Who is John Galt??

Hi Calvin, I am Hobbes

2012-01-30T00:22:00.004+05:30

I look around and find that I am not the only one. The Calvin loving Hobbes exploring generation, that I thought would outgrow its “childish” ways and matured into responsible individuals settled down into the respective places they have found for themselves as Cogs in the wheel of the society, is still all around me. Shifting in their chairs, kicking beneath their desks while typing away furiously and being productive without getting engaged /indulged in the work they do. They toss, twist and turn in their sleep every night for two thoughts keep pulling them in opposite directions. The need to satiate the child in them. And the laziness erupting from the thought of going back in the morning to the mundane routine of professional life. Every night when they sit on their bean bags with a scotch on rocks next to them and the PlayStation console in their hand they do recognize that these amenities for massaging the child ego in them come from the same jobs where they sit, kick, scream and “belong”. But how far would they go to belong is a question all these Calvins, riding the sleds of their childish egos, ask the Hobbes in them everyday.

I was reading an article recently, sent to me by a dear friend of mine and a fellow Calvinite, where Calvin has grown up and has “belonged” but Hobbes is nowhere to be seen. The author has written this article as Calvin in first person and is talking about how he helps his kid find his Hobbes and in turn rediscovers the connections he had with his Hobbes earlier. The article made me wonder if its better to stay on, hold on, Velcro stick on to your Hobbes all through your life or to let go of it to ensure you fit, belong, mature, acquire responsibilities and then rediscover the Hobbes in you. The questions that grapple me in the second possibility are about the health of the relationship between you and your Hobbes after a really long gap. Just like two good friends who lose touch for a really long time and get together only to become better acquaintances.

Would you be able to communicate your deepest innermost thoughts with your Hobbes or merely be able to find a comforting fur belly to lie on. Not someone who can say, “Boy! And that has been fairly easy task for you” with a sarcasm when you say “I have been a good boy... all this morning”. To me the dichotomy is not so dichotomous in a flexible individual based TTMM society but fairly uphill a task in a society where the tightness of it all renders you helpless. And you begin to “BELONG”.

वो जो मुझसे दूर हो गयी

2011-04-29T09:11:00.001+05:30

मुँडेरों से झाँकती हुई,

ओस की बूंदों सी,

मेरे आँगन में गिरती है |

सतरंगी परचम लहराती ,

बादलों की ओट से,

लुकाछिपी खेलती खिलखिलाती है|

अधनंगे बदन पर,

सिर्फ़ एक सफ़ेद रेशमी दुपट्टा ओढ़े,

मुझे ललचाती है|

जो हर सुबह,

अखबारी काला सफ़ेद पोंते,

मेरे दरवाज़े पर दस्तक देती है|

खोलते हीं गुम् हो जाना,

मिचमिचाती आँखों के साथ,

लुकाछिपी खेलती है|

वो खुशी आज सुबह,

मेरे बिस्तर पर लेटी मुझे मिली|

उठने के साथ चाय की प्याली देकर,

झिलमिल सी आँखों में मुस्कान भर कर,

नाश्ता बनाने किचन में चली गयी|

जिस खुशी ने मुझसे दूरी कर ली थी,

दिन भर मुझसे बतियानें बैठी|

बोली अब यहीं रहूँगी|

जब तक वो काले घनेरे बादल,

फिर तुम्हारे अंदर से मुझे धकेल नहीं देते|

The skeptic in me writes away

2011-04-09T16:53:00.004+05:30

The skeptic in me writes this,

Always the skeptic in me writes this,

I hear my heart pounding,

Trying to ignore the creaking in my greys,

The skeptic in me types away.

It makes so many attempts,

Emoting on paper, the rapid swims,

The perspiring tinges of rainbow,

Hoping for the glint

The skeptic in me withers in words hopelessly.

Gleaming, the golden orb,

Sinking deep in the calluses,

Dark and dingy in the corners,

Shining in black grease,

The other part of me keeps surfacing,

While the skeptic in me wordsmiths.

Honing all these thoughts, gargantuan in nature,

The ticking continues, ahoy ahoy up the sails,

Turning those wheels that direct,

Shining the curb I always bite,

The skeptic in me now strikes

No Smoking - A review - Visited via The Fountainhead

2011-03-28T11:59:00.009+05:30

No Smoking, for me is one of the finest Hindi films I have ever seen. Primarily because it has said things that I have been wanting to say all my life and it has, hence, made an impact on my life like no other. It has layers set so deep that they cut through your bones, only if you are willing expose your bones to it. At a superficial level it is a convoluted narrative, supposedly borrowed from Quitters Inc, about a guy’s struggle to quit smoking. With support from family, friends and finally Baba Bangali (Paresh Rawal in the role of the executioner played with chilling precision), the job becomes only difficult as the story progresses, before finally the protagonist collapses at the hands of a minor surgery.

All this at a superficial level. Bubbling layers below is the story of our very own Howard Roark (K, played suitably by John Abraham) and his struggle against a system that would not let him be. The story of a person who struggles and finally is left with only the Peter Keating in him. Letting the Ellsworth Tooheys (Baba Bangali) of the world win and take control. I am not going to go into the narrative and the entire movie description but just give you snippets of how The Fountainhead of India succumbs to the Indian version of Toohey (Baba Bangali).

Ayn Rand said, and I believe many others have as well, that Man’s greatest ability is the faculty of thinking. The power of his own mind. By corollary, his ability to take decisions and then follow them without regret. And decide without intervention from others. Without influence from others. The power to act upon his free will. K’s story is about the struggle between a society that wants to control and an individual that wishes to live and in order for him to live he relies on his free will. The act of smoking is an assertion of his independence not his interdependence. And therefore he is seen as being liberated from a suffocating water swamped bathtub every time he takes a drag. Where he can’t breathe and his smoke has this power of liberation for him. His cigarettes help him swim and then breakthrough to the other side. Remember how others also CAME OUT from closed cupboards, from under the table and other traps. And when he does not get his cigarettes, to act on his free will, he gets trapped, becomes un-confident and becomes part of a world where everyone is an enemy.

Till the end his struggle is to live his life based on this motto, to follow through with his decisions and his struggle against a system that cannot allow him as it is a risk for that system. That would forcibly want to change him and take control of him to make him part of itself. Forcing others to submit to the demands of a power forces all to submit. A dictator that is so omnipresent it moves about like a ghost (like a green film), a contamination that promises to engulf all. The movie does not choose to depict one person as the antagonist, though there are times when Baba Ellsworth does command the screen with his madness, it’s a collective that attacks K. That threatens to consume him and no matter where he hides he can’t escape.

The society / system / Toohey / Bangali find ways to punish him and coerce him. If he does not relent they make him deaf, he persists and they kill his brother, he does not desist and they destroy his wife. Until finally he gives up and turns into Peter Keating, a spineless worm who merely dwells in the society and finally leeches off them leaving behind his Howard Roark / soul behind the glass door feeling dejected and defeated. And not able to communicate.

Some thematic / story specific observations:

1. AK has used green as a color to show contamination of the society and the soul

2. The green ghost is the all pervading dictator trying to control the world

3. The dual personality of various characters is a primary theme. K behind the glass and staring at himself. Anjali the wife (who wishes to mould him into her world) and the secretary (who is willing to do anything for him), Jesse Randhawa song which is sung by Adnan Sami (a man singing for a woman) and finally Baba Bangali and the doctor (btw Jab bhi cigarette jalti hai is one the most erotic songs I have seen / heard)

4. AK probably had to dumb down the film a bit to show that there is always someone watching you. The Ram aur Shyam bit in the lift

5. How life does give you the opportunity to take back what you lost but you fight it so that you don’t risk what you have. The scene where Alex (Joy Fernandes) forces him to smoke a cigar This film is not about cigarettes, it’s about a man losing the connection with his soul, his conscience, his mind and losing his ability to communicate with his inner voice.

Thank You AK

p.s: do visit

http://devilreincarnate.blogspot.com/2009/02/counter-suggestion.html

for another article on No Smoking

Apocalypse Now - A Review

2010-08-24T00:50:00.001+05:30

Hi Readers,

Another review i wrote for passion for cinema has been published. Please visit the same and update any comments that you might have. Join the discussion.
http://passionforcinema.com/apocalypse-here-and-now/

Regards,
Abhinav

Lost and Found

2010-08-17T20:00:00.000+05:30

You are lost, feeling your wounds with your fingers, stabbing and jabbing, running through them, feeling your blood between your fingers, like oil slick, you know the smell, you know the grimy texture, you sniff and almost cough up more of it through your stomach. The process of self discovery, exploration, all the signs of what an infant feels and absorbs. The symptoms of being in a world where suddenly everything is a variable. The child grows up and while growing up continues to explore. As his body and mind permit him. His limbs move about and find those awkward protrusions, the invariably present cavities, the excrement and the process of self discovery continues.

You step into a temple seeking another meaning and find it teeming with a bevy of people. People who are so lost they don’t even know that there is a process of self exploration. The bells jar your ears and you shift heavily. The stomach churning vehemently. No medicine in sight. You feel your life seeping through your fingers and giving way to contamination. You shift heavily on your feet and end up on the bed. Few rapid breaths later, you untangle yourself, jolted from the reverie, the sweet intoxicant of the perfume haunting your thoughts till the next night and stumble out of the promise of self discovery onto the streets of being lost. The journey continues.

You travel miles and let the butterflies fluttering in your stomach take control, cling to the conical heads of your ears, lifting you in the air. Flailing, flickering, kicking your legs about, you circle the horizons and land on your haunches, crashing, bleeding to death. Passing through all the flashes of monstrosity meted out since conception. The pain of being, the pain of seeing, THE PAIN…..

All the images imprinted on your mind, you find the meaning. That there is no meaning. You walk back holding gathered, close to your heart, the remains of what was, the evidence of a journey made, and submit the YOU to the finality of being YOU. Nothing changed paths, but none stood still. You come a full circle, womb to womb.

TRAPPED BETWEEN THE WALLS OF THE LONG ALLEYWAY TO PLEASURE.

My Impression of the movie "A Clockwork Orange"

2010-08-02T17:17:00.004+05:30

Hi Everyone,

I have written an account of my impression of the Stanley Kubrik movie "A Clockwork Orange" on a premier movie portal passionforcinema.com. Please visit the link given below and follow the discussions:
http://passionforcinema.com/a-clockwork-orange-a-review/

Regards,
Abhinav

Paint it...

2009-12-12T04:18:00.002+05:30

I itch all over,
stains of blood hardened on the skin;
Blue black, frenzy of colours.

I bleed all over,
frozen veins exploding;
Tattered patterns of hope.

I have wounds of the soul,
transcending all creation;
Smeared hopes of attainment.

The garb pretends,
it tends to expand all in vain;
Dots mere on the canvas.

I play hither tither,
sheltered in my being me;
Fudged reflection in the mirror.....

Random Ramblings - A collection of my dreams/nightmares

2009-06-13T00:10:00.009+05:30

This is random rambling. In fact the random is rambling. Why do I feel my head reeling at the speed of light when all around me everything moves in slow motion, I feel nauseous, hideous, completely torn apart with merely flashes of energy sustaining me through the day? The moment passes into hours to be swept in a sea of thoughts leaving me exhausted and drained. I manage to wake up in the morning, with the reluctance of a kid on school day, but unlike the kid who is also reluctant to come back from school, not wanting to separate from the friends, I rush home. Not having anything worth breathing for is worth living for.

I have to decipher and understand the meaning that is hovering around and still not knocking loud enough or not knocking at all. My veins, turning blue, red, purple, yellow, and green, hardly managing to pump anything but fluid of poisonous nature, are just like the dark falling bark pieces from a rusty old tree, looking to be detonated, exploded, compounded, and shredded to pieces just so that existence will be of different nature and most importantly in different form. Not having anything worth breathing for is worth living for.

The body is exposed to miniscule explosions of chilling nature, the impact being as though you are burnt with Ice. It’s a difficult feeling to explain just doesn’t fit into any metaphors. You breathe and then find that the lungs refuse to inflate or even deflate. They stick to your rib cage and flap about in a desperate attempt to become independent of you just so that they can fly. You are caught in the turmoil of dizzying forces, as though all matter inside has collapsed to form a solid ball which is semi fluid in nature. Green in color, contaminating and disintegrating at the same time, enough to make you cough and vomit and ensure that the more you vomit it out the more it grows in size. Not having anything worth breathing for is worth living for.

You knock a few cans around and find swept in the nature of the intoxicant itself, pure, senile (it’s an attribute of old/age), degenerating and rejuvenating. You try various colors on only to see which fits, leads to redemption and then you drown yourself in the color. You become the color itself. First blue, as pure bliss, ABHAAMAAN, then red angry and mocking the rest, then purple, turning inward with shame and fear, unable to grapple with reality, yellow with fever trying to shake off the sickening dogs wagging it’s tail forever at you, and then finally green (completely contaminated) marking various shades of jealousy (all the seven sins amalgamated) only to leave you with a feeling of being licked by a rabid dog who has seen and smelt the fear in you, the vomit on you. You try to find and then know that not having anything worth breathing for is WORTH LIVING FOR!!!

You are running at feverish pace, perspiring, perplexed at the reason and still not able to understand it fully. You tie a knot around your waist, just to brace yourself for the situation, and then rush headlong into Vortex*, spiraling ahead, just ahead to glimpse your future and then recoil at the sight of the dripping, slime covered, green creature that you have become, blotches of sun forming their mark on the face, bathing in your own sweat, swearing loudly and lamenting at the obfuscation around, all pervading darkness and still everything so clear. You try to clear the fog and then know that not having anything worth breathing for is WORTH LIVING FOR!!!

*(Ashok Banker – Thanks)

Fair & Lovely

2009-05-13T13:02:00.003+05:30

Leaving behind a healthy household (it was health & hygienic from my comfort point of view and I can see Gols, Murs and Govi grinning from ear to ear reading this), a lavish lifestyle, and a comfortable city for all purposes, I have shifted to Chennai. Pune is the city that I will always remember for giving birth to who I am today. Pune gave me a second life. But coming to Chennai, despite mixed reactions from my friends and family, I am confounded by a myriad of feelings. I am confident to do something new, I am apprehensive about the weather and all the new people (anyone who knows me, knows well enough that I do not like new people, be it Tamizhs or Biharis), I am ready to explore and find newer avenues, some which I might not have found in Pune, and above all I have the desire the excel at my work. It’s a challenge I am willing to accept and overcome.

But all this is a part of a long list that will take time for completion. I would, for now, settle down to observations and one of the curious things I observed was the Fair and Lovely phenomenon. I have had in my life the pleasure of interacting with a few unique people and observe from close quarters their personal grooming process. A lot of the middle class young men (I am stating this at the risk of generalizing) seem to be pre-occupied with two things. The hair, the length of it and the gloss of it and the skin the gloss of it and the fairness of it. A comb in the pocket and a tube of Fair & Lovely on the dressing table. I have seen similar skin tone in South Africa and found that among the “blacks” an amazing sense of pride in their skin color exists. I saw a hoarding advertising for a product called “Dark & Lovely”. This to me sums up the entire colour skin debate sparked off a few hundred years ago. While the most oppressed in the matter have moved on and started taking pride in their skin tone as a sign of struggle and liberation, some here have bought into the advertising imperialism / colonization and have become rampant consumers of a product whose results are at best unfounded and imaginary.

To me the most surprising is the fact that those who can afford this product are educated young men!! The drivers for consumption of this product could be many viz. getting a fair girl for marriage, attaining a supposed social norm. I might never be able to find the underlying cause, but one thing I do know that trying to change who we are in order to attain what is socially acceptable is not just trying to lie to oneself but also a small step towards a Unitarian society, where independent thoughts and new ideas seize to exist. Once that happens, we would be mere puppets in the hands of the nefarious social engineers. Like a herd of sheep being led by the mountain goat.

A Counter Suggestion/ No Smoking - A Review

2009-02-11T13:01:00.003+05:30

Going back to originality. Its an assertion of your independence.

Your basic character, your soul, your reason for existence aches for independence, it aches to free itself from the clutches of bondage, of interdependence, of LOVE. Reading through an article, which was reviewing a movie, the author suggested that one should fall in love to understand the beauty of interdependence, of making decisions to live in a world which is better for you.

I counter-suggest!

Fall out of love once to experience what it means for your pensive, aching soul. How the energy sapped being released from the prison of interdependence, of making decisions, for a seemingly better future, rooted in compromises, suddenly bears its grinning and independent, Howard Roarkish face. So astute, orange hair flowing in breezy weather, resolved to make something happen or not be active at all. To angrily mock the rest of the world at their fucking ignorance, feigning surprise at mere hints of revelations.

Fine, when YOU surface, YOU are weather beaten, unable to stand on your legs for lack to interdependence, YOU find YOURSELF stuck in corners, standing at the traffic signal unable to comprehend that very familiar path walked often. YOU reach inside to the guttural corners of the body and scream out the Rock version of Emotional Atyaachaar, drowning every pore of your body in the misery pervading all around ready to destroy and get consumed wholly by lack of interdependence.

Then it hits YOU in the face. The mind numbing voice which screams and calls for help. YOU climb out spitting pieces of the anti-jaunt YOU had last night. Listen to the voice and steady yourself to walk again. YOU look at the clear path and become responsible for your actions, YOU don't have the option of blaming someone else. Of saying “It was our decision.” YOU go to the quarry or start architecting, either cases YOU breath/smoke and don't irk anyone else.

Originality, the finer victim of the grand dance of interdependence, is allowed to breed and more importantly produce results, some tragic and some grander, in all, all decisions for which the price is nothing but the liberation. The society can scoff at the results and the image in the mirror grows proud every moment for all YOU have done for YOURSELF. They dart when results are favourable and point when not so aphrodisiac-al. YOU choose to ignore and acquire for yourself.

Isn't that the aim of most religions – self actualisation!

So fall out of love, get liberated, become original, and self actualise. MASSAGE THE EGO.

Happy New Year

2009-01-27T21:26:00.004+05:30

I am not one for New Year Resolutions. They are like a prostitute's promise of virginity. They last only for a night. With a tinge of blood spilled, all innocence is lost and all promises are forgotten. You move on, the virgin moves on and, hanging in mid-air, remains, the promise of virginity. Despite all this, I have made a few Old Year resolutions (they were made throughout the year of 2008) and like the lover, estranged, comes to the bed next night, seeking virgin promise. I have come back to fulfill a few of mine to keep the momentum of breathing going. Here is a list of the promises I made to myself and known only to me are the ones on the road of fulfillment :-)

Learn to Play guitar
Get a tattoo
Learn Boxing
Climb a few more mountains
Watch all the kind of movies I like to watch
Watch as many plays, go to as many concerts so on and on
Travel extensively -
take a 3-4 day trip once every 2-3 months
Have a month long holiday every year for traveling
Trek as often as possible
Photograph extensively
UPDATE THE BLOG REGULARLY
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nth. Make a movie

Here is to never losing our virginity.

I Make A Promise

2009-01-27T21:11:00.004+05:30

I make a promise;
When tears fall
& roll down the cheeks.

I make a promise;
When moonlight flickers
gently caressing green leaves.

I make a promise;
When muscles twitch involuntarily
going into spasm.

I make a promise;
When from the corner of my eyes
I see hope clad in black.

I make a promise;
Rocking slowly in the balcony
night breeze promising to carry me over.

I make a promise;
When I close my eyes, see you
& remember me making a promise.

Pune International Film Festival - 2009

2009-01-15T12:13:00.007+05:30

Its over, and just like all times its leaves me gloomy as the days of sensibilities are over and now no more do I have the luxury of returning to the celluloid and soaking a wealth of information, emotion and forms of depiction. I have been a regular at the PIFF since I came to Pune in 2004 attending by now over hundred movies, some so moving the memory still remains and some so weird I am still trying to defragment the meaning after so many years.

There have been times when I have stood spellbound in the hall well after the projector has stopped twittering and there have been those occasions when I have left in a hurry purely to avoid the felling of nausea. The Pune International Film Festival, organised every year in the month of January, has brought to me a better understanding of the world. Indian films, and by that I mean the Hindi film industry, with its dance around the tree or dance in the cloud or dance in the valley of flowers, hero saves the day, beats up all the bad guys, rosy flavoured all happy ending and they lived happily ever after, is purely a walk in the paradise and definitely a make believe world. While cinema like that has its place purely for entertainment value, I have always felt that cinema that does not say anything comes from a person who does not wish to say anything or has nothing to say at all. Love is an emotion in Hindi films that has been so vastly abused that it has become overrated. It has lost all its meaning amidst the beautiful locales and enchanted forests. Expressions have become borrowed and that too from formulaic successful mainstream films.

Amidst all this comes PIFF to bring in fresh modes of expression, fresher dramas and above all stories that are complete in terms of human expression and human behaviour, not merely a slice of a human being. These stories look complete in many respects and depict the way a human being behaves rather how a super-hero reacts. There has been the real life depiction of the Italian mafia father who commits suicide after knowing his son is a cop and is disappointed at the way his father had abandoned him when he was a kid. The chemistry between the cop and felon is so palpable that you almost feel like reaching out and caressing the teary eyed cop when he first confronts his father (Salty Air).

There has been the depiction of the rebellious 37 year old protagonist and 21 year girl in a Turkish community in Germany who decide to marry each other to get away from the repressive and tradition rich family of the girl to merely live out as roommates, who continue to experiment and explore with the world around them with drugs, alcohol, sex, tattoos and body piercing (all forms of expressing their angst at the primarily dogmatic society), until the world comes crashing down on one night of drunken, jealousy driven murder of one of the lovers of the girl. Driven away from the stigma of the stories in the newspapers the girl goes away to Turkey and the guy gets imprisoned. Turkey again is no easy dwelling for Sibet who gets frustrated with the tied down life only to end up on the streets of Turkey, raped and beaten nearly to death. You cry and feel like burning up the world when you see how this world treats people who just wish to live their own life without following traditions. Cahit comes to Turkey after his release from the jail to find Sibet happily married with a kid and gives up all hope of finding his one true love to go to his ancestral village to settle down (Head On).

There is the depiction of Gulnabi in a village in Karnataka, which has not known any kind of communal tension until a Hindu village damsel decides to run away with a Muslim. Gulnabi (Gulabi as she is known throughout the village) owns a television set and runs a theatre called Gulabi talkies to which everyone flocks for watching movies. After the eloping incidence, Gulabi who was not directly involved in the incidence has to leave the village along with other Muslims leaving the Television set behind for the village to enjoy (Gulabi Talkies).

There is the graphic novel animated screen adaptation of Persopolis, showing a girl growing up in the oppressive regime of Iran only to be taken over by a more oppressive revolutionaries who frown upon the idea of a woman not wearing a headsarf and her burqua and how she find the true meaning of her roots when she goes to Europe to study. Its her trails and tribulations but mainly of an advancing economy suddenly stopped in its track by archaic concepts of a state, where expression of oneself has no place amidst laws of modesty and proper behaviour. Where a girl running on the road is asked to stop and walk slowly as the movement of her hips is considered immodest and distraction for the men around her (Persopolis).

There is the beautiful love story, which brings to screen the torrid love affair that begins with a one night stand between a French woman and a Japanese man in post WW2 Hiroshima and how all adversities (purely of their emotions and their past) do not stand in their way of finally uniting and deciding to stay together (Hiroshima, My love).

I will miss what I did not get to see,
I will savour what my eyes could feast,
And I will wait till next January.

मेरा शून्य !!

2008-12-28T17:31:00.002+05:30

कुछ चिढ़ता सा चिल्लाता सा,
डरता सा घबराता सा;
बढ़ता है वीरानो का सन्नाटा,
देख मुझे वीराना सा।

कभी हँसी खुशी में ढल जाता,
साँसों में मेरी गल जाता;
पर बढ़ता है अविरल चलता,
देख मुझे दीवाना सा।

हाथों को मेरे थामे,
नदियों और पहाडों पर;
रुकता सा और थकता सा,
पर देख मुझे हीं बढ़ता था।

जिव्हा पर एक जबानी सा,
साँसों में छिपता पानी सा;
गीतों में मेरी हीं कहानी सा,
वीरानो का जो सानी था।

अब तो अथाह में भी मीठापन,
नीले में भरता सादापन;
पर दामन थाम के घूम रहा,
मेरा अब भी मेरा सूनापन।

तीन दिन

2008-12-26T20:11:00.003+05:30

दो थपके हों या चार सही,
मिट्टी से निकले आग कहीं?
ठोका, थपका पानी से सींचा,
दो चार ने खड़े हो प्यार से पुछा।

सूखी मिट्टी थी मुरझाई सी,
पानी के करुणा से सकुचाई सी;
कंकड़ पत्थर की वर्षा होती,
सुबह की ओस से वंचित थी।

नए सृजन की आवाज़ उठी थी,
बाहों में भरकर धुप खिली थी;
आटे से उठकर चोकर में मिली थी,
चाकों की बाटों से पिसकर बनी थी।

हल्की बारिश की बूंदों ने जिव्हा पर,
लालच की मिसरी धरी थी;
हाथों में भरकर सुविनय का प्याला,
मिट्टी के होंठों पर रख सी दी थी।

मैं!!

2008-12-26T18:58:00.003+05:30

प्रकृति के नियमों को चीरती,
भेदती, एक असामान्य,
असाधारण उलझन काटने,
कचोटने, नोंच खाने आती है।

क्या असामान्य हीं होना
मेरी परिभाषाओं को सार्थक
और परिपक्व बनाती है?
या मुझे असमय सागर में डुबोने का प्रयास?

क्रियाओं में संलग्न जीव,
हर जीव, अपनी परिभाषाओं हीं को तो
सार्थक और शब्दित करने में लगा है।
फिर मैं हीं असामान्य क्यों?

तर्क से इसे खंडित करने पर,
हर जीव असामान्य और
असाधारण सी हीं तो यात्रा करता।
कुपित कुंठित फिर यहीं यह अग्नि क्यों?

इसकी ज्वालाएं शरीर के हर अंग को,
झुलसा, तपा देती हैं।
शायद, सुना है सोना भी कुछ
इसी प्रकार तैयार होता है।

क्या वो आई थी?

2008-12-26T18:56:00.000+05:30

किसको लगता है यहाँ वो आई थी,
झाँका था, पलकें झपकाईं थी;
साँसों से सदियाँ महकाई थी,
किसने कहा वो आई थी।

कभी कंगन की आवाजें हैं,
पायल भी झनकाती है;
पर किसके कहने पर आई थी,
और किसको लगता है वो आई थी।

जब घूमा करते थे अंधियारों में,
कानों के झुमके सुन सुन कर;
जब लगता था वो आई है,
कब लगता था वो आई है।

हाथों की खुशबू बहकाती थी,
चेहरे पर हँसी खिल जाती थी;
पर कबसे पूछता घूम रहा,
क्या किसी ने उसे देखा जब वो आई थी?

One got left behind, or did he??

2008-12-25T11:16:00.001+05:30

“This is my dream, this is my nightmare,” said the guide who took us camping to the Black and White desert in Egypt. Mine was a 9 day visit to the land of Pharaohs in the month of April, when my Bhaiya and Bhabhi called me to Cairo. I travelled via Nairobi and landed at the Cairo airport in the night. Two of my Brother’s friends were joining us from US of A and then the 3 of us were to proceed to Luxar. The mysticism wrapped pyramids and sphinxes open their arms wide to welcome us in Giza. The sheer magnitude of the structures makes me understand why it is called a wonder of the world. Enthralled by the magnificence and captivated by the sense of smallness I travelled through the sand and got lost in the history. The tales of the Pharaohs, their wars and primarily their belief in the afterlife and all the paraphernalia created around it which pretty much is THE MYSTIC of AGYPTEN. Fascinated as I always was with the splendour this kingdom once was I got drawn in tooth, nail and hair into it all. The visit of Citadel which remains till dare as a reminder of all the invasions Egypt has seen and all the conquerors trying to establish their supremacy.

But at the end of it all the most poignant experience that remained with me was that of Rashid, our guide at the camp in Black and White desert. It is called so because the sea once extended well inside what is today mainland of Egypt. There were under water volcanoes that erupted and resulted in mountains of black stones and limestone. The sea retreated leaving behind these mountains and stones. Rashid remained with us once we reached the village nearest to the campsite. Scruffily dressed in half sleeve shirt, Jeans and a sleeveless camping jacket he appeared a contradiction from the beginning, more out of place than anyone else around and still more in tune with his surroundings than even the palm trees. He remained quite for most part of the trip speaking only when spoken to. After remaining quite for most part myself, trying to soak in all, I settled next to his fire illuminated face in the night and asked him his story.

After a little probing I discovered that he has an engineering degree from the top most college in Egypt and after working for six month returned back to his village. He said he could not take the moronic and fast paced life of Cairo. He came back to his village as he could not think of life without it. After a point he started working as a camp guide to earn some money. “There is not enough of it, but I like staying in the desert, sitting in the sand. This is my dream, this is my nightmare.” With the campfire illuminating his bearded face, pale brown eyes catching the fire dance, smoke of cigarette escaping his tobacco stained mouth, he looked more content than even the Dalai Lama. He touched a chord in my heart which pulls me now to go back to Egypt again and experience it all over again.

PMji ki Amethi

2008-12-25T09:45:00.004+05:30

I am travelling like the wind god, Pavan, through the deforested terrains of U.P. Taking the Janata Express from Benares to Ramanagar, the aim is to travel to tiger country. I am as ill equipped as they come, grossly misjudging the weather, the National Park and the train journey itself. I intended to take trains throughout this trip as a means to tear through and introspect. I am constantly reminded of Mr. M.K. Gandhi's train journey before he chose to resume his political career in India. Small grain of salt, though I am, I challenge none around and only myself to carry on unfettered and package home a wider understanding of life itself. Some would argue that life was right where I left it on 2nd Nov but there is no harm in evolving or looking out the window, at the terrain de-evolving.

The train has picked up and started rolling its ball bearings at 11.55 from Benares and in the typical frustration that plagues Indian Railway's patrons I was unable to find my coach to begin with. Nothing is marked and no official about to guide. In the typical Babudom drudgery of India one of them responds "arre kissi mein bhi baith jaiye na." “Just grab a seat in any one of the coaches. When the TC comes he will direct you to your seat.” Hissing loudly, I storm out of the baggage coach and decide to stroll till the end of the platform and Eureka I find S-8 at the fag end of the train loudly proclaiming the reservation chart with my name on it. I climb aboard and find my berth. Prostrating on it I vent my anger and then snooze for a bit. Waking up I find the train tearing through the Ganga basin and one of the most fertile regions in India. Not much has changed. For those who can afford it, the mud houses have changed to brick ones and nothing around has evolved in terms of infrastructure.

I wonder if these people don't have voting rights or if they choose their representatives for promises of simple things like electricity and road which seems absent all around. The train stops at the famed Amethi railway station. I look in amazement and disbelief at a small and insignificant looking village, which but for its name would have gone unnoticed. The Lok Sabha constituency has voted in 3 Prime Ministers, if you include Sonia Gandhi the ruling party's leader as one. I smile wryly, shrug off my disbelief and think if only they were remotely interested in public welfare.

10th Nov, 2008 - A date is Definitive

2008-12-22T21:22:00.003+05:30

I don’t know what to call this, may be my travelogue or just a collection of my random thoughts. Whichever way it gets described it has begun. I have started gathering mass and now rolling slowly and building momentum. What percolates down 84 layers of skin transcends to heaven when all ceases to exist. It vibrates and gives vent to all energy. It gets violated when I get pushed around, it loses hope when a vein is severed, it mocks me when wet cheeks surface from the corner of darkness, it reminds me that I can cause pain and only I can love. I am told I need to nurture and care, for when all ceases to exist and only I will remain.

All enveloped in ash and soot burning fire upon the mortals of the realm only I will be dancing atop the corpses. I will look beyond the hills, un-focus myself and get ready to drown all in my glory, then the mother beckons from downhill, calling her flesh to come home, get enjoined at the hips and breathe my last, silence till the end…..

Holy Shit

2008-12-20T15:45:00.003+05:30

One trip to the holy city of Benares, the city of temples, of shrines, of red tikas, of saffron clothes, of shikha clad men and ochre sporting women & you are confounded by myriad of thoughts. There is the common, everyday, middleclass man/woman, like my mother is, who starts his day by visiting a few temples of his deity/ies and bathing in the Ganges. Clad in minimal clothing, as befits a temple visit, these early rising denizens of a city that dwells on Lord Shiva’s trident, make this not a religion but a way of life. This is as much a part of their routine as bathing or eating everyday is. I am calling this a way of life because there is usually nothing transactional (overtly) in the relationship. It is a way to deconstruct the road to peace and well being.

And on the other hand is the curious, SLR carrying, shorts clad, hat sporting, white skinned tourist who dwells and contemplates this way of life. He has his own methods for deconstructing the road to peace. He is more explorative than ritualistic. He is more curious as he doesn’t understand it and drawn in as his own world is moving rapidly away from belief systems. Away from him and towards individualism. Both these polarised worlds clash firmly in Benares and produce a wilting of the slits and reverberating, settle down, in the clanking of the temple bells.

I look to these worlds with as much curiosity as familiarity, as much belief as questions, as much joy & love as hatred and ask myself seldom and often if I can belong to either or both.

Frenzy

2008-12-20T15:42:00.001+05:30

Brains on the wall,

Blood on the floor;

Mud all around me,

Nothing but a whore;

You might be Mumbaikar, I am a Bombayite

2008-12-20T14:59:00.007+05:30

I keep coming back. I have to. I still come, stare wide eyed, get plunged into the crowd and slowly retreat back to whence I came. I came this time around, got swarmed again and took that eternal lifeline from Marine Lines to Goregaon. This must have been the last local to Virar – the 12:25 for Virar, for it was crowded. I have travelled all my growing years on this electric lifeline of BOMBAY, have been used to bringing other people’s sweat, on my shirt, home; reach deep in the light of my soul – closing my eyes – when all around me were people, their chattering and an all pervading darkness. I have grown resilient to a lot in my life travelling on this Bombay bullock cart, carrying all life alike, not discriminating, not caring, relentless, purposeful, hopeful – chugging away with mind numbing efficiency. Bombay and its lifeline have MADE me.

I sat clutching onto my backpack, trying to stare out casually. There was plenty of import in the backpack and it made my pulse go faster, my heart more nervous. I purposefully glanced around trying to take stock, create semantics for all that was around and give labels. There was a group of 6-8 Muslims, clad in white kurtas and payjamas, skull cap about, black marks on the forehead. They looked as devout as a monkey intent on grabbing a sweet out of your hand. They were discussing religion. The lump in my throat bobbed up and down. At the next station 3-4 Hindus, devout as the Muslims, the saffron mark on the forehead, long hair and the look of resolute dedication, the monkey again, climbed aboard and stood near the gate. The lump expanded and threatened to squeeze my heart.

Two stations later at Mahalaxmi, a group of people, from their conversation they sounded the filmy types, the labourers of the film fraternity, got on the train and sat around me. And now it was getting difficult to breath. I looked around feeling suffocated, eyes growing dim and weary because of the effort. I was just trying to calm my senses and breathe normal, trying not to draw any attention to myself, when at Andheri station 5 young kids, possibly engineering 1^st year students, speaking Marathi entered the wagon.

The North Indian in me (for that’s what I am to them) shuddered. Looking at the Muslims the Hindu in me winced, looking at the Tika clad men the peacekeeper in me held its breath and looking at the labourers the middle classer heart pumped more blood. I grabbed my backpack, hurriedly left the WINDOW SEAT, looked around, trying myself not to look suspicious and waited eagerly to jump out of the train at Goregaon. Hurriedly climbing up the FOB I went across to Goregaon (E), sat in the auto and heaved a sigh of relief.

Thank You to all those who have contributed towards making me feel like this in a place where I spent 16 years of my life and called HOME.

You Judge Yaar!!! I dont know the title

2008-10-30T21:15:00.004+05:30

My blue veins are turning black,

Blood rushing to obscure corners;

Turning frenzy into madness,

Chaos on the borders.

Bohemianism smitten on the roads,

Walking in passive directions;

Glory around the corners,

Riot at every intersection.

Shooting colours from the canvas,

Drown every scream;

Away from all this,

Heaven sleeps in peace.

dISTANT to the pain of random,

Kicking in its dreams.

The glorious road to victory

2007-06-22T14:39:00.002+05:30

Screaming and kicking I fell down,
Biting the dust on the ground;
Falling deep in the abyss,
I realize my true spirit.

I get dragged hard,
With the ace of clubs and the rest of the cards;
I have fallen deep,
deeper than I thought.

I take a look beyond the hills
Gathering a sense of all my skills
I know I have fallen
I can’t look back now

I march ahead to glory
The darkness inside
I know its confounding
The walls around me now!!

A country of demi – gods

2007-06-19T16:37:00.003+05:30

It remains, always, the country of Gods or godmen and now, in the present day and age, a country of demi - gods. It’s pathetic how we can always find someone or something else apart from our own consciousness to be the most sacred and a guiding source of light, the only thing that can really give direction to our slow paced and evil footed lives.

Well, I surely have started off with very strong words. Reason, I am amazed at the peculiar way in which our mental clocks tick. We need our parents to nurture us and keep giving us all the comforts, we need our teachers and school mates to help us constantly score good marks (believe me learning and knowledge accumulation is the least of our worries in school), we then, gladly fall prey to the cushion of our girlfriend’s bosom for facing the realities of life (choices to make and people to befriend), also somewhere along the line we have this parallel track of divinity which slowly gets entrenched in our minds through various mediums, like festivals, parents, teachers, schools and in the end by the time we touch that stage of our life when we need to make decisions, so very crucial to our destiny (let me use that word at the cost of sounding burdened by all the tracks) we are left incapacitated to make any move. If nothing else helps and we take the route leading to not so fruitful results we end up cursing the divine, or others who ideally should have given us proper guidance (huh), for whatever happened.

By the time we realize that the choices can not be made in accord with everyone else we end up forming these demi – gods in our mind. An actor from the film industry could be one good example, another could be business man. These creatures, though inspiring in many ways, are definitely not going to help us make crucial decision of our lives. We long to be with them. We burst crackers when their movies are released and celebrate when they win a huge business deal and mourn similarly when they lose a petty battle of their lives. Little do we realize that they are humans and make the same choices that we do and move in their lives pretty much in ways we do.

We are, at the very core of it, thumb suckers, who need constant crouching on others to take even tiny steps in our lives. We are the nation of demi-gods. Each one worshiping one, not being what they themselves can.

I go hunting

2007-06-07T14:42:00.002+05:30

So you go hunting.... confused, so was I when I thought of this topic. While I am writing this I am amazed at the lack of clarity that I have in my life. The spirals and the tropical changes of behaviour, the choices I keep making and the people I keep meeting. Uhhh.

So where did I leave my sanity amidst all this confusion or is it that my loss of sanity is the primary reason of the never ending confusion. I don’t know. What I know is life keeps offering me choices... am pretty sure it offers the choices to you as well. What I make of them and how I approach the choices is what determines when and how the haze percolating through my mind and surrounding all my senses is going to disappear.

I know not many feel so disturbed. I have met these people. They keep questioning my logic of confusion, as though I know the logic. IDIOTS. If I knew what the logic was, wouldn't I be not confused.

So what am I confused about? The list is long and I don’t have patience. Ill just speak about what it means to go hunting. The predator hides in the fields slowly crouching towards the herd of its prey. Grazing unknowingly, the prey goes unhindered in all directions. The crouching tiger then points to one of the weaker looking prey and focuses entirely on its movements. Then one clean action is needed to begin the chase and end it swiftly by snapping the neck in two.

By hunting I mean looking at all the choices, slowly evaluating each one, and then focusing on one to attack it swiftly and cleanly. Then come back the next day to evaluate other choices.

Basic formula ATTACK EACH CHOICE ONE AT A TIME.

Why hunt? If the tiger doesn’t hunt it dies a slow and painful death. It knows it needs to make these rigorous evaluations everyday just to sustain its life. By making these choices it might be injured brutally and die on the spot. But dying slowly, knowingly, by the virtue of being lazy is worse. It erodes your systems and you can literally feel all your organs shutting down, one at a time. Your death approaches you in slow even paces and keeps hovering about you till all the life out of you is passed on to more productive creatures.

GO HUNT

We went Konkan Surfing

2007-05-25T18:01:00.003+05:30

The sheer excitement of hitting the roads with your friends is enough to give you Goosebumps. And this trip was not just the three amigos but also two long lost friends (I am calling them long lost merely for dramatic effect, we keep meeting once a month at least but we have not been on a trek since college) who jumped the wagon the moment they heard the name Shriharihareshwar (we had planned this trip while at IMDR but couldn’t make it). So to cut the introduction short Sunil and Ud joined us from Mumbai while Soumya had flown himself in from Bangalore, we flicked my roommate’s car (I had to pin him down against the wall and threaten to use some force on the other side of the world to finally seize the key from him) and eventually rendezvoused at Lala’s place at 1 AM on Saturday Morning.

With the car ready and roaring to go (I was the driver dudes!) we began what could only be described a journey of frenetic and anxious breathing. We had with us our able and competent (sarcasm intended) tour guide, Avinash AKA Lala and an excuse of a map which somehow was able to take us through the strenuous journey. With the trip meter set on 0 km we began our rapid progression to the infamous Mulshi Lake (they say many lives have been lost in the lake, but then that’s true for most of secluded water bodies and especially if they meet idiots like us :-)). I must say here that the road we had traversed last year on the first day of New Year has improved drastically. We were not worried about skidding off the roads nor were we thinking of all the dead people (yeah right!) when Soumya suggested stopping the car for a leak. In the middle of the jungle with no sign of human encroachment and a single lane road going through the narrow traverses of the trees I felt a sudden jolt of excitement.

We went on with our business till we all saw the sky. Nothing but endless sky with countless stars!! The numbers were never ending and the brightness defied all artificiality of the city just left behind. Just to give you an insight till now the lights of the car were kept on to avoid the darkness monster, but with the beauty right above us we decided, rather boldly, to switch off the headlight and bathe in the pure glory of nature. I can’t describe the feeling of being completely silent and touching the boundaries of nature with all your senses. It’s profound in all its pieces. We moved towards a village called Dungarwadi, which had decided at 3 in the night to celebrate a deferred version of Baba Bhimrao Ambedkar’s Birthday, seven days after it actually was. Upon asking one of the villagers, he responded “apne liye yehi toh entertainment hai”.

So after a round of tea at the place and some disco beats we moved on towards our destination. For your information I was the designated driver for the trip and Ud acted as the backup driver. So after a while of driving through the foliage and darkness (mind you there is a bad patch of road for about 50 Kms from Dungarwadi ahead) my eyes grew weary and I decided to handover the wheels to Ud. Hereon I wouldn’t know much as I was fast asleep in the backseat, but I do remember an anxious moment when in the middle of the sleep I felt the car rolling backwards and opened my eyes to find the car rolling off a climb on the road because accidentally Ud drove over a patch of pebbles. I had to step in and drive us out of the trouble and then again go back to dreaming of racing next to Bipasha on the beach.

Next thing I know its 5:30 AM and the dawn is fast approaching with the chilly winds of Shriharihareshwar hitting my face. I draw out my camera and start clicking away to glory. The sunrise, the beautiful sea cutting land in two and the clouds adding to the hilly climb take our breaths away. Only thing undeterred from all the excitement: Soumya’s snoring. Anyways, we went straight to the MTDC resort just to try our luck finding someplace to freshen up and venture forth in our adventure. Taking up a room at the resort was just too expensive merely to clear the stomachs and clean the teeth, so we decided to relax at their restaurant next to the white sandy beach with nothing else in sight but a half sunken boat in the sea. And voila! We find that the resort also had a public toilet for general consumption, so we geared up and the facility just to remain sane during the day.

We just sat for about an hour staring at the beauty of the beach and the rising sun. Nothing said could fully describe this feeling so I am going to leave this part to your imaginations.

We then moved to the famous Shriharihareshwar temple, a twin shrine of Kaal Bahirav and The Trinity along side Parvati (or Shakti). The system at the temple is that you first visit the Kaal Bhairav Mandir and then pay your regards at the other temple. The architecture of the temple is also curiously very old but not extremely rich in colour or construct. Looking at the temple you get a sense of the simplicity of the erstwhile village (which still hasn’t changed much) and hence the simple design. I was somehow reminded of the pagodas that some of the eastern states boast, only smaller in size and construct.

While the village is primarily famous for its twin temples and the clean white sandy shores, the underrated backyard of the temples which turns into a grand beach with honeycomb rocks and crabs is a treat for the eyes and pensive souls. What we encountered now were rocks of various colours and crabs popping from here and there to grab onto our toes. Little did they realise that we wanted instead to grab on to their toes after having barbecued them. There is a healthy growth of Locusts, clams and various crustaceans to make your mouths water and your eyes wider in appreciation. Well we settle for the Pohe just as yet and move on to the Peshwa town of Shrivardhan.

Not know for any beaches or a spectacular temple the town does offer its beauty in small packets. It has three nondescript temples which have some unique offering to make to the inquisitive tourist or a zealot devotee. To begin with, it has the Peshwa’s home, a simple yet artistic mix of architecture with a lone statue of one of the Peshwas (I forget the name) standing in splendour in the open courtyard. We also chanced upon plucking some raw mangoes just for fun. The statue is cleaned everyday by local kids and it came to us as a big surprise because we are not used to finding clean statues in the city.

We walked to the Peshwe Ram Mandir through the dense thicket of Coconut and Beetle nut trees and a typical Konkani village on a platter. The temple is again no great shakes but what is curiously interesting is that the entire Idol (that of Sri Ram, Janaki Mata, Sri Lakshman and Sri Hanuman) is crafted out of single piece of rock! The other temple, Temple of Sonjai, has a very small, about two inches to three inches in diameter, stone (these stones are shiny stones that have universally been come to represent Lord Shiva and are found in the Basin of river Narmada - they are called as Narmadeshwar), which represents the Shiv Ling, on a silk Throne. Just that the tourist gets disappointed because a closer look is not accorded and hence you come out with the feeling that there wasn’t much to see.

Next we visited the Shiv Temple which has its own unique features to offer. The seating hall of the temple is a feast for eyes as you see four pillars around you carved out of single pieces of wood with each pillar having different carvings. The common theme in each is the Peacock at the top of the chain establishing the supremacy of the Peshwas but when you start at the bottom you find the differences. Each have the horses, carved in different fashions, the elephants, again different looking and various other forms like humans hunting and so on and so forth. Once you enter the Garbhgriha, you find the Shiv Ling formed out of one piece of rock, probably granite in very crude form.

The next stop for us was going to Dive Agar, the beach where we had decided to take our first dips. The road on offer is not so bad, pretty comfortable especially because we did not care much about the car. It’s a long stretch with a climb of the Ghats and the open sea inviting on the other side. We could see the beauty and smell the fragrance of the salty sea with its white beaches and Koli community fishing and beckoning us to indulge in the feast of sea food. By the time we reached Dive Agar it was already 2:30 PM and all of us had already started suffering from pangs of hunger and with the smell of sea food coming from virtually every home the hunger just multiplied every second.

Well we forayed forward to the newly constructed MTDC resort just to have the idea of the cost and whether it was worth staying in one of their cottages (the real reason was that by now we were desperately tired and just looking for a place to crash and binge on the offerings of Sea GodJ and MTDC was the only place know to us). The beauty of the even the lesser known places in Maharashtra is that they do offer the best of the comfort in terms of MTDC resorts. But just as expected the place was far beyond our reaches in terms of money (Rs. 1300 per night for a cottage), so instead we decided to head to one of the houses and seek shelter in their room.

The charge: Rs.350 per night with facility of attached toilets and bathrooms and extra beds for extra person at no extra cost. The condition: no food will be served, no noise shall be created else they hold all authority to thrown you out of the place. We accepted very well knowing that the second condition would be difficult to fulfill. The stomachs and the taste buds now needed to be massaged and we ventured to a place that the house owner suggested for delicious sea food. Forget the name of the place but the owners are Bohris and they also run a guest house next to their wonderful restaurant, which at that point was housing some lonely and very beautiful souls from Infosys, Pune. The lady, whom we started calling Bhabhi by now was very courteous and caring, that made us love the food even more.

With the pain of such beautiful girls next to us and not being able to initiate anything interesting we sat down to enjoy sumptuous meals prepared in typical Konkani style. Fish fry, fish curry, roti and rice. Even someone like Lala, an avid fish hater, jumped at the feast once he smelled the red fish fry and had a taste. What more was needed! Oh let me also take this opportunity to remind the readers that Mallu (Sunil) who lives with vegetarian room mates in Mumbai would have consumed at least 3-4 Kgs of fish and prawns and chicken and mutton on this entire two day trip. God help the toilet and his room mates who went in those toilets after he had used it!!

Just the nice and soft comfort of the beds which would have left us recharged for a dip in the cool and clean waters of the sea. By 6:30 PM we were ready to dip and roll in the comforts of the sands and the salty water. We all dropped our clothes on the shore and jumped headlong into the slowly receding water of the Arabian Sea. With only moonlight as our guiding source, everything around us had become black as there was no light on the beach, we bathed hour hours together unlit our bodies caved in to the pressures of Sea water and we decided to again head to Bhabhi’s hut for dinner.

This time for dinner we were served chicken, prawns, mutton and greatly refreshing Kokum sherbet. One advise to all, don’t even think of missing the Kokum sherbet, even if you don’t understand what it is or have not liked it in the past. It’s amazing and purely refreshing.

The night came pretty fast and by the time we could realise that we should create some ruckus just because we are together we had engineered a common snoring effort to ward off all spirits and mosquitoes. The plan was to move for Murud Janjira by six in the morning and Ud had made all promises to wake us up with the sweet songs of his voice in the morning. So at 5:30 AM the idiot was hopping about telling everyone of us to get ready so that we could easily scoot out of the place and drive fearlessly to conquer Murud – the fort invincible.

Mind you the roads here are patchy and slight problem for the vehicle, in fact some stretches were really problematic primarily for the lack of the basic thing called road. the good sign however was that the roads are getting constructed and once you get off the climb from Dive to Murud (there is a shortcut which allows you to cut the journey by 10 KMs) you have the beautiful sea and fort playing tango with each other. The sight is breathtaking. Here, though, our purpose had changed. Instead of behaving like normal tourists we wanted to enjoy the fort for a long time (the fort has a very rich history and still most part of it is intact – that shows the invincible strength of the fort). So we took the ferry ride to the fort and had about an hour at the fort before the ferry returned. The fort is almost like a small town with capacity to serve about 100 – 200 villagers, who used to stay at the fort all through the year except during rainy season.

The fort was built at the Island by a trader from Middle East who wanted to provide safe passage to his good and control the labour around the village for the same. The guides do not talk about any atrocities committed upon the townsmen and in fact the fort provides enough evidence to believe that the inhabitants were well protected and comfortable. There are lot unique things about the fort. It has two ponds which catered to the water needs of the inhabitants. One about 60 Ft deep and the other 90 Ft deep with the bigger one having mirror work around which lends colours to the pond when the sunlight hits the water. This was where the queen took her bath! (Just a gentle piece of information).

The fort was built on an island which was already inhabited by the Mazaar of a Muslim saint. The builder did not touch the Mazaar and built the fort around it. Looking at the fort, there are signs of the fort being invincible everywhere. The door is still intact, only the hinges on which it rests have corroded. The wood for the door was imported from Burma. In fact the door still stands tall because apart from the iron hinges the architect was smart enough to build concrete hinges. The canons on top of the fort have been marked for each shot they have fired and they have been named according to the most destructive act they have performed or according to the shapes they have been given. One of it has been shaped like a bull and hence is called by the same name. The seven storeyed courtyard, where the king used to listen to the problems of his subjects, still stands tall. Only force that has been able to destroy the top four storeys is nature. But the splendour can be assumed by merely looking at the mix of the architecture (Moghal, Burmese, some things borrowed from Europe and so on so forth). What!? Do you guys expect me to give the most accurate account ever produced? Huh.

So once we finished a survey of the fort ensuring everything was perfect and could endure centuries of abuse we moved towards our destination. We were to drop Ud and Mallu at Panvel and then ensure that Soumya could catch his 6 PM bus from Pune. I know, I know, throughout the article you have been wondering where the anxious breathing is, what has been so thoroughly exhausting about the trip. Well the breathing, Soumya’s i.e. had become anxious by now because by the time we left Murud it was already 1’o clock and we had merely 4 1/2 hours to cover the track back to Pune. The straight road would probably have taken us back to Pune in much shorter time but since dropping Ud and Mallu was in the plan we proceeded to Panvel with angry reproaches from Soumya.

Confusion mounted as we hit a point on the highway were the roads were choc – a – block as two trucks had met with an accident. So that led to some half an hour of delay and then we cut through the metal jungle of vehicles to finally move to our first stop. Then we encountered this jerk of a guy in an Alto who kept overtaking us and then slowing down, so neither we were, at any point in time, ahead of him for more than five minutes nor behind him for more than five minutes. And this was the point when everyone in the car started calling upon my racing abilities. I must tell you that this was about the time when I tested the car’s engine and took the Zen up to the proud speed of 120 KMs. And not just touch the speed for a minute or two but maintain it for more than 20-25 minutes (In case any American is reading this and saying what is the big deal in that, mind you I was driving on an Indian road!). But eventually sanity prevailed and I allowed the other car to get ahead of me.

All this huff and puff for what? In between a genius called Lala called up my room mate in Pune and asked him to cancel Soumya’s tickets because he thought that we would not be able to make it to Pune in time. All said and done we decided to finally buy an Air ticket for Soumya from Bombay and then drop him there along with Ud and Mallu to drive down to Pune. We reached Bombay by 6 in the evening (which would have been about the same time we would have reached Pune had we stuck to our earlier plan) and got the tickets. Then had our lunch at 8 in the evening (we had generously skipped lunch so that poor Soumya could catch his Bus) and then finally proceeded to Pune at 10 in the night.

Just a gentle reminder to readers I had been doing the driving for the last two days and was now fitfully ready for things like hallucinations and sleeping on the wheel and meeting with an accident or simply losing my mind! With close to 450 KMs on the trip meter Lala and I started back for Pune. In between, near the toll plaza on the expressway, I felt the car is suffering from a case of puncture. So we stopped at the nearest food mall where we got the car checked by a mechanic and decided to sleep for half an hour before proceeding for our final destination. Well the mosquitoes wouldn’t allow me to sleep and looking at Lala, who was sleeping fitfully; I grew jealous and woke him up to move ahead. Final words to sign off!! We reached Pune at 1:30 AM on Monday, Lala was dropped off on FC road and I went off in the direction of Kharadi, final count on the trip meter – 600 KMs !! I bathed and went off to sleep. Musical journey came to a beautiful dreamless end. And we all lived happily ever after – until the next trek. Phew!

Avinash, Uday, Sachin and Your's truly at Rajmachi

2007-04-25T16:07:00.003+05:30

The last two weekends have been blissful. Last to last weekend went on a night trek to Rajmachi (Shivaji's Fort). It’s about 26 Kms from Lonavala station. We started at 1 in the night and reached just in time to catch the sunrise by 5:30. We had the customary photo session and explored the fort (there is hardly anything to explore as most of the fort has been destroyed, there is the last remaining canon on one of the bastions and some walls remaining that still remind us of the glory of the fort) but the best part was the beautiful morning itself with the kamshet lake in the backdrop and the twin fort of manoranjan visible in the highlight of sun. We had carried vessels and raw material, like tea, milk powder and bread and butter, to the top, so gathered some firewood and made our selves piping hot tea to go with bread butter. On the way up we had noticed a pack of trekkers sleeping at the foot of the fort next to a very old temple.

By the time we finished our session at the top the group had woken up and started walking up to the fort. We got demoralized by this a bit as we don’t like crowd and one of the primary reasons for us to go trekking is to get away from people. So we packed our bags and started our descent. The aim now was to explore the temple at the foot. The temple was very old and gave me a very serene feeling. Old wooden doors, and at a distance from the temple is what looks like the remains of the erstwhile courtyard of the temple.

Then we went down to the village of Rajmachi which must be having not more than 15 houses and of that only one is a concrete one. This concrete structure is a hotel (more like a dharamshala) the only place for trekkers to relax and fill their stomachs. The hotel actually can work out great especially for those who are scared to trek through the night. They can start in the evening reach the hotel, stay for the night, check out the fort in the morning along with the sunrise and then push off to their respective destinations or even for those who would like to spend some quality time away from the hustle of the city.

The village boasts of a lake which is ideal for a dip especially in the evening or early in the morning (don’t think about going there after the sun is up). Right next to the lake is another old Shiv temple with serene water tanks and old Shiv-ling. Hanging your legs into the tank with your face towards the temple brings back the connection which we all feel we had lost. A cosmic connection for people who would like to give it a name and understand it better! Me? I would rather just stay with the connection rather than define it.

The interesting thing about the village is that they don't have any electricity supply from the state govt. They have been adopted by the Tata Power Company, which in turn has installed huge solar panel in the village and the entire village is powered by that. You should see them using power as though it is the most precious thing in the world. They do not switch on the lights in the day time and use electricity only during the night for very minimum need. The streets of the village are lit in the night by the self sufficient solar powered street lights.

Anyways, moving on we were by now very tired and due to absence of sleep during the night were just hoping to crash somewhere. Luckily for us Atul's hotel has a huge veranda where we threw our bags and lay down forgetting our worries. He was also kind enough to serve us tea and Pohe. Thereafter we went away to dreamland for two hours deciding that trekking back at this hour would definitely lead to lot of burnt skin (as by now it had become extremely hot and the sun was throwing an open challenge to us, which we weren't willing to accept) so we decided to either trek back only in the evening or take a vehicle back to lonavala station.

All said and done the bad thing about trekking is once you stop to rest you can’t push your body any further. So as expected after two hours of sleep we chose the easy way out and took a sumo back to the station. The way back in the sumo we were accompanied by a British who came to the fort at 1:30 PM, sprinted to the top of the fort and back to the base in 35 minutes. Speaking to him we discovered that he had been doing this every year for the last 30 years. He comes to India for 6 weeks and goes around exploring the forts and caves for the stipulated period. He made us realise that we have a long way to go. We have many tracks to cover, innumerable places to visit and long time to go before we can boast of anything close to being a regular trekker.

But on the way back just like every time we were discussing where to go next weekend.. What to do nature beckons us every time we close our eyes.. It’s the need to test the human body and do something outrageous, to push our limitations and emerge a winner

she got married!

2007-04-04T11:48:00.002+05:30

एक परछाई कुछ बुझी हुई सी,
दो वाडों से बिधीं हुई थी;
शर शैय्या पर लेटी थी
अन्तिम चीखों से दबी हुई सी,

Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate

2006-10-04T18:02:00.002+05:30

You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger।You have a heart of gold, and are likely to blog for a cause।You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you!A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.

Devotion

2006-09-27T13:22:00.003+05:30

Shine and outshine, like the black diamond,
it doesn't serve to glimmer and shimmer;
not serving any purpose,
you have to burn to create fire!!!

Power

2006-09-27T13:16:00.002+05:30

Floating across the ocean,
reaching to million moaners,
the power of my;
me and only mine!!!

Creep

2006-09-14T10:41:00.002+05:30

Stings, it jars your ears;
the sounds churn your stomach;
you tend to crawl out of your skin;
you hide in corners of extreme darkness!!!

The spic and span of today

2006-02-24T09:17:00.003+05:30

A visit to the local dump yard.... why of all the places in the world, that can provide you with amazing entertainment, a good time, all the romance, do you choose to go visit a place at 7 O' clock in the morning with a good amount of chill still looming in the air?? Though I am tempted to say that it was at the insistence of our faculty, it need not necessarily be that. With the kind of context being created in the lecture room the visit was something I was looking forward to. With ample emphasis on the fact that you have to get an understanding of why you do what you do I felt the need to understand what happens to that I choose to discard everyday. There is enough that happens in the city of Mumbai the sea is the constant dumping ground for all the sanitation waste and none of the beaches are really conducive to entertaining water sports.

The landscape that invariably would encounter you when you close in on the dump yard is small hills with dry grass on top and a series of sorting factories on the way. These factories are collectors of various identical items (like same size PET bottles, same size plastic carry bags, same size plastic gunny bags... all the recyclable items). The dump yard closes in and the stench becomes unbearable you still persist for all the right reason and with all the nobility in the heart and then you the current dump yard. Huge hills of trash... nothing but crap collected from all over the city and dumped. Very reluctantly the thought that you choose to acknowledge is that what you discard simply out sight everyday doesn't just disappear, it reappears here on this hill and then continues to do what it was going to do in the city. You get a sense of the amazing amount of decomposition happening around you.

Not just of the garbage but also of the ecology and the human spirit. The spring nearby is laden with all the toxic emitted from the garbage and would become devoid of any capability to sustain any life form. Then you start to look around and realise that all the small hill around that have grass on top now were once one of these garbage hills. They were capped by soil from top and then a little vegetation forced to grow there. But the amazing state this vegetation is in forces you to think about what kind of life can you shit generate. Seems like an ecosystem is being destroyed. The image that immediately comes to my mind that of mutated creature walking about the face of the earth in a typical Sci-fi thriller.

The last thing on this list of mutated species is the mutation of the human spirits. One lone man walking about amidst our shit trying to segregate what is recyclable from what is not. There we have it the man asking other man to clean his shit. Somehow remind me of the discrimination of the Shudras in ancient India and still happening in some parts of India that are stuck in ancient. Appalling is the idea of someone else cleaning up after me because I am not in a position to wipe my own buttock. Take a deep look in the mirror and think what we are creating. The power to destroy this is not in our hand and with the quantities that are being produced everyday even nature is slowly getting powerless.

The city is definitely spic and span.........

YOU

2006-02-09T11:56:00.003+05:30

You are trapped in the quagmire of life, you go about living your life as though there aren't many choices around you, as though you are wearing blinkers, unaware of what lies besides you. Wake up and try to understand what choices you make for yourself and for others around you. You make a difference whether you know it or not, you change everything!!!

Who is John Galt

2006-02-08T11:26:00.002+05:30

Going through the dark woods, I feel there is no end to darkness, light eludes me!! Pain seems to have lost its existence but there are remnants, the stab in the wounds is felt sometimes!! Looking up at the sky I see stars, hell my saviours!!

But where do they get their own support, hanging in mid-air marked by pain, they try their level best to shine and outshine. How, they question me, can you go on living like a nomad? I suddenly forget I'm lost. We strike a conversation, sitting under the branches of a thronged tree wrapped in hellish creatures!!

We talk endlessly, or so it seems. With dawn approaching, we talk on endless subjects.. .. .. .. their problems, my solution.. and hell and its existence.. life and its paradigms.. ironies and forces of nature.. loyalties and their possibilities.. .. .. ..

Realising suddenly that they have reached their maximum capacity the stars lean on my shoulders. I, the deceived, the deprived, the lost soul is providing the bright minds and souls some guidance and support. Solace becomes my job and I realise that all is not lost yet!!!!

My purpose has been discovered. Behold the ultimate truth.. .. .. every soul has a direction to venture to, a job to perform and set an example as the perpetrator of work. But the grimness of mind still persists. My goal is set momentarily and as the sun approaches I again go back to being a beast of lust, desire, longing, pain and disgrace. Hunting for yet newer reasons to sulk and let my heart and great mind down... ... ... ... ... To set the purpose, they strive to achieve, on the backbench.