I couldn’t believe what my eyes saw, no this can’t be true, as if a behemoth stood in front of me, and I stood dumb founded, the enormity of this left me gaping, imagine falling from a cliff, imagine the decibel of the yell as the lump of the throat swells to the size of a baseball, think of the screech of the car waiting to sweep underneath chunks of human flesh, juxtapose your eyes in those blank eyes, imagine never ending farms units lined in perfect arrays spread across the length and breadth of the gaze and stretching beyond…. Imagine being stranded, feel the drops of sweat sliding across the palms, imagine the palpation shredding your confidence as you look around, looking to grope the first strand of hope, clinging to your web of assurances, imagine being a part of what they call the ‘it’, the ignominy of being shoveled around, a never ending loop and worse winding towards the center as you break the last bone of your body to move out of it, think of the hollowness of the assurances of “ I know what I am doing” or the futility of “ I will do this, the day I reach X” put yourself in a world of zombies all responding to a single call, all guided by the same beacon, working unabated, synchronized at the same tick of clock, think of the helplessness of the fallen, blinded by the shine of the sword watching death approach, dancing nimbly like a deer in forest and ‘it’ stood there exactly like that right in front of my eyes as I gazed at the sight and yet it was there mocking at me, every inch of me screaming to get out of the place, I wish I were in a mortuary atleast the place told you that there are conclusions, finishes, last laps but this wasn’t it either, it was a utopia to me before I came here and just like a refugee dreaming of his very own Elysium complete with the hymns those nymphs chant as you enter, and as you must have had realized( phew!) i was…… well……. shocked….( all this drama for this pathetic word, hate crack@dawn) I was in gurgaon to do my “obligatory” industry training and the place is the same, its where the free waves of the ocean crash on the hard land yearning to go back to the ocean again, yes there are two worlds here the world of dream companies, flashy suites, lines of escalators to take you “there” and there is a dreamy soul and yes, there is a world of this soul…. And standing on the roof of the PG accommodation where my friend lived I felt the same, a farm of brains, a world of zombies, an echo of the knell being sounded, and the black cross had been served and it had a name…. my name….. as it said yes you too would be here another one in the list of rolls of some “organization” doing what is being done by everyone, responding to the same clicks of mouse taps of keyboards, boarding the same cabs all heading to the same place ending in the same accommodations like all, with absolutely no idea what the future would be, and yes always trying to “figure out” the path to top and everyone seems to know it, everyone is smiling, to what I am still unaware, but certainly not to the corporate discount @Dominos for eating their stupid pizza as one is tired of the undercooked tiffin in front of the eyes everyday, and albeit in the matchbox rooms in PGs spread in all dimensions they curse, they booze, rant about the never ending fits of HR or TL, missing projects, lost years in B.Tech, they are there, because maybe only that was the course of the meal, rest were just crumbs meant for few, yeah there is a mushy world as well, yeah there is a world of giants, big stories, big names but just like this city all of this is on the other side of the road, and just symbolically everyone is waiting, wishing ‘if only the traffic moved my way’………………
Tip: Next time you visit Gurgaon/B’lore/Pune/Noida look at the malls, watch the honey eyed tepid girls and come back, don’t discuss about those bawdy “engineers” you saw, they are doing exactly what they always did “doing what they were “told” was best for them”………..
Sure that was really fucked up, dude…. I quipped miming at the salesperson we had just mocked, “sir why don’t you try this, it would look good on you”… yeah sure so who do you think you are Yves Saint Laurent??? Ha! Look at her fellas, what point do you think she gets on the scale…… are you even considering to consider her, be serious man, talk of standards fella, yeah some standards!, don’t you have a better shade, excuse me, yes sir, got my size, ah! Leave it , this one I want it in in a shade of purple, lemme check that out sir, what kind of place is it, no variety, you people you don’t know how to manage “clients” and “she” went and sighing another day at work, (prerna you are required at the billing counter) ah! Look at her again, what does she think of her, some Cleopatra hybrid or what, listen what you did, you mixed the size, where is your head, girl? Look at yourself, girls like you I don’t even bother for, better size up girl, so there we left spoofing as usual, mocking to our heart’s content, on the face how it had moistened and was almost an over ripe tomato, how the bell shaped girl was shaking controlling a sea of emotions inside her bosom, what could she do, what could she do….. even as I shrieked “shopping experience”…………
Few Hours Before…. Somewhere in kanpur…….
It was a usual morning, the usual humdrum, no electricity line for the loo, the “son” getting ready for his some big tryst with the destiny, come out you loser, I have to travel 15 kilometers to my first job, well this is it, this was the D-Day what she had been waiting for, squeezing between sweaty arms for a shot at interview, it took over 10 frantic rounds of pleas, nays, ayes before the file was considered, “oki come for the interview we will see what we can do” the manager said, gosh I cannot stand this face anymore….. so all those prayers, those little talisman all had paid off, but the reality stood between, make some tea for me, the father as blithe as he was on her birth, I am making my tiffin pa, poor girl she was supposed to save her salary for them, so that the “son” can have his top-up cards for the next door bitch, so that those masala eating knobheads can have tea between rounds of intense discussion, so that the mother can show the damned saree that the first salary brought, so that she could find a place she always wanted to have for her, but nothing could stop her today, extra coat of liner, nails polished, rehearsing the oh! So important rules to greet customer, extra dab of the perfume, today the world is hers so today the tempo-wallah will be paid with her money, today the milk is from her beads of sweat, today the world is hers, today she will show what she can do…… today is the day she will………
P.S. : No hate mails for me as it wasn’t me, I do this only to those male salesperson (boy I am doomed!)……….
To,
Mulayam Singh Yadav aka Jackass
Puddle of Shit
"Darkness"
Sub : Many-Frusto
Lo-"Sir",
I know you probably wouldnt read this blog,(what if the computer virus ate your precious memory) thanks to your new manifesto (you can try a fiction novel, a new genre has been invented by you un-sci-fi)i can finally breathe easy, after straining my eyes on this reckless machine, i just got the job of newspaper boy reduced( me a glutton???)the information of your manifesto came to me via the RSS feed i had subscribed( and before you flinch your balls RSS=Really Simple Syndication)and i was impressed by your thoughts ( i am damn serious!!), how eloquently have you crafted a plan to finish unemployment forever, a masterplan i must say, now let's see how it works. Say you have to open this webpage, you go to your computer( hey wait are you crazy no computers!!!) so you go to the information assistant( fancy name needed) also lets keep a employment ticker with us, so lets tick it to 1( voila! you just gave a man his daily bread) so you request him to tell you whether crackatdawn has new entries, the IA smiles, and as that grin widens you wonder how this crack-nut works, so he takes out a type writer and sends a request via a telegram( instant work )and now the telegram has to deciphered, so the PROCESSOR( dont u get it, generate employment!!) so we "hire" 20 men to decipher the code( ticker=21), now the search is send to search department a thriving new department by our respected Mulayam Singh ji, it files every webpage on the earth( and cuts out porn! what an idea sirjee)so that it can be referred to, now this mega archive is being managed by over 20 million people( ticker=20million and 21) so as your search lands into their efficent hands( you can think of a new search till then, pssst bribe your IA and he will get it done in only 45 minutes!) so the new post is duly found and is sent to your local post office which delievers a fresh copy to you....congrats you are now my blog visitor!, and didnt you realize how many people were loosing job because all you had to do was to type at the browser window. And yes mulyamji this shall be my last post in english( i'll switch to angrezi!!!) becuase i have no right to move ahead, how can i move ahead of those who pass exams because of self-center policy, it is my duty to be a concerned citizen that i promptly give up english till third as you have done for thousands of kids like me, how can i move ahead when people around me spend 5000 for an english speaking course in your safai village and be swindled!, alas i am too much of a capitalist minded, "self-centered" glut with no apathy whatsoever, i must stop the $50 billion IT industry, for hiring students from colleges your goons have setup in the UP-hinterland( CS, IT 200 seats, electronics 100 seats, mechanical 50, end of college). So come lets join hands and move towards Samajwad.... or whatever eutopia that be.....( AK-56 trotting MP's shall be our idols, big-b our godfather, convent educated dolls shall be the cover girls of this great society)......
Hands Held High
Crack@Dawn
He laughs best who laughs last.
The world is indeed an interesting place to be in, a confetti of characters strewn across the landscape, each with a mind of its own, and everyone seems to be proving a point( not proving a point may be "proving" as well!!)while some may surge ahead, the dormant majority that chugs in the mill is a worth a peek, it is strange how a majority sits blank faced( indian junta and election day) yet produce the most dramatic results (gandhis, laloos, bhaiyas and behens of various size and capacities). In such dormant lanes, insidiously encroaching the "urban" sphere, amidst the stench (your phoren return cousin would talk about it while bhabhijis, auntjees are busy debating on the prefect match for him), reeking drains pipes aligned at odd angles with your morning offerings vying to break free and attain salvation, in that perfect moment of serendipity when an individual strayed from the path of life is walking right under the mesh.In those lanes where litter is "aesthetically" placed like toppings on your papa johns pizza( tis the same trash you wish to "disappear" from your lives...)and why the remnants of "road" resembles a leper, all you would wish is to say is...."what have i gotten myself into"(and yes you are thinking that too) but the world there is far more grotesque than this verbal rhetoric, but kingdoms, territories, exist. And its not just the boundaries that the municipality would draw to pass the buck to( railways, panchayat, PWD, for-rest etc) while these lines may not be seen, some are visible and to be precise of the canines(sorry they are "slumdogs" now), you are aware of it the moment you enter, some pairs of eyes would inadvertently turn towards you, a reconnaissance mission shall be directed towards you,( i would run away at that only!) but even as some display there claws and teeth(phew!!!) and upon rummaging deeper, gnawing in the corner you would find the sullen faced, beaten, bruised variety. lets name him, athos that's your name now... so athos is an outsider, kicked out when master saw no good in him( that explains his "fancy" name) athos waiting for a canine equivalent of St. Gertrude, feeding on what would be discarded even by the lords of the lanes, eyes the younger ones and ends getting a bite or two from anyone looking for a silent punching bag, and even those rag pickers have figured out how he is an easy target, 20 points for the tail, 40 for hitting the belly, he lingers like his shadow only waiting for the day to end........ but one day as it lay there, watching the world with half opened eyes the municipality truck came unannounced, it was his day, the lords were away for a skirmish and it were to be athos to "decide" for himself, so lay in front of him a mountain as fabled and only him to appreciate.But as his old bones made way for the infant desire, the dogs had surfaced, to hell with these noses!!, thought athos, but as it turned out only the "lord" had arrived, this good for nothing son of a bitch!!( pun!!)was about to spoil the party...... he had to act fast, offense was already done, big or small was out of question, but it was his day, the truck had come for him, the dog inside him was now bursting out, the lord "growled"-its over granpa, not today said athos( as you complained why do dogs have to bark right in the middle of day-break), athos knew he was no match, what can an underdog do?? or can he??? was the box leaning on one side telling him something, did the truck intentionally dumped more than it used to, can he tip it over, time was too little to decide this, may be he could see something now, maybe a checkmate, a checkmate that would be costly, he feared the debacle that were to follow..... but athos never knew how he did, the thud was probably the last thing he heard, but he did... he had the lions share, and he had upset the tables for lords...... so as there were no obituaries, athos lay there, a little smile on his face, disfigured by the blood...........
Replace athos with victims of subprime, and read it again....... the underdogs created the loudest thud...... they had the last laugh as the giants tumbled..........think on it.........have a great day..
Well no excuses for being absent for quite sometime, seems like everyone around is in story writing mode( adding their bits of twist to a fairly "straight" world) and between this interplay( my poor soul) tries to foray into a domain not mine( hail Rahuldash!!) and even as the title suggests nothing.... i am (damn!!!) nervous as i pen this down.....
The streets are dusty, and in this part of india at this time two things happen rather assidously.... the sun beating down relentlessly as the dust storm kicks those last flops of life lying hapelessly, and a fracas of kids who sneaked out of homes and hitting hard to become some dhonis and pathans...... and just a couple yards, next to the edifice of some exploits, long forgotten, sits the mother looking at the kids watching the kids fight over the missed run-out, dropped catch, breaking into a smile watching them squabble, flinching muscles as the little boy with school shirt hanging loose, trying to hit hard. so even as life drifts in this little hamlet away from the mad mad world few hikes away, not everything is dead, why the sarpanch just got 2 hours of electricity in the village and with TV sets to boast of and mobile antennas to hang on, the kitsch of city life seemed to be knocking a few doors, atleast the home of sarpanch, so the mother sits waiting for the son to turn up, in absence of a husband who is some local lord, extending his fief to till her boudoir, is hardly a life to be happy of... and she has her own share of being the "it" girl few years back.. the mother sits back recalling all this..... alternating between those sepia moments and uninspiring present. The cover girl of the village now tied to this "bull" with no regards whatsoever, just because he was the highest bidder, so much for a "body", but what's the point of thinking all this. duelling with herself. or rather consoling over the present.. she breaks to finish the daily choirs... cleaning the levee in front of house( sarpanch's pride) and clearing the mess after the never ending tea-sessions( bhabhi... just one more cup of tea... there is something different in the tea you make) the bellicose brother in law, for whom world was a idyllic spot, quipped.... though she had her fall in the form of him when she came was new, but quick to realize that his failures were beyond bed as well, so even as she brushed past him, she couldn't stop herself to look what he was ogling at, ah! another hollywood strip, those pencil thin bitches she sighed, recalling her over-zealous efforts to do the same, how close she was.... but quick to revert to the reality... "what thrill do you derive watching these good for nothing plastic bodies" quipped the "mother", so with his eyes dancing the brother in law suddenly saw all reasons to enlighten her, and broke into his rhetoric of how beauty when wrapped in clothing with inches fighting to hold the kilograms inside, was when art really came out, as if the jury of the "rampur idol" boasting bolly ties.... and finished to goad her " and what do you know about glamour, this is just not your cup of tea".... how could she have had known... how it was too surreal to be true.... and all she could do was..but smile... our Pinki gave the same smile... which was watched form delhi to dallas, how she flew to a world she would yearn to back for just one more time, how those flashes of camera couldn't capture all that went to make that smile, how those funny nifty-grifty manual of how to say "thank you", hold a knife and fork well doled out to her... only if she could have had made sense of all this and not been like a child watching the juggler.. too awed to make out anything... she could have had been something.... may be a bhojpuri movie or two... but there sat Pinki smiling... smiling and wondering if the idiot was worth knowing all this.....
To finish do watch "smile pinki"...........
And Miles to go before i reach.......
before i reach! -"Un"Frost ;)
The groom is sittin tall, heart pumping in anticipation, and in all this chutzpah( babblu and pintu wondering why they are chugging on a mare, and everyone around, breaking a muscle). Yet the top numbers are being belted out from what was supposed to resemble some grand carriage( and ended up looking an advertisement of Gemini Circus), by a singer who has no clue where was rhythm chopped and where were lyrics dropped( this is the same guy whose numbers your auto-wallah plays as you pray for the torture to end).And the best part is the torch-bearers who carry those enoromous chandeliers( so much for our bolly-obsession) as they illuminate path sans streetlights( bhabhiji mind your leg, you know that the maternal aunt of the third cousin of guptaji got a sprain in the marriage of the fifth cousin of his paternal uncle!)So as the juggernaut marches along sweeping with itself the urchins around, a bigger story is unfolding in the background( yeah in the immediate back and definitely on the ground).
So here is everyone swearing under breath( not me! ,i am shouting like crazy)wondering if marriages are made in heaven why doesn't the groom go there and wind up the nuptials! So as we gently honk the horns( as we get late for our very own baraat, of some......)Suddenly everything is at halt, and before anyone realizes why the ground shakes( P.W.D just paper finished the road( gosh my dad will kill me if he ever reads this))(aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai.....ponk...ponk..drum..drum) resonates with(honk...honk, abe marega kya.. road baap ki hai kya( was that a pun on me???)) But let us identify the most happy person in the melee( the groom, wrong answer!!) it is the petty cycle-wallah( the guy we just dont want on road)as his chest swells with pride as he steers like a piranha in a school even as we cry road ethics( we seem to know them all when we are stuck, look at that bike-rider, goodness look at his audacity, or that car how he swerved to the other lane, without bothering that you just try to outsmart the car-rider in the right and pat the back of the car driver for taking you out listening all the way, him swaggering about his feats in a remote U.P village).
And when everyone is finished trying his own at that intersection( dil ka mamlaa hai dilbur.....)and his tired of hurling curses to every immovable, the hawaldar walks in. ( sporting a cane, he is expected to take on the challenges of society,so much for our gandhi obsession???) after procrastinating on that dilapidated bench of the chai-wallah( what is the probability of finding them at an intersection? 1) and he wields like a conductor is about to conduct an opera, so the question in his mind, how to control this mass of humanity that swells around him( and he his "trained" to handle all of this, hail Indian Police)how he wished that he instead of DIG should have had been selected to go "phoren" to study traffic systems!! yet the clean-up starts couple of shoves( few smashed indicators and bruises, more chaos). and even as (bhangra paale aaja aaja) there is no end to the plight, with kids eating head and the affable radio announcer names of "hot-shots" for telling you to avoid the road when you are doomed to keep on moving in that direction. So what happens next..... well the story of getting out??- it is as stupid as this ending.......isn't??? Too unrealisitic..... and far too absurd to be repeated......... yet it happens...... hope the same fate awaits the blog as well............
Haapy Jammin( RIP: all those PCRA advertisements that fell flat on ears impaired by me-too honking of horns)
"Since the science of economics is primarily a set of tools, as opposed to a subject matter, then no subject, however offbeat, need be beyond its reach."-FREAKONOMICS
Well shoes have been very much in talks this season ( even as i lost a new pair of adidas to sheer callousness)and suddenly they seem to be flyin' everywhere, and while some were talking about over table( Ah! My Lord, the footwear is now on a watchlist, we insist that a bill be passed in House Of Commons giving MI-5 "sweeping" powers to "nail" the shoes being bought) i believe its time that they finally snoop over the shoe and so we can really move with foot in the mouth ( R.I.P Kolhapuris, they are now a strict no-no for all flights bound to her majesty's kingdom) or worse( Breaking News: China bombs Kanpur for supplying leather to Turkish Shoe Makers). Well things were fine till this point but the worrying part ( watch out Raj!!) is that while its raining footwear we indians are "shoe"ig away from becoming an active contributor to it, we have our own hall of fame ( Couples at Park, Richard Gere, Danny Boyle, M.F Hussain, Salman Rushdie.....) so with the list already in place where are the Shoe- squads( Classified Intercept: " Adidas has been delivered, Woodland on its way, the Puma is in place")
Yet no one is looking at the flip side of things( dammn! you elitists, are you cribing just because the shoe being thrown is alas, not "branded") come now fella look at flip side of this, it is a trickle up effect, the more you are shoe-ed the more shall be the sale of that brand( people can look for inspiration in anything!!) which implies more shoes being made which means more profit, that (indirectly) implies that the salaries shall go up... the worker will start buying( increase in demand)also the others associated with it, the ( country liqour, pan masala, bidi, and maybe, if left, food) so the bottom of the pyramid will create a demand! and who knows the retailer might just find a smile who may inturn place an order for supply management software( and that wrteched company would visit the darn campus @**#@!@**%) thus instead of all that laying off shit that we hear we may see campus recruitments( and before others start hooting, the tanneries may need newer machines, buildings, chemicals, electric meters etc..etc.etc) and even need to insure their product or might need a couple of loan or two...... and thus generate that spur needed, the elusive silver lining, and when you can spend a colossal $720 billion to fix "bad" assets why not produce "bad" shoes for a couple of billions which are already flying like bikinis in Copacabanana..... while my idea may need polishing ( so while steven and stephen aka freakonomics may claim lower crime rate being proportional to high abortions in 8os) i may, who knows, be a classic in making. And yes i can prove it, will someone pass me a couple of billions please!!!!!
( Disclaimer: The writer vows not to indulge in ponzi schemes and will sincerely spend the money in his pursuit to create supply by buying a few armanis, gucchi, versace and ferraris ;) Amen..............
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