Monday, May 11, 2009

Cricketing in PQ

Purana Qila, where my Ma's family resides, is a crumbling neighbourhood, not falling into total disarray because of the presence of Akhilesh Das (the Babu Banarasi Das foundation that he manages is also the sugar-daddy to my gradschool in Delhi). Besides Akhilesh Das, PQ is known for some lesser people, like Baba Sehgal, the first of Indian rappers, who managed to stay afloat with hits like "Thanda Thanda Pani" (a rip-off to "Ice, Ice, Baby"), "Manjula Manjula" and "Aaja Meri Gaadi Mein Baith Jaa", , and stayed 3 or 4 homes away from Ma's; and Bipasha Basu's mother, who stayed about 8 homes away as a tenant while she was attending her college in Lucknow. There must be others, but I have no idea.

Shouldn't have bothered with that much detail. All I wanted was to scribble down a single over of cricket I played with a cousin (about 9yrs old). I took the bat and stood next to the neighbour's garage, while he took his bowling position across the road, and next to him a vegetable basket was suspended mid-air (a convenient way to shop from the comfort of your first floor). There was a single lamp lighting the street in a dim yellow.

Ball 1: a black hog/pig darts across
Ball 2: wide ball
Ball 3: a cow darts across
Ball 4: the hog darts across again (back where it came from)
The rest of the over was a normal affair - forward drives, fumbles, all that.

Suck on this chocolate

Hey lady, would you like to suck on something inside my pants?

This morning an aunt handed over a chocolate bar (Cadbury's Dairy Milk Whole Nut) as a compensation to my discomfort of having to drive her to the railway station at daybreak. Sweet times. But also reminded me of the last that I had chocolate, and the misadventure it was.


Doing the dirty clean-up job. Desperate times don't ask for dignified measures.
Rewind to 2 weeks in the past: Mmm, the sensation of dark chocolate, topped with sweet stuff and dry fruits.
Rewind 10 minutes back: On the Sangla-Simla-Chandigarh bus, window seat, asleep. Mobile phone rings, and I reach out for it in my cargo's pockets.
Rewind an hour back: Taking back my portion of E. Wendel's, a dark chocolate from Poland that Deepak had brought me. I had deposited in our collective chocolate box during the trip.
Push forward by an hour: I take the phone out from pockets, half-asleep. As I bring the phone closer, an odd aroma suddenly hits me; it's that of chocolate. I come back to all senses, and find myself holding something coated in black; and my hands - they are also coated in that same stuff. I dare to peek inside my pockets, and its lined with 'it' as well. HORROR!
Push forward by 10 minutes: My cellphone has been restored to its earlier state, thanks to the wet wipes that Bhabhi-jee was carrying, and my own contributions to sucking out the melted chocolate that had seeped inside through the speakers - reminiscent of the marrow from inside the hollows of a bone. My pockets are a mess, but a solid mess, thankfully, for as we gained some altitude close to Narkanda, the melted chocolate solidified again; now the task that remains is to scrape out those solid chunks from every corner. This is what sparked that fun thought (on misogynistic lines) in head mentioned at the start.

By the end of the day, my cellphone stopped working. Amazingly, it was the SIM at fault, and not the phone. It is brave of my old cellphone. It is really quite old now, and has been on the brink of death several times.


This is what I finished off my chocolate with...sweet offerings and dry fruits from a temple between Sangla and Karcham.

Test-tube baby incubated in cow dung environment

(It happens only in India)
A woman wails in guilt. Her womb remains barren after years of marriage, and after persistent cursing by the society she has come to blame her own self. She feels herself to be a blotch in the name of womanhood.
A sadhu (sage) walks by, holding a holy-man stick, a mendicant's bowl, and all that. His bulk and biceps make him seem more like a wrestler, though. The woman rushes outside and falls on her feet, weeping. The sage exclaims "You are troubled by something, aren't you?", as if it was something beyond perception. The woman goes la-la over this observation and her faith in the sage is affirmed. The sage hands over some white paste on a green leaf, and asks the woman to consume it for a fertile womb.
The sage leaves and the woman rushes back inside, dreaming about finally having a baby. She is about to lick off the gooey white thing, when a hand grasps that leaf and throws it out through the window onto a pile of cow dung. It was mr. husband, who assumed her wife was bent on committing suicide, and was about to consume poison in her depression. Losers.

12 years later: the woman still weeps in her depression. A buddy tells her about this awesome sage outside the village premises. She rushes away again, to find that its the same sage. She falls on her feet again, weeping even more. The sage quizzes her over that white stuff, and she explains that her husband threw it out. The sage is furious and asks her to point out the spot where it landed. She takes him back home and points out that pile of cow dung. The sage does magic and the entire pile of shit is lifted into the air, and out comes a young boy, of exactly 12 years of age. He is a clone of that sage, and the sage proclaims him to be his son, naming him Gorakhnath. But the woman insists that she's still barren, and that since Gorakhnath has been incubated in her own courtyard, she deserves to be his mother and keep him. After more intense weeping, the sage hands over the boy to that woman and leaves. The woman suddenly has a sun and all the villagers come rushing in and look at her with great respect.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Lucknow keeps its women locked

There's one aspect of the City of Nawabs (Lucknow) I hate: the purdah culture. Not the Islamic thing, but the general policy of keeping the women under seclusion and under the covers that is not restricted to any religions.
Had gone out on a post-dinner lassi hunt yesterday to this place called Koneshwar Temple,in THE Chowk. The eldest of my cousins was incharge of operations. Surprise hit when he strictly forbid the ladies from stepping out, since he felt that the crowd outside wasn't good...for all I could perceive, there was another family parked besides us (ladies inside, of course) and 2 or 3 men at the large expanse of the front steps of the shop. There were no gangs on bikes, or men drunk and loitering about, or men sneaking away lecherous glances around; and it was a prominent junction with good lights, not some back alley. The only women outside were a couple of burqa-clad ones having lassi (and enjoying it).

Then an incident a day before came into memory - when Shiv (male), accompanied by Aditi (female), had gone out for Paan (पान, پان, Betel Nut). As by Shiv's accounts, the stall owner was uneasy with Aditi's presence and asked her to have a seat in the car itself. Shiv felt that it might've been because of the 'crowd'. Again, this shop is the most prominent of places to have the delightful Paan in Lucknow. It is situated close to Hazratganj, which is the Times Square of Lucknow, and the surroundings and cleanliness hint at the privileged area it is. It was broad daylight; there were people around; there was Shiv and me, besides another XXL-sized cousin to take care of things. Yet there had to be a warning.

So, the Muslim folks keep their women away from prying eyes by wrapping a burqa round them. The Hindus match up to them by wrapping huge tin sheets (called cars) around their women. Inferring as to which gives more freedom is a point of debate. Anyways, this is color of Lucknow you won't like to see.

Heard from somebody that Lucknow is now the 2nd fastest growing non-metro city in India, following Pune. But from the attitudes and the general 'culture' here, I can confirm that the Lucknow-ites would face a backlash if they step into the ring with the other big cities, where each gender enjoys considerably more freedom.
Have you been served with (or been serving) such disclaimers? Is there any incident that confirms this general opinion? Or is this a stale opinion derived 20 years back in the past, a typical psychosis?

Sunday, May 03, 2009

All that I had today yesterday...
3L of water
Lassi x1 glass (giant-size)
Pomegranate juice x2 glasses
Lemonade x3 glasses
Chai x1 cup
Coffee x2 mugs
Fruit Beer x2 glasses
Watermelon x0.5 kg
Kinnaur Apple Wine (that smells like a paper-mill factory) x1 quart

I suspect that right at this moment, my body is composed of 3% greater water content than the average human being

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Physical hurt

Top on the list is the unyielding heat wave. Blasts of hot air travel up from the concrete and tar, hitting you hard in the face as you zip through on a bicycle/motorbike, and present you the notion of living inside a furnace. I have been mad enough to be driving around for a couple of hundred kilometers in my टोपी helmet, which not only had the reality charring me across the face, but also drew both ridicule and pity from the roadside observer. These days conversations start out with exaggerated mentions of the steam bath that Delhi offers. People are melting.

Head injuries - the major ones: the low ceiling on Deepak's stairway, the window latch in the bus en-route Sangla, the support pole in the bus on the way back, the window latch in that same bus after switching seats, and the metal frame edge of the toy train from Simla-Kalka. I'd be dead had the window latches been sharp - they have been the most lethal thing about trips. My head is a dense sphere of these swellings, the pain persists.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

A Delhi dawn, long after

Nothing puts it better...
I pour myself a cup of tea and scan the paper for familiar faces. My bags are barely unpacked and I'm feeling slightly at a loss as it dawns on me that I'm actually at home, for a change.


["Daybreak" by Mikhail Gorbachev]
[used in a Louis Vuitton ad in Hindustan Times]
[in the pic: me Cowboy-ing Yaks at Sangla Kanda two days back.]

Monday, April 20, 2009

Inching back towards Delhi in thought, and zipping back towards Delhi in physical reality. My first affair with Mumbai and Pune was pleasant; but the sweltering sun kept me from seeing much. This was also my first anywhere south beyond Gurgaon.
Of Mumabi I will carry back the images of friends I'd last met in 2007, the Mumbai local trains, and a brief initiation into the shady side of Mumbai, too risque to elaborate upon.
Of Pune I carry back a picture of good living, burnout, and reckless Mama-jis forcing introduction to pretty army girls.
Signing out now.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Day 3

Archival Diary Entry//20090413

It was 47km for the day (34km for Saurabh). Beat that. Starting at 4 in the morning, and still afoot midnight. What adds to the X factor is that me and Saurabh had ended our previous day at 2200, after a 22km trek from Agoda to Dodital, 6 of which - from Manjhi to Dodital - were covered in pitch darkness along the jungle paths of Uttarkashi. So, in between these 37 hours, I'd piled up 69km adventure: A lake, plenty of brooks, dry forests, lush forests, and SNOW fields. A handful of monal pheasant sightings, juggling with a poisonous snake, 3 himalayan langurs (they are a sight to behold, different from their Delhi brethren), huge baseball-sized toads, and a Ghoral.

Right now we're warming ourselves by the little heater inside the Police Station at Gangori, 4km from Uttarkashi. We'd have walked onwards had they not fallen for our rubbish. "We're doctors on Govt. service, called back urgently for an emergency situation developing in Delhi." Lies. We just walked on because we had to see it for ourselves.
These few days have had so many chapters to them. Facts and facts, no fiction. I'll tire out just recalling the whole thing.

Being all over

Being all over the map is a strange feeling, particularly when you've just started. It's unlike having chocolate - which I just did - where you start with bits and ultimately finish up the whole bar in a long stretch of sincere addiction. So in a nutshell, chocolate symbolises your traditional indulgence, and I impulsively know that this isn't it. On an afterthought, no food is suitable to express this; but I just had to bring that in.

Hm, so, to put it better, this is symbolically ironical. I have physical, concrete destinations, but vague, directionless, uncalculated aims; and yet I'm glad that both exist. I can now vouch that being a drifter isn't a bad feeling: the more conventional setup ceases to exist as long as you don't draw your benchmarks from the conventional world. You aren't afraid of the large money hubs - anymore, for a lifestyle of compromises becomes such a powerful motivator against embracing them. The chinks in your armour show up once in a while, though.
The best part is the dissolution of the work-earn-work-die image that our society promotes. Lots of people do lots of things - and nothings - and find their ways to represent what they have to such a exaggerated effect that it qualifies them to dignity. It's all bad faith. The mantra to being awesome is actually being awesome all the time.

rightnow: lost my packet of gems earlier, lamenting over it and having little hearts to ease the depression.

Monday, April 06, 2009

If I were an emperor to somewhere, I'd have declared it Holi (होली)- the festival of colors - today. It is pointless to associate any logic to it, for emperors are known to be whimsical; but on a personal note, my whim was fueled by the atmosphere today - hot, humid, partially clouded - and the staring faces on the balconies of homes, the children passing off menacing looks, that intangible emotion in puddles that warn you of an approaching water balloon, and _moreover_ that resurgent itch when you're holding water balloons, one in each of your hands. The streets were surely misleading today.

I had Mung (धुली हुई मूंग की दाल) stuck in my iPod's headphone jack today. It was a result of keeping both in the same pocket yesterday. A cause of embarrassment, but only to myself, for I had to make-do with street noises instead - defeated in their character. An all-pin and some brutal strokes inside the audio jack helped my iPod come back to life, but I'm sure there was some internal damage to the little child.

I knocked some coconut slices while alighting off a bus today; they fell into a tiny puddle on the roadside. The vendor had no abuses for me, had no botheration with my apology either; he just picked up the slices and rinsed them in the same water in which the other slices lay, and continued with his day. For a moment I couldn't decide whether to feel sad for myself or for the one who'd be buying that slice of coconut.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

But I Don't Feel No More

A girl comes up to me in an inviting manner and wants me to 'feel her up'. In a dismal mood, with a heavy voice, I reply: "But I don't feel no more"
Because you don't feel. You know that its more than just contact. Why would you reward anyone with your affection if you don't genuinely feel for them...
pwnt. The former was one of my trifling inventions that I msgd around. The latter was a concerned reply from a friend who thought that I'd just been through an intense moment. He called up a few minutes later to provide me emotional support, only to find a very amused me. Now I felt guilty at having msgd it; but then I didn't expect that from the most twisted person around.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Horrid and his Girl

Walking back into his room, Horrid was a population of conflicted emotions. It had only been a couple of hours into leaving her home, but he decided to flush the last traces of the rendezvous - so leisurely in their nature - and focus on a subjective view instead that would ultimately lead to opinions. He could not help himself, for opinions were a natural culmination of all his experiences, however inconsequential.

Horrid impulsively knew that she won't be the one, and now came to infer upon it, even though it had been a memorable day for him in a good sense. This top-down approach was suitable for him, for he would always find time at a later day to work on it, and he was now adept to the extent that his inference mechanism could not beguile the original feeling. Today Horrid had to de-construct a favorable situation into the greatest of risks, he knew he would need some work, so he brought in a glass of cold water and set himself to the task. It was hot and musty outside - there had been clouds through the day but it hadn't rained. Horrid also felt uneasy in his shirt, so off it went, bringing to his notice his own ever-expanding potbelly. He knew that he he'd never been that attractive a person, so it was a wonder as to why she'd gone out with him today.

They had been friends for a long time now, stretching into years. They both had been in touch much throughout, and had assumed that they will start liking each other; it had been so, which is why they had been together today. Their families were vaguely acquainted, but more importantly, carried a good impression mutually. Horrid's father was in a position where he could even claim to be superior and hold a greater ego over the other family; and everybody knew how much ego meant to his father. So even the imbalance here served to keep the balance.
Horrid knew that she was a smoker, but that only led him to think erotic thoughts of whether she believed in piercings as well, and had any down there. Moreover, she was more qualified and more capable a person than Horrid was as things stood currently, living an independent life, so Horrid could not complain much.

All that he could complain about was his greater love for his homeland, and her obsession for America. He let this thought suck out all the merit he saw in her earlier. He well knew that it was luck on his side that had brought her closer, for such girls generally get taken by the more aggressive guys and much too fast.

After these minutes of profound pondering, Horrid called up a friend and asked, "I've got this girl, would you like to take her?"

Can't Learn to love/live with it

It is absurd finding the most exciting of people around you high on injecting nothing but air. All the great promise they hold about life is based on the great promise that it happened the same with a billion others before them - a shady decision since it's made on empirical evidence. In their current framework of things, they see progress - slow, but stable, but unsatisfying - an inevitable consequence, and adds the label of 'realism' to it to finally keep on living with that conviction. The majority sees progression as a chemical reaction - when it isn't. What is a certain chemical reaction is that inside me which triggers my emotions of anxiety/sadness on listening to friends professing about the 'you have to come to terms with it' aspect of life, which obviously means that my selfish genes see that as counter-productive to their proliferation... I'm on the fringes of either being awesomely right or going into a mental disorder here - when considering the consequences of my observation at a greater length - but will accept the way it goes with a great gladness.

Things are such a pile of shit right now, that if you still feel sane, you have to be either a great artist who sees great expressions of art in that shit, or that very shit itself. I'll be frank that I'm distressed at lots of things which aren't the way I thought they'd be; and irritated because now I'm being taught to take in that they are so. I think that underlines the character of the ordinary - internalising even the wrong out there is and assuming it to be an inseparable part of their character and hence taking offence at anything that ever complains about it. I wonder if they can ever be patriotic in the right sense.

rightnow: going to be sleeping at a friend's place, possibly with my head inside the helmet since there are too many mosquitoes in the room; got back from some great food close to Humayun's Tomb, racing along the Noida toll road and hitting 1XX kmph in the process - no way of confirming since even my speedometer's broke now, coming across a prostitute applying makeup by the side of the road close to Delhi Zoo, riding past surreal landscape of construction workers steamrolling a stretch of road at night under the lights and smoke. forgot gems back at home.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

A Great Absurdity

In an essay titled "Curriculum Mortis" by a (anti)psychologist David Cooper in his book "The Grammar of Living" (1974):
"In early nineteenth-century England it (suicide) was regarded as a capital offense - one should be legally murdered for daring to try to kill oneself. For example, one man tried unsuccessfully to kill himself by cutting his throat and was sentenced to death by hanging - but before the hanging (in those days slow strangulation rather than death by rapid trauma to the central nervous system) his wound had to be carefully stitched up and bandaged so that it would not open and allow him to bleed to death from a self-inflicted wound. He could only die by the legally prescribed form of hanging."

Brilliant scheme for somebody committed to die!

Warring for the Women

#1: Delhi seems safe (for women).
MIGHT BE BECAUSE
#2: I do not move about. AND
#3: When I do, its usually the safer locales; that is what the undeniable safety of the Delhi Metro does to you - now everything HAS to be within 20 minutes of reach.

OTHERWISE
#4: I'd have come across the common scenes of direct/indirect abuse of the women. AND
#5: I'd have had the chance to headbutt into some random repressed fucker(s) doing so. HM
#6: The last I felt like that was some morning of January, 2008, upon learning of the terrorists attacking some couple on the New Year's eve close to a 5-star hotel in Delhi.

This über campaign, and the amazing artwork that an associated art group created set me off to the fancy of physically assaulting those sad people.

Do I see a woman getting back even more strongly...the dainty slap taking shape of a punch? Yes.
Doing I see her knocking down those bikes/bikers that block her way and ask her to step out? Yes.
Do I see those bikers finding a new respect? No.
Do I see bystander stepping into the role of Heroes/Heroines? Maybe.
I just hope that such counter-reaction isn't met by counter-counter-reaction.
That rubbish party has already become a national face, henceforth holds more clout, and must be cashing in on more funds. The facade of culture is a great scheme for a business model.

My itch that is, is that there have been much severe incidents in the past (being sprayed with acid, burnt, abused, raped, killed), but the collective conscience only wakes up when it almost became a personal thing to the people who know how to make websites and write artikels. The sudden flood of sympathy seems confusing, and the keyword 'sympathy' only reminds me of an Amartya Sen quote:
"It can be argued that behaviour based on sympathy is egoistic, for oneself is pleased at others' pleasure and pained at others' pain, and the pursuit of one's own utility may thus be helped by sympathetic action."

Now let's see: the victims were accessible enough, not deprived of the power to speak (physical restrictions that being sprayed with acid or being killed puts) and, most importantly, willing to speak (thank God for being progressive-minded!). So this has shades of ego-exercise about it. And no, I don't think such activism fueled by ego is wrong, but surely something that had been existing latently and would've been much better off had it come earlier.

Seeing it another way, this incident caught on as it involved large congregations over a large number of places and, more importantly, was reducible to a simple binary relationship - the abuser and the abused. What the latter means gets more clear if one recalls the twisted social nature (thanks to our nakedness to irrational arguments) that dowry deaths or family abuse assume in India, and only a few NGOs are left to fight over it for years at times. 'I personally believe' that we learn to have an immediate opinion in these smaller cases as well - without needing the necessary media to generate sympathy to decide of taking action.

If anybody truly feels humiliated at such an incident, then they will not be looking for such straightforward binary roles: because there aren't any. These people that did so are inflated balls of ego, and deflated icons of potency. They promulgate their ideologies in private circles, which often escapes notice right under our eyes; they live amongst us, and you see them doing small, irritating, cute, (assumedly) social things everyday to push in their ideology. We should work on showing them humans first rather than creatures from hell, and then work on a direction that shows their decline to that creature from hell.

rightnow: so happy at the thought of going Gail Wynand (junior years) at the goons for something I obsessively feel about. Such thoughts should not be restricted to 2AM in the morning.
As always, late by a month in reactions :(

[Hello David Cooper]
[Hello Ms. South Carolina]
[Hello WWE/F]

Monday, March 09, 2009

Go See Tso

Today was spent making up my mind to visit the Tso family - the bunch of (remnant) lakes in a close cluster, lying in the the region of Zanskar/Leh, not far from the course of River Indus: Tso Kar, Startsapuk Tso, Thandsangkaru Tso/Kiagar Tso, Tso Moriri and the Kyun Tso. So far it's only wishful thinking, but if plans go through, it will sprout a halo of transcendence about me. Right now I'm thinking of my possible accomplices: there are a couple of friends who are all set for Leh, maybe I can flex their plans; there's a friend who will want to run away from the world for a couple of weeks come May, I'm assuming; and then there are some new candidates on the horizon, with whom I'm not that familiar with, but well aware of their unwavering passion for adventure.

Can you digest that the Tso Moriri is 30,000 acres in surface area? 3,333 of my (former) college compounds can fit into that! But in the name of fauna, there is mainly the Wild Ass, which, though a disappointing animal for all the other wealth our jungles offer, has been a favorite of mine since class VII, when our geography teacher - that hag - would tell us about the abundance of wild asses in the state of Gujarat. Yes I was that degenerate.

All these lakes are within 60km of linear trajectory, but as one is aware, that it comes to a few hundred kilometers of winding roads. Alternately, I wish I could trek all that distance, in the spirit of a wanderer. And then to add to the mystical part I'll have visits from the tree fairies on the nights when I'm out camping, and they will feed me berries and roasted venison. I hope they would give me a return air ticket from Leh as well, for I won't be having any energy left by the time I've seen it all.

ps: that reminds me to explore the occult in these ranges

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Real Fear

"It could've happened to anybody." And with that premises, I walk with fear on the roads of Delhi, just having been a witness to somebody in a miserable condition being pushed deeper into misery in broad daylight. Things aren't the same anymore. The paranoia will set in - not just me, everybody else - after all it's not everyday that you see such things happening right in front of your eyes...somebody being taken down from a distance. My friends have felt fearful walking through crowded lanes in Muslim-dominated areas, much because of the hype machine that has reduced "Islam" to another word for "senseless killing", prejudice. A similar fear is manifest to certainty these days, but not on Muslim, but Hindu/Sikh turf, and walking through those lanes is a dosage of paranoia: you are aware of what these people can do to you, and take every step expecting your doom; your eyes moving like a pinball, searching for their faces every direction; you start hating their kids - cute and innocent - because you know what menace lies inside them; you expect every distraction as a ploy, and walk with pacing steps in a straight line, fearful to look in the that direction only because you're too familiar as to what could be your fate; the roads hint of the few lucky ones who made it through, those hints being as frightful as much as comforting. You walk on, because there are no other options. You live in such a society, and you live with IT, year after year with the same recurrent fear.
But you are certain that it would pass away: those menacing kids sneaking up on you with water balloons a few days around Holi.