solidarity with her agenda.

I felt curious. Nowhere before was Indian electorate so fascinated by their leadership that they felt the need to mask their faces with that of their leaders.

The question is – are these people really fascinated with their leader’s stature?

In younger days, we had masks of Lord Hanuman, Sri Ram or for some funny purposes, the cartoon characters that we admired. It was more of a juvenile fun … serving the young mind with the fantasy of carrying the face of their cherished idol.

Are these grown up mimicking for the same purpose now? Is it the lure of cherishing the idol or just the fantasy of carrying a popular face?

There could be one more very important agenda that comes out of it – the selling of the brand that a leader is. Nothing is short of a brand these days, and the leaders are no exception. The idea is to sell the leadership quotient as a brand, and the loyalty that the followers symbolize is the brand loyalty.

Soon leaders will come with a tagline and the face of a leader will be the brand logo! Political parties will be secondary while their leaders will supersede the party they represent.

On the other hand, there has been little that has come in lieu of the expectation that the common man has from the leader. Most agree that political leaders are gross disappointments. Since the value addition of a leader in terms of the ideology, contribution to national growth and the service to the electorate seems a point of diminishing return, such craze for their brand seems a bit away from natural.

So what is it that inspires men and women to adorn themselves with the masks of their leaders?

It can be an advertising blitzkrieg … or to be more specific, using humans as resources to compensate for use of billboards, posters and pamphlets. The newspaper camera or the television cameras are quick to snap it, and showcase these pictures as part of their story.

With that the publicity is done, and so is the popularity proved without spending a penny-out-of-pocket on an advertisement. Free publicity … or so it seems.

Whatever may be the reason, and for whatever cause, masking the mass is a superbly funny exercise in terms of building the popularity. To me, it speaks about the child’s innocence, not an adult’s penchant for publicity. I can’t stop laughing seeing the grown-ups putting up masks of the leader to attract attention.

Somewhere we are using the mask to attract. But my devilish brain doesn’t quite seem to agree. Are we enjoying the mask of popularity and publicity or getting masked in this process by some crafty leaders in the process?

Needless to say, many of our leaders are historically known to be deceptive craftsmen of future!

Hope you all enjoy to be masked as much as I do.

Another year ended, another cycle completing the revolution!

To many, these anniversaries at ibibo have become customary to be celebrated. Well, for me, they have also been sweeter as I traversed the winters and springs, summers and autumns whizzing past blog spaces, profiles, photos, networks and blurbs.

Some lives have definitions different than the others, and I have imbibed these definitions of the online life for now.

There were moments of love, laughter and lively relations. But then there were discoloured, bruised feelings from people too. I may have been advised by many to consider people as ids only, but for some strange reasons, I could not do so.

How I wish they were all allowed to sit and chat under one roof in one global village!

There are still some people left who are from the time that I started to be in ibibo. And there are some others who joined later and became wonderful acquaintances overnight. Such are the fascinating people around, both in this country and abroad that I still feel humble to have been able to meet them … at some point of my rather unimportant life.

Social networking can’t get more social in bringing these varied lives under one roof, varied feelings under one portal. Writing unites, and expressions of unity create a more relevant space or environment to celebrate.

I feel sad for many who couldn’t continue for reasons personal. And there are others who left just beyond the realms of this universe. Yet, the bond remains … and will remain wherever we are and wherever we will be.

Recently, I was browsing through a site which had sent me an invitation to join (some of you have got those too). Out of curiosity, I clicked the site and lo and behold! There were at least five individuals I saw who I know from this site!!

Such is the power of building and bonding … and great to relive it for two continuous years.

As I sit and reminisce the years that I spent reasonably well, and some which weren’t as good as others, I can’t help to look at social networking from the perspective of positivity. Some good hearts and minds coupled with the intensity and passion of bonding can definitely make the technology of networking through a portal meaningful.

My Orkut or Hi5 profiles remain saddened, for they have limited areas to express. The ultimate dream will be to have spaces like this, where one can interact and exchange with infinite words and expressions.

No two worlds are same, but the sense of online social network is more to be cherished than criticized, for they may some day be the ultimate mode of communication.

I wish some of the negative aspects can be looked into and corrected. I’m sure some more will happen some day, and the experience will continue to be interesting.

How much can the human mind adapt to accommodate is the eternal question.

For now, request you to listen to this small music file that I created for you all. Hope this isn’t all too boring … please let me know.

For some, the term ‘mad in love’ makes perfect sense. The Paagal Premi in me notwithstanding, as tensions run high between genders, thought it’s good time I wrote this.

This is an incident from my college life. And an absolute truth, so don’t panic. Fresh in my undergraduate classes, she was the one I was ‘fond of’. Now, don’t start … love is never immediate. While she would go gaga over my singing voice, I appreciated her beauty and innocent views. Now, that’s some chemistry to start with, right?

She studied Arts (Political Science), and was a poetess (not poet, since in those days we weren’t gender-neutral in language). I was a boring Mathematics student!

Here she was, interested in me … while I kept figuring out whether I’m ready for romance. Look, even if you tease me for this, I will honestly suggest that it took longer for me to fall in love. I don’t know the reason, but may be the Almighty had a separate mechanism for me.

Either the screws were loose, or the chips misplaced. Whatever!

So, I was just enjoying something ‘more than friendship’ with her, along the walkways of the university or the staircases of its buildings. Favourite joints included college canteen, the music club – all places that were public (sorry, we were not allowed to take women to remote places even within the campus, just not allowed).

One of these days, as we were just flirting with love (may be), an idea came that we’ll use the club room to have a wonderful session of plain speaking. What that means? Well, to just open up our hearts and try to talk out whatever feelings were hidden inside for the other person to listen and judge. Just ‘letting the flame out’, so to speak.

Curious, isn’t it? We never knew such an experiment ever existed. I wasn’t good at talking to women, that too straight talk … and I least expected to show my prowess.

Poor me, that was not to be! After hours of colourful exchanges, we suddenly realized that it’s past evening and that we were the only pair sitting inside the club. It was time to rush home. Hanging around till late night was an absolute no, and there was a strict time limit.

We exceeded that limit!

As we came down from the second floor, to our shock we found that the main gate for the building was closed! Can you imagine, me the first-timer and a woman with me … and the building locked from outside?

‘Bobby’ was made decades earlier, but on that moment, it never even rang once in memory.

Anyways, she was restless (very normal). And even if she was lot matured than what I thought, there wasn’t anything handy as a solution.

We returned back to the balcony of the first floor (the same floor as the club room), and then looking down, this idea struck me.

I could jump down from the balcony to the ground and reach the nearest security office to request the security folks to open the main door. But then, I thought, they would be the first person to suspect ‘foul play’. Sadly, that could be a scandal!

Even though we weren’t so new in friendship, it was very difficult to imagine for outsiders that something ‘foul’ wasn’t around.

Without thinking much, I jumped down. Wow! What a thud it made on the road in front of the building. Within seconds, my palms started dripping blood, and the lady looking down worried and anxious from the balcony. Love oozing from her worried face!!

Minutes later, the security was called … and they opened the main door. Not before frowning at me for this lousiest indiscretion.

The ordeal over, I accompanied her to the bus stop and made her board the bus. Some painful moments later, I reached home. It took me half an hour to clean the gaping wound on my palms and medicate it. Never mind the pain in the back and the elbows.

You’ll be happy to know that the lady didn’t last long in my life. That entire jump and the saving of the damsel in distress … all ended in vain.

So much for ‘falling’ in love!!

P.S: You could call this Pagal Panti, but then this is just a tribute to Guru’s contest. Though I didn’t intend to participate this time Guru is going to be mad at me if I don’t! So, you may rate it if you please.

Seems their marriage was over.

After decades of togetherness, he was not willing to take it any forward. There’s a tacit meaning attached to a relation, a limit that it wishes to tolerate.

No more, he thought. The relation was breached … and nothing more can be tolerated.

This was the final hit he could take. There wasn’t anything more to it. He decided to silently leave for work, utterly crestfallen.

She was ambitious from before marriage, and worked till the week before her elder daughter was born. She was restless for a child, yet far away in Detroit they could not afford a housemaid.

He had a talk … she agreed. He continued to earn with his work-permit, while she took charge of the home.

Months later, they returned back to their homeland. India was still dearest to their heart. A couple with their six-month daughter landed at the IGI-Delhi airport. Their relatives were present, so were the apprehensions about them.

Will they be allowed to start afresh?

She wanted to start working again. Delhi seemed closer to her life, and she wished to embrace it. But situations were different. Working out wasn’t dad-in-law’s choice. A baby at home, bed-ridden mom-in-law and a dominating sis-in-law was all she inherited.

He stood by her side, persuaded her to study. She remained quiet, so he was happy. They decided to move on, albeit slowly.

But her heart remained outside her home. He felt bad, but endured.

They say ‘time and tide waits for none’. And so it flows. With hardships that were unfathomable, she managed to spend time, raise her daughters. A second one was born in Delhi.

Years later, her sis-in-law got married, her mom-in-law left the world and her life was the pivotal position in the family. Now kids were going to school, and her days seemed longer than usual. 

It was at this juncture she wished to join dance classes. He agreed, and was happy that she got something to indulge in. Soon the class and the acquaintance to fame became important, dance took the back seat. He cautioned, yet she remained unmoved. 

Stage performances came and went, but the progress wasn’t showing. Still she was very happy. He wasn’t, there was a gap somewhere. 

Again he endured pain. To him, dance was the essence of her life. Yet she was busy craving for attention at her dance school. She seemed content … he remained silent. 

Late night rehearsals, frequent stage shows … life wasn’t all the same for her. Dad-in-law became terribly upset. Yet, she managed the family, he thought. Some liberty is worth it, he couldn’t disagree. 

He sided with her, leaving his dad fuming red. 

Life is managing through such small innuendos. He groped with this reality in dark … solutions were less, problems were more. He endured the unrest in house. But the drifting away was looming large on the horizon. 

She yearned for more. A work for earning, she desired. He complied and gave her a reference. She appeared for an interview and they gave her work to be done from home. With the personal computer handy, her final craving for earning money bore fruit. 

But her aspirations with dance and work became bigger. Daughters needed some attention too. He thought she can still make it. She seemed short of time, but he never complained. After all, she was enjoying all that she could. Yet in the process, neither dance nor the earning progressed with rapid strides.  

An average progress isn’t a progress, he believed. She wanted a pie out of both, but her life needed a focus on one. 

Within the next few years, they decided to buy a house of their own. A home loan seemed feasible, so he thought. A nest for life after work or even earlier, may be. A dream realized for the couple. 

They decided to move ahead and zeroed on a flat. A visit to the bank and the loan was sanctioned. But the rates changed, and the bank called the couple again. 

He asked if she could find some time. She said yes, the date was fixed for Tuesday. There was a stage show planned for Thursday, hence the rush, she said. 

Tuesday came. And when he was about to leave for work, she told him that she had her rehearsal on that day, so she could not plan to visit the bank. Kids were having their examinations, yet her rehearsals clashed with the important bank visit. 

He was crestfallen. There wasn’t any more that he wanted to endure. 

The darkest fears became reality. On that fateful Tuesday, he took out his cell phone and sent her a SMS from work.  

‘Dear, I want a divorce now’.  

His world had stopped moving.

The grass popped up its green head and looked up at me – ‘hey idle’, it said, ‘why does your hair look disheveled?’

Hmm, meaningful question … may be I’m being a bit fluttered, somewhat disturbed over the not-so-interesting proposition. Only the ‘I’ in me know what wrong has happened, how bad I’m affected.

Hopelessly confused, the green grass drops out … merges back with the lush green lawn that it belongs to.

A friend once wrote, ‘when you are in disarray, the brightest piece of writing emerges’. Oh! May God let her live beyond me, for she only knows what she meant by those words.

Me, as usual, struggling for thoughts … the mind is, as usual, blank.

So many things improve and so much recovers. But my idle mind remains the same … the same as it was in spring … two years back. Flowers have bloomed and dried, leaves lived their lives … yet there was a sense of confusion, where could the mind lead me to.

A defeated endeavour, a forgotten episode of life may be. Even the chirpy chick from the corner lets out her cheeky tone in approval. The nature around me in the last two years has definitely protested, while I pondered over their disapproval.

How I thought that the last few years of my life could be well-spent in writing about my experiences with the mundane. Alas, this life never succeeds.

The bad eventually wins, the good never gets to let out even a feeble cry.

‘Devil’s dilemma! Weighty words’, the cock-eyed male rabbit gestured. Before hopping back to his usual springy sojourn for supper, he wondered whether there could ever be a devil in disguise.

Most men are, whether you agree or not … born devil, he couldn’t agree more.

As the sun sets on the western horizon beside the deep blue sea, with the seagulls making a beeline for the shore, there’s some hope that there’ll be a dawn tomorrow.

None knows who will be there for the morrow of life, none is sure whether they will see the truth in their lives blossom or not. But the promising dawn, the start of the new life makes mind go greedy.

With so much of life gone astray, can there be a start again?

The green grass flickers with the breeze from the sea, chirping birds flock around the Neem tree for a resting place for the night. An idle mind can neither flicker nor flock around … may a day like this be mostly spent in dreaming about what could have gone right.

But then, can a devil’s paramour ever be right?

What a prolific way to get revenge!

The Consortium of Pubgoing, Loose and Forward Women have fired another salvo. They are keen to serve the so-called moral police a pink ‘chaddi’ (lower undergarment) symbolizing the eternal quest for women to be given the freedom to express.

All sizes, shapes but the eternal ‘chaddi’ that’s pink is all that matters!!

But, I was happier to note an easy way to get married!

A boy is with his girlfriend sitting in a pretty private corner of the city. A group finds them in an intimate position, and promptly hands them a turmeric stub. They even take the couple to a marriage registration office and get their marriage solemnized.

Music to my ears, and definitely a profitable way to get kids married. No expenses, no invitation and no hassles. Parents are relieved, so is the couple – no cost … no headache. Marriage, the great 2009 way!!

Indeed, this seems to me the ultimate takeaway from the V-Day of this year.

Women denied entry to pubs for logical drop of drinks. Religious groups protest and even scare them away. The angry lady minister protests the Talibanization, calls for a ‘pub bharo aandolan’. And a bunch of women dream to get a free glass of drink to enjoy.

Wonderful way to demonstrate for the luxurious peg!!

Public display of affection was never so highlighted, courtesy these groups. As if the entire religious community never believed in romantic liaisons. Prolific!

Yet they sing glorified love saga with immortal names of the gods and goddesses. When was religion so much anti-romantic?

Love greeting cards, courtesy the angelic saint of Valentine, were already scorned. Now a battery of more rules and regulations enforced to keep love-birds from being too open and aggressive. Powerful coterie of religious experts in the neighbourhood denying women to study, work and subject themselves back to the confines of their homes.

Did someone say a woman has to rise and deliver?

These are great times. Protectors of religion against progressive societies fighting their way to the top, such is the confusion of the great times that we live.

After all, the Lord did utter those powerful words for the posterity to follow:

yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata
abhyutthanam adharmasya tadatmanam srjamy aham

(Whenever and wherever there is a decline in religious practice, and a predominant rise of irreligion, O descendant of Bharata, –at that time I descend Myself)

Good to see that the Lord has indeed got his men to fight the odds. Welcome to the 21^st century!

O Lord, just missing you in these times! Where are you?

I’m back … yes, back I am. After being away for a weekend enjoying sis-in-law’s wedding (saali ki shaadi!), with some introspection on whether to continue writing or not, I resume again.

And I know how some of you were anxious about me. Don’t worry. There are times when even an idle mind needs a break.

Meanwhile, I grappled with some slander and was off. These are moments that don’t motivate, and this idle mind doesn’t permit writing. Yet, I’m happy to inform you that the menace has passed off … peacefully.

On another happier note, voice blogging has started. Which means Inky will sing and others will chatter! Fascinating, how many ways of expression can there be. Though I wish I can use the voice with my writing, I’m not prepared yet.

But, I also wish some more can hum some tunes. How about the ladies group?

Very recently, our own Mamata-di stunned everyone in a televised reality show. With a voice that shows no mercy to her opponents, she sang! Seemed the audience was impressed. Politics and creativity knows no bound, I feel. Though any similarity will just stop there.

Or else, how can a creative angry-young-man actor get so disturbed by the release of the film on slum-dwellers? The millionaire from the slums certainly is no dog, but the Indian being does have an underbelly. And it’s promising that some film with a rooted concern for this underbelly has risen again.

Guess we saw such events every time a sensitive issue was rekindled in celluloid. Be it Ray’s Pather Panchali (Song of the Road), or Roland Joffe’s City of Joy.

After seeing them, I never felt ashamed of my nation. Just that they were broader realization of filmmakers on a bigger canvas. If I can write (or express) about my country’s weaknesses, so can film makers try and make a similar statement. That’s the most democratic one should go to.

Creativity should just have passion, and the intelligence to provoke people to think. That’s the basic criteria. A person with a passionate heart will definitely understand, so I believe.

And with this same intent, I remain committed to this act of writing.

Jai Ho!

While reviewing recent happenings in the Indian IT industry, and its inglorious repercussions, I was trying to visualize in case we are in any way vulnerable to greed. True to my incoherent brains, the best I could gather was still a vague illusion.

Since the advent of modern man, the urge to make profit has been the most potent of all greed. Even if earning money, the most futile of all instruments, remains as a mere memory when we finally close our eyes for one final trip to merge with nature.

All ways to make profit - mental or physical - are not known, just as the ways to satisfy a man’s greed is unfathomable.

But then the act of accountancy and the worst way to manage books to inflate the data pertaining to earned revenues may be the ‘best’ way to deceive. A layman will agree that the best a man can do to present his case is to show that he earns a lot … much more than what his business really does.

Why do men cheat? And why would they do so when there are legible ways to let the business of life prosper?

Such are contradictions in men, and the mightier their strength gets, more is their lust to gain more in terms of the material or physical benefit. But then, when did man manage cryptic theories of his volatile brains?

To me, a definite member of the male gender, such inconsistencies seem to be present in men alone. Only men can be so eager to do something as naive and yet misunderstand the entire operation and finally succumb to it.

And in case one is thinking what I am trying to state, here is the ambiguity that I am left with. A clear non-answer to the question - why are men greedy?

Even I am greedy, and to tell you the truth, my greed revolves around the necessity to explore as much as I can and interact with as many as possible. Not knowing what lies beneath this insatiable urge to bond. And in case I misstate the data of my inter-connections, won’t there be a time when I will be vulnerable to the entire idea to build and bond?

Well, may be … and still I am not sure where to draw a meaningful conclusion. After all, can men be reasonable, for once?