Jobless

Nights actually begin after midnight. I still wonder why midnight is not called startnight yet. And midnight gets good if you're bound to use a road where traffic remains rampant all through the day! However, there is one major transition that takes place. Human beings, with their two wheeler and four wheeler vehicles and the pedestrians of course are replaced by a four-legged animal. These animals are the most over-hypersensitive animals I have ever met after human beings. Their ears remain erect all though the night to sense every fucking single activity that takes place though the night, be it an a pigeon having loose motions, walking tip-toed, looking for a place to shit, in the sense of urgency at midnight. The dogs would bark and scare the hell out of the pigeons just to ensure that everyone remains restless all through the night. Long before movies like Bhaag Milkha Bhaag were made, these dogs we authentic in promoting athleticism. Has your car ever passed though a road inhibited by dogs at midnight? You would have definitely witnessed their act of over-enthusiasm. No one, including dogs seem to understand why they chase the cars randomly every night, all through their life. I am yet to verify if Usain Bolt or for that matter any other athlete can match their speed, because the fact is Usain Bolt won't chase my car if he doesn't get money for it, dogs do. Every time I look at them, the guilt inside me of being highly jobless reduces a little bit. 

Tenu :*

Basically two types of friends exist. One, the sane ones who are too sane to fall into the category of friends and then second, mentally-the-sick-types who falsely convince you of the fact that they need care and then you get just too attached to leave those morons. She, for all reasons, falls into the second category. The worst part is, she never appreciates my efforts to be patient and suffer her. Pretense is her birth right and pointing fingers at me would continue to remain her favorite hobby. There are nights when I find myself awake at 2 am listening to her philosophies on the driving force of Universe and at other nights, I have to suffer her panda-like acts and then there are nights when she would act drunk, just to gain some extra attention, drama queen she is. Life gives me no other options other than listening to her crush stories, her two wheeler rides to the nearest river basin and her obsession with dosa. When I commit to myself that I would somehow bear her crappy talks, she gets even more irritating, accusing me of being a male-chauvinist-asshole and crossing the limits by saying Pink Floyd is shit! But then I just can't stop talking to her. She is the only one who perfectly knows when I need a kick on my ass and when I need a shoulder to lay my head on. She is the only one who can bear my crappy talks and lame jokes and download and listen to the songs that I Whatsapp her ( being well aware of the fact that she hates metal, it's good to take revenge by sending her songs of Def Leppard and Pink Floyd). She is that person who never hesitates to say "tera net chutiya hain" when the texts get time to deliver and "Tu tharki hain tujhe ek Girlfriend chahiye" when I spot her with her hot friends in her whatsapp DP and ask "Yaar wo tere baju waali blue me, uska naam kya hain?".  She has been my support when I was down and she has always been the first person I share my blog posts with. This one's for you. Yaar tenu tu ladki bohot irritating hain par tere bina nai chalta.

P.S: Nothing shall change. I shall continue to find you irritating!

Like a Complacent Engineer

Have you ever seen where the Devil resides? Or let me ask you a better question, have you ever diagnosed an engineering professor's mind? Yes now you know the answer and you already feel like I am exaggerating but no, the truth is, professors are a little more merciful than the guy who came up with the entire idea of killing people in gas chambers. No wonder the professors feel like over-burdening the helpless students with assignments that take about seven million years and some sixty five thousand more years to complete and they literally take a whip and order us to complete the assignments in a semester time. If you were convinced right in the first time that I wasn't exaggerating then I succeeded in manipulating you. Actually, we engineers are the most complacent beings to ever exist on Earth, and in fact even my turtle has approved me that he can't really match my level of complacency (I asked him Shelly, are you more complacent than me? He didn't give a fuck and I assumed his answer to be a no). I get about 8-10 assignments in one subject per subject which makes it about fifty assignments per semester or about ten assignments per month or like one assignments in three days. But, being a pro in procrastination, I, or as a matter of fact all other engineers, try delaying the writing process until we come down to a state when fifteen days are remaining and twenty five odd assignments are left to be written. Yet, the belief that we will save our ass from fire, or the dire need to save it gives us the fire from inside to complete this almost impossible task. Yes, our lives are just like that, with blogging and twitter to more common things like movie, music, love, dating and Whatapping taking place in the initial months followed by mid semesters, followed by normal routine and then the ultra pressure of semester work submission and semester-end exams. We enjoy life like hell and then curse ourselves for wasting time and then promise ourselves "Agle semester me pehle se regular ho jaunga". But being regular is something that cannot happen in these four years, engineering makes us repeat the mistakes seven times, and then they don't remain mistakes, they become a habit, a habit to screw up and accepting complacency as a way of living. 

A silly rhyme from the Insomniac

There's nothing to distract you,
your attention is mine,
the attention which I long for,
comes to me under the moonshine,
let the moments pass by,
making me feel more alive,
'cause it won't be the same,
once the dawn breaks,
once it's past five.

I feel high by your company,
you tend to know magic spells,
you tend to lighten the world up,
in which this silly bastard dwells,
So let let me dance holding your hand,
and know how it feels to be alive,
'cause it won't be the same,
once the dawn breaks,
once it's past five.

I am yet to discover,
the color of your brush,
'cause I can't just ask these things,
struck in the day's rush,
let the silly talks be done,
all through the night,
there's nothing to skive,
'cause it won't be the same,
once the dawn breaks,
once it's past five.

I can make thousand reasons,
and some more,
to let you not sleep,
and crave for the adore,
let us be ourselves,
let us feel a li'l more alive,
let us talk till the dawn breaks,
let us talk till it's past five.

(P.S: I scribbled the rhyme while sitting near the train door this morning, it basically lacks logic, vocabulary and of course poetry)

Little Moments

You deserve happiness every now and then. Be it staring deep into the eyes of your beloved and wishing the moment exists for a lifetime or holding her hand, intertwining those fingers and feeling the soft touch  of her palm against the palm of yours made brutally rough by the solder gun and the ends of single core connecting wires in your PCB circuit. Happiness can even be found in a cup of coffee at the end of writing the assignment at 2 am, the night before the deadline, reassuring yourself that you have saved your lazy ass from fire one more time, the coffee serves as a reward to your soul, trapped in an engineering student's body. Happiness may also be found in those late night walks with your room partner at perhaps 11 pm, with the sound of  horns of passing-by cars reducing every moment. True bliss surrounds you with the orange colored street light imitating the yellow one which emanates from the palm of lord Vishnu, you feel blessed by the urban God, by the urban streetlights. Happiness also remains hidden in the window seat of a bus going past the landmarks on a night which seems to completely accept you. The window opens up your mind, you feel like a temporary nomad with the road and night being your only companions who share the feeling of mutual love. Happiness is also present on the Sachin-Magdalla highway bridge on the Tapi river, the rays of setting sun, the cool wind striking against your face, and the mild movement of bridge, all when felt with eyes closed, transform the place into heaven. Even that "someone special", whom you have not dated yet, agreeing to remain awake for twenty more minutes just to chat with you has a euphoria hidden in it, which highly goes unnoticed, maybe because we're much more obsessed with achieving bigger things in life, buying a bungalow, earning in six figures, riding a car with a logo that raises your status and working endlessly to earn money in a way that leaves you with no time to enjoy life. Life is not about the bigger achievements, it is about these small moments of happiness because it is during these moments that life really takes place, if you miss these, you miss the opportunity to live another moment.  

The long wait

It's 8 am already but Rajesh is in no hurry to wake up today, neither does her mother feels the urge. Rajesh decided to skip school today, owing partially to the inevitable muscular pain resulting from last evening's hard work and partially due to the sorrow that is hidden in one corner of his heart. Yes, he cried last evening and he would remain on the verge of crying every now and then all through the day. His mother senses his bad mood and decides not to force him to study today. She wakes him up at 8:30 am just when the water in the German silver vessel begins to boil. Half sleepy, Rajesh brushes his teeth and takes a bath. Even his favorite breakfast, poha is not enough to make his mood any better.

Rajesh hurries to the society compound. The Pandal is still present, and so are Deepu, Parth, Dhruv and Shubham. The feeling of grief cuts across the society walls, all through Maharashtra and other parts of Western India. They share a helpless look, their Bappa is gone, their job is gone. A month earlier, they were assigned the task to collect chanda all through the society. They roamed here and there with the tiny yellow receipts, asking Rs 100 more this time telling "Aunty pyaaz bhi mehengi hain, mooriyon ke daam bhi badh gaye hain" . Rajesh never paid attention to the mathematics lessons his 'tuition aunty' used to teach him, but he doesn't make a single mistake while counting the notes before handling the entire bundle to Kamath uncle. After all, its not for a tuition test, it's for a greater reason, it's for his favorite God, it's for his Bappa.

Three weeks before, you could see Rajesh and his bunch of friends in that narrow lane on one corner of the city, bargaining furiously with the Idol-maker to reduce the cost of Ganpati they have selected to meet their budget. The considerate Idol maker is not money minded, its his eleventh meeting for the day and he has already made a loss of five thousand rupees in dealing with the children. However, the joy he gets to see on their face when the deal is made and knowing that he is partially responsible for it, is nevertheless priceless. He finally reaches a consensus with the children and he gets to see the joy once again. Once the gang has left, he looks up towards the heaven and smiles, firmly believing Bappa is looking at him and has already showered his blessings upon him. He returns to the task of finishing the idols and making them ready for the grand festival.

Over the series of next few days, you could see these chaps busy calling the flower supplier, the Pandal-maker, the priest and completing other such jobs. It's already been a week since they last attended the accounts class, dedicating their entire time to the preparation for the festival, ensuring no flaw remains. Financially, this doesn't get a very easy affair either. They have to plan and plan again to make ends meet. The price of every single commodity has gone up except the figure of the chanda or donation they get. Deepu has already visited the society's president's house for the fourth time this morning to get some extra funds. Their unbreakable faith on Bappa doesn't let them give up, no matter how many problems come up, they always manage to tide through uncertainties. The true sense of management can be learnt in these small pockets of the country where these young fellows, out of their devotion, always end up managing the finance, no matter how problematic the situation tends to become.

Even personally, it's not easy. Over the past few days, Rajesh has witnessed feeding all his pocket money as petrol to his black Scooty with white dots. His girl friend, Vaishali feels he is losing interest in her. Rajesh decides to deal with her later, feeling he has got much more important issues like ensuring that the lighting is done properly first. Last evening, Rajesh was scolded by his parents for not attending the classes. He has a just reason, not to attend the classes but his parents just don't seem to understand, he listens to all that his parents have got to lecture him with his head bowed. However, he keeps a track of the time, how can he miss the general meeting at 9 pm? After all the group is about to conclude all the preparation for the festival. Bappa's festival  is to begin tomorrow.

The grand day arrive and the Pandal's ready. Shubham is busy calling the priest, one hour before the destined 'muhurta'. The priest compains of the grand traffic that can be witnessed on the street of the city. Nevertheless, due to Bappa's grace, he reaches on time. The 'shubh muhurta' arrives and the carnival begins. Over the next five days, you can see Dhruv close to the dvd player and addressing the lighting issues, Shubham carrying the bowls of prashad every evening to the society homes and Rajesh sitting next to Bappa's idol and handing over the prashad to the people who have come to visit. They never realize when those five long days ended.

Last morning. Rajesh ensured that the couple of trucks they booked for the immersion ritual have arrived beforehand. Packets of pink colored powder of Gulaal are ready to paint the procession in pink. The drums are ready and so are the saffron headbands. The boys have made all the required arrangements for the ritual and the grand afternoon arrives. The boys lift the idol to the truck and the procession begins. You could spot Rajesh wearing the saffron headband, beating the drum and shouting slogans of 'Ganpati Bappa Morya'. Amid traffic, the procession somehow reaches the 'ghaat' where the ritual is destined to take place. The idol has been lifted off the truck and the immersion is about to begin. Rajesh touches Bappa's feet with moist eyes asking Ganpati to come back next year. Minutes later, the idol has been immersed in the stream of flowing water and the boys are all wet. The trucks begins to return to the society. However, the atmosphere in the truck is different from what it was a couple of hours earlier. You can sense the gloom on their pink colored faces replacing the cheerful faces. The Idol is missing too. The Sun is setting and Rajesh is busy staring the setting sun, avoiding any eye contact. The pink color Gulaal and the reddish shade of the sun combine to form a unique color on his face, a color that can only be found in India. A shade, among many others that uniquely define India. This color has a shade of immense devotion, a shade of the universal feeling of love, a shade that defines the relation between God and his devotee and a faith that keeps on telling the young boy that Bappa will come back, no matter if the wait is a year long.  

Farts

There are people who exist, there are people who are gifted with brain and intellect, there are people who recognize what freedom really is and then there are people who don't think much before farting. Perhaps, God's blessings were showered in an increasing order in that manner. And then there are two kinds of people in these universe. One, who think farting is a fundamental human right and then the other, who are intellectually challenged. Farting is something that sophisticated people try to despise, but then they too have to agree that farting is inevitable. And those who think farting is embarrassing are basically called morons by their stomach. I mean, if you think more about what others would think than what your stomach will go through, you have to learn an art, the art of living. 

Acceptance

Lunatic,
dark humored,
coarse,
clumsy,

bad tempered,

potty mouthed,

incomprehensive,

unacceptable,
intolerable,
highly acerbic,

the psychopath walks on his own,

your acceptance gets too expensive. 

Our Conversations..

How I wish,

you remained awake,

four and a half minutes more,

every single night;

had those silly chats,

continued for,

a few more moments,

I could have ended up,

knowing you more.

How I check,

your 'last seen at',

every single time,

I get free,

just to make,

another small conversation;

those little conversations,

mean more to me,

than you would ever know.

How I stare aimlessly,

at your display picture,

waiting for the phone,

to beep and vibrate;

only if you knew,

how closely I look at,

those small details,

a certified stalker,
you tend to make me.

How I tend to think,

harder and harder,

when it takes,

one second,

and forty five more microseconds,

for your status to change from,

online to typing;

I wonder who you're busy chatting with,

yes one little silly bastard I am.

How I wish,

those emojis,

could have conveyed,

a little more emotions,

I could have known,

what you think,

when I text you, 

thirty three times,

a small single day.

How I wish,

it was your voice,

it was your laughter,

instead of the simple lol,

and uncountable hahaha,

I could have actually been,

a little more proud,

of the humor,

that I possess.

My thoughts,

as mindless as,

my talks,

tend to resonate,

at one corner,

of my head,

I think,

I smile,

I What's App you,

and smile a little more.

P.S: I begun writing this initially as What's App texts to someone, last night. As promised, I ended up making a poem out of it.  

Depth Of The Ocean

My joblessness reaches new heights every fucking single day. During one of such jobless stretch, I begun pondering what my life could have been if there wasn't any TV involved. I remember those DD shows on that black and white TV when I was a child, those nostalgic cricket matches, lame movies like 'Kaho Na Pyaar Hain' and awesome television shows like Sa Re Ga Ma Pa and Close Up Antakshari. Eventually, music grabbed a lot of attention. I remember listening to those morning shows on MTV while getting ready and those evenings spent with Nikhil Chinappa hosting an exciting show when he would call users and play songs of their choice. I grew up watching Euphoria and my charismatic God Sri Sri Palash Sen sing Maaeri and Rimi Sen, gorgeous as ever in that music video. I remember Bombay Vikings' "Wo Chali Wo chali" or Silk Route's 'dooba dooba rehta hoon main". I remember every single song they played. I remember them better than the name of my schoolmates or what was taught in the school in 6th or 7th standard. 

One of such songs which remained in my head was "arey ruk jaa re bandeh" from Black Friday. That almost-an-adolescent guy could never get over with those meaningful lines "Kise kaafir kahega, kise kayar kahega, teri kab tak chalegi ho". I remembered it of course for the bullying nature of my classmates at that time (or in better words, throughout my school life). Later both the filmmaker and the music composers became my favorites, capturing my vision of pan-Indian perfection. Two years later, Vatsal, a friend of mine, came up with this song in one of our guitar class's session. And I could sing those lines again on the top of the voice. Vatsal brought Indian Ocean to my attention telling that the guitarist looks real down-to-earth but has his own style of playing, he was of course, referring to none other than Sushmit Sen. In the next class, I bought a Rs. 10 CD-ROM and gave it to him and a week later, I had a couple of Indian Ocean's songs. One was "Bandeh" and the other one was "Kandisa".

I kept listening to them all day long in the music player with the guitar in my hand, trying to figure out the progression of those songs, those intricately done guitar leads and those perfectly complementing bass and percussion. I listened to those songs, every single day, perhaps more than thousand times till now and I memorized those songs. The music was different. It had something unique. It didn't merely go for heavy drums. It had folk, it had rock, it had those neatly done guitar leads, it had a soul in it, the Indian soul. In the due course of time, artists like Shafaqt Amanat Ali (and his band Fuzon) Jal, Raeth and uncountable others became my favorites and the frequency of listening to those two songs decreased day by day and then that love for Indian Ocean's music died a slow death. (I don't even remember where that CD is currently, lying along with hundreds of other CDs.  

Lost, Found and Lost Again:

Amir Khan's hard work never goes unnoticed. It's his way of working and doing thing uniquely that always catches my attention. I had become his fan after gigs like Rang De Basanti and Taare Zameen Par and then his production making "Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na". This time the movie of his production house had the village life involved. Yes, the movie was "Peepli Live". I never really ended up watching the movie, but the movie made me rediscover my lost love, Indian Ocean. The song was "Des mera" and the first time I listened to it, I instantly got nostalgic about the song arrangement, the way the rhythm was done, the way folk was involved, apart from those beautiful lines "Des mera rangrez hain baabu, ghaat ghaat yaha dikhta jaadoo". I knew where it was coming from. I instantly called Vatsal to tell him about this song and a couple of hours later, we were revisiting Indian Ocean together, we were trying to play the leads of Bandeh again, we were screaming our lungs out while singing Kandisa. Once Peepli Live fever was over, we forgot the song again.

Lost, Found, Lost Again and Found Again:

Once again, TV was the catalyst in our reunion. This time, it was MTV, it was MTV Unplugged. This was post-Asheem-Chakravarty-death-era. There was this one young guy with the percussion section along with Amit Kilam and another guy in kurta singing along with Rahul. I listened to them, I watched the repeat again and then I youtubed those songs. I remember every bit of that show. The way Rahul was dressed up, the way Sushmit played it, the unorthodox music, everything! One fine morning, I watched the repeat telecast and then hurried up to catch a train. Bored, I Googled about Indian Ocean, about what it is, about Asheem, Sushmit, Rahul, Amit. I visited their website and came to know about their real depths. About their professionalism, about their passion for music, about Susmit meeting Asheem for the first time in a concert, about their jam sessions, about Sushmit's dad insisting the name Indian Ocean, about their first recording, about Rahul Ram joining the band after his return to India, about their rise to success and their journey so far and of course about Asheem's unfortunate demise. Their songs became a part and parcel of my daily life. I am yet to watch "Leaving Home", their biopic. 

About the band:

The history of the band is quite appealing (Considering the length of the article, I considered not giving a lot of insight. It can be read here in a detailed manner). The line-up of the band that witnessed their rise to fame consisted Rahul Ram on bass guitar and vocals, Asheem Chakravathy on percussion and vocals, Amit Kilam on drums and other instruments, and Sushmit Sen on guitar. Asheem died on Dec. 2009 due to a cardiac arrest. His connoisseurship of rhythm shall always be missed. His replacements have been Tuheen Sen on percussion and Himanshu Joshi on vocals and other instruments (I apparently saw him supporting with the percussion part during their MTV unplugged performance).

With and Without Susmit:

Sushmit has been a self taught musician. Quoting the band's original website, he "has virtually invented a new style of playing the guitar – an uncannily Indian sound where purity of scale reigns, strong melodic lines woven around the drone of open strings." His simplistic looks and the depths of his playing moved him to the position of God in my eyes. He plays a special series of guitar named after him: The SS Series. On June 12,2013, I came across this status update on their official Facebook page

Very Important Update: Susmit Sen is leaving Indian Ocean after 23 years of a long and fruitful association. Susmit and Asheem co-founded the band way back in 1990. Susmit will focus more on his solo career with his new band Susmit Sen Chronicles. Nikhil Rao is our new guitar player! We wish Susmit all the best in his bold new step, and we are going to continue to have lots of fun making new music and playing all over the world!

This was indeed shocking,. However, my best wishes shall stay with both Susmit  Sen Chronicles and Indian Ocean.

The Journey ahead:

Indian Ocean remains a firm believer of the philosophy that the show must go on. They are actively busy touring with their new line-up. However, what I truly doubt is whether it would remain the same without the backbones of the band. I don't even know if my soul would dance madly to their tunes revolving highly around Susmit and Asheem's playing. However, the way Susmit, Asheem, Rahul and Amit have traveled this successful journey, their stories shall be remembered for ages to come. :)