She walked in rage
Of people who followed
Useless rules and mindless traditions
She walked in disbelief
Of people who didn’t have the courage
To reject what their hearts didn’t agree to
And then she stopped
With a sense of foreboding
Her trembling mind spat out to her
It wondered what you say to one
Who binds herself in noose-tight cords
Of sky-high expectations
Who won’t give room for mistakes
To be at odds with that home-grown philosophy
that once made her a rebel
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
AnS - Part III
Sayanee swam with the current.
When she was a baby, her parents had died in a car crash. Her aunt had raised her. She was grateful for that. And not much else.
Her father’s younger brother - her uncle, had also been in the car. He was found unrecognizable after the accident that had claimed three lives and left two more languishing in that special place that is reserved for the bereaved, for the rest of theirs.
She had heard that story many times, in bits and pieces, from different people. It all boiled down to the same thing every single time. She could see it in her head. Her father had been cruising at 120 kmph -- in the wrong lane -- on the highway -- after dark. He had seen the fifteen-tonner coming down at him five seconds too late. She could see it all too well.
Her aunt had never made her peace with it. Maybe it wasn’t her fault. It is difficult letting go of a life that you are shown a glimpse of, and which is then rudely snatched away due to another’s mistake.
Sayanee swam with the current.
A docile child, she was a late talker, a late walker. Content to just sit around and dimple, her aunt didn’t really have too much trouble with her. Fed on a diet of barbs and constant carping, she grew into this reserved adolescent, who didn’t have too may friends. She would have turned out to be painfully shy and debilitated, had not her aunt deigned to send her to an engineering college in Pune, around four hours from home. That had been the turning point in her life. Living in a hostel, she had discovered bonding and friendship, mischief and joie. The shadow that she had been had materialized into a real person. A person who felt needed and loved.
She hardly went back home. And when she got this job with an Indian IT company, she was thrilled. They were paying enough for her to be able to pay back loans which weighed heavy on her soul.
She liked work too. Her client was a top American bank, a retail and credit-card company and in no way insulated from the current crisis. The credit card market, although mature in the erstwhile land of plenty, was facing a period of slump with consumerism at an all-time low and defaults at a historical high, but the company thankfully had enough going for itself in the Latin American, African and Asian markets, where the business was still nascent and economies more robust. She had spent around six months of the past year in Europe; her memoirs had mentions of 40 odd cities where she had left her well-traveled footprint.
As she stepped off Churchgate station that day, she was in high spirits. It wasn’t everyday that she got a chance to come to this part of the city - with its sea, surf and legendary restaurants. She was fond of Mumbai; like a chameleon, it was so different now than what it had been, or what it has seemed to be during her growing-up years. This realization enervated her; she felt like she had moulded Mumbai to her taste. She felt content.
When she was a baby, her parents had died in a car crash. Her aunt had raised her. She was grateful for that. And not much else.
Her father’s younger brother - her uncle, had also been in the car. He was found unrecognizable after the accident that had claimed three lives and left two more languishing in that special place that is reserved for the bereaved, for the rest of theirs.
She had heard that story many times, in bits and pieces, from different people. It all boiled down to the same thing every single time. She could see it in her head. Her father had been cruising at 120 kmph -- in the wrong lane -- on the highway -- after dark. He had seen the fifteen-tonner coming down at him five seconds too late. She could see it all too well.
Her aunt had never made her peace with it. Maybe it wasn’t her fault. It is difficult letting go of a life that you are shown a glimpse of, and which is then rudely snatched away due to another’s mistake.
Sayanee swam with the current.
A docile child, she was a late talker, a late walker. Content to just sit around and dimple, her aunt didn’t really have too much trouble with her. Fed on a diet of barbs and constant carping, she grew into this reserved adolescent, who didn’t have too may friends. She would have turned out to be painfully shy and debilitated, had not her aunt deigned to send her to an engineering college in Pune, around four hours from home. That had been the turning point in her life. Living in a hostel, she had discovered bonding and friendship, mischief and joie. The shadow that she had been had materialized into a real person. A person who felt needed and loved.
She hardly went back home. And when she got this job with an Indian IT company, she was thrilled. They were paying enough for her to be able to pay back loans which weighed heavy on her soul.
She liked work too. Her client was a top American bank, a retail and credit-card company and in no way insulated from the current crisis. The credit card market, although mature in the erstwhile land of plenty, was facing a period of slump with consumerism at an all-time low and defaults at a historical high, but the company thankfully had enough going for itself in the Latin American, African and Asian markets, where the business was still nascent and economies more robust. She had spent around six months of the past year in Europe; her memoirs had mentions of 40 odd cities where she had left her well-traveled footprint.
As she stepped off Churchgate station that day, she was in high spirits. It wasn’t everyday that she got a chance to come to this part of the city - with its sea, surf and legendary restaurants. She was fond of Mumbai; like a chameleon, it was so different now than what it had been, or what it has seemed to be during her growing-up years. This realization enervated her; she felt like she had moulded Mumbai to her taste. She felt content.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Thought for the day
I chose career over family; I'd rather my wallet have stretch marks.
Not my thoughts. I read it somewhere.
Btw, today is 'Global Handwashing Day'. I am even wearing a band on my hand saying so. Washing hands can save lives, since they are the most exposed part of your body. Some 3.5 million children globally lose their lives every year to diseases which can be avoided by simply washing hands. So do wash.
Er..use Lifebuoy. Handwash preferably.
Not my thoughts. I read it somewhere.
Btw, today is 'Global Handwashing Day'. I am even wearing a band on my hand saying so. Washing hands can save lives, since they are the most exposed part of your body. Some 3.5 million children globally lose their lives every year to diseases which can be avoided by simply washing hands. So do wash.
Er..use Lifebuoy. Handwash preferably.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The dying
Hadn’t been all velvet
No bed of roses
The landscape lay strewn
By the carcasses of intentions, good and evil
But as he walked every morning
There was thunder in his stride
And a storm in his soul
He knew he was blessed
He knew he would be great
And a good man too
Love would be his
He knew he was blessed
And then one day
The dream died
He cried
Stomped out under the ugly sole of truth
It was not to be
His life would be marked by mediocrity
And the domestic squalor that merits no poetry
Hope fled, life bled.
No bed of roses
The landscape lay strewn
By the carcasses of intentions, good and evil
But as he walked every morning
There was thunder in his stride
And a storm in his soul
He knew he was blessed
He knew he would be great
And a good man too
Love would be his
He knew he was blessed
And then one day
The dream died
He cried
Stomped out under the ugly sole of truth
It was not to be
His life would be marked by mediocrity
And the domestic squalor that merits no poetry
Hope fled, life bled.
Monday, October 13, 2008
AnS - Part II
Their eyes met in that crowded local train and each thought rather uncharitable thoughts about the other.
Why is that woman in the general compartment? Don’t I have enough trouble pushing my way through men that I now have to battle women too!
Why is that man staring at me so obnoxiously? Had the train not been pulling out of the platform, I would have been spared this compartment full of lecherous idiots!
He had to get off at Parel and she grudgingly allowed him to make his way through the masses of flesh, he scowled at her momentarily before moving on. After alighting, he was glad to see that his shirt had not suffered much damage; it would do for the day. He wouldn’t have to change into the spare one he kept in his desk-drawer at all times.
Parel station and the world outside it, is quintessential of the diversities that Mumbai is famous for. It is a sea of grocery shops, farsan and sweet houses, pan-beedi ke dukaan, unhygienic restaurants and roadside sellers of combs, stationary, vegetables and cds. And then start those corporate complexes with tall sky-scrapers, housing some of the best known media and advertising agencies in the country.
Amanpreet made his way to one of those complexes, marveling once again at how people in this city had the patience to sit in their cars while traffic crawled along inch-by-bloody-inch. Who were all these people and why had they chosen to be in Bombay? Perhaps, like him, some had come to make a mark in their chosen professions; like him, most were stuck in the never-ending agonies of commute; unlike him, maybe they were satisfied.
Not that his job was the absolute pits. He got to meet top media bosses and executives and the mandate was to treat most of them like shit. Well, that is how the power equations in this industry worked. If your client was powerful enough, channels queued up to accommodate its latest campaigns and advertisements; if not, then you were the one doing all the running from p-to-p. He had sat in on many a meeting where some guy from his firm would start to bargain rates with a channel and it was fun to see how far he could stretch it. That part was cool.
He often got depressed when he thought about his family back in Dehradoon. Dehradoon. Not as ruskin-bond-esque nowadays as one would imagine but close enough. Bougainvillea creepers, blue winding roads, red brick houses, the slight nip in the air.
Screeeeeech. Rudely jolted awake, Amanpreet quickly crossed the road before the driver who had ground to a halt to avoid hitting him could say much. Lyrics of a popular song filled his head as he walked casually on.
..Zara hat ke zara bach ke,
Yeh hai Bambai meri jaan.
Friday, October 10, 2008
AnS - Part 1
It was peak time. The 8:23 am local from Virar to Churchgate was brimming over the top. Andheri station for one was at bursting point. People rushing helter-skelter - students, bankers, hawkers, government servants, secretaries, fisherwomen, professionals - After death, it had to be the Mumbai locals - the greatest leveler.
They met in a crowded first class compartment.
Amanpreet was a 23 year old, working in a media planning firm. After graduating with a degree in Mass Communication, this had been his first job and he was hoping, not his last. What’s the deal with the client being always right anyway? Those servile buggers at his firm would send the earth circling around Jupiter if it brought so much as the shadow of a smile to the powers-that-be. But then again he thought, it was difficult to make that shift he so desired. He noticed how deftly the fellow selling key-chains in the adjoining ladies compartment packed up his jing-bang in a matter of 5 seconds and thought morosely that the guy at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he had mastered his work.
Sayanee was 25 summers down, and as she described herself - an Engineer and a lover of the English language, perhaps not in that order. She was working in the IT industry and quite enjoying herself. Her clients were fun-loving people and there was some chance she would get to go to the States before the year was up. The current financial crisis had made things a little bleak for the industry, even the company she worked for, but her department was well-diversified; with on-site ranging from Dublin to Delhi. Well, as long as she got a good salary and loads of opportunities to travel, was there really another purpose to life? Naah.
Mumbhai. Yes, selling key-chains is somewhat of an art here. Dotting the rather over-crowded landscape in a ladies compartment, these tough kids carry what looks like a cumbersome and precariously balanced jumble of key-chains, earrings, hair-clips and other such fast-moving-ultra-mass-consumer-goods, but come a station, and before you can utter even one expletive at the person standing unhelpfully in front of you, they have the whole thing packed and the notes pocketed.
Mumbhai. While there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip, there isn’t any other damn place in the world that will give you the chance to drink again and again and again.
They met in a crowded first class compartment.
Amanpreet was a 23 year old, working in a media planning firm. After graduating with a degree in Mass Communication, this had been his first job and he was hoping, not his last. What’s the deal with the client being always right anyway? Those servile buggers at his firm would send the earth circling around Jupiter if it brought so much as the shadow of a smile to the powers-that-be. But then again he thought, it was difficult to make that shift he so desired. He noticed how deftly the fellow selling key-chains in the adjoining ladies compartment packed up his jing-bang in a matter of 5 seconds and thought morosely that the guy at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he had mastered his work.
Sayanee was 25 summers down, and as she described herself - an Engineer and a lover of the English language, perhaps not in that order. She was working in the IT industry and quite enjoying herself. Her clients were fun-loving people and there was some chance she would get to go to the States before the year was up. The current financial crisis had made things a little bleak for the industry, even the company she worked for, but her department was well-diversified; with on-site ranging from Dublin to Delhi. Well, as long as she got a good salary and loads of opportunities to travel, was there really another purpose to life? Naah.
Mumbhai. Yes, selling key-chains is somewhat of an art here. Dotting the rather over-crowded landscape in a ladies compartment, these tough kids carry what looks like a cumbersome and precariously balanced jumble of key-chains, earrings, hair-clips and other such fast-moving-ultra-mass-consumer-goods, but come a station, and before you can utter even one expletive at the person standing unhelpfully in front of you, they have the whole thing packed and the notes pocketed.
Mumbhai. While there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip, there isn’t any other damn place in the world that will give you the chance to drink again and again and again.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
The Waters of Cologne
I was watching DDLJ for the umpteenth time and was struck by the fact that had I been watching this movie for the first time, could still have fallen in love with Raj. Truly the stuff of evergreen.
Our next trip was to Northern Germany and Netherlands. In Germany, we were to go to Köln, Düsseldorf and then onto Berlin. However the building came crashing down even before the foundation stone had been laid. A day before we were set to leave for Köln, somebody luckily took out the tickets and checked, thus illuminating the fact that they were for the wrong date; and even as we were standing there, looking at each other in dismay, the train we did have tickets for was pulling out of Gare Montparnasse.
Anyhow, it turned out okay. We did reach Köln, through a series of change-of-trains and night-long journeys. I do not remember all the details now, but I believe Hamburg was involved in some way. I remember having an early morning breakfast at Hamburg station, waiting for the next connecting train.
A little bit of history about Köln, because not only do I strive to entertain the reader, but also endeavor to educate him. Köln is the German name (Cologne being the French one) of the 4th largest city in Germany, after Berlin, Hamburg and Munich; it is also one of the oldest cities, founded by the Romans in 38 BC. It lies by the River Rhine and interestingly, Eau de Cologne means The Water of Cologne; since a couple of Italians set shop there to sell this preparation made of herbs and what-not which Napolean could not get enough of.
We only had a few hours in Köln. As soon as you step out of the station, there lies its famous Cathedral. This imposing Gothic structure once held the title of the world’s tallest structure, before Eiffel and many others arrived on the scene. Legend goes that in spite of being the object of several aerial bombings in World War II, this Cathedral stood tall and proud in a largely flattened city.
The station area had enough excitement surrounding it. There was an open space, with tourists milling around, the market-place started almost immediately and of course, there was the Wailing Wall. The Wailing Wall is a series of paintings, drawings, poetry, newspaper clippings, gory and inspirational messages - from all over the world, mostly pertaining to the Second World War, but also showcasing a bit of the Israel-Palestine conflict. It tries to promote peace in this crazy crazy world.
We walked into the market, so much exciting stuff was up for grabs, and for a change, it was quite inexpensive too. I bought a beautiful shawl and some kitschy jewellary. We even went into a bar and drank a little and then stood by the riverside taking pictures.
One thing I must put down here, the people of Köln were very happy to see us for some inexplicable reason. Everybody kept smiling, waving and greeting us. It made us also very happy. Incredible how happiness and cheer are so infectious.
The evening kept getting more and more picturesque as it descended into night - The silhouette of the gigantic cathedral against the skyline, with the dark and mysterious river at its feet; a thread of bright yellow street lights lending even more glamour to the scene, their reflections bouncing off the onyx waters.
A Kodak moment, to be frozen in time, in my memory.
Our next trip was to Northern Germany and Netherlands. In Germany, we were to go to Köln, Düsseldorf and then onto Berlin. However the building came crashing down even before the foundation stone had been laid. A day before we were set to leave for Köln, somebody luckily took out the tickets and checked, thus illuminating the fact that they were for the wrong date; and even as we were standing there, looking at each other in dismay, the train we did have tickets for was pulling out of Gare Montparnasse.
Anyhow, it turned out okay. We did reach Köln, through a series of change-of-trains and night-long journeys. I do not remember all the details now, but I believe Hamburg was involved in some way. I remember having an early morning breakfast at Hamburg station, waiting for the next connecting train.
A little bit of history about Köln, because not only do I strive to entertain the reader, but also endeavor to educate him. Köln is the German name (Cologne being the French one) of the 4th largest city in Germany, after Berlin, Hamburg and Munich; it is also one of the oldest cities, founded by the Romans in 38 BC. It lies by the River Rhine and interestingly, Eau de Cologne means The Water of Cologne; since a couple of Italians set shop there to sell this preparation made of herbs and what-not which Napolean could not get enough of.
We only had a few hours in Köln. As soon as you step out of the station, there lies its famous Cathedral. This imposing Gothic structure once held the title of the world’s tallest structure, before Eiffel and many others arrived on the scene. Legend goes that in spite of being the object of several aerial bombings in World War II, this Cathedral stood tall and proud in a largely flattened city.
The station area had enough excitement surrounding it. There was an open space, with tourists milling around, the market-place started almost immediately and of course, there was the Wailing Wall. The Wailing Wall is a series of paintings, drawings, poetry, newspaper clippings, gory and inspirational messages - from all over the world, mostly pertaining to the Second World War, but also showcasing a bit of the Israel-Palestine conflict. It tries to promote peace in this crazy crazy world.
We walked into the market, so much exciting stuff was up for grabs, and for a change, it was quite inexpensive too. I bought a beautiful shawl and some kitschy jewellary. We even went into a bar and drank a little and then stood by the riverside taking pictures.
One thing I must put down here, the people of Köln were very happy to see us for some inexplicable reason. Everybody kept smiling, waving and greeting us. It made us also very happy. Incredible how happiness and cheer are so infectious.
The evening kept getting more and more picturesque as it descended into night - The silhouette of the gigantic cathedral against the skyline, with the dark and mysterious river at its feet; a thread of bright yellow street lights lending even more glamour to the scene, their reflections bouncing off the onyx waters.
A Kodak moment, to be frozen in time, in my memory.
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