Life and Maggi

After months of planning and friends turning traitors and us developing a strong dislike for 'shopping', we managed to make an unplanned trip to Kashid beach. So what if till the last minute Mr.Modest played truant, bringing on all the arbit reasons for us not to go? I, till date, cant figure out who was playing the fool with whom by acting uninterested. He later gave the final goal-reaching nudge we needed, by calling for a cab, thus taking us to the point of no-return in the plan. Ok, we'd miss the pleasure of getting there through more travel modes than one. Fine, we wouldn't feel the smells of rural India seep in and out of us when in the local ferry or the State transport back home. We were still going and that meant it all.

Up at 5 and packing the bare necessities in, brought back memories of the preparations for the weekend getaways; those one day treks out of modernity, to a land where none knew us and surely dint care if Lux was better than Fa. Switch and I were out early, as usual, and sat discussing topics ranging from early morning ablutions to mid day cleanings, while the Croissants guy readied himself for another mundane day ahead. The two hour delay in our leaving kinda mellowed the otherwise excited state that we were in. It was only after my sleep deprived eyes caught sight of the white colored 'silver' Tavera, that the sincerity of this whole expedition seeped in. We were doing it after all.

Settling into the back of the car, I flashed back into those trips with family, where that part of any moving object was reserved for me. It was in that crammed space that I had sat, building castles to live in; singing to myself like I were a rockstar. It was in that dingy that I ruled, oblivious to those claiming to live in better quarters. The pleasures of the wind beating on my face, I missed; yet found the comfort in sitting crossed legged in the dickie of the car, while others squeezed in tighter in the front.

To this day, the smell of the dickie gets me nostalgic and it was in that smell of familiarity that I made myself at home, with Switch as a constant company. So far so good. Life got a wee inch better when destiny played sport and my collection of tamil hits was the only cd in store worth being played. It was time for each of those songs to bring back memories of college, evenings spent in discussion over mind numbing lyrics; of weekends spent in understanding what a 'hyku kavidhai' really meant and of conversations over dinner about why the language was beautiful beyond doubt. Singing aloud with these numbers, picking up the thumping best was a turn-on by itself. Having people around you enjoy it atleast half as much as you do, irrespective of their being miles away from the land of origin of these melodies, is a different experience altogether. Life is good! Fine Mr.Truant was playing truant again. But What the Hell! If he wanted something better he should have fended for himself

Special mention has to be given to the lean mean thing, in the name of a driver, we were blessed with. Adept in returning any conversation you tried to have with him with a cold, dead stare, he managed to blow our nuts off in almost taking us to the totally wrong place. All of this was perfected with his pathetic driving, that made sure he broke too late, enough for us at the back to get a sense of the driver seat and a great habit of halting at any nook he discovered to reward himself with a smoke.

Any amount of frustration that any of us felt, sitting there in the heat, alternating between a fully blown a/c and Shaky's troubled body, bumps that caught us unaware and humps that pushed our heads through the roof were numbed by mid afternoon, when, as promised by all those travelogues on the net, we caught up with the sea. The smell reached us miles away; a quick halt at akshi was a pleasant break; Yes.! I personally couldn't wait to set foot.

And when I finally did, Nirvana was attained. I don’t want to get into the pleasures that my brain felt, already. Because preparations prior to that need mention too. There was a huge round of discussion over night-stay or no-night-stay, with the enlightened ones ruling over the sports and us settling for the former. Then there was a discussion over where to change and who to change and what to change. Uff!! I was all set and itching to unite with the elements that lay ahead.

Having given enough time for such distractions, the waves took care of the rest. If I remember Kutralam as a one-of-its’s-kind in waterfalls, then Kashid holds that place for the waves. They knew we were mean kids and wanted to wash us off for that very reason. As Switch forcedly dragged us further into the demon, the devil's claws moved well over my head at times, drawing me to its bosom. Never before had the quiet water retreating after reaching the shore have such a drag to it that you were more worried on its return than the first hit.

Marvelous was the word. The last storm that hit us was beyond doubt the worst. If not anything else, it instilled the fear of death in me. As it threw me forward into whatever lay ahead and beyond, impressions from the television of trains blasting and buildings exploding ran through my mind. I lived what those people would have, being catapulted by that massive force mightier than them. With no control over where I was going or what would happen when the going ended, I wished everyday in life would be just this; So overwhelmed with adrenaline that you had no time to worry about a minute beyond this one.

Later in the day, as we sat, exhausted; our minds numbed by the whole experience, our body at peace with the non living, comfortable in the taste of the trivial, I felt oneness. With the being outside, the air that surrounded us, the persistent sound of the waves, the constant rattle of the kid wanting to build his own kingdom in the sand, the scream of another mortal being lashed by the waves. Yes! Life made sense.

Time ticking away on our digital minds seemed so immaterial as we lay there watching the sun run its course. To the end of the day, a game of country soccer and cricket sure was a break. I realized that I was playing cricket after years, the minute I held the bat in my hands. I remember the last trial had been at Swaraj, when the Big Uncle, Deloitt Man and I were lazing through a dull holiday afternoon, when the thought of a quick round of box cricket rushed in. The very same rules; one pitch - out, direct out of the compound - out, one run for every touch, off side - no run; Man! life barely changes over the years. I also recollect being the one to score the most runs of the trio. And remember leaving the game in tears, when I had called myself the Gavaskar among the three and Deloitt had teased me for having retired before beginning itself. Little did I know I would hate the sport in the years to come.

It was amidst a rich game and such thoughts that we watched the sun set. A marvel of this sort, I hadn't set my eyes in the years till date. The golden globe slowly merged down with the vast majority of the sea, turning the skies to multiple hues on its way through it all. The purples and the pink were a beauty in their own league. It was a moment when all of us, in our own little worlds, stared at the sun, imagining a world for our own.

The effect took another hour or so to wear out, with us sitting there on the sands and the sky slowly darkening. It had been with much compulsion and utter resolve that I had left the comfort to back where it all had begun. Back in the cab that had been half the reason for us to have such a great day.

While the others lazed around, Switch, H Sac and I let Metallica rule our worlds, free our minds and untie our convoluted thoughts. And it was when this whole journey ended that the Maggi theory was born.

Again and again and again and again??

Someone recently told me not to look for motivation elsewhere, it has to reign within oneself. One has to be "self motivated" i heard. That let a whole rummage of thoughts racing through my head. Let's think about it. About all things that motivate me to wake up every morning and say to myself "What a beautiful day!!"

I hate myself for waking up past ten everyday. And I hate my work that forces me to such treason, all the more. I hate my mom for never having a problem with her only first kid going wanton in her ways. I hate missing the smell of fresh coffee every morning, with the sound of the crispy newspaper running through dad's hands. I hate to not smell the fresh morning air, free from all obscenities of the day.

Before I proceed any further, let me clarify. If you are flinching everytime you read the word 'hate' here and wonder why I am using such a strong word, trust me. When I say i hate it, I mean I HATE it.

So like I was saying. I hate what I have made of myself.I want to have a never ending collection of music with me. Am not biased and I need a range from ancient hindi and tamil movies to the latest in alternative rock, and make sure I have everything that happened in between. I want artificial intelligence to read my mood at any point in time and play me the most appropriate. I hate myself for the meagre amount of music I listen to. I hate myself for listening to the same songs every time I do listen to them.

I hate myself for the minimal amount of time I spend with my guitar these days. I look at Switch and hate myself all the more.

I want to read. Read everything I can get my hands on. Like I said, I have never been choosy. I wanna read everything that was ever available and still remain thirsty for more. I hate myself for never finding enough time to pick something up from a local library; for never finding support enough to pick up everything I want to from the local bookstore. I will one day, I know, but I hate myself today for the inadequacy.

I want to get a little drum kit for myself and learn to play it all on my own. Want to see myself sit there and play my heart out everytime I wanna express my frustration on this big bad world. I hate myself for not having the guts to do that. What happened to all the drive I used to have??

I want to own those little Bose speakers I saw in the showroom. Want to have a sound room of my own, with a complete A-V experience set up, topped up with a few bean bags thrown around. Inadequacy beats me here as well, for I know it wont fit my pants right now. All for the day I wait for.

I want to travel, far and wide, deep into that untreaded land. I want to tour with a great bunch of friends and I want to backpack all alone. I want a mind that decides between the crave for solitude and the want for a group that understands when I want my space. I want a intellect that manages the desire to explore abroad and the need to be patriotic in my ideas. I want to make sure that every single holiday is utilised in my meeting my real self and I hate every saturday that I spend at home.

I want stability, sincerity, honesty and dependability in things in contact with me. I want people around me to stand up and raise their voice against bureaucracy. I hate every single person who shuts up just to be the nice one and walk over me.

So tell me. None of these things I want seem to be available for takes in the near vicinity. And they talk to me about Self motivation?? To better it what do I have instead? A tag that reads The revolt, a look of scorn on all faces the minute I talk and smirk and a smile of triumph on all those who chose to change their ways to go ahead. What do I do? I eat the same food every day, I see the same people come rain and storm, I go to the same places everyday, I catch the same bus to office everyday, I sit and warm the same chair everyday, I numb my brain to the same extent everyday, I give myself the same amount of headache everyday and I go back home with the same amount of frustration everyday.

What's new? That is my constant question. In every conversation I make, in every thought I think and in every think I care to spend a moment on. When we were in school, a new period every hour was a change. In college, a new treat every week was a welcome change.
And now?? Predictability is killing me. The same sun rising over and over again is killing me. The same set of code I look at and relook at is torturing me. The same bunch of out-of-wavelength people I meet everyday are making me run.

What am I expecting?? I dont know. Something that is not already there. Something that I would least expect. A sudden call from somewhere that transports me to a totally different world..?? A teleporter that takes me back in time?? Or into the future maybe..?? A bomb blast in the neighbourhood, where I was there helping those people live a life, maybe?? A pair of glasses to change the same face I stare into every morning..?? A fracture in my leg that makes sure I limp to office for the next four months, for a change??

Dont make those weird faces and get the impression that I am a loser of all sorts...But I am serious...Mundaneness is Killing me..

8Two

i think ive fallen down from grace..

something's really wrong with me...

my head spins round at a steady pace...

my mind will not get free...

u tell me i am not the one...

u tell me i have done no good...

all that you say can be done..

my mind can it be understood...

i think ive fallen down from grace..

Smudged the picture of me i painted...

i stand with no longer a face...

all life and passion is tainted...

PS: March end - Depression sets in. Great thanks to a friend from workplace for coming up with the title. Kill Me!

Creativity, at its Worst!

Snoopy colleague reaches his limits of gossip monging and curiousity by peeping over to his neighbour's privates, only to check out "If it was really that big?". And you expect me to fall down on my stomach and laugh when the whole ad is boiled down to increased storage space on Rediff mail?

What happened to creativity in ads? How can there be ads like these made when we have classics like Prasoon Joshi's for Happydent, or the new Reclaim Your Life mantra from Safari Dicor??

Wait a minute? Was I being very finicky?? Conservative, is it, for not being able to enjoy such a dirty joke!! I can stand Kamasutra for years now, but Mail size and the Man's privates!! Give me a reason to corelate here, please.!

Cricket - o - phobia !

Scene off a canteen table. The otherwise choosy men pick up anything from the wide option of "delicacies" available and run, squabble to make sure they get a vantage position. The unlucky few curse their worst signs for having to go through the misery of sitting with their backs to the television.The ones with a good rapport with the girls, coax and please them to exchange seats. Some desperate souls compromise on the pleasures of tv viewing and go down to live commentaries on the radio.

But come Cricket world cup season and it is more of a pain for a girl, like me, to accompany the male counterparts to grab a meal. "Hey heard about this new scheme that they have come up for the pay cheque?", meets deaf ears, selectively deaf infact. Or it would be returned with a "Oh it was plum man..!", which totally bounces off the conversation. You are definitely received with necks craning over their shoulders to make sure not one ball is missed. And when there is no live telecast, damn those matches in the carribean, there are those innumerable replays, thanks to the countless channels that have resolved to mint money in the month to come.

Even if those dedicated channels do let them down, they always have their very own in-house experts, recounting tales from world cups they viewed as kids, moving on to the teenager days. How cricket was more a sport then than the game now. And then the usual argument, be it for the regional favorites or the bowler-all rounder issues, they just keep popping up always.

And respite is nowhere near in sight. Getting yourself served a meal quick is an option out on the open, for the canteen guys blink not an extra minute incase they miss out on that key stroke that would change the direction of the game. And such is their interest in the game, that any hopes of changing to anything else is minimal and bleak.

As we fight to move over to something more promising, I am down on my knees and ready to compromise. I am ready to put myself through an hour of Himesh Reshammaiyya's nasal drawl. I am keen on watching Sanskar and find out the positives of turning into sainthood. I am considering diksha as an option in life infact. I am ready to learn all the new asans that Ramdev baba has come up with for a severe neck disorder. But please, not another ball of the match.

A desperate plea. When are we getting the soccer matches back and why in the whole, bad hell does the Formula 1 season start this late?