Saturday, May 24, 2008

Vairagya to Viagra

I am a product of this generation
Cannot do without my cell phone, computer or ipod
Love the fact that I can be single and not apologetic
Love the truth that the media can ensure murders get solved
Love the fact that you can get anything from friendship to fat free fajitas online
Yet there are somethings from the “good old days” that I miss
The fact that reading was something that was done for pleasure
Not to sound cool and informed
That your parents looked and behaved like parents
Unlike now, where the undercurrents of competition come too close
That your friends were your friends
Even if they did not have the hippest car or career
That you got wooed in real time
And moving on wasn’t such a given
That you could cry and mourn the death of a relationship
And the all important world would not crash if you took time off
The times when every waking moment was not about furthering the brand called “you”

Friday, May 23, 2008


You know what I like, the relationships you build without words
Sure in a close relationship it’s possible. A mother knowing from the way a child pauses on the phone, what exactly is playing on their mind.
Or a woman being able to hear the anger in her man’s footsteps as he walks in.
What is fascinating to me, is the creation of some great relationships, solely on a mental connect that very seldom needs words.
Beyond the kinship of sympathy that people feel in a dentist’s waiting room or on an airplane when you see someone reading a book you’ve just read.
It could be bonding with a rank stranger at a traffic signal. Like you know the person from somewhere.
Maybe another lifetime.
You may never meet again but you will smile thinking about that fleeting interaction whenever you cross that place.
Or someone you barely know, but are very fond of, getting it even when you speak in riddles
That’s the kind of stuff I like.
Someone who has recently become a friend, actually you’re not even sure of that, till they can sense your mood on a seemingly meaningless sms exchange.
I know straight speak works well but I still like this as much. If not more….
Someone you meet at a friend’s place once and you just know that you guys will be close for a long long time
Or someone you met on the beach and a few words later enjoyed a glorious sunset with.
I still believe in these meetings
I still hold them dear
I do believe you can talk to someone for years and barely know them
I still remember the woman bawling in a coffee shop loo because her husband had been awful in public a few minutes ago. And just holding her hand for a few seconds was something neither of us will forget
I actually do believe that silence speaks much louder than words

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

It’s kind of strange

Isn’t it actually? Whether it’s the child killed in noida or whether shahid is really seeing sania. Why is it so important to the entire nation?
Sure for some people the colour of a movie star’s briefs is earth shattering news. For others the amount a cricketer makes on an IPL match is dinner time conversation.
Why are we so obsessed with the lives of people we have never met and probably never will?
Why will the nation genuinely weep the next time sanjay dutt goes to jail or a prince like waif falls into a pit?
Could it be because talking about things that genuinely concern as a family or a couple are too painful to bring up?
Talking about others is somehow safer
Why is it so difficult to think about yourself, when you are by yourself
Why is it so important to fill that space with others.
Others who don’t know or care if you exist
But you will follow their day in the papers, on radio, on tv, on the net
Even if it’s information that you already have
You know what, Britney Spear’s kids will do fine without your sympathy
But yours probably have something to share, if you ask….

Kyun karoon khwaish

Har baar to dukhta hai
Har baar dard utni hi hota hai
Apne aap pe gussa aata hai
Apne hi andar kissi se maafi mangte hain
Kyun hota hai aise
Kya auron ke saath bhi hota
Kya un bade bade policy makers ko bhi dard hota hai
Kya amir confident film stars ko bhi aisi baat khalti hai
Kya aapne kabhi anhkhein zor se bandh ki hai taaki aanson andar laut jaayien
Kya kabhi socha hai ke uss shaks ko kya kahoon jo usse bhi itni hi chhube
Kya kahin kissi ko pata hota hai ke iss baar bhi baat nahi banegi
Kya har baar aise hi sikhana zaroori hai
Kya vaake hi ummed pe duniya kaayam hai

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


She- he hasn’t called
Me- maybe he’s busy
She- ya right, for the last 48 hours?
Me- so you call him
She- don’t be silly, I did that last time as well
Me- so forget him
She- Excuse me. Give me a practical solution
Me- get a life, give the guy a break. Maybe he is not that into you
She- (sounding hurt) you really think so?
Me- babes, when will you learn to stop giving this guy this kind of power over you?
She- that’s not true, did I even mention him once throughout the film last night?
Me- wow, thank you. So now consider him history. 10 minutes of raving and ranting and then I don’t want you mentioning him again. Right?
She- and what if he genuinely has a problem? Like he’s ill or fired
Me- or he is texting his next target? Or ordering flowers for the dumb blonde he met on the aircraft?
She- that was years ago. And you don’t know him so stop saying such stuff about him
Me-so what do you want me to do??????
She- just hear me out
Me- okkkkk. Shoot
She- eh…what he turns out to be like that jerk you were seeing last summer?
Me- awright, NOW we’re talking!


After the horror of something like a bomb blast or an earthquake sets in, I don’t know why he always comes to my mind
The man who walked away into the sunset….without saying why
Am sure you know what I am talking about
In this case it was someone I thought was special
Sometimes it’s a school pal, a neighbour or an ex colleague
Who you were genuinely fond of
And they moved on
Without a forwarding address or a goodbye
Of course life moves on
And the memory fades
But never goes away
A tune, a place, a smell
Anything can bring all those memories rushing back
And a teeny weeny twinge of regret
And I wonder
Where is he…
Is he still as witty?
Does he still have that disarming smile?
Did he become who he wanted to?
Is he still single?
Does he still have his coffee black?
Does he ever think about me?
Is it fondly or not?
Does he hope to ever meet again?
Before a nameless bullet finds either one of us
And no one can tell if he was the “innocent bystander”

Sunday, May 11, 2008

As another sunday passes on

She could just feel it as she stretched out in bed
The Sunday smell
Not about lounging in bed longer, more the lure of a heap of Sunday papers
More sudoko and crosswords-yipee!
Also more kids outside the window playing cricket
And she loved that
Reminded her of her childhood and French toast
She would have French toast for lunch today
Few of the joys of living alone, not having to plan meals according to everyone’s tastes
A lazy morning stretching into a languid day
God bless manda for the awesome coffee she provides every hour
Everyone says you must reduce your caffine intake as you grow older
But then everyone has a problem with everything!
The alarm on the phone reminded her of a show she wanted to catch on Travel and Living
Paris, a city she loves. And so beautifully shot
What was the name of that parsi boy she’d gone there with?
Never mind
An afternoon in bed listening to her favourite music
A long lesuirely bath and her home smelling of her favourite fragrances
Watching the sun set standing in the balcony, feeling the breeze on her face, she was at peace
The phone rang. On time. Like everyday
Her best friend Binky. A constant in this ever changing world
Stella died. She announced with a twinge of pain
These things happen, I reasoned
When you’re 89, these things happen more often

Saturday, May 10, 2008

it's only words

Ki nahi hai hume chahat

Har shay ho Naram
Ya Garam
Kahin dair-o-haram
Har zakham par marham
Kya aisa hoga ibn-e-mariam

sunte hai
Aapki Tasveer
Dua ki taseer
Raqeeb ki Taqdir
Ya phir Khwab ki tameer
jaane kaise badlegi iss haath ki lakeer

Friday, May 9, 2008

You'll two are too much men

My friend who moved to Bombay from Calcutta is going back. A job he loves, great apartment by the sea in bandra, loves the annonimity this city offers but he still has to go back. Why? Because he is sick of being called a proudy and snobby. 3 months in the city and he just cannot handle it.
It took him a couple of years getting used to the fact that people laughed at him when he typed complete words in a sms. He could live with that and continued dotting the Is.
Agreed accents in Bengali can be eh..confusing, to put it mildly. He also had friends from bihar who had to somehow get the call bell, good self and cardva into every alternate sentence. Hence he was prepared for the mumbaiya hindi. When the maid came in, one day, sobs asking for leave since she had to go to the muluk kyunki mausi off ho gayi, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He learnt new meanings to words and new words like kotmir and phatka.
What he could not take is grown ups, professionals, people with degrees from prestigious institutes, constantly having conversations in a language that did not sound like the English he knew.
He took pains explaining his pal that he was not seeing or doing the girl he had coffee with two evenings ago. Or to the receptionist in office that he was not looking for an item right away.
In meetings no one flinched when the marketing dude went :shits yaar I thought the sponsorer was phasaoed. Or when the girl at the next workstation announced that she was kaltoing since her cousin brother had sawed a film and wanted her to saw it as well. He thought he’d tell her about how she could join the carpenter who needed an assistant.
So now he will go to a land where nobody will tell him not to back answer or ask him who his family god was
When he was putting in his papers his colleague called him fully chakram and the receptionist looked pained and went – getting less dough no? He said a firm no.
only to meet the guard who waved goodbye clutching on to his mobile and saying sm karte rehna boss

Friday, May 2, 2008

background badlo

It never happens like the movies
Why do the major events in our life come at a moment least expected
Major events, as in the knowing of something major
Sure a wedding happens on a specific date or you win an award on the day decided but the moment is actually when someone proposes or you get to know you may win the award. That’s the big one. And it will happen at a time when your thinking of something really mundane like I hope we don’t have to eat cabbage again tonight or your thinking of how you should tell your driver to start using deo and- whoom! The all important call comes
Or even when it’s bad news. A normal day and suddenly you’re told that you can’t live the same life anymore
What’s even more amazing and shocks me each time is how easily the moment passes by. Your logical part takes over. Preparations and plans. Whether it’s a divorce or a marriage. A birth or a funeral.
And even in your best or worst times after the first ten minutes you again want to know the cricket score or how so and so reacted to the news
Is it resilience or self preservation? Or just that if our moments were as dramatic how would the books and movies sell?
I think it’s the lack of the background score that makes our moments mundane….