Till25

Sex, Lies and Videotape

2011-02-05T22:36:00.018+05:30

That evening in Feb 1995, we boys were engrossed in the game of colony cricket, straight after our return from school. As a customary practice, some of us never bothered to change our respective school uniform. Untucked shirt, harsh vocals, body odor due to the smell of sweat, sweaty socks, trapped in shoes all day, some entry-level swear words, usage of some often resulting in harmless brawls, a pencil ultra thin mustache above the upper lip etc flamboyantly depicted the beginning of puberty.

Just when the bowler got ready to bowl, a boy who we knew, arrived from nowhere and rudely interrupted the game. He whispered something into the bowler's ear. The bowler laughed and ran towards the batsman and shared that secret. The embarrassed batsman turned towards me and whispered in my ear. Aghast, I ran towards the wicket keeper. Over the next 10 minutes the secret was revealed to the boys at various fielding positions like deep midwicket, gully, point, extra cover, long-on etc.

That day there was an uproar, excitement, glee, shock, debate and other versatile emotions.

"Is that so? How falsely we have been assuming about it till then".

"Hah, I already knew about it."

Some of the boys built their curiosity, others stuffed a confusion Vs confounded look on their faces. Perhaps, it was also the day when Biology became the most sought subject at school. Over the next few days, we spoke more and more about it. While some boys coyly gesticulated about the subject, a few of them chose to stay silent, possibly for the fear of being branded as 'Dirty'.

As a kid, I remember watching the film Satte Pe Satta sitting amongst a group of elderly people. It was the scene when Amitabh marries Hema Malini in a registrar office after exchanging the garlands. As he gets ready to leave, the officer calls Amitabh aside and shakes hands with him to congratulate again. Next, I see a little packet in Amitabh's hand followed by a squeaky sound. I became curious about that thing.

"What is that Uncle?" I turned around and asked him explicitly.

"It is....it is...errr ...a Chocolate"

My uncle, visibly embarrassed, shooed my perplexity. The rest of the members in that room felt abashed at my extravagant question.

It was the era of Doordarshan when the ads of contraceptives would see the elders, embarrassed and all conservative families trying to take off our attention from the television by asking someone to check the door as if someone had rung the door bell or check if the fan in the other room was not switched off!

"Let's all of us meet up tonight at my place" We a got hell a lot of academic portion to study. Our pre-finals are just a fortnight away"

"You mean, a night out? Combined studies?"- I asked.

"Of course, my people are going out and they'd return only tomorrow."

None of us ever made a serious attempt to study at night. Our history had enough testimonies to prove that every combined study either resulted in talking dirty, argue over Indo-US military power, develop strategy to strengthen our cricket team and gang for fights.

"So, I take it for granted, I will see all you boys at my place tonight". We also have been planning it since long time and now its time."

He said that and it resulted in mischievous smiles among their faces.

"Ah, yes! I spoke to that video parlor man yesterday. He will arrange for that".

I smelt a rat there. It took me a while to realize that tonight it's going to be some real education beyond books.

"Ahem, I don't want to come"- I said petrified of the idea.

"No, you must come and for ninnies like you, we will arrange another room and supply Chaudhary and Phantom comics. You could read all the night, while we have some serious fun".

"But what if we get caught"- I asked feeling uneasy.

"Not a chance! Hey, I hope you know how to connect a VCR". The cables & stuff, man I tell you, the television at my home, its insane!

"Hah! Leave that to me. I can handle any goddamn wires and sockets."

"Enough of your expensive Deboniar and Kamasutra books. We need to witness some real action now". Get those tapes or we will shoot you dead. I paid a fortune to rent that Japanese brand VCR."

"Oh yes, my people will leave home around 9PM. Get the VCR and cassettes to my place only after 9. Understand?

These conversations drooled all of us. We knew something exciting, never before activity was in store tonight. It was beyond those biology lessons, the Doordarshan Liril soap Ad under the waterfall and the sex books that we boys occasionally and secretly circulated amongst ourselves.

5 of us showed up on time at the destination, armed with the Japanese brand electronic item and a few academic books. Only the boy in-charge of cassettes didn't arrive yet.

"Don't make a sound. They will leave in an hours time. Get in quickly and hide the VCR under the bed."

He laid a carpet and we all sat down with our books for a ridiculous depiction of combined studies.

"(a+b)2 = a2+2ab+b2" correct, now would you please expand (a-b)"

We spoke in high pitch at regular intervals either on mathematical formula or geography to convey a bonafide activity!

After we settled down, the song of an Advertisement emanated from the television in the other room.

"Shhh....quiet, listen to that, listen to that".

We listened closely while looking at each other.

"Pyaar hua ekraar hua hai, pyaar se fir kyon darta hai dil".

A song from Rajkapoor's film was then used for a popular contraceptive. There was a wicked smile on all our faces because we now knew exactly what the product was. We chuckled amongst ourselves.

When the AD ended with a punchline being uttered "Sabse Jyada bikne waala condom", a boy in our gang burst-ed laughing loudly. We at once panicked for no reason and forced ourselves to shut our mouth the very next moment.

It was only after we heard a cough from the elderly person in the other room, we felt safe!

"Assole! How difficult is it for you to control that bloody laugh"?

"I will tell you a joke which I heard today at school".

"Pssst...is it non-veg"? - in a very secretive tone.

"oh yeah yeah, it is"?

"Okay okay, but be careful. Not aloud". Let me check the door first".

We formed a huddle.

"Here it goes, "What did Sharmila Tagore say to Tiger Pataudi on their first night"?

We looked at each other and waited for the answer.

"C'mon, say it"

"Well, she said "You are not the opening batsman".

As the room erupted with laughter, the boy who was worried about the noise levels, cautioned us again.

"Shh...shh..quiet...shhh"..shhh

A little later after the elders left home, the boy who was responsible to get the cassettes arrived. Our joy grew no bounds.

I picked up those 4 cassettes & saw the label that read: Enter the Dragon, The Fearless Hyena, Star wars & another Chinese martial arts film! Some of the boys looked at him as if to question, why the heck have you got these?

"Heheheh..that's the secret! THAT film will appear only after 15 minutes. All we must do is press the fast forward button of the VCR once we insert the cassette".

One of the boys connected the VCR to the television after initial struggle. The VCR finally showed signs of its functioning. We cheered and whistled the moment it started playing. The seating arrangement was done in a systematic manner. One of us sat near the entrance door to alert us, if any footstep is heard. One sat near the VCR to manage its controls, and two boys ready to lay the carpet and arrange books to make it a study scene if someone breaks in.

Simply put, these boys served as Emergency Management Team!

Amidst the curious moments watching the video, there were some funny moments too. One of the performer resembled a man of our colony and we rolled on floor laughing. It was even more hilarious, when the video played in fast forward and re winded the action mode.

"I can hear footsteps outside....quick!"

Before I could realize what's happening, the 'Emergency Management Team' got into action. Within minutes, they switched off the Television, hid the VCR, laid out carpet and books, and created a study scene.

"Who's there?"

"It's me. Open up."

The door opened and we saw that one of our boys who showed up late. He too had religiously carried all his text books, model papers and notes. ( Read: lied)

"What took you so long to open the door"?

"Aw Shit! This poop gave us a false alarm."

"What a waste of time! Come in quickly you ass".

We rearranged the scene and were busy once again.

The cassettes had a poor print quality and added to our woes, the television just wouldn't cooperate. Arguably, the boy in-charge of VCR controls was doing the toughest job. He had to ensure fast forward option for unnecessary scenes, regularly manage the 'Tracking' and 'Vertical hold' options to ensure a clear picture quality and stop the video from tilting. In that process, he also copped a lot of friendly flak from the restless group of boys.

I quietly sat in a corner and listened to the entire murmur in that room.

"This is great".

"Why the heck have you skipped that scene?" Rewind it"

"No, I saw it already, move on". Press the fast forward button"

"Yuck"

"This is ridiculous, same scene again. Who the hell got these duplicate cassettes"

"I did, so what? What else can you get at Rs 50 rental?"

" You assole, what did you do with the 'Tracking' option?

"So that's how it is"

"Now I understand why my Biology teacher took separate classes for boys"

"Screwed up picture quality, the previous setting was much better"

"This chick is nice but look at the bald guy. He looks like my school chowkidaar"

"Stop there, play that again"

"See, like I told you the other day during the game of cricket"

These voices in the room finally made it happen!

At the end of 3 hour chaotic session, we boys became MEN.

(Dedicated to my childhood friends. I can't reveal the names of boys for exciting reasons. However, this story is my attempt to illustrate the various activities and emotions which most of the boys go though during their 'coming of age' )

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Cry of a Woman

2010-09-12T18:17:00.005+05:30

"I am afraid. You will have to admit him in the hospital". "It's a case of regular jaundice that occurs among age group 7-10 years, but your son needs a specific medical attention".

I don't remember the reaction of my parents when the doctor mentioned the word hospital. I was perplexed because I found myself to be extremely healthy and was unable to understand the reason for my admission. Despite that, I was excited about the idea of moving away from school and getting admitted into the hospital. Blame it on the age here!

The next day afternoon I found myself in Military hospital of Ramgarh Cantonment. Along with my parents and neighbor aunt, I walked through those old corridors. I noticed a garden with 2 little swings positioned and the thought of swinging excited me. Barring a few people movement here and there, the entire hospital was quiet and that moment again made me question the reason for my admission.

We soon reached a ward room which had around 7 beds. I looked up towards the old roof which accommodated some 5 odd ceiling fans that made a low creaky noise and conveyed their vintage status. It was so quiet all around that I could even hear the slightest whisper in the room. While some beds were empty, the rest were occupied by people who seemed fit and fine. My apprehensions were cleared by late evening, when I realized that the people who looked fit and fine were visitors and they had all gone leaving the actual patients who looked miserable and rightfully bed ridden.

I compared my situation with them and felt really happy. Reason I had my mom with me and she looked like a pillar of strength. However, my happiness was short lived when I learned that she will leave me alone in the hospital and go back home the next day.

Next afternoon as my mother prepared to leave, I cried and ran after her till the garden asking her to stay back. The nurse had to step in and pull me back. I watched my mom go and for a moment I thought that it was the end of the world. I sobbed furiously till the nurse escorted me to my ward. Surprisingly, I found an elderly boy waiting for me near my bed. He was quite tall and had an apple in hand.

" I saw you running towards the garden" Has your mother left?" - He asked

"Yes, she has left"- I replied in a low tone.

Don't worry. We will play together. Do you like apples?- He stretched out his hand to offer me and apple.

I was a little reluctant but the boy's acquaintance compelled me take that apple and the next thing I knew was that I had found a friend at the hospital.

I took the fruit from his hand and started chewing it noisily while the other patients looked as if there is something definitely queer about me.

"I live in the other ward. It's next to the lunch room and very close to the garden"- He explained.

"What disease you have?Why are you here"? I asked him.

He kept mum and it looked as if he didn't want to disclose.

"I will see you again tomorrow. If the nurse finds me missing from my bed, she will scold me"- He scurried.

My next day followed with a series of doctor & nurse visits who conducted assorted checkups.

" When will my mother come?" - I asked the nurse.

"She will come if you take your medicines and food on time"- She replied while examining the thermometer.

"Ok. Time for lunch now. Get up and follow these people who will lead you to the mess room"- She pointed me towards a group of patients who were ready to leave the ward room. It then struck me that I could meet my friend at the lunch room.

I met him in the lunch room. We picked up plates and approached the matron who was serving rotis and a curry. She had worn a white sari with a blue border and had big cat like eyes.

"Meat khaata kya? (Do you eat meat?) she asked me callously.

Her intimidating body language petrified me. I felt as if she'd punish me if I say yes.

"Nahi"- I muttered.

That moment took me back to my 2nd standard science text book which had a lesson on food. The colorful picture of meat and eggs was fresh in my mind. I then turned my plate to the other matron who was serving vegetable curry and she pleased looking at me.

My bonding with the elder boy grew stronger and we enjoyed occasional long walks within the hospital, had fun at the swings, ate lunch and dinner together and yet I was unable to figure out the reason for his admission in the hospital.

One late evening as I was passing through one of the corridors of the hospital, I head a shrill woman cry from a room that located in a corner. I became curious and thought that somebody was getting beaten up for not taking medicines on time or maybe an injection is being given and the pain must be intolerable.

As I neared the room, the groan & moan became louder. I meekly pushed the door to see what's happening inside. I stepped in and tried to look around. There were people in a corner and it looked like a huddle.

"Idhar kya kar raha hai?" chal bhaag yahan se?" (What are you doing here? shoo")- It was a big strong woman who appeared from nowhere and yelled at me. I immediately took my heels. I rushed to my bed and covered myself with the bed-sheet. Clueless about the situation.

Next day, I was delighted to see my mother back and I also had many visitors. One among them was my friend and neighbor Bhupinder Singh who came with his mom and father Col Balwinder Sandhu.

Earlier, I had a spat with Bhupinder when I ridiculed him by calling him a boy with lotus on his head. When it angered him, I added extra agony by saying "shaam ho gaya, ab Kamal khil Jayega". (The lotus will now bloom because its evening.)

He was harmless and a puny Sardar boy who shared with me, the hobby of collecting variety of matchboxes. On afternoons, we boys used to wander around the backyard of various army quarters, to collect matchboxes. The sound/whistle of pressure cooker from homes, conveyed the afternoon lunch being cooked in various homes.

Bhupinder looked very pleased he sat on my bed and flaunted his new collection.

" Yeh dekh Ship" hai tere paas? (Look at this ship matchbox" Do you have it?")
" Aur yeh dekh...Jar, Cheetah Fight, two roses.

His collection made me jealous and I then wanted to get out of the hospital.

While I was being surrounded by visitors and enjoying the attention, I saw my friend from the other ward room standing at the door and waiting for me to join him play. However, having looked at the crowd, he walked away. At that juncture, my mother announced that I will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow.

After the visitors and my parents left, I ran to my friend to tell him the news. He was sitting on his bed a staring at a Hindi comic book in his hand.

" I am leaving tomorrow" - I said

"Oh! That's nice? Has your mother come?- His tone carried a tinge of sadness.

"She will come tomorrow to take me home" By the way, when will you get discharged?- I asked him

"Oh! I really don't know"- He looked dejected.

I decided to leave his ward room and while coming back, I came across that mysterious room again and heard the loud female moan. Afraid of the big woman of that room, I choose to stand out and listen to the cry and wondered why would someone cry so much? All sorts of cries were heard during my 10 minute wait outside the room that night.

Next day morning, my dad and mom came to take me home. While my dad went to the administration section complete my discharge formalities, I dragged my mom towards that mysterious room.

"Maa, this is the room I was telling you about. The doctors inside punish the patients who do not take medicines on time. They give painful injections make the patients cry and groan in pain".- I told her excitedly.

My mother looked up and read the heading of that room. She quietly chuckled.

"Oh yes, they do that to people who do not eat leafy vegetables too"- She warned me.

"And you know what Maa, it's a strange injection they give.- I told her eagerly.

Oh really? what' so strange about that?- She asked me

Well, after sometime, the loud cry of the person will sound as if a little baby is crying"

Jaago Blogger Jaago!

2010-04-18T14:24:00.015+05:30

This article doesn't belongs to an incident from my first 25 years life. However......

I debated long, on what the first few words of my experience should be. And then I knew. Though this is not a fairy tale, I will still make it sound like one.

Once upon a time, though not very long ago, there was, in Hyderabad, a province named Hotel Fortune Select Manohar. Like all kingdoms, it had a service provider called UniverCell who was chosen by the cream of 150 Bloggers from Hyderabad, after UniverCell promised them a fun filled event, a social network gathering of the like minded people, an opportunity to share, narrate, boast, flaunt or project their professional and personal interests through blogs. And very soon, a proclamation was rolled out. It contained the details of the meet, agenda etc.

And it happened! On a hot afternoon, all the bloggers assembled in the province. The ministers who organized the event welcomed the Bloggers and the celebrations had begun. A hilarious ChitraPradarshan (Video) was shown to the bloggers! Later, Each one of those 150 bloggers spoke about their blogging interests that included the whys, hows whens wheres etc.

When it was the turn of a guy named Mastbuddhi to speak( Read: ME) he picked up the mic and told the assembly that he was not nervous to speak in a Public Forum like this, because it was a bloggers forum and not a Matrimonial! This evoked laughter amongst the subjects. He also spoke about his blog, which he likes to pep with lots and lots of Nostalgia, that include stories form the good old days of his life, and also some memorable incidents . He has found a passionate way to tell his stories and he calls it Blogging!

Mastbuddhi also happened to meet many interesting people of his own kingdom, some who maintained as many as 50 blogs and others who blog without any purpose. From Linguistics to Filmmakers, from Students to Geeks, from Fashion Designers to Freelancers, and from Sincere Husbands to retired gentlemen, this forum had it all. What caught the attention of Mastbuddhi was that zeal the bloggers carried out throughout the event. Then , there was this ChaturRaja
(Read: Riyaz) who organized Yakshaprashna (quiz) for his subjects. And those Prashnas were kinda too tough for Mastbuddhi who felt he was gradually losing all his Buddhi.

Finally after a series of discussions, debates, acquaintances, photo shoots and murmurs, the bloggers were presented an attractive T shirt that most of them will, undoubtedly, consider it as a souvenir.

As the event slowly marched its way to closure, All the bloggers hopped from one leg to another and screamed-

" We Blog, Therefore we are"!

And they all continued to Blog Happily ever After!!

The Red Letter Day

2010-02-12T23:08:00.021+05:30

"I am sorry- No letter for you even today"- said Mr Sampath, raising his shoulders to indicate indifference.

"Ah! Are you sure?" I asked in a submissive tone.

"Yes, I just have one for Mr Shah and this telegram for your neighbor, Major Dubey. That's all!" - He said while parking his bicycle in front of a house.

Sampath, my colony postman, was a man in mid forties. On most of the occasions, I spotted a Tilak on his forehead, and on the days when the Tilak was missing, I found him puffing a cigarette while on duty! The Cigarette, the Tilak, his thick glasses, the bundle of letters and bicycle had formed a very interesting character for me.

"How much time does it take for a letter to come from Bombay?"- I asked in an impatient tone.

Sampath spoke very fast and most of the occasions, I could barely comprehend his speech. And this time, he muttered something, which may have meant an approximate turn around time. He then went into a house to deliver a letter.

"What could have possibly gone wrong"- I pondered

I was disappointed, yet again!

It was also the period when the kids of our colony boasted about "The Maggie Club Membership Card". All we needed to do was collect 5 wrappers of Maggie 2 Minute Noodles and send them to a New Delhi address, within a fortnight you'd receive either an indoor game or a wrist band or a Notepad and the like. And by overdoing it, you'd be finally issued a "Maggie Clubber" an attractive membership card. I still remember the name of the Club chairman- Someone by name Doodle Dee.

I grew jealous with some of my close friends who flaunted their membership cards, and conveyed their sense of pride. Very soon, I outnumbered them by managing to secure 3 cards and some special gifts from Doodle Dee. The day I received my first membership card, I tore the envelope right before Sampath, took out the card, and excitedly explained him about the Maggie Club. He was mighty impressed and said he will buy some pack of Maggie Noodles while going home!

Slowly, the Maggie Club rage met its natural death and it reached a stage when most of us didn't knew what to do with the membership cards! And by then, I had already developed a tremendous interest in something else and began working towards it.

It was the most important phase of my life because, I was beginning to receive letters, that were addressed exclusively to my name". And it conveyed a little sense of supremacy, an indication of immature conceitedness and also a tremendous motivation to do more! This was the chief reason for a Postman to become an important aspect of my life.

"I'd be getting 30 Rupees if I manage to get this done" - I told my mother

"Oh Really! That's very good" But are you sure they will accept"- She asked me while looking around my room.

"So far I have sent 4 letters, I am confident at least one of them will work out"- I said ecstatically.

Weeks rolled into months, but I never received any letter from the expected source.

One evening, while I was playing on my friend's terrace, I heard the neighbor's dog barking downstairs. I looked down and saw Sampath, as usual, struggling to deliver a letter, without damaging himself from the Pomeranian breed dog. He always had a problem with that dog and tried to shoo it away. After he succeeded in his mission, I rushed down to meet him.

"Any letters for me"- I asked, panting hard.

" Yes"- he said while the cigarette was still in his mouth.
" Wow, did you give it at my place"- I said this and was gearing up to run.

"Yes, but its from your dad" and I gave that letter to your mother."- He said this at ease without realizing that he just tore my excitement into bits paper!

I used to write letters to my dad, who used to live in some other part of India because of his routine transfers. The letter to my dad contained academic marks, my drawings, about my school life and also the list of things, which I wanted him to get for me( but very reasonable demands!)

I was disappointed yet again. I assumed that Sampath was lying. I got angry and said this to him. He laughed at my innocence.

"Ok, why don't you go through the bundle" - He offered me.

I eagerly groped into that bundle, and found letters from Reader's Digest Magazine, some inland letters, postcards with Gujarati language on them, some ugly Book posts, letters from companies to its Shareholders etc. I never understood it then. But if I were to speak about that today, those letters gave an insight about the kind of people who resided in my colony!

Dejected, I trotted home wards thinking that I'd never get any response from them. I discussed this with a few of my friends who said its not to easy and gave me some kind of dramatic explanations to prove their point home. All they wanted to convey was that its very tough to get a response.

I was feeling low and disappointed. I had spent money on stamps, I boasted that one day, I'd definitely show everyone what I am capable of, I gave false hopes to my mother by telling her that she'd see me earning some 30-50 odd rupees out of this, Back at school, I also managed to get an appreciation from my English teacher, who openly declared me as a benchmark student! All this pompous celebrations, before getting any kind of reply for my letter.

This guilt was killing me and I knew I'd be a laughing stock among my friends and school, if I don't get any response very soon.

One day I was returning home on my bicycle, I had to pass under the Railway bridge. I spotted Sampath in the opposite side. He was through his duty and was leaving for the day. And both of us were waiting for the moving train to pass-by the bridge.

When I was a kid, I thought the reason why people waited for the train to pass-by on the bridge was that they fear that the train might fall down on them. But my growing years taught me that, its not the train, but something that is heavier and deadlier than the train that'd fall on us if we attempt to cross a Railway bridge with a passing train!!

Sampath on the other side, tried to tell me something which I couldn't hear because of the train noise. After the train left, he pedalled his bicycle and asked me to go home quickly. Before I could shout to ask what the matter was, he was already out of ear shot.

I sensed something jubilant! I reached home and was delighted to finally receive that letter! I smelt it first and carefully opened it. I read the contents of the letter slowly and felt as if my legs were in the air! Finally.... Finally, I got a response after a series of attempts!

I read it again and unable to control the excitement, I ran out to show it to my friends and celebrate the victory which I had lost!

(In October 1992, I received a letter from India Book House- Uncle Pai, the editor of the fortnightly magazine called Tinkle. He rejected - my contribution "Shikari Shambu" the story of a fluke Hunter who always manages to win despite his timid personality. Nevertheless, in his letter, UnclePai encouraged me to continue writing more and more stories so that one day it gets published in Tinkle.

I viewed this experience as a defeat for my Personality, but a Victory for my Development. This story is my tribute to it).

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Samosawala

2009-10-30T00:16:00.000+05:30

Small needle on 12 and big needle on 5..
That means, the time is ....

I looked at the wall clock of the classroom and managed to derive ( the multiples of 5 with a limit of 60), the theory helped me understand the clock! The bell rang for lunch and pushed my notebook in my bag and ran through the corridor towards the lush green open ground.

The 1988 was the year when most of the kids of Army school in Ramgrah Cantt, abandoned their tiffin boxes at lunch to relish the most sought snack- Samosa. Made with flour with a delicious aloo curry stuffed in it, this little thing created a sensation among us. The seller was in his 20s, he carried the 25-paise hot samosas in a card board box on his shoulder. His entry at the school gate caused an uproar with kids running behind and around him. His walk along the path of tar road from the gate, surrounded by grass on either sides made him resemble a Santaclaus ready to shower gifts to children. He too perhaps enjoyed the attention.

"Aao bhaiyya..Naashta Karaa Den" - He uttered this standard line in his rich Bihari accent, each time, as he took the box off his shoulders to put it on the ground.

Within minutes, he was surrounded by kids of all shapes & sizes and he briskly carried his activity. Our school peon regularly used to take some samosas for the teachers back in the staff room. His regular visit him a popular figure in the school.

"Hey! Debashish, have you seen the Samosawala"?- I asked him meekly.

"Mujhe nahi pata. Why don't you ask Anindita"- he sniggered.

It so happened one day, I did not do my Maths homework and my teacher made me sit beside Anindita and complete the work. I managed to sit beside her for the entire day, unknowingly impressed her with my drawing skills, and also romantically managed to give her a Samosa at lunch.

Anindita Das- A bubbly Bengali girl with curly hair, had arguably, became my first crush! I decided not to do my homework even tomorrow with a hope of sitting beside her again. I told Debashish and he got angry over my proximity with Anindita. So the next day when I told Miss Chauhan, about my homework, and surprisingly, she sent me out of the classroom!

There were, many days, as usual, when I had no money and used to stand there and simply stare at other kids devouring their favorite snack. One day the Samosawala saw me standing before him with my hands in my knickers. Maybe the look on my face and my helpless body language enticed the Samosawala's emotion. It was also the day before lunch, when our Moral Science teacher told us a story on Greediness. The effect of that story was too much for me.

" Kaa hua bhaiyya?" Idhar Aao"- He called me and wrapped 2 Samosas in a piece of torn Hindi Milap newspaper.

"Nahin..Nahin...Mere paas Paise nahi hain"- I confessed.

He thought for a while and said- " Koi baat nahi, Kal de dena" Kal hum ayenge na". He stretched his hand.

I couldn't believe my eyes, This Samosawala became the first person in my life to offer me a credit facility! I grabbed and greedily ate those 2 samosas in a jiffy. Then I realized that I had to ask 50 paise from my mother. I went home and told my mother how tasty those Samosas were and how madly the kids feasted on them. I also told her about the 50 paise credit which the samosawala gave me. She scolded me and asked me never to indulge in such activity.

However, after listening to my narration about samosas, she expressed her interest and asked me to get 10 samosas for home tomorrow.

I thought about it for a while and with the Moral Science story fresh in my mind, very innocently, I told my mother about what will the Samosawala think about me. He will think that I am greedy for taking 10 Samosas!

My mother laughed and explained me the difference between Business andGreediness. But somehow that explanation did not sink in my head. After a brief discussion, she gave a rupee and asked me to pay the credit and also get home 2 samosas.

The next day I waited for the Samosawala at lunch. He did not show up and I thought he must have perhaps complained my head principal about the 50 paise credit. I grew worried and just when I was about to ponder about the unforeseen consequences, I spotted him coming from the school gate. I waited till the other kids were done with their purchase.

"Yeh lijiye" - I eagerly gave him the 1 rupee coin.

He wrapped 4 pieces of samosas and gave it to me. I thought either he has forgotten about the credit or he has not recognized me.

" Kaa baat hain?" chaar Samose hain, le lo na babua" - He declared.

"Aapko 50 paise dene hain"- yaad hain na Kal?" - I mumbled.

"Inko bhi Khila do" Ee bitiya ko"- He adjusted his shawl and said with a facial expression characterized by turning up the corners of the mouth, to express pleasure.

I turned around. It was Anandita. She had finished her lucnh & was carrying her empty lunch box to the classroom. She saw me speaking to the Samosawala and had quietly stood behind me. I was equally excited and equally worried too. The 2 Samosas were meant to be taken home.

"Chalo hum chalte hain"-he said sighing and got up picked up his oily box. I watched him walk towards the gate. As he reached the gate, he turned around and looked at both of us. Smiling ,he slowly walked out and left. Even today, I have no clue why he wanted me to share that snack with her.

Suddenly, the bell rang to indicate the end of lunch time.

With an utmost confused state of mind, I gave a samosa to Anindita and we stuffed them in our respective mouths and ran. I forgot all about the 50 paise credit.

While running, I saw her struggling to chew and burst out laughing. She joined the laughter. As we gleefully ran past the school drinking water tap area, Debashish, who was filling his Milton water bottle saw us together.

I rushed into the classroom and kept the remaining Samosas in my lunch box and sat in the last bench, alone. With 3 more periods to go for the day including a PT class, I grew restless.

The school was over for the day and I trotted towards my school bus, which was an Army truck. A huge Sardarji , also a soldier, used to lift me up with his large powerful hands and help me get into the truck along with other kids.

I reached home and dropped my bag on the bed and sat in a chair to take off my shoes. My mother took out the lunch box, opened it and walked towards the kitchen. But she immediately turned around. Looking into the lunchbox, she came to me laughing loudly and kissed me.

She then pulled out the leftover very tiny piece of Samosa from the lunch box and fed me!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Con, Guilt and Truth

2009-09-06T20:30:00.008+05:30

The paper plane accidentally hit Miss Malati on her face. The colossal chaos in the classroom ended abruptly. No one had seen her entering the class and no one knew where that plane came from.

"Is this some sort of missile"?- Miss Malati asked picking that paper plane. The class was silent. It was a terrible thing to happen. A paper plane, hitting the senior most teacher, right on her face.

Short, fair skinned and Grey haired woman in her mid 50s, Miss Malati came across as the most rigidly accurate teacher of the school. She taught us English and Social Studies. I was extremely good at Geography- Maps, Countries, Latitudes and Longitudes, Rain forest, I knew it all! And my love towards Geography made me her special student.

Speak up? Who did this? She fumed looking at our faces.

She then stared at Sashi-The bully of the class. Sashi was the most feared guy of the class with his bold stunts like chewing a gum and placing it on the teachers chair, mixing itching powder in a chalk box, sticking nude images on library books and many other notorious activities under his sleeve. The entire class too gave Sashi an accusing look. He enjoyed the attention but gave a "Not me"look. Miss Malati turned to the boys of the first bench. She crushed the paper plane in her palm and displayed her anger. The entire class stood in silence as if attending somebody's funeral.

All of you, get out of the class! She roared like a hungry Lioness. No more classes for you till you do not come forward and confess She looked into our eyes menacingly. Next, our entire 8A section stepped out and assembled outside the class on that sunny morning.

"I know who did that" muttered Ram looking at Sashi. Ram was the class leader and topper.

Hurray! No more classes for today , a jubilant Sashi screamed. A few other boys including me joined the celebration. Little did we realize what actually Miss Malati meant was no more classes till the confessor admits the act. The first day was full of fun. No more classes, we all gossiped, played chits, Word ladder, Book Cricket. The day ended when the final home bell rang and we ran inside to pick our bags and leave for home. It looked like an excursion for us.

Miss Malati entered the class the next day morning.

"I think I told you guys that there will not be anymore classes unless you tell me who did that" She said that and sat in her chair.

One by one all of us again left the classroom and breathed the fresh air outside. The excitement was high and we anticipated second consecutive holiday. In the midst of all this fun, some studious boys actually became worried. Nevertheless, even after the second day we happily went home without a single lecture. Hoping things would be back to normal the next day.

This went on the third day too and then we sensed something very serious. We cannot possibly be having a ball of our lives everyday. A few boys suspected and blamed Shashi for this act. Sashi became furious.

Why the fuck are you guys after me? I am not the one. He said that looking at a group of boys. No one was willing to believe him for that answer he gave.

A little later our Head Principal arrived and spoke to Miss Malati inside the classroom. We were unable to hear their conversation but we realized that we were in deep shit. The Head Principal left after a brief conversation with Miss Malati.

I was busy playing a game that involved us to write the classmates names in reverse. Ram called for an emergency meeting. I suggested that we give an apology letter to Miss Malati. The whole class agreed except Sashi who gave me an intimidating look. Finally, the apology letter was drafted and the next question was " Who will give that letter to Miss Malati? I nominated Shreedhar- the most unacquainted boy of the class. He was someone like the character Pea from Swami and Friends. A puny boy who will do whatever asked to. Shreedhar went into the class with the letter in his hand. We all peeped inside through the window of the classroom.

Miss Malati tore that letter without even reading the content. The next moment we stayed off the window and hid ourselves.

We could hear her shout inside- "I want the culprit to come forward. Don't write cock and bull stories" Understand? Now get out!

Poor Shreedhar came back shaken and stirred. He didn't utter a word after that.

On the fourth day, the matter had become worse. We had already lost 3 days of academic portion. Oh Dear! "Why can't the culprit come out for gods sake? We are heading for a doom! exclaimed Ram, who was beginning to lose his temper. Sashi, who was chewing a gum, laughed loudly at Ram.

Since the culprit was not coming out, I gathered a few classmates and hatched a plan to convince a boy named Jai to go ahead and masquerade as the culprit. I told Jai that Miss Malati would be impressed by his honesty and that would also serve as a lesson for the actual culprit. My intention was to hint Sashi.

After a lot of persuasion, Jai agreed to go. I saw a curious Sashi watching Jai enter the classroom. Jai went ahead and confessed that he was sorry for that paper plane act. Miss Malati out rightly rejected his confession.

You think you are some Satya Harishchandra? eh? Get out and send the actual culprit!

More than Jai, the entire class was amazed at this surprise twist in the tale. By now it was clear that Miss Malati was aware of the culprits identity. Jai came back extremely pleased with himself. It was a victory that he lost!! Like Rajesh Khanna, he gained public sympathy and the boys patted him for his bold attempt.

By now, Ram lost his cool. He looked at Sashi and howledYou Rascal! I know it's all because of you! You are responsible for the shit situation we are in! Ram's anger grew by leaps and bounds.

Oh yeah! It must be you! That's why you are reacting so much. Why the fuck can't you go in and confess? Bloody Class leader! Sashi gave it back.

Next, both of them pounced on one another and socked each other badly. A few boys tried to separate the two. It was a dreaded situation and I stood there, sheepishly looking at the scuffle. I wasn't able to take it anymore.

Please stop both of you! I know who it is. - I intervened and said meekly. I separated both of them.

Sashi and Ram stopped hitting each other but continued to exchange dirty words. The entire class became silent. I glanced at Jai who looked at me with raised eyebrows. I saw Shreedhar who stood between two burly lads of our class. He was petrified at the situation.

I think I know what I must do!- I said and walked into the classroom to meet Miss Malati. Had I turned back to see the reactions of my classmates, I would have written about that too. I went straight to Miss Malati.

Miss Malati was reading a book. The moment she saw me, she took off her spectacles and put that on the table. She looked into my eyes.

I stood before her, stiffly like an Army officer and said:

"I am extremely sorry Ma'am"!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

7 minutes of Fame

2009-08-12T03:38:00.005+05:30

स्कन्दः स्कन्दधरो धुर्यो वरदो वायुवाहनः।
वासुदेवो बृहद्भानुरादिदेवः पुरन्दरः ॥

November 2000
17:15 hrs

For a first few seconds I thought I must have been dreaming. I sat down leaning against the wall at my back. I pondered - "This has happened to many great personalities". I didn't knew how Vasudeva and Devaki felt when King Kamsa ordered his men to do this act. But I certainly knew how Mohanlal reacted in "Saza-E-Kala Pani". Right from my childhood, I have developed this disease of living in a state of filmdom irrespective of the situation.

The cell had a shit smelling foul that I cannot imagine. Or perhaps, I do not want to! The walls were old and dirty. It was pitch dark inside. The only little ventilation came from a shimmering light which passed through a hole of the wall. Far away, there was a toilet which seemed like ankle deep in shit. The awful smell of urinal overflowed. A stinking swamp oozed out of somewhere from the end of that cell. I cursed myself being a human because I had to breathe to survive. My emotions were mixed with a feeling of extreme fear, hatred, guilt, anxious and very very little excitement.

I closed my eyes and switched on the "Rewind" button of my nervous system to recollect what happened half an hour ago.

Our hero constable ordered me to get down from the auto rickshaw and asked me to pay the driver. We had reached the police station named after a powerful Hindu Goddess. I said I do not have any money. He hit me hard on my neck and yakked in Telugu" Paisalu lekunda police station ki vasthava bey?"( Translation: Rascal, How dare you come to Police Station without any money with you?)

While he was bringing me into the Police station, a passing constable asked what the matter was. Our hero exaggerated the incident in such a way as if I was guilty of raping a woman, or murdering someone, or indulging in child abuse and other nefarious crimes. After he finished narrating the incident, this passing cop welcomed me to the police station by smacking me hard on my neck. He did that as if it was his birth right to hit me whenever he wants.

An unknown cop appeared from nowhere and he commanded me to squat. I didn't obey him because I was sure he doesn't know why I was brought here in the first place. We stared at each other in silence. It was a silence which I could smell and taste. It was silence I felt on my skin in that noisy place at the back of my head. He gave his fiercest look and the next moment when I trembled and was about to obey his order, he burst out laughing.

Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they are not alone. He did just that. It was a terrible situation. I felt that these cops would do anything to make me feel ashamed.

Every 20 seconds, I heard fiery hate speeches peppered with choicest of abuses being used by the station staff.

Our hero reached the desk of another bald constable and asked him to write my details. The bald cop was in mid fifties. His hair and head resembled a crescent moon (I addressed him as Aadha Chaand) in my mind) He was busy with another man who was writing a complaint letter for a lost gold chain. Aadha Chaand was in charge of FIR activity. He spoke in a flawless rich old city Hyderabadi Hindi. And I was surprised to see him dictating the letter content ( complaint) in an extremely poor and grammatically incorrect English! By his dictation I realized that the letter was full of canned responses.

During that occasion Aadha Chaand lost his temper on the victim and shouted" Aapko bole tho samajh mein nahi aata kya yaaron? Kab se pukaar roon main idhar. "Jaldi Likho- he dictated again- "I sarching and sarching for my Gold chain, bat it vaaas in Wine." I amazingly understood which word he actually meant. It was the word 'Vain'. How and why does he know that word?

My turn arrived. Our hero cop kept holding my Tee as if I was a small time thug. I him asked to let go my T-shirt and I will not run anywhere. When I sensed that they are about to write an FIR, my heart sank. I thought of my career and my parents for a moment. But Aadha Chaand carelessly took out a dirty plain white paper. I sighed relief.

Poora naam bataao- He asked

"Abhishek Naini"- I said in a low tone.

"Abhishek Naidu"Hmmm.... He muttered and continued to write.

Sir- It's Abhishek Naini, not Naidu - I corrected him timidly.

"Tu apna mooh bandh kar. Aawaaz kiya tho phod dunga." He roared and reacted as if all his children have failed in their final examinations. I shut my mouth and felt its best to leave him alone. He continued to scribble in that paper. Even though the surname which he wrote was close to my ancestry origin, deep in my heart I also felt that its good for me to register with an incorrect name in Police Records.

When he finished writing he spoke to his men as if I wasn't there.
"Isko Khoob maaro. Agli baar gaadi chalaane ka naam nahi lega" Andar Daalo Saale ko. He pointed them to a cell.

"Sir- Please. Don't do this. I didn't do this intentionally". "I had to rush to the Municipal Office to submit my Voters ID application and I didn't see the traffic Signal. Otherwise I always obey it. "Please Sir." Let me go" ( Read: Begged)

I thought me speaking in English would come to my rescue as I'd come across as an educated person and eventually win the situation in my favor. I realized how stupid and how horribly wrong I was when the next moment they smacked me thrice on my neck ( again!!) and pushed me into that cell.

When I opened my eyes after 6 minutes, I realized that I had to do something to get out of that place. I got a positive vibe when I saw that the cell was not locked. I got up peeped from inside. I saw that buxom woman who I accidentally hit with my bike while trying to jump a traffic signal. At the time of accident she just fell aside was not at all hurt, not even a minor bruise. But to all the common people on that road, her figure and that feminine moan was sexy enough to stimulate the onlookers and a brawny constable who caught me after a filmy chase. Next thing I knew, he became her hero. And this hero dragged me to the police station.

She was sitting in the Senior Inspector's cabin. To my delight, I saw my Uncle and my cousin negotiating with them. I wasn't able to hear what they spoke. Thoughts were running in my mind. Being a woman favored her completely. And I bet, had I bumped into any other average man (Read: Fool), I'd have never felt the need to write this.

The Senior Inspector asked his sub ordinates to release me after a condition, set by the woman to which my Uncle had agreed.

Finally, I achieved redemption from my 7 minute stint in the cell.

While coming home, I asked my uncle "What was that woman's condition and why did she withdrew her complaint?

My uncle replied- "Oh Nothing! She wanted us to compensate for the little damage caused to her new dress and we agreed to pay her 750 rupees!"

My Cinematic Maturity

2009-07-01T11:26:00.024+05:30

Oh My God! That song again! It was everywhere. The song was getting on to my nerves. But this was the same one raved by the masses. Why? It topped the charts -Superhit Muqabla on DD metro, Philips Top 10 on ZEE TV and any other countdown program. The word of mouth gained a momentum and it was full of excitement. Someone murmured ecstatically at my school- 13 songs! Wow! Another one said- I have purchased the audio cassette. Yet another girl muttered- I loved the movie!

It’s been a long time since I’ve hated a movie so much that it caused my physical pain. So much that I have decided to tell this story which transformed the way I've looked at cinema.

September 1994- I was just a month old in my first teens. I was an ethnocentric, grew up watching films of a different milieu. I was always addicted to different league of cinema. Never fascinated by the richness depicted in a film. I never cared about arty-farty concepts like Marriages and Family ties in a cinema. One fine day, my cousins dropped in and suggested that we watch this film.

I was certain about my expectations. The promos, trailers showed that this movie is strictly for connoisseurs of Bollywood family genre of the D grade variety. Nevertheless, we reached the celebrated theater of Hyderabad which was then considered on par with a multiplex. I looked around. Men posing as Salman Khan had arrived with their girls.Women in burka gearing up, college goers holding one book in hand. Nearby, the head of a family who had a difficult time controlling his Janta. I then got a controversial thought- How can someone watch a film along with the family?

The movie began. The director took creative liberty and introduced a 'Dog' in the titles. Right from the intro credits, I knew this movie is going to be worth my agony. Folks, I was only in 8th standard, when such thoughts occurred in my mind.

Sitting there in my seat I felt like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the eye, blinded by the saturated tones, the overwhelming family melodrama, a large house that can even put Buckingham Palace to shame, a bunch of familiar actors who hammed it effortlessly. I felt as if the film was standing on its own ground, and is managing hard not to get it right.

3 songs in less than 15 minutes irked me. Good lord! How many more? And believe me, I was actually counting the number of songs. Because I was planning to quiz people back at school. How idiotically convenient! However, I quickly understood what followed later in the film. I realized that it was a potpourri of set pieces that are the staple diet of this genre of movies. How can a family be so jovial, happiness everywhere, filthy rich, enthusiastically moronic characters, play antakshari so often? I desperately craved for one thing from all those scenes- Logic. Because all these years, I was used to English movies at Sangeet Theatre, a few good Telugu movies on television and a reasonable collection of Hindi movies on cable TV and VCR. But this film busted my Grey cells.

A little later, Salman Khan arrived in a ridiculuos two piece golden tuxedo. He danced away trying to woo the heroine dressed in a rich green outfit that caused fuzziness around my eye balls. Even today, I tinge a vomit sensation when I see Madhuri Dixit ( Don't ask me why)Some clunky dialogue made me cringe with embarrassment. It always happens, when the audience laugh over a shitty comedy scene, I actually feel embarrassed. And whenever I laughed, I was not laughing WITH the movie, I was laughing AT the movie for sheer ridiculousness of it.

As time ticked, I became impatient. How long will these celebrations continue? I wondered. It's supposed to be a movie and I longed to see some action and violence too. Minus that laughable "Tragedy Scene" where our Surabhi girl slips off the staircase, I failed miserably to understand the intent behind that film. But at the same time, I understood my own cinematic sense too. At the age of 13, I was already beginning to appreciate and distinguish quality movies and this constipated torture which I was going through.

And when that silly Pomeranian dog(who later had taken care of the climax too) declares a no-ball during the family cricket game, I had completely lost it.

Finally, after 3 hours, the movie ended. I stepped out in dismay having watched an extended wedding video! I wore a weary and anguished look. But the good news was- I went into the theater as a teenager and came out as a man!

I decided- I will only marry the girl who hates this movie as much as I do!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Vicious Bicycle

2009-06-30T20:46:00.020+05:30

"Hero Ranger? Nahin hai Miyan. "abhi abhi ek potta usko lekar gaya, ek ghante se laake dega" muttered Aslam, the owner of Aziz Cycle Taxi. Disappointed, I had no option but wait. Else, I had to stay contended either with an Atlas Goldline Super or an ugly Green bicycle with a big seat that I always hated.

As a kid from the 3rd standard, I used to hop across the street, cross the road and head straight into the cycle Taxi to rent a cycle at 1 Rupee an hour. I consider this as a historic milestone of my life. Arguably, it is! It's the time when you put your feet on the pedals, maintain the balance, or even boast before your friends that you have grown taller. Because now, your feet touch the ground while the bum is on cycle seat!

I remember the first time I fell off the bicycle. It was when I spotted a bullock cart in the distance. As a panicked beginner, I pulled the front brake only to find myself thrown on a sand at the side of the road. The Cart man looked at me like a cow that looks up once while grazing on the meadows while chewing the cud.

In the early 90s, the bicycle ADs on television fascinated me. My eyes drooled over brands like Roadmaster, Hercules and BMX. I wanted to ask my dad to buy me a Bicycle from his Military Canteen as they are sold at cheaper price. However, an egoistic kid even then, I refrained to ask my whim. But my mouth continued to water - when someone purchased a new bicycle, when a new model was introduced in the market and also when I passed by those row of cycle shops off MG Road in Secunderabad. And when RGV made SHIVA, the cycle chain was already making raves within me! The sheer power of cycle and its parts, became an important chapter in my life.

One day while coming home from school, I met my maid who smiled and asked me to distribute sweets tomorrow. I was puzzled. Before I could ask her the straight dope, she went away and I tottered home swinging my Milton Water bottle wondering what could be the reason for sweets! I reached home only to find a Red color BSA SLR parked in the drawing room. My joy grew no bounds and I also realized that this was my reward for scoring 80% in my final examination. And the day I took it to school, I could hear murmurs like - This guy has a BSA!

Those were the days when the cycle bell commanded some respect. It was heard in my colony. Especially on Sundays and holidays when each one of us assembled brilliantly to form a kind of union in my colony playground. It looked like one "Bicycle Swayamwar". Cycles were of all shapes and sizes and so were its owners! There was this guy who also had gears fitted in his cycle. He was the kind of Hatke bandha to us then. One of them had a BSA Mongoose, a hunky dory cycle known for its crafty design and merged chain cum break option. Another boy used to get a large Atlas cycle belonging to the Naukar at his shop. It had a huge carrier and this earned him the nickname " Rickshaw" One of my friend had a Hero Hansa- Lady bicycle and I don't want to tell you how we teased him!

Because most of the boys (who later went on to become my friends) were remembered by the brand of cycle they processed.

Over the years, my bicycle developed frequent breakdowns and gradually it had its mechanical flaws. And with the maintenance expenses shooting up, one day I decided to abandon it. I left it unattended and it looked like a wounded soldier waiting to be nursed. It was also the time when the transition from bicycles to mini mopeds took place in India. Bajaj Sunny had arrived. The bicycle generation holocaust became evident. Years later, my Dad donated my bicycle to someone and then I had never felt an emotional nerve moving in me. It was also never a case of Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish Its just that I was unable to stand up and justify the need for its repair. So I thought perhaps donation was a better option. Not just me , most of you who had a bicycle during your childhood know the fate of it. They are always judiciously donated either to the cook, or the gardener or the mason and the like.

My Bicycle had taught me the Balancing Act in life. And today, this is my way of tribute to it!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Karma of Comics

2009-05-11T14:06:00.002+05:30

One day Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu go for a walk. Two Thieves Makkan and Chakkan threaten them with a gun. Sabu gets angry and a Volcano erupts somewhere. But Choudhary, whose brain works faster than a computer, uses his stick to outwit Makkan and Chakkan and they run away"

Even comics like these have always been ridiculously entertaining. I remember the day I found another popular book. It was on a hot summer afternoon in 1987 I found an old & torn book which was hidden between newspapers on the top of a rack! It contained a story titled 'The Neem tree and the Grindstone'-Tinkle had arrived!

Today when I sit and recollect my association with these books, I realize that I have done every possible effort to read more, acquire more and discover more. The price of these books ranged between Rs 6 to Rs 20. And for a kid like me, buying new books remained a dream. I never liked to ask money from parents. Hence, I decided to find ways and means to get closer to my dream. And what all I did then, perhaps looks too embarrassing today, but deep in my heart I feel proud about my efforts. Here are some of them:

1. Making new friends and finding out if they have a nose for books.
2. Praise and flatter a guy who has a huge collection of comics.
3. Wait till late night or under hot sun outside the home of people who promised to give me comics after they return.
4. Visit a Raddi Wala Shop*( * A shack that sells old newspapers, bottles and other scrap) search among those newspapers & old magazines. If found any, I used to buy them at 1 Rupee each!! 70% of my collection consisted of books acquired through this medium. I remember the Uncle who ran that shop also used to address me as Uncle :)
5. Write someone's academic notes in a barter to get Amar Chitra Katha
6. Blackmail a classmate at school and get Tinkle in return.
7. Beautifully convince some of my rich friends to buy new comics for my selfish motive!
8. Chat aimlessly with a friend's sister with an intention to get Archie comics from her.
9. Support the guy who has maximum books if he gets into an argument during the game of cricket or any other sport.

One evening when we were playing, my friend Kartik approached towards me and whispered in my ear that he has got about 20 books. My mouth watered when he said that. He, however refused to reveal the source of books. Later I learned that the source of those books was a person called Nitesh who apparently has a huge collection of books. Suddenly a new mission had begun for me and it was easy for me to befriend Nitesh.

I visited Nitesh's rich house where he had kept hundreds of books in his private room upstairs, which looked like a library. I wondered how much money he would have spent to buy those books. Mine seemed to be a pauper's collection before him. Nevertheless, we began to exchange books.

One day I raised a proposal about starting a library. I conceived this based on my research in the neighborhood where I lived. There were many boys and girls in our who will be interested to read. Nitesh, being a true Gujarathi, gleefully agreed to start in his room. We started our project by pooling our books. Then we sorted out the books under different sub headings. We maintained a list and numbered each and every book. We took it very seriously. We finalized the rental charges of various books according to the number of pages and size. There was a late payment fine too! I also pitched the idea of reading books sitting in the library at an economical price of 50 paise. This concept worked beautifully for some Marvadi customers, who are known for their weird cost effective measures.

Gradually our Library gained its momentum. We became very popular among our other friends. Sometimes I'd go on my bicycle to distribute books door to door.It so happened that one day I had to deliver a story book to a pretty girl of our colony and little did I realize that this action of mine would frame and judiciously link me with that girl! And it paved way for gossips. Blame it on the age!

Very soon I was making a decent profit of 7 to 15 Rs a week. A portion of my income was spent on Paani Puri on Sundays after our usual game of cricket.

While I was involved with this, I didn't realize that my actions were making my other friends envious. Some of them who were very fond of me began to treat me differently. They perhaps didn't like my proximity with Nitesh. While I took utmost care not to get someone's hatred in our 'Business' and us. It took sometime for me to understand their thoughts and feelings. Remember Rajam from Malgudi days Swami and Friends? So much for the originality!

The matter became worse when Nitesh refused to take another friend who wanted to become a partner in our business by contributing his share of books. Well! the sparks had begun to fly all around. I was finding it difficult to manage my association with all my friends. I sometimes had to face the wrath from some of my best friends who said I had become conceited after the Library's success. I was terribly disappointed with the way mindsets changed. It looked as if some of them were trying to detach me and I looked like a sinister.

One late evening, I took an unanimous decision to part ways with our Library. Nitesh was visibly upset with my decision but later even he understood that, friends and mutual harmony is more important.

My life returned to normal and more exiting than before. I found myself sitting with group of friends and laughing away to glory. Those precious little moments which I missed during my basked glory came back to me slowly but wisely!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Man who made me cry

2009-04-02T12:18:00.001+05:30

While my growing years have taught me not to shed tears, my early years never poised me to balance my emotions. Of course, life was too tender then and fundamentally too naive. I cannot attribute my sadness to various people who I have met in all my 27 years. I don't remember the bully of my school, neither I fancy artificial emotions nor I can list all those who have some way or the other became the cause of my cry. And it would be stupid though if I mention my rona dhona in real life. Simply put, Tears have no value in this fabricated world.

However, this article is a tribute to the man who showed me that "It hurts when you see a movie with your heart involved"

Kamal Hasan teamed up with Balu Mahendra in the Tamil film Moondram Pirai, which was later dubbed into Hindi as Sadma and Vasantha Kokila in Telugu. The picture tells the story of a young woman(Sridevi) who regresses to childhood after suffering a head injury in a car crash. Lost, she ends up trapped at a brothel before being rescued by Kamal Haasan, a lonely school teacher who falls in love with her.

After all the series of hardwork and attempts by Kamal to comfort Sridevi, I was amazed at the amount of loftiness Kamal brought in the entire film. Making her glee with his manoeuvre skills, jumping like a monkey after Sridevi expresses her fascination towards that Madaari

It's a performance that Kamal creates out of thin air, based on his own understanding of the character. Remember the toughest roles to play are the ones that are too simple, too normal It's not easy playing an average guy, but Kamal does it marvelously.

In the end, Sridevi does not recognize Kamal Hasan after she regains her memory and she understands him as a mad beggar. Kamal's memories, heart and soul are put into this very last scene when he reaches out to her. His eyes strikes us instantly with his tragedy, his attempt to get her attention by making unusual faces, the way he trots on the platform to grab a bowl and keep that on his head. And the moment when he bangs against a pole while running after the train, it hit me like a bullet. It hurt me more when when he sits helplessly on a platform and his student, shocked by Kamal's avatar, gets scared and leaves him alone.

Its an ending which the regular film junkies would never have predicted and would have been totally shattered by! Not even a Taare Zameen Par was able to shake me as much as Kamal Hasan did.

I was 11 years old when I saw this movie. I hated Sridevi for leaving Kamal. I never saw this scene again for some years ( Read : audacity lost)

The last 10 minutes of the film showed me the irony of life - You give so much and when giving you never even realize how much of you is also given in it.

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

First Time, Second Show

2008-12-27T11:12:00.001+05:30

After a long persuasion, my dad finally agreed to take us to a movie. That evening, I there were springs in my feet after I came back home from school. Since my childhood, I never fancied going to movies with my family members, but somehow on that day I just couldn't resist the idea of watching a late evening movie. My mother was against the idea and protested my ability of being awake late night. Despite these constraints we moved on.

The show was planned at an 'open air theater' which was about 1 km walk from our quarters in Ramgarh Cantonment in Ranchi-(Now in Jharkhand). I went to witness a most confusing theatrical layout. My 7 year old brain told me that it was a different world behind that huge wall, where they showcase the movie.

It was late evening when we reached the venue. The theater was full of Army men, Sardarjis and their families of all shapes and sizes. Every Sardarji was a Zail Singh to me! He was the only popular Sikh politician I knew those days.

We looked around and found a seat- after a great struggle. The murmuring crowd cheered and whistled when a light beam appeared on that Great Wall of Ramgarh. This shimmering light, otherwise referred as Ray of Hope was the cause for their ecstasy! I was seated in my mother's lap witnessing all this.

The movie began and my thoughts raced ( as usual) when I saw the fiery eyed Sridevi fox Rishi Kapoor when he tries to follow her in a ruined temple. I felt like going to Rishi and tell him " Hey! She is a snake!" I had no idea about my family enjoying the movie, but my mind coaxed me to ponder about a woman like Sridevi turn into a snake. I also knew that she'd never harm Rishi because he came across as a very nice guy!

Then there was the Tantrik- Amrish Puri. It looked as though his snake charmer tune will sink into my mind and stay there for the next couple of days. Because the place where we lived was infested with snakes, I also thought that his tune will actually lure the snakes out from the nearby bushes! Call it a childish thought or an ultimate example of how imagination can take over and become a reality in time.

Gradually, with the inclusion of potpourri scenes. a much hyped song called" Main teri Dushman, Dushman tu Mera accompanied by that 'not again' snake charmer tune, I lost interest in the movie and paved a way for my 'yawn'.

I was no more afraid of that Tantrik's intimidating look, neither worried about Rishi Kapoor's quest for the subdue reality, nor his Rona Dhona Mother who was shit scared of Sridevi's presence in the house. But I was impressed by Sridevi's eyes that kept me awake on most occasions.

Very soon, the drowsiness got the better of me. I knew the movie's climax will take a long time and I was not ready to sacrifice my sleep. I slept on my mother's lap and believed it as a safest place despite being in a colossal chaos.

Though this happened 20 years ago, I vividly recollect this incident with a pleasant feeling, each time I get ready to watch a Second show!

Because I think it deserves! Don't you think so?

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

The Vibe Maker

2008-11-22T21:11:00.001+05:30

Like countless of human beings all over the world, I have been influenced by Rajinikant. This article is a tribute to him and also to my friend Ashvin. Reasons you'd figure out as you read along.

It was the summer of 1996. I stepped out from my uncle's apartment in the plush Besant Nagar in 'Madras'. I got into a bus that'd take me back to my dad's defence quarters at Fort St George. On the way I peeped through the window, only to chance upon a behemoth poster. This poster comprehensively captured the filmy flavor and more importantly it conveyed what the actor means to South!

All the other passengers tried to get a better glimpse. The next moment resulted in a conversation where they (including the bus conductor) yakked away to glory. With my limited understanding of Tamil, I realized that they were raving about the film and the actor. That moment in the bus gave me an impulse. And that's when Brand Rajini was born!

I was aware of his presence as an actor (Thanks to those 3 Hindi films: Geraftar, Chaalbaaz and Hum) As a kid, I never wanted him to die in the film Geraftar. I saw him struggle while beating the goons, yet manage to puff the cigarette. I had prayed god to help him drop his cigarette and counter the goons. Because I then knew he was capable!

My innocence made me stay away from his films for sometime but return with a greater respect and adoration during the year Dalapati A.D

Albeit, I have very few Rajini films in my kitty, it was only after watching Dalapathi, I understood why Rajini behaves the way he is. Coincidently, Dalapathi was the work of Mani Ratnam, who I consider my greatest inspiration besides RGV and Kukunoor. The character Surya -true to his name, always made his appearance on the screen from East direction, during the course of the film. That's again the greatness of the director who ensured this subdue reality!

During my Rajini Quest I met a number of extremely intelligent people who spoke about Rajinikant and his great personality, not just as an actor. This became one more reason (however absurd it may sound to you) to push me among the people of Rajini League. And I like intelligent people with full of energy! The more I talked and discussed about the actor's stardom, my vibes went high, my thoughts sailed like Sindbad's voyage and needless to say, my perspective towards Rajini's films changed. I wanted to experience the thrill of watching his film in the theater, sitting the midst of the devotees of Rajnikant!

My prayers were answered when my friend Ashvin managed to get the tickets of Sivaji on the very first day- I consider this as an achievement and equivalent to Sunita William's trip to moon! I was excited about my debut. Watching the movie in the theater, of the superstar who I spoke so much, learned so much and raved so much! I was also gearing up to understand behavioral science of this Demi God's devotees, who succeeded in getting the tickets to witness an epic called Sivaji. However, I'd like to describe my experience in one line- It's a well deserving Glorified Filmy Kumbh Mela. I was goddam impressed! And I do not want to write about what happened on that day! You better get in that groove, or get out of the way!

I have never been impetuous about films. However, I care a damn if people talk about Rajini's impossible stunts or gimmicks. I give a shit if anyone regards him as a ham! I'd give two hoots to those who compare Rajini with any other actor. I'd never even worry about the story line, plot or the production values. I have realized what Rajnikant is for me.

He is my Vibe Maker!

Divinity Countenance

2008-11-09T21:06:00.001+05:30

Before you read this post- I confirm that the views expressed in this article are my own and I have not been influenced by anyone neither trying to influence any individual or society.

During my growing years, I was fascinated by the stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata. I consider it a privilege to be born at the time when India's television broadcasting progress had begun. That's how I learned about the Indian Mythology, the stories of various Hindu Gods. Of course as an avid reader, I also attribute this knowledge to those countless number of books like Amar Chitra Katha which I had read.

Being a Hindu, I got accustomed to certain practices. Some, derived through family rituals, while others, through my own beliefs. I have no idea about the origin of these beliefs, yet I had been following them for quite sometime. I do believe in the existence of the almighty. The breathe that keeps us alive and the force existing on this globe which prevents water to wash away the earth's crust is enough to substantiate the existence of God, according to me.

Now the question here is on my adherence to the established customs and doctrines. Belief, according to me is a respect given to the creator- God. Even though I have substantial devotion towards God, I fail to understand why some rituals have to be followed without any purpose. I can convey my prayers to the God directly by looking into his eyes and not really worried about the procedures and process. Of course, the designer of such process may have seen a reason. However, according to me, those reasons do not seem to be working or justified for today's world. People think today's God also requires Digital prayer by way of SMS, online and lots of hoo-ha!

I may be biased in saying this, but how could I possibly believe a priest who mutters mantras seem to convey my prayer to god? How many of us understand the language that he uses to communicate with god? I believe that the biggest spirituality comes in the form of trust and that trust need not be specific to mantras and rituals.

I have nothing against the belief system of others. As long as I am able to convey God what I want for me and others, its absolutely all right irrespective of the process you follow. Belief system only guides you to look for the righteous path but it does not guarantee you a well being. I think its a fear that constantly evades you from going off track.

Divinity, according to me, it detaching oneself away from the worldly pleasures and praying with a concrete meaning. I would still occasionally visit a temple, look into the eyes of god and pray which doesn't even last for 2 minutes.

However, as long as I remain a non conformist, I would continue my quest to get a deeper understanding about the 'Extreme Devotion'.

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Why Abhishek hates Mathematics?

2008-10-11T22:01:00.002+05:30

When I was 8, my mother gave me 75 paise. It was a small fortune then. The money was strictly meant to buy a pencil and an eraser. I fancied the idea of going to the stationery shop near my school. The moment also celebrated my mother's firm belief in me. After all, I'd be carrying money with me- For the first time! Those 2 shiny little coins in my pocket made me feel proud!

My fantasy was shattered when I saw the shop being closed on that day. I waited till my school short interval time hoping that it would open later. During this wait, a sweetmeat cart, which was parked nearby the shop caught my attention. I saw the berries, guavas, the peppermint candy, the mint candy and all other eligible items of a push cart. My mouth watered at the sight of the berries being wrapped up in a small piece of newspaper, with salt sprinkled over it, shaken wisely and packed, and given to those 'lucky pupils'.

Like any other kid, I too was tempted to buy those goodies. However, I wasn't sure about the price of a pencil and an eraser. I wondered if I will have enough money left to buy those goodies. Standing before the sweetmeat cart, I kept my palms in my little knicker pockets and stared at the guavas- of all shapes and sizes and the glass bottles where the peppermint candies were kept. Then, I took out my coins. The 50 paise coin had Indira Gandhi, the 25 paise coin had a rhinoceros, embossed on it. My heart was beating fast. Questions erupted in my mind. What will I tell mother? Can I confess that I was very hungry and hence ate berries, guava and peppermint candies? (Despite the fact that I was carrying my lunch box too) What if I still manage to buy a pencil and also those candies? Will she ask me to explain the calculation? Will she thrash me for this horrifying act of mine?

I ran back to my classroom, opened the last page of my notebook and did some subtraction. With a pencil stub, I wrote 75-30= 45; 75-25= 50 and so on. I assumed the cost of pencil and eraser together to be 50 paise and I would still still be left with 25 paise. I went on doing this calculation, till I analyzed that whatever I spend towards goodies, I can still buy a pencil and eraser. I came back to the sweetmeat cart and gave the 'rhinoceros coin' to the seller. He chopped a juicy guava , dipped the knife in salt and smeared it all over inside the fruit and gave it to me. I wolfed it down.

During lunch time, I went to check the stationery shop and yet again found it closed. This time, my lips smacked at the sight of those salted berries. I again ran back to my classroom, opened the last page of my notebook and judiciously calculated till I was forced to drop the idea of purchasing an eraser. I thought I'd still be left with 35 paise, good enough to buy a pencil. I ran excitedly towards the seller and gave him the 'Indira Gandhi coin'. He gave me a juicy little packet containing salted berries, but to my horror he also gave me an old rusty 20 paise coin. He told me that the price of berries was 30 paise! I didn't knew what to do? I felt as if I had lost a gold coin, a souvenir. It looked as if I lost a huge amount of money. The Indira Gandhi coin was gone, and in return I got an ugly 20 paise coin that threatened to wash my dirty linen in public.

Eating those berries, I tried to cook some believable reasons, that I thought can put my mother at ease. I thought I'd tell amma that I was damn hungry and my lunch box wasn't sufficient. Or I'd say I wanted to taste those goodies, but never realized the cost etc. Nevertheless, I also had to remember the calculations, and explain how I had spent 75-55 paise= 20 paise Till evening, my cerebellum and cerebrum was involved in calculations- Namely, Addition and Subtraction. Mathematics during Social studies class, Mathematics during P.T etc. And all those calculations narrowed down to 20 paise.

By the time the school was over for the day, I trotted back towards the sweetmeat cart. I thought I'd go and ask him the price of each peppermint candy. I learned that it costed 5 paise each. I suddenly realized my assertiveness(Read: Dumb or nincompoop) and explicitly asked him to give me 2 peppermint candies. Of course, in return, I also got an old Aluminum made 10 paise coin with no beauty. I was too tired to recollect the total Hisaab of the day. However, I blissfully devoured those peppermint candies at regular intervals on my way back home!

What happened once I reached home? How did I confront my mother? How did she react to my debut spending? What explanation did I gave her for pencil and eraser? Was I able to justify the exact calculation?

I'd leave the readers to ponder. Perhaps, the title of this article suggests- any body's guess!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

La copa de la Vida

2008-09-03T19:30:00.001+05:30

"Basava..One special!

The 13 something round faced boy quickly responds to my call and appears before me with a glass. I coddle with the spirit in that glass, only to realize that its time to unwind myself. This spirit also manages to flabbergast the crowd flocked near the stall. It feels great to see everyone judiciously enjoy their drink under the sky with the sun on their shoulders. The taste is divine and comparing it with the office coffee making machine would be an insult.

Tea- Call it elating, exhilarating or intoxicating, is my favorite beverage. And this article is a tribute to the widow who runs a small Tea shack on a corner at Road number 12 in the plush Banjara Hills area- Hyderabad. Located about 200 meters away from my workplace building, this place can give you a food for thought. And hey, If you are a kind of stickler for hygiene, ingredients and the like, I strongly recommend you discard reading this article. All right so you don't..Ok read on.

I have always been amazed at the reorder stock level maintained by this woman who manages to serve the Tea to all the customers in a jiffy! The set up, like most ordinary roadside tea stall consists of a wooden bench and one oily stove. Of course they have a shade too ( sponsored by Tata Indicom!!). And not surprisingly you must stand and drink. Of course there is a cement platform laid by State Bank nearby. For people who have no patience to stand and sip, their bums will say a big thanks to this cement platform which can easily accommodate 10 people sitting in a row.

The woman is assisted by her only son named Basava( who also claims to be a Chiranjeevi Fan) and two little daughters( don't know the names) who are often spotted in school uniforms( thankfully). And Let me tell you guys, their eyes are a true depiction of hard work. Perhaps people accustomed to Cafe Cofee day or Barista culture may not notice that. For an unconventional thinker like me, this place stimulates my thoughts and gives me scope to derive a movie material out of that!

Because the regular crowd of this joint makes it very interesting. The crowd is my vivid recollection of Naya Nukkad serial that appeared on Doordarshan years ago! One among them is a mysterious 50 year old Junior Artist who stands 7 feet tall. You could see his jeans pocket stuffed with an English newspaper and a handkerchief tied around his neck. His pal is a tiny and puny traffic constable, whose tone can take many of us for a surprise. Yes, his tone is bellowing! This 5 foot cop doesn't cop-out yelling at auto rickshaw drivers and other heavy vehicles who unauthorizedly park their vehicles. They tremble in fear and make necessary adjustments to set things right.

The reason for our amusement is because his physical attribute and his tone just doesn't seem to match at all. This earned him a nickname from my fellows who fondly call him Bacchan saab!

We have a security guard of a never working SBI ATM nearby, who doesn't waste time performing his duties. He wakes up post his ever lasting siesta, only for his 4 pm tea. The sight of white, blue and collarless people give you the impression of an animated conversation. And a deeper insight would give you their attitude too. People who hold a cigarette in one hand and a glass in another will generally have the ID card worn around their neck. There is also an official, smartly dressed in branded clothes, walks towards the stall with a thermos flask in hand making me curious about his work profile! A group of 3 female tea drinkers can be found always sitting in their favorite corner. A waiter of the nearby Pizza Hut manages his tea and also finds time to call and chat with his girl friend.

The place will perhaps miss a regular magnanimous visitor in me. I have admired the dedicated enterprising team of this family of 4, and needless to say my creativity and urge to work hard has grown by leaps and bounds during my stint.

I now understand why the Tea tastes so good here!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Life as Lollipop- Part 2

2008-07-18T23:41:00.002+05:30

'I love to cry in the rain so that no one can see my tears' - Charlie Chaplin

With a heavy and dismal heart, I pen down the final part. Lot of people have expressed their feelings about part1. Mixed reactions of readers- Too realistic; Boring, Philosophical. Yet some of them told me that they were desperately waiting for second part. I respect the feedback from these individuals who come from all walks of life.

However, thats what precisely is my conviction. Being adamant, I write whatever I feel like, say, talk or think whatever I feel I should. Call it being courageous or going against conviction. In life, courage and conviction are two different entities and give a very unusual way of interpretation. Very uncommon sight, just like a fully clothed Pamela Anderson!

Like I have said, we all are born in this world for a purpose, when the purpose is achieved, we leave heavenly abode. period. I often think of people who are no longer a part of this world and ask myself, what are these guys doing wherever they are? watching us from heaven? Its idiotic to think on these lines, but exciting too!

This may give you a sign of relief or an expression of dismay about the fact that I am not going to write anything more about this Life. The hard candy of the lollipop is the life and gets over post sucking and licking. Only the stick which had the candy mounted on it remains. Thats our life!

Take a look at your life now and then. Your childhood: The day when you peed in your nappies( if you remember that). The day when you knew nothing about money, sex and power. Times when you watched Doordarshan and waited for Chitrahaar or one movie a week( Sunday or Saturday)

Your present: Bombarded with technology, too many channels to choose from. Too busy to laugh-smile over little things of life! Thinking about the next that that you will do after reading this article or worried about a stupid meeting at office. The list goes on. Of course some of you may be thinking "why the fuck did we grew up?"

Before I rest my essay I leave some questions for the reader to ponder. Pause for a moment, think about YOURSELF.Your name and your breath,Your mind and then read on:

Who are you?
What makes you to live?
Why are you scared about death( most of us)?
Ever realized how you will be 10 years from now? ( No, this is not a HR question)

Think! It helps!

Have a great Life ahead!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Life as a lollipop- Part 1

2008-06-05T19:50:00.001+05:30

Tom Hanks puts it beautifully in Forrest Gump- Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get! The intensity of this dialogue is suave yet it guarantees thoughts and questions ahead.

Each day of my life begins on a endless thought provoking questionaire. I try hard to ask and answer myself " Let me get this straight- What's the purpose of life? Why is human born when death is inevitable? What is marriage? religion? Caste and creed? The list is endless and transforms me into a very different Abhishek. I copped out at the thought of writing because I felt it'd be crazy and I'd actually be rubbishing the writeup, but again became reluctant.

Sometime back over a cup of coffee discussion with my friend I learnt that- God designs and designates every individual's role. Call it programming in todays language. Some leave this world sooner the task is completed. Some indulge in mass destruction( 9/11) Some try to adopt discarded children( Mother Teresa) I could possibly go on giving examples to eternity..and Oh Yes! Even now, at this moment, my role is to write this blog and leave the readers to ponder over my assumptions and reality bites ( if it deserves to be true)

I'd put it in a different way. Picture this-I actally had happened to stop at a traffic signal at a crossroads and I saw the world around me- A beggar at the traffic signal Vs Palatial mansion with rich interiors; A daughter of a rich tycoon in a Mercedes Benz Vs Ambulance with its active visual warning and uncertain life inside; A man with his wife and a kid on a bike Vs cart seller hoping to find good business; A film poster with characters tampered, for the purpose of deception Vs a pedestrian. I persuade my mind to think about such people whenever I come across them.

The beggar has a history which no one knows. The mansion is built by masons who dream to build a home for themselves. Post the mainsions completion, the owner wouldn't even remember the name of the masons. The rich daughter in Mercedez is considered as an arrogant and conceited by most of the passerbys. Reason- Perceptions make their way from legacies. There is someone struggling in that ambulance. If I speak logically, everyone who is in the way of that ambulance will be accountable for the life and death of that person. The man with his wife and a kid may be riding a bike that he took as a part of dowry. He must be thinking of buying a car or rather cursing himself on getting married. The characters in that poster perhaps are on cloud 9 knowing that their poster stands tall at a famous crossroad of the city. The pedestrian, clueless about his future walks away maybe he has looked at me and made perceptions or something that you could never figure out whats running in his mind. Reason everyone in this world has a history. Though it may not date back to dinosaurs age (mildly put!)

What is common to all of them? Life and death. they are born the same way and will die the same way. I sometimes try and compile the number of emotions attached to each individual. Does this world realize what is life? We are born, attend school, finish education, make money, try to get rich, marry, complain, compliment, comment, laugh, become old and die a death that is miserable, accidental or natural.

These days, many complain of boredom. I have come across so many people. If I understand them correctly, they are surviving not living! Its because we do not adapt to situations that surround us.

End of Part 1

Caste a vote- From the mouth of a Story Teller

2008-05-25T00:45:00.001+05:30

2004, April. Somewhere in a corner cubicle of an esteemed organization:

Abhishek ! Do you want to vote? Do you have the eligibility?

It was 2 pm and just when the office chores seemed to become boring, this question excited me. I turned around. It was my Manager who rather looked damn straight.

Why? I said, then realizing that I had to answer the question. I quickly added; Of course, I am 22 and I do have the eligibility.

Do you want to vote? He asked me again. I raised my eyebrows, Here is the guy who never allowed deviations from work and a certified stickler for timeliness, asking me if I am intrested to leave office to caste a vote. I still deliberately sounded confusing "Do we have the polling booth in our office premises? I wanted to pun this line but failed miserably.

No..if you are intrested you may go cast your vote. My Manager replied. However, you please finish your work. He was quick to add that too. The man is asking me if I have the interest to caste the vote! How ridiculuous? Its my bloody birth right to vote. Now, the last thing I wanted to do was wring his neck and throw him out.

Sure, I'd finish my reports and leave. I said this as if I had a choice. But I was happy though, for the first time I felt like a CITIZEN! I am going to vote!! I rose from my seat.

So... Abhishek who are you going to vote for? My colleagues asked me. Do I need to tell you that? Its either shame on me or the government. I have got the voting rights 4 uears ago But I haven't casted the vote till now. I remembered years ago, my dad's friend warned me never reveal about your vote. I threw this back at them feeling conceited about it. I knew I was just an ordinary guy without any powers, however I just wanted them to make me feel important. Afterall, I am going to vote for the first time. I rose from my seat. So long buddies! I am going to vote. I sounded as if I am going to Rashtrapati Bhawan to take an oath of President of India.

I pulled my bike and started off. It was hot summer afternoon and my bike seat felt like a tandoori. Anything for my first vote. I thought. On my way through deserted road, I saw those colorful banners, policemen showing their presence, RAF personnel sipping tea under a shade, the noise from my engine made me nervous. I sometimes felt as if my vote will decide the election!

"UNIVERSAL ADULT FRANCHISE"...During my school days, I never was able to remember these 3 little but powerful words! However, it didn't take me long to realize that the meaning of these 3 words can be so simple, but yet so powerful. "Right to vote after the age of 18 years". Democracy is for the people, of the people and by the people, I got a bonus mark in every civics paper where I quoted this line.

Maa.. where is my voters ID card? Abhi..you are back..I told you its a holiday today. Little my mom thinks office the way office is meant to be. However, only I knew the reality, else we all do! She managed to find my voters card and was happy to see her son being a part of democracy of this great nation!

I marched towards the polling booth which was put up very close to my home. I glanced at a group of policemen who sat on a wooden bench with their weapons pointing towards the sky. I do not know wht they must have felt after looking at me. I never wanted them to feel that its my maiden voting session. I Somehow thought will paint a rosy picture at the booth. I had anticipated a big queue at the polling booth. Surprisingly, it was deserted. Perhaps the citizens of my colony had already casted their respective votes in the morning.

I entered an old room with walls full of cracks and a dusty flooring. There was a tubelight too but I was confident that it will not work. The ceiling fan made noise as it rotated slowly trying to provide soothing relief for the officials who were present in that room. A man wearing big glasses, was seated across a table. He looked up and said. Aapka ID card dijiye"

The photograph on my voters card was pathetic and somehow I tried my best to convince myself that the photo resembled me. I was embarrassed to give the ID card to him. He then browsed through a paper that had a lengthy list. I wondered how many names it contained..probably some people must have alredy left this world and even their names existed in that list! That's bureaucracy
for you!

I stood there impatiently. Aapko mera naam mila list mein? Abhishek hai mera naam. I asked in a low tone. Haan ..Yeh raha...aapke pitaji kahan hai unhonne nahi daala vote? I was pleasantly surprised when the man asked about my dad. I never thought they'd care about people who did not vote yet. I said " Mere Dad Mumbai mein rehte hain. I muttered. Accha accha...teek hai koi baat nahi. He then marked my name in that list to confirm my attendance. I wondered if that shoddy little paper would be a substantiate evidence of my existence. He then shouted my name to the person sitting next to him as if I was the criminal brought in the courtroom. His voice was deafning.

Aap is taraf aayiye. The man sitting next to him finally opened his mouth. When I looked at him I never thought he'd speak. The voting process now began to speed up. I wasnt aware whet else I have to undergo. This man looked at me and asked my to give my hand as if its an engagement ceremony and he'd present me a ring! However, I knew he'd mark my finger with some solution that would remain for 2-3 days. I was excited because I wanted to show my proof of voting to people who never had this Privilege. This little solution does the trick of identification or may be emancipation!

Hmm... Now whats next? I asked myself.. Abhi aap wahan jaaiye aur vote kariye. He said timidly. I saw a very familiar customized compartment built with cloth and iron stand. I saw this in many movies and the ay had actually arrived when I had to go there to caste my vote. There was a voting machine that read 'Assembly elections and Parliament elections. I had read about voting machines in newspapers and how politicians tamper these machines for rigging purpose. For strange reasons, I remembered TN Seshan, once the Chief Election commissioner of India. I thought maybe if that man was in power this would never have happend.

I looked at the voting machine..and I knew who to vote for. I didn't even bother to look at the other "CONTESTANTS". As soon as I pressed the button against the political party name, it gave a loud beep like a burglar alarm!! I then had to caste my vote for the prime minister's seat. While I was doing this process, I thought how tensed those contestants will be and if they realized that I had voted for them, how would they react? Will I be attacked from the other contestants for whom I didn't vote for? I discarded all these when I reazlied that I was exercising my rights as a citizen.

It was finally done. My quest was over! I had casted a vote for the first time. I felt as if I had done a great service to mankind!

Sangeet Theatre- Farewell to my movie Den

2008-05-04T22:09:00.001+05:30

I remember, the first time I saw Sangeet theatre. It was the summer of 1989 when I was travelling in a bus with my Maa. We were going towards Secunderabad Railway station. The bus halted at a place and the bus conductor shouted 'Sangeet' for the benefit of those who'd want to get down. I looked right, and there stood this theatre painted with blue border. I looked up, tried to figure out the name of the theatre, the alphabets which were assorted to form an arc. I looked around and Saw the poster of the film SCARFACE, Al pacino holding a gun and the painted bullets gushing out of it! I presumed the name of the film to be SURFACE. I lived with that assumption for sometime.

Two years later 'Home Alone' arrived in town. My memory tells me this was my first movie in Sangeet. I looked at the Sangeet theatre from outside and wondered, Where on earth is the screen? Which side? Athough, my curiosity was never exposed to anyone. As a kid, I admired Macaulay Culkin, for his guts and intelligence.

Sangeet has always been a special place for the yuppies of Secunderabad. And it all started in early 90s. English movie fever caught up soon. And of course, Watching an English movie was a privilege then. With The most common dress code meant for this ocassion was blue jeans teamed up with T shirt-. To be brand specific, Kaizas or Buffalo Jeans and the T shirt? well! we all knew fido- dido, the character of lehar 7-up that created waves across school and college goers of society. It did just the right thing.

Over years Sangeet had occupied a special place among the Secunderabad fraternity. The colloquial discussions made inside the theatre near the snacks, included the active use of the word 'ya' instead of 'yes'. Urbanization had reached a vantage point. yards away from the theatre, stood 'Fantasy' the premium multi cuisine eatery shack. Popularly known for its tall chairs and Fantasy champagne and fantasy burger, it had eveything that could cater those 15 somethings! However, they were expensive... very expensive priced between Rs 15-25!!!!! ( inflation during early 1990s)

And then there was guy called Sai, the fella at the parking lot who SECRETLY arranged tickets for us. During ticket crisis, the sight of Sai made us feel at ease. Limping across those parked vehicles, he used to vanish and show up after 10 minutes with those bright tickets in hand! Like a Houdini!

The decision to revamp this theatre into a swanky multiplex might sound to be a fair deail for the investors. However, go and ask the young generation of early 90s about Sangeet, most of them would go back to their past. We will never again see the same Sangeet theatre, with moss formed on the walls, pale yellow structure and the title SANGEET perched on top of it, with the blue sky over looking it.

Beethoven. Showdown in little Tokyo, Jurassic park, Free Willy...I lose count the number of movies I saw this theatre. But I will never forget what Sangeet theatre brought to this tinsel town of mine, its a monument that brought friends together, made us socialize despite our simple lifestyle. We were more happy with that 5 rupee chips packet, the seating style, arranging finances for the 25 rupee ticket, never bothered about parking. Each and every moment that transformed us.

Priceless indeed!

KAUSHIK- The Man of Masses

2008-05-03T23:47:00.001+05:30

Hmm let me recollect...Yes, It was one fine summer evening in 1991..read on to know what happened..

Hey fatso! Try and climb up here! Babbu said these words and chuckled. Standing in front of us was a guy in Red shirt. He looked up angrily. My! Babbu had a nerve to say that! Because I wouldn't have dared to say that to a HUGE, but 11 year old boyish personality! What the fuck you mean? Haan? Roared the guy in Red shirt. Who is he? I asked Babbu.

Kaushik, the fatso! replied Babbu, and deliberately added an adjective after his name. The game that we were playing involved us to climb a wall and jump into the sand. Kaushik was plump boy and one would clearly think twice before speaking with him. Motu ko deewar par chadna nahi aata! Babbu mocked again. Next, I anticipated a fight between Kaushik and Babbu. Babbu was a
brat among our friends and I thought even if it creates a scene, I shouldn't be surprised. I was zapped again! Probably, Babbu thought Kaushik could never get hold of him. Babbu knew Kaushik as they studied in same school. And I was watching this mockery war from a safe distance. You rascal! How dare you? You think you can escape? Come down and I'd show you. Kaushik screamed.

The boiling point had reached in Kaushik. I was sure he would hammer Babbu's ass. And I too wanted Kaushik to teach him a lesson. Babbu was the certified brat of our colony and very notorious of getting himself into difficult situations. Somehow Kaushik managed to get hold of Babbu, kicked and shoved him into that sand and next gave him one tight slap that could ring a bell in the ears. He pushed him straight , held him by his neck and threw him on the sand. Seemed like a david and goliath fight, babbu was as helpless as he could be! I thought of course he'd be..how can a puny man stand against an elephant?

The scuffle quickly ended and forced Babbu to run. And, of course Kaushik became my hero. Finally there was someone who can settle scores very easily. I mustered some courage and approached Kaushik. He was dusting the sand that went into his shirt. Bravo! You did the right thing man! "Hey Shyam, don't you think he was too good?" Shyam, another friend of mine who was as dark as a crow nodded his head. His nod perhaps meant that it's normal for Kaushik. What that does Chaar khandol think of himself? He thinks I can't play this game or what? Eh! Kaushik muttered.

Chaar khandol - an offensive word, was a name given to anyone who wore spectacles. And it created many fights between the young boys of our colony. Guys wearing spectacles considered it as an insult at the mention of this word. Babbu was a bright chap in studies and spoke reasonably good English. But he was equally dim in his vision and unreasonable with his acts.

However, that was my first encounter with Kaushik. A burly lad who knew nothing about me earlier went ahead and became one of the finest friends I and we ever had. From a burly lad to the beardy man today, Kaushik still speaks about the good ol days.

The Dude is just right for anyone who wants to have a long lasting friendship. He breathes a new life into friendship. I have seen him grow over years and the way he connects to people is amazing! He was my savior on many occasions. And for the rest, he is always a popular hero or chieftain or a sheriff or wahetver words and traits you may want to associate for a leader. If there is one thing I'd like to steal from this chap, that would be his PR. He simply rocks. Whatever has been said or talked about him is not inadvertent.

There is a reason to write about this gentleman in my blog. Without any exaggeration, one day, I want to see him as the chief minister of the state! And so it shall be written and so it shall be done!

The Day I met Pakistan

2008-01-30T13:22:00.001+05:30

Psst Abhi..look..look at that...there! My friend muttered..

Wow! This is fantastic..Hey..can you see some people over there?

I sounded as if we have arrived from some other planet. After all, the people on the other side of the border were humans too..But the excitement it created in me, became a moment of history!

I never knew that I was just 100 yards away from Pakistan. As a Kid, the country reminded of me of Wasim Akram and my 7th class Geography text book. In my late teens I used gossip with my friends about India's military strength, missile and most of the weapons of mass destructions being covered in our conversation, that began after the dumping of academic books was done.

The discussion included our friendship with Russia; Who will among USA and China will support in the event of a war? Somehow, we used to end the conversation with this big question being unanswered.Gradually when I grew up, I had to understand the bilateral relationship, War is not the solution..anyways.

As I reached the great Wagah border, I realized the efforts of these soldiers who guard the border day and night. And that mesmerizing moment recalled Amitabh Bacchan's words in the film Lakshya where he played the role of a Colonel- "Is desh ke sau crore insaan, jo is vishwaas ke saath sothe hain, ki main aur tum jaag rahe hain" Bacchan Saab was so true. I looked at the BSF jawans and wondered if they have time to think about their family. They appeared firecely patriotic.

The other side of the border stood the Pakistanis. I saw them only on television during cricket matches held in Karachi or Lahore. It happens with most of us, we watch Hrithik Roshan or Sachin Tendulkar, on the big screen, not getting excited. But when they appear before us, we panic, and later, lines like Arrey woh mere paas hi khada tha. I was inches away from him etc are said in an explicit manner. 7 out of 10of us will describe the So Just like that! I asked my friend " Do you have any Idea what those people on the other side are thinking? Have they noticed me? I knew how stupid those questions were, but sensible enough to covey that I was excited. I shamelessly went on thinking if the Pakistanis had noticed me in my Levis Jeans? Do they wish to come here and shake hands with us? They love our bollywood movies and perhaps want to be the part of India? I do not have the patience to write in this blog all the crap that went into my head then.So you can relax now.

However, as a kid, I had perceived a different Pakistan. I thought them conceited and arrogant. How wrong I was? They are Human beings. It's just a line that created a difference between us and them. Having said this, I would never discount the fact that I belong to a great nation! Fluttering high was our Tiranga. I stood, saluted and buried the fact in my heart that I am an Indian!

The year that wasn't...

2008-01-03T22:36:00.002+05:30

And there it goes! Poof! Another year..

It inadvertently hits me everytime I see a new calender. I ponder on the years that rolled. I sit back and think, where did the 90s go? I mean, its over, but when? I feel like composing a sequel to Bryan Adam's summer of 69. He had rightfully expressed his feelings in that all time great number.

I don't like to celebrate parties and welcome the brand new year. I feel, each year, it worsens my nostalgia. During my early teens, I used to get excited about new year, because it gave an opportunity for me and my friends to hang out one complete night, be it on terrace, or at someone's place, eat junk chips, burger, drink countless glasses of cool drinks- yes no correction needed there, it IS cool drink and not anything else.( even now I do not booze, if you think somethings wrong with me, maybe it is).

As years rolled by, I realized that its not the number of years that makes one grow old, its the experience that counts. I would never know if this blog will continue till 2009, but it shall certainly add one more nostalgic moment in my life.

Let me see what I go through this 2008! Will write some more thoughts later. Feeling sleepy now!

I love Tigers

2007-12-29T23:00:00.003+05:30

Tiger, I get excited when I hear this word. It's a beautiful, alluring, cute...... I believe mere adjectives won't help define this majestic cat. I am not an environmental consultant. I ain't a member of WWF nor I a friend of Valmik Thapar or Latika Rana. Wondering who they are? Good. They are wildlife experts and conservationists. I hung my head in shame when I see the committed efforts of people like them.

Somtime back, I wrote an e-mail to the then president of India, his excellency Mr APJ Abdul Kalam. Rediff.com had given me the privilege to wish Dr Kalam on his birthday. Seizing this opportunity, I wished him a happy birthday and also conveyed him a message to do something to save Tigers. Still wondering if my message was read? I don't know.

I once asked a famous film actress, also a founder of an Animal rights organisation, about the fate of Tigers. "We will not see Tigers in future" pat came the reply. Though I anticipated this reply from her, I once believed that the world for sure knows this truth. What and how could someone have heart to kill an animal? I feel helpless for those animals, slaughtered for meat. I say this not because I am a vegetarian. Perhaps, if you witness the way these dumb, innocent little animals are killed for delicacy, you'd change your mind. Their cry makes me cry. I am emotionally strong, but this is an exception.

India boasts, as the only country in the world, to have Tigers and Lions. (wondering what about Africa? Well, Africa has Lions, but no Tigers) Sadly, the world Tiger population doesn't exceed 2000. The fickle Tiger count gives miserable figure year after year.

So far, I have done nothing to save this animal. I am trying. I would want to visit Kanha National Park, where Kipling wrote Jungle Book. I wish to see a tiger in the wild. Someday, somehow.

Here are some of my creations. Please feel free to distribute these messages.

Me a Movie Buff...

2007-12-15T13:56:00.001+05:30

It started with those days when we had a VCR. I used to watch cartoons, sci-fi, horror, drama and other genres that never stopped me from thinking. As a 10 yr old kid, I watched Sam Raimi's-Evil Dead part 1. At school we discussed how this movie made people pee in their pants while watching. Surpringly, I pee'd after the movie was over (?!)

To narrate a filmy incident, Years ago, my Dad, an ex Defence personnel, was posted in that ARMY area of Ramgarh. He promised to take us to movie one day. It was a boon for us, because my dad never fancied to take family out. We were actually going to an open air theatre. I had no idea then how an open air theatre system works. I thought there lies a different world behind that huge wall. Late evening, we went to the theatre which was not far from our home. We struggled hard to find the seat. We sat among Sardarjis, Army men with their families. I thought every Sardarji was a "Jail Singh". He was the only popular politician I knew those days! It was a different feeling watching a movie. All of a sudden the hero Rishi Kapoor appears on the screen and I look at him with my eyes wide open. I had no idea whether my family was liking the movie, but I was thinking on how a woman like Sridevi could turn into a snake! My mind was left out on that pmovie. However, I didnt realize that I'd sleep so soon after the interval. I slept in my mothers lap caring a damn about the movie! That's it! If you think whats so filmy in that, then jerk off!

Over years, I watched many films, good, bad, ugly. I have always liked films which are natural, witty, powerful. I like raw characters which have sweat and not mascara. Somone like Bhiku Mhatre in Satya.

I don't like to watch films that showcase the characters as wealthy, lavish and pompous. I avoid Sanjay Leela Bhasali. He lives in world of imagination and expects the audience to step into his shoes. I laugh and also express my sympathy for Karan Johar and Sooraj Barjatya. I was 13 when I saw Hum Apke Hain Kaun- that family melodrama. After watching that film, I realized that I had then become very matured. I could make a better movie.

What fascinates me about Ramgopal Varma is his attitude! I love the way this guy experiments with his films , a rare breed quality that you get to see among these commercial oriented directors. Nishabd in one my Favourite films of 2007, followed by Chak De India( because Shahrukh Khan didnt act in the film) and Johnny Gaddar( I have been a fan of Sriram Raghvan since Ek Hasina thi). I had fallen in Love with Sridevi after watching Kshana Kshanam. I could not ask for a better performance from an actresses who seldom have a role to play in the movie, minus dancing for belly shaking numbers and shredding glycerine as and when instructed by the director.

I have a conventional and an unbiased approach towards Hollywood movies. I am very fond of animated classics too. I watched the Good bad and the ugly with my cousins and after the movie, I made my own assumptions. I'd rate Tom Hank's role in Forrest Gump as the finest ever role, standing ovation for Sylvester Stallone in Rocky. The list is endless. Mind you I am not writing the list of my favorite movies here. Over years, I have developed a cult for Jack Nicholson. I love his care-a-shit attitude in his roles.

With a thought and hope that one day I'd be directing a full length movie, albeit the conditions are not favourable, I rest my views in this essay.

Being Abhishek

2007-06-28T21:11:00.002+05:30

At dawn, on August 9th, 1981, the birds chirruped and conveyed the arrival of a divine incarnated child. The word 'divine' represents holiness of the mother. It was the day of bliss, elation and celebration! The mother's happiness was impossible to explain in words. Of course! Would that be possible?The child never knew about the celebrations happening around!

Heh heh...I just cannot portray an brag about me. I was born just like all of us. I am no special and that poetic description can be ignored...royally!

That was some history about my birth. However, every year when the calender shows August 9, I wish I had the power to go back, sit on a cloud and view some memorable moments of my years! I never was obsessed with techonology as a kid. Little did I realize that one day I'd be sitting on my chair and writing this blog?

I have certain weirdo instincts in me. I react to situations that could best be when left alone, and do not react to situations that need my involvement. I cannot excess love anyone or shower my affection except my mother. My care does'nt include hugging or kissing or giving a materialistic view of affection. Its very raw and when people knew that I care, they'd realize it..somehow! There is another reason, a genuine reason why I escape these celebrity moments. It’s because I’m awkward at expressing. For example, to my sister, I am not a traditional brother and I don’t make the periodic phone calls inquiring about her health and family. But its not because I don't care. Somehow after the initial niceties, I’m at loss of words about how to pursue the conversation.

I am very lazy when it comes to traditions, beliefs and formalities. I do not greet people like good morning, because I don't understand what's so good about the morning? However, If someone greets me, I'd be quick to reciprocate. This attitude of mine has led to several problems, for people. Not me. They want me to think their perspective which I cannot. Perhaps I’m too selfish to be duty bound. Or perhaps I’m just too shy. Strangely, I’ve remained detached from the worldly anxieties.

I was never sure what I wanted to become in life, While I was the restless soul driven by fleeting obsessions - at one time comics, to become a cartoonist, then fire crackers. I was a good student at school, However, after my 8th standard I had realized that family and life teaches everything. I do not blame the education system and not because my parents couldn't afford to out me in an posh boarding school. I am glad for what I am today.

Life was never a bed of roses for me, Thankfully! I grew up from being a coy, ackwardly dressed boy without any direction. I had a vast friends circle to whom I am grateful. Even today, I feel at ease when I am with my friends.

I am spiritual. But to me, spirituality is not about getting up early in the morning to do pooja or breaking coconuts in the temple or chanting mantras. I may be biased in saying this, but how could I possibly believe a priest who mutters mantras seem to convey my prayer to god? How many of us understand the language that he uses to communicate with god? I believe that the biggest spirituality comes in the form of trust and that trust need not be specific to mantras and rituals. I do not close my eyes while praying and my prayer doesn't even last for 2 minutes. Once in a month or two, I visit only Hanumanji temple.

I end this here, because I could possibly go on writing to eternity about me and my sensless character- if deemed.