To Be Continued??

Calcutta. Cal, we called it in short.The journey by the local train to Calcutta was out of the world experience. Years later, when I used to travel by the local trains of Mumbai, on particular days when nostalgia changed roles and became an enemy, I could not help but compare. The two to three hour ride to Calcutta was marked by a complete sense of being at ease as opposed to the frenzy in Mumbai. Years later, he enlightens me over a glass of wine-It is not that local trains of Calcutta lacked the hustle- bustle and the madness of Mumbai. It was just that we were so much at peace with ourselves that we didn’t mind.You can reserve a seat for yourself on the train by putting a handkerchief or newspaper on it.But mind you,only hankies and newspapers.Nothing else is treated with the same grudging respect that is yielded to them.Once we stupidly tried to throw in a cap

The ride in the local train was sometimes more fun than the being in the city. Especially, when we manage to find one of those innumerable Kishore Kumars the city hosts. Give him a twenty rupee note and sit back. And don’t forget to stop every vendor on the way. God, I love those carefree days where you don’t think twice before putting any kind of trash in your mouth.The Bengali uncle sitting next to me kind of judges me for wearing jeans but soon as I tell where I hail from he is all smiles and enquires as to from when his daughter should start preparing to grow up and be like me. Grow up and be like me? Really?

You get down at the station and overwhelmed at once by both the crowd and the smell of stinking fish. I can never forget the first time I saw the Howrah Bridge. An endless line of people walking on .I was mistaken to think that there was a rally going on. I was so busy taking in the sights that I didn’t notice that I was now alone, separated from the group. Before I could start panicking, a fat grubby hand grabs me.
"You are an idiot."
‘You are a fatso.’
"Come on, hold my hand."
‘No.’
" I will hold yours.For my sake .Ok?"

I decide that I like Bongs.I know what you are thinking.I like those too.But here Bong is just a cooler word for Bengali.Bengalis are awesome .All day long they will keep on shouting "Cholbe na..Cholbe na ..." but I have never seen a more Sab-Chalta-Hai attitude anywhere else. Cab drivers will accommodate 8-9 people in a taxi which is supposed to seat only 5 people.All traffic is halted to make way for a tram which is totally empty.Total madness.

To Be Continued...

Once upon a time, there was a girl, who wanted all the love in the world. Only to realize that too much love could kill.

I found it on the road. The perfect friendship. After that day, I knew how to gauge a friendship. A long walk round the park. If you are left wanting for more, after finishing a couple of rounds at a leisurely pace, there is hope for an ‘us’ somewhere down the lane.

I had always thought of myself as someone who could befriend anyone. I was friends with the elite and I was friends with the outcasts.But I made sure befriending me was no easy ride.People have to bear with the tears and the laughter.With the compassion and the smirks.With the love and the hatred.

I saw him in the Physics class drinking Pepsi. I had just finished a packet of chips and felt thirsty. God-sent incentive to start a conversation. I ran down a few rows of desks, when the professor has his back to us and occupied the empty place beside him. I see that he was reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."Sirius Black is a good guy," I blurt out not able to contain my excitement. He then looks at me, with a half-amused-half-irritated look and I see his face properly for the first time. His had all the features I didn’t like in guy. Curly, unruly hair.Tiny, small eyes. Parched, dry lips. One thing I liked though. He was round like a teddy bear.

"Give some of the Pepsi or I will tell you the twist,"I blackmail him." You have already done that," he retorts." There are more," I lie. That’s the thing with me. I start every relationship with a lie. Makes me feel like I have the upper hand, the fool that I am.

"You both in the sixth row get out of the class now," yells the professor, which somehow we manage not to hear, being the ultimate optimists. "You, the one drinking the Pepsi and the fat boy, GET OUT."Can’t ignore this now. I was the first to get up, having done this many a times. He followed without any protest. We walk out of the class and I wait for the cribbing and blaming. "You drink coffee?" he asks. "Only if you smoke," comes pat the reply. I get the first of those awesome smiles and I notice the tobacco stained teeth for the first time. Another thing I don’t like in a guy. We get two coffees and sit under a tree.I thought whether I should ask for his name and then left it at that,coz I had already christened him Squeezy. "Let’s go for a walk. The weather’s amazing," I say. "I don’t like walking,"he says. O shit!!


I took me 1 month, 4 threats, 3 cajolements and a very long pleading to get him to go on a walk. At the end of the walk, I had a convert, coz at the end of the first round; he went on talking about something called "the feel of Calcutta". And he set the record that day of 5 and half rounds. And I felt happy that this walk has put a seal on the idea of "us". I also felt powerful for I assumed that I was changing the course of his life, in however small a way, by introducing him to the pleasure of long walks, especially with me. That’s another thing with me. Calvin might live in denial but I…I live in delusion. I not only deny the real thing but also make up my own stuff .Happy and deluded as I was in assuming that I was changing the course of his life, foolish I was in not noticing that he was equally changing the course of my life.

In Search Of The Perfect Cosmopolitan

Little Betty(ok,not so little, but her guy liked to call her that. Which is why, he’s history. GUYS OUT THERE-Don’t call your girls little or Sugar, for that matter ,with Sug for short) was bored. These guys were all so predictable. They all acted friendly at first but asked her out the first chance they got and ended up calling her Sweet Angel or My Tiger or Little Bear. One guy even christened her Kitty-Kitty.” Why repeat a word twice ?" she asked him.She disowned him the moment he gave her a lengthy explanation about numerology and something called the K-factor.This is all wrong,she thought.And this calls for a complete change of technique.'This time around,I get to play to play the field,find THE guy and go after him,'she decided.Now,what kind of a guy did she like?She has dated the I-will-beat-any-guy-who-dares-look-at-you guy and I-am-not-too-sure-I-am-all-that-straight guy.Why,she even dated the I-will-hit-on-your-sister-too guy.

'I am done dating these losers.Its not going to be any guy.Its gonna be a MAN.A sophisticated man.The perfect Cosmopolitan,'she decided.Betty's sister Mindy tried to take advantage of this situation and bring some perspective in her sister's life.'These Cosmopolitans,they go by an alias these days.You type in THE PERFECT GUY in any search engine and press the I-am-feeling-lucky button .It spews back one word-INVESTMENT BANKER'.Ok,so the Class of the guy was zeroed in on.Now,an object of this class has to be instantiated.'Where do I get to meet these banker fellows?"."No,not bankers.Remember it entirely -Investment Banker,"shouted her sister,afraid she would end up with a retail banker or something."Ok,just hang out in the greasy-hamburger-joint on that street with the Blackstone and the Lehman Bros offices and whoever looks like he has won a lottery on the day the fed cuts rates is a potential target."

So,on one friday Betty is all set to go out with this big shot Investment Banker,Maximilian Something.The name does n't matter,Mindy assured her.One long Limo ride later,they arrived at the HILTON.All the guys she had dated till now had always taken her to fast food joints.Betty reminded herself to kiss Mindy,when she got back home.She was about to order beer when her date arrived carrying her drink. ' You should have this.Its a Cosmopolitan .And its perfect.'Four of those,and our girl was all hooched up.The Limo Ride and the affluent ambience did add to the inebriation.Suddenly,she found her brain cells going dead and some other stuff growing in there.'You are my Peachy Pie,'she called out to Maximilian.

Next day,she went back to the Kitty-Kitty guy.Better to be with a guy who calls you Kitty-Kitty than with a guy whom you call Peachy Pie.And after all,she found the perfect Cosmopolitan-the drink,that is.Mindy regrets than Maximilian was not one of I-will-hit-on-your-sister-too guys.As for Maximilian,he ceased to be the Perfect Cosmopolitan after a few days.The fed didn't cut rates,after all.

Triggered by THE IRRATIONAL

Agnostics...the skeptics...the ones with all the doubts, with all the questions but no answers...the ones who are afraid to believe, in any hint of goodness in others, in the obvious lack of humanness in many others..agnotics...the ones like me.

Why do people move? They say people move in hope of a better life. For him, it was more of a "moved away" than “moved to”. He moved away from the memories or a lack of them. He moved away to get lost.

It started with the chaturvedi asking me what possibly could be the motivation of worker bees ...

Hope is a good thing...The last line of Shawshank Redemption and an eternal truth from which i have no escape...what the stupid bees dont realize is that having the word "hope" in their dictionary does not make them optimists of any kind...the cynicism and the mind-numbing doubts still do exist,in larger quantities, to say the least...The stupid bees use hope as a means of survival..How easy is it to hope good things will happen!It is as easy to hope that bad things will go away.

Because hope and denial are the same things,I should have replied.

Mom,I love you and this is not about you

I was just about to finish my homework, when my aunt walks in a splendid pink saree.I always loved her sarees and pestered mom to wear sarees that were as pretty as hers.She was always decked up, this aunt of mine.
I run to her to steal a whiff of her perfume that I like so much. I am too heavy for her to lift me up, but she still does...the sweetheart. Mom enters the room and they start talking about things, mostly grownup stuff they think I don't understand...but you see, I do…I always did. Aunty tells mummy that she would be going away to Guntur for about a week. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she ruffles my hair and asks me whether I would like to come along. Me, being the eternal coward, has never slept a single day, without mummy by my side. The thought of seven such days would have been reason enough for me to start wailing but somehow this time it’s different. This trip seemed to be exciting. I, instantly say yes and mom is shocked, to say the least. After my aunt left, my mom asks me whether i really wanted to go and threatens me that if i go, there will be no coming back for a week. I pack and pack for two days .I didnt understand why mom was upset. After all, I was being all grown-up, not wanting to spend all my time in the shadow of her saree. She should be proud of me, I thought. My aunt picked me up from the house and insisted there was no need for my mom to see us off at the station. We reach Guntur and i realize i am not scared of missing mom. Weird, I told myself. Aunt was the sweetheart that she always was. I was treated like a princess and every whim and wish of mine was met with. Chocolates,dryfruits,ice creams ...things my mom always denied me saying that i would get fatter. Time flew and when on the sixth day, my aunt reminded me that we would be leaving tomorrow; I realized that I didn’t want to go back. I plotted ways to extend this trip. I pretended to fall ill and we stayed back for two more days.

We reached Hyderabad and I started crying for my aunt everyday. Then I start plotting ways to get myself adopted by my aunt .My mom (after all, she was MY mom) could see what I was up to. She slapped me first and cried a lot later. I didn't get to see my aunt for a long time after that.

Now, whenever I see her, the fuckhead that I am, I cant help but wonder if it was only about the fancy saris and dry fruits?

I don’t want to write long stories just to piss off Avicster

My official reason is that I have never been dumped before and this relationship, when it ends, would be a value addition to my screwed-upness.

My friends say that the most evident reason is that he makes me happy.

"Who would want to let go of you?” he says holding me tight.

"He is such a convincing liar,” I tell myself ,loving him all the more.

WHEN HE'S GONE...

She had met him a few months ago and hardly knew him. Why was his absence creating such a huge vacuum in her life? It wasn't as if his presence calmed her, he always made her restless.

And how she would remember all those inane things about him.
-The way he would look and not look at her at the same time
-Outline of his body in the darkness as they sat listening to music

If one would ask if she loved him, she would have to say no. If she asked herself the same question, she would smile wryly in response.

"The flight is on time,” he said, waking her up from the reverie. "OK.You get ready now,” she said, trying hard to hide the quiver in her voice.
She knew she could do nothing to stop him. Maybe, she actually didn't want to stop him. But, she can't watch him go.

He comes into the room, looking for her. She is nowhere to be seen but he finds a note.

"Parting is easier for the person who leaves"