Manu's Musings

The Common Man

2008-12-16T17:18:00.000+05:30

I'm raped
By those that swore to protect me

My inside pulled out
By the hands that fed me

I'm hurt
By those that promised to care for me

I look for a friend outside
I search an enemy within

I find neither
Friend nor foe

I stand here
Naked
Hungry
Bleeding

I struggle to survive, in life
I look for dignity in death

I am the common man.

Do we really need to have goals in life?

2008-04-25T10:56:00.000+05:30

Yesterday a friend asked me, "What is your goal in life?"

"I don't know", I said.

"You must be having some goal..", she said, with a tone of incredulity in her voice.

"No. Why is it important to have a goal?"

"How else would you know where you're going?"

"Why is it important to know where you're going? Why can't we just enjoy the ride? When we do decide a goal, or a destination, we're going to fix a time line to get there, and a route..and all along the journey, we'd be too focussed on when and how we will get there, than actually enjoy the ride. Isn't it important to enjoy the journey, rather than worry about where you're going?"

"Yes, but still you need to know where you're going, don't you?"

I started my life with my parent's expectations. They had a goal for me. After 17 yrs of living their goal, I asserted my own - in my choice of higher education and career. After 12 yrs in that career, after experiencing both success and failure, I now am stable in my career, and yet am pushed by myself to break some new frontier. Thus, I am trying to involve myself in something which is related to my experience and training, but may just mean losing everything I have to satisfy my entrepreneurial skills. I have done that before. And failed. And want to do it again. Maybe I will succeed this time. Maybe not.

Lets presume I do. I pursue it for another five, maybe ten years. After that, or during that, some unexpected turn in my life makes me change gears - could be love or any other life-changing experience - and maybe I start another career.

What then of my goal? What I wanted at 17, I dont want now. What I want now, I may (No! I'm quite sure, I wont) want after some years.

What would I have achieved? I would lose my life chasing a goal, achieving it and then realising this is not really what I want.

Do we enjoy realising a goal? Or does that just leave us empty and wanting more?

Wouldn't we be better off just enjoying each moment, because the future is going to change, whether we like it or not, and we don't know how. Yes, we can plan. But when we do that, we make the plan with certain assumptions, and each of those assumptions is like a rope which ties us down. It blocks our capabilities, vision and imagination.

I may plan. And I may achieve it. And I may realise that this is not my calling.

So, I'd rather not have a goal for my life, and enjoy this journey - bitter sweet, sometimes salty - and not worry about how and where am I going.

Bon Voyage !!

Being Unconventional: The new convention

2008-04-25T10:34:00.000+05:30

Just the other day, I was tuned into one of the FM channels. The RJ was talking to some artists, who’s achievements though mentioned, she wasn’t willing to be specific about. The topic of the discussion was – whether the listeners had changed their careers after a significant number of years in it, to pursue a dream.

During the course of the discussion, a lot of the listeners called in with their experiences. How the society, parents etc had forced them to move away from their creative/alternative pursuits into a job/career that they didn’t like and how they longed for it.

At one point the RJ said, that there seems to a trend now in the society wherein people are giving up well-established careers in the conventional areas – finance, engineering, management, medicine etc – to take up their passions. Restaurants, photography, art, theatre etc seem to be new buzz words.

That set me thinking.

Has it now become a convention to be unconventional? Earlier, say in the 80’s and the 90’s, anyone who didn’t do an MBA after his/her college was looked down upon. The conventional areas – MBA, medicine, engineering – were considered the “good” careers and anything else was considered a waste of time and effort. True, there were always rebels, but they have been there since the birth of civilization!

Today, in 21st century, the movement seems to be towards. Anyone who after years of having enjoyed the fruits of his “conventional” job, decides to change gears and “follow his heart” is looked up at. Conventional is suddenly boring.

Its “in” to be different. So much so, that “being different” has now become commonplace. Everybody wants to be “different”.

This reminds of the famous Maggi ketchup ad, where the guy asks – “Isme different kya hain?”.

Are we striving for difference just to have that tag of being different because it is “in”?? Just as a couple of decades ago, we were getting a MBA to be part of the “in” crowd?

I wonder.

Till Death Do We Part....

2008-04-21T01:06:00.000+05:30

I looked at her lying peacefully in the bed. I smiled. She looked like an angel. The weathered skin, the pain and suffering of our struggles that had become permanent wrinkles on her skin….all could not hide the fact that she must’ve been, and still was, a strikingly beautiful woman. We’ve been married for almost ten years now, and I loved her more everyday.

As I looked at her, lying there, her eyes closed, I felt the same surge of emotions as I had the day we first met.

I had gone to the repair shop to collect my pickup, and she had been shopping in the opposite grocery shop. I’d seen her before. She stayed about three houses from mine on the same row. Mom spoke occasionally about Mrs. Mason and her daughter. So I knew that she’d just come from town for her spring break.

As I came out of the repair shop, she stepped out from the grocery shop, and was contemplating, I presume, on whether to take the cab or to walk it home.

She was stunning. Picture perfect. Long flowing brown hair, under the straw hat, with a daisy printed long dress, ending in strappy sandals – all of which looked expensive, brought probably at one of the designer stores in the town, that were all the rage currently.

I hesitated. I was a little ashamed of my battered ol’ pickup and put against her crisp clothing, it looked even more ancient. Mustering courage, I swung towards her side and jumped out.

“Hi….err…Ronald Green, from 216”, I said introducing myself.

She looked at me, a strange bemused indulgent look on her face. I felt like kicking myself. How could I ever even think she’d be willing to talk, let alone ride with me home !!

“Hi, Sue Brown”, she replied.

“You live in 210, right? I thought I’d seen you about…”

“Yes. What brings you here?”

“Came to get my car. Can I drop you somewhere?.” I asked.

Sue got in, and within a few minutes we were chatting away like old friends. She was easy to talk to, not having any of the airs that city girls were supposed to have.

For the next three weeks, during her vacations, we met almost every day. We would go for long drives, picnics by the river, butterfly hunting, or just stand on the edge of Ranger mountain, looking down at the picturesque view.

When she came back in December after completing her studies, we had a quiet wedding in the local church.

III

We had a simple, happy life. Even the fact that she couldn’t ever conceive, come between our love. We loved each other, and that nature chose to take from her the pleasure of motherhood, never bothered me or changed my love for her. It was just like in the story books. Boy meets girl. They fall in love. They get married. And they live happily ever after.

But real life is not like stories, and we did have our ups and downs. The only down in our wedded bliss was named John Marshall. He was the only mistake Sue ever made.

He was from the city and had come to our sleepy town to invest in some farmland. One of my friends, who moved to the city years back, asked me to help him and I did. He was suave, educated, handsome, rich – everything that I wasn’t. He knew the different wines, had traveled over many countries spanning all the continents known to man and was well-versed with the art of charming women. I was no match for him. I, however, being the simpleton I was, never suspected anything.

Until that fateful day, when I came home early from my weekly visit to the vegetable market, where I had an unusually nice customer who bought my entire produce. I walked in on Sue and John kissing in the bedroom.

Sue was devastated. The sight of my shotgun was enough to make John disappear from the town forever. Sue repented every action, and swore that the kiss was all that happened between them, and that she tried, but was unable to prevent herself from falling for this man, and that she loved me forever, and that she wouldn’t even dream of any other man.

We decided to shift from the town, and moved to a place very far. No one knew us, no one knew where we were, and there were no neighbours for miles.

I believed her. I believed her that day as much as I believe in her today. She was after all my love, my wife and what is love if not another name of forgiveness. I knew she would never repeat her mistake. I made sure.

And as I looked at her lying on the bed now…just as she had, on the same bed, after the fatal milk she had. I had poisoned her slowly with arsenic from the fly paper I bought from the market. It took three years for her to die, slowly as her health deteriorated. I loved her each day that she lived and after she died.

Since that day, she lay there, as I watched her die in her sleep. And have watched her ever since…I had to complete my vows.

Till Death do we part.

Gunaah

2007-03-30T13:21:00.000+05:30

These are some verses I wrote on Sin and reflect on different aspects of it....

Mujhse na maangon mere gunahon ka hisaab
Har saas ek gunaah hain, us ek gunaah ke baad

Gunaah ke baad humne ki gunaah ki yaad se tauba
Kyon lauten unhi raston pe jinhe chod aaye hum

Humse na maangon hamaare gunaahon ki tehrir
Samay bhi kum hain, kagaz bhi, syaahi bhi, kalam bhi

Qayamat hogi toh dena hi hoga gunaahon ke hisaab
Abhi zindagi baaki hain, gunaah kuch aur karne de

Chahte hain woh ki gunaah hum apne kabool karein
Kaise tumhaare naam ko hum yun rusva karein

Kash tum itne massoom na hote
Kash humne koi gunaah na kiya hota

(c) Asheeth Manu

The Assasination

2006-05-13T01:14:00.000+05:30

I

I checked to see if the hair was in place. The salt merging well with the pepper. They had to be in a perfect disorder. Fixing the wig carefully in place, I observed that the wind-blown look presented a careless countenance.

The beard and moustache came on next. They were the same colour as the hair on the wig. I wondered if Rane shaved these off some sadhu who died in the previous night’s stampede in the Mela ground. The thought of wearing the hair of a dead man was not necessarily comforting. But I also knew that it was very critical to be authentic.

If left to me I would've probably grown my hair, bleached and dyed them. But there just wasn't enough time.

The saffron dhoti was neatly wrapped around my waist, the saffron dupatta and blanket on my shoulder and assorted jewellery around my neck and arms, I looked into the mirror for the last time. Perfect. I needed no finishing touches.

I picked up the kamandal, suitably filled with all I would need and I got into the jeep waiting outside.

II

The ground was overflowing with people. There were people everywhere. Sadhus and devotees. Cops and crooks. The divine and the learned. The privileged and the unfortunate. The rich and the famous. The seekers. All here for one reason: To hear the great Swami Pradhyomkar Nath Ji in person.

His rise to fame had been meteoric. Hailing from a simple family, no one had heard of him till about 10 years back. Then, he started his famous Karma Samadhi meditation technique and his band of followers increased manifold. At first in his home town and then across in India. And before you could say Swami Pradhyomkar Nath Ji, he was revered overseas as well. In every continent.

The rich and the mighty were humbled by his simplicity. The poor and the downtrodden found strength in his magnificent presence. His word had the power to make or break governments, change the tide of public opinion on any cause. He was, for most, the true and only re-incarnation.

Inevitably, there was unprecedented security. It was difficult to make out if the devotees outnumbered the security personnel. More so, if you did not count the devotees amongst the security staff.

Suddenly, there was a cry.

"Prabhu aa gaye (the lord is here).

And with that, the teeming mass of humanity came together as one. Silently. In deference to the only God each of them knew. And, they turned to look in the direction of the Lord.

III

I stood close to the podium. My disguise had worked. I was closer to the stage than any common man could've been. But then, sadhus had an advantage over the common man. And my disguise helped me wrest that advantage.

I positioned myself carefully under a Banyan tree. Its hanging roots gave me just the kind of cover I needed. Then again, I had undertaken a recee the previous week.

The stage had only one seat – and He would take that. Everyone else stood/sat away from the stage in order of reducing importance. Business badshahs, movie moghuls and the political princes along with select God-men and sadhus occupied the closer enclosures. The common man occupied the enclosures farther away from the stage. Seeing the select circle that this was, I appreciated how well Rane had managed to get me into it. But all had to either sit or stand on the ground. There were neither special chairs nor sofas for anyone. Only He could get away with treating the mighty like the common man.

As the murmur went up in a buzz and was followed by the silence, I turned to see Him walking to the stage. He took his position and soon enough the gong declared He was ready to start his Samadhi. Everyone sat down or stood with his/her eyes closed.

His gentle voice mesmerised everyone, including the security staff. Everyone but I. My eyes were open and I was watching him intently. I put my hand inside the Kamandal and moved it in front of me.

Even if a security guard were to have his eyes open, he wouldn't bat an eyelid when a sadhu raised his kamandal.

Everyone would turn to their right when the gong sounded the next time. With their eyes closed. He would so the same. And He would be facing me.The man standing next to the gong raised his hand.

IV

“Uff,” He said into the microphone placed around His neck, connected to the public address system, which was entrancing the populace.

No one took heed of that coarse whisper. The sound of the gong had drowned his last cry.

They waited for Him to continue the Samadhi. No sound. Silence.

“Prabhu!” The shout came from near the stage. Someone had opened one’s eyes.

Chaos was unleashed. Pandemonium. He had slumped on the ground. With a small hole on his forehead, his clothes getting a warm coating of red.

Everyone started running, shouting and screaming. Some got trampled by the scurrying masses. Security rushed to surround the stage and doctors carried Him on a stretcher to the ambulance nearby. But it was too late.

V

As I distanced myself from the chaos, I smiled and dialled a number on my mobile.

“Kaam ho gaya (The job’s done).”

(c) Asheeth Manu
12 May 2006
2010 hrs

Deathwish

2006-05-11T18:10:00.000+05:30

I

I stood on the pavement, like I had for the last two weeks, watching the vehicles go past. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere. There were few vehicles on the road. Mostly, trucks, as they are allowed to enter the city limits only after nine. Around eleven, their numbers trickled down, and their speeds went up.

I looked around. There was no one. A car zipped past. People do tend to drive faster at this time of the night. There is a feeling of invincibility as you drive on the empty roads.

In a distance to my right, I could see the lights of an approaching truck. There was no other vehicle in front of it, and none for quite a distance behind, as far as I could see. It seemed to be moving fast, as I could soon hear the dull roar of its engine become louder. Another minute or so, it would be right where I was standing.

I stepped forward - in its path.

II

Wiping off his the remnants of a hearty dinner from his moustache, Kartar Singh, rose from the hand pump with a loud burp. It was a signal that he was satisfied with his meal. Not burping would have left him feeling incomplete and troubled.

“Oye, Rakesh, chetti kar (Hurry up),” he yelled out to his helper, holding the handle, and pulling himself up on his driving seat.

“Aaya (coming), Sardarji,”

Then with a small prayer to the Guru, he started the truck and eased it forward. Rakesh ran after it and got in from the other side with practiced ease.

Kartar looked at him. Nice kid.

He looked at the highway in front of him. It stretched out for miles. It was dark, except for the headlights of passing vehicles, or the odd dhaba or cluster of houses. It was only close to the cities that some signs of streetlights were evident.

He loved entering and exiting cities. For him it was like going through a well-lit tunnel. Darkness before. Darkness beyond.

Tonight was the last night of his journey. Two more cities to cross and he’d be home. He was weary, and his body ached from four days of almost continuous driving – barring the breaks for food, water and ablutions and the four hour naps they took during the evenings and early mornings.

“If I speed up just a bit more, we could be home by six,” he thought to himself, thinking of Rano’s paranthas and her loving eyes as she would watch him tucking them in. He felt the weight of his foot press the accelerator closer to the floor.

In the distance he could see someone about to cross the road. “He would be on the other side by the time I reach him,” thought Kartar, honking a few times, just to make sure his presence was announced.

III

The truck was about a hundred odd feet away when I stepped off the pavement and walked in its path. I moved slowly. Another few moments more and it would be all over.

After a while, this quiet road would be busy for a while, as cops, other vehicles, concerned citizens, drivers, helpers all would gather around to see my mangled body. The cops would make a “panchnaama”, the poor driver would plead ignorance, his owner would probably pay off the cops and deduct from his salaries for the next few years. Maybe he would even have to work for free. I felt bad about that. I’m sure he had a family to support. I brushed away the thought. The next morning paper would have a small item, tucked away in a non-descript corner, on a non-descript page, mentioning a man killed by a truck. Or maybe there wouldn’t be a mention. After all thousands die everyday, hundreds in road accidents across the nation. Who has the time to report each death?

Thousands die. Yes, aren’t they lucky? They die when they want to, when they don’t want to, when they least expect it. But they die. Not like me.

IV

Kartar saw the man starting to cross the road. And suddenly, as in slow motion, Kartar saw the road swing to his right.

“SARDARJI !!, sambhal ke (Watch out!)” Rakesh screamed.

Kartar swerved the truck but could not control it. The road had suddenly become like his Rano’s back. Smooth…just too smooth. The truck spinned out of control and hit against the big tree on the other side. There was a sickening sound of tyres screeching, grass shattering, metal crunching and in few seconds it was over. The tree groaned under the impact. And then stood silent.

The road was silent. The night was silent. There was no noise from the truck. All silent. I turned and walked back home.

My deathwish had come true.

Everybody hurts...

2006-04-20T00:29:00.000+05:30

Everybody hurts. But, how people react to that hurt and loss defines who they are.

There are two types of people - one, that hurt and keep that hurt within themselves, letting it eat them slowly and in time, forgetting it...till only a skeleton of the the event/person is left in a corner of the unconscious memory. The other, let the hurt out...telling everyone about what pains them and how it pains them.

Most people think the former are stronger and the latter weak. I think its the latter who are stronger as each time they tell another person of their hurt, their loss - they are making sure that the wound causing the hurt is re-opened, exposed and made to hurt all the more. It's almost as if the hurt keeps them alive. It's that pain that gives them a feeling that they are alive..that life, despite its efforts, has not been able to kill them.

Each spoken word, each tortured memory, each remembered action is a reminder to them of their pain...it's like someone poking a needle into a wound just as it heals to make sure that it never does.

Crossed Paths

2006-04-08T01:22:00.000+05:30

I

"You look good", I said to myself, adjusting my tie knot and admiring myself in the mirror.

It's strange, but at that very moment, millions of men across the world must've done exactly the same action, moved their head exactly the same degree, and commented on their looks in exactly the same way. And yet, each would leave that moment into another totally different moment leading to a day that would probably have no relevance to each other.

I got down the stairs and moved towards the bus-stop to catch my regular 9:15 to Nehru Place.

I reached the stop, noticing that none of the regulars were there today, noticeably Anisha. Maybe she had caught the 9:05 or maybe she is late. Should I wait? I decided to forgo the decision till 9:14. I looked at my watch. The hands showed 9:09..the similarity struck me for a brief moment, and a smile came to my face.

Suddenly, I became aware of someone sitting to one side of the stop. I turned to see, out of idle curiosity, who it was.

It was a woman, squatting, with her head between her knees, bowed down on her arms. She wore a cheap cotton saree, chocolate brown in color with a light film of dust on it (no doubt a result of the 9:05 and the passing traffic). Her hair seemed to tied up nicely, though some stray strands were blowing in the wind. The head was loosely covered with the pallu of her saree.

All this I had noticed in the instant that I first became aware of her presence. Its funny how sometimes you become aware of the minutest of details in the shortest of times without even trying to notice anything in detail.

But a second glance told me that she was crying. I could hear the faint sniffles.

I let my mind wander in the romantic fantasy of what her story must be.

Maybe her husband has left her. He must be the drunken, beating kinds. Nowadays, the slums are full of such scum. Why the government doesn't do anything about it, is something I've never understood.

Or maybe she is fresh from her village, came here to the big bad city looking for work or maybe a lost relative, perhaps, and last night she was raped by some miscreants. You keep reading such stories. In fact, just yesterday I had read that a woman was raped on the railway platform by two policemen. No, that couldn't be it. She didn't look as she had been raped. Well, I'd never seen a victimised woman before, but whatever perceptions/images I had from my exposure to movies, tv and other media, she didn't quite match up to it. So, I let this thought out. I was ashamed also for the slight tingle that this thought had given me, and asked Sai for his forgiveness.

I decided to go up to her and ask her. I still had a few minutes before my bus came, and it did seem it was going to be late. I hate it when that happens. Screws up my entire routine. I would be late to office and have to face that perennially scowling face of Mr.Sharma, our GM, who was always looking for a reason to chew us out. Being late was top on his list and I could just imagine him rubbing his hands in glee at the thought of having me for breakfast today.He'd probably use the leftovers of me for lunch and dinner as well !!

"Behn ji...aap theek toh hai?" I asked in my english medium, convent school accented english.

As I asked, I made sure that there was a foot and a half distance between me and her. Didn't want my creased and clean trousers to in any way get soiled by her touch or just by being in the same space as her. I guess the class system though gone on paper, still ruled somewhere within me.

She kept sniffling. No reply.

"Behnji...." I prompted again, mentally prepared to back off this time and not ask again. I mean come on I had done my 'concerned citizen' and 'good samaritan' thing for the day. Can't expect me to force help on someone who is not willing to take it, can I?

"Hum bole rahi, hamaar saath aisen mat karo...kono bipad hui jaiye...par oo to sunen hi nai..." she started speaking in a higher pitch than I had expected. Plus her language, earthern hindi, was not really what my english educated ears were accustomed to hear. I used to pride myself on my flawless British English pronunciation and usage. Friends used to pull my leg on the fact that despite being an Indian, and that too one who couldn't afford to travel except by bus, I had the airs and the voice of a pucca British Sahib of yesteryears.

She didn't raise her head. But kept talking. Her hindi is difficult for me to even repeat, but here's her story in my words.

II

I was born of a poor farmer family in village Pausi, District Farukhabad, Western UP. Brought up like any other girl, along with my four sisters and two brothers, I was used to the hard work and humiliation that comes from being a woman. I did everything my mother asked me to, ate what was offered to me from what was available and I never complained. So when they married me off to a man from the village, who worked in "dilli shaher", at a tender age of 15,(he was 28 then) I didn't object. And in any case, women did not object to their marriages. It was the parent's prerogative and more often than not a burden which the sooner its rid of the better it is.

Anyways, I came to the city. He was supposedly a helper in one of the many export factories in the city and did odd jobs in the factory. He would often work late, come home drunk and beat me up and then take me harshly on the floor, and then leave me to clean up. That was my life. To care for him, cook for him, and lie down with my legs spread for him to come and satisfy himself. I had never complained and I didn't complain now. That's what was the fate of a woman, and thats what I had been told.

Protection wasn't something we used, so within 3 months of my marriage I was carrying his seed in me, our son. He was very happy and distributed sweets in the neighbourhood. He was nice and loving when not drunk, but such times were becoming increasingly rare. Anyways, our routine of drunken beatings and consentual rape continued well into my 7th month, when finally my neighbour, a woman whose grey hairs and 7 children and 13 grandchildren, boasted of the life she'd seen, advised me to move to my mother's or the child would be at risk.

She convinced my husband also, and he went to leave me back in the village. Time went by, I had a daughter, came back to the city and life continued as before. The only difference was that now I had another reason to accept it - Hira, my daughter.

She grew up fast. Girls normally do. In the meanwhile, we had 2 more children - a daughter and a son. I knew what would happen once the son came, and wasn't wrong. The daughters began to be treated as daughters are, and the son became the apple of his eye. He would take him out for melas, buy him toys etc. I would keep my daughters engaged in studies and work. I was proud of the way Hira was growing up to be a nice looking girl, and she was intelligent also. Always coming first in the school in our area run by some NGO. She was now 15. Just the age when I had got married. Soon, I'd have to start looking for a suitable boy for her. She was like me. No complaints ever. Not about her brothers, not about her clothes, not about how her father would look down upon her and her younger sister, not about having to study and do the household work. No complaints.

Then, I got a message from my village that my mother was unwell, and would not last very long. Now, we daughters, especially married ones, have a very close tie to our mothers. Maybe because we truly understand what their lives are, since ours are no different.

Well, with not a moment to spare, I packed my bags. Picked up Jyoti and Shyam, and leaving Hira behind to care for her father (she also had her final exams coming), I went to the village. Where after a week or so my mother moved on to peace, and I stayed on another couple of weeks to settle things in. I left Jyoti and Shyam with my father, and came back to the city, with plans of going back after Hira's exams with my husband and then coming back together.

It was late evening by the time I reached the city. The sun had gone beyond the horizon and the light was fast fading. It was a sunday, so I knew my husband would be home. Drunk as usual. Hira would probably be outside with her friends, playing.

I noticed Hira was not outside. I smiled. Maybe she is cooking for her father, since I'm not there, and that's why mustn't have been playing.

As I came close to my hut, I got this feeling that something was amiss. I couldn't hear any sound and there was no fire visible inside.

I slowly raised the old rag on the doorway, which was the only thing that kept us from the prying eyes of the young, mischevious boys around. Nothing could've prepared me for what I saw.

I could see my daughters legs and there was someone on top of her. There was a bottle lying turned and broken glass on the side.

I screamed.

He turned. And for a minute I turned to stone.

He was my husband, astride my daughter. I could see my daughter's face. It was expressionless. Her cheeks were wet with the uncried tears. Her eyes blank with shame, and resignation. Her body limp as a corpse. Unresponsive. Cold.

And there on top of him with his manhood inside her was my husband. Her father.The moment of being stone had passed. The next I remember is sitting with a broken bottle in my hand, staring at emptiness. My daughter in one corner, now covered in her clothes looking at me. Somewhere, between the two of us lay the body of someone who used to be my husband and her father. Dead. I dropped the bottle and ran out. Dishevelled. My hands wet with his blood mixing into mine where the broken glass had cut them. I ran. I dont know how long. Or where. I just ran, till I couldn't run any more. And then I stopped. I sat down, squatting, with my head resting on my elbows. Trying to make sense of it all.

III

"Nehru Place, Nehru Place" the voice of the conductor prospecting customers much in the same way as a pimp would.

It broke me of my reverie. The 9:15 had been delayed. Somehow providence wanted me to hear this story. It was the 9:15 coming 10 minutes late. Not much. If I caught it, I could still make it to the office on time and avoid that look in Mr.Sharma's eyes. What about her? Now, I could see that between her fingers was the red, dry caked blood...no doubt of her husbands.

Wonder what happened to her daughter? I suppose she would've killed herself also?

I wasn't sure what I should do. The cops would catch her sooner or later. She didn't look like she'd resist or try to hide. In fact, it was more likely she'd be dead too by the time the cops got to her. Maybe I should hand her over to the police; after all she had committed a murder. Or maybe just help her get to her village, meet her children, say the final goodbyes. But that would mean taking the day off. Sharma would screw my happiness for the whole year. He doesn't like it when people go a-w-o-l, and he makes his displeasure known in not very subtle ways.

"Nehru Place, Nehru Place...chalna hai sa'ab??" the conductor hollered, not willing to lose out on even one customer if he could help it.

He didn't.

Alone

2006-02-27T01:56:00.000+05:30

I really wonder how many of us actually know the difference between being alone and being lonely.............most of us equate one with the other..

I did too...but recently I have...due to twists of fate..been forced to find out the difference...

Loneliness is when despite having everybody - parents, friends, relatives - you long for someone more...just to complete the picture....

Whereas, being alone is when despite having everybody - parents, friends, relatives..and yes, sometimes even that someone special, you get a feeling that there is no one there..no one with u....

when you walk....you dont feel that security of having your 'own' people with you...in fact even your own shadow seems to be distant to you....as if its there, but not there...

when even though you laugh with friends, the laugh is somehow not complete, not true...
and when you cry...the tears flow..but dont seem real...

every touch, every moment just drives you further away from yourself...so far, that when you turn to look back..........you cant see urself...let alone anyone else...

its like waking up one morning to find that you are in a new city, with no money, not knowing where you are, in a land that speaks a foriegn language..and no one understands you...and you cannot even if you try get in touch with your family or friends...simply because there is no way.........

.........that is being alone. not lonely........... ALONE.

Have you ever been alone?????

News Flash : 'Freak weather' stumps Met deptt - TOI Feb17th

2006-02-11T13:36:00.000+05:30

What can one say ?!!!

We have a meteorological department. We have the satellites. We have the expensive equipments, the sensors - the works!! and yet? Yet the response of the met department to the all engulfing fog in western delhi is "It was a bit unexpected"..

"Unexpected?" Hello?!! What are you there for? What is the purpose of setting up the department? Advance information about weather changes..at least 24 hrs advance.

One thing about nature is that nothing is sudden, nothing happens in an instant..there are always indicators, signs about coming events..at least the natural ones...which is what the met department works on...doesn't happen immediately!!

Wake up or close shop !!!

5th February 2006 - Turning 32

2006-02-06T02:08:00.000+05:30

Today...well, actually yesterday (since its past midnight) .. was my 32nd birthday...

The first birthday I did not share with my college gang...despite being in Delhi..and despite being in touch with them...

It was the most intimate affair..with only my "Chaddhi" buddies - Rajan, Rohit, Sushil and Vineet - actually only Sushil & Vineet qualify as Chaddhi buddies - having known each other now for a good 24 yrs....Its after a long long time that the three of us are together in Delhi on my birthday...with Vineet in Dubai and I in Dhaka for the last 4 years, we seldom got together in Delhi at the same time...

Next year is the silver anniversary of our friendship..and we have resolved that no matter where we are we shall be together in Feb..on a date to be mutually decided.

Rajan and Rohit are more of the short-pant or "nekkar" buddies..having known them now for about 15 yrs ...since college.

The gang was supplemented by Reena (Sushil's sister), Rinku (Roheit's wife) and Sonia (Rajan's wife)...

The highlight of the evening was Rohit's very cute daughter - Hiya - all of 3 mths now...and bright eyed as the morning rabit :D

The evening was eventful to say the least with the guest of honor - myself - waiting for a good 1 hour in front of the restaurant for the party to arrive !!...

Birthdays are strange affairs....you have to wait for all the guests to come, cater to everyone's whims for what they want to eat, pay a humongous amount for the bill, cut a cake only to have it splattered all over your face...in my case, I was made a virtual clown with a cherry nose and pineapple slice beard and a ghost-white whipped cream face !! ....and then have your butt kicked by all your friends....their grudges for the last one year translated into harder and harder kicks on the butt (in my case, I escaped this...being well, healthy, has its advantages !!)....

....but despite all this, at the end of the day you still feel nice :D ....how cornier can this get !! Being grateful and feeling nice for having your butt kicked !!...lol

Well, the day came and went..increasing the age counter by another year....

The wonder that's life, The wonder that's me

2005-12-07T20:07:00.000+05:30

As the flower opens I see
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

New leaf replacing the old I see
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

The morning sun on top of the tree
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

The sun that's bright, the air that's free
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

If I wasn't here, where I'd be
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

When I look at him
The baby smiles right back at me
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

As he grows up, I unfold in thee
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me

From despair, hope grabs at me
The wonder that's life
The wonder that's me.

(c) Asheeth Manu

Chehra...

2005-11-26T23:16:00.000+05:30

Aaj subah apne chehre to aaine mein dekha
Pehli baar nahi
Phir bhi alag sa laga
Kisi kone se Zindagi ke hadsaat
Lakeerein ban ke
Mathe pe mere
Shikan ban ke
Jaise mujhko
Mere maazi ki yaad dila rahe the
Woh syah balon mein se
Zindagi ki dhoop mein jale hue
Kuch lamhe
Apni mojudgi bayaan kar rahe the
Meri zindagi ke ache bure sab lamhe
Jaise kisi qitab mein likhe aksharon ki tarah
Mere chehre pe jhalak rahe the
Main padne ki koshish kar raha tha
Kya aaj jaisa mera chehra hai
Kal bhi waisa hi hoga?
Ya phir aane waale hadson ko likhti huyi lakeeron se
Yeh roz badlegaItne saalon se roz dekh raha hoon is chehre ko
Phir bhi kabhi iski ghehrayon mein
Nahin dekhaLekin khushi aur gham
Mere chehre pe ek si kyon hain
Lakeerein to hai par alag to nahin
Shayad jo baat main ab tak na samajh saka
Woh mere chehre pe hi hai
Gham mein khusi
Aur khushi main gham hai
Shayad yeh chehra mujhse kuch kehna chah raha hai
Yeh ankhen meri
Udaas hain
Khush hain
Naraz hain...
Pata nahin..
Kyonki aaj yeh khamosh hai
Shayad inhone kisi ke jaate kadmon ko dekha hai
Ankhon ke neeche
Bahe unbahe aansuon ki lakerien
Galon pe jawaani ke haadsaaton ke nishan
Hoton pe jawani ki tishnagi ke nishan
Yaad dilate hain beete huye palon ki....
Guzre kal ki
Par is chehre mein aane wale kal ke liye
Koi intezaar kyon nahin hai?
Aaj maine apna chehra pada
Kyonki aaj mera chehra padne wala aur koi nahin hai
Zindagi ke safar ka humsafar nahin hai
Aankhen hain par palak nahin hai
Honth hai par pyaas nahin hai
Aaj woh mere paas nahin hai
Aaj woh mere paas nahin hai

Zindagi sawal karti hai

2005-11-26T23:13:00.000+05:30

Zindagi meri mujhse kayi sawaal karti hai
Guzre huye haadson ka hisaab karti hai

Dekhe undekhe khwaabon ki masoom khwaahishon ko
Haqeeqat ke baazar mein nilaam karti hai

Dil ki baat bata kar to dekho....

2005-11-11T18:21:00.000+05:30

Dil ki baat bata ke to dekho .... (Inspired by the Airtel Ad)

Duniya mein gham bahut hain
Kisi ke chehre pe khushi la ke to dekho

Chalte Chalte raahon mein bichad jaate hain humsafar
Kisi bichde ko apna bana kar to dekho

Rozmarra ke shor mein gum gayi hain dil ki aawaaz
Koi tarana gunguna ke to dekho

Aa jaayega rutha hua meet bhi
Ek baar mana ke to dekho

Kaanton mein ulajh rahi hai yeh zindagi
Tum koi phool khila ke to dekho

Hamesha nahin rahegi kismat tumse ruthi
Tum kismat aazma ke to dekho

Aa jaayengi manzilen paas tumhare
Tum ek kadam utha ke to dekho

Dil ki baat bata ke to dekho.....

(c) Asheeth Manu
11 November 2005, 1820 hrs

Rishtey

2005-11-02T23:48:00.000+05:30

Rishton ke jangalon se guzarta ek tanha rahi
Ankahe, ansune hadson se ghabraya
Milta hoon bhinn rishton se - prem, kaam, krodh, tyaag, vireh..
Phir bhi kabhi aane wale rishte ko pehchaan nahin paata

Is jangal mein kab main kahan kho jaunga
Mujhe nahin maloom
Bas chal raha hoon kisi aisi manzil ki talaash mein
Jis rishte ko na main jaanta hoon
Na pehchaanta hoon
Phir bhi......

Sochta hoon kisi ko kabhi is jangal mein
Woh mila hai jo woh khoj raha hain...
Ya phir sab bas yunhi chal rahe hain
Ummeed pe ki hai yaheen kahin
Milega kabhi na kabhi

Kya yeh meri kami hai ki itne saalon se
Rishton ke saayon peeche bhagta main
Ab thak sa gaya hoon
Ya phir rishte woh mrig-trishna hain
Jisko dhoondte hue khatam ho jaana
Insaan ki kismat hain?

Kyon jo main chahta hoon
Main nahin paa sakta?
Rishton ke is bhanvar mein
Yuhi dafn hota main
Ek tinke ka sahaara chahta hoon
Jo nahin milta..

(c) Asheeth Manu
November 2, 2005 2350 hrs

Raha hoga....

2005-11-02T23:33:00.000+05:30

Samay ki chatakti shaakh se koi lamha gira hoga
Shayad kisi ne palkon mein koi moti pira hoga

Nahin chal rahe saath magar aaj bhi raaste ke pathar yeh bayan karte hain
Kabhi yeh hamara raasta raha hoga

Yeh soch soch ke duniya rashq karti hain humse
Tu chand lamha sahi, hamaara humsafar raha hoga

Hanste chehre ki lakeeren batati hain hamen
Kitna mayoos kabhi yeh chehra raha hoga

Zamane bhar ke gham hum samet le phir bhi
Tere gham ke liye daman yeh hazir raha hoga

Aaj hum hain akele woh nahin hain paas
Shikayat toh hai magar, dosh hamaara hi kuch raha hoga

Fisalti jaa rahi hain haathon se ret si yeh zindagi
Sochte hain kya haq ispe kabhi hamaara raha hoga

Jab socha tune kisi aur ke ho gaye hain hum
Dil yeh phir bhi tera hi raha hoga

Kahen kya kisse ab apna hale dil kaho
Ajnabi se aaj sab hai, kaun razdaar raha hoga

Mat dhoond sahaara un shaakhon ka pakhi
Kal jin shaakhon pe basera tera raha hoga

Jhukti palkon ke isharon ko samajh na sake
Hamari zindagi ka raaz unme raha hoga

Aaj dil ka hain haal is tarah se kuch
Masjid-e-viraan mein khuda koi raha hoga

(c) Asheeth Manu
November 2,2005 2330 hrs

Zindagi

2005-10-15T01:28:00.000+05:30

Haalaat se ghayal sisakti yeh zindagi
Dekho dum tod rahi hai yeh zindagi

Chalti rahon mein nahin koi jo utha le use
Apne kafan mein hain khud ko lapete yeh zindagi

Har saans leti thi kabhi jiska naam
Aaj hai akeli, akeli yeh zindagi

Kaise dilaasa degi mujhko yeh zindagi
Khud ghoomti hain ghabrayi, kaanpti yeh zindagi

Aaj ghont rahi hain apna gala apne hi haath se
Ki apni hi zindagi se pareshaan hai yeh zindagi

(c) Asheeth Manu

Gangadhar Chaturvedi

2005-10-14T21:22:00.000+05:30

Pandit Gangadhar Chaturvedi. 45 yrs old.
Chaturvedi - the master of all 4 vedas. A pandit - not by profession, by birth. But anyone who had known him, would not think of calling him by any other salutation. Not even his friends, his peers, even his seniors. He was a pandit not of the 4 vedas, but of the science of numbers - mathematics. No one knew or even cared to remember how many degrees he had, how many universities around the world had felicitated him, how many students across the world had benefited from his books, articles, lectures. Budding mathematicians literally worshipped the ground he walked on, peers respected his opinion as the final word, seniors came to him for advise. And his genial, kind and caring personality, his immense humility, his extreme love for his wife and life partner (she had been his student once, but was 15 years younger to him.She, like the others, revered him next only to God)was the stuff that legends are based on.

Gangadhar Chaturvedi. 45 yrs old.
Murderer. Wife-killer. Animal. Mad. Crazy. Prisoner number 314.

The blood fell slowly drop by drop from his wrist. Each falling drop brought him pain as part of life left him. It was not easy to get that half razor - rusted, used on countless cheeks, legs and what nots before it reached him. It had cost him one week with the night guard, Damodaran. He had known only Damodaran can get him what he needs without asking questions. He also knew what the price would be. He had difficulty bending for the last one week. But then Gangadhar was no stranger to pain. He wanted it. He demanded it. He looked for it. And knew where to find it. He had been enduring pain for the last 4 months in prison.

He had known his crime and the punishment he would get. To hang till death. Till death do us part. Ironical. The former gave him death. The latter life. Yet what else could the courts give him. He knew it as he stood over the bodies of his wife and his best friend. Just as sure as he was of his decision to kill them, as sure he was of his own guilt two minutes later when life had ebbed out of them.

But the Pandit, for all his knowledge, saw what he thought others couldnt see. And when he came home early and saw his wife in best and only friend's arms, he could not control himself. Helping himself to the axe out in the courtyard, he finished their lives even before they could say anything. Only when they fell did he see the tilak and the string on Satyavan's hand.

He could've killed himself that day itself, but that would've been too easy. Too quick. He knew the courts would sentence him to death - too easy, too painless.

He bribed the investigating officer, the public prosecutor, the defence prosecutor, the judge to let him stay in the prison for 4 months, that he should be sentenced to hang but only after 4 months.

All were baffled. But then who refuses a 2-bedroom flat, and 10 lakhs a piece for such a request. Wouldnt be any use to him anyways - no relations, near or far.

Within 2 days of entering the prison, Gangadhar, started to get involved in each and every fight with each and every ruthless criminal locked up there. The prison guards were paid off not to take any action against these criminals. Gangadhar paid them. He also paid them not to interfere. He would pick a fight and let them beat him till only a little life was left. He passed 4 months like this.

Then the final bribe - a week with Damodar - was cheesecake for Gangadhar. But he wanted his body to be defiled, used, abused in every way possible.

As the blood dripped, his life moved closer to its eternal twin death. His finger dipped in his own blood, wrote his last words on a piece of paper brought by his last leftover money.

The next morning, the warden came in with the priest to prepare the criminal # 314 for hanging. Today was the day the court decided this animal should die.

The door to the cell opened and there lay Gangadhar, in his own blood, smiling. Close to him lay white paper with his last words in his own blood - "Pandit Gangadhar Chaturvedi, Mathematician par compare, who could not put 2 and 2 together"

Tanhaiyan meri........

2005-10-14T02:08:00.000+05:30

Mujhko peeche se pukarti hain tanhaiyan meri
Jahan bhi jaun dhoond leti hain tanhaiyan meri

Ab nahin samajhta main akela khudko
Mere saath hain tanhaiyan meri

Dost milte hain, choot jaate hain
Rehguzar mein patthar bhhi badal jaate hain
Logon ko dosh kya dein hum
Yaahan toh mausam bhi badal jaate hain
Jab bhi mayoos ho jaata hoon in badalte rishton se
Dilaasa deti hain mujhko wohi tanhaiyan meri

Samne botal hain, jaam hain, par habib nahin
Do ghoont bhi pi lengi tanyaiyan meri

Jab bhi girta hoon ladkhada ke kabhi
Sambhal leti hain mujhko tanhaiyan meri

Kya ummeed rakhoon apne mehboob se waapsi ki koi
Ab to mayoos ho gayi hain tanhaiyan meri

Woh kehte hain ki ab woh mere ho nahi sakte
Kyonki mujhko unse bhi pyaari hain tanhaiyan meri

(c) Asheeth Manu

Main Sochta hoon

2005-10-13T23:56:00.000+05:30

Jab bhi kisi footpath pe sote aadmi ko dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab akhbar mein kisi abla ki asmat ke lutne ki khabar padta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi shahar ya gaon mein koi "bhagwan ki leela" ke sar chad jaata hain
Main sochta hoon

Jab koi aadmi apna baccha bechta hain
Main sochta hoon

Jab koi maa apne bache ko doodh pilane ke liye apna jism bechti hain
Main sochta hoon

Jab sadak pe kisi be-zubaan jaanwar ki laash dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi nabalig ladki ko kisi vridh aadmi ke saath byata dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab ek chote se bacche ko bheekh maang ke apne andhe baap ko roti khilata dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi rote hue bacche ke muh pe hasi dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi budhi aankhon apne bacchon ke liye pyaas dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi phool ko kisi ke pav tale rondta dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab kisi kali to khilne se pehle tootta dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab mandir mein ander baithe pujaari ko khaata, aur bahar baithe bikhariyon ki bhooki aankhen dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon

Jab subaah khud ko sheeshe mein dekhta hoon
Main sochta hoon.........

My Daughter & I - growing old

2005-10-13T23:53:00.001+05:30

When she was young, I was so tall
Now she's older, I am small
I try to look for a reason that I can't see
Maybe she feels she's now wiser than me

She would hold my hand when she walked
Hug me in fear of unknown ghosts that stalked
Now, I hold her hand as we cross the street
She walks fast, I shuffle my feet

She would look upto me, and say
You are who I want to be and I hope I may
Now she looks at me like I'm but a broken mould
A look in her eyes tell me, I'm old

Wanderer's Guide to Delhi Night Life - Part 1

2005-10-08T13:45:00.000+05:30

Hi Everybody,
I am starting a new series of posts on my experiences and opinions of various restaurants, bars, nightclubs, discos, restro-bars and all those places that are open into the night.

These opinions are purely from a discerning customer's point of view and often will focus on the small things thats these places have cared for or left neglected. Also, though an attempt is made to keep the opinions moderate,and if any comments are deemed offensive, the reader is advised that these are personal comments. For any reader who has reservations against this, I strongly recommend not to continue.

Thanks.

******************************************************************

The first in this series is -
MIST
The Park
15 Parliament Street
New Delhi 110 001
Tel/Fax: 23743000
Email: mist@parkhotels.com
Website: www.theparkhotels.com

Here's how the hotel describes MIST :
"thin crust wood fired pizzas with innovative toppings
a great selection of sandwiches in freeform (??) breads
traditional and contemporary pastas and risottos
the city's most extensive wine list from around the world
fun cocktails and healthy rejuvenating concoctions
mouthwatering deserts for the sinful and for the calorie conscious

food so good you'll be misty-eyed (??) at the thought of leaving...."

"food so good you'll be misty-eyed at the thought of leaving...." !! who writes that crap..and well, who approved it is what I'd like to know.

Anyways, this is how they choose to describe themselves.Here is my experience...

The hotel has revamped its entire facade from the old, boring butch stone traditional building (which was much in vogue when it was put up) to an ultra modern look.

The first impression of the lobby is very nice and its like stepping into a futuristic lounge seeped in the past (doesn't make sense? well, visit the place and you will understand !!)

The bead curtains give more of the appearance of a gentle cascading waterfall than a mist..but I guess that is open to interpretation.The first impression of the restro-bar is good. The furniture and the setting is stylish and the high ceilings add to the spacey look. The decor is similar to what I would imagine a space-age arabic harem would look like - the oval carved out lighting on the ceiling gives an ultra modern look while the bead curtains provide a harem-kind arabic appeal.

The food is good - I would recommend the tandoori platter. Also the deserts are scrumptious. We did not order any wine so can't comment on their claim of "the city's most extensive wine list"..

The service is very poor. We got our first course after a painful delay of almost an hour in which we managed to finish off the complimentary bread basket provided.

The water provided, though they claimed was filtered, tasted as if it had been directly taken from the municipal tap. So ordering a bottle of mineral water is strongly recommended. Also, it seems that the attendant hosts forget that mineral water has been ordered, since when asked to re-fill the water glass, the attendant promptly filled it up with the same municipal-filtered water and had to be asked to change the glasses again !!

The seating is comfortable for lounging but not for dining and in fact, after about 10-15 minutes of dining the lower back kind of starts to scream 'pain' !! There is an obvious mismatch in the levels of table and the seating arrangement, especially the single seats.Tastefully designed the seats may be aesthetically nice and comfortable while lounging are painful to dine in. The table itself could have been a double layered one, which would have gone with the general decor of the restaurant and would have enhanced the dining pleasure.The sofa seats are very wide, and again are more appropriate for lounging and having a relaxed drink and conversation rather than dining. It almost seems as if the MIST is trying to discourage people from dining.

The single seats are poorly maintained with the light blue ground of the seat covers almost turning black on the armrests. One does expect The Park to have sufficient housekeeping staff and personnel and equipment to keep the seats clean. Not only does this leave poor impression on the customer, it is definitely not hygienic !!

The restrooms are the best way to judge a hotel, a house or an office. What attention is paid to the restroom shows the managements attention to details.

The restrooms have obviously been renovated in keeping with the renovation that the entire hotel has undergone. However, the lack of a proper place/bin for the disposal of the paper towels and tissues in beyond my understanding. The first thing that hits the eye when one enters the restroom (I used the men's room-obviously- so cannot comment on the ladies' restroom, but I would not expect it to be very different !!) is the sight of two troughs/basins kept under the wash sink which have the tissues/paper towels piled up in an untidy mess.Again, not only does it spoil the entire visual experience of the rest room it also is very very unhygienic.

All in all an average dining out experience. In fact, I would rate it below average, since for me the attention to minor details (or so they would call it) is very important.

Good food cannot alone make up for the lack of prompt service, unclean and uncomfortable seats, and an unhygienic restroom. This speaks volumes about the management of the hotel as it seems that these are not a priority for them.

If I were to give points out of 10, they would be -
Ambience and Decor - 7
Maintenance - 3
Hygiene - 3
Service (Promptness) - 3
Service (Courteousness of staff) - 8
Food quality - 6
Seating comfort - 4
Value for money - 5
Size of portion served - 6
Total = 45/90

I certainly wasn't "misty eyed" at the thought of leaving...but I just might get "misty eyed" at the thought of returning !!!

Till the next review, this is the WANDERER signing off :)

Cheers

Khaakh

2005-10-06T18:14:00.000+05:30

Humko jalaya apne, raakh ho gaye hum
Is ishq ki raah mein fana ho gaye hum

Chaha to tha ki rahe-e-zindagi ke humsafar honge
Magar aapki rah ki khaakh ho gaye hum

Mana tha jisko zindage hain aaj woh nahin...
Chaha tha jiska saath hain aaj woh nahin

Kaise tumhe batayen apni zindagi ka haal
Jo roj mar rahi hai, woh zindagi hain hum

Na Soch

2005-10-06T18:10:00.000+05:30

Dost hoon tera qatil to nahin
Dekh ke khoon tera main sihar jaunga
Duniya ke bandhanon se bandha hoon phir bhi
Jab bulayega tere paas chala aunga

Zakhm dene ka hai mujhpe to ilzaam suno
Dil pe maine bhi zakhm kayi khaye hain
Tumhare zakm to ab samne aaye hain
Humne to zakhm hamesha hi chupaye hain

Sil bhi loge agar tum zakhm-e-dil magar
Tumko hum na bhool payenge
Jab bhi khologe maye ki botal
Hamare zakhm phir se khul jayenge

Taakte hain tumhe hum, rokte nahin lekin
Kyon takte hain tum na samjhoge
Karte ho ishq mein zakhmon ka hisab
Ishq ki parwangi kya samjhoge

Benaam Afsana...

2005-10-03T11:33:00.000+05:30

Kehte hain tanha basar zindgani-e-safar nahin hota
Magar sach hain ki har humraah humsafar nahin hota

Kehne ko toh bahut kuch hain magar
Lafzon mein bayan dard-e-jigar nahin hota

Aise qatil nazron se na dekh mujhe e-husn
Ab is dil pe teri nighahon ka asar nahin hota

Chalne ko chalte hain saath hazaroon magar
Jab bhi gire hain uthane ko koi magar nahin hota

Na sahi meri dosti ka yakeen ho tumko
Yaad rahe har uthane wala haath, sahaara nahin hota

Humko kehte ho hum galat, theek galat hi sahi
Lekin har sahi insaan, sahi nahin hota

Mat uthar dekh koi nahin jo aake tham le tujhe
Insaano ki bheed mein har koi maseeh nahin hota

Hain yeh banda khuda ka yeh to theek hain lekin
Har bande mein hazir khuda nahin hota

Na do har baat par mujhe khuda ki tauba
Gar insaan na hota to khuda nahin hota

Kuch to samjhon hamare jazbe ko
Har jazba chehre se ayan nahin hota

Kahan se laye zindagi ke falsafe aur hum
Humse to yeh zindagi ka safar nahin hota

Delhi's Traffic Woes - Real Solutions

2005-09-03T23:19:00.000+05:30

That Delhi has a traffic problem of Godzilla proportions is not a new thing - especially not for NCRites.The solutions however, have to be multipronged since the problem is like an onion - you peel one skin(problem) and beneath lies another skin(problem).

So, first, lets analyse the problems -

a) we have absolute dearth of parking space, not just in the older areas but also in the newly developed and developing areas of NCR. The areas that are seemingly comfortable at the moment, are soon going to be victims of this plague too...

b) the leading cause of this dearth of parking space and the increasing number of traffic jams (despite a plethora of new flyovers, toll roads, 4-laners etc.) is the high number of new, mostly private, vehicles being added on to the roads every year.

c) the absolute lack of public mass transport systems in Delhi/NCR.

Now lets analyze these in detail...a and b to me are related.first lets examine what are the reasons for high new private vehicular influx into the city roads -

1. easy availability of car loans - earlier buying a four wheeler was a dream for most families, fulfilled typically at about 45 yrs of age by the head of the family and most families - even the so called upper middle class - typically had a single car. Coming to the present - every tom, d...., and harry has a car and typically purchases one at 23-24 yrs of age (if paying the EMIs personally) or at 14-15 if daddy dearest loosens the purse strings. Average cars per household are 1 for the lower middle class, 2 for the middle class, 3-4 for the upper middle class (depending on the number of earning family members) and well, there's no average count for the others.

2. buying bikes/scooters has become even more easier...so well, someone who could afford the latest bicycle in the market now gets a scooter/bike financed.

3. Major factor which has helped this boom is the increase in disposable income of individuals and the lowering of the age bracket for the first pay - thanks to call centres, IT etc. (even when we were in college an earning of 10-15k was unimaginable..and imagine what these youngsters can do with the money !!!)

Now, though it is elementary, I would still like to spell out the connection between this increased number of vehicles and our parking/traffic problems.

DDA in all its planning and foresightedness could never have forseen the boom in the Indian economy, the easy and low interest rate vehicle loans, an increase in the disposable income and the change in the purchase demographics - when it laid down its grand MASTER PLAN.Well to be fair no one else had either. So colonies, markets and parking areas which were designed to accomodate limited number of vehicles suddenly are not sufficient. DDA flats typically have a lot of open space. But thanks mainly due to the enlightened citizens and denizens of delhi who presume that any open space near their house is their personal parking space or lawn...there is hardly any space left. Add to that the fact that while earlier the parking space was designed as sufficient for one car per flat (in the MIGs there isnt even a car park only garages for scooters !!!), now they have to grapple with the possibility and existence of 2-3 cars per flat !!! (imagine !!)

Having stated that..there is one very important reason for this amazing increase in private vehicles. This brings me to problem # c.... lack of effective mass transportation.The metro being touted as the long-awaited messiah for the delhi commuters woes........unfortunately, would only prove to be a short term solution...max 3-5 yrs. Why? cos its a stand alone solution..which will not work.

Now for the solutions (as i said no single stand alone plan would work) as I envisage it -

a) Concentric circles of metro rail having multiple carriages. These circles must expand to cover the entire NCR region in phases.

b) Feeder mono-rail single coaches from key points connecting the concentric circle. But the connections should not be further than 3 km from each other.

c) Phase out all passenger buses to be replaced with environment friendly electronic smaller passenger vehicles connecting the feeder stations.

d) Progressively higher rate of taxation for each successive car. Eg. 1st car - 10%, 2nd car - 30%, 3rd car - 45%, 4th car-55%.. 5 or more than 5 cars a whopping 70% tax. This is for personal vehicles. For commercial or business vehicles it would jump a grade higher - eg, 1-2 cars - 10% and so on.

e) The car can be only purchased by individuals having a valid driving licence, with taxation to be based on the residence address. More than 1 vehicle at an address would invite a higher tax return. Except in cases where the 1st vehicle is older than 15 years, in which case the regn of the 1st vehicle would stand cancelled anyways.

f) The age for a driving licence should be increased to 21 yrs from 18 yrs for all. A license application should include police verification - much like the passport - since its both a proof of identity and residence.

g) All building must, as a pre-requisite to the initial construction and final completion certificate must also have adequate parking space constructed.

h) Going forward no ground floor residential/commercial building should be allowed to be built with the ground floor and compulsory basement (depending on the size of the building and estimated vehicles) parking space.

Blog log: Saturday, 20th August 2005

2005-08-20T13:48:00.000+05:30

Post midnite on friday..so makes it saturday.

Just made my blog...manu's musings.........

purpose - simple : to write what i feel....i am a member of a lot of online groups..but with most there are moderators and conditions as to what i can write....here i just want to put out whoat i feel abt everything...all the things that happen to me in life and that i want to share....

can be mundane, can be interesting, can be frivolous, can be profound...........but they are my thoughts...and this is my blog.......if u dont like it dont read it, if u have a comment - make it.

Film Review : Mangal Pandey

2005-08-20T02:03:00.000+05:30

had to happen....i mean how could i make a blog without writing a review about the movie character whom im resembling nowadays...

well, saw THE movie on sunday and then again on tuesday (once ur through the review ur gonna wonder why i saw it twice !!!!...well as p g wodehouse says in his psmith novels...there are wheels within wheels..lol)

the movie, with all its hype and coming after 4 years and after a masterpiece such as lagaan, was to me...well, a disappointment. its good in parts. aamir as always has done a good job. tom is good too. the songs are out of place and poor in music and recall value. the cinematography is good and so are the dialogues.

the story line is weak, the characters not developed properly and mangal pandey is shown larger than life from the beginning only. whereas his character in lagaan was slowly built and he rose from the crowd to be the hero. mangal here seems to be the hero from the 1st shot.

the songs were totally unnecessary, especially the holi and the street dancer song. they seemed to be there just to enhance the commercial value...but since the music has not done well, i doubt what real benefit it got.

the entire character of heera was uncalled for and so was the sati in tom's life. the whole point of these two characters was to provide a romantic angle to the story which was not required.

coming to the story...initially was good but certain points did not make sense at all -

at the point when mangal and his friends meet the tantia and the emissary from nana saheb, they are in behrampur. the date of the revolt is decided for 30th april. at this point the subedar of the behrampur platoon says that they have been given marching orders to barrackpore and they have to leave the next day. however in the next frame there is this friend of mangal, a fellow sepoy, who is being tortured for a date and says march 30....who gave him that date is unknown.

suddenly also mangals platoon is back in barrackpore..even tho' they were in behrampur earlier..it is also unclear how the rangoon regiment came from burma so easily and so quick.

at some point the story seemed to have lost its continuity....and stopped to make any sense....there were certainly more indian soldiers at the barraccpore regiment than were shown fighting...in fact the platoon that marched to behrampur seemed to have almost 200-300 sepoys..indian sepoys..and that was just a platoon !!!!! not the whole regiment.

easily at the point of the mutiny there must have been at least 1500-2000 indian sepoys...how come mangal singh was not able to call on their strength.

in short, the movie was too melodramatic to be of any value as a historic account....it did not reflect either a 4 year research or aamir khan's signature ..... this is not the kind of film that the indian audience has come to expect of aamir khan.

true, it must have recovered its money..'cos everyone has gone to see it at least once....given the media hype... but its equally true, that it was possible to get a ticket to the movie in current booking on the 3rd day of its release !! and even then half the seats were empty !!!