As I Write This Poem...

As I write this poem,
A woman somewhere is giving birth to her first child,
An old man is dying, with peace in his mind.

A little girl is excited about going to school,
A young girl is taking her life, jumping into a pool.

An employee is desperate for a break,
A homemaker is day dreaming about a job and work.

A husband is feeling guilty about his infidelity,
A prostitute is silently wishing back her virginity.

A student is loving a movie,
A director is regretting making the same movie.

A wife in a mall is spending thousand rupees on a dress,
A eunuch standing outside a mall, is dreaming of social acceptance.

A man driving a BMW is vexed,
A poor kid is touching the car and feeling blessed.

Finally, as I write this poem,
I realize how sleepy I am,
thinking about the unfortunate insomniac.

As Good As It Gets

My computer had crashed last week. My exams got over a week before that. So, for almost seven days, I had no access to the net, or 'good' movies, that I had downloaded with the intention of watching them, while I was at home.The only thing that kept me sane, was reading. I read all night, woke up almost in the afternoons, and read again. At one point, I felt so trapped in my own room, that I realized, I was drenched in ennui.

So, one regular night, that followed a more regular day, with a routine afternoon in between, my brother decided that he had to go to the cybercafe to get some print outs for his school project. I went along with him, on my Scooty. He finished his work early, and I wanted to stay longer to check my mails. I asked him to take the Scooty along, and leave. After twenty more minutes of mail checking, and orkut scrapping, I paid for that hour, and left. My house was almost a kilometer away, which made me want to take a walk.

It was a very still night, no breeze, but cool. There were hardly any stars I could see, but there was a reluctant moon hung up in the sky. It was 9.30 in the night, so traffic was not obvious. A few shops were open, which was the only source of light on that huge road(street lights never liked to perform their duty). I walked slowly, and ignorantly, lost in thoughts. There were so many things running in my central nervous system, that it took me sometime to realize what I was actually feeling at that point. There are a few areas near my house, that always spooked me out, because of the shadows of long trees and its vacant look. But just then, when I walked along that street, nothing seemed scary. In fact, I found the trees beautiful, and the desertedness seemed like a silver lining. Vagabonds, ogled at me, but I felt invincible. Nothing at that moment, could worry me, or make me feel something which I didn't want to.

I walked, taking brisk steps, looking at the moon, that had taken up a weird shape by then. A guy passed by, on a good looking bike singing the new Atif Aslam song, "Teraaaa...hone lagaaa hoooon..." on top of his lungs. I laughed. I liked the state of oblivion, he was driving in. He didn't care who was around, or if someone was around. He just sang, badly, his heart out. As I walked further I saw a kid, maybe 12 years old, with a heavy school bag on his shoulders (read, time: 9.30 pm), talking to a middle aged man about Science, Social Studies and Maths, and how well he did each paper. I didn't know if I wanted to pity him, or feel happy for him. But what was evident, was, despite all odds that he might be facing, the kid seemed proud of himself.

Almost after twenty minutes, I reached the gate of my house, smiling. I wanted to walk past my house, and have one more, thought filled walk, but I decided to ignore that idea. It might have been a short walk, but short is good. Had I continued to make it a long walk, it wouldn't have turned out to be one of the most interesting walks I ever had. It would definitely have got boring and prototypical. As I climbed the stairs of my house, I was grinning. I do not know the actual reason behind what all I felt, or the thoughts that ran in my head that day. But I know one thing for sure. I felt free.

10 unbelievable things most couples do.

I can name 167. But these are the 10 most unbelievable things they do. THE couples. Lovers. Love birds. Nightingales. Parrots. Pigeons. Sparrows. Kingfishers. Okay, yeah, I should shut up. They are unbelievable, ubiquitous, incomprehensible, and audaciously dumb. This is what most guys and girls (sorry 'gals') do when they are 'seeing' each other:

1. Blush at the very mention of their partner's name. The girl will say "oh shut up!" when she is being teased by her friends, but inside, she loves every bit of the provoking (are we redefining hypocrisy here?). The guy, if really committed will say, "She is the one, I can't think of any other girl"(yeah right).

2. They will text each other, all day. And those texts have nothing important, that the world will have to depend upon. They will only say "Hey darl, wat doing?", or "whr r u honey?", "wat r u wearing now?". They will also address each other with homosexually stimulating names like jaan, sweety pie, cutie, baby, baba, chocolate, chickelet (yes, people use that word too), chingu, mingu, tingu, chotu, chweetu, motu, jaanu, monu, SHONA (why can't some one ban that song?). They will also have mushy baby talks, because they think that's what couples do.

3. They will meet at least twice a week, that is, if they don't work or study together. If family knows about them, they will tell at home, and meet. It has to be either Mc Donalds, or Coffee Day (I keep forgetting how many branches these eateries have). And if the family doesn't know about them, they will lie, and meet, and then discuss each others families (I pity them so much, that I want to cry. They don't know what real conversations are).

4. They will have their 'firsts'. First kiss, first fight, first move, first time he smiled at her lovingly, first time she sat next to him in public, first time they said the same word together, first time they didn't text each other, first time they texted each other, first time the held hands, first time they accidentally touched each other, first time they said 'I love you', first time he told her that he pissed on the road, first time she told him she was taking her bath and then she went shopping with her mommy (no seriously, why am I still living?). And ironically, the girl remembers all this.

5. They will start calling each other on their cell phones. When I say calling, I literally mean it. They are always on phone. The conversations generally consist of "Where are you?", "did you eat?", "did you pee?", "did you study?", "When are we going to meet?" "Mc donalds or Coffee Day?", "Nahin baba, that's too late, let's go for lunch?", "which movie? Shall we watch Rab Ne Banadi Jodi, or should we watch Jab We Met on your lappy?" (where is the world coming to?)

6. They will do things for each other. "Do this for me jaan, please." "Wear this dress for me baby, please:)" (yeah nothing more interesting than this). The girls will dress up like it's their wedding every time they meet their guys.

7. They will have anniversaries! They will celebrate it like they won some extremely precious award like say , the Nobel maybe?

8. They will comment on each others photos on orkut and facebook. They will write each other highly unintelligent testimonials, which will only display their so called mushy love for the other. The testimonials will also consist of phrases like 'thanks for making my life so beautiful, love you'. They will also put their pics on these sites, where they are hugging and kissing.

9. Generally, parents will not agree. They will marry nevertheless, and will also upload a 1000 pics on orkut and facebook. Friends will even comment, saying that they are such a 'cute' couple.

10. They will go on a honeymoon to Kerela, or Mahabaleshwar. Oh I forgot, Ooty if possible. Maximum, Simla, Manali, or maybe Rajasthan. They will later have kids, and live happily ever after.

Conclusion: Being single is AWESOME.

The Good, Bad and Destiny

My grandfather died at the age of ninety one. He died of a cardiac arrest, and had a painless death, just the way he had wanted it to be. He had always told me, "Everybody dies one day, my dear. But how you die is important. The more painless your death is, the more closer you are to God. God looks after every deed of ours and passes his judgement. It is all written." At that time, I never thought much about what he said, though I would always love listening to him. He always had a way of explaining things. The best was his ability to describe his favorite food, in such an interesting way, that would even make a food hater salivate. He would tell us cousins every detail of the food particle that he swallowed, and how they felt on his taste buds. One of my personal favorites was his adventures at a temple in Chennai, and the Idly that he loved there. He told me how soft the Idly was, the amount of coconut and milk he presumed, the chef added in the chutney, and the few green chillies that made it irresistable. He told me about the full spoon of hardened butter or ghee that they added on top of each, hot, Idly, and how he watched the butter melt to the heat. As a matter of fact, I have always hated Idlies. But my grandfather made the boring Idly sound so interesting, that I had almost started liking them.

I have never till date met a bigger foodie than my grandfather. Even at his old age, he loved pepsi, and thums up and would always have them with some spicy snack, once in a week. He would enjoy it so much, that I could actually see the childish excitement in his eyes. He had always told me, "Never compromise on food. Food is like an incentive that gives you confidence to enjoy your life to the fullest."

My cousins and I always had some reason to tease him and pull his leg. We made fun of his short stature and extraordinarily huge ears. The most amazing part was, he would sit and laugh with us about it. The kind of twinkle he had in his eyes when he laughed at us teasing him, had a sense of naughtiness and innocence in them. He would tease us back, defending himself saying, "Short people are born intelligent." We would just laugh. As I said, he had a way with words. He was partially deaf, in his old age, and we would often make fun of that too, and laugh with him. He just loved our attention. When we asked him, why he heard so less, in spite of having such huge ears, he would tease us saying, "You people are stupid. You don't know that I just pretend to be partially deaf. I can hear everything." Once, my cousin actually tested his hearing capabilities. He stood far away from my grandfather, and mumbled a few words, and asked him to guess what he had said. My grandfather guessed it right. My cousin kept trying, and my grandfather got all of them correct. Even today, it is a mystery, of how he sensed all of that.

Every night, I would chat with him for hours. He would tell me about his adventures in Southern India, and how he had survived alone, without much money. He had told me those stories almost everyday, and I always knew what was coming next, but I loved listening to them again and again. In those days, he had these annoying black patches all over his back, that would itch all the time. He always called for one of us cousins, to comb his hair and scratch his back for him. I was his favorite grandchild. He would specially send for me, to get a comb for him. He had always told me, that my hands had magic in them, and that one day I will use my hands to heal wounds. I used to laugh it off back then, and there were times, when I would ignore him for no reason. Today, I am pursuing my Bachelor Of Physiotherapy, a stream that indubitably deals with healing the physically and mentally handicapped.

At ninety one, he knew Backstreet Boys, Sachin Tendulkar, Saurav Ganguly, Shahrukh Khan and could perfectly explain the derivation of 'a+b whole square'. He even discussed politics with me, and would always tell me that children should be given their share of freedom. I remember this one day, when I was in my 8th standard. I had newly purchased an autograph book, which I frantically carried with me where ever I went. Cool autographs were a craze in my school those days. I had asked all my cousins to write something nice and witty in it for me, and sign. I had asked my grandfather to do the same. He had a fractured left hand then. His fingers of both hands seemed almost broken with age, and the skin was so wrinkled that it looked like he had no flesh. He asked for his favorite and the best pen he had, and with a stubborn enthusiasm, opened the book, and wrote "Be Happy", with shivering hands. The writing was matured yet seemed so out of practice. He signed under it, with such pride, that brought a huge smile on to my face. That was the first and last time I saw my grandfather write. He died exactly three years later. As the years passed by, I stopped missing him much, and got used to the fact that he was no more. But whenever I am sad, I always remember the two words that he wrote for me, and immediately cheer up, for him. Such is the effect of just two small words.

Before I got Drunk...

Before I got drunk, I was excited.
Before I got drunk, I wanted to feel inebriated.
Before I got drunk, I didn't want to dance,
Since booze, will make me do it any way,
so I didn't want to miss the chance.

Before I got drunk, I danced anyway,
Before I got drunk I ate my hunger away.
Before I got drunk, I tasted the liquid for the first time,
It was disgustingly bitter and I hated it.
I drank a little more, it felt no better,
It only tasted like water in the gutter.

But still I wanted to get drunk,
So, before I got drunk, I gulped more of the liquid,
Nothing happened to me, I was disappointed.
My friends started getting a high,
I wanted to go and cry,
Before I got drunk, I was not getting drunk at all.

I tried having more,
No change, I was fine,
I danced to the core and called the bottle a whore.
Before I got drunk, I grooved to the music,
Before I got drunk, I waited to get the high kick.
Before I got drunk, I did Kathak.
Before I got drunk, I complained,
Before I got drunk, I did not feel strained.
Time passed, and I remained the same,
Thought the whole idea was lame.


Before I got drunk, I was in my own world,
Before I got drunk, I was cold.
That’s when I woke up the next morning,
and remembered all the partying and all the fun,
That’s when I laughed. Damn! I was drunk!

The Stupidest Conversations...

"Hello mam. I am calling from LIC Life Insurance Policy mam. We have a new policy this month mam. Are you interested mam?" asks the call center executive. I have a straight face at first. Then I say, "NO! thank you. I am not interested." She asks the dumbest question now, "why mam, can you tell me mam, why are you not interested mam?". I want to bang my phone to the wall now. "I am not interested because I am still a student and I don't care about life insurance policies yet." My best friend bursts out laughing like a mad woman. Then the caller says, "oh, okay mam. You are still a student mam?" I just told her I was, why the fuck does she have to bug me with that question again?! I say, "yes." "Okay mam, do you know mam if anyone in your family is interested mam?" Now, I want to kill myself and her. I say a stern "NO" and hang up. My best friend laughs even more now, and I am staring at her with a straight face. And then I start laughing too.

I don't understand these calls sometimes. I bet most of the people they call say "No" to everything, but they still call. I get annoying calls from idea and vodafone people sometimes. I once got a call from idea customer care at 11 in the night. I was already pissed that day, and when I pick up the phone, they started playing some cheap telugu song so loud that for a moment I thought I would go deaf. And they play these songs to advertise dialer tones! I don't understand, if people really get attracted to offers like that on phone. Especially if they play songs like "jeja ammaaaa!!!" And these people from the company are clever! They call from different numbers so that we don't know its them calling. Sometimes when I take the call, an annoying kiddish voice says "basha! basha!". And vodafone people call up telling me about "special" offers. They talk as if they know the best english in the world. They even try and put up an accent sometimes. Aren't call centers supposed to teach spoken english? Or why can't they just talk in a language they are comfortable in? The other day, a person calls me up saying "hala maaam. We hau ye new aafer maam. You are intereshted maam?". I controlled my urge to laugh so badly! I said, "no I am naat intereshted."

Sometimes I save the idea and vodafone numbers that I often get calls from and if I am lucky enough they use the same number to call me again. And its obvious that I don't receive them. I see people shout at the callers at times, for asking ridiculous questions. And thats when I cant help but feel sorry for them.

"Cut the Rug"- To Ragging

Last week, I was asked to write an article on ragging in my college. I didn't want to. Some how I thought the idea was boring. But I did anyway, and for that I had to ask different people about their experiences. I didn't want to do that, again, but contrary to my expectations and chagrin, I got to know some really interesting stories. I remember the first day of college and how excited and anxious I was. I wanted to get ragged because I thought it would be fun. And I got ragged the most out of the girls in my class and in a way it was fun because they made me do funny things. They asked me to sing, propose to a really short guy, enact baby rhymes, etc. It was stupid, but I laughed a lot while doing it and had taken it sportively. The guy seniors were pretty lenient. Girl seniors were bitches. They humiliated me, they screamed at me, told me what a big snob I was and how I had to respect seniors and crap. People say that you become great friends with your seniors after the ragging process. Strangely enough, I am not friends with any of my seniors. We never shared a great rapport. After around 3 months of joining my college, I realized how dumb it is to rag people and get ragged. Funnily, all the seniors always chanted about how ragging was only a sort of interaction. Interaction my ass. I did not interact normally with any senior. I was only laughing like an idiot. And most of them, scared that we juniors might go and complain to the management, tell us, "We are not ragging you. This is just an interaction." And we like ideal jack asses, nodded to everything they said. As a junior, you tend to be stupid, because the seniors generally intimidate you. You listen to everything they say, and not retort. Many juniors complain about how they hate this sort of torture every day, but hypocritically, they rag their juniors too. People are weird. I think most juniors develop a kind of ego when they become seniors. And they acquire this " I was ragged, now I will rag too. They are dumb juniors after all" attitude.

One of my friends shared his ragging experiences with me. He told me how much he was degraded and how medical students are ragged till they start weeping and beg the seniors to stop the torment. Apparently he was called to the hostel one day, and was forced to drink and then go absolutely nude. They were given mango leaves, which they had to tie around their waists, and dance all night around a fire which the seniors had lit, on the hostel terrace. One guy was even asked to urinate into the fire. My friend told me that he was mentally, very severely affected by this, and even had viral fever for a few days. He would bunk college because of the fear of ragging. All this happened around six years ago, and now he tells me how much he laughs looking back. Though he felt mentally tortured back then , he ragged his juniors badly. He asked them to go naked and rub the black board with their butts. I was shocked. It was gross. And my friend was laughing about it! Hypocrisy and sheer grossness. I was disgusted. I do not understand what guys get when they see other guys naked while ragging. Is that not gay? One more friend tells me how one of my seniors was asked to expose one of her breasts, which she did, and one of the guys shot a video and circulated it all over the campus. The most appalling thing was, the girl's atrocity.

Seniors in most medical colleges scold, scream, dominate, and also beat most guys up. I was scolded and screamed at many times for not wishing the seniors, not getting them chocolates. They even scolded me for not ragging my juniors properly. WTF?! One of the girls told me "you think you are miss universe don't you?". I so wanted to say, "yes mam, I at least think something about myself, I pity brainless beings like you." But I didn't. :| I did give them a look, but thats it. One of my parallel batch mates, tells me, "People should be ragged! I got ragged, and I learned a lot from my seniors. I ragged my juniors, because it is from their seniors that they learn professionalism." He clearly does not know what ragging is and neither does he know what "professionalism" is. One more ridiculous thing is, we are asked to address our seniors as "mam" and "sir". It is absurd. What are they? Nobel laureates? The worst thing is they force us to address them like that. I think its because they know how useless they are for this world, and this is the only chance they get where they can at least pretend to be great people. Sad lives they lead I say.

Just the other day, I was watching We The People on NDTV 24*7 where there was a debate on ragging going on. Even Aman Khachroo's(the guy who was beaten to death by his seniors) father participated. One of the students, had made a point in the debate that, as most of the intense ragging takes place in hostels, a separate hostel must be made only for freshers, located far away from the seniors' hostels. I think she had a point, and it will make a difference. I don't know why interaction has to be in the form of ragging. You can even "interact" by talking to them casually, at maybe college fests, functions, etc. Why is not ragging some one a big deal? I fail to understand the purpose behind ragging and why it is so necessary to make fun of the juniors and pull their legs, when you don't know anything about them. And as matter of fact, I did not rag any of my juniors.