The Wander Years

Stories from Oblivion: Chapter Six: Alexandria

2008-09-10T21:48:00.011+05:30

*
Originally founded by the Greek Macedonian king 'Alexander The Great', this 2339-year-old city was the capital of Egypt for nearly a thousand years until the Muslim conquest of Egypt in 641 A.D.

*
Click on the photographs to enlarge

4

2008-08-09T00:01:00.008+05:30

i know this old woman
who
talks loudly about
the benefits of yoga
and
her hatred for class four

and that lady
who
can talk endlessly about
the enchantress of florence
and
quotes milton a little too effortlessly

and a daughter
who
spent endless years worrying about
the legacy of her father
and
if she could immortalise it somehow

and the mother
who
is always complaining about
her elder son who is no good
and
how he will leave her one day

*

but when im lucky i meet this girl
who
talks about
life with a giggle in her smile
and
why she prefers beedis to cigarettes
---

Happy Birthday, Mom.

I may be far away, but I've got a glass of champagne in my hand and a smile on my face.

Stories from Oblivion: Chapter Five: Cairo

2008-07-16T13:30:00.021+05:30

What began on an early afternoon as a stroll in a colourless suburb of Cairo, known to the world as Giza, eventually turned into a trip downtown where we got drenched in the city's mystic madness.

Click on the photographs to enlarge.

An Airport, a Poet and Life's Greatest Lesson

2008-01-07T00:11:00.000+05:30

*
It ended abruptly. That dream. I don't know when or how.

All I could remember was someone screaming, "Was it really worth it???" in my head over and over again.

I found myself sitting in the boarding lounge at an airport, my tired eyes shuttling between a TV screen telling me it was time to board the flight and my notebook screen telling me that the batteries were out and needed charging.

I laughed. Because if anyone needed a recharge, it was me. I shut the notebook and got up to get a coffee from the counter right behind where I was sitting. As I was getting up, I heard a gentle voice say, "Was it worth it?"

I freaked out, turning swiftly in the direction of the voice.

It was P.

Phew!

"TS are you ok?"

"What did you mean by was it really worth it?"

"That 20 second nap of yours, you idiot! Why do you look startled?"

"Oh that, yes. Sorry. I completely forgot you were here."

"You forgot? Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Err.. Sorry?"

"Never mind, its time. They've announced the boarding."

"Ok. Cool. Just let me grab a coffee."

"Ok."

I ordered the coffee. And in the minute or so that I was waiting to get my order, my pupils finally contracted and I turned to take a look around. P's presence finally sank in all over again and I yelled from the counter,

"What are you reading?"

"Pablo Neruda"

"What's that?"

"Not what, who! He's the guy who wrote Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines."

"Oh, that guy. Ok."

Once I got my coffee, picked up my notebook & airbag, we headed to the boarding gate.

During the hour-long flight, my conversation with P centered around how different our lives are from the way we had once imagined. We spoke about our dreams and expectations, and how the transition from childhood to adolescence brought with it new ideas and possibilities. The conversation ultimately deteriorated to dissecting my corporate routine and how I'll never get around to writing that book or making that movie or teaching at university level and so on.

And then, for a reason known only to her, P breached my defense by summing up my life very eloquently. I think it was one of those I-wish-you-were-still-the-man-I-fell-in-love-with moments. I, of course, saw it as just another reality check. She said and I quote,

"TS, your life reminds me about the time I mugged up a Pablo Neruda poem for a poetry competition."

It took a second for me to understand what she meant, but almost all of next day to come to terms with it.

And I think that's exactly why I did what I did the other day.

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Sometime last week, I was informed that I needed to visit a particular college of Delhi University to run a month-long training program.

I was ecstatic when I heard the news because teaching at university level is something I had worked relentlessly towards throughout school and college, but due to my own lack of persistence at key junctures after college (I don't want to blame circumstances even though I am tempted), I had to finally give up on that dream.

And while I'm being honest, I should also tell you that writing and film-making are options that emerged after I shelved the idea of prefixing my name with Professor.

Anyway.

That date with destiny finally came last Thursday. And despite the mental preparation, I swear I couldn't have told my head from my ass that morning. I was a bundle of nerves, tossing and turning in bed all night, losing my appetite, getting ready and going down to the car only to run up, twice, once for my cellphone and then for the car keys.

In the middle of all that I also managed to find the whole thing funny (I do that a lot, not forget things, but find them funny), considering the fact that in the last 3 years I have trained pretty much everyone there is to train in the corporate world, from executives to senior management, without as much as batting an eyelid.

I decided to take my mind off the whole thing so I put on some music...

Extreme ways that helped me
They help me out late at night
Extreme places I had gone
But never seen any light
Dirty basements, dirty noise
Dirty places coming home
Extreme worlds alone
Did you ever like it then?

I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for this...

Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart

*

In the half an hour that I negotiated the office rush, smoked hurriedly and sang along with Moby, I think I had what can be termed as a moment of epiphany. I began feeling less wired-up almost immediately and soon enough the nervousness subsided, and a calm soothing feeling found its way up my spine, penetrating my mind just as I parked my car at the college.

I picked up my jacket from the backseat of the car and as I was about to shut the door, I saw something that wasn't supposed to be there, and I think you'll smile when I tell you that it belonged to P.

There, in all its inconspicuousness lay life's greatest lesson, in paper and ink, begging to be embraced. The universe had actually conspired.
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Let it be known then, that on the 3rd of January in the year 2008, TS sat under the warm winter sun in a DU college lawn with a bunch of college kids and read to them, the Poetry of Pablo Neruda.

2

2007-12-05T12:55:00.000+05:30

a lamp
rids the room of
darkness
and comfort

a girl
who smells of coco mademoiselle
weeps
staring into my eyes

an apology
which tastes of routine
destroys
any chance of resolution

a silence
that tells a story
of
six years and two lovers

sound sleep
with a dream about happiness
and
the bitter aftertaste of time
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For you S, a Thousand Times Over

2007-11-05T13:33:00.001+05:30

"Question everything TS, even the conventional, because the root of conviction is validation, not belief."

S (1981 - )
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4th November, 2007:

19:30 - SMS from L: Dude, sorry for not replying to your message yesterday, it was a crazy day. But yes, we must do something for S's birthday tonight!

Reply: Ok, I'm driving right now so can't really talk. I'll call you once I'm home and we'll figure something out.

20:45 - SMS from L: TC Gurgaon, 22:30. There was no time for a surprise so I've kept S in the loop. MC is getting a cake from Big Chill.

Reply: OK, sounds good, though a surprise would've been fun. Anyway, call me when you're leaving Vasant Kunj. See ya.

5th November, 2007:

00:10 - I get a frantic call from L. He demands to know why I'm not there yet, considering the clock struck midnight 10 minutes or so ago. I tell him about the unavoidable delay, and the fact that I'm almost there. He tells me they're at Buzz, and not TC, which is great because I'm in the mood for bollywood.

00:23 - I walk into Buzz, where the DJ is doing an impressive job of mixing Soni De Nakhre and Ride the White Horse. Blinded by the disco lights and deafened by the speakers and the screams, I fall back on my sixth sense.

I see drunk people.

After a minute or so, I feel a hand clench my arm from behind so I turn. Its L. He motions for me to follow him to the far end of the club, where most of S's universe is standing at the bar. The moment I notice S, I almost run towards her.

What follows is a warm wish, a warmer hug and courtesy L, a hot, hot Sambuka shot.

S: I'm impressed TS, this is the third year in a row you've made it to my birthday!

Me: Well, if the last two 5th Novembers were anything to go by, I'll make my way to your birthday without fail every year. That, and the fact that you still remain one of my favourite people.

She smiles and looks away. I go back to my drink, knowing well that this is the fourth year in a row I'm there on her birthday.

*

When the music finally gives way to silence, an indication, perhaps, that we need to finish our drinks and get the hell out, I feel some thing is amiss. With M and V missing, the details of which I'd rather not get into, the circle feels incomplete.

In that moment of incompleteness, I try and seek refuge in a song. Not just any song, but one whose lyrics have earned a place on my epitaph, and perhaps the epitaphs of the people who are here for S tonight.

I play the song on my phone and wink at S and L.

Is it getting better or
Do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now
If you got someone to blame?

Soon enough, I attempt to hug the both of them together, as has become customary over the last couple of years, since we have laid claim to this song as our own. L steps forward and S makes the initial gesture of a hug, but then backs away and says, "no TS, this isn't our song..."

L and I back away, and the song fades into oblivion as I begin making conversation with an acquaintance from work.

*

The night finally ends at the Bristol parking lot around 6:00 in the morning. The effects of alcohol have long worn off, and the only thing lining our stomach is the three plates of bacon we have just devoured. L, S and I smoke one last cigarette as MC stands there freezing. A plan for Pushkar is finalized for the weekend after Diwali. Once the cigarettes are over, we make our way home.
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The last two 5th Novembers

2006:

Well, if the fact that I wrote six chapters about S's birthday weekend last year is anything to go by, you know how eventful it must have been.

***

2005:

Its 07:00 AM, and extremely chilly for an early November morning. The terrace I'm standing on is large and rectangular, outlined by a railing that reminds me of a house I once lived in during my childhood. There is plenty of light, but the sun hasn't, yet, shed its quilt.

Empty bottles and people are aplenty, scattered casually all over the available floorspace.

Two very close friends are trying to out-drink one another, with the more experienced one yelling "Bas? Ho Gaya?" at regular intervals, hoping to elicit surrender from the other one, who's obviously on the verge of throwing-up. (And to think that today these two shy away from making eye-contact)

A guy is perched on the bean bag, playing "Last Kiss" by Pearl Jam on his guitar. A few others are watching him play and revel in the attention. His girlfriend comes and sits right in front of him. He breaks into a grin and looks straight into her eyes as he ends the song, now only his fingers caressing the strings. Someone cheers them on and the girl blushes, not knowing what to do with all the attention. (This couple married sometime ago, only to separate within a month of their wedding)

Most others have passed out. On the cushions. In the bedroom. On the floor.

M, S and I are looking at the sky, sharing a cigarette. S asks me about plans for the day and I tell her I need to be at work in less than an hour. She looks at me in disbelief, while M immediately asks to confirm if I'm still dropping her half-way home. (M is an ex-colleague who now works for a high-end luxury and lifestyle magazine for teenagers. Every now and then, she also doubles up as a reality check for people like me and S)

*

That day, for the first time in over a year, I didn't show up for work. To make matters worse, I didn't even bother informing my manager, which ultimately led to the initiation of disciplinary action against me.
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Epilogue:

We share a special relationship, S and I.

It began in the October of 2004, when she trained me on the nuances of the English language, and we ended up spending over three weeks arguing over the correct pronunciation of the word 'govern'. Post which we graduated to casual acquaintance thanks to a common friend A, drinking all night, every now and then, at TC Delhi and Zaika. However, it wasn't until mid 2005, when all of us from work began frequenting TC Gurgaon and Buzz, that we actually started hitting it off, and I don't think we've looked back since.

The funny thing is, S and I don't talk on the phone, and neither do we meet, just her and I. Even so, in the last couple of years we have, thanks to common friends (especially M, L and V), we have managed to meet at least twice a week.

*

I want to use this space today to express my gratitude S. You've made the last three years something I never thought possible. Worthwile.

I also want you to know that the social landscape will continue to change in the years to come, like it has these last couple of years. People will come in and out of our lives, and we will continue to forgive, forget and move on, trying desperately to seek the happiness that we believe is ours. And though I hope not, there may even come a time when you and I may go on for years without as much a single thought about this chapter of our lives.

If that does happen, I hope all this comes back to us someday. Many, many years later. When we're old and unwanted. When the kids from the neighbourhood force themselves to listen to our stories only because we haven't paid them for mowing our lawns yet. When its early November, and the smell of the sunlit morning reminds us of a time we have long forgotten.

i want you think of me then and
let your eyes swell up a little
and if your pride permits
maybe even shed a tear

i also want you to hum that tune
the one you once let go of
because for every memory you've disowned
there is a forgotten song
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2007-10-27T15:49:00.000+05:30

Sometime in July, I was being driven back to Gurgaon after a weekend spent at a runaway resort near Delhi called Neemrana.

The car I was traveling in was noisy, with the music blaring at an ear-shattering decibel level. And to add to that, Leon and Preetika were arguing about whether to make a stop for cigarettes or not, and both of them were trying to outdo not just each other, but the speakers as well. I really should have taken my car because right that moment, instead of the hard rock and the unnecessary argument, I could have been listening to something I enjoy a lot more. Silence.

Leon won, obviously, because he was the one driving.

We stopped.

That's when I got an SMS from my boss telling me that I would have to be in at work at eight the next morning and all of a sudden I realised things were going from bad to worse. The stress I had spent the last 48 hours trying to get rid of, was slowly crawling back up my spine. The entire setting was becoming familiar again. One of noise and chaos.

I was unhappy.

I spent the next two minutes staring at my mobile phone screen, desperately trying to key in a genuine excuse which would fit into 160 characters. To add madness to misery, I had to do this without using SMS lingo because I have this obsessive compulsive disorder which does not allow me to use abbreviations in any form of written text.

That's not all. As I sat there in my moment of madness, a couple of kids, beggars I guessed, came and stood RIGHT outside my window. I figured they would go away in a while, but they didn't.

That's when I lost it.

As I looked up and yelled "Kya Hai?," this is the sight that I saw:

Yes, my heart melted. I may not be nice, but COME on.

That's when I clicked the picture and asked them what they wanted, to which they replied "Ek Rupaiya." I obliged and gave them one one-rupee coin each. Preetika promptly handed them a bottle of Coke as well.

They ran off looking delighted and I went back to my mobile phone screen. As I punched in the letters, I couldn't help but think about the look on the faces of these boys. It was a look vaguely reminiscent of something I used to feel in a time I have now long forgotten. The look of contentment.

A couple of minutes later, once the cigarettes were bought, Leon got behind the wheel and we drove off. I gave Preetika a quick smile and went on to look out of the window in the direction of the setting sun.
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Stories from Oblivion: Chapter Four: LKO

2007-09-30T01:06:00.000+05:30

For those of you who are turned on by nostalgia, Lucknow is the place to visit. This ageing city offers a near perfect blend of the historical and the contemporary, and every now and then, you will find yourself sitting at the edge of a pavement, just staring at the elder buildings impose their legacy on the younger, glassier and flashier siblings.

Also, the Lucknow you see here isn't on a tourist's itinerary, primarily because I was too caught up with work and didn't have time to go sight-seeing. So, I took pictures of places and people I happened to notice as I went about minding my own business.

And I apologise for the poor quality of the pictures, there's only that much you can get out of a cellphone camera and a limited imagination.

(Even so, you can click on the pictures if you want to see an enlarged version)

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Stories from Oblivion: Chapter Three: JU

2007-09-12T08:32:00.000+05:30

So you pack your bags and leave for a place they call the Blue City.

You arrive at the station and drown in a sea of humanity.

And as you step out of the station, you light your first cigarette in twelve hours.

But something is missing. You look around, only to find a little boy holding a few glasses and a kettle, looking up at you, smiling ear to ear. Aah... chai.

As you sit on a stool, smoking a much needed cigarette and drinking an almost perfect cup of tea, you realise that even today, 'Titanic' is a style statement.

***

You reach your hotel room and review your schedule. You have four days in which to complete your work, so you work overtime and wrap it up in three. Afterall, what's the point of traveling if you can't see the sights, right?

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Umaid Bhavan Palace

Picture Courtesy: Wikipedia

Even though the palace looks stunning from a distance, it fails to charm you. Most of the palace has now been converted into a heritage hotel, and is not open to the public. Room tariff begins at 25000 INR and goes up to 1.5 Lac INR. A portion of the palace has been converted into a museum which documents the life of the members of the royal family through photographs.

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Mehrangarh Fort

The fort is situated 400 feet above the city on top of a hill, and is enclosed by huge, towering walls. Inside its territorial boundaries, there are several palaces and sprawling courtyards. The amazing thing is, it has taken over 400 years of construction to make Mehrangarh as breathtaking as it is today.

There is a lot of history associated with the fort as well and it takes almost an hour even for a quick tour. The wonderful thing is that they have a restaurant and a cafe located at strategic points of the tour so that you have access to much needed rehydration. And once you reach the rooftop courtyard, there is a counter where you can grab a beer or a coke and enjoy this view.

Picture Courtesy: Google Image Search

And why is it called the Blue City, you ask?

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People

The people of Jodhpur are warm and hospitable. And though they may prefer our caucasian counterparts when it comes to making a quick buck, they are, for the most part, eager to charm you with their rich heritage.

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The Royal Guard

The most charming personality in Jodhpur is the man in the photograph. He is a guard at the Mehrangarh Fort and is stationed in the upper floors, normally seen staring out of a window overlooking a courtyard. He wears a sleek pair of sunglasses and appears to be more on display than on duty. His style and body language makes Amitabh Bachhan in Eklavya look bland.

I was fascinated so I talked my guide into getting a couple of photographs with him. The guard was more than happy to oblige and even offered to pose. I was a little confused by his enthusiasm so I waved a fifty and asked the guide if this would involve a payment. The guide laughed and gestured for me to put the money back into my pocket.

After our little photograph session, we thanked him and made our way further up the fort. As we were climbng up a staircase, I interrupted my guide and asked him why he had told me that the guard was 'world-famous.' He smiled and asked me, "have you seen that Visa advertisement with Richard Gere?"

I nodded, and as that ad flashed in my mind, I got my answer.

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1

2007-08-14T00:10:00.000+05:30

your room looks asleep
barely lit by the dying sun
i've never seen it like this before
so i stand there and watch

the last rays are running for shelter
the way you would if you
woke up naked one day
in the middle of a curious crowd

minutes go by and
i realise im smiling before
your wandering eyes find me
and invite me in

i enter and draw the curtains
desperate to give darkness the key
but you are sorry it ended this way
dusks reluctant romance with your room

i pour my tired body onto the bed
my troubled thoughts into oblivion
before i do something i have never done
lie

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond - II

2007-07-23T00:29:00.001+05:30

You reached for the secret too soon,
You cried for the moon.
Shine on, you crazy diamond.
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Chapter Three

For the next few months, the three of us were inseparable. From going to college in one autorikshaw, to hanging out with the same set of people (one of whom was the infamous P), to watching porn stuffed inside the same cubicle of the local cyber cafe, to sitting at the same coffee shop for hours, to riding together on the same Kinetic Honda and going in search of Marijuana, to drinking ridiculous amounts of McDowell's No.1 on the sloping terrace of the hostel night after night, risking our lives, dissecting possibilities and fantasizing about what life had in store for us.

Ironically though, if you compared our basic character, we were three corners of a triangle.

Raktim was the alpha male. The kind of guy who ALWAYS had a plan. He was also the decision-maker, primarily because RK never opened his mouth and I was the local push-over. (And in case you've forgotten, he was the guy who walked around the hostel whose VIP underwear also doubled up as a head-band whenever he was wasted. He also flashed occasionally, for no reason whatsoever.)

RK, in contrast, like I mentioned, was the silent force. He was also a wannabe alcoholic. Come to think of it, all he said to us in those first few months was the phrase 'Shall we go drink?' The only other word I remember him uttering is 'yes' which he used when someone asked him if he wanted to go drink.

The only problem was that once RK was drunk, his 'yes' was said in response to Raktim's PLANS.

Lets learn more about Raktim's PLANS with the help of an example:

Raktim: Hey guys, you wanna smoke a few joints before we sleep?
Me: Errr, no yaa. We have class at nine. We'll never wake up!
RK: Yes.

Raktim (after the joints): Hey guys, you wanna wear your towels like capes and wake people up, pretending to be Superman?
Me: NO.
RK: Yes.

Raktim (after the joints and the cape crusade): Now do you want to put your undies on your heads like a headband and take a walk?
Me: Bhenchod, shutup and sleep.
RK: Yes.

Raktim (now lying in his bed after the eventful 'road trip'): Fuck man, I'm so wasted. I think I'm going to pass out. You guys should also sleep. We have to get up in few hours.
Me: Hmmm. Makes sense.
RK: Shall we go drink?

*That night the local security guard lodged a complaint with the Koramangla 4th Block society president that three boys from Sacred Heart Boys Hostel were seen racing in the colony lanes at 4 AM. And that, for some inexplicable reason they had hung towels from their back and were wearing underwears on their heads. The story was also confirmed by one of the residents, a doctor on his way back from the hospital, whose car was forcefully stopped by these boys who pestered him to find out if there was a place nearby from where large quantities of chocolate could be bought or stolen*
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Chapter Four

October 2004 -

P and I were going through some old college photographs, a friends birthday treat at an up-market ice-cream parlour sometime in September 2001. We were talking of the days gone by, days when we could eat 'death by chocolate' and 'litchi with cream' back to back without gaining an ounce.

We stumbled upon a picture where P was doing what she does best when there is ice-cream in the vicinity, devouring it as if there were no tomorrow. When I looked at the picture carefully, I noticed something that I had never noticed before. I pointed it out to P immediately.

On careful observation, you could see RK. He was smiling in the distance, leaning against the pillar, smoking a cigarette, his eyes dreamy and of course, planted firmly on P.

She stared at the picture for a brief moment, blushed and put it away.

"You know he was madly in love with you, right?"

"Yes TS, we've had this conversation before. Why must you always bring it up whenever we speak of him? Are you guilty still?"

"Me? Guilty? No way! When I realised he also liked you, I spoke to him about it. He told me very clearly that he would've never confessed his feelings to you. In fact he was the one who convinced me to leave Raksha and ask you out, because he felt you and I were 'made for each other'!"

"And you believed him?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I? He knew me well. I was one of his best friends."

"Were you? Or was it the other way round? Think about it TS. Just think. Considering he convinced you to ask me out and not the other way round!"

"Achha fuck it, I don't want to have this conversation with you. "

"Why?"

"Because the two of you would never have happened anyway. He was everything you hated in a man. He was a spoilt brat who was destined to quit college and go back home. Remember how he was always either drunk or stoned? He never even attended his classes..."

"Neither did you in those first few months TS. The only reason they didn't throw you out of college because you managed to pass your term papers."

"P, do you really want to go down that road again? Can we, for once, be civil and drop the topic?"

"Fine. Fuck it."

Prolonged silence.
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Chapter Five

Half an hour later -

"TS, do you still have that white Park Avenue shirt he gave you?"

"Yup, its in my cupboard. I don't really fit into it anymore though. But the funny thing is it STILL smells of him, even after all these years. Remember that awful perfume he used to use, the one Rajnikant endorsed? Thats what it smells like."

"Maybe there's a reason why it STILL smells of him..."

"Oh, come on! I thought we agreed to drop the topic!" Why are you hell bent on making me feel like a lousy bastard? Whats happened to you?"

"Thats not what I was trying to..."

"See. See. You always do this P!"

"I refuse to listen to this. I want to go home. Now"

"So go. Who's stopping you?"

"You mean you're not dropping me?"

"No, not after everything you've said."

"Fuck you!"

"Whatever!"

---

*After P left, I spent the rest of the evening lying in bed, thinking of RK, Sacred Heart Boys Hostel, and that white Park Avenue shirt which RK had lent to me for my first date with P. For some reason I had never gotten around to returning it, much like the other things I had borrowed from him.

In the next few days I introspected a lot, trying my best to come to terms with the person that I once was.

My ability to be indifferent had taken me by surprise, and so I decided to do something about it. I spoke to Mom about the entire episode, and she was of the opinion that if the whole RK thing was disturbing me so much, the best thing to do would be to call him up speak to him about it. I told her that this was not something I wanted to sort out over a 'phone conversation.' I felt a need to to meet RK personally and talk about it.

And so it was decided that I would look him up the next time I was in Bangalore. I didn't have his cell-phone number, but I had an old e-mail address and home phone numbers of a couple of his close friends and relatives, which would suffice.*
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Chapter Six

I think I'm testimony that 'time is a healer.' Because I went to Bangalore quite a few times after that, but never once looked up RK.
---

In June of 2006, I got a surprise call from Asif, one of the many boys who had, back in the day, inhabited one of the many bunk beds of Sacred Heart Boys Hostel. He had managed to get my number from a friend of a friend. He sounded very excited to have tracked me down.

Even I was happy to speak with him. It felt nice that someone had made the effort to get in touch with me after all these years.

I asked him how he was doing and he gave me the usual updates. He was now back in Dubai, managing his dad's business. Something to do with medical systems and the sale of ambulances. He tld me his geeky days were long gone, and that he had even found himself a girlfriend. But more importantly, the fact that he had finally managed to lose the one thing that had hung on to him for dear life during his college years. His virginity.

I gave him a few updates from my end as well, post which we spoke about the only thing we had in common, the life and times of Sacred Heart Boys Hostel in the year 2001.

He reminded me of many things I had long forgotten, like the time he and I had studied for the English exam and he had outscored me. And the time he and I had gone to the 30 rupees all-you-can-eat Andhra restaurant and I had forced him to beg the server to pour ridiculous amounts of Ghee on my rice because I was wasted. And how he hated me for finishing off all the foodstuff his Mom used to to send for him.

We also spoke about our seniors and what they were doing now. He asked me who all I was in touch with and I told him no one in particular apart from P. He was happy to know we were still together.

He asked me what P was upto and I told him that she was in between jobs. He asked me about Raktim and I told him that I wasn't in touch with him, but that I knew he was studying Law at Delhi University. He was surprised to hear that Raktim and I were in the same town and hadn't even met once in 2 years. I told him that was the strange thing about life, and about people and how they move on, just as he had.

After a little while we started running out of things to talk about, and thats when I enquired about RK, in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

He fell silent. But since the noise in the background was clearly audible, I knew he was still on the line.

And when he finally spoke, after clearing his throat, all he could manage was:

"You don't know, do you?"

His tone of voice was quite strange for some reason, almost angry. But I didn't make much of it because all said and done, Asif was always a little sensitive.
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Epilogue

In June of 2005, Radhakrishna Dureswami and a friend decided to drive down to a 24-hour liquor shop on the highway in search of alcohol when their Honda City crashed head-on into a truck, whose headlights had malfunctioned. RK died on the spot, while his friend, Vivek, battled for life in the ICU for over a month.

Speaking to his friends and family shortly after regaining consciousness, Vivek claimed that he couldn't remember much except for the fact that 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' by Pink Floyd was playing in the car stereo.

A few months later he told an acquaintance from Delhi that he was almost certain that RK's last words were:

Shall we go drink?

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond - I

2007-07-16T18:41:00.000+05:30

Remember when you were young,
You shone like the sun,
Shine on, you crazy diamond.
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Chapter One

So in June of 2001 when Radhakrishna Dureswami walked in on me while I was 'draining the main vein', my first reaction was a four-letter-word followed by a voice in my head telling me that I'd forgotten to lock the bathroom door. Realising it was a little late to do something about the unlocked door, I took evasive action and positioned myself with my back towards him and continued to pee.

What followed immediately after I made the adjustment was the shocking realization that Radhakrishna Dureswami for some inexplicable reason was still standing there, staring at me, almost transfixed. The look of curiosity on his face didn't help the situation either. He was obviously unaware that I could see him in the mirror.

Now I'm not homophobic. But I am a WEE bit wary of folks who like to hang around and watch me pee.

So once I finished the routine and zipped up my jeans, I turned towards him with what I'm guessing was a facial expression that conveyed: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT, BITCH?

No wait, make that: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT?

(BITCH makes it sound like I was up for the 'potentially' homosexual experience that was on offer.)

Even today, MOST people back off when I have that look on my face. However, Radhakrishna Dureswami, the boy that he was, chose not to respond and continued to stare, now with me looking at him straight in the eye.

That was when the voice in my head yelled: Psycho alert! Proceed to wash-basin, wash hands, get the fuck out!

And so I went about doing exactly that. Once I was out of the bathroom, and more importantly out of danger, I questioned my decision of choosing 'Sacred Heart Boys Hostel' as my place of residence in a city where I didn't know a soul. I also tried to figure out what would have happened if Radhakrishna Dureswami had attempted to violate my chastity? Who would I have ran to?

***

Looking back at that incident now I can't help but laugh my head off. Maybe I should've said something to him in the loo that day. Anything.

But then again, I hadn't the slightest idea that Radhakrishna Dureswami was going to play such an important role my college life.
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Chapter Two

The Next Evening:

It must have been close to midnight because I was tucked into bed, waiting to fall asleep when my roommate Raktim (pronounced: ROCK-TIM) walked into the room screaming out my name in his typical Assamese accent. He switched on the lights and stood with his hands on his waist. Just like those body-builders in American Muscle Magazine.

I looked up at him, partially blinded with the sudden light in the room. I noticed his eyes were bloodshot, and for some reason he was grinning like a donkey who had just been shagged.

He was drunk. But since he was standing without any support, I figured the situation was under control.

Thats when I noticed the VIP underwear he was using as a headband.

Raktim: Oye TS, I want you to meet my latest best friend Radhakrishna Dureswami. He just joined the hostel yesterday. He is from Erode in Tamil Nadu and his father is a bhery bhery bherrryyy rich textile merchant. You know how I know his father is bhery bhery bherrryyy rich???

Me (sarcastically): How R-a-k-t-i-m?

Raktim: Because his father just now paid for all my alcohol, food, cigarettes, Rajnigandha and everything! (Evil Laughter)

Me: Uh, ok. Very cool man. Where is he?

Raktim (yelling): Abe Radhakrishna Dureswami madarchod idhar aa (Translation: mother fucker, come here) and meet my another best friend TS!!!

Radhakrishna Dureswami walked in slowly, managing to look unsure and curious at the same time. When I placed him from the bathroom fiasco, I felt an immediate uneasiness. But THE MAN THAT I WAS, I managed what I think would qualify as an unsure but pleasant enough 'half-smile.'

Pee-watcher on the other hand, extended his arm and held out his hand. I wasn't sure if I was comfortable touching him just yet but being THE MAN THAT I WAS, I managed to complete the handshake.

Me: Nice to meet you R-a-d-h-a-k-r-i-s-h-n-a... err...

Radhakrishna Dureswami: Call me RK.

Raktim (yelling): Yes, call him RK!!! Or Madarchod, or Randi ke Jamai, or Bhootni Ke, or anything else. He doesn't understand Hindi. Can you believe our luck???

(More evil laughter)

Me (to Raktim): Abe is se bach ke, ye woh hi hai, pee-watcher. (Translation: Be careful with him, he's the same guy I was telling you about, the pee-watcher)

RK (oblivious to Raktim and me): Shall we go drink now?

***

That night, three first year students of Christ College, all from different parts of the country, with almost nothing in common, sat down and shared their life stories with each other, aided by the one common force that would continue to bind them in the years to come. Alcohol.
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2007-06-07T23:52:00.000+05:30

This is where 'The Wander Years' began, exactly one year ago.

Thank you P.

Some People Never Learn

2007-06-04T01:36:00.000+05:30

And I'm one of them.

Because, I went to watch 'Fool and Final' last night.

In fact I was the first one in the group of four to yell 'Oh, lets! I'm sure it'll be funny!'

And I even did the chicken dance when M's idea of watching Shrek or Cheeni Kum was brushed aside by V and S.

- Now WHY would I do something so ridiculous, you ask?

1. Because the movie is a Bollywood re-make of 'Snatch.'
2. Because the movie is a Bollywood re-make of 'Snatch.'
3. Because the movie is a Bollywood re-make of 'Snatch.'

- And in my defense, there were things I didn't know when I was so busy putting my foot into my mouth:

1. Sunny Deol has been cast as Mickey (Brad Pitt).
2. Sunny Deol has been cast as Mickey (Brad Pitt).
3. Sunny Deol has been cast as Mickey (Brad Pitt).

Imagine Munna (Sunny Deol) dishing out the 'yeh dhai kilo ka haath jab kisi aadmi pe padta hai...' instead of Micky's 'D'ya like dags???'

Sacrilege.
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Yes, I know what you're thinking; which is exactly why I've disabled the comments section for this post.

Now if you would excuse me, I need to go and extract my foot from my mouth.

20.4.2007

2007-04-21T16:22:00.004+05:30

The setting was lavish. It had to be.

Red was splashed across the entire canvas. And white. And pink, but as an afterthought.

The band played old Hindi songs that spoke of love, life and the after-life.

Little kids dressed in silver suits and golden shoes and starch-white frocks were scattered across the hall, just like glitter. I felt under-dressed.

The families posed. The friends cheered. And the acquaintances, well, at least they ate.

There was no alcohol. There were rituals instead.

Loud Punjabi friends made sure that a select few were kept in 'high spirits.'

An uncle drank too much and break-danced on the dias.

Another uncle wrestled his way into every photograph that was clicked.

People laughed, heels snapped, new-borns cried.

I met an acquaintance who had lost 32 kilos since the last time we had met. I spent an hour with him trying to figure out exactly how he had managed it.

An old school friend showed up. The one who'd managed to finish his MBBS, but still went to bed believing that 'Cradle of Filth' and 'Godsmack' were the greatest musicians of all time.

Someone casually mentioned it was Hitler's birthday and International Weed Day as well. We decided to do something about the latter.

As a result, the rest of the evening was spent at the ice-cream counter.

A close friend wanted to leave early because someone wanted to have sex with him. We convinced him otherwise.

Also, in the middle of all this commotion, somehow, Abhishek and Vrinda managed to wed.

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At his wedding:

Abhishek: Listen TS. About what you asked me on Wednesday - there's a spare room in my new house.. you know.. like a guest room.. so that people can stay over if it gets too late.. or when relatives come over.. but there's just one problem.. Vrinda insists on calling it TS' room.

Me: Awww..

Abhishek: Achha, and about the bachelor party man... what exactly happened? I blacked out while talking to you and then the only image I have is the fucking bouncers trying to put me on a wheelchair!

Me: Oh, nothing yaa, you were like the show-stopper man! All those Saturday Night Fever moves.. I envy your dancing skills! You were completely doing your thing, chilling.. head-banging.. cracking outrageously funny jokes but then.. suddenly.. this.. this.. uh..

(I realized I wasn't doing a good job of fibbing because he was just staring away at me. So I took a deep breath and said the following with the straightest fucking face possible)

"This racoon came out of nowhere and knocked you unconscious."

(Prolonged silence & flashes of Joey)

Abhishek: Hmmm... I think that's what happened too.

(Sheepish grin, followed by hysterical laughter.)
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I Still Owe Her Dinner

2007-03-21T11:48:00.000+05:30

In the corporate world, farewell mails are commonplace. It is customery to thank your supervisors/peers/sub-ordinates and leave on a semi-nostalgic, cordial note. Who knows, you may have to work with them sooner than you think.

People who you have spent 10 hours of your weekdays with (God knows for how many months, maybe even years), gone out for drinks & dinner with, make their way out of your life with calculated ease. The push of the 'send' button and poof, all obligations are put to rest.

However, every now and then, a farewell mail comes along that strikes a chord. One in which the words written convey emotion, not social obligation.
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Yesterday was a co-worker and dear friend's last day at work. So when the expected farewell mail reached my inbox, I thought I had a fair idea of its content and intentions. However, after I read the mail I found myself sitting motionless, staring at my monitor, and at a complete loss for words. This one didn't just strike a chord, it strummed one hell of a sequence.

(Pasted is an excerpt. There were a few more personal messages but I've just added the part addressed to me.)

TS -

Thank you TS! For being the person you are- straightforwardly enigmatic, and for being the writer you are- simply brilliant! The Wander Years and TS will always hold a special place in my heart for inspiring me to write again. For all the contrsuctive criticism, for the uncomplicated friendship, for godknowshowmanydrinks, for the appropriately timed messages, for dancing rarely but oh-so-sweetly (haha!), for the hairband look (forever etched in my mind), for the books you will write and are already on my list of favourites (check Orkut!) and for taking punctuation to a whole new level… Of course, none of this changes the fact that YOU still owe ME dinner!!! Hehe… You’re the best. Much love. I know what kind of an idea you are…

WHAT KIND OF AN IDEA ARE YOU? Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accommodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cussed, bloody-minded, ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? The kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of hundred, be smashed to bits; but, the 100th time, will change the world.
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When I saw her later that evening, there were a million things I wanted to thank her for...

for being there for me,
for the honest criticism of my articles,
for getting my left-feet moving (even though it meant taking my hand and dragging me to the dance floor),
for being the first one to NOT ridicule the hairband (and understanding that I was inspired by Farhan Akhtar and NOT Abhishek Bachhan),
for calling me DON,
for writing again (I may have wept after reading Teresa),
for teaching me how to mix lyrics and literature,
for making Friday's something to look forward to, and of course,
for letting me believe that I'm an idea...

But I didn't say any of that. Instead I smiled and said, "I still owe you dinner."

This One's For Me

2007-03-15T17:54:00.002+05:30

I gave the sky a long, hard stare; and said to Him: “This one’s for me…”

Then I closed my eyes and took a deep, deep breath. While exhaling, as the air escaped my lungs, transformed, I allowed myself to drift into oblivion. Into one complete moment of nothingness.

Not surprisingly, that moment coincided with the change of track. Where do you think you’re going gave way to Tunnel of Love. My mind then drifted into the past. Images; some lucid, the others blurred. One particular image stayed in my mind, countless eyes conveying a desperate dream, a dream they were certain only I could realize. It was also my ticket to unquestionable immortality.

Someone patted my shoulder, in an attempt to bring me back into reality. I opened my eyes, took out the earphones and looked up. My partner was standing there, transfixed, but the look in his eyes said everything.

I nodded in familiar confirmation because I knew it was time.

The next five minutes were routine; one I had followed for over 18 years. Once I was ready, I gave my partner a quick glance and we started walking towards the stairway.

The walk was long, and the voices in my head were far louder than the cheer of the onlookers.

When we reached the pitch, while parting ways to walk towards the opposite ends, Viru punched me on my arm and whispered in my ear: “Leave this one to the rest of us...”
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Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar (born 24 April 1973) is an Indian cricketer who was rated in an article by Wisden in 2002 as the second greatest Test batsman ever, after Sir Don Bradman. He holds several key batting records, including the most Test centuries, most ODI centuries and the most runs in ODI cricket. He is also the most capped player currently playing international cricket. He received the Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna, India's highest sporting honour, for 1997-1998, and the civilian award Padma Shri in 1999. Tendulkar was a Wisden Cricketer of the Year in 1997. He is widely regarded as one of the greatest batsmen ever.

2007-03-09T03:42:00.000+05:30

Framed on the wall of a club I frequent:

"There was a time during 1976-1977, when the record business went crazy. That was when Hotel California came out, and Saturday Night Fever, and also Rumours by Fleetwood Mac. That was the music business at its decadent zenith. I seem to remember that the wine was the best and the drugs were good and the women were beautiful and, man, we seemed to have an endless amount of energy. Endless stores of energy. Hangovers were conquered by Bloody Marys and Aspirin. You were resilient."

Glenn Frey

(I somehow relate to it a lot.)

T-10

2007-02-23T21:47:00.000+05:30

Mid 2006:

And then we laughed.

Not because the point in question was funny, but because we had surprised ourselves with the confessions. And since the alcohol had left no room for straight faces, we fell back on laughter to rescue ourselves from the intensity of that moment.

“So now we both know. Wow!”

“Yes, we do.”

“ You know, TS, this is exactly why I’ve hated coffee, always. Why couldn’t we have just done this earlier?”

“Hmmm… maybe we should’ve. But how in the world was I to know you’re carrying as much baggage as I am?”

“Oh, c’mon! You knew it all along!”

“If I had known, wouldn’t I have skipped the coffee/conversation routine and jumped straight to the alcohol/confession bit?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. You men can be quite vague sometimes. Oh, by the way I’ve decided to stay here in India for good. I’m not going back to DC.”
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2004:

We hadn’t met in 3 years, but when T-10 came to Delhi that winter she tracked me down because she still remembered by old home phone number.

The phone conversation was quite formal and mechanical but we decided to catch up anyway. Despite our history, I was a little apprehensive because this was the first time we were meeting, if you know what I mean. She didn’t know I smoked, or drank, or did drugs, or that I had had a girlfriend for almost 3 years.

So for starters, to be on the safe side, I decided to be proper and meet her for a quick cup of coffee. The word quick gave us an easy escape route to both of us in case we felt ‘uncomfortable’ with the situation.

In the middle of that quick cup of coffee at Flavours:

Phone call.

“TS, I gotta rush! I’m staying at this girl’s house and she needs to go and so I need to stay in and she won’t be back till after dark and her dog needs to be fed and…”

“And?”

“Long story! I’ll tell you in the car. I hope you can drop me?”

“Yes, how else were you planning on going?”

That night I had a recurring dream, which I used to have up until 1998.
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1998:

Consumed by emotion, I decided to send her flowers on Valentine’s Day. I thought it would be the perfect day to formalize the relationship and let her know that I wanted to meet her, marry her, have kids with her.

I was 14, and a self-proclaimed adult. And for the last 3 years (2 years after she had changed her school), we had kept in touch through phone (she had managed to get my phone number from a common friend). It was always T-10 who called, every fortnight or so, and we would have these marathon phone conversations full of intimacy, laughter and baby talk until her parents would back from work.

I thought my case was pretty strong. To add to that, a casual conversation with my mother led me to believe that T-10 was my girlfriend because it was she who called me, and not the other way round. And that I had every right to send her flowers.

So I called the local flower delivery guy and had a dozen red roses delivered to her doorstep. I know she got them because for the next 6 months, she didn’t call. And when she did, this is the conversation that followed:

“TS, I know that my behaviour towards you may have led you to believe many things which weren’t necessarily true. Its not your fault but whatever happened wasn’t right! And I hope we can get past this little incident without denting our friendship.”

“Of course we can T-10. I’m sorry about the whole thing.”

"I'm sorry too."

"Listen I gotta rush right now so I'll call you over the weekend?"

"Sure. Bye."

I didn't know then that it would be 6 years before we would get to know each other all over again. When I look back, I keep asking myself why I never tried to call her myself considering I still remember that old phone number of hers.
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1992 and 1993:

By far the most significant years of my life (except for 2001, because that’s when I met my current girlfriend P).

(It was the year my family shifted to Sarita Vihar, our current place of residence. It is a DDA colony on the Southeast tip of New Delhi, and back then it was an almost suburban area of the ‘new’ New Delhi. When we moved there we left behind hardship, memories of my father and a hand-to-mouth lifestyle, which had haunted us in that cramped one bedroom flat of Lajpat Nagar.)

The most significant event was, of course, that this is the year I first met T-10. I call her T-10 because that was the new school-bus route assigned to me when I shifted to Sarita Vihar, and we got to know each other because she also traveled in the same bus.

In the first year that we traveled together, she and I became good friends. We would chat, play antakshari and do almost everything you can associate with a platonic relationship between two 8-year-olds. But secretly-secretly, I would look at her and smile to myself, thinking about the kids we would have someday.

God, however, had other plans for us.

During the second year of our friendship, she was made the head-girl of primary school. Out of the 4897238947238 girls in class V, they had chosen HER! And to add insult to injury, they decided not to make li'l old TS head-boy. WTF???

And even though I had decided she was the one, I went into denial and convinced myself otherwise. No head-girl was going to risk dating a sissy house-captain.

Everyday, until she changed schools in 1994, I loved her (yes, secretly-secretly). And when she finally left (without telling me), a very uncomfortable dream began to haunt my sleep.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yesterday:

“TS! Why aren’t you gay??? I’ve always wanted a gay best friend and you’d be sooo perfect!”

“And what makes you think that T-10???”

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling you’d make a perfect George!”

“Hey, HEY, H-E-Y!!! Just because I have a pair of pink boxer shorts does not mean I’m gay. Like someone once said, Metrosexual but Heterosexual!”

“Tracy, Meha! Don’t you think he’d fit the part?”

The two women conveniently looked away, allowing me to save that iota of self-respect that I had left.

There was a moment of silence. And then of course the alcohol took complete control of me and I blurted:

“Well if I were to sleep with a man, it would have to be Johnny Depp.”

There was another moment of silence.

The girls gave me a quick, rather puzzled look and immediately shifted their focus back to T-10 and her tale of woe.
---

At night, as I was trying to fall off to sleep, I couldn't help but think of everything T-10 has meant to me. A lot of first times of my life revolve around her existence. And no matter where life takes me, I know her presence in the happiest of my memories (the kinds that make you go Awww) will carry me through the most difficult of times in the years to come. That and how I will always love her deeply, simply because she was the first.
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Note from the author:

Dearest T-10, on a more personal note:

- Since I didn’t make you sound remotely psychotic (an adjective we both know describes you best), you simply MUST take me out to dinner.

- Oh, and the post miraculously omits any details of your RED stilettos. (Lets make that dinner AND JD shall we?)

- Also, there is no mention of the time you BIT me on my arm in class V. Do you know I still have to pass that scar off as a stretch mark to avoid becoming a locker room legend? (For this one, I will settle for no less than a mention on your epitaph.)

- And FYI, I still have that dream. You wouldn't happen to know any good shrinks, or would you?

One Week in Calcutta: Unsettling

2007-02-13T22:36:00.000+05:30

They should call it CABcutta.

There are more cabs in Calcutta than there are people. The cabs are potty yellow in colour and act as a constant reminder to your bowels that you forgot to appease them in the morning. The pollution from their exhaust reminds you of Delhi before the introduction of CNG. And for some very strange reason, ALL cab drivers are from Bihar. I didn't come across a single Bengali cab driver in the 20 odd trips that I made in the course of the week.
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Crossings, Crowds, and a whole lot of Chaos.

I may have underestimated the number of people per square kilometer when I made that statement about the number of cabs. In the picture to the left you can see the confluence of cabs, buses, private vehicles, trams and people. All this at a crossing where the signal doesn't work.
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Does this qualify as popularity?

While clicking one of the photos I realised someone from the crowd was waving at the lense hysterically. Since I was looking into my tiny cellphone screen, his appearance was extremely dwarfed and hence, unclear. I thought he was telling me to not invade people's personal space by walking around with a cellphone pointed towards them like a weapon. So very sheepishly I put the phone in my pocket and walked on.

A couple of seconds later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I froze, out of the very natural fear of public humiliation, I think. Contrary to the verbal bashing I was expecting, I heard an extremely gentle voice say, "Tanmay, welcome to my city."

In the brief conversation that followed I learnt that 37 year-old Tilak had moved back to his hometown about a year ago. And even though he was working hard and earning little, he didn't mind Calcutta because it gave him the chance to be in the same city as his ex-wife (who he is still very much in love with even after 11 years of separation) and his children (talking about whom brings tears to his eyes).

I told him I was happy for him. He told me I had put on weight. We both smiled. And then of course with nothing left to talk about, we bid a quick, almost mechanical good-bye and went about getting lost in the crowd all over again.

To answer your question:
How do I know Tilak? I trained him during his brief stint in my company. He was one of the few people who put me in the spot by insisting on calling me 'Sir.' When I told him we were a company with a 'first name' culture, and the fact that he was 15 years older than me, he simply laughed and said he had a hotel management background and that there was no way he would call me anything other than 'Sir.'

When I reached my hotel room that night, I wondered why I didn't ask him for his phone number or e-mail ID.
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Taking C-Grade flicks to the next level.

(*Kaam Milan: Sexual Meetings)
(**Piyasi Dilruba: Thirsty Seductress)

O Mammi mammi, O Daddy Daddy
Jis se meri shaadi hogi
Aaj meine voh ladki dhoond li hai... ok ok I'll stop!

These were the first couple of movie posters I happened to set my eyes on.

You can also find movie posters of Bengali Films. The local film industry is called Tollywood. Imagine if their box-office lingo includes phrases like 'could you tollyrate the film?'

Apparently sequels of Nagina (Snake-Woman) are still setting the box office on fire.
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This one takes the cake.

This poster can be found at the entry of one of the city's finest hotels, The Park.

'Win' a date with 'heart-throb' Aryan Vaid?!? Really?!?

Where was I when he made the transition from a potential hero in 'Kaam Milan' to a 'heart-throb?'
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Call Girls

Come darkness and the city's pavements are flooded with prostitutes and pimps. An indication perhaps, of the average Bengali mentality? Or the cruel aftermath of an extended rule of the Left? I don't know. I want my friends from JNU to answer that one.

I think it was Wednesday when my colleague and I were approached by a pimp on Park Street. A thin, dark brown, middle-aged fellow with bulging eyes. He caught me by the hand and asked him very seriously:

"Excuse me Sir. Can I help you with College Girls? Nepalis?"

After a brief moment of silence AJ and I realised what he meant and we broke into hysterical laughter. I 'thanked' him for his generous offer but declined nevertheless.

As we continued walking, we tried to figure out why the pimp had approched only us out of the 20 odd people buying rolls at the food stall. Did we really look that horny? Was watching Fashion House every night getting to us? After a brief round of debate I convinced AJ that it was the look on his face that had instigated the fellow.

[On a more personal note, I'm more or less ok with the whole living in denial thing. I really don't care about what people do for a living as long as they get by with a full stomach and a couple of laughs. Even prostitution.

And no, I don't feel violated when a pimp approaches me. Or when my friends raise the Friday evening toast to 'Wine, Women and Prostitution.' Delhi and Bombay have red-light areas too. So do New York, Amsterdam and London.

In Calcutta, like any other place, prostitution was once a lifestyle. And for some sections of the city, it still is. But every set of eyes on the streets that invited me into the shadows told a story of a life lived in denial. Much like that disillusioned section of Calcutta's society, which is desperately trying to revive the lost glory from 'The Days of the Raj.'

And just why did Sona Gachi* let go, forcing a large number of its inhabitants into the by-lanes of the best known streets of the city to find their own way into tomorrow.

*Asia's largest brothel - located in the heart of old Calcutta

I don't know.

What is their story? Do they have a story? Or do I think too much?

If you're from Calcutta and can figure this out for me, let me know. I'm still unsettled.]

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Stories from Oblivion: Chapter Two: BKN/UDZ

2007-01-31T08:24:00.000+05:30

When you visit four cities in as many days, your idea of a room with a view becomes something like this:

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Karni Mata Temple

The Karni Mata Temple at Deshnok (Distt. Bikaner) is famous the world over because of the presence of over 3000 mice within the temple premises.

8th Wonder of the World or as Dr.Gonzo once said: RAT COUNTRY!

The mice are well fed and are free to roam about. When you enter the temple premises, you are advised to drag your feet so that you don't step on the mice by mistake!
Another unique thing is that not a single mouse leaves the temple premises even though the gates are always open.
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Bikaner

Apart from posters that read "Dharmendra: MISSING!" you can also see:

Junagarh Fort

Handcrafted ivory weapons

(Is there a support group for people who get turned on by this?)
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Udaipur

If you want to capture the essence of this majestic city, you really must carry a half-decent camera, maybe even an SLR.

The road to Sajjangarh fort.

Sajjangarh Fort

View from the north-side of the fort.

A passing cloud offers some much needed shade.
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More:

Beedi jalaye le?
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(Picture Courtesy: My Nokia 6600)

Stories from Oblivion: Chapter One: JBP

2007-01-18T12:03:00.000+05:30

The Spot

Dhuandar Falls near Bhedaghat, our very own version of Niagra thankyouverymuch.

The Sight

Paisa Vapas if it doesn't make your heart stop.

The Performer

Our man was lazing around in the warm winter sun when I approached him. The moment he realised he was going to be caught on camera he put his turban on his head, grabbed the snake-like stick and posed. Once I had taken the shot he looked at me straight in the eye and said "Ten Rupees for photo!"

I smiled and handed him a hundred. He didn't smile back.

The New-Age-Urban-Indian-Woman's idea of 'Cho Chweeet'

When was the last time you met a little boy called 'Bholu?'
Oh, and FYI... He makes the best cup of Masala Chai ever.

My King of the Road

Sumat: Himesh Reshammiya fan and driver par excellence.

2006-12-28T11:10:00.000+05:30

In the Last 5 Days I've Learned...

-that road trips with the girlfriend's family can be fun, even if it's at the expense of a trip to the hills where you would've done nothing except smoke hashish, eat and pass out.

-that it is possible for five adults, one new-born and a mannerless dog to fit into one SUV.

-that NH-1 is also the famous GT Road.

-that I can no longer do poo poo in public loos because I'm just too snooty.

-that the Aloo Parathas at Zhil Mil Dhaba in Karnal are to die for.

-that P's elder sister is a compulsive shopper and desperately needs therapy.

-that I'm a compulsive shopper, and I don't need therapy because...

-that Nabha has not changed much since I was last here in October of 2000 for a basketball tournament.

-that even though my girlfriend's father is not in the armed forces, he lives in a housing complex where there are 30 security personnel stationed to protect 9 families.

-that my girlfriend's family has, in its own special half-Tamilian-half-Malayalee way, come to terms with my half-Bihari-half-Punjabi presence in her life.

-that P and I are not likely to have convincing answers when our children ask us about their ancestry (Tam-Mal-Punj-Bih?).

-that even if you're not South Indian, appam & chicken stew makes for a great snack.

-that a weighing machine in Nabha claims I am 103 Kgs.

-that cuddling up in one quilt watching movies all day is a perfect way of spending quality time with people you don't know too well.

-that you can actually not feel like smoking for 5 days at a stretch.

-that banana chips make me vomit.

-that if I don't get my glass of coke first thing in the morning, I'm capable of being quite cranky.

-that my girlfriend is better at badminton than I ever was/will be.

-that my girlfriend may be better at Badminton, but I can beat the living daylights out of her in Pool and Table Tennis (P, right back at ya).

-that it's not a wise idea to go to Amritsar on a rainy day.

-that Jallianwallah Bagh and Golden Temple are within 50 metres of each other.

-that no one will believe you when you tell them that the Golden Temple is actually made of gilded copper and not gold.

-that Amritsari Kulcha isn't as great as its made out to be.

-that you will smile when you see a board which says Lovely Proffesional University, but not as widely as you will when you see Balle Balle Farms.

-that stoned or not, a visit to the Dollar Store is an expensive proposition.

-that it's also possible to fit six adults, the new-born, the mannerless dog and five days of shopping into the same SUV.

-that if I waste more than an hour at the factory outlets and dollar store at Ambala, I will get very late and miss my 7:30 pm dental appointment.

-that whenever I'm going to be late, I will end up telling my mother it's because of the traffic.

-that even when you're 23, your mother can get very angry with your silly excuses.

-that even after five years with P, watching her sleep makes me fall in love with her all over again.

-that if you take a 3 weeks of leave at the end of the year, you can come back to town after a week and not have to go to work the next day.

-that its a good thing my cellphone wasn't working.

-that the moment you enter Delhi, everyone will lose all road sense, including your driver.

-that when I reach home, my mother will act all angry and upset because she knows I lied to her about the traffic.

-that my dog loves me dearly, despite the delay and the the lies.

-that the moment I take that giant bar of Toblerone out of my luggage and wave it in front of Mom, she will wrap her arms around me and give me the warmest hug ever, making me believe that I've just returned from the battlefront.

-that your dog doesn't really give a fuck about you once you've handed over the Toblerone to your mother.

-that no matter how good a trip is, it's great to be back.

On Taking Long, Long Walks...

2006-12-15T14:07:00.000+05:30

And with that hope, I walked.

Awkwardly, as I do when my jeans tuck themselves under the sole of my floaters.

Aimlessly, like that helpless old tramp who doesn't beg, but makes you feel all guilty about being rich and having people around you.

Somewhere along the way I stopped and lit another cigarette. A young couple in the vicinity were involved in animated conversation but the moment they noticed me, they looked at each other and shared a moment of silence. As I exhaled the smoke from the corner of my mouth, I looked in their direction and smiled. They pretended to not notice and immediately started talking again. Maybe its the messy hair, I thought to myself as I walked on.

The corridors of Connaught Place were relatively empty for a Saturday, and the chill of a Delhi December evening made me re-think my decision of leaving the jacket in the car.

Another 25 odd metres on a little boy came up to me and demanded that I give him 10 rupees in exchange for the two big, red, heart-shaped balloons he was carrying. He had a running nose, and was wearing nothing but a torn T-shirt. He looked surprisingly content, in a silly, homeless sort of way. I pointed in the direction of the couple I had just crossed. I assured the boy they would buy the balloons if he insisted enough. He gave me a big grin and ran towards them.

I continued walking, one hand warmly tucked into the pocket, and the other wishing it wasn't holding the cigarette. As I passed United Coffee House the thought of hot, hot coffee and scrambled eggs on toast threw my salivary glands into a frenzy. I urged myself to focus and started walking faster.

The decision was silly, because Blues was 2 minutes away and I still had 30 minutes to kill before she would be free from her office dinner.

I skipped the turn left and walked straight ahead, hoping that by the time I went around the block, it would be 10:30 pm.

Half way there I stubbed my cigarette and took out the packet of Classic Milds from my pocket to light the next one. It was empty!

Now leaving my jacket in the car so that I could enjoy the chill is one kind of stupid. But leaving your wallet in that jacket, only to be stranded 2 kms away from your car without cigarettes and money is a stupid of an entirely different kind.

In that moment of stupidity, I looked around, out of helplessness I think. There was an ATM nearby and I spotted a potential saviour. He was dressed in a sky blue shirt and navy blue pants. He looked approachable and without even giving it a second thought I called out to him and asked, "Bhaiya Ji, beedi peete ho?"

He flashed a wide grin and exaggageratingly shook his head from left to right and said "Nahi ji!"

I smiled and said, "Achha, koi baat nahi."

I think the disappointment on my face was way to obvious because he then said,"Bhaiyya sigrit-vaala agle block mein mil jaayega aapko."

To which I sheepishly replied, "Yaar paise nahi hai varna mein khareed leta."

Embarrased, I started walking ahead, but stopped as an immediate afterthought to add, "Vo kya hai na ki wallet gaadi mein reh gaya."

I don't know why I felt the need to justify myself. I guess I didn't want to feel poor and cheap in front of a security guard.

As I turned away, he called out to me, "Saaheb, ruko!" He was still smiling when I yelled, "Kya hua?"

He came right up to me and after catching his breath, he took out a two rupee coin and held out his hand.

Now I really didn't know what to do. At this point, the voices in my head took control of me.

Voice in my head: That's 10 beedis or one Chhoti Gold Flake! Go for it!

The other voice: Are you really going to deprive this poor old guard two full rupees?

Voice in my head: Of course you are. It's not like he has an andhi behen and apahij maa for God's sake!

The other voice: Fine! But you must return it! Youmustyoumustyoumust!

Guard: Arre lo na bhaiyya. Aage paan vaala hai, beedi mil jaayegi.

Me (in a hindi movie sort of way, all misty eyed): Par tumhare 2 rupaye mein kaise le sakta hoon?

Guard (getting irritated): Rakho. Hume vaapas ATM jaana hai. Duty chhod kar aaye hein!

I took the coin from his palm.

Me (trying to sound all mother-tongue-ish): Shukriya. Yeh ehsaan raha aapka mujh par. Mein aapko thodi der mein aake lauta doonga.

On hearing that, he cracked up into an obnoxious, deliberate laughter and in his own not-so-subtle-way let me know 2 bucks wasn't a big deal. Not for him, not for anyone in this country.

I smiled another I-won't-forget-this-gesture smile and made my way to the paan-vaala. 10 beedis it was to be. I lit the first 501 Pataka and took a long drag. The smell of the beedi smoke catapulted me into memories from the one year I spent at the school hostel (my school campus is on the outskirts of CP and therefore the connection).

---Two 13-year-olds jumping out of the hostel window at 11:00 pm to go eat Anda-Bread, drink Pepsi at the dhaba in Shankar Market. Making conversation with auto-drivers and construction workers, smoking beedis with them, playing pakdan-pakdai, then streetlight cricket, bullying them into letting us batting forever, reaching the hostel at 2:30 am, finding no way to get back into the hostel because the guard has locked the window from inside. With nowhere to go, landing up at ISBT, spending the night trying to sleep in the corridors with the homeless, shivering in the cold, seeking refuge in a blanket given to them by a bus conductor, finishing all their money on tea and buiscuts, taking a lift and reaching the school campus at 6 am, just in time for basketball practice!---

My thoughts evaporated when I cited Blues, I called P and told her I'd reached. By the time she came out, I had lit another beedi. When she came out, she gave me a big hug and kiss. The bouncer and the captain from the club stared away at me, wondering why on earth someone who looked and dressed the way I did was smoking a beedi. I whispered into P's ear that I wanted to offer the bouncer a beedi just for kicks. She broke into a hysterical laughter, put her arm around mine and said, "Chal, I'm the one who's drunk, not you! And just why are you smoking that stuff baby?"

"Long story", I replied.

As we stepped into the parking lot just outside, P asked me where the car was to which I flashed my best smile and replied, "I hope you're in the mood for a long, romantic walk."

She jumped in delight almost losing her balance in drunken frenzy, and in an attempt to salvage lost pride, broke out into a dance, singing Aaj Ki Raat from the movie DON. I gave her a hug and we started walking.
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Somewhere along the way she asked me why I had parked the car at the other end of CP. Was it really an attempt to be all romantic and huggy in the chill?

I blushed and asked her if she had 2 bucks to spare, and if she was in the mood to help me change the car tyre.

She looked at me in the eye, a little confused with the randomness of the answer but smiled anyway and said, "Of course sweety, you know how I LOVE to change car tyres at CP in the middle of the night."

"Just the answer I was hoping for!", I exclaimed and kissed her on the forehead as we walked on.
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Who's your Daddy?

2006-12-09T16:07:00.000+05:30

"The closest way of feeling close to someone you want to know is giving them a reason to laugh."
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I have this constant need to be entertained.

Humour is the front runner. Anything for a laugh. I mean it, anything.

Some time ago, when I was surfing the relatively darker channels of the web desperately seeking a laugh, I stumbled upon a random-comic-super-hero. You heard me, a random-comic-super-hero. His name is SUPERFLY and he boldly goes where no fly has gone before.

Go say Hi to him. You'll figure out the post title once you get there.

Website: www.joecartoon.com/pages/superfly

On ''Then and Now'' Kind of Moments...

2006-10-29T22:12:00.000+05:30

"The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be."

Paul Valery
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25th October 2006, 11:54 pm -

I have just reached home after a two day vacation (well, if 2 days of getting wasted in Jaipur qualify as a one!).

The drive back has been exhausting, because the Octavia is a painful car to drive if you're not used to it. To add to the that, blinding headlights and noisy co-passengers leaving no stones unturned in an effort to mess with your concentration levels. All this and more at 140 kilometres an hour.

On my way home, I dropped Abhishek at Gurgaon and picked up the girlfriend from somewhere in CP.

I open the front door of the apartment with my key and the girlfriend and I enter as noiselessly as possible. The mother is sleeping. The brother is listening to music in his room.

I enter my room and almost collapse onto the sofa. The girlfriend finds herself the next most comfortable spot in the room (the bed), and starts fiddling with her new toy, a video iPod.

The room is sparkling clean. The mother knew I was coming, so she removed all traces of encroachment carelessly left behind by the brother. She knows how much I hate anyone inhabiting my room while I'm away.

The cleanliness and symmetry make me happy.

11:58 pm - I take my cellphone out of the pocket and look at the screen. Still two minutes to go, and I'm already waiting for the phone calls to pour in. Who all will stay awake just to call me? Who will get through to me first? Will there be someone on call waiting constantly, wonder how that feels?

I have no answers. One minute left.

What do you do when the clock strikes 12:oo midnight, marking the beginning of the day you were born? Are you sleeping? Or are you hanging on to your phone just like me?

The girlfriend insists that I help her in connecting the iPod to the computer. She is in no mood to share my anxiety. I tell her to wait.

I get up from the sofa and walk to the dressing table. I take off my watch and empty the contents of my pockets. The change scatters on the dressing table. The few hundred rupee notes find their way into the drawer. Just as I'm closing the drawer, I notice a white slip of paper in between the notes. I pull it out and look at it.

It's exactly like a credit card cover, except that it says:

Tanmay Sahay
Room Number 1421
ITC Rajputana Shereton
Date Of Arrival: 24th October, 2006
Time: 10:15 am

I know why it is there in pocket and I know exactly what I need to do next. I forget that my birthday has just begun.
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26th October 2006, 12:04 am -

I'm sitting cross legged on the floor in front of an open suitcase. The suitcase is beige, but it looks almost brown owing to the layers of dust that have settled on it since the last time I pulled it out of the loft.

I'm searching for diary. It's blue in colour and the cover reads Raghubir Singh Junior Modern School Annual Diary (1993).

A quick survey of the contents reveals no sign of anything vaguely similar. I shuffle the contents carelessly and look again. Some things fall out. My attention is diverted to them.

A badge that says House Captain (Class 5), a party invitation on an LP from Supriya (Class 9), the receipt of my first ever pair of Reebok shoes (Class 8). Just as I'm about to go down the memory lane, the phone rings.

Hello!

H-a-p-p-y B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y t-o y-o-u! Da da dee da dum dum!

Thanks you so much Yesha!

The conversation goes on for a minute and then good byes are said.

Suddenly the girlfriend realises it is time.

Big Hug-Bigger Kiss-Lots of smiles-I'm glad she's there, right by my side.

The Happy Birthday-Thanks-Have a great year-You too-Ok Bye routine continues for about 10 minutes or so. All this while I'm desperate. Not to answer the person on call waiting or to attend to the 10 odd sms', but to go back to the suitcase.

Frustration.

Luck. The phone runs out of battery and I don't have my charger.

No moral dilemma.

Peace at last. Cigarette lit. Now where's that Diary???

I notice the girlfriend reading something. She notices me noticing her. She looks up and has the w-i-d-e-s-t possible grin on her face. That's when I realise she's holding the diary!

I ask her to give it to me. She thinks it's time we played beg.

NOT.

One minute and two wrestling moves later, I have the diary in my hand. The girlfriend is pinned to the bed and is trying everything possible to escape my clutches.

I make her promise that she'll behave. She does so, she has no choice.

I open the diary and start flipping through the pages. I find the excerpt I'm looking for:

Monday, 10th May, 1993 -

Hi Diary. How are you? I came back from Jaipur today. I had a lot of fun there. I stayed at Rajputana Hotel and it was FIVE STAR. I saw Hawa Mehel and Amir Fort. We went everywhere in the school bus only. I bought a pen for Ma and Vasu.

When I went for dinner, I was first in wishing Naina ma'am good evening and she made everyone clap for me.

At night we were very scared because some told us there is a ghost in the next room. I stayed with my best friend Abhishek, Parichay Mehra, and Ashish Tandon in one room. We saw cable at night and played chess. I won two games but lost two also.

Our room number was 1421. Abhishek said the hotel had 2000 rooms but I know he was lying.

Ma is calling me, I'm going now.

Bye.
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Have you ever had a 'then and now' moment in your life? I've had a few to be honest, but this one tops them all.

In the May of 1993, my school had organised an overnight trip to Jaipur. It was a trip of firsts. I was in class 5. The diary entry you just read about that trip pretty much sums up all I remember of it.

So there I sat in front of the suitcase, thirteen years and 6 trips later, amazed at the significance of insignificant detail.

I called out to the girlfriend.

"Come here!"

"No, you help me with the iPod first!"

"Arre come here na! Please!"

She came and sat next to me.

"Can I read he diary after that or will you wrestle me again?", she asked.

"You can read the damn diary and ransack the suitcase sweety, but listen to me na! I was right about the room!"

"You're serious???", she said, with a look of disbelief.

I showed her the diary entry. She read it and looked up at me.

"So strange huh?", I said.

"Yaaa, totally!", she replied.

"Ok now the suitcase is all yours. I need to make a call."

She smiled in delight and immediately went to work on the suitcase.

I picked up my cellphone and called Abhishek. He didn't answer. I guessed that he must be exhausted from the trip too.

I gave up after one try, knowing well that I would speak to him the next day.

I lay down on the bed and fell asleep reading the diary. At some point in time the girlfriend switched the lights off and snuggled into the bed with me.
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Two to Tango

2006-10-05T17:17:00.000+05:30

Year: 'yir

The period of about 365 1/4 solar days required for one revolution of the earth around the sun.
The time required for the apparent sun to return to an arbitrary fixed or moving reference point in the sky.
The time in which a planet completes a revolution about the sun.

Source: Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

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5th October 2004, Tuesday, 12:00 noon:

"Welcome to Daksh ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to IBM Daksh!"

The words echoed in my head for a while.

A short announcement followed, informing us about the events to follow. By 7:00 pm, the time the joining formalities were over, I had written down my particulars over twenty times and signed around 30 delarations of various kinds. I was exhausted.

The only settling factor was that everyone who had joined with me in that room was in the same boat. If I remember correctly there were 9 of us. I was the youngest, and one of two freshers.

I didn't utter a word throughout the day. I was nervous, unsure of what to say, not wanting to put my foot in my mouth. I remember this lady (also a new joinee), Aditi Malhotra, attempted to strike a polite conversation with me. I think the couple of replies I did manage were monosyllabic and without a hint of enthusiasm. She gave up almost immediately. Little did she know that this lost soul would come around to haunt her, and maybe even make her cry one day.

When all the formalities were over, we were informed that we could leave. As I walked out of the building and started walking towards my car, I felt disappointed to the point of being unsettled.

Thought: That's it? That was my first day at work? Isn't the first day supposed to be memorable? Aren't you finally supposed to feel in control of your life, untangled at last? Why is this happening? Maybe I'm not ready for this. Maybe I should go home and get back to travelling.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud "Bye!" I waved back at Shweta, the DU History teacher turned housewife turned Voice and Accent Trainer at IBM Daksh, who had also joined the same day.

As I settled into the the driver's seat of my car, I finally felt in control. I welcomed the feeling, considering it had eluded me throughout the day. After I turned on the ignition, I pressed hard on the accelerator. I think I did it just because I could. Then with the push of a button, I had U2 calm my nerves. Well, almost.

"Is it getting better? Do you feel the same?

Will it make it easier on you now, if you got someone to blame?"

The traffic was heavy. My head, in comparison, was still heavier with the thoughts from the day. And now, these lyrics. I should have changed the song then and there, switch to happy music. Something like I'm like a bird or whatever.

Did I disappoint you? Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?

You act like you never had love... *Click*

I switched off the music system.

It took me almost two hours to reach home. Sitting in the car that day, crawling home at a snail's pace, I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I thought about where my life was heading.

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5th October 2006, Thursday, 5:00 pm:

Two years, three managers, four office spaces and a different department later, I can safely say that I'm one of the familiar faces around. It's a comforting feeling. A walk through the corridors, or lunch at the cafeteria involves making polite conversation with almost everyone. I think they think of me as the nice guy who's been around.

Aditi Malhotra, well... Adi (she insists I call her that), sits in the adjacent room. I think she and I moved out of training around the same time. I moved into quality and she moved into Research and Development. We're the only two left in the training division from the bunch that joined that day. The only difference being that Aditi was promoted to the post of an assistant manager in April.

I receive an email from the HR department congratulating Adi and me for achieving this 'milestone.' The mail is copied to every one in my business unit. Within a minute, I 'm in the process of deleting the clutter from my inbox and frantically replying to congratulations messages from people I don't know of, haven't met or ever said hello to.

I get this email from Karishma Bajaj. It says 'Congratulations Fossils.'

The phrase stays in my mind for a while and I continue staring at the colourful screen. Flowers, satin ribbons, twinkling light and designer font make for stylish viewing. I remain unmoved, wondering when the nostalgia will kick in.

Viren (close friend and colleague) backslaps me rather violently, ordering me to join him for a smoke downstairs. I look at my watch, 5:10 pm; time for the hot chick from Tower-A of the building to come down on her smoke break. We don't want to miss out on the limited viewing pleasure we have at our disposal. So I lock my desktop and we hurry downstairs.

After two cigarettes and a little disappointment (the chick never showed up), Viren suggests we go back upstairs and get back to work. While we are in the lift lobby, I ask him to carry on and tell him I'll be up shortly. He asks me if everything is alright (I hate perceptive people). I say Yes! and he gives me the look of How did you know I was going to ask you that??? He doesn't protest, and takes the next elevator.

I walk out of the lobby, into the open. I go straight to 'Costa Coffee' and buy a cold coffee. Once out of there, I light a cigarette and go park myself at the far end of the building. The area is dimly lit, but provides a fantastic view of the commotion around. It's also an area where you can find class four taking their beedi breaks. And every now and then you can spot a couple, desperate for some alone time.

Today, strangely, there is nobody.

As you may have guessed, the nostalgia had kicked in the elevator lobby.

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6th October 2006, Friday, 3:51 pm:

Yesterday evening, as I sat there with my cigarette and cold coffee, I reflected on the two years gone by. It was more an act of recollection than actual pondering over the events.

Here is what I could remember:

My first day at work. In retrospect, that day does hold a lot of significance. It may not have been eventful but memorable it was, simply because I will never forget it.

Rohit Chopra. Inspirational boss and fantastic manager, now reduced to a detail in my phonebook. Even now, when I wear floaters to work, I think of how he used to pull me up and urge me to wear formals. I'll never forget that smile of his, a smile of general well being and of unconditional acceptance.

Mimansa. Colleague, dear friend, angel. She taught me how to dress, where to party and in many ways, how to live. She doesn't work here anymore but I try and meet her as often as possible, even if all she has to offer is a reality check.

Viren. Best friend, fellow negro, golfer, dancer, and in many ways, a philosopher. He taught me how to appreciate video games and vampires at an artistic level. Currently, he's teaching me how to play golf. Every now and then he also tries to teach me how to dance, much to his and my frustration beacause I'm still pathetic at it. He also taught me that it's never too late to make a best friend.

Chinese and Thai Cafe, Gurgaon. Nights of endless alcohol, useless conversation, dancing in the parking lot to Alan Parson, and more. Half my income is in the club's bank account.

Sugandha. Trainer, gambler, wanderer, friend, guide, snob, philosopher, critic... the list is endless. 'Sugi' is my inspiration in many ways, and I think she knows it.

Leon, Maxwel and Siddharth. A comic, an achiever and an alpha male. A day at office is incomplete without Leon's useless (and fantastic) jokes, Maxwel's favours and Sid's almost dictatorial pieces of advice.

IBM. I love being here. In some trying times, I've often wondered why. Maybe because of the space and comfort I've been given, or maybe because it's my only means to a socially acceptable identity.

U2's One. Club, Disco, Parking lot, Dance Bar no bar. Whenever this song plays, you will find Tanmay, Leon, Viren, Mimansa, Sugandha, and whoever else is there locked in a group hug, singing loudly and out of tune. There is something about this song. I wonder now, as to why I turned it off in the car on my first day at work.

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There were a lot more flashes of people and places, of accomplishments, disappointments, embarrasments and more. But the cold coffee was long over and my last cigarette had just died on me, almost burning my fingers.

When I came back to reality, I found myself sitting cross-legged on the grass. I got up immediately and dusted the dirt off my trousers. As I walked to the elevator lobby, I thought of how much these last two years meant to me.

I am more complete as a person today than I ever remember being, good or bad notwithstanding. A subject matter expert in training, a reasonably good colleague, an amature golfer and writer, a socialite. When my trainees meet me, they never forget to flash their widest grins and try to convince me about how often they think of me. I think I must've made a difference, however miniscule, in improving their life. My colleagues always tell me that I'm great with meeting deadlines. And Viren never forgets to talk about my flair for golf when we're in mixed company. As for the writing, I'll let you decide.

I think all this makes for an interesting profile for a 22 year old.

I feel it could do with a little improvement though, I still can't dance.

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Chapter Three: The Implications of What If

2006-09-21T12:59:00.000+05:30

"Love me for who I am, and I will show you who I can be."

Janit Gambhir, Aspiring Film-Maker and Modernite (Batch of 1999)
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Anandana.

If you wrote her biography, you would have more than enough material to keep you busy in your study, editing meticulously so as to not leave out a single detail that made her everything that she was.

DPS RK Puram, IIT Delhi, and finally IIM Bangalore.

At the age of 20, she had a book published, which she had co-authored with a fellow student at IIT called Hacked to Death, which chronicled the life of a small town computer genius turned hacker turned God of cyber crime, who is finally apprehended by the cyberpol at Times Square, where he is shot dead while makeing a last ditch attempt to escape. This book sold over 10,000 copies in Europe and North America.

Add to that her love for squash, which she played at the national level for five years, and the many music competitions where she won the award for best singer. In her days at IIT, she was also involved with a rock band who called themselves Vikram Betaal. A name they came up with because Vikram was the guy who started the band, and the fact that they didn't have a drummer initially; and were hence reduced to participating only in acapella competitions for the first six months of their existence!

In 2002, after graduating from IIM, Anandana came back to Delhi and began, what was to be a short, but hugely successful career at Ernst and Young as a Group Manager. She loved her work, and didn't mind the crazy hours, the frantic late night calls from sub-ordinates and of course, the absence of love that came with such a lifestyle.

Having said that, every now and then, in the last few moments of consciousness, before she passed out in her bed out of exhaustion, she would think about computer programs and Vikram Betaal. And each time these memories came back to her, asking questions she knew she didn't have answers to, she would try and convince herself that the next weekend she would do something about it. Many such weekends came and went.

One year passed, and by now she had resigned to her corporate lifestyle. Twenty odd cups of coffee in a day, sandwiches for meals and buckets of alcohol on Fridays, when she went out with a couple of friends from work to Cafe Sound of Music.

Her petite frame had now begun to show early signs of obesity. She, however, continued to live in denial telling herself they were just love handles. Whenever she chatted with her childhood friend Ekta, she would joke about how her hymen had grown back.

It was around this time when she met Jayant. He was a great looking, articulate guy and the chemistry had been almost instantaneous. She really didn't care that he was much younger than her. He was that endless glass of cold water for the desert traveller that she had begun to imagine herself as.

Infact, he's the one who encouraged her to get involved with music again. He even forced her to record a couple of songs at the studio for him. On most days, they would spend most of their time making love and conversation, both very random.

She realised he was more than just a passing phase only when he moved in with her one fine day, uninvited.

However, like most good things in Anandana's life, this too came to an end. Two years and a whirlwind romance later, she was forced to dump him because of the drug habit he had developed. She had warned him again and again, but he had persisted.

Now she remembered him as the guy who taught her how to sing again, nothing more and nothing less.
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One year had gone by since she had last seen Jayant. She thought about him briefly on the 18th of April, their two year anniversary when everything had come to an abrupt, screeching halt.

Anandana had moved on.

Today she was 27, married, and assisting her husband in his garment export business.

The marriage had happened all of a sudden. It was the result of another whirlwind romance Anandana had gotten herself into. Only this time, the prospective groom was a millionaire, a tea totaller and someone who's parents would get very upset if he moved in with his girlfriend. And so, they got married, and in the process got bound by law to live with each other!

A few months into marriage, life was lucid, rhythms well set, and expectations well defined.

Then on one such day, when her life was following a set pattern she was almost addicted to, out of the blue, she received a call from Jayant. It was the 21st of April. He sounded desparate and insisted on meeting her. She was a little reluctant because she hadn't spoken to him in over a year, but she went to meet him anyway. She knew well from past experience that she didn't have to worry from a safety point of view.

But while driving to Ruby Tuesday at the DT Mall, she tried to fathom why he had suddenly called on her.

Jayant was in a very bad shape when she met him, pitiful to be precise. He told her about how much he loved her, how much he had missed her this last one year, about the drugs, about some rehab in the UK and about his desire to move back in with her. He pleaded in front of her and begged her to give him a chance.

To all his questions she had only one answer, "I'm married Jayant, infact I'm expecting my first child."

She was trembling when she said that, not knowing how he would respond.

He didn't say anything for almost a minute.

She felt the need to explain herself and so she began to narrate the events of the year gone by.

At first he sat there, staring at her in disbelief. But his surprise soon melted into a smile, much to her surprise. He was taking it well, or so she thought. He asked her a lot of questions about her life, her new job, but he was clearly most interested in Sameer. He wanted to know every single detail about him.

Three hours went by, and for a while Jayant immersed himself in Sameer's life.

Anandana's phone rang. Jayant knew it was Sameer because she said," If you had called me anytime in the last three hours I would've told you that you have a long life Sam!"

Sam, Jayant thought to himself. SAM, he said again in his mind.

Once she cut the phone, she looked at Jayant and told him she needed to leave immediately. He didn't object and dropped her to her car, which was parked in the basement of the mall. She thanked him and said,"It was 'refreshing' to meet you after so long. Something I didn't think possible. Thanks for understanding."

After she had driven off, Jayant wandered around in the parking lot for while, aimlessly. When the security guard asked him why he was just lounging around, he apologised and left. That night he went to his parents' house for the first time in almost two years.
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September 10th, 2006:

An electronic music album debuts at No.9 on Top of the Pops. One week later it debuts at No. 23 on the Billboard Charts.

Much hype has been created around the release of this CD because Sony-BMG, the record label that has released the album insists that part of the contract with the artist renders it unlawful for them to disclose any details about him, whatsoever. The only thing they are willing to disclose is that the artist is a male in his twenties, and that he's currently working on his second album.

A gentlemen named Clarke Goodwin has claimed that the title track is based on a melody which he created sometime earlier this year. No one is taking him seriously because he is currently undergoing rehabilitation at the Rhoserchan Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Centre in Mid-Wales.

Every electronic music aficionado lives on in desperate hope that someday this artist will make a public appearance.

For now they have conditioned themselves to be content with his pseudonym, Sam.
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Chapter Two: The Boy Next Door

2006-09-20T17:25:00.000+05:30

"I am a servant of the wind, riding high on its will, but alas! I fall by the wayside each time it stops to catch its breath."

Tanmay Sahay, (Diary entry from sometime in 2006)
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(ELEVEN MONTHS LATER)

Jayant had been here only a week, and was clearly struggling, trying desperately to adjust to his new environment. He stood out for more reasons than one, the obvious being that there was a resolve wich never escaped his facial expression, like a constant tensing of the forehead muscles. He was here with the singular aim of coming clean. This was something uncommon at Rhoserchan.

He also held the distinction of being the only Indian at the facility, and the only other coloured face you could see apart from the day shift Janitor. The difference between them being that the Janitor was your chronic socialite, making small talk with anyone and everyone and Jayant was the local recluse, confined to his thoughts as a matter of lifestyle.

Jayant's skin tone, flair for music and his characteristic Kurtas made him attract more than his fair share of attention. Almost everyone at the centre had tried to approach him, talk to him and he had declined to say more than a 'hello', or 'how are you today.' But the only person he spoke to for more than ten seconds, that I can recall, was the catering incharge, in an attempt to request for some Indian food.

As for me, I didn't make any attempt to speak to him because in my mind he was competition. He was much better looking, despite the hunched back and shadows under his eyes that looked like black holes. Add to that his fantastic choice of music had me green with jealousy. He had cropped hair, and no tattoos or earrings. Even so, if you saw him you knew he was someone deeply involved with music. Infact, he was everything I was trying so desperately to become. What bugged me even more was I wore heavy metal band T's, had about 10 piercings and 7 tattoos but when people met me they still asked me what I did!

A part of me decided not to like him. And this decision made me something Jayant would never be, malicious.
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The Rhoserchan Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Centre in Mid-Wales is one of the better facilities in the UK, and it was also the most recent. Its 100 acre landscaping makes for excellent and colourful viewing, especially in spring. Every now and then, it's manicured lawns manage to attract a tourist or two who want to spend a summer afternoon doing nothing.

I remember when I first came here 12 months ago for two weeks of intensive counselling. I wasn't an addict then, I was just experimenting. My only mistake was that I had been caught with amphetamines and skunk in my study drawer. I realised then, that even if you're 22 years old and reading chemistry and music at the university, your Mommy's gonna put your ass into rehab if she thinks you're on drugs!

However, this time I was in for long. The brown sugar had thinned me down to a point where my skin looked like someone had stretched a rubber over my bones in a desperate attempt to make me look human. Having said that, I didn't mind my physical situation at all as long as it was my ticket to unrivalled attention, from friends and family alike.

Since I knew it would be a year before they would let me get out of here, I figured the sooner I got used to my surroundings, the better. I walked through the corridors. The halls of residence were no less luxurious than The Plaza in Cardiff, about 100 kilometres from here. There were 24 rooms, and all were on the ground floor. Each room was about a 150 square feet with wall to wall carpeting which was beige in colour. The rooms were equipped with state of the art facilities. There was a remote for almost everything, even the window screens. The walls were white. The furniture, in contrast was laquered to a near perfect black.

All rooms had a study table, expensive stationary, a 52 inch plasma screen and if you wanted one, a laptop. The washrooms were surprisingly common, monitored strictly by the security guards stationed at all six of them. The far end of the building had a small theatre with a screen just big enough for you to get the cinematic thrills.

When I climbed up the stairs, following the signs that said library I was thrilled to see that the entire first floor was the recreation hall. There were snooker tables, chess and checker boards, and video games like the ones at the malls. Smooth jazz echoed through the announcement speakers, lending an eclectic feel to the setting. One corner of the hall had a sound-proof glass enclosure where they had made a library and a reading room of sorts. For anyone with nothing to do, this place was second only to paradise (I say this because they tell me paradise is full of beautiful women who want to have sex with you all the time).

I spent the first one month reading Bob Dylan's autobiography called Chronicles, perfecting my breaks on the snooker table and beating Mr.Smith at checkers. He was a middle aged family man. A business loss and unemployment had prompted him to take up drinking alcohol full time. However, his recovery was remarkable, aided of course by the expert doctors and counsellors we had at our disposal here at Rhoserchan.

By the second month, surprisingly, I was bored of entertaining myself. So after consultation with my counsellor, I decided to start writing a diary.

The only thing I missed here was wind, the absence of which was attributed to a weather phenomenon called 'perennial high pressure zone.'

They had only recently WiFi-ed the entire facility, because the 'patients' had requested to be able to sit in the lawn and chat/write/browse etc. Now I could sit in the warm comfort of the sunshine and pen down the happenings of the day. The food was catered by the nearby Four Seasons, and there wasn't a fancy they couldn't entertain.

Put simply, it was more resort than rehab where the rich and the famous came from time to time to get conveniently de-addicted.
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That Monday afternoon, when Jayant first approached me, was like any other. It must have been around noon, because the shadows were trying to hide desperately. I sat cross legged in the open field with the laptop. I was writing my first diary entry for the day, narrating to the text file how I had almost fallen down after slipping in the shower. If you think slipping in the shower is uneventful, you haven't spent enough time at a rehabilitation centre.

Jayant came and sat right next to me, but he didn't utter a word. He was wearing a regular white T-shirt today with light blue jeans that were visibly faded. Instead of shoes/slippers, he was wearing what I later found out were called juttis in India. He had bought them from a place called Jaipore. There was a visible stubble on his face. What scared me was the scar on his left wrist, carefully hidden under the Omega that he was wearing. There was a red thread tied on his right wrist. I had seen many Indians in London wearing it, especially during fall.

He stared into space for the twenty odd minutes he sat, occasionally glancing at my laptop screen. Then he got up left, almost suddenly.

The next day he came around the same time, in his kurta and jeans and jutti. He repeated the previous day's behaviour. This continued for three more days. He came, he sat and he left me wondering. On Saturday, I looked up at him before he sat down and said,"You're welcome to sit here, but comfort doesn't come for free. If you wanna sit here and absorb all the positive energies I'm giving out, you're going to have to do something in return nigger!"

He smiled, amused with my choice of words maybe, and asked,"What kind of help dude?"

The fact that he said 'dude' almost startled me. I tried my best to hide the surprised expression and continued.

"I'm chatting with this chick who has wanted to do me ever since she realised I was ugly, depressed and paranoid. And she's insisting on visiting me sometime next week."

"So?", he asked, wondering why I wasn't making sense.

"I'm not allowed visitors dude!" I announced.

"Why?", he contested, looking surprised.

"That's none of your fucking business. But if you really wanna know, DUDE, the last time my blokes came n' visited me here they brought me some stash which the matron found out about. She called my mother up and they decided it was best that only family be allowed to visit me!"

"I still don't get it. How can I help you there?", he said, now completely puzzled.

"Well, when this chick comes next week, her name is Cathy, I want YOU to sign her in as your guest so that she can come into the halls of residence and then she and I can fuck like rabbits till kingdom come!"

"Uh, ok!", came his reply, stinking of callous indifference. He sat down next to me and looked straight into my eyes for the first time. I could tell he must've been much better looking than he was now. I wanted to be nasty but curiosity got the better of me.

I started a conversation with him and dug out the following details:

Jayant was 24, and had just been shifted here from the Government Clinical Rehabilitation Facility at Glasgow, where he was kept in a padded cell for almost two weeks. In the last one year he had developed many an addiction. It started with cocaine, and when he couldn't afford it he moved on to heroin and finally to crack.

I asked him who was taking care of the rehabilitation expense to which he replied that he was associated with a record label and it was they who had sent him here.

If you saw him from a distance, you would perceive him as a regular Indian boy walking in the streets of London, rapping in Punjabi and saying Ain't it in that peculiar Indian accent. Except that his face told a slightly different story.

He told me almost everything. His beginnings, his interests, his dislikes and how he had transitioned from one drug to the next.

Our conversation ended abruptly when I asked him why he was so determined to kick his habit. He said he'd rather not talk about it and got up and left immediately.

For the next one week we spoke about almost everything, dissecting aspects of our lives, arguing about music, commenting on political affairs. I did not ask him about that which he feared most. Cathy came and went. I even offered Jayant the opportunity to do Cathy, which he declined politely, looking a little violated.

Within a couple of weeks we were inseparable, or so I thought. He and I had a lot in common, apart from being the only 20 somethings at the facility, music being the obvious front runner in that list. I hate to admit that I had grown to like him a lot, even at the cost of becoming the white boy who hung out with the 'Indian' kid. Every now and then, I couldn't help but pray that he would lose his looks, his charm and his sense of creativity with melodies. But a couple of minutes later I would take my words back and apologise to God for having said that.

I had my room changed so that he and I could be in adjacent rooms. This way he could stay till late in my room and we could sit on the laptop, writing lyrics and composing music. He introduced me to a very different genre of fusion created by these guys who called themselves Midival Punditz and I returned the favour by getting him hooked on to Vast, a gospel rock band.

I always spoke of how we should start a band together once we got out of here and he always responded with that smile of his. I know now that the smile was more in response to 'once we're out of here' and not the 'we should start a band together.'
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A month or so later, one night after supper, Jayant and I were taking a short walk just outside the residence halls. I noticed that we had nothing to say to each other. Such an obvious and deliberate silence unnerved me. Had we exhausted all possible conversation or was this just a chance occurrence? An indication perhaps that we no longer required words to communicate.

I looked at him and suddenly blurted out,"What's the matter?"

He looked at me and said nothing. He looked visibly distraught. I asked him again, urging him to confess to me. For once I was genuinely concerned about another person in this world.

He turned away and said,"It's a year since I last saw her. It's been ONE FUCKING YEAR!"

"Saw who???", I asked, almost shouting.

That's when he told me his story, his real story. Everything in his life right now was centred around one particular night, exactly one year ago. That night of broken glass and broken hearts. And I realised everything he had said to me before this day was inconsequential. I didn't know whether to curse him for not opening up to me earlier, or to embrace him for finally having done so.

"You're one helluva guy I said", suddenly feeling the need to weep myself. I hugged him tightly and wept. He just stood there, saying nothing. A gentle breeze began to blow. It was cool, refreshing and very uncharacteristic for a Rhoserchan evening.

A few minutes and many a tear later, we walked back to our rooms in silence.

We didn't wish each other our ceremonial "Good night, and good luck!", a habit we had developed after watching a George Clooney movie about three weeks ago.

I really wish that we had, because when I woke up in the morning he was gone. And that's the last I ever saw of him.
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Chapter One: The Penthouse, the Couple, and a Couple of Incidents

2006-09-19T19:42:00.000+05:30

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also some reason in madness."

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900), "On Reading and Writing"
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Whatever had to happen was over and done with. What was happenning right now was inconsequential. But what was going to happen had an uncomfortable uncertainty about it. Anandana had never been able to stay silent this long.

The setting, ironically, was near perfect. The living room of a Gurgaon penthouse. The moonlight dancing its way into the room, helped along by a gentle breeze that brought with it the freshness of the open fields nearby. Their recliners were facing the balcony. The leather upholstery added the necessary touches of chic. The coffee table behind them boasted of a bottle of Dom Perignon resting carefully in the ice box, and alongside it lay a packet of Malboro Reds and two almost melted, bitter bars of Lindt. There was a large, almost life sized sketch of a horse hanging on the wall to their left. Most people wondered why it was there, only to find the "Husain" signature on the bottom right of the painting, giving them their answer almost immediately.

The music was loud, thanks to the overly enthusiastic Bose speakers. Or maybe because one of our protagonists was averse to silence today, for the voices in his head were loud, disturbing and desperately searching for an answer. An answer he knew he didn't have.

They sat there staring into the moonlit darkness, each hoping the other would speak.

"Can we listen to some Beethoven instead of this nonsensical trance???", pleaded Anandana, almost yelling.

"The next track is the 5th.", replied Jayant.

"No, now! I'm had enough of nonsensical music for one lifetime", she ordered. As soon as she said that, she started wondering why this word nonsensical had replaced nonsense in her vocabulary. Maybe her friend Ekta had something to do with it.

"Whatever you say!", came the delayed and subdued reply, interrupting her thought. Jayant got up from his recliner and moved lazily towards the remote of the music system which was lying on the sofa. He was relieved she had spoken, it was a good sign.

"And lower the god-damn volume while you're at it!", she yelled, trying to sound as threatning and malicious as she could.

He started smiling almost immediately after she said that. She was angry, and that's exactly why it was going to be ok. Soon she would scream, yell, abuse, punch, kick, break, breakdown and let it all out. That's the way it had always been, at least for the last 2 years since he had known her.

He lowered the volume, changed the track and lit himself a cigarette. Then, very schemingly, he wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with an "I'm so scared of your anger/please don't hurt me" look and went back into the comfort of his recliner.

Ten seconds passed. Jayant took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Don't just sit there and stare into space you good for nothing space bunny!", Anandana screamed. She knew him well, and also knew it was her anger that had prompted this look on his face, an indication that he was willing to play his part.

Everything happened, almost as predicted. Fifteen minutes later she was in his lap, with her head buried into his chest, weeping silently.

The setting, however, was visibly violated. The bottle of champagne had been smashed on to the floor, the melted bars of bitter chocolate were now spread on the sofa, and the packet of cigarettes had been thrown out of the window. There was a cigarette burn on his left arm, close to his wrist. She had never been this violent.

The madness had come to an abrupt halt when she cut herself badly at the heel from a broken piece of the champagne bottle. She collapsed onto the sofa, not being able to bear the pain. Jayant picked her up and carried her till the recliner. As he was putting her down, she refused to let go of him and they fell on each other. Around that time the music had changed from Beethoven's 5th to Crash Into Me, lending a movie-like feel to the already dramatic proceedings.

She lay in his arms weeping, still. And he sat there with his arms around her wondering, when?!? The images of credit cards and thousand rupee notes flashed in front of his eyes.

He caressed Anandana's hair out of restlessness, trying desperately to not think of the kitchen drawer. That's when he realised things weren't going to sort themselves out.

Jayant waited till she had fallen asleep. He then carried her to the bedroom, cautiously avoiding any pieces of glass he might have tripped over. Gently, he placed her on the bed. Before standing up again, he stared at her. The calmness on her face was in striking contrast to the rage she had exhibited not so long ago. Her body was anything but tense, which made him wonder how quickly the muscles had relaxed. He gave her a peck on her forehead, in response to which she smiled and cuddled up a little more. He covered her body with the satin quilt and made his way out of the room, switching of the bedside lamp and closing the door behind him.

If You're Going to San Fransisco echoed in the living room as he made his way to the kitchen.

Without switching on the lights, he opened a drawer and pulled out an expired credit card, a rolled up thousand rupee note and a tiny box filled with something that you or me would write off as salt or crushed sugar.

He went straight into the washroom. Two lines later, he thought of getting a drink and changing the music.

He changed the track, and If You're Going to San Fransisco gave way to Lets Go to Mars.

He went towards the window, with a desire to refresh his nostrils by exposing them to the cool breeze. He could see the Gurgaon skyline in the distance. Below him was a solitary highway, the Gurgaon-Faridabad road. Trucks and tempos were going about their business as always, making noises and avoiding collisions.

Even after the nostrils were rejuvenated he stood there, aimlessly observing the movement of the dots of light below him. The music was exciting him. He needed that drink, now!

He turned around, almost energetically and made his way to the kitchen. He made himself a small whiskey-water and took a huge gulp. The sensation of a liquid in parched throat eased his senses. He picked up the glass and made his way to the bathroom for some more gum numbing.
The moment he got out of the kitchen, he shrieked out of fright and the glass escaped his grip, sending it smashing on to the floor.

There she stood, motionless and enraged.

The music changed to Beethoven's 5th, for a second time that night.

My Ode to a Hard Fought Greatness

2006-09-13T18:17:00.001+05:30

***

Belgium, sometime in 1991:

I was scared. I was also on top of the world.

It was my moment of truth. A chance to escape mediocrity and to attain greatness.

I had dreamt of this moment since that hot summer afternoon of 1984. But this wasn't just my dream. It was the dream of my entire family.

"Do dreamer's rise to the occassion?", I asked myself. My palms were getting more and more sweaty as everyone cleared the area.

"Go on Michael... give it your best shot!", my new boss said to me.

I acknowledged his encouragement with half a smile, and realised there was more at stake than my moment of truth.

To add to it all, I had lied. And they knew it! What surprised me was that they were still giving me this chance. They must have seen something in me, or had they exhausted all other options? I guess the world will never know.

I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

Once I was out of the pit lane, I raced.

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Michael Schumacher made his Formula One debut with the Jordan-Ford team at the 1991 Belgian Grand Prix as a replacement driver for the imprisoned Bertrand Gachot (incarcerated for spraying tear gas in a London taxi-driver's face).

Schumacher was signed by Eddie Jordan after he was greatly impressed at a Silverstone test the previous week, and Schumacher assured Jordan that he had vast experience at the challenging Spa circuit, despite the fact that he had only been around the track once—and on a borrowed bicycle!

Schumacher impressed the paddock by qualifying seventh in his first competition in an F1 vehicle, matching the team's season-best grid position, and out-qualifying his seasoned team mate, Andrea de Cesaris, an 11-year veteran. He retired on the first lap of the race with clutch problems.

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August 2005:

After completing my training routine, I sat down with Corrina, Gina and Mick. It was a much needed day off. My team and I were struggling at work.

To add to that, this new guy at work, called Fernando, was giving me a run for my money. No one in the last five years had been able to challenge my abilities and now this kid of 24 was nursing dreams of taking my place.

I was talking to Corrina about how we should send the children to a private residential school in Monaco when my cell phone rang. The ISD code indicated the call was from the United States. I was a little puzzled because I didn't know too many people from there.

The guy on the line told me his name was Steve Jobs, and that he was the CEO of Pixar Animations.

I chuckled and asked him the most obvious question of all,"Why the hell are you calling me up???"

I could almost hear him smiling when he said,"You're going to love my offer Michael!"

I met him the following week and he convinced me to do something I had never even thought of.

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In 2005, Michael Schumacher delivered a vocal performance in Disney-Pixar's animated feature film "Cars".

His character in the film, a trademark Rosso Corsa Ferrari F430 who comes to Luigi's Casa della Tires (which makes Luigi himself and his friend Guido faint from joy), was named after him.

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The first time I became the best in the world was 1994, three long years after my chance debut. I was with Benetton that year.

The season was a tough one, with massive ups and downs. The weekend at Imola (Italy), in particular, was very tough on me. I was exposed to many vulnerabilities.

The last race of the season was to become a keenly contested and controversial finale to the rollercoaster season. I clearly remember crashing out of the race, taking Damon (my closest competitor) out with me. Ironically, it was Damon's crashing out that ensured my driver's championship victory that year.

Everyone accused me of foul play. But I knew I had erred, nothing more and nothing less.

The detail that took a little while to sink in was that I was the best in the world!

Little did I know it was the first of the seven, maybe eight times that were to follow.

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Schumacher won his first World Championship in 1994 while driving for Benetton, in an extremely controversial season marred by allegations of cheating and the deaths of Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenberger at the San Marino Grand Prix at Imola.

Schumacher started the season strongly, winning six of the first seven races. The raw speed of the Benetton was a surprise to the other teams, who levelled allegations of cheating. They claimed Benetton had found a way to violate the FIA-imposed ban on electronic aids, including Traction Control and Launch Control. On investigation, the FIA discovered illegal software on their car (and the cars of several rival teams), but could not prove that it had been used.

After Senna's death, Damon Hill inherited the responsibility of fighting for the championship. Hill struggled to keep pace with the Benetton in his Williams-Renault, but due to several mid-season controversial disqualifications and bans for Schumacher, he began to close the gap in the standings.

In the British Grand Prix, Schumacher was penalized for overtaking on the formation lap. He then ignored the penalty and the subsequent black flag during the race, for which he was disqualified and later given a two-race ban.

Things took a turn for the worse at Spa, where Schumacher was disqualified after winning the race, after his car was found to have illegal wear on its skidblock.

Leading by a single point going into the final race in Australia, Schumacher clinched the title after colliding with Hill in a highly controversial incident, taking both drivers out.

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10th September 2006:

We won at Monza. We had to, otherwise my story would have been different.

Among the many things I announced to the world that Sunday afternoon, here is an excerpt that captures its essence:

"...Sorry, it may have taken longer than some of you wanted but you have to find the right moment and we feel this is the right moment.

To make it short, this is going to be my last Monza race. At the end of this year I have decided together with the team that I’m going to retire from racing.

It has been an exceptional, really exceptional time what motorsport in more than 30 years has given to me. I really loved every single moment of the good and the bad ones. Those moments make life so special.

In particular I should thank my family starting with obviously my Dad, my passed-away Mum and obviously my wife and my kids who at all times supported what I was doing.
And without their support, without their strengths to survive in this business and this sport, and to perform, I think it would have been impossible.
I can’t be thankful enough to my family, but as well to all my mates at the Benetton time and obviously especially at the Ferrari days when I have made so many friends. I have so many great guys in that team and it has been a really tough decision to decide to not work together at this level with all my friends and engineers and everybody..."

I wanted to cry, but I held my nerve. I knew the world was watching.

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While Schumacher was still on the podium after his win at the 2006 Italian Grand Prix, Ferrari issued a press release stating that he would retire from racing at the end of the 2006 season. Schumacher personally confirmed his retirement in a very emotional statement during the post-race press conference.

The press release also stated that Schumacher would continue working for Ferrari in some capacity after his official retirement as a racing driver, and full details of this will be made clear by the end of 2006.

The team also announced that Kimi Räikkönen will replace him at Scuderia Ferrari.

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One evening at work, parallel universes and the pantry guy...

2006-08-30T15:36:00.000+05:30

"One is tempted to define man as a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason."

Oscar Wilde ( The Critic as Artist, Part 2, 1891 )
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On an uneventful day at work, just when I'm about to pack my laptop and leave, my universe conspires against me... My boss, colleagues, friends and family are reminded of the fact that I'm at their disposal...

This is a series of unfortunate events that happened between 7:30 and 7:40 pm on that Wednesday evening... Disturbing my usual lack of occupation at work, and sending my thoughts spiralling into the inconsequential...

Boss: Tanmay is the calibration report out? (Err... No!) Make sure you send it by the end of the day.

I step out of the room, cursing my luck. I should have compiled it by now!

Unoccupied Colleague (wandering in the corridors): Dude, let's go for a smoke? That chick from Tower-A must be downstairs right now!

I wonder why he ALWAYS want to smoke??? I say no thanks and continue walking through the corridor towards the washroom. I enter the loo and run into a super focused fellow team mate.

Super focused fellow team mate: Hey man, could you please conduct five more assessments? Enter the data into the sheet I'm sending you.

Suddenly going to the loo is off my list of convenient hideouts at work. I say,"Sorry buddy, need to get home early today. Family scene."

I leave the washroom thinking I better finish that report and get the hell out of here before someone else corners me.

On my way back to my room, my cell rings.

Phone Call (Drunk Friend): Tanmay! Where are you??? (Err... Work!) Get your ass to TC right now! Ice is begging to be broken!

I want to scream Yes! Yes! Y-e-s-s-s-s! just like those women in the porn movies. Instead, I politely take a raincheck, knowing well that I had better meet my girlfriend today or she'll kill me or dump me or something. I walk on with this scary thought lingering in my mind.

Master Trainer (In the corridor): Tanny please come to my session. There's a teachback I want you to sit through.

I repeat the family excuse. After all worklessness and girlfriends come first.

I walk on.

Random Ex-Trainee (Outside my room) : Hey Tanmay! Long time... what's happening? Listen... I wanted to clarify something, is now a good time?

Oh God! Why? W-H-Y? Why Now???

My patience is running out and I snap at him. "Tomorrow! I'm busy right now!"

I enter my room. I realise while opening the door that my fist is clenched. A very sweet fellow colleague is standing facing me, as if the forces had informed her of my time of entry.

Very Sweet Fellow Colleague: Aur ji Tanmay ji... ki haal chaal? I just came to work. How are you? How's your girlfriend?

I smile and reply that me, my girlfriend and the entire cosmos is doing just fine. Inside of me I feel like taking a razor sharp knife and waving it in everybody's eye, especially those who can afford to make useless polite conversation in this time of crisis!

My phone rings, again. Mom.

Mom: Tanu please be home by nine today, you know Masi's leaving for London tomorrow and she wants to see you and your brother before she goes. And pay the landline bill on your way back please, it's overdue.

(Thought: Err... sorry Ma, not today! I'd much rather meet my girlfriend!)

I tell her I'm working late and stuck in office till midnight. She sighs in disappointment and hangs up without saying bye.

As I make myself comfortable at my workstation, the schedule incharge get's up and decides to waste some more of my precious time.

Schedule Incharge (My Team): Tanmay make sure you're in by twelve noon tomorrow, we've got lot's of assessments lined up.

(Thought: Yeah right! F*&^$%$(&**%%#$#@... I'm taking leave tomorrow... Naa na na naa na)

I give him a thumb's up sign which he doesn't really acknowledge. The sarcasm on my face might have something to do with it.

"She" walks in... (The one who's thoughts occupy most of my work hours...)

Hot colleague who thinks I'm worth it: Hey... dinner???

(Thought: Can we just have sex on friday night instead? I'm caught up in a mindless, brain numbing activity... the one they pay me for... so that I can buy you alcohol and get you drunk enough to sleep with me.)

Girlfriend calling. I disconnect the phone, almost panicking. I regain my composure and entertain the thought once again before answering the hot colleague.

The words that come out of my mouth: "No, I'm buried in work. Maybe tomorrow gorgeous! Sorry!"

She leaves, looking disappointed. My attention moves to the vibrating Nokia 6600 that my left hand is holding.

Girlfriend calling again. GIRLFRIEND CALLING!

I answer, sounding apologetic, readying myself for the humiliation and insults.

Girlfriend: How dare you cut my call! Who were you with?

(Thought: Err, those who we don't speak about!)

I say I was talking to my boss. My boss looks up at me in disbelief. I wink at him and carry on talking. I tell her I'll be half an hour late. She hangs up on me, cursing.
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A disappointed mother, an angry girlfriend, two colleagues plotting how they would politley decline when I would approach them for my work and a boss who was waiting only for me to send him the data I should've sent an hour ago. Add to that my drunk friend, whose place I could've been at had I planned my appointments better!

I was fucked. One way or another.

I decided to calm my nerves, so I did the next best thing to having sex... I called up the pantry and ordered some food... Maggi to be precise.

I restarted my laptop. For some inexplicable reason, I created a playlist with songs from bands like "Cradle of Filth" and "Cannible Corpse."

Once the music was blaring in my headphones, I started compiling the data. The schedule guy, the sweet colleague and my boss all went out of the room.

I was alone. I took the opprtunity to voice my thoughts... saying "Bhenchod...", stretching it as much as possible.

I resumed my work.

In between typing a formula in the excel sheet, shaking my head hysterically to "Six feet under" and cursing my luck, I heard a noise. It must've been loud considering the volume in the headphones had been set to maximum.

I turned my head, only to find the remnants of another disaster. The two plates of maggi I had ordered had found their way to the floor.

I felt my heart sink.

Such was the magnitude of disappointment, that I almost didn't notice the pantry guy. I noticed him only when he made an attempt to get up from the floor. Man, he really should have chosen a better day to screw up!

Anyway, I motioned for him to get out and get housekeeping to take care of the mess he had blessed me with. I don't think he heard me, because he just stood there smiling helplessly for close to 20 seconds or so.

I turned to him in a swift motion indicative of aggression. He asked me if he should get two more plates. Now I lost it. I shouted at him, and told him he could feed as much maggi to the floor as he wanted, but I wasn't going to have any of it!

The smile vanished from his face. He left the room in a hurry, not paying any attention to the maggi on his clothes and hands. He was limping.

I continued to work. A couple of housekeeping guys came in and cleaned up the mess.

I had about ten minutes of work left when I got up from my work station to stretch my back. I was about to get back to my chair when I heard a knock on the door. I looked through the glass door to find the pantry guy standing right outside, with a half-smile on his face. I motioned for him to come in. He disappeared for around 20 seconds and came in. He was holding two plates of maggi. The half-smile had now become a shy grin.

Before I could say a word, he had carefully placed the maggi on my workstation. Then he turned to me, his smile became even wider (something I thought wasn't possible given the small mouth), and he held out his hand.

I shook his hand and he said "Sorry Sir, my fault!" (In English)

I smiled at last, trying to fathom why I was touched by his gesture.

His next words were in a language he was more comfortable with,"Sir hume maloom hai aap naraaz ho mujhse. Aapka kaam itna tension vaala hota hai, upar se meine maggi gira diya. Sorry."

"Arre nahi yaar, aise mat bol... tu to sharminda kar raha hai!", I said, cutting him short.

I looked at him in the eye and for some reason I had a rush of emotion. Then there were random thoughts. I think I wanted to burst out crying. I wanted to tell him that he was important too. I wanted to tell him that I respected him more than I would ever respect myself. I wanted to tell him that the server is greater than the servee. I wanted to give him a hug and tell him one day it would all be ok (Something like a Jaadu Ki Jhappi). I wanted to tell him that I'd teach him how to read and write, and then maybe he could get a job, a real job I mean.

Instead I asked,"So where are you from?"

"Bihar Sir, Madhubani."

"Arre, phir to hum bhai hein, mein Bhagalpur se hoon!", I replied, feeling a sudden ease after having found something in common with him.

The shy grin emerged.

"Aur, dilli mein kaise? Kahaan tak padhe ho?", I asked.

"Sir, M.A. kiya hai Sanskrit mein. Dilli aaya hoon taaki bachhe achhe school mein padhe. Vo jagah safe nahin hai na, isliye..."

(Thought: M.A. in Sanskrit??? This guy is more educated than I am!!! Fuck!!!)

"Arre waah, yaar tu to mujhse zyaada padha likha hai...", I said, backslapping him, appealing to him to be at ease with my presence.

He continued to smile at me, standing almost motionless, staring at me. I was wondering what to say next when a realisation hit me. In the middle of being preoccupied and emotionally upturned, I had forgotten to pay him.
I gestured for him to move aside and went to my work station. I picked up the wallet, which was lying next to my laptop.

"Kitna ho gaya? 4 Maggi ka 60 Rupees na?", I asked him, in an attempt to confirm. Also indicating that I was willing to pay for all the damages as well.

"Aap 30 rupees de do mujhe Sir. Jo gir gaya tha uske paise aap kyon doge. Vo hum dekh lenge", came a swift reply.

I was a little puzzled and I guess it showed on my face. He gave me a reassuring smile as I handed him the thirty rupees. He took the money, and left the room after saying thanks. As he was leaving the room I called out to him, "Bhaiya... Pakka na?", feeling sudden guilt about him having to pay 30 bucks out of his meagre pay.

"Are Sir, don't worry! Apni setting hai...", he said with a laugh and closed the door behind him.
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I finished my report. I checked my watch, 8:55 pm. I had to meet my girlfriend in five minutes, and there was no way I was going to make in time even after having rescheduled. Surprisingly, I wasn't angry, irritated, worked up... nothing! I guess I had resigned to my fate.

I called her up and told her that I would make it by 9:30 pm. She said she didn't want to see me ever again. I laughed, in helplessness and amusement, and she hung up on me for a second time that day.

I sat there staring into space. It was then that my thoughts spiralled into the inconsequential.

The first wave of thought was about the strange and predictable ways of the world (geography notwithstanding). How certain fundamental aspects of existence would never change. How there would always be the rich and the poor, the good and the bad, the alpha and the omega. Always.

The second wave of thought was mostly in what ifs and how could I have... I thought about my state of oblivion, and how most of my mental comfort had its roots in the ignorance that stemmed from it.

I thought about those who I care about, love, respect, work with, want to be with. And how their expectations of me had wrecked my nerves a little while ago.

I thought about how each person is a universe, including the pantry guy. There was so much to know and so much to learn about anyone at any given time in this world that it could overwhelm the google server a couple of times over. I was so intent on admiring the light being emitted from the stars in my universe that I overlooked the fact that it was me they were blinding.

My mind started giving up on me. I yawned. I wanted to go home, now. I packed my laptop, picked up my wallet and keys and headed straight out of office into the elevator lobby. I waited for about five minutes and finally got into an empty elevator.

On it's way down, the elevator stopped on the 4th floor. It was the pantry guy again, smiling as usual. I immediately rejected the thought that it was an omen.

There was an awkward silence in the six by six confines. We had exhausted all possible conversation in my bay before. I pretended to stare at the screen which indicates the floor and temperature. When the elevator gates opened, I stepped out. There was a rush right outside, a lot of people got in even though the lift was going to the basement first. I negotiated my way through the restless crowd.

As I walked on, the elevator gates closed, physically reinforcing the gap between our universes.
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A Love Story: The Final Chapter

2006-08-25T17:48:00.000+05:30

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie."

William Shakespeare
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I'm shocked!

"How do you know me?", I ask her.

"You were at that party... weren't you? The one at Khaitan House?"

"Y-yes... I was! Were you there too?", I ask.

"Ya, but I wish I hadn't gone..." She took another drag from the cigarette.

"Me too...", I say. I regret saying the words almost immediately after they come out.

We don't speak for the next two minutes. I'm a little uncomfortable with the silence so I look up at the sky, pretending to be in deep thought. The only thoughts that come to me are the ones I need to run most from.

"Walk me to my car? It's just round the corner", she instructs.

"How far?", I ask uncertainly. The thought of walking the street at 4:00 am with a woman I don't know is a little unnerving.

"It's ok, you don't have to", she says.

"No no... I mean if it's far I can drop you in my car. Why do you want to walk?"

"I feel like walking, do you mind? It's not more than a kilometer"

"Ok, let me lock my car." I run to my car, pull up the windows and lock it. I run back across the road, almost panting.

We walk.

"There it is...", she says, grabbing my hand.

I'm relieved.

She holds on to my hand till the time we reach the car. I don't sense any intention behind her doing so.

She leaves my hand to take out the car keys from her pocket. She unlocks her car and settles in to the drivers seat. She rolls down her window and says "Need a lift?"

"Yes. Of course." I smile and get into the car.

She drops me.

I get into my car and roll down my window.

"I hope you'll be ok?", I shout, hoping my voice reaches her despite the noise from the engines.
"Yes... I think I will." She smiles reassuringly. This time the smile is genuine.

I smile back. "Maybe I'll see you sometime, if fate permits..."

She doesn't reply.

Instead, she says "It was awefully brave of you... very few people can do what you did at the party tonight. I wish I could've done the same..."

Before I can reply, she drives off.

That's when I realise.

Ridhima! I tell myself. I should've guessed!
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The moment Radha realised it was Varun, the smile escaped her face. For a brief moment, both of them stood transfixed.

"H-hi... Varun", said Radha, trying to force the smile back on her face.

"Hi Radha! How've you been? Long time...", said Varun, almost confidently.

"Oh... I-I've been good... you tell me..."

If Radha had any short coming, it was her fear of confrontation. Earlier, on the phone, she had told Varun very categorically, and curtly, that she didn't want to see him. Now here, standing before him, she was at a complete loss for words.

She wanted to say so much. About disappointment and hatred, about being let down and left behind.

In this time of poetic silence, the cruel rhyme of anticipation, most people in the vicinity found themselves a convenient excuse to clear the area. Radha and Varun were alone at last, much to His relief and Her worry .

While they stood there staring at each other, the last six years of their lives flashed in front of them.

How they had met, the artist and his muse. The coffees, the movies, the concerts, the parties, the cocaine...
How they had loved. Passionately, aggressively, hungrily, sometimes hurriedly...
How they had lived. In each other's houses, hearts, lives, dreams...
And of course, how it had all fallen apart seven months ago in the September of 2005, the month Varun had left for Paris.

He had left her behind, hanging on to a promise. In the last seven months the promise had been broken, again, and again, and again. And each time he broke his promise, a piece of Radha's heart had broken along with it.

"A million little pieces is what you've left me with Varun! When I think of you I feel nothing but malice!", Radha shouted. This was sometime in January, the last time they had spoken before tonight.

"I think you better move on Radha, this is not likely to work out.", Varun had said in response to Radha's outburst. Varun's tragic flaw was his inability to handle accusation. He too was an escapist, but of a different kind.

But today, 19th of March 2006, was going to be different. Atleast that's what Varun hoped, considering he'd come back to Delhi for good, just so that he could fall in love with her all over again. A chance which had outraged his parents, and many of his artist friends.

Varun spoke first, "Let's take a walk. Please. That's all I ask for."

He held out his hand, just like he used to. A tear surfaced on Radha's left cheek. She put her hand in his, and they walked. They walked for five minutes, hand in hand. Neither said a word.

Varun, as always, broke the silence.
"So I hear you've found yourself a boyfriend Radha."

"You're the one who asked me to move on."

"I know."

"Then why are you asking me?"

"Just... so what's he like, this R-a-h-u-l?", he asked teasingly.

"Oh, he's nice... he's sensitive, and he takes good care of me..."

"Nice?", Varun said, cutting her short. "I thought you hated nice!", he said in the same teasing tone.

"What are you smirking for, I know the chick you've been fucking since you got back. She's such a bimbette, it's not even funny. Isn't she here? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Hmmm, do I sense bitterness and hatred in your voice?", he almost laughed.

"So where is she???"

"Probably drunk, and making a fool of herself. After speaking to you I kind of told her to mind her own business. I've always hated women who can't handle alcohol." Varun sighed.
"Anyway! Back to you and me!"

"Oh come on Varun...", Radha said defensively. "My fascination with the artistic, the eccentric, and you ended that day, when you told me to move on."

"Really...?, he said, looking at her straight in the eye.

There was a moment of silence, and then one of what Radha thought was madness on her part.

They kissed.

Radha pulled away and said, "I-I can't... you don't understand..."

"Shhhhh...", Varun said, placing his index finger on her trembling lips. "I'm here now..."

"B-but Rahul..."

"I'm never going back Radha... never! I mean I'm here for good!"

There was silence again.

"You promise?", Radha asked, even though she knew every word he had just said was true. She knew him better than she knew herself.

They kissed again.

For the next hour or so, they spoke... kissing, hugging, touching at every opportunity.

"Wanna dance?", she whispered.

"Yes", he replied. "But right here."

They embraced, feeling each other's body, and fell into a slow, intense waltz. There is something about dancing without music that only lovers know.

They must have danced for about 30 seconds when they heard clapping. When Varun and Radha looked around, they saw friends and acquaintances cheering them on. They knew their's was not any love story, they were not just anybody.

From the corner of her eye, in the distance, Radha saw Rahul. There were tears in her eyes but he was smiling and clapping, just like everyone else. She went up to him and stood there, half guilty and half pleading.

"I knew", Rahul said. "I had always known.", still managing to smile a little. "I-I want you to be happy..."

"Thank You", she said, holding his wrist with both her hands. Then again, this time almost whispering, "Thank You!"

She ran back to Varun and embraced him.

While Radha was running towards him, Varun gave a thumb's up sign to Rahul, expressing gratitude.

Rahul replied with a same gesture and a smile.

Varun thought of his bimbette. He looked around, but he couldn't spot her anywhere. His attention went back to Radha, and he didn't think of anyone, or anything for the rest of the night.

"Poor Ridhima... she must be heartbroken!", Rahul heard someone say in the background.

--------------------------------THE END----------------------------------

A Love Story: Chapter Two

2006-08-24T13:08:00.000+05:30

"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire."

Artistotle
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She is sitting cross legged on the edge of the pavement. Looking down, fingers carelessly holding a cigarette. There's a can of coke or pepsi or whatever next to her. There is also a packet of cigarettes. I can tell she's absorbed in deep thought because the cigarette hasn't been ashed in a while. Or has she fallen off to sleep like that?

I think I've been staring at her for hours when she suddenly looks up. We make eye contact for one brief moment and she looks away. I can tell she has cried. I can also tell that she is more beautiful than most women I've seen in my life. The streetlight is giving her away to a total stranger.

I continue staring. She's not looking at me now, deliberately I think. The thought of reaching out, maybe rescuing her crosses my mind. I contemplate getting out of the car and going to speak to her. I feel a certain eagerness inside of me. Maybe I want to fall in love with her.

Whooosh!

I'm startled!

What happened???

Another car zips past me, this one is slower than the earlier one. The signal has changed to green.

I feel the need to make a split second decision. Rescue or escape? Confront or evade?

What the fuck am I thinking???

I'm drunk, very drunk. She's sitting there, almost motionless, on the side of the road at four in the morning. What if she's a prostitute? What if she's crazy? What is she's dying? What if she screams for help if I as much as go near her? If something goes wrong, no one will believe anything I have to say.

Sense prevails, but not for long. I zip off before the light turns red again, but for some reason take a U-Turn from the very next cut and turn right back. I stop my car just after the crossing, now on the other side of the road.

I light a cigarette, take a long drag and exhale. Trembling, with fear and anticipation, I get out of the car. I wait a moment befor I cross the road. I come within six feet of her and then I stop, waiting for her to notice my presence, or maybe because I suddenly find myself searching for the right words to say in a situation like this.

She looks up at me, her body tenses up.

"C-c-can I help you?" I say, clearing my throat.

"Yes", she says, almost confidently. Then she looks away again.

"Can I drop you somewhere?", I ask.

"Do you have a light?", she replies.

"Y-yes I do, in the car. B-but you can use my cigarette to light yours."

She picks up the packet of Malboro Reds and takes out the last, upturned cigarette.

"My lucky cigarette...", she smiles half-heartedly and holds out her hand, motioning for me to light it for her. I dutifully do so and hand it back to her, trying very hard not to look at the cleavage.

I ask her again,"Ma'am can I drop you anywhere?"

She evades my question again and asks me if I want a sip of beer. Before I reply she hands me the green coloured can. Hesitantly, I take a sip from the Heineken can. I can taste the bitterness that comes with warm beer. I say thanks and give it back to her.

She takes a long, long drag from her cigarette and exhales the smoke through her nose. She asks me to sit down. I adjust my jeans and settle down next to her.

I'm not prepared for what she is going to say next.

"I know you very well...", she says.
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Radha went to her brother's room, her final destination before any night of partying. She opened his drawer and took out two thousand rupee notes. She also left a note saying thanks.

Ever since her brother had landed that job with Goldman Sachs, her financial status had improved drastically. No more negotiating with Mom, no more pleading with daddy. All she had to do was open a drawer and leave a note!

Radha went back to her room one last time to pick up her cell phone and car keys. Carelessly, she put the pink motorola V3i into her back pocket without glancing at the screen. She really should have, but then again, she didn't know the future.

As she walked out of the front door of her apartment, she yelled "Bye!" to her parents who were watching some movie on the TV in the living room. They yelled back, but didn't turn their eyes away from the screen. The maid came and closed the door behind her.

Once in the car, a Baleno, Radha lit a cigarette. She heaved a huge sigh of relief after the first drag. She never smoked at home for fear of her parents finding out. If she got really desperate, she would go into her brother's loo and smoke with the exhaust on. With the cigarette lit and music turned on, she zipped off in the direction her destination. Once she reached the entrance of Chhatarpur Farms, she called up Sameera to confirm the directions once more. She cut the phone call and pressed the forward button of her system remote to change the track.

That's when her cellfone rang. A fourth, and perhaps last attempt from someone desperate to get in touch with her.

She looked at her phone screen. Recognizing the number, she smiled and opened the flap and answered in her characteristic style... "Hey handsome!"

"Hey! Where the f*** have you been???", answered Rahul, sounding near hysterical.

"I'm right here sweety, what's up? What's the matter?"

"No! Nothing! Was worried, that's all! Been trying to reach for almost one hour!"

"Awwe, how sweet!", she blushed.

"Achha I'm at the party right now but there's a slight crisis. I have to go and pick up Samarth from GK. His car's got a flat. I'll be back in forty five."

"No, wait for me! I'll be there in a jiffy, just wait five minutes. I wanna see you befor you go!"

"Ok, get here fast! Missing you!"

"Missing you too sweety, will be there ASAP! Mwah!"

She closed the flap of her phone and put the Baleno into first gear.

Her cellfone rang, again. This time it was Varun. She thought of not picking it up, but then answered anyway.

"Ya", she answered, almost curtly.

"I thought you'd be here by now, party princess!"

"I'll be there in five, but why do you want to know?"

"No... Just... Thought it would be nice to see you after so long... I was thinking maybe we could ummm..."

"I don't think I want to see you Varun.", she said cutting him short.

"Ok, have it your way...", replied Varun and hung up on her.

Radha reached Khaitan House, where the party was. After handing the keys to the valet incharge, she stepped in through the black iron gates. Rahul was standing there with someone she didn't know. He ran to her and hugged her, planting two long kisses on either cheek. She blushed. He then introduced his friend Karan to her. Radha and Karan exchanged pleasantries before the boys took her leave to go pick up Samarth.

She continued to walk from the gate to the house, a long one if it's a sprawling 4 acre Chhatarpur Farmhouse. She was caught up in hugs and kisses with the people she knew when some one tapped her on the shoulder. The tap was a little assertive, just enough to draw her attention away from the crowd.

It was Varun.

(To Be Continued)

A Love Story: Chapter One

2006-08-23T18:00:00.000+05:30

"What is meant to be will always find a way."

Trisha Yearwood
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It's 4:00 am. I'm driving home in my car. I can't remember how much I've had to drink. I know it's a lot because I have my seatbelt on. I always wear my seatbelt when I think I'm too drunk to drive safe, a habit I picked after passing out at the wheel a few times only narrowly escaping potential disaster.

I know I need to force myself to stay awake, so I turn up the music to its maximum and try shaking my head to the beat. I hope there are no police check-posts on the way because they'll probably smell the whiskey from a mile away. I'm also cursing myself for not having carried the house keys. I'll have to wake my mother up if I want to let myself in, and I'm sure she'll make a snide remark about the smell of alcohol on my breath.

I notice there is a crossing approaching. I'm suprised that the lights are functioning at this unearthly hour. Not wanting to take a chance in my current chemical condition, I dutifully stop and wait for the light to turn green. I'm almost proud of myself for doing so. The evening that has gone by is flashing in front of my eyes. Suddenly, I realise "Soul Meets Body" is playing on the music system. "Brilliant!" I exclaim, and start to sing along... it'll help me keep my mind off what happened at the party. I also adjust the shaking of my head to this new found beat. The air-conditioning has me near frozen so I switch it off and roll down the front windows of the car.

That's when I notice her.
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It was 8:30 pm. Radha stepped out of the shower and looked at her naked self in the mirror. Impressed, as always with what she saw, she gave herself a quick, naughty wink and grabbed her towel. She wiped herself dry and with a practiced ease applied three different types of lotions, leaving no part of her body unattended. Next, she wrapped the towel round herself and stepped out of the bathroom. She scanned her room, making sure no one was there. Then she hurried to the door and locked it. Next, she turned on the music and flung her towel on the bed.

If you saw Radha, you wouldn't believe that she took less than ten minutes to dress up. She's the sort of woman who would compel you to look at her, simply by way of her existence. She had the rare ability to make even the suavest of men uncomfortable and even the most ravishing women helplessly jealous. The difference between Radha and the rest of the world was her confidence and comfort with self.

Today was no different. Swiftly and efficiently the items of clothing appeared on her dusky body. The carefully faded blue jeans waste 26" and the black top with a plunging v-shaped neckline. The top was designed in such a way that each time she bent, you would get a fleeting glimpse of her lacy purple bra. Radha, knowingly, made no effort to cover her chest with her hand when she bent, a part of her enjoyed this sudden attention, from men and women alike, and of course she cracked up when she used to notice the evasive actions that followed when she looked up.

Her sandals were a point of discussion in the local social circles. Most of them were black, beige, chocolate brown, and a few were silver. All of them had one thing in common, a four inch heel and a characteristic, dull silver star right next to the ankle on the outside. Her jeans were just short enough to reveal the star.
No one knew how she managed to dance so well wearing such high heels. And no one knew where she shopped for them. What really got to the women was that Radha wouldn't tell. She used the convenient excuse that her father used to buy them from somewhere in Europe, Latvia? Lithuania? Luxembourg? No one remembered. Or maybe each time someone asked, Radha named a different country.

Once dressed, Radha ran to her cupboard mirror which was full length. She stood for two full minutes, much longer than usual, carefully examining herself. Her hair fell carefully on her shoulders, the wavy black locks blending with the black of her top. She adjusted her top to make sure there was enough skin between the end of the top and the beginning of the jeans. This way those who saw her from the front got a view of her naval ring and those who looked at her from the back were able to examine the tattoo on her lower back.
Then suddenly, for reasons known only to her, she broke into a dance. A casual, almost careless shaking of hips. She turned her body around but her eyes remained fixed on herself in the mirror, making sure every inch of her was just the way she wanted it to be, including the intensely inviting ass. Once she was convinced, the naughty wink followed.

She quickly turned off the music, went out of her room and into her parents'. There she spotted her favourite perfume on the dressing table, Turquoise by Ralph Lauren, and applied as much as she could without nauseating herself. She didn't normally use much perfume but today was going to be a long night, and hopefully a special one, so she had decided to go that extra mile.

In the throws of olfactory passion, Radha didn't realise that her cellfone had been ringing in her room. The ringtone "Rubina's Blue Sky Happiness" by Joe Satriani echoed in her room, begging to be heard. The phone screen read: 3 missed calls.

Radha was unaware of the fact that his was one phone call she should have attended.

(To be Continued...)

On Drug Addiction...

2006-07-14T23:23:00.000+05:30

I live many lives. All of us do.

Truth be told our lives differ from one moment to the next. Our approach to each of these lives, however, remains more or less constant. We face every moment with anticipation, anxiety, uncertainty, confidence, disbelief and a host of other contrasting emotions.

One moment you're imagining yourself in bed making hurried love to some random person you just met at a bar, the next you're talking to your mom on the phone telling her you're sleeping over at your best friend's house because no one can drop you home. How intoxicated are you in the middle of all this? High enough to justify a one night stand but sober enough to talk your mom into letting you stay?

In the 22 years of my life I have been a different person in every memory that I can call my own. Everything I am as of this moment is a mixture of everything my brain can recollect.

To put it very simply, We are what we remember about ourselves at any given moment in time.

Let's one up ourselves on this life defining philosophy by scratching the surface of the above statement.

What we remember about ourselves at any given moment is greatly influenced by what we desire.

For example, When you first see an engineering-college-rock-band member running his fingers on the fret board like a geek on lsd... you are most likely to think about the time you held a guitar in your hands for the first time. Those unsure fingers full of nothing but potential. If only you had had the time, it would have been you on stage and not this random, fuzzy-haired, skin and bones drug addict.

For some inexplicable reason our focus changes.

Your internal justification mechanism tries to convince you that you're meant for greater things than just playing a musical instrument, and also that you're better off because YOU don't do drugs. This reaction is an intrinsic argument of sorts where you seek refuge in the confines of an allegedly higher moral ground so that you can stifle the thought of a reality that could have been. However, the part of you that's there standing, mesmerized by the movement of the fingers (use of drugs notwithstanding) is conveniently shattering all moral argument. You tell yourself there's a price for everything.

That's where the damage is done.

The next time your friend offers you a drug, any drug, you take it. One, then another. Your head spins. You close your eyes. You're falling. Into what, you can't see. From where, you don't know. There are moments of intense energy. They go faster than they come. The randomness of your cognition makes you laugh at the senselessness of your thought process. You've been converted. You don't accept this thought.

All you ever needed was a reason. What you don't know is you are the reason.

It troubles me to see all of you. Writers, lovers, musicians, leaders, scientists... all these things you could've been but will never be. "The was that never..." Yes, that's what you are.

What you will do is crawl into a room with padded walls and live there until you're ready to be normal again. Normal enough to walk between those who haven't been to the place you have. They will look at you with sympathy, but from a distance. They don't have time to listen to your tale of survival, they are preoccupied with their own. And whenever you smile, you know they get a sneak peak into your broken spirit.

I have been to rehab, twice. The first words the doctor said to me at NIMHANS still echo in my slumber till date..."Rehab is for quitters."

Every now and then I look into the mirror and tell myself just that... "Rehab is for quitters..."

I have clarity on the underlying meaning of that statement now. I was a quitter when I took the damn thing up. That first joint. That first drag. No wait, that first touch. Yes, that first touch when I catapulted my inhibitions into oblivion for that fraction of a second. A moment of insane curiosity, perhaps. Whatever.

Like I said at the onset, life may change with each passing moment but our approach to it remains more or less constant. Addictive intoxication has a defining effect on this "approach" that makes us what we are. The uncomfortable laziness you spot in most of your marijuana smoking friends. The complete lack of self-respect when your sugar-chasing buddies ask you for money. That girl who sleeps with men in exchange for salt-shakers... I could go on but this will only get more unpleasant.

You're probably between 18 and 30. These are the best years of your life. Waste them if you must, but not on drugs. And as cliche as it may sound, it's the first joint that does the damage. Because the moment you touch it, you've breached the line of the forbidden.

On The World Cup Final...

2006-07-11T01:35:00.000+05:30

There are times in our lives when we must accept defeat.
It was my turn last night.

To call the France-Italy final thrilling is an understatement. If you have an iota of adrenaline in that body of yours, you spent three hours last night clenching your fists, dropping your jaws, jumping like jack, moaning like whores... the works.

To call it fair, would be an insult to sportsmanship. Players of both teams cemented there place in "football's most shocking tackles." Please exclude Gatusso on account of his honesty, spirit and sheer love for a good challenge. No Mr.Canavarro, for all your brilliance in the finals, your credibility must be put to test after yesterday. There are times when the means don't justify the end.

To call it fantastic, I would have to be Italian. To call it disappointing, I would have to be French.

But to call it memorable, I would have to love football. And for the benifit of my credibility, let's keep it this way.

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The match strategy was a no-brainer. It was always going to be a clash between the Azzurri wall and Zidane's prowess. The Italian defence jumped, dived, tackled and stole the ball at every opportunity they got. These 'opportunites' were mysteriously limited to everyone who's name was not Zidane.

I think the Italians got it wrong. They walked on to the field believeing if they stopped Zidane, they could stop Les Bleus.

Umm... Stop Zidane? If Pele was the master who conjured goals for Brazil and Maradona the challenger who battled his way to the back of the net, then Zidane is definately the mystic who's touches could give you and me a reason to score.

To add insult to injury, Zidane put a cheeky penalty past the world's most expensive goalkeeper in the 10th minute of the match.

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Italy equalized with a brilliant header from Materazzi in the 17th Minute. It was 1-1.
The halftime scoreline was no different.
Game On.
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As an ardent French supporter and a close follower of the team strategies, I knew Domenech would outsmart Lippi. France have been visibely better in the second half of most matches in these finals. Think Togo, Think Spain.

And so it was. The French set the pace in the second half, passing brilliantly and creating chances. They came closest to scoring with Zidane's header in the 80th, brilliantly saved by the Neo Nazi Buffon.

Italy had a couple of chances on the counter attack but nothing to write home about except Pirlo's free kick, perhaps.

At some point in time substituions were made.
Del Piero and Joaquinta on for Italy. Darra and Wiltord on for France.
I'm sure the Italians remember Wiltord, who scored the golden goal in the Euro 2000 finals.

90 minutes. Still 1-1. Extra time.
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The first period of exra time got over. Five minutes into the second, most of us were mentally readying ourselves for the penalty shoot out.

But what happened next was an unforseen aberration. A moment of madness, perhaps.
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For me, France lost the match the moment Zidane was sent off.
I cannot narrate, in words, the magnitude of disbelief I felt when I saw the replay of the incident.
I did not want Zizou to go off, but I understand that such behaviour is not permissible within the realms of an allegedly non-contact sport.
(Whisper: Louis Figo... Are you listening? I'm typing this in tiny font so that not too many people get to know about what you did against The Netherlands)

France, and I, was devastated. For a moment I almost thought of Zidane as just another man, capable of reaction.

France lost 5-3 on penalties. I couldn't sleep. Throughout the day today, I kept thinking of what happened in those few seconds.

When I came home in the evening, my brother mentioned that what Zidane did was, apparently, on account of racial comments.
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I guess Materazzi proved to be a better tactician than Lippi. What Lippi couldn't achieve with a combination of his team's skill and sheer willingness to play dirty, Materazzi achieved with a few, carefully chosen slurs.

Way to go Nazi Materazzi. I'm sure the joy of winning the World Cup surpasses any guilt that may have arisen from your disappointing display of sportsmanship.

As for me, I'm on my way to an arms and ammunition dealer and I have a one way ticket to Italy.
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On being Brown, loving Red and Blue, but most importantly, being indifferent to Yellow...

2006-06-21T17:33:00.000+05:30

I was born in 1983. We won the World Cup that year. It gave the common men of a struggling nation a reason to rejoice. We were world beaters. Only eight countries had participated in this "World Cup." So What? Haven't you heard of the Baseball "World Series" which includes all of Japan, Canada and USA???

And that's precisely where my love for cricket originiated from. It is important to love what you are good at.

More importantly, I will die defending the game. Just like every Indian I know.

Anyway, trouble crept into paradise when an uncle of mine introduced me to what he called footie. I knew little about it. What I did find out was that it didn't go well with beer and buddies. My best friend said "Football is anything but a Brown Man's Game!"

I educated my ignorant friend by letting him know that Hispanics were quite brown w.r.t. the colour chart.

He told me to move to Calcutta. Instead, I moved the T.V. into my room.
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It was 1998. The year of the World Cup. France was hosting. Brazil were the favourites. The whole world stopped and watched, so did Calcutta, and a fourteen year old boy from Delhi.

His doubts were put to rest. He was in love.

Colours always fascinated him. He was obsessed with Red, Blue and Black. 1998 was blue. Zidane became the first face to grace l'Arc de Triomphe. The boy bought a blue sweater that winter.

2000 was blue, again. My sweater was still as good as new.
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By 2002, my peers caught up with footie. I became the local authority on the game. I could quote match statistics, contract details, league standings et al. Some friends of mine used bet on the matches; and they took my advice.

I remember I was in Bangalore that year(College). Blue went out of style but I hung on to my sweater which was visibely weathered. My hopes now rested on England, but they ran into Yellow (Read:Brazil) a little too soon.

The England Brazil Quarter Final was a disappointment. England scored early and went on the defensive. A young Brazilian midfielder took the English to task scoring a 40 yard goal and orchestrating the other with a brilliant pass. This young man was to become the FIFA World Footballer of the year in 2006. The world knows him as Ronaldinho. I like him.

Brazil went on to reach the finals where they faced the Germans. I knew that if Germany were to win the World Cup, they needed the talismanic Ballack. As luck would have it, Ballack had to sit out owing to a booking in the semifinal against South Korea.

Brazil won. Ronaldo scored, twice. He silenced his critics. He more than made up for the 1998 loss to France. I went into denial. Football didn't matter anymore. I never really liked yellow.

Two years went by, I graduated. The Euro 2004 came and went. My Blue sweater found its way into the suitcase under the bed. I started working.

Life went by so fast I could almost see it passing me by in front of my very own eyes.

Around this time I made a friend. A good one. He reminded me of 1998, of 2000 and most importantly of red and blue. He helped me fall in love again.
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Its 2006.

The boy has become a man. He's got a place of his own so he has a lot of free time in the evenings. In the last six months he started watching football off and on...

"For old time's sake" he tells himself and smiles.

When the World Cup started, he made it a point to rush home from work everyday to watch the matches. He still loves blue. And I think he's still indifferent to yellow.

Whenever France is on the field, he thinks of his suitcase, the blue sweater, and 1998. If Les Bleus make it to the round of sixteen, he'll try his best to fit into that sweater of his.

Time will tell. His fingers are crossed.

Allez Les Bleus... Go Zizou...

Day One

2006-06-08T18:05:00.000+05:30

Hi.

My folks named me Tanmay.

My Dog, Tasha, however, insists on calling me "woof". Despite innumerable efforts over a decade, she refuses to call me by any other name.

Friends, acquaintances, colleagues and family also call me Tanmay. A few take the liberty of calling me names such as T-Mac, Macster and Killa. I don't appreciate the contortion of phonetic sounds people associate me with. However, I understand that it arises from their intrinsic need to feel closer to me. Giving pet names to people appears to be the perfect way of establishing a bond.

The few women I have had the good fortune of dating have also contributedto the many names I'm associated with. Most of them are socially unacceptable references I refuse to share on a public forum.

My mother calls me Tanu. My brother calls me Bhai.
Please don't ever refer to me as Tanu Bhai. I'm not the local goon.

They tell me God has a plan.

Just call me Tanmay.