Showing posts with label lucknow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lucknow. Show all posts

Thursday, October 19, 2017

A seeking on the night of lights


A tiny glance, a tiny question, and a curt negation. That was it for my visit to the nearby temple for some peacetime indulgences, a mission unaccomplished. Then I caught a pair of eyes questioningly staring at me, probably on a same mission. To them, I gestured in negation. The temple priest could thank me for one inquiry less day. My negation was enough to turn that person - who belonged to those eyes - back from where he'd been coming in from.

I caught up to the person before he could leave. A gray-haired but still very able elderly gentleman, in a religious garb of unquestionably Hindu flavor - the ochre/saffron kurta and wraparound an easy giveaway - with a curled walking stick in one hand that served more as an aesthetic than a functional purpose.
"Any other place to seek?" I inquired him.
"There's another one ahead" he replied.
And that's how we two became a team, brought together by a common seeking. Although unintentionally so, we stuck together for the next coupla hours. A very long time for seekers' fulfillment, indeed.

Thanks to such pairing, I got to see a new face of the city that I call home (Home Numero Uno). Novelty being my main drug, came aplenty on this eve. There were places, people, things and attitudes, that I stumbled into, and got to observe and experience, who I've never observed or interfaced with before.

From the Shani Mandir, we walked to the Devraha Ghat, a mere stone's throw away. Apparently the Gomti river-front is densely populated with ashrams and saint-adobes. The Ghat itself is a non-entity for the time being. The recent river-front renovation plans have pushed them into oblivion, or to better put, off the map of the new seekers. People don't visit them anymore, because they offer neither an inner calm or external aesthetic. Only once the renovation work is completed, will the ghats be restored to their earlier prime. The old people still know these exist, and visit for channelising their faith - someone who understands how faith works can better explain.

The Devraha Ghat is in a mess, apart from the temple of Devraha Rishi (देवरहा बाबा) , which is small but elegantly done. It is rare to come across idols of Indian ascetics as the centerpiece, but here's one. As I thought, such deifications/reverances gives the venue a more human appeal, and is a more effective way to connect to the spiritual core, than putting up idols of the ultra Gods of the Indian canon.

The time we turned into the temple complex adjoining the ghat, was coincidental with a devotee - a middle aged gent in a formal attire of a shirt and pants - finishing his prayers to a marble idol of the saint. At the end of the prayers, the being of the devotee is suffused with bliss. Besides, there is also an activation of the sacred offerings/prasad (प्रसाद), which after being offered to the divinity is then ready for human consumption. Being the only ones around, the good-natured blissful gent shared the Prasad with us. A coupla laddoos (sweetmeat) for I; and the same, plus Rs50 for my friend (for appearing overtly Hindu or overtly hermit, I suppose).

Thus, free food was achieved. Wait, what about that which we came seeking? - that still remained unaccomplished. Taking a gander, the hermit was dismayed - confirmed that his usual liaison was missing today. Then we planned to seek further ahead. Walking out of the temple complex, we took to the road for Q.

About a hundred meters into our resumed walk, the hermit spotted a rickshaw puller on the opposite side - a short, rotund, gray-beard - reminded of the laughing Buddha. Apparently he was an amicable guy who often had the same seeking as ours. I was instructed to hop across, and find out if he could help us. So I did. Alas, he responded in negation - the sources he mentioned were already tried and found dried up. I crossed the road back, to update the hermit. Thus, we continued further in our seeking.

Conversation happened in bursts during the long walks. Where thee be from? What thee be upto? What be thee family? Why thee be out on a day of familial attractions and obligations? Answers to these, interspersed with narratives and stratagem involving that which we were out to seek. Then a sudden few minutes of quiet. But whatever did to keep us motivated and ease his anxiety about this "lad" who decided to follow.

We turned in towards Q from the big and busy "tiraha". The hermit had planned to find a guy who satisfied seekings. He was upfront in telling me that this'd be a Muslim boy we'd be visiting; maybe he was getting over his own stance of censure to men of other religiosities (as I'd expect an overtly Hindu guy to be).

In a coupla hundred meters, we hit a square, at one corner of which was the Sharda Mata Temple. Our seekings were diverted to the frontyard of this temple, upon spotting the priest and another shaggy old fella satisfying their seeking in full view of the traffic buzzing by. The priest was a young, athletic-seeming fella who was balanced against a temple pillar; and opposite to him, at about a coupla armlengths, sat the shaggy fella busy with the seeking; and to their side, we perched.

A hit happened. A short conversation between the hermit and the shaggy fella also happened. They discussed possibilities of seeking around old Lucknow that night. Also discussed was how I didn't know the physics to a perfect chillum drag. In that time, the priest's lady (priestess?) also made an appearance. Dressed in ochre, similar to her husband, she exuded a calm, pious and sincere vibe. I hope my drifting gaze didn't offend the priest - I did think about how they co-exist, running the temple as a home, and if the priest were in direct connection with the Gods, he could've read my mind and got offended.

The shaggy fella knew a nearby prospect source. The hermit and I bid farewell and resumed the seeking. We were upbeat that this would be it. Only a few meters in, we spotted our source, languishing by the roadside, adjacent to a ragpickers' collective, in the dark of the twilight. Turns out his protege was the same Muslim guy that the hermit had earlier mentioned, and that the protege was off to his village. No luck for us here, either. Onwards, comrade.

We walked past the Q Bus Depot - memories of my travels came rushing. Past it, we took the left, towards Aminabad, which was the last venue we had decided to check out before closing our seeking for the eve. It was the longest stretch of our walk together. Past the Tunday wali gali, past the main square, past the footwear and apparel stores, to get to the Aminabad chowk (square). From the chowk, we took another left - into the avenue that I'd never explored before. Experiencing the buzz of the busy marketplace, we reached our final venue, a temple complex. The hermit turned inside, through the gates, and I followed. We skirted around the main temple, and reached the residential complex behind it - our venue. An open, thatch-roofed courtyard facilitated hangouts, and that's where we settled at after divesting of footwear.

Alien eyes darted all about. More specifically, 5 pairs of alien eyes. There was a priest, whom I greeted respectfully. With him was another visitor, or a friend. Then there were three adolescents, snake charmers by (situationally forced) profession, sitting with their snake boxes by their side. There were a few  beedis lying about - just the empty outer leaf. The inner contents of the beedis (aka the tobacco) had been exhausted. Where they were exhausted were on a newspaper. What for, needed no explanation. We were in a Shiv Mandir. Satisfaction was in progress.

The priest and his friend settled down in a cross-legged posture on the floor in the middle of the courtyard. The hermit got an invite to join in, and I followed. We seated next to those two, and thus our tiny circle of four came to be. The snake charmers, who were satisfying their seeking independently in the meantime, were asked and they offered us a tiny amount of what they had. A mix was prepared, and packed into a chillum. Then a hit.

When that finished, efforts started towards another one. The hermit was entrusted with beedis to dismantle and salvage tobacco from. I helped with optimization, making sure none of the tobacco got left behind in the beedis. The priest and his friend started a conversation that got louder with time, as its contents gained sensationality. At one point of time, the priest was narrating an incident about an accident of a friend entailing a visit to the doctor, who upon a single glance at the injured declared him to be a thug, which was a correct observation (as per the priest). It is at this time that I jumped into the conversation, asking the priest to be more specific. This is what got us talking.

The priest was a memorable kinda character. He wasn't the typical priest (as depicted in teleseries). A break from the traditional mould, I'd say. Young, disciplined in the way he'd maintained his body, simple in a vest and an ochre wrap, conversant. The last part was the most untypical about him. He would occasionally use English words, uttered in correct pronunciation. The first time I heard him, he was lampooning Baba Ramdev for fooling people with diabetes medicine. It was interesting to get in a conversation with this guy, though by the end of the evening, it got kinda annoying.

The priest introduced himself as Ashutosh, and his friend Rajkumar. I also introduced myself. My name was enough to start a discussion with the priest, him being overly fussy in how it should be correctly pronounced (duh, like I didn't know). Upon learning of my background, he mentioned his younger brother who was doing his bachelors in engineering from Annamalai University far down south (India). Then he started raving about Ankit Fadia - apparently he thought highly of him. Or maybe he wanted to interest the techie me. I interjected at this point, to clarify that AF isn't as bright a character as made to seem. I didn't reveal how AF was a mere script kiddie who had been declared a charlatan at DefCon, and whose appointment as Digital India campaign's brand ambassador dismayed me greatly.

In the meantime, another round of chillum was prepared. Before we could start, Rajkumar mentioned about my incorrect handling of the chillum, then taught me a good way to pull (there are 3 or 4 good ways, overall).

The human dimension is boundless, and I had a good run through it on this eve.

Thursday, September 07, 2017

People who push your perspective

Experiences with people (real ones) is bewildering, to say the least. The most recent one left me existentially enervated. That it followed a hearty lunch, leaves me with an additional feeling of guilt - the guilt of gluttony and hedonistic indulgence.

As I returned home from the last official task of the day, I spotted an incoming Rik. The challak (driver) alighted  before a speed bump. By the look in his eyes, I had the impression that he had expectations with me. My impression was proven right when, nearing him, he urged me to climb on, for a drop. Since I was close to home, and moreover since I rarely excuse myself from a brisk walk whenever the chance, I declined his exhortations.

"बस थोड़ा ही जाना है"
"10 रुपये दे देना छोड़ देंगे साहब"

From his tone, he seemed desperate for money. I, having already crossed him, turned, and doled him a 20 rupee note. The gesture made him emotional. He lifted up his shirt to show me a stitched-up body from a recent operation - a long vertical cut extending from the sternum to below the navel, stitched poorly, dusted with some medicine.

To someone raised in an environment of sufficiency, nightmares of stitches opening and organs spilling out (with considerable blood, of course) come to the imagination aplenty. However, this guy seemed above those considerations. To the poor, rest after surgery is not an option. Here was this guy, into an occupation that demanded physical exertion, trying to have a day out working despite his organism's condition.  As a daily wage earner, the only options he had were : to make it worse by not earning, or to make it worse by exerting, of which he chose the latter.

He then started explaining how his daily medicines itself needed 100-150 bucks. Then his voice got thin and wheezy , and he got teary-eyed. It was not an enjoyable moment for I, and I shudder at thinking what kind of moment it were for him. I marched onwards, feeling heartless.

Monday, February 06, 2017

Field Recording Itch

Of late, I've directed thoughts often towards birds. That continuity led to today's thoughts - much exclusively towards assembling a field recording kit, so that the birdsongs aren't a mere fleeting memory. And yet again, I have concluded that choosing a reliable/stable/effective kit is a bit complicated. Earlier, I have browsed over hours, to come to similar conclusions.
Each time I get a bit wiser, but many questions still remain open-ended - Do I go for a shotgun or a parabolic mic? Would DIY-ism get me better field recordings? Is a separate recorder necessary? Is a deadcat must? Where in Delhi do audiophiles go (having been to Daryaganj, I've been disappointed)? Where can the field recordists/soundscapers be found in my part of the world? Would starting with soundscapes (hence a XY setup) be better as it is the ulterior intent?

Another annoying part is seeing the immediately-available-in-vicinity prices being much higher than what the same things sell for on Amazon (US). To be limited to a few options, which are priced so as to leave no scope to experimentation, is conflicting. What is the beef the audio manufacturers have with our government, to deserve such jacked up prices? This takes me back to last decade when anything electronic would blindly be a much better deal if a friend/relative was returning from the US or Emirates.

As of the moment of logging this, some bird's very unique calls intrude the airspace. Only if I'd have something to hook into it... gah!

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

lko stadium run

Today marks the grand occasion that I went out for a run. It has been a while since my last 'un - far back in November. However, as the year draws to a close, any purposeful activity will be indulgent and give far more satisfaction - meeting so many people builds up a resignation to the winter vacation days, and to poor health, which is broken by the act of intent, such as going out really early in the morning for a run. At this trough of existence, things like this are a positive step towards a crest. Besides, it takes care of my drinks and the pork of last week, juicing out those calories.

Through the run, was a novel companion sight of chemtrails, which got more fascinating with the rising sun. There were two of 'em (chemtrails), to the East, cutting two diagonal gashes across the cloudless sky.  One of them curved sharply, suggesting a drastic change of course for some jet. There is an air base nearby, and I can imagine that's where the parent body of those chemtrails takes off from. Above the open expanse of Colvin Taluqdars' playfield, the rising sun seemed like an orange bulb dangling from the firmament on a white chemtrail wire.

The early mornings bring out two kinds of people - the deadbeat, crowding at the temple, and the spirited, crowding at the stadia, separated by the river Gomti. The temple crowd is middle aged and oddly shaped - mostly obese - and emanates the fragrance of Marigold and Jasmine. A lot many of 'em prefer to come to find their God in swanky cars, which now neatly stack in the parking lot built along the river.
At the stadium, all age groups and both the sexes find representation. The standard atomic unit of a coach and a team formed clusters at the periphery - cricket team, hockey team, judo team, etc. Since everybody was still at warmup, there was no actual sport to be seen, but a boy-dad duo kicking a big maroon ball around.

Some stretches, and the Dragon Walk, the Frog Walk, the Horse Walk.. these helped me make the best of the chance morning I got. Then a seemingly-long walk back home. 

Monday, December 28, 2015

Making amends (again)

we have drifted apart so many times, but like magnets, our fields pull us little by little to bring us back again, o blog.

the world has claimed to come up with things more beautiful, but you remain as appealing as before, and my paths never meander around you in daily continuity but put you in the middle.

i remember you as often as the friends i can't find the time for (or vice versa); and not at all like the friends i don't find the time for. i have not been short of thoughts or words welded well to represent those thoughts, but much like a quick jerk-off, they have come often - an onset of virile moment - and shed as soon, irresponsibly. you shouldn't consider that there is someone else.

you will love to know my love - that i've lost, found, and regained over this time of absence, - better over these vacations.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

take more mine

Such a curious world we live in. I find it comical that everything gets back on track and derailed so easily. The transience of moments beats me. The play of Yin and Yang has been extraordinary, of late. Compound that with an average sleep of 4 hours in the past few days, and double-compound that with the realization that I could've just got my 8 and not bothered much at all. However, the halting problem again comes to explain, that given a program and a set of inputs, the program can't tell if and when it will terminate on those inputs - ie given me and my situation variables, I have no way of telling when the situation will collapse and reset.

I have this fuckin American Beauty ending playing out over and over again - just when everything seems to go right somebody or something is gonna put a gun and blow my brains to pulp. And despite, I plug it, let it heal, and it happens again.

Monday, January 05, 2015

small updates to end a big year

Hey blog. You deserved a knock, at least around the New Year's eve. 2014 has segued into 2015, and as each day of the new year has trickled by the urge has pushed itself, to rise to the top on this morning and make itself realized over a cup of Lopchu.

The first week of the new year has been serene, for more than one reasons. My mom, who suffered a stroke right at the cusp of the two years, got back home. (she's the reason why i'm here in Lko right now) It has been raining since Day 1 of 2015. The clouds, that were partly consumed in their 'ode to joy' kinda pouring at the start to the year, have been pushed aside by a breeze reinvigorating to the touch. I still remain as troubled on personal matters, but soon as I step outside and gaze across the rooftop, the spring in nature that I witness replaces the chaos in the mind. It resonates with that quote about the poor, how their physical toil takes them away from their mental pain, and hence keeps them happy. Nature does the same to an anguished person like me.

Deanguishing also takes place with visits to the Chowk, where me and baby brother score Kebabs, Makhhan Malai, Bhang and similar indulgences. Last we visited, we treated ourselves to a lotta free beverages, being distributed in the cramped lanes of old Lucknow on the eve of Id-ul-Milad; found a new winter drink - RoohAfza mixed with warm milk.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Waking up right

Stepping out into a 14C dawn in Lucknow. It is actually one of the better (note: warmer) mornings that I'm up at. Usually, I would follow this observation with some indoor activity like panic, /r/gonewild, or sleep, but today it has started out different, since I 'woke' into the morning instead of 'transitioning' into it.
If my enthusiasm doesn't convey a tone of excitement, then let me brazenly state that there is some. There is something about ending chaos that soothes, though I still love chaos, which is the default (and average) state of our universe. I play into the chaos and it becomes paradoxical, which I believe is the Divine Comedy some guy refers to. It has been so long that I have wanted to claim weighted mornings, where the intangible sense of purpose and existential satiety is served with one's breakfast.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Three names

Met three new people today. Three new and fascinating names.

1. Ram Aasrey: Works at the dentist's. There's a very famous sweet-maker in Lucknow by the same name. So, every visit to get my teeth fixed has me thinking of sweets while in the dentist's chair. Yes, I already complained - my dentist just can't keep someone with that name; unless he's a sadistic types, which I don't think he is.

While playing with the new litter of the pariah canine couple, two kids - sisters - also came up to indulge in the same. They were children of the workers at the adjacent construction site.
2. Gudia: Translates to 'doll'. Elder of the two sisters, of about 7. No, it didn't remind me of Barbie, but something else: the name Gudia has entered the present national consciousness, thanks to another horrific rape incident - involving a 5-yr old... whom they decided to give a face and christen "Gudia". Comparing this Gudia's spirited face while being reminded of the other Gudia fighting for a life in the hospital got me pensive.

3. Bachhiya: Translates to 'a calf' . Younger of the two sisters, of about 4. It is amusing, but cute at the same time, to find parents naming their children after a young bovine animal. Maybe it hints towards the kid's playfulness. Or maybe she was achieved through IVF - performed on a cow to hold a human fetus; the culmination of a secret-but-successful experiment (remember the four-assed monkey?), later adopted by human parents. Very cool!

Friday, September 07, 2012

Foodie's Night Out with HD

Me: now featuring with an added 2.2 kCals, after the dinner - comprising of a variety of meats, in a variety of preparations, and 4 kind of desserts (served twice). As irresponsible towards my manliness is to be consuming meat, equally irresponsible towards my health is to be turning my tummy into a industrial processing unit. I can now imagine my body machinery dedicating itself to assimilating nutrition from all the unprocessed stuff for the next few days, which doesn't fit with the workout ambitions. She must be really mad at me, at this repeated promise of me taking her out, but being unable to, on the account of a tragic state of my valve. For a moment jerking off in the comforts of my espacio grande seems more beneficial than such social commitments; there's Camus to read as well. But being me, I'm overcommitted in these last days in Lko, as a result of which I should be prepared to suffer my being for the entire day tomorrow as well.

Thursday, September 06, 2012

Dem gayl h8 my taste

Read this. A shared link (and no, not someone making her preference known).
By end of the first para, my thoughts went... "i have a hairy chest and geeky antics!"
By end of the article... "oh shit, why didnt i wait till the second para"
Since surveys are an average, am I supposed to fucken hate Indian girls now, on an average? On the other hand I could just trash the article, both for the trifling concerns it promotes, as well as the media source that puts it out there (reminder: ToI is a blot on journalism). No I'm not "groovy" for an Indian girl, but - in all likelihood - neither is wisdom too attractive for that person.

But why am I cribbing about trifling fornication prospects when I could be bragging about my 16 inches of penis foodie delight in this city of Lucknow, about that Achari Gosht and Biryani at Lalbagh that I'm gonna be returning back to again and again. With the addition of the T, alone, into my social nexus, hangouts and street cruising have been transformed into wiser (albeit sometimes illegal) affairs. [there's also the S and his new Wagon R to thank, but nothing beats what the T brings] The T is one who will always be available for that need of wasting an evening in general. It was that, today.
The S picked me up from my place, then we picked up the T from his place, then drove around, until settling in a shady nook, with shady intents. The T, the S, and I, each found a role, which went towards making that final roll. Once the roll was enrolled did we roll out to have a scrumptious meal, then follow up with our 'kulhad' of lassi (that cost the same as our meal earlier). I wanted more of everything we'd had this far, but sadly these guys were done for the day.
Tomorrow it'll be beer and Rogan Josh (some outlet near Novelty Cinema) on our itinerary. I'm looking into medical procedures for removal of my entire food tract, after all the masala of this city that has featured in my tummy lately.

Monday, September 03, 2012

jalebi guy

Indian kickstart food had me pinned down for the day. After having liberal servings of jalebi, kachori, dhokla, matar poori - and also to include tea, and milkshake, - I went into an alternate reality (of dreams) that I only returned from around noon. And guess what, more food followed soon as I stepped down from the cushy bed since it was already lunch. Pamper is the right word here.

Only now that the sun nears the horizon does my day seem to have started. The gears finally feel like shifting now that I've solved the annoying issue of getting BSNL to work on the new modem, which calls for a celebration as I now get to use the Belkin with the crappy Rocknet connection. Following the resurrection of the internet, D pinged me on gtalk and reminded of some professional stuff, which I could easily shirk but will take up for a change (for a change in the past year and a half, that is). [so far I had 'smoking pot' on the itinerary, but seems like plans need be revised]

In other news, I was dreaming like it was a disease. There were people I knew, but not like that; there were buses trapped in floods, with me making my last minute exit; there were lakes and huge aquatic creatures out to get me. I guess sleeping too sound all this while in my dark chamber (aka pimp room) has left me with a backlog, or maybe sleep processing isn't a transparent process outside my dark chamber which is why I'm seeing all the more.

[PS: title of this post is supposed to be a pun on 'jalebi bai']

Monday, April 02, 2012

day 2/10, her 10/10

The beauty of life is seeing how misfortunes weave themselves so congruously, yet to silently, into life. I am disappointed over the matters of the day. Things were only so good as the morning breakfast, and the preprandial nap of 3 hours. For, upon my entry from a restless dreamworld, back into a calm-at-the-surface real world, I learnt of the disturbances on my phone in the meantime - there was Shiv up with something (that something most often relates to some financial calling), and then Yogi remembering me, probably for some envious fact to share, which could range from a noteworthy feat in the kitchen to a trip abroad doing one better than hippies to stop the N-bomb. And then 'jeet with a missed call, probably giving a green flag after having overcome the last hurdle of noncommmittal buswallahs for our Good Friday weekend's adventure. And then 'jeet again with a text msg. A msg to share of some health issues in the family necessitating him to change his travel directions - from our adventure in the hills, to his hometown in Varanasi. So, the FAIL begins.

Having the extended weekend back in hand meant I could revisit old threads/commitments. Sadly, Ethereon was located already stationed in Manali, him doing a solo array of treks in the region, after my straight refusal for this indulgent plan just a coupla' days back. I had imagined wrapping up the bike trip a day early, and doing a day hike with Ethereon on the last day, and thereafter returning together.
Sadly (to repeat), Yogi had also committed to Ranikhet plans to see his folks. Despite all my disappointment, he didn't miss on reminding me to get him the cookies, though.

Then a much-anticipated arrival of my cousin from a 7-hour 380km Hld-Lko drive in an Innova [a quick affair by any standards, one which might slowly wipe the opinional frown about the state of our highways and turn it into a smile; even Lko-Del stretch is pretty much tits now, as I myself had verified behind the steering of a Nano with O'Toole on the Holi weekend] But what evoked a greater emotion (Note: negative, personally) was a yellow envelope, whose contents kicked up the elderly at home (i.e. everybody) into a transitory frenzy. DB had been the carrier of this doomsday device, herself assigned the responsibility through her old folks, who in turn were helping out their friends (who are 'almost family').

The cool graphic on a white sheet slowly released itself from the papyrus, and the ink strands took me into a chokehold. 'कुंडली' - do you know what it means? I still don't, but at that moment I was being sermonised on this obscure astrological porn, and alongside being asked to evaluate this flower of a girl on glossy finish Kodak paper - which if I'd done approvingly, would've necessitated a complex-yet-common social process of what they call 'arranged marriage' (or rather "arraigned" marriage).

I am not escaping some reality. In my defense, this is not my reality. How did we get here?

Friday, March 09, 2012

Holi Kites

I step out from the gates to draw something from the air outside. A calm predates the madness - a viral outbreak - that is to come. I notice that calm reflected in the faces of a trio of cows stationed strategically so as to block access to one of the bungalows in the neighborhood. The cows direct their blank gaze to their right, up the alley; a couple of colored shapes enter the horizon, and come running down the slope, towards me. They fail to notice me, or either find me un-noteworthy, and rush past me - I notice the maroon all over them. Their haste even catches the curiosity of pups - one white, one brown - that stagger to the middle of the road to understand this strange creature that today didn't even push or kick or stone them or pull their tails for a dirty laugh. Then another pair of boys come running from the direction of the labor colony to the N-E, distracted towards the skies.

The boys all converge outside Az's tall gate. Soon, an ownerless kite glides into the picture, cut from its line in likely an epic battle. Kites are a recent addition to Holi; makes me worry over the wrong reasons rooftops are being used. As they watched the kite arrive, so do they stare in longing as the kite keeps afloat long enough to glide out of the picture as well, into the park, where it decides to rest in defat. A kid holding a plastic cricket bat run and picks it up from the grass. He's happy despite that he hasn't desired what he had today.

What surprised me is why the other boys hadn't fought for that kite. It turns out that another defeat had sent another one spiralling down, this one carrying some statistical certainty of landing right where those boys are. The littlest kid tries a smart move as he slings his Langar 20ft up, but narrowly misses catching the line. An outgrown kid finally gets this one.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Berth chronicles

B1... It's this one. One at the front. First passenger coach behind the mail wagon. A bad start for me - if we were to collide with another train head-on, I would likely be dead. In addition, comforts of AC3 look cheap in comparison to the fact it leaves you little chance of rescue in an emergency aka Ms. Aman Kaur. In case of Mr. Parth Pani i.e. fall from damaged bridge, however, I might be on the safer side here, for its the trailing cars that are mostly seen in the newspapers, down the bridge into the waters below, floating like dead crickets. But as my head is making me tired, I don't spend much sweat on this statistical scare. I just wish to stare the inanimates into submission, to rest my eyeballs inside the cavernous retinal sockets.

The same head also thinks it is being spied upon, an invisible historical record in the making, jarringly peaceful, craving for the big bone in a small life. It imagines a scene from the commons as his mum and dad lecture him on a future while driving him to the station. It imagines the anti life of this city and compares it to that of his immediate destination.
Breathes hard. Stares into his own lap, and seldom at an unpopular perspective study of humans seated on the lower berth at a near-90deg plane of rotation, chatting insignificance, resigned to being the refuse of the history.
Oh fucks fart. There has to be a hi-hat ban effective immediately. Our train now stands outside Charbagh like a punished school kid outside his classroom. Punishment reminds me to mention this guy and gal 17, 23 who seem slant, composed, n cool. Veni vedi vici.

Holy frig, I was to mention the two fictions I completed in the past week. Two cult prose pieces. One William Golding's "Lord of the Flies", and other Chuck Palahniuk's "Choke", set probably 30 yrs apart in time, but finding a connect in the dark and a brutish affairs they bring to life. I lapped up 200+290 pgs in this week, which could be a personal best, discounting the exam cram time when 500-pagers would be downed with the morning tea. Goodnight.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Kickass Rangoli streak




All moi.
And oh, Happy Diwali, world.

To append to the day, was a dream where I had forgot where my office was, and was walking while suspiciously eyeing an office complex. Eyes met with a svelte girl walking next to me, who was welcome to our exchange. She felt stupid why we were walking this way. Then she made for the exit of that complex, and sure thing, I stayed with her. Now she felt weird about herself, firstly coz it was her first day back in the office after some time abroad, and secondly coz her actions and eyes and movement were a mirror to mine. I assured her that there was nothing weird about it. She turned out to have a tounge-twisting South Indian name. I asked her to go out with me, and she replied in affirmative.
Whoo!

Saturday, October 08, 2011

हर रात सुहाग रात

presently stable, aware. no fatigue, no palpitations, no creeping sleep, finally, at 1100AM. 
i don't appear so dazed and distracted now, which was first owing to the Bhang last night, and then owing to the run this morning.
3 big days of nothing lie ahead.

definitely will refuse going out for any movie with cousins (as I have given up on Bollywood, and rarely does any good Hollywood stuff get screened in the 'plexes here). as a matter of fact, walking along Anand/Shubham film halls in the dense old part of the city, and seeing the sad state of affairs they were in, I could only dream of taking over one of those for regularly screening art-house movies, and the real good B-grade stuff (unlike the "हर रात सुहाग रात" - loosely translated to "Every night honeymoon night" - types shit presently showing at Shubham, the film hall where I remember seeing Spielberg's Jurassic Park with my family in 1994 and confused at what the scientists exactly did there).

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Ich Liebe Lucknow

So you get to learn that girlfriend trouble could be sorted through with a convenient murder. And that arranging for a murder would put you back by 3 lakhs. And that the assassin would be handpicked by your friend - also your middleman - from Jaunpur. And in case your friend is well acquainted with the assassin - who will have 5 or 6 pending cases in this dark city, so another murder in his hands won't be a big deal - then it would be reduced to a lakh; but the money would have to be given upfront. No shortcuts allowed - slicing off a limb or two, or simply sending your enemy to the grave, both are equally priced. Again, I assert, payment through cash only.