tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51998455944176846342024-03-05T10:38:12.513-08:00NOCTURNAL INSTIGATIONSAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-69592293189922830172015-12-26T22:50:00.001-08:002015-12-26T23:51:10.440-08:00Charlie- our lurking alter ego<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I had to be told by the visibly baffled ushers that the movie was
over, all of it including the last syllable of the end credit. It's been a
while since a movie has had this kind of an effect, that the blank screen
seemed alive, long after the moving images seemed to have breached its contour.
The movie in point being "Charlie".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The way it started in an abstract manner made me think it was only
a matter of time before things would go above the audience's heads, alienating
them in the process. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbY6i6NRLAiQ8qX4WV8zLZ2AsosXG2lDBKj1gS30xYyV8F5l96aC6u96rlvQwmxUWbqZ4hLn5VG4zz70816EZGVV6nNUzYAJq0hsA6QqNuVK4__6E6p3YR897PJsFiUJQqk604olU69_k/s1600/movie-new-photo-dulquer-salman-in-charlie-741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbY6i6NRLAiQ8qX4WV8zLZ2AsosXG2lDBKj1gS30xYyV8F5l96aC6u96rlvQwmxUWbqZ4hLn5VG4zz70816EZGVV6nNUzYAJq0hsA6QqNuVK4__6E6p3YR897PJsFiUJQqk604olU69_k/s320/movie-new-photo-dulquer-salman-in-charlie-741.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>It's always about the initial few minutes as far as a
movie goes. You've got to pique the viewer's interest and allow him take the trip
you've in offer, dovetailing his imagination with your narrative in these
precious initial minutes. Otherwise, predisposition sets on them as they
decline to get on board and resort to next important things like checking the
reclining extent of their seats or getting up to add some butter to the popcorn
tub.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So as I was saying, it started abstractly, but with
every passing moment the sense of intrigue enveloped me. Soon there I was, moving in
tandem in my head with the stroke of the artist's brush on his canvass till the
last stroke that led to the incredible painting, the movie was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Charlie is a celebration of the spirit of wanderlust, eponymously
named after its protagonist. It talks about his constant travelling, warming us
up to his psyche through the perspective of people on whose lives he's left an
indelible impact; enriching one albeit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So we embark on this journey to find Charlie along with Tessa, who's
intrigued by one of his creations with the brush; yup; he's an exemplary artist
who makes sketch trophies of people, the only footprint of his available to her at
all. As fate would have it, she comes across men, one after the other from the
sketches. With every first person anecdote endorsing Charlie, a dot gets
connected in her mind that's attempting the big picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>He's like one of these exotic birds, which doesn't confine itself
to one sanctuary. It belongs to the sky and the sky to it, flying mockingly above frontiers. He loves touching upon a myriad lives in his journey, oh so
nonchalantly. But never lets to be touched back, in his characteristic
inoffensive way.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A zephyr, that bristles its way through the hair strands cozily to
leave without a trace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">From the account of the burglar who came to burgle, who he hitched
along to burgle with after a drink to the cutting of a marinated fish(ersatz
cake) on mid sea; commemorating the birthday of an unlucky hooker who breaks
down to only be held by him to be told-"The sea's got enough salt and can
do without your tears", we travel along with Charlie .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Here’s this bohemian spirit in all its prowess, stopping a suicide
victim with great difficulty to only negotiate a postponement to kicking the bucket. He sells
the experience of magic mushrooms and the sight of a cloud crowned peak, to
justify the postponement .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Once she likes the new habitat he gets her acquainted to, he
barely tries to check on her in a fiduciary way. </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">In fact</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> he tells her how she
could just roll down from the mountain top on her </span><i style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Enfield, </i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">to an assured end if this wasn’t working</span><i style="font-size: 13.5pt;">.</i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> But that’s him, this unobtrusive
person who lets people be. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There’s this beautiful scene in the movie, where a lovelorn
septuagenarian is overwhelmed after being introduced to the lost love of his life-a
nun now, by Charlie. This man locks himself up and asks to be let alone curtly, when
Charlie goes in search of him. Charlie just smiles in an empathetic,
un-offended manner. That moment, you understand his reverence to space and
privacy- A cornerstone to his nomadic life pursuits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In another uncanny episode, Charlie advertises his demise on a leading
daily’s obituary column to check the turnout for his funeral and the extent of
emotion at display. He later tries to reason out with his baffled wellwishers
on his hoax of a funeral over drinks, sufi music and wisecracks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For a fluid entity like him, intimidated by the very thought of
settling down; knowledge of another female constantly on his toes is an
unsettling feeling with the fear of permanence it brings about. So he
indulges in a cat and mouse game with Tessa; notwithstanding her earnest
efforts at catching up to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And it doesn’t help that he doesn’t have a permanent residence,uses mobiles, laptops and constantly hitches a lift to commute from place to
another; leaving behind no digital traces for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The movie ends with Tessa and Charlie coming together in a
festival over a glass of lime juice finally, courtesy his tip to her about his whereabouts. The union happens in an unhurried,
mischievous manner without much adieu, like the epiphanies that happen to us
over the course of the movie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This is that kind of a holistic movie where nothing stands out
like a sore thumb screaming for individual attention despite their superlative
contribution to the film- be it the blemish less performance of the two leads,
Gopi Sundar's ethereal score or the auteur’s skilful narration of the convoluted plot in
an endearing manner. Every element functions as a cog in the wheel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Overall, Charlie is the personification of our organic self. That part of
us that comes alive at the prospect of constant adventure, travel and bonhomie
without the need for any form of societal validation. An alter ego that endorses leading
a life without an ambition; making life an ambition in itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">An alter ego that doesn’t delve on the consequences of an act or
the accruals of a deed, but lives every moment till its last drop. One that is so preoccupied with living an experience and monkeying to the next one, to take stock of petty things like success and failure. A</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> good Samaritan who touches upon lives of people he bumps into; not because it's good; but because it is cool.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-30243468303557392402015-12-24T07:49:00.002-08:002015-12-25T06:33:26.766-08:00Foot notes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYHkD-k1Rt9rAUo6KV_aEGuI3kxrGh3MfAO5bc8sPI8tXIjctT1HNjYDBXZoMcxxcb25Kia_defl0sV5JCsEiXi0o2955ZwySYN9KREuU6s_JP4ePsvOcLCtDvvpFUGj9lomoqsGIMoWj/s1600/foot_painting_by_shyborg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicYHkD-k1Rt9rAUo6KV_aEGuI3kxrGh3MfAO5bc8sPI8tXIjctT1HNjYDBXZoMcxxcb25Kia_defl0sV5JCsEiXi0o2955ZwySYN9KREuU6s_JP4ePsvOcLCtDvvpFUGj9lomoqsGIMoWj/s640/foot_painting_by_shyborg.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5199845594417684634" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's
beautifully enigmatic as to which among the two is an encompassing entity, the
water or the pear shaped vessel that it's poured into.One is the rigid, impermeable
vessel that's shape giving</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Other is the
flexible, skilfully deceptive water, that’s shape taking. It’s in the head as
much as in the perceived emotion attached to one's object of musing.Beauty
indeed is in the eye of the beholder.</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The other day I
was at my pet temple, part of a daily ritual. The lord's deity's has pretty
much remain unchanged since the first time I'd gone; embellished with ornaments
to value higher than the GDP of a third world nation on some days or modestly
dressed up to look like a working class demigod on some; depending on the whims
& fancies of seasonal festivities. Basically over the years, I've got
acquainted with the deity and its opulence well enough. Well enough to not be
awestruck and familiar enough to overlook some facets. Contempt or not,
familiarity definitely does breed indifference, even to the most amazing of
manifestations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This day was
special than generic, courtesy the epiphany it entailed. My eyes directly went
for the lord's feet, his lotus feet actually. That's when I realised its
nonchalant prowess and the sway it would have on a soul at a designated time.
It was ironic that the most beautiful and divine part of the deity, should be
the lord's naked feet made of black stone, the only un-embellished part. It
made me realise my insignificance in the larger scheme of things, a feeling
usually reserved to stargazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was overwhelmed
by a stream of emotions that rolled down the cheeks as tears; a moment I
realised anxiety and peace could co-exist. Anxious by the guilt of taking this
piece of infinite energy for granted. Guilty by the gratuitous reverence of
featuring it alongside daily routines like brushing and bathing. Peaceful that
my soul had found its beckoning, a higher authority to surrender my ego without
much adieu. A supreme personality whose awareness made obeisance such an
organic process, The lord's feet that day taught me a lot more about
spirituality as a concept in a matter of minutes, than my post puberty life had
in a whole decade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When I was
bastardly enough to round off the Lord to generic significance, you could
imagine the reverence I would've attached to my parents. Familiarity definitely
has bred copious amounts of contempt in this case, all the more given the fact
that my workplace ain't different from my home. My parents have become a daily
feature in my life, not that it's such an outlandish thing for other people.
Just that it doesn't help that I'm a pesky private person, who could buy
privacy on e-bay if traded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So having to
interface with dad in an informal space and in an official capacity sort of
screws the head in terms of demarcating mind spaces for familial fondness and
hierarchy stiffness; that too under the same roof.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Reverence here is
a very thin line to tread in terms of parents; given the fact that its exercise
happens in an informal set up and isn't as extramural as paying obeisance to
the lord, in terms of spontaneity. After growing up, parents become your
friends and directing gratitude and reverence to people you have
inconsequential tete-a-tetes with; is a strange...rather evolving concept that
happens in a subtle evolutionary manner in sync with one's emotional maturity
as an underlying thread.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The habit of
touching elder's feet was imparted at an impressionable age to me as a part of
a doctrine directed at preserving an elderly culture aged multiple centuries.
As I grew up; I tweaked the habit to fall in line with my moral code. So I
stopped touching the feet of all and sundry based on the underlying rationale
that age doesn't lead necessarily to nobility. Rather I fell at the feet of
people I looked up to in terms of virtue or as an act of expressing gratitude.
So touching my parent’s feet became a regular ritual. A purposeful act of
expressing gratitude in the process of receiving their blessings. Deep inside I
figured out that; this was a process of preserving my ego by knowing to
surrender it at one place. Contradictory? Well, not exactly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Ego if founded well is a virtue than a vice. A luxury only
the honest can afford. Like other resources it is expendable. This act of
knowing where to let it go, who to surrender it before is a wonderful process
of discretion which lets one to preserve it, in the process allowing him to
expend it manifold times by the leverage attained.</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In short the places we surrender our ego, charge it for use at
other places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Who better than my
parents to feel humble before. Letting go off my ego at their familiar, yet
congenial feet is a therapeutic process that makes me a more thankful
individual with every iteration, reassuring them of my reverence and love. In
short, it’s an humbling experience that lets me be proud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Touching your soul
mate’s feet is altogether a different
experience. The firmness in your hold shows her the extent of your devotion.
The manner you run your fingers on her feet, caressing them radiates passion.
The process by itself lets her know in an un-fussy manner,the vantage point
you've given her in your life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">At a surface
level, they are the ones we have regular exchanges with- verbal and non-verbal,
latter flattered popularly as "<i>making
love</i>". So to intersperse a superfluous reverential act into this kind
of a peer-to-peer ecosystem earmarked for beings, celestial and elders is a
rather cerebral concept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This barter for
solace at a loved one's feet is a subjective process, endorsement to which
depends completely on how romantic a person one is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">If obeisance to
Lord's feet marks surrender to his inundating authority and the parent's feet
exudes reverence and gratitude. The beloved's feet in the romantic syntax,
represents reassurance and security. There is no overwhelming sense of the
divine authority, a visible generation gap, a spiritual pursuit nor a
affiliating bloodline; which makes the act of touching the feet of one's
beloved all the more special by the sheer exercise of autonomy sans
conventional endorsements. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A pure, unadulterated display of love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It took me a while
to figure out the myriad emotions involved in the contour of the feet that I
was tempted to put my epiphanies down. Probably in all likeliness these are
mental escapades of an abstract person, who takes pride in ensconcing in the cozy
confines of his over indulgence. Or probably not. In which case, there is a
layman sanctity attached to the process of bringing down one's upstream
faculties like the head and the hands in contact with a downstream faculty like
the feet of another person as a mark of reverence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's a beautiful
process of bowing down by an evolved entity, a wonderful creation in himself in
an endeavour to enshrine his reverence for another magnificent entity who
managed to tug at his soul strings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">To me, feet of an
important person is a sanctum sanctorum of sorts-to tame my ego, direct my
gratitude and cultivate congeniality. To others, it might just mean a shoe size
or a pending session of pedicure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-43374089460440498662015-12-21T08:47:00.000-08:002015-12-22T06:38:01.899-08:00On Spirit of Chennai- in flood & blood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_ctNTdfACYxTGqM6y_dP3yxqHzSL-AccVfuXfhcZ1OMQSN3JqFb6p8qORLW7YpMXTklZ0WIeuSt0hYUKj8PXgsZ_qfyYQ6qDu__dm2uOuUyMyhUM8KLsg_wRv_qclotGiF0rZMuqFpPf/s640/Chennai-Dr._Mithun_James-Flickr.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Dr. Mithun James</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Torrential
rains to us till now have meant a motley set of dissimilar things depending on
our stake- no drying clothes on terrace, no light pants on roads, no school or
no open air events. The 'us' here refers largely to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>chennaites</i>, though could
interchangeably be used to describe the hoi polloi of most Indian cities in
general. The farthest we've gone to despise rains has been when it's disrupted
an ongoing cricket match at a home venue, the single sacrilegious act an
average Indian can't tolerate. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">'Rain
enough to flood or dry enough to famish, but never rain on a home venue match',</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> goes the popular indian sentiment.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As
far as Chennai goes, it’s never rained on our parade. At least, not on the ones
that really matter. Even on those fleeting occasions, the showers have only had
prowess enough to fell elderly trees or make translucent white shirts obscene.
If anything at all, the monsoon has evaded this part of the country year after
year snobbishly.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She's
been this city, who's always had a dispassionate third person account to an
aftermath of a calamity or an insurgency in other cities, through news
channels. Even when the tsunami had sprung a surprise at her on a generic
Sunday morning a decade back, her fortress remained largely impermeable. Who
knew good old red tapism with some clerical errors and a 50 cm downpour for a
couple of days would bring her down like never before.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Call
it providence or nepotism to north India; but both the forces of nature and
fringe elements have hitherto been rather kind or should I say, indifferent to
her, notwithstanding the opulence of her endowments or the diversity of her
populace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">National
attention has always come to her in rationed quantity as a scavenged leftover,
taking a multi crore scam or a Kamal Hasan movie’s ban to scream into the
national media's ears for acknowledgement of her existence.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Blame
it on phonetics or the font, colour or the culture; the north-south relation
has always been a plummeting affair. Over the years, the tepidity has been
subtly vented out through unsuspecting populist processes like caricaturing,
stereotyping, ridiculing and mispronouncing with ersatz entitlement.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">To
an average north indian, anything south of the Vindhyas is <i>Madras</i> and every living being, <i>Madrasi</i>.
This is one intriguing conundrum, that most North Indians marginalise a South Indian as a Madrasi (after the erstwhile name of Chennai) despite there being
many other attention worthy South Indian cities than Chennai.</span> <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Chennai
to its credit has been behaving like an adolescent coming to terms with the
extent of his faculties.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The
spirit of Chennai has been a largely jingoistic concept founded on infantile
credentials like CSK, Marina, Saravana Bhavan and Satyam. It's always pitched
itself as a middle-ground between cultural conservatism and cosmopolitan
trappings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Chennai
has been this lackadaisical metro, content with its runner up status behind
Delhi and Mumbai, disgruntled but surreptitiously so. It has all along taken
respite in one-upmanship battles between Sambar vada and Vada Pav or
Bessy and Juhu, to keep its glory afloat, flimsily albeit.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It takes a heartbreak to make a man out of a boy. And
it takes a disaster to consolidate the spirit of a land. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The<i> </i>rise of Japan after Hiroshima or
Gujarat after earthquake being case in point.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The
city for the first time succumbed to nature's fury and tumbled to a
standstill. Mobile towers short of fuel, floating cars, flooded roads,
islanded houses, perennial power shut downs, vestigial electrical appliances were apostles to nature's cryptic mockery at
human pursuit at building a utopian civilization, all of which came down in a
tumbling manner like a deck of cards.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A
natural calamity devours through the veil of urbanization; turning lands to
naked strips reeking with primal ambitions of food, survival and shelter, in the
process reducing concepts like GDP, gold prices, interest rates, loss of pay,
year ends, audit, fitness, politics to redundancy of gibberish
extent. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When pushed to a corner, the nemesis that doesn't
break us makes us stronger than before the impetus; in the process increasing
the pain threshold.</span></i></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Which
is exactly what happened with the floods. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It brought together the residents to
dovetail their aspirations to a common purpose of helping the city rise up on
its feet again, giving it a personality of its own for the first time since its
conjuring. They vicariously lived through the turmoil- limping, recovering and
rising along with it; behaving similar to individually insignificant parts of a
behemoth machinery, on their road to recovery.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">By
the time the national media arrived gratuitously like cops in the climax of an
eighties movie , the nature’s fury had receded paving way for the city to pick
itself up on its own without reaching out for help. This self sufficiency after
one of its most cruel rendezvous with nature, was Chennai’s way of reiterating
its autonomous jurisdiction to the national media which was content on making
saleable vanity projects of sensitive news from rest of India.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The
floods helped in forging the spirit of Chennai beyond a cliché, helping it come
of age from a boisterous city content on flaunting and finger pointing to a
self sufficient one with empathetic inhabitants, who would individually fall to
make it infallible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A city in general is defined by its characteristic infrastructural
traits, the political ecosystem, sporting franchises representing it, flagship
landmarks and primary goods that it produces. But it always takes a single
occasion of unanimous display of ownership by its indigenous population, to
come into its own; truly and tangibly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In the coming days we might go back to signal hopping like apes in
traffic, queue up outside liquor shops, curse the sun's tyranny on humid days
and wear yellow jerseys to CSK matches as a display of pseudo solidarity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But we would never forget
those dark days when we were there for each other with dogged resilience to see
the light at the end of the tunnel together. Those dark days when we realised
that Chennai meant more to us than just an address, an indelible identity to
relish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-15878353163677724392015-11-30T22:35:00.000-08:002015-11-30T22:35:04.609-08:00To Mumbai with Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He was at the <i>Chhatrapati shivaji airport</i>, <i>Mumbai</i>
after a tumultuous flight, a little shy of two hours from Chennai, thanks to
the inundating monsoon. If it were <i>tails</i>
instead, <i>Trivandrum Airport, Kerala </i>would’ve
beckoned him. <i>Heads</i> it turned out.
Mumbai it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He hopped into an Ola cab that took him
to his hotel in Santa Cruz, after much dilly-dallying, notwithstanding the
native driver’s hold over the city’s expanse. But Mumbai is every bit its
moniker- <i>mayanagari</i>(mystic
city), with its characteristic enigma
punctuating across every route, making cab drivers as naive as their commuters,
getting them lost almost everytime from Pt A to Pt B, in Pt A, in Pt B and from
Pt B to Pt A. In short, getting lost is
a famous way of commuting in this seemingly “GPS proof” coastal manifestation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">His room was right out of a <i>Wes Anderson</i> flick-cosily laid out,
picturesque with dim-sepia lighting and an abstract mural occupying a good
amount of the wall. This was a perfect place to ensconce in denial of
productivity, which exactly was his trip’s objective-“To unwind”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">This was a trip he was saving up since
the last few months. He was this classic loner, who felt lost amidst friends
and therapeutic behind the door of seclusion. He really didn’t have an
itinerary in mind like most people visiting cities for the first time did. </span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He
was this creature who got his bouts of high from impulsive decisions and
instinctive indulgences irrespective of the consequences they impregnated his
experience with. Visiting famous places, memorials, landmarks and celebrity
houses were passé to his sensibility. For someone who tossed a semi-oxidised
five rupee coin for a talisman, when faced with a need for decision-making, the
haphazard nature of the trip was not surprising.</span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Once done with the sumptuous breakfast,
he went on Tinder, his new found obsession- a dating application that
essentially connected promiscuous individuals on the strength of their pictures.
He had met with good amount of success, courtesy his Adonis looks and his
alluring ways with words. Mumbai was no exceptions to his ways, he had matched
with a girl within a matter of few minutes on Tinder. They had exchanged
numbers and decided to catch up at an uptown cafe at Andheri. She had offered
to pick him up from his hotel and he was never shy of taking advantage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He wanted to wear his favourite black
muscle fit-mandarin collared shirt, but was a little conscious around his love
handles. So, he indulged in a chain of workouts that included push-ups,
crunches, <i>burpees</i> and <i>suryanamaskars</i> in the ploughed space
between the bed and the study table. While having a shower, he was
contemplating the set of topics, metaphors and facial expressions he could dole
out on the date. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 15.3333px; line-height: 17.6333px;"> **********************</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Mansi, a Juhu-based psychiatrist, his
first acquaintance of the trip had arrived at his hotel, half an hour past
their agreed time, thankfully so, since punctuality wasn’t his forte exactly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Hi. Had issues with finding the hotel?
You look lovely by the way.’, He chuckled as he got in.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Thank you. It was fairly easy to come
here. Just got stuck in traffic. Seems like you’re beyond the photogenic looks
too’, she blushed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m going to take that as a compliment’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Was meant to be’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She had a nonchalant-one handed driving
style which he found to be amusing, given the fact that he didn’t know to drive
a car. They were stuck in traffic regularly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Chewing gum’, He offered<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“I was expecting on the lines of
chocolates”, She giggled as she took a couple of pellets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m surprised that you were able to
find my place without getting lost. My cabbie was circumventing around for a
good time before we got lucky.’, he said’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I would’ve too, had I not lived a street
away.’, she confessed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘We could’ve had our rendezvous on your
terrace’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘And what exactly Am I going to
introduce you as to my dad?, she asked,’ The Kamal Hasan doppelganger from
Chennai I’ve acquainted from Tinder.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I wouldn’t mind that. But he might.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">They both burst out laughing. The cacophony
of FM had paved way for small talk. They were a good two kilometres away from
the cafe, but were already smitten enough to walk hand in hand to the rhythm of
their heartbeat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">After an hour long drive and endless
flirtation the cafe arrived. He got out first and opened the door for her. ‘A
jaw line to kill for and chivalrous too’, she flirted as they walked in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Biscotti was a connoisseur’s delight, every
square metre. The tastefully built, sensually lit and smelt of fresh pastries
and brewing beverages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘ This is such an ethereal place. Thanks
for bringing me here.Mansi.’, he said settling next to her in a couch built to
propagate lackadaisicalness as a way of life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Pleasure Man. Glad you liked it’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She ordered two cold coffees with a
copious amount of whipped cream, good enough to nullify the effect of the
push-ups and burpees. She was this petite little gorgeous creature-almond
complexioned with thick eye brows and a pout that resembled a small fish
articulating well constructed analogies. Together with those librarian glasses,
she could pass off as an intellectual, on the red herring of her persona
alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Under the yellow lights of the cafe, he
for the first time since they met; actually took stock of her flawless face and
realised the magnitude of his luck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘ How gorgeous do you look! I could hope
for endless depression to just be on your couch.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Wow. So you could actually flirt. I
thought you were one of those attractive men who were completely impotent with
regards to flirting. Don’t even wish for a rendezvous with a shrink.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Given your height, should we call you
“Shrunk”?’, he giggled ’Or how about “Minion”?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Shut up. It’s not like you’re a six
footer’, she blushed with her nose tip turning pink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That is a cute name. I’m going to call
you “Shrunk” here on.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m curious with your profile
description on tinder which reads,” Here for Genuine friends. No hook-ups”.
Like really? ‘, he asked sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I just joined yesterday. My friend made
me. Been single for a while now since my break-up last year. I’m a little naive
in this domain. So yeah. Looks like you’re a Tinder veteran.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m no veteran here. Its just simple
logic. First look at the tacky logo of a red flame for the App. If that is not
suggestive enough, your profile picture farts out in red concentric circles
every time you try to match with some one. But still you wanted genuine friends
from here. Mansi, my gorgeous shrunk?’, he fell on the floor laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Agreed. White Flag. Please stop it man.
If not for me, atleast for the hazelnut cold coffee I bought you’, she
sheepishly begged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">They left Biscotti and got into her car
parked at the isolated parking lot. She pulled him towards her and planted a
wet kiss on his lips, the duration of which was interrupted by his gentle
retraction to his seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m sorry. I really find you
adorable. Have been wanting to do this since the time you clumsily went about excavating the whipped
cream. I’m sorry’, she apologised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Mansi. Did you notice the beat cop who
just went past us? Well, I did’, He continued ’ Every cell of mine has been
wanting to do the same since the time I saw your face under the yellow light.’
Saying this he pulled her towards him and ate her lips passionately, with the
fervency of a marooned survivor devouring through wild berries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That was serene. We didn’t even go
downhill. Yet felt like we made love.’, he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Mutual. It was less carnal and more romantic. Given the fact that we exactly know each other for a little less than
six hours, that was intense.’,she said holding his hand firmly with her head
cradled on his shoulder blade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Could you drop me at Andheri Metro
station. I’ve never tried the metro’, he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Sure. But do you really want to go?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Looks like.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">They had reached the bridge overlooking
the metro. After a long hug, he got down and walked into the metro. This was
getting really heavy for his nomadic spirit that got intimidated by the very
thought of settling down. Since his bitter break-up a couple of years ago, he
was content with philandering around. There was a point beyond which he let no one
in. But this girl was looking right through him like a psychic. His head was dichotomised
between letting go and going after. He conservatively picked the former.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘One ticket for Santacruz’, he told the
guy at the ticket counter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Make that two Bhaiyya’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Mansi!’, he couldn’t hold his excitement
on seeing her. He broke down to tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She got the tickets and the wallet he
had left at the counter. Took him away from the counter before he could create
a bigger scene.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘So, someone really wanted me?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’m sorry Shrunk.’, he cried
incessantly and hugged her tight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Look at your size man. Stop sobbing
like a kid please. I’m not leaving you even if you want.Have your wallet.’, she
said trying to lighten the mood up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He wiped his tears and clenched her hand
tight. ‘What happened to your car?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Its safe man. I knew you would be happy
on seeing me. But this was beyond my imagination. Your such a sweetheart. Your
facial hair and sarcasm are so misleading.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">They got into a train. It was scarcely
crowded given the hour of the day. She was glued to him and could actually hear
his heart pounding heavily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘This is late.Why are you in Mumbai?
Business or Pleasure?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Latter’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘How many girlfriends do you have?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Had one. Have a lot of ongoing flings.
But looks like I’ve found one.’, he gave away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Oi Kamal Hasan doppleganger, are you
proposing to me’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Looks like’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘This was a day and a half long-weekend
trip and the least I expected was to fall for someone. </span><br />
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Its severely unreal!’,he
observed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I know. Hail Tinder’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">They got off at Santa Cruz station to
only return back to Andheri station to get her car, that was parked on the
road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Would you come to drop me off to the
airport tomorrow’, he asked caressing her feet with his hands. This was a habit
from his previous relationship, where he touched the girl’s feet when
disturbed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I’ll consider. What do I get in
return?’, she asked playfully<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He removed his bracelet from his right
forearm and slipped it onto her arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘That thing meant a lot to me.Good
enough?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She smiled ear to ear and hugged him yet
again. Hugs were the most traded commodity between them since evening. But
neither of them was complaining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Love You , </span></i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">read a SMS
from her after reaching his hotel that night. He kissed his phone’s display and
didn’t respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She had picked him up from his hotel the
next day. They had an early dinner at a restaurant enroute airport. They had
reached the airport an hour before his flight’s departure time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I know this is crazy fast. But last
time I took close to a hundred days before deciding to get into a relation.
Well, It didn’t last. So hours spent on getting to know a person and the
longevity aren’t so linearly proportionate after all. So I’m going to take this
leap of faith.’, she said holding his hands,’I love you.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I really don’t know what to say. You
know I’m crazy about you. I’m getting late. I’m going to go back and give you a
call unless you want an encore of yesterday.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Goodbye love’, she said planting a kiss
on his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">‘How do you decide to indulge in heavy
duty PDA everytime the cops are around?’, he smiled pointing towards the
airport security personnel.’Bye Mansi. Mumbai would never be the same again. So
would Chennai.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She waited till he got into the airport
and left bemused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> ************************</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">She willed herself to not check her
phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated
that she was constantly checking his 'last seen at' status and yes, he had
logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn't stop herself. This sinking
feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable,
almost torturous.</span><span style="font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #F8F8F8;">And then, just as she sat down in her chair,
her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone
and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #F8F8F8;">But when she opened it and read it, she nearly
stopped breathing. She didn't know if he was joking or not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">The message read,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> Shrunk, found an
organisation to put up with my shenanigans for a fat CTC in Mumbai. You’re
teaching me to drive.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: "roboto"; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">PS: I Love you.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-80674626761334252542015-11-24T11:43:00.002-08:002015-11-24T12:00:22.350-08:00Of Break-ups & Gods<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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She was this person who trusted in proverbial good things- Gods, Love and others that added on to the posterity of folklore.<br />
<i> She was this naive deer figuring out the extent of her freedom in the wild, seeing deer in predators and enigma in abyss. All it took was a mild aroma of goodness, even if it was a conceit, for her to be lured into. She was hopelessly bullish about the goodness in men, that it made her myopic to their ulterior motives.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgoB962hKu6WT93eR9imkwhiJdiTjWi5tXwaHs0SFxxuZ-meP0HFZaUjKWgcMlafwDD50tPtm69_dDvDzNg6BVEdiXbhN72vWOQy8Z1ztA9MnlRdSTWSsy-dh30iAPbIMj-zc4q5qCxS4/s1600/love-lust.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgoB962hKu6WT93eR9imkwhiJdiTjWi5tXwaHs0SFxxuZ-meP0HFZaUjKWgcMlafwDD50tPtm69_dDvDzNg6BVEdiXbhN72vWOQy8Z1ztA9MnlRdSTWSsy-dh30iAPbIMj-zc4q5qCxS4/s320/love-lust.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
She loved her family deity. Was enamoured by his virtues & prowess from her bedtime nostalgia. This made the church visits an integral part of her daily routine. When she could only see the magnified manifestation of minor good in men, God in his altar was kept at a dizzying height in her mind.<br />
Tall, dark and dove eyed; she was this disturbing influence on the men population around; who were as fascinated as intimidated by the effect she had on their spiked testosterone levels.<br />
The relentless pursuit and passes of hordes of men around, had become a predictable feature like the bout of spasms around her neck. Both were pains in the neck though, one figurative and the other, literal.<br />
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She finally cherry-picked a guy out of the herd; charmed by his novel proposal and calm demeanor. There's something about ghost rumors and committed women, both alienate men population. As the word of her being taken went around, the flux of frustrating men reduced.<br />
She took him to her pet church regularly and tried to get acquainted to his temple with equal fervour.<br />
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Their initial period was spent in the same un-refreshing manner as every other couple around. Together they added to the active income stream of every coffee shop and movie hall in their neighbourhood. And the time came, where words lost utility in conversations. When the taciturn made words impotent, bodily unison made up for lost frequency at his behest. Her naivety below the belt was compensated by his zealous expertise in the region.<br />
Till then, she was the person who took the initiatives as far as the functional aspects of the relation went; from conjuring to expending on a plan-while he was the laid back partner who sleep walked as if bestowing a favor upon her.<br />
But once they got physical; he started devouring through her with the passion of a cat raised by a vegetarian household, at its first encounter with meat. He had exhibited relatively lesser excitement on the day she agreed.<br />
The following phase in their relationship made her a guinea pig to his carnal experiments in the name of extrapolating love. She was treading through this hitherto foreign path with guilt and intimidation, while he was a sweet toothed kid in an unregulated candy store. It's astonishing to note how an Indian girl's position in a relationship becomes vulnerable after getting physical.<br />
The regular visits to each other's places of worship slowly receded to insignificance. Wall corners in theatres and empty houses became regular features; relegating coffee shop conversations and late night tete-a-tetes to a distant past. She started to feel the distance between; the crevices beneath and the void around. <br />
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<i>Like the mobile phone that tried to own the conversations that happened through it. She was always his means, never the end.</i><br />
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After a lot of musing & bitterness, she pulled the plug off the relation. His reasoning fell on deaf ears. His desperate attempts were met with newfound coldness of indifference, a recently acquired trait. She had moved on from him completely, laying to rest her relation besides her former self.<br />
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The following phase involved a lot of unanswered questions and unrequited emotions. The halo around her God had disappeared. She had brought him down from the dizzying heights of his altar, to an accessible vantage of debate; after he failed to have her back when she fell off from her failed relation. He was a fallacy built on collective story telling routine of septuagenarians.<br />
She was this adult, who had outgrown the emotional connect to her toy friend from her childhood. His traits and prowess were a joke she would belittle as childish. Belief and hope had paved way for cynicism and awareness.<br />
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<i>She had turned into this formidable predator;that embraced the wild with its intrinsic dangers and saw deer in other predators and warnings in opportunties. All it took was a mild aroma of goodness, even if it was true, for her to suspiciously </i><i>deconstruct in disbelief. She was hopelessly bearish about the goodness in men, that it made her myopic to their underlying goodness.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-59245066203724531192015-11-16T04:09:00.001-08:002015-11-16T04:30:34.490-08:00 His 'ex'pression<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<i>It </i><i>doesn't</i><i> matter what left the table first;</i><br />
<i>The moment taste for seafood goes;</i><br />
<i>The cooked fish or the interest;</i><br />
<i>For all that lingers is stench. </i><br />
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Hs5ceUy1YKZVfFdnbkYNQxlH2wwRVbzxIOJOmTz8rIqEcGwemBQq9G2k-lHrp6edgcg-jliHAaFyXgH9mrjsCYAVBtZ1VkuKtjoSn2byJLOirdvUPcHLG8F7fzXjcUrwttDk6flKD_fZ/s1600/1560_a03b248af80a4bdd21a59cc3d0bc56a7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Hs5ceUy1YKZVfFdnbkYNQxlH2wwRVbzxIOJOmTz8rIqEcGwemBQq9G2k-lHrp6edgcg-jliHAaFyXgH9mrjsCYAVBtZ1VkuKtjoSn2byJLOirdvUPcHLG8F7fzXjcUrwttDk6flKD_fZ/s320/1560_a03b248af80a4bdd21a59cc3d0bc56a7.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div>
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She was puny;<br />
He called her petite.<br />
She was childish;<br />
He called her cute<br />
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She wasn't really alluring;<br />
H called her unconventional.<br />
She wasn't really honest;<br />
H called her diplomatic.<br />
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She was getting familiar;<br />
He called her compatible.<br />
At loss of words, they copulated;<br />
Made love, He manipulated<br />
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With his euphemism running out;<br />
Taciturns became deafening silences<br />
From missing each other;<br />
They had gone to missing from each other<br />
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The day had finally dawned upon;<br />
He decided to end their story.<br />
To only be left behind by her;<br />
To end it's epilogue.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-63224643917031547192015-10-28T08:38:00.001-07:002015-10-28T08:48:38.119-07:00Love- field notes of a moviebuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Love should probably be the most inexplicable emotion ever fathomed by human mind. Imagine something which could be the vast universe and the speck rogue comet.Love is exactly that. It's meaning could be exhaustive, accommodating the entire gamut of emotions and at the same time compact enough to be conveyed with a blushing cheek.<br />
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<i>It could be complex enough to remain undecipherable over a life time; </i><br />
<i>Simple enough to be mastered before puberty. </i><br />
<i>It could elude with the deceit of a downpour evading a famine hit land;</i><br />
<i>While endlessly rain into overflowing tanks. </i><br />
<i>A ruthless miser to some;</i><br />
<i>An indiscreet philanthropist to some other.</i><br />
<i>An intoxicant to some;</i><br />
<i>An inspiration to some other</i><br />
<i>A irrevocable injury on some; </i><br />
<i>An antidote to some other. </i><br />
<i>A permanent scar on some;</i><br />
<i>A badge of honor on some other.</i><br />
<i>A mirror to one's soul to some;</i><br />
<i>The wall before the mirror to some other.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm this sort of a person who talks in movie metaphors over dinner table conversation. Also, most of my learning and epiphanies have happened at the behest of moving images.This piece is an effort at enlisting some manifestations of love; in all it's glory through some celluloid cult classics that've intrigued and inspired me to write this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6OVrYDv4RFVKDJdR2SBBEEsyTXVtjTHXTdEFSfL5qNeExYH302onbSX1CxDcQoHkXIh6r8pk05BL1vXq6rXKQY00i6KtaC1I1TrRG4CmaCv6UraHx67aLAY2MgYw8VtbhZe2cTEtOKUk/s1600/pjviUgbeibcad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6OVrYDv4RFVKDJdR2SBBEEsyTXVtjTHXTdEFSfL5qNeExYH302onbSX1CxDcQoHkXIh6r8pk05BL1vXq6rXKQY00i6KtaC1I1TrRG4CmaCv6UraHx67aLAY2MgYw8VtbhZe2cTEtOKUk/s320/pjviUgbeibcad.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>Ennu Ninte Moideen</i> is based on a real life story that happened in a rampantly casteist Kerala. It eulogises the trials and tribulations of <i>Moideen</i>(a muslim) to win the hands of his beloved love interest,<i>Kanchamala</i>(a hindu) for over a span of close to three decades;that only saw their love accrue endlessly . Fate mercilessly conspired in their lives- as the sharp end of the stabbing father's hand. As the apathy of casteist parents who dug their heels deeply in their respective stances. Finally as the the whirlpool, that dragged him to his death. <i>Kanchanamala</i> till date leads a celibate life as <i>Moideen</i>'s widowed wife.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXo8sxdefx2OYJ4Wmh4Xb0aHlpnAlcucu62KKKsqaAiQnSsPKw37m3JtnT3EuvIL1ELpO5NzA_-gwH56a_W8w9vMu0Y-DngeSuBMntiObPUD9QplhMbWrV55cddd8pnmw237jIJ6oG1S1/s1600/VCB5_L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXo8sxdefx2OYJ4Wmh4Xb0aHlpnAlcucu62KKKsqaAiQnSsPKw37m3JtnT3EuvIL1ELpO5NzA_-gwH56a_W8w9vMu0Y-DngeSuBMntiObPUD9QplhMbWrV55cddd8pnmw237jIJ6oG1S1/s320/VCB5_L.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>
Vicky Cristina Barcelona</i> presents love in it's enigmatic opulence. It tells the story of two friends, <i>Vicky</i> and <i>Cristina</i>,who fall in love with the same man; who's life is already spiced up by the tantrums of a reclusive wife. Narrated with characteristic <i>Woody Allen </i>nonchalance, this movie makes a passive endorsement to bohemian sensibilities of a man's ability to love two women at the same time with fervent reciprocation. It uncannily portrays how soulmates compliment and complete each other.<br />
What starts as a promiscuous pursuit; turns into a endearing masterpiece that manages to make one actually root for the threesome.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAGc3IqvY0JdYe8c-FK81gq8DQUcoOeYACnIAq83Je_aUafLL3KHaJd-u9lEpTlf6gibULl98d9IifwZ76PTLEULMM5BMZYtZt6D3IalvfTCebgpJeGWkYxj4MEqSEfL_wr6SFdpWbVmL/s1600/PunnagaiMannan00005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWAGc3IqvY0JdYe8c-FK81gq8DQUcoOeYACnIAq83Je_aUafLL3KHaJd-u9lEpTlf6gibULl98d9IifwZ76PTLEULMM5BMZYtZt6D3IalvfTCebgpJeGWkYxj4MEqSEfL_wr6SFdpWbVmL/s320/PunnagaiMannan00005.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>Punnagai Mannan</i> celebrates the redemption aspect of romance.It reiterates the fact that every end ushers a new beginning sooner or later. It narrates the story of a guilt ridden guy, who happens to accidentally survive a suicidal leap with his lover that consumes her life. With the passage of time,another woman walks in to his life from the same place he tried to end it once. She inspires him to love again.He resists and then eventually reciprocates back.After all,light at the end of the tunnel needn't be of a fast approaching train's everytime.<br />
The movie ends on a tragic note, with the couple getting killed in a freak accident in the same suicidal cliff that the story began from. A testimony to irony, that fro the jaws of death and killed him at the threshold of another beginning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnixDFXSKj4g_ntd5VdRYXWtGv9pUOSmiJfVC_LdV5swq7J8KFPnMH8SWqKY3hL-jeL8Ioyan_7ISb0ky8b2dJZcKemW4Xw47X36QZO0TxfYzSe1alDF5wvkvxHSjn6Mq753_xVIY0yYMf/s1600/best-top-desktop-movie-titanic-wallpapers-titanic-wallpaper-photos-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnixDFXSKj4g_ntd5VdRYXWtGv9pUOSmiJfVC_LdV5swq7J8KFPnMH8SWqKY3hL-jeL8Ioyan_7ISb0ky8b2dJZcKemW4Xw47X36QZO0TxfYzSe1alDF5wvkvxHSjn6Mq753_xVIY0yYMf/s320/best-top-desktop-movie-titanic-wallpapers-titanic-wallpaper-photos-04.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>Titanic</i> is a tragedy; which talks about the conspiracy of fate in one's life. It brings <i>Jack</i>, a lowlife on board of one of the most ambitious vessels built, the infallibly perceived <i>Titanic</i>. Over the course of journey he happens to fall in love with the aristocratic<i> Rose</i> who's ruing over her engagement. Their lopsided romance grows from strength to strength with every passing mile sailed, for fate to play spoilsport in the form of an iceberg that breaks the vessel and their relationship. Every time the movie plays, our hearts sink along with Jack and the plank.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPY3hyphenhyphenndjHt4rPKg4CjyRfaCmDT4aNm_g5fq08ICGDH6VdjrCwtXjsKRPhy8JntDWwVKMS4AYhW9pT0XfvwCMgPHx00TCpFzwlFppAvxvesiu1lUdFS94eNgmC_73VkXt40TQ4QAHB48j/s1600/006thd_kate_winslet_065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPY3hyphenhyphenndjHt4rPKg4CjyRfaCmDT4aNm_g5fq08ICGDH6VdjrCwtXjsKRPhy8JntDWwVKMS4AYhW9pT0XfvwCMgPHx00TCpFzwlFppAvxvesiu1lUdFS94eNgmC_73VkXt40TQ4QAHB48j/s320/006thd_kate_winslet_065.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>The Holiday </i>is about two lovelorn women,<i> Iris </i>and <i>Amanda</i> who swap homes to hold their lives from crumbling apart.The movie traces the journey to their self discovery in the process of finding love in their new homes. It talks about the impact of travel and nature on widening a person's perspective. The movie's soul is surmised in this wonderful monologue by a teary-eyed <i>Iris </i>reminiscing about her failed relation-<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: justify;">"I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade."</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-45565659318995074612015-10-23T20:35:00.000-07:002015-10-23T21:57:51.803-07:00Nipped in the Bud<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-pU5oOvxjCIh2OX9c-gfiDb1CPHZwR0VC5jsZOr8N1Fx80P363vOxsQUstGro8UH6RtMzRpFccC3rTAi8sgwbnBU0OBTEnN91TFh4gACuZjEQMC0C-ArGXrvn4CajkdH1SAj2MyMan53/s1600/2-leaves-and-a-bud-600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-pU5oOvxjCIh2OX9c-gfiDb1CPHZwR0VC5jsZOr8N1Fx80P363vOxsQUstGro8UH6RtMzRpFccC3rTAi8sgwbnBU0OBTEnN91TFh4gACuZjEQMC0C-ArGXrvn4CajkdH1SAj2MyMan53/s400/2-leaves-and-a-bud-600.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The proud toddler, covered from head to toe with nothing but excitement scurried across the pathway to show off his newly acquainted skill to his parents; the ability to walk.<br />
To his surprise what his parents noticed weren't his newly acquired skill, but his nudity. Sheepish with shame, the mother picked him up in the same manner as his poop,to cover him with some baby clothes.<br />
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<i>Cradles and walkers were vestigial artifacts. First rays of awareness had bloomed on him.</i><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b> . . . . .</b><br />
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On an obscure afternoon; he articulated his first ever word. His grandmother was the first witness to his graduation from "ga-ga-goo-goo" gibberish. His first word became the frantic toast of the house and was on endless loops for the rest of the day. That day he slept a proud sleep not aware of the agenda awaiting him. His father woke him up with a picture book and started pulling words out of his mouth. He couldn't communicate in gibberish anymore and they wouldn't communicate back in the same tongue like they used a few days ago. Not long ago was this language a big hit with his parents and relatives. He would try earnestly, but his naive tongue was too soft to let the friction with the gum create syllables yet.<br />
The quick transition from being a trophy to being evaluated in months and day, life's ruthlessness had dawned upon him. He eventually learnt the syntax of adult approved vernacular.<br />
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<i>Soft toys and singing dolls were things of the past.Too premature to be disappointed; he was perplexed.</i><br />
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<b> . . . . .</b><br />
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A thing just couldn't just lie around in his ecosystem. Not anymore. There was this undying enthusiasm to deconstruct everything into it's spelling, utility and the numerical extrapolations possible.<br />
Every bedtime story that he was carefully told, couldn't just be an anecdote. It had to compulsorily end with a punctuated moral inference. His ethical apparatus-his civic fiction wasn't allowed the luxury to evolve; it was cut and stitched whimsically.<br />
He was baptized. That day, he got a name and a god. A god who could do no wrong. One who's prowess illuminates the sun and rotates the earth.He who kept a record of every person's deeds.<br />
Hymns in his glory were slipped along with every course of meal.Every inquisitive query about his existence were admonished as sacrilegious. He was modeled to become another god-fearing individual.<br />
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<i>He picked grammar, multiplication and blind faith. Grown up enough to be disappointed, but premature to understand;he was at the threshold of identity crisis.</i><br />
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<i> </i><b> . . . . .</b><br />
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With every grain of individuality, systematically weeded out at home he went to the land of uniforms; School. Here he was a uniform clad roll number with ceiling limits on his decibel level and creativity. The seeds of curriculum and discipline were planted in his mind, fertile for initiative and free spirit. This place with homogeneity in it's sanctum sanctorum was a behemoth machinery; that churned out a homogeneous pupil who would represent it in the society with his rank.<br />
The rank which would help him land a college. A college which would go on to land a job.<br />
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<i>He had come to place his individuality in the altar of acceptance. He was too overwhelmed by the perks of approval; to be disappointed at his shallow existence fashioned on representing aspirations and school of thoughts; that weren't his.</i><br />
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<b> . . . . .</b><br />
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He married the girl he fell in love with; when he was spoilt for choice with alliances pouring endlessly through acquaintances; thanks to his fancy pay and god given looks. This relation masquerading as a love marriage was essentially an approval seeking device; a habit of the past.<br />
He didn't know her well enough, but knew she made the male population at workplace go weak in their knees. This was his way of seeking their approval.<br />
He was part of a generation that thronged theatres playing rom-coms and had lyrics of love songs for Facebook statuses. This was his way of seeking it's approval.<br />
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Few years into their marriage, they had a male child. One day the proud toddler, covered from head to toe with nothing but excitement scurried across the pathway to show off his newly acquainted skill to his parents; the ability to walk.To his surprise what his parents noticed weren't his newly acquired skill, but his nudity.<br />
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<b> </b><b> . . . . .</b><br />
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A majestic rock more often than not, can't be embraced as a stand alone spectacle. Admired for it's intrinsic value. Let alone to remain married to a mountain or a valley. To be sculpted by rain and storm to an eternal piece of art.</i><br />
<i>Most of us would tear it apart from where it belonged. Wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to chisel it to a statue of our imaginations. Place a tag on it, to make it viable in an exhibition of statues.</i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-60065703336434925362015-10-18T22:50:00.000-07:002015-10-19T06:38:54.258-07:00Sorry Adorable- An unposted letter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear Adorable,<br />
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Your incessant barking ended a surreal sleep prematurely. Founded on a fling between my over efficient air conditioner and a romantic drizzle, this meditative-deep slumber had dawned upon me after months of deliberation. I had actually come to throw you out of the precincts of my flat because of Ginger, my pet cat. That moment you wriggled from under the car, I knew my heart, that had skipped a bit wouldn't let me. It was divine when you squinted at me trustingly with a wet forehead. The naive assurance you were hoping of me with your twinkling-bed bug eyes oblivious to my agenda.That was the closest I had come to seeing God .<br />
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My flat is in a bustling main road.Bus route at that. I couldn't let you practice road-crossing lessons on this stretch that has made carpets out of elderly mutts,my little monster. So, after our bond was forged in that cheesy manner, you became my responsibility and I had to find a better place for you.<br />
One that would put a roof on top and protect you from getting mauled.<br />
After bringing you home, I called up a few friends and acquaintances who I thought might be interested in taking you in. My mom made a few calls too. We promoted you to them on the basis of your undeniable good looks. Not to mention your athletic build. Trust me, we weren't lying when we did. I can already see neighborhood female dogs circumventing around.<br />
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Sadly, whether reasonable or not, all of them had a reason instead of a home. Buddy, this is not a reflection on you. You're one awesome guy. You must understand how our heads work to appreciate the idiosyncrasy involved in picking a pet.<br />
Some of us have spaces to host a cricket match in our houses, but hearts the size of a mustard seed.Some large hearted souls, hearts with circumference mutliple times the size of our constraints. The last kind of us being the worst ones,with both-adequate resources and interest. but to whom pet adoption is a vanity affair. We would shelter a dog, but not a deserving one like you warring forces of nature to keep afloat. But a artificially bred one with a foreign ethnicity, designed to suffocate facebook with cutesy photos.Not your fault that your parents weren't German sheperds, Labradors, Pugs or even Alsatians. Not your fault that we don't patronize anything made in India; except rotis, idlis and Gods.<br />
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I would've loved to bring you up in the copious precincts of my flat under the alibi of a watch dog. But my archaic flat also houses close minded pricks well past their menopause with strict prohibition on raising dogs. They've already adopted two watchmen,dangerously fragile septuagenarians for pets. Another inundating constraint is the fact that Ginger is our child and isn't a dog person exactly.<br />
So I was left with no other better alternative, but enrolling you with Blue Cross.<br />
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I had to pull the plug off our bonhomie unceremoniously. I couldn't complete our eye contacts after that. I was feeling a sore lump in my heart, while you were clinging on to my lap on our way to Blue Cross. I really did pray for a wonderful person to adopt you. I really did.<br />
Your little heart was pounding on my palms when the ruckus of the other animals welcomed you.Sweetheart, I really wanted to console you then. But then, I wanted you to forget our brief rendezvous for good at the same time. I felt pathetic about enrolling you into an orphanage . But trust me, that was the best place to entrust you. Agreed, it is a little stuffy, unhygienic and all. But they foster your kind with genuine love and care. You'll start agreeing with me when you warm up there. Trust me, being around your species with food and shelter, is way kinder than shuttling between tea shops and overflowing bins. Also, here you stand a bright chance to being adopted by some wonderful individuals. Given your charming ways and the frequency of adoptions there, that's a virtual certainty.<br />
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I couldn't say these things to you for obvious reasons in the morning. I'm sure you'll grow up to be a magnificent creature with access to unlimited supply of food and love. Hope you understand me one day ; if you happen to remember me at all by then. Love you Adorable.<br />
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Your guilty wellwisher,<br />
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Me<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-37602382269109881352015-10-16T09:45:00.003-07:002015-10-16T16:09:52.186-07:00Of likes & retweets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScjvhtMY8vmLY-EZB34WMBa_U45ItzCzhU9oqyS8APacTo-L-k2Q9a9yTV25azE8loCldk7U3ORwUFnMi6uQUZPUIJb3050tVVL-qDUHgTh6bNi0IfMoYrHMBchhm5aaSuGVBeWW9nOnw/s1600/facebook-twitter-300x205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgScjvhtMY8vmLY-EZB34WMBa_U45ItzCzhU9oqyS8APacTo-L-k2Q9a9yTV25azE8loCldk7U3ORwUFnMi6uQUZPUIJb3050tVVL-qDUHgTh6bNi0IfMoYrHMBchhm5aaSuGVBeWW9nOnw/s1600/facebook-twitter-300x205.jpg" /></a><i>The myriad ways for people to stay connected now was a dream then; the way people stayed connected then is a dream now.</i><br />
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That was an era; bygone obviously, when people had a healthy relation with their neighbors, not the perfunctory association meetings about car park earmarking. People bled and emoted into letters for beloveds; who treasured them as trophies. Phone calls were a rationed luxury, that had to be booked in advance at the jurisdictional post office; run by a postmaster who doubled up as the agony aunt of his territory. Postmen were acquaintances who were jubilant with money orders and morose with telegrams carrying news of demise.<br />
Friends were family actually, not friend-zoned on facebook. Men wrote love letters rife with metaphors.Women weren't auditing proposals. "Shy" was the "blush" in vogue then. Good looking people were actually called handsome and beautiful."Cute" used to be an expression reserved for fluffy mammals.<br />
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Then in the forged alliance of inventions and preferences, the ouster of old school ways happened.Gradually, but steadily. People who grew radios for pets, had moved on to Ipods. People who once used typewriters and fax machines, started getting used by desktops to be it's artificial intelligence. Life as we knew it,moved from before the monitor to within. Hard copy correspondences were softened in the edges for eco-friendly soft copy ones.<br />
The radical metamorphosis of "What's Up" is quite something. It started as a naive enquiry of a person beneath to replace "Hello" from common parlance to finally turn into an <i>App</i> that allows colonies of people to bitch about each other with ordered flexibility.<br />
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<i>'Liking' is not the same as appreciating, like 'retweeting' is not the same as patronising.</i><br />
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The advent of Facebook,Twitter, Whatsapp, Skype among a thousand other applications has jeopardized human behaviour like never before changing the way people interact, express, emote with each other. Take the adulation behind a fanboy's paper cutouts of Amitabh Bachchan during the 80s that cannot be likened with a retweet to a SRK tweet.<br />
For that matter, the charm of a trip to a nearby photo studio to encapture a fond memory with a friend leaving abroad as opposed to a selfie at will.<br />
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There was an earnest effort in a direction that the heart took. A process involved. An aesthetic behind every aspect. A story to tell.<br />
Our life run by PDAs is characterized by convenience sans the concern, the person sans the personal touch and most importantly, a robust structure sans the sanctity. We've become too involved to flatter our identity crisis to be our 'virtual identity',our alter ego fashioned on edited photos and manicured posts.<br />
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This relentless pursuit to simplification has led to a whole lot of utilities,tangible and intangible that have gone on to encapsulate processes, in the process rendering human discretion, vestigial. Take for instance, the need to <i>buttonise</i> emotions that has led to a bouquet of emoticons for every known histrionic. Now emoting in a conversation is a touch away in an emotionless world; where yellow balls have replaced the contribution of the facial muscle or writing to express.<br />
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There's nothing which brings two people together than difference of opinions and the resultant fights. When two friends fought over an issue, they wrote elaborate letters,swore it out on phones and even landed a few punches when reasons dried out of the words uttered. There was a boiling point, courtesy the difference. Cooling point when reason prevailed over acrimony. Then the bond strengthened. I've heard men from my previous generation share such tales. I've found a few friends myself in the grind.<br />
No one cares to go through the entire shebang. All it takes is stop liking a friend's post consistently, exiting from a group or my personal favourite; not replying after a double blue tick.As simple as that.<br />
From being impulsively angry when rubbed the wrong way; we've found solace in sly indifferences and inaction; settling for less friction over permanent solution. Anger,one of the most primal of expressions, that served as a language when men didn't speak one, has positively been diluted into a pale caricature of it's former self. <br />
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To ensure all hell broke loose;Zuckerberg has announced a possibility of a "dislike" button.So I dont like your looks, Im not happy abt your marriage, I hope you choke over your momos. All of this and more could be expressed with a single button.<br />
What do I say about the faceless crusader activities on cyberspace. Are these endeavors intended to massage one's tall alter ego or to scratch the itch of the lurking vigilante within?<br />
Being part of an issue actively, participating in a demonstration is not the same as trading in hashtags.For one, there is no accountability;despite the tendency to flatter one's self to being part of a collective conscious to the nation's stand on a given issue.<br />
So there is a genocide in Israel, people tweet with #WesupportIsrael to mark their solidarity. Would we trade in hashtags and coinages if our beloved vapourised?<br />
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Imagine #JewsforLunch trending over Hitler run Germany or #IndependenceFirstLook trending across India on the night of our independence. Resilience would had a new meaning then.Who knew apathy could be compartmentalized in such a virtual way, World wars would've been fought on different grounds.<br />
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<i>The world has shrunk in radius thanks to these social platforms. But we've drifted apart as people in the bargain.</i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-52108550530300571512015-10-15T06:11:00.000-07:002015-10-15T06:11:54.495-07:00Buddy Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5T9sOzl-NLpq0qCfGjLNDA89gM_4sfzc1iGMo9NCDg_Un8rNpkoNqqB5YBAgJGn9zIvrUjHcCF6mL00hM_91JYTMtCilanrAVqtCn1My_LMd-OUmazg9FnDVGpLuqwtgi4RwKPTdMLEC/s1600/Silhouette-of-Friends2-300x1984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5T9sOzl-NLpq0qCfGjLNDA89gM_4sfzc1iGMo9NCDg_Un8rNpkoNqqB5YBAgJGn9zIvrUjHcCF6mL00hM_91JYTMtCilanrAVqtCn1My_LMd-OUmazg9FnDVGpLuqwtgi4RwKPTdMLEC/s1600/Silhouette-of-Friends2-300x1984.jpg" /></a> This is an excerpt of one of my older posts about one of my friends. An epiphany of sorts.We weren't in the best of terms.Like a comatose patient on life support, our friendship was running on WhatsApp and Facebook that time.<br />
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"<i>A friend in deed,is a friend in need</i>" is what I believed in. For me what makes an acquaintance from school or college special is the number of activities we both have excitedly been part of. For what is a friendship without enough anecdotes to share?<br />
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There are lot of them who would say things like we went to the same school,our college bus route was similar or we were neighbors when probed about the origin of their friendships. Most friendships are often flattery of acquaintanceship that reveled in locational-convenience.So in these cases it was more of coincidence conspiring to put them in a congenial radius than the spirit of comradeship.<br />
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But this guy and me were partners in crime since the twilight of our teenage. Our chemistry shot up northwards and our bonhomie was booming with every misadventure, with private and public properties being collateral(in a miniscular scale albeit). Like me he was an aficionado of movies. This habit nurtured the relation over the years; while softening the edges. As we grew up sanity grew along over our free spirit. Like urbanization eating into forest, this civil side was mowing into our wild side.The frequency of our meetings kept dwindling, with the distance between our residences remaining at a constant stone throw length.<br />
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There was a phase were he would wait for me to call, with little knowledge of the fact that I was checking my phone's display every hour.I wouldn't say he was entirely at fault for this phase of unrequited exchanges between us, given that my ego had grown up to constitute 30% of my BMI.<br />
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From a friendship which was once regulated by heart and instinct,it was withering away into indifference with brain and ego looming large. I could see the brotherhood turning commonplace with us meeting up on sunday morning cricket matches and birthday eve gatherings..<br />
It's not like there were no initiatives to end the tepidity from our sides, but somewhere it was beyond the starting trouble.From tangible presence in each other's scheme of things, we had turned into a comforting presence in the backdrop with vicarious acknowledgement of an erstwhile bond.<br />
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With every reality check life throws at us, we figure out who constitute our real circle. My break up happened,things were a little rough.I had a lot of 48 hour days to see through. I couldn't afford to be as high handed as before, with the humbling duress making me a little vulnerable, err aware. He was the first guy I called as soon as I called it off. That's when I knew his significance in my life. He was my shoulder when I was unstable, my shrink when I was getting woefully nostalgic at a drop of a hat.That phase startled me out of my insulation of pretense and calculation.<br />
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That's when we had gone for this very popular movie. Midway into the movie I started getting my nostalgia bouts again. It was over-whelming to try watching the movie beyond that as I was suffocating from thoughts that had breached the parallel realm.I sprang out of the movie hall teary-eyed, to mitigate embarrassment.Within a matter of few moments he was there by my side ,ready to leave.<br />
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We couldn't leave the theater precincts as it was raining profusely.It felt like destiny had cherry picked the worst time of my life to hurl water darts at me.At that moment I was seeing hideous metaphors in things around me, a statement fate was making to me with dramatic props. We were at the theater's front end waiting for the rain to subside when I got started all over again. He was there patiently listening without an iota of indifference like for the first time . The prowess of the downpour was waning. So was my relentless need to cling on to a decayed relation.<br />
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I realised one thing then-"<i>A friend in need, is a friend indeed</i>".<br />
For as much choice as you exercise in picking your company,the person that your friend turns out be in testing times is way beyond your whims.I was lucky to have him around at that phase. Always.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-25840858594716169512015-10-01T07:34:00.003-07:002015-10-02T00:55:41.525-07:00God song routine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I read somewhere that whatever one does for twenty one continuous days turns a habit, good or bad. Habits have a knack for sneaking into a routine, to become daily features in one's life. Most habits we form, come from a time our minds were open,naive or receptive to a stimulus we were caught by unaware.<br />
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This was a routine I picked from a ISKCON <i>yatra</i>(holy trip) my dad's brother had taken me on. <i>Narsimashtakam</i>,a hymn about the glory of the lion incarnation of <i>Lord Vishnu</i> that ran close to abt 90-120 secs with a familiar recital style; an ushering routine to the day's commencement.This was one of the few things which I picked from my brief stint, which stuck to me.<br />
During school time, it was a good way to start the day. I used to recite it loudly within myself while peddling to school on my modestly endowed bicycle. It didn't hurt that I used to perform well at exams;tough ones at that and have innocent luck with cute girls. What more could a high school goer have in mind for agenda. I was not old enough to find what relevance obeisance to God held in a school going routine or sieve coincidence out of northward academic grades and a corresponding prayer.<br />
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Then the worst thing happened after school.I mistook the rapid growth of facial hair to be profound wisdom. I questioned everything around me. Every bewildered face that fielded my convoluted questions made me feel like a crusader.A reformer of a generation to come I used to flatter. The phase after school is the time when the average grown up mind loses taste in bland serenity docility brings about, floundering its way into debatable truths that seemed absolute from an erstwhile phase characterized by lunchbreaks and board exam preparations. Suddenly the naive conscience nurtured by teachers and classmates, is woken up to the avalanche of excess-freedom, desire, passion,choice and ambition which build the character of a person, while feeding on his innocence.<br />
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This phase was marked by my days beginning with the recital of the same hymn, but with far lesser fervor.<br />
I was questioning its sanctity and that made it sound so mechanical.I started equating fruitfulness of endeavors with and without the recital and tried quantifying the effect..<br />
<i>What was once a lullaby to wake up a day, was now hanging like a dried up lemon on the rear mirror for superstition sake.</i><br />
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I was declaring myself to be an atheist with the pride of a war hero.It was a cool thing to do back then.For one, it separated me from the rest of the herd giving the uniqueness I could wear like a badge of honor around my friends reveling in ceremonies and rituals. Secondly, it let me have a bare forehead which went well with modern clothes which other people from my caste couldn't pull off.<br />
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Thing about activism founded on the school of thought of "being practical"; is that it makes you prone to cynicism.So much so that you're overindulgent in disapproval and non conformity, that you can't resist the temptation to deconstruct everything ranging from pleasant to miraculous to even bizarre.<br />
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<i>How beautiful would a flower be to a person, who's deconstructing it in the head as a erstwhile seed on fertile soil and a prospective victim to a bee's philandering ways?</i><br />
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When you dedicate energy to question things which are inconsequential, it eats into the time left for self improvement. For your ego has been fed upon disapproval and questioning of everything extramural, that it's made your judgement a tad too complacent for self assessment.<br />
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Just like in the case of some cynics who felt cool about declaring themselves to be agnostic at debates involving religious views, I got answers and truths hurled back in different dimensions from the universe in return, upto a point I waved the proverbial white flag.<br />
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I left my habit of misplaced reasoning on the altar of faith, and boy;did it work. The god song again started to resonate peace within, waking up the school going kid in me. Things started getting better, actually they were how they used to be. What changed was my perspective towards them. The god song started my day and made me thankful, for I started reciting it with gratitude unmindful of the consequences it bought upon or the sanctity upon which it was written.<br />
With the resurgence of this habit I became a more receptive individual, in the process had a lot of life altering epiphanies that went on to change my outlook towards life.<br />
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There have been cases of men who leveraged their urge for sluts and alchohol to create timeless works of art. Also,there have been ones who've go on to absolutely live unmemorable lives constructed on pet habits and rationed indulgences.The utility we derive out of every habit makes them integral;lack of which; vestigial. We ought to live long enough to know what we go on to become with the pursuance of every given habit, memorable or a forgettable.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-70527084268980647882015-09-25T08:42:00.001-07:002015-09-25T12:59:01.427-07:00Post dated glory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"<i>I used to be a women killer back then, my body was a work of art with fat under ten percent."</i><br />
<i> "People used to mistake my biceps for basketball, not too long ago. Just a year and a half back</i>."<br />
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These are some of the usual things I hear from my friends who were into body building once, seeking solace in the warmth of "used-to-be" and "back then" to cover the tepidity of the fact that they've subconsciously resigned to their inability in the present.<br />
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Only places that eulogise the past are history books, museums and graveyards.<br />
For we live to make another day count, else we're pronounced dead. Life exists in the present continuous realm. with everyone elbowing their spot under the Sun, making us a creature of the present, competitively or greedily to remain relevant. <i>The mind is attuned to desire, dream, aspire and hope; all of which are accruals set to fructify in a time to be born, generically called the future.</i><br />
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The mind acclimatizes an individual to the blueprint of the ecosystem he could expect to come across in his future, thus assisting him in making the choices with concurrent consequences attached while making a smooth transition.<br />
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It is a weak human tendency to relentlessly etch indelible trophies in the mind of once relevant relations and achievements A reminder of what we were capable of once, than what we are capable of now; <i>like the stuffed heads of hunted animals decorating the walls of a once feared hunter</i>.<br />
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Some go about their ex-lovers of the past euphorically, deluding themselves to believe that they were the last of the patrons of the Creator's limited edition line. When in reality, not only did the limited edition move on to other patrons; but also created a few more limited editions to adorn the face of earth, with maybe one of them named after the loser in posthumous recognition.<br />
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Not only do these people close the doors on a sea of opportunities ; but subconsciously go on to convince themselves of the inability to find a better person with dandruff hit facial hair and alchohol affected liver serving as collateral monuments to their once divine love.<br />
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Same with our gratitude to a person from a past action of benevolence or consideration. It is fine to be grateful, its a wonderful virtue that makes the world a thankful place. But it shouldn't blur our judgement to a present act of his indiscretion that jeopardizes our self-respect or dignity; requiring us to put our feet down firmly.<br />
Respect is a continuous concept, a reciprocating one at that. So when a once respectful person, becomes disrespectful off late and isn't prone to reason or consideration; tolerance to him for old time sake would just mean submissive gasoline supply to a rampant fire.<br />
<i>For once an adorable mutt as lovely as it was, rabied when it becomes, has to be put to rest.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
While it is healthy to derive to inspiration from one's past to rekindle a non-materialistic ideal,like vegetarianism or rationality; it is counterproductive to yardstick one's past for evaluating the fruitfulness of a present endeavor, For one it's not modest, the result would be skewed and the perspective would be narrow.<br />
To look into one's self and not looking beyond that, is a good place to peaceful and content. However self improvement is an extra mural process with need for drawing inspiration from source beyond the self.<br />
For instance take a flimsy concept like self assessment about the way one dresses up. If the comparison is with the former self set up a few years back at a time when we still weren't a paragon of fashion ,the inference would be misleadingly heartening. However if we draw parallels with an icon or much better ,a friend regarded for their sense of fashion; it would not only be humbling; but a far more realistic assessment.<br />
<br />
We could muse about lost love or find new love in the mean time, we could bask in erstwhile glory or relentlessly work towards an impracticable goal.To decay in familiar nostalgia or stumble to competence in an enigmatic present, the choice is ours.<br />
<br />
<i>We would at anytime be at crossroads between two paths in our lives- one that we came from and the one which we ought to take. Choice that we make,former or latter, takes us behind or ahead.</i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-70290817088390700772015-09-17T13:22:00.000-07:002015-09-18T08:37:46.724-07:00Ma-The overlooked guardian angel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXc_AJLwSobA4oDIP-TAV9tPVbkR0wj58qbLqRGWF6QX4l9vTHjeA59YkKMAiQXDNs6fUZf0qkfjq6CtOL2p5DJXhyphenhyphenS1Mob9iX07upl7guioC7nnbJ2u5kASioHnczcrsm4_5rPawAqpt-/s1600/078ffac64890de85c1995afd9575472a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXc_AJLwSobA4oDIP-TAV9tPVbkR0wj58qbLqRGWF6QX4l9vTHjeA59YkKMAiQXDNs6fUZf0qkfjq6CtOL2p5DJXhyphenhyphenS1Mob9iX07upl7guioC7nnbJ2u5kASioHnczcrsm4_5rPawAqpt-/s320/078ffac64890de85c1995afd9575472a.jpg" width="255" /></a>The maternity ward sequence marking the child's birth is always one of the most memorable moments in a woman's life; notwithstanding the conspicuous bunch of gynecologists in surgical robes and morbid operation theater set up that witness the proceedings. This process is the cornerstone of womanhood; for it introduces her to this two kilo whining meatball-a personification of her love to her soul mate while planting a new fulcrum for her life to go around.With every umbilical cord disconnected, a mother is born out of a woman.<br />
<br />
Coming to my story, on the wee hours of a humid sixteenth day of yet another May of 1988; my dad's wife turned a mother with my birth into a Rajiv Gandhi run nation. It wasn't the rosiest of deliveries, for I almost ended up killing her in the process; giving her a hint of the things future had in store.<br />
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My mom is the sort of person, one would accurately remember as the pleasant looking congenial woman from a run-in years ago. She was the first of three children of my grandparents, raised in a joint family set-up that outnumbered neighbouring colonies on headcount basis. She grew up having few hobbies and a lot of cousins. She sung like a dream and could've go on to sign autographs to patrons of mainstream music if destiny didn't play spoilsport with domestic duress. Another unmistakable facet of her is the way she hates maths till date like measles; thanks to my grandpa's motivational ways with the cane.<br />
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Some life altering events are geography altering ones too; such was my grandpa's accident which made the Delhi-Nagpur girl my mother was settle down in Chennai for eternity. There are phases of life that test your tenacity while sieving phonies from genuine people; grandpa's bed-bound period of recovery made a stronger person out of her who's maturity was a decade elder to her actual age.<br />
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It was in this period, dad came in to her life; thanks to a friendship born out of harmless banters between aunts from respective families who thought gossiping was a cardio-vascular activity. Those were the times politicians, film scripts and matrimony were derived out of small talk. Despite not being the most romantic of people, my parents overcompensate for the lack of flamboyance with compatibility and respect; virtues beyond a generation that employs emoticons and selfies to express.<br />
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<i>To withhold an opinion and employ silence at the right time is more important to a relation than wearing the entitlement to one's opinion like a badge of honour during wrong times in the name of expression of individuality</i>.<br />
This is something I've grown up watching my mother practice with my dad every time things get heated between them. Not the person to design her ethical system out of bestsellers; she more often than not allows my dad to have the last word because she is aware of the fact that she is the more mature of the both of them and has a better tolerance for nonsense.<br />
<i>She's always taught us about the need to look at a intention behind a hurtful word uttered; for what would remain after the word has resigned to irrelevancy is the intention of the person.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
She is that sort of a cook; that earned me a lot of friends on the merits of my lunch box during school days. Her paneer gravies and sambar are things that bring solace to my sarcastic tongue; which doesn't stop me from taking regular digs at her culinary skills with women musing over her expertise.<br />
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If courtesy sounded mellifluous and bargained incessantly with vegetable vendors; it would look a lot like my mother. She's one of the warmest of hosts; as obnoxious as a guest may be or as ill timed as their visit might be; a complete antithesis to my "trespassers will be prosecuted" style of welcoming guests.<br />
Having a woman who's grown up with brothers for mother comes with it's share of perks; for the candour and camaraderie happen more organically as she already knows how grown up men function. After my break-up, all it took her was a look at my face to know what I was going through at that time. Her being empathetic and cool, made the uphill walk a lot more easier at that time, than a gratuitous sermon from conventional parenting manual would have.<br />
<br />
This piece is an attempt to reminisce about her evolution as a person without getting too cheesy; an objective fly on the wall account of sorts. The time I've taken to write about my mother on the occasion of her birthday has brought many fond anecdotes to my mind; a few of which I've quoted.<br />
That said, the ways she has touched upon our lives doesn't absolve me from pulling her legs about her miserly ways, likening her cooking to euthanasia or having week long cold wars over flimsy reasons on a regular basis to only think about what to do to make her 50th birthday more special than this one.<br />
.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-5371764197641751822015-09-10T07:40:00.000-07:002015-09-10T07:42:46.918-07:00Enough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I was never thankful enough,<br />
To be the one you mused<br />
<br />
Adjectives weren't beautiful enough,<br />
To describe how much you amused<br />
<br />
No distance was separation enough,<br />
For you were always within<br />
<br />
One lifetime was never really long enough,<br />
To grow fragile in the limbs with you<br />
<br />
It was ironic when the day would come,<br />
Where I had ; really had enough </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-2049243495899116322015-09-03T07:04:00.003-07:002015-09-03T09:09:14.917-07:00Forbidden Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
A hot headed guy; he was this fruit out of the marriage between commerce and addiction. She was this carefully crafted red herring; whose luscious appearance made hordes of men take the bait, notwithstanding the grind that lay ahead.<br />
"Opposites Attract" goes the popular maxim, this wasn't just another tale of contradictions and accruing fondness between acquaintances feigned out of Mars and Venus. Right from their founding fabric to the interests they pursued and the interests they were pursued as; they were dissimilar at every level that their bonding seemed as unlikely as a camaraderie between a toad and a serpent. Yet they would go on to passionately fall in love with each other, even if the affair was short lived and morbid.<br />
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Detrimental to each other, they were pawns in the hands of destiny;their unison was an anomaly designed to add flourish to the myth of love. She savoured every occasion they came in contact, she caressed him with her elusive tenderness that other men meditated upon fervently.<br />
He for his part, with constant fire in his belly and admonishment for a way of life; found absolute approval in her unadulterated love; the only person he loved to suck his soul; his soulmate who saw solace amidst his fire and stench.<br />
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This was a tumultuous relation, where everything from when they would meet to how long they would be together was not in their hands; leaving how they were together alone to their discretion. The most they made out of every interaction, making a decade out of every moment spent to serve as buffer during separation.<br />
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There was this blessed phase which would eventually lead to their impending separation; during which they used to meet more often than usual where they made fervent love like animals that they could given birth to an entire township if not for the unfruitful nature.<br />
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It couldn't be more right that too much of nectar is poison, for their overzealous streak had taken a toll on her. She was becoming weak and waded, a pale shadow of her gorgeous self. Yet she couldn't keep herself off him, even if her life was lying collateral. He on his part, was concerned about her dwindling health oblivious to the fact that he in fact was causing it.<br />
<br />
<i>Like the love of a serpent doesn't wither away the sting of its venom, his infallible devotion to her well being was not changing the detrimental effect he had on her.</i><br />
Shaken by the unflinching resolve of the soulmates, who were happy to die an overwhelming death together than rot in separation; the universe had to conspire as their collective conscience to end their relation for greater good.<br />
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She was forced to a relation with another of his kind; similar to him yet an antithesis. As in all tragedies, the estranged couple tried every possible way to get back; but had to make do vicariously.<br />
Her health improved dramatically with every passing day without him and soon she was back to her alluring best. He had found audience in another person; a rebound of sorts and soon moved on for good. She broke up with the doppelganger of her estranged lover and soon lost interest in his kind.<br />
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With them ended another love story in this world. In a place which stands witness to far more consequential tragedies with every passing moment; an end to a fleeting affair between a pair of lips and a cigarette would not mean much, would it? <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-36407406239982190552015-08-29T03:49:00.000-07:002015-08-29T09:05:08.804-07:00Relatively Human<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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While at an uptown restaurant we are the personifications of our appetite at the end of a famished day, while our order makes it's grand entrance,ensconced in an utensil built to flatter it, we are all our hungry eyes could behold, when the carefully preserved aroma escapes to tantalize, we become aware about the ability of our neglected nostrils to be seduced.<br />
Finally, when we consume our dinner, the fleshy muscular organ we slog hard to appease all day long, the most judgmental part of the human anatomy, the wagging testimony to the most intricate of architectures,with every square inch of it demarcated to react to a specific taste vetoes the chef's culinary expertise; we know the role the tongue's tip plays in making our lives tasteful or not.<br />
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I've just deconstructed the fine-dining process and the synchronous sway it holds us in, despite appearing inconsequentially palatal. Same is the case when in a concert, where all our personality is contained from either sides of the brain, with the dichotomy of the conscious and sub-conscious self or during salacious indulgences, when our intellectual extension becomes subservient to the primal one; while the body as a whole becomes indifference in trance to the genitals.<br />
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We take pride every day, every moment in immersing neck-deep into sub-plots, overstaying in some, constructing designations and jargons around them to feel less narcissistic and more flattered; then end up calling life complicated.<br />
So we have words like "connoisseur" to cushion over-indulgent men,"workaholic" to crown shallow-employed beings and phrases like "make love" to sugarcoat passionate intercourse.<br />
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A machine is a composition of heterogeneous parts with individual mechanisms that work synchronously towards a homogeneous objective, the machine's functional purpose. A bike with an over competent engine or a wheel with an independent agenda would be an anomaly, not a facet which would go on to define the bike's purpose altogether.<br />
Whereas we as a race, take pride in being subservient to take a specific organ's ability or need,hone a skill out of it, make the skill utilitarian and bask in the perks usurped in the process.<br />
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The other organs notwithstanding their independent aspirations become thankless reindeer to the sleigh, the flagship organ navigates. Vestigial by priority & designated by anatomy, it takes a mutiny in the form of an injury or an infection to remind one about their existence; the rare occasions when they get pampered with handpicked medicines and priority.<br />
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So, nepotism to one's vocal cord makes him a singer,devotion to his cerebrum, an intellectual or an artist; while obsession to the cavity between his legs: a pervert or a pornstar. An athlete or an bodybuilder's anatomy should be the most egalitarian scenario though, with the body bordering on megalomania and excessive flattery.<br />
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So unlike machines, birds and animals, this ability to extrapolate uni-dimensional prowess and in the process become different persons with each iteration makes us the most intriguing creatures among the created. While the former kind are homogeneous by objective with a laid out blueprint to nullify individuality, our objectives and blueprints are contingent to constant evolution with every passing experience attained, every acquaintance made and hitherto insurmounted peaks breached.<br />
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Maybe this ability to lose plots passionately and make plots out of sub-plots with every passing indulgence constitutes our self-declared sixth sense, our alpha clout over animals and birds.Some call it the mind's eye, the ability to see beyond the vicinity of the present continuous province into the heart of the future continuous pastures making planning for an unborn era a possibility beyond mechanical existence in the present realm; with roads, monuments, canals, dams, surgical procedures, doctrines, philosophies standing testimony to this gift.<br />
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This gift, like any other gift puts us at an advantage over the other species without the gift, our ivory tower to call the shot for ourselves and our beta designated peer species. To utilize the vantage point of our altitude in a fiduciary way within the covenants of restrain and empathy or squander the same for vanity is up to us.<br />
If we decide to tow the latter path, we've always got our alpha adversaries in calamities,epidemics and comets to give us a reality check. For,all it takes is a mad elephant or a stray tiger to re-evaluate our alpha status.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-26624077310932676322015-08-26T08:22:00.000-07:002015-08-26T08:22:04.354-07:00The Neceesary Evil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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How relevant is the light at the end,<br />
without the winding tunnel inundated with darkness<br />
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If not the Devil for nemesis,<br />
How relevant is the God's prowess.<br />
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Apathy instigates one to love,<br />
With a marooned man's plight for a ferry.<br />
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All it takes is a clinical drought to famish,<br />
To appreciate nature's benevolence,when she cries earthwards.<br />
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At the end of an endeavor,is born an outcome<br />
At the dichotomy of an outcome, is born success or failure.<br />
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Their romance was a platonic anomaly,<br />
Comfortably uncomfortable together; yet apart<br />
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They blossomed in the disapproval of each other;<br />
Yet came alive in figurative unison,<br />
Everytime someone quipped,"Opposites Attract"<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-61423397262435128352015-08-20T06:15:00.002-07:002015-08-20T06:15:59.145-07:00The August 15th patriots <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdryTWnEvX7UbGJ_gh4HlbzKZ-N8C9C6M3ImAX4_0GlolJaQVzwdvON3jEHiyEHTnNGr7sDiBFMtDEYJ0SFkKqRhLwq5km7Ox1GUlY6PXZIrpH4YMbPIv0sLECiuWuNn5MvuyMbx3z5D7_/s1600/calendar-icon-august-15-Download-Royalty-free-Vector-File-EPS-14412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdryTWnEvX7UbGJ_gh4HlbzKZ-N8C9C6M3ImAX4_0GlolJaQVzwdvON3jEHiyEHTnNGr7sDiBFMtDEYJ0SFkKqRhLwq5km7Ox1GUlY6PXZIrpH4YMbPIv0sLECiuWuNn5MvuyMbx3z5D7_/s200/calendar-icon-august-15-Download-Royalty-free-Vector-File-EPS-14412.jpg" width="200" /></a>Today would mostly start with a live relay of a septuagenarian within the safe confines of a bullet proof cabinet, delivering a speech which would make a 4<sup>th</sup> Grade student’s essay on “Dream Nation” look more plausible. Next we excavate those translucent white kurtas (subtle metaphor for patriotism it seems) from below the debris of Van Heusens & Peter Englands in our cupboard, only to flaunt in the Flag hoisting ceremony at our alma maters. The journey to our alma maters is characterized by banters of desperate RJs hurling patriotic trivia & songs at us from every radio station.</div>
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Then the flag hoisting with a spirited rendition of the National anthem ends on a sweet note, courtesy Caramilk(a provision store relic). Then we have over enthusiastic alumni deliver articulated lectures about why culture & folklore are more important than android phones & GDPs. Thus begins our patriotic rigmarole on the august day.</div>
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FREE ARE WE AS INDIANS?!</div>
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Lets start with freedom in movies for a start, If the movie's font is arabic or the protaganist has a beard without a moustache....the movie's anti-islam-ban it!...if the protagonist utters any word which bears remote similarity to a political figure’s moniker or is shown contesting election(even if in college)-the movie's politically incorrect-ban it! When our political mechanism has broken down huge stars with the ease of a fragile twig, what chance do we lesser mortals even stand in our Constitution backed freedom of expression!</div>
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Art isn’t far from the long arm of our Political guardian angels either- If a famous painter depicts a Goddess in a semi nude state, we ensure he is rusticated from the land. Ironically though, ancient architecture in most of the temples depicts Gods & Goddesses in similar manner.</div>
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If an author dares to take on a religious issue in his fictional book in a gutsy manner, he instantly is made an apostle of Satan in public domain & his citizenship is severed like bad friendship.</div>
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With the freedom of expression of a common man becoming thinner at a more alarming rate than the ozone layer, If someone mentions a political proper noun in bad light in social network or even a inter cubicle conversation, he can be rest assured of a rendezvous with Arnab Goswami or brief internship behind the bars.</div>
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INDEPENDENT ARE WE AS INDIANS?!</div>
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Lets talk about how independent we are at a grass root level taking into account very mundane things for instance, we Indians are genetically programmed to look upto people with good spoken English abilities with scant regard to their intelligence…like an unwise customer picking up a branded vessel with a hole in the bottom. We look down upon someone mispronouncing an English name like a dung beetle, only to enjoy Geoff Boycott’s carnage of Indian names like connoisseurs.</div>
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More often than not when we talk about movies in public space, we flaunt names of unheard of Egyptian/Spanish/Korean/Russian movies with the pride of a newly married woman gossiping about her loan funded honeymoon. Notwithstanding this we celebrate 100 Years of Indian Cinema, where we make a tribute movie helmed by reputed auteurs, only to be diagnosed as a rip-off!</div>
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Despite being in a tropical country, we dress up like Louis Philippe mannequins to make our sweat glands work overtime. And if the wardrobe buffoonery wasn’t enough, we assign anglicized alter egos to burn midnight oil for our living, so that westerners learn to use their home appliances.</div>
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UNITED ARE WE AS INDIANS?</div>
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The only time we are genuinely united together as a nation is when Sachin’s batting or India is in a good position in the second innings of a match. Another occasion we display unity in diversity is when the news about a politician’s multicrore scam hogs limelight or Rahul Gandhi tries to make a political statement, this is when everyone suddenly seem so opinionated & awakened. Barring this flickering display of patriotism on these stray occasions, every state seems to be an isolated mini nation with its own agenda. While public holidays & bribery seem to be a common thread linking the entire nation, the legality of prostitution changes from state to state.</div>
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As on date our pan Indian feeling seems to be a shallow concept that is characterized by either pilgrimages to places ripe with religious heritage or sin-dissolving dips in holy waters that transport corpses or art of living workshops where saffron clad urban babas teach us life altering things like importance of eating bananas . Not to forget our uniform liking to ayurvedic massage spas or failed attempts to smuggle pickles past terminals in foreign soil or our favourite national past time of talking about the gutter, our political system has become.</div>
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Being patriotic doesn’t just end with Ben Kingsley’s Gandhi on playlist or standing up when the anthem is played, it’s a mental state where we accept the nation with its share of flaws without making a laundry list of lacunae…like a mother’s unconditional love for her son. Till then August 15<sup>th</sup> would just be another cosmetic public holiday when pizza joints gives us buy 1 get 1 offer!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-57582394740081607892015-08-02T01:26:00.002-07:002015-08-02T01:26:23.794-07:00 FRIENDSLIP<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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X-"We both keep in touch on a regular basis and more importantly respect each other's opinions",<br />
Y-"Sounds good,so can I presume you guys are good friends?"<br />
X-"on FB,yeah"<br />
Y-"!@#$%%%&"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirikV7P9qMCBwqo4_su9iIOd5O5gskxrEnzObkiAp7f6EVs4EW7mqZhzpONjhqJH2lOd4xb2rdrnjiwcyQXLkrxhXcaRWM_0i59cr1FctfHZF-pwszy2wBkmbLjgYSVcgX0whE3eyRk2AO/s1600/bubble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirikV7P9qMCBwqo4_su9iIOd5O5gskxrEnzObkiAp7f6EVs4EW7mqZhzpONjhqJH2lOd4xb2rdrnjiwcyQXLkrxhXcaRWM_0i59cr1FctfHZF-pwszy2wBkmbLjgYSVcgX0whE3eyRk2AO/s320/bubble.jpg" width="320" /></a>Friendship is the most littered word ever!Myth talks about eternal friendship between warriors of opposite camps,person taking the arrow shot at his friend on his bosom, men perishing along with their pals avoiding the lure to switch camps. Celluloid lore talks about a rich guy going out of the way to help his poor bud,protagonist sacrificing the girl of his dream for his friend,donating assorted organs to replace his mate from the jaws of death,a wreck-machine who takes on the system to avenge his bud’s death and even wastrels who disable themselves physically to enable their friend’s friend elope with his girl and all other possible exaggerated portrayals of ‘eternity ’ of friendship the human-mind can take!</div>
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But in the current scenario,true friendship’s become hypothetical and use of one’s resources towards his friend’s need has become viability based.This doesn’t mean true friendship doesn’t exist at all,it does like honest politicians & trim cops.And the indifferent few who dole out words like "friendship" & "soulmates" are often taken along in the same breadth as a vintage car or an excavated fossil.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span>MISTAKEN PALS</div>
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This is the most common, yet unnoticed category. This includes situation created friends who came into our lives through the conspiracy of fate & coincidence like our kindergarten/school/tuition mates or even the guy next door who used to be an accomplice during our balancing wheel days. One common thing between all these people is that it could have been them or anybody else or in other words, the friendship came out of constraint of being in the same nursery/same class or the same neighbourhood and not out of emotional compatibility or mutual liking to make it special. These places were well regulated/safely protected environments controlled by teachers & subjects, unlike in adulthood which imparts hard-hitting lesson in the rear ,at a point when the mind expects love,affection & understands betrayal. These people were acquaintances mistaken to be “childhood buddies” famously. Some childhood friends do get closer with age,but most remain namesake in the finite estate of nostalgia.</div>
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PARASITE PALS</div>
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These are people who expect things gladly, till we expect back. The sole purpose of their name featuring in our contacts is to avoid their calls. You can expect them in your life most certainly when yout're downhill,figuratively mostly and literally at times. On a bad day when we are behind our schedule or have a pressing commitment to complete, these men manifest out of nowhere in unexpected public places only to hone our patience by talking about those non-existent good old days with well-conceived imaginary flashbacks and worse, expect strong reciprocation from us back.<br />
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This is the time when our mind sinks into the sea of regret wondering how harder can the face frown to convey annoyance to the speaker who is clueless about the art of body language.Finally when Satan's long innings ends at our pitch,with this guy receding away ,the hatred towards our ears reduces only to abruptly end by his-“We should catch up again!”<br />
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VIRTUAL PALS</div>
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At a time when the internet is no more a luxury earmarked for the higher-middle group and android phones have become more accessible than groceries,these people trespass into our lives like a virus through firewall.These are low-maintenance relations running on social-networking apps like whatsapp, facebook,viber,skype,<br />
In a place like facebook, the number of friends one has could be a really deceiving aspect apart from the spirit of bonhomie kept alive by photo-bombing and tagging.This friendship, in a nutshell is as strong as one's internet plan.</div>
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VICE PALS</div>
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As the name suggests, this relation is born out of the common urge to fag,booze or drugs in a common place at a uniform time by like minded men,who got the concept of population control a little wrong. Like an automobile which just wouldn't move an inch without the fuel intake, their bromance blossoms symbiotically with every bout. This escapist pursuit for happiness in alcohol remains as futile as the sheep’s plight for solace in the butcher’s knife.In short,a relationship which doesn't last beyond the hangover.</div>
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PANICK PALS</div>
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They basically use us as a dumpyard to unload their problems. They remain in a self imposed exile from us during their happy times and when the last drop of merry gets over,they get their chronologically accumulated woes to us, to rightfully seek our “honest opinions” in the name of friendship.The easy way to get rid of them is ask them for a top-up.<br />
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PICNIC PALS </div>
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Notwithstanding the ongoing shallow relation,like cat in a dog-show they barge into our life with systematically etched,well-budgeted reunions/retreats/movie plans/birthday parties(not theirs).Basically, they seek your company for improving the headcount or filling the budgetary deficit in their purposeful getaways.</div>
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PAY PALS</div>
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This relation is as strong as one's bank balance.They come with the deposits and leave with the withdrawals.They're generally found in high end places with filthy rich people take them to be real,like a naive flower about the honey bee.</div>
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Not that I'm cynical about the idea of friendship,but just that in some cases friendship’s eternity is a bit overrated.Everyone does have true friends who really care about them & remain constant notwithstanding the changes in fortune.<br />
<i>Just that,it's good to have one good friend than a dozen meaningless ones, for as many zeroes as there maybe in the background, we need an one in the forefront to lend value to the number.</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-85283240738138652612015-07-30T02:51:00.001-07:002015-07-30T04:51:23.881-07:00In love with him<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When a callous word was to breach his lips,<br />
This guy was his leash of diplomacy<br />
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When there was a good shirt on the mannequin of his pet boutique,<br />
This guy kept a note...surreptitiously for him<br />
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When there was a new movie in town,<br />
He had the ticket booked by the aisle corner for him<br />
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When he wanted to crash a wedding,<br />
This guy was his self appointed accomplice<br />
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When he devoured through burger and pizzas the previous night<br />
This guy was his conscience around the love handles the other morning<br />
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On a bad hair day before the mirror,<br />
This guy was his comb wielding savior who made him impunctual<br />
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When he needed his solitude,<br />
He so delicately handpicked the songs in his playlist and left unoffended<br />
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There were some places and people he couldn't visit during month ends,<br />
This guy's company was one of those things, a master card couldn't buy<br />
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He was his subservient shadow at sunny times,<br />
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His palm clenched<span id="goog_1375472902"></span><span id="goog_1375472903"></span> umbrella during a downpour<br />
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At every evening of his confidence<br />
This guy was the awaiting dawn of assurance<br />
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To him it was platonic love with the self,<br />
To them it was narcissism<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-45061148667959732232015-07-23T03:40:00.001-07:002015-07-23T09:44:35.641-07:00Forgotten Classics-RAJAPAARVAI & GUNA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Nayagan,Thevar Magan, Mahanadi, Anbe Sivam</i> are some of the movies which come to our minds when making connoisseur statements to a friend wearing<i> Forrest Gump</i> or <i>Shawshank Redemption</i> as a badge of honour on a lackadaisical Saturday night one upmanship, ensconced in the Kamal Hasan hall of fame. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The realm of cinema is no exception to the adage-" While success as flawed as it is, has got many fathers.Failure as opulent as it may be, more often than not is an orphan"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This piece is about his relatively underrated masterpieces-<i>RajaPaarvai</i> & <i>Guna</i>, which despite featuring in the sanctum sanctorum of many a movie lover's collection including me for posterity, failed at the box office and went on to be inundated in the shadow of popular cinema in the coming years. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">RAJAPAARVAI:</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwTAGGKg5yoQT9YBNie93aBNROG86mWV-K7jUDXa0442Q55Bh3gjKUlC5lIzBmbYFoX2zfnKJ3k-vArvWBb8AE6ZbRiRdHyYD1QPBWGdB8I4j6HKq8uyncEvIvM9LePtKNmpolnHaICpL/s1600/s-img-2015-07-07-1436269512-ssr2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwTAGGKg5yoQT9YBNie93aBNROG86mWV-K7jUDXa0442Q55Bh3gjKUlC5lIzBmbYFoX2zfnKJ3k-vArvWBb8AE6ZbRiRdHyYD1QPBWGdB8I4j6HKq8uyncEvIvM9LePtKNmpolnHaICpL/s320/s-img-2015-07-07-1436269512-ssr2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right from the oxymoronic title which translates to "Royal Vision" for a story about a blind man, this movie is as audacious as endearing classics get. This 100th film of Hasan that also marked his directorial debut is a story of a blind violinist played inimitably by Hasan himself who sees the world pompously, perched in the throne of his mind's eye, hence the title.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This movie is a sort of an antithesis of the usual tropes of a disability movie, right from the gratuitous sympathetic-romantic angle, vulnerable protaganist and a melancholic finale intended at leaving a lump in the throat of the viewer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here, the protaganist is infact a narcissistic-brat, who's made a daily routine out of intimidating naive people trying to lend him a helping hand,with his self assured-brash candour. To him, his self respect is the crutch he latches on to walk equally among normal men and gratuitous sympathy bestowed upon notwithstanding the genuinity, is the blindness that reminds him about his disability. The way he effortlessly wears his blindness like a crumpled shirt, is by far one of the coolest perspectives of the condition.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The movie is about how he ends up falling in love with a woman, who deconstructs his fortress of inaccessibility built upon misconceptions and insecurities, brick by brick while awakening to her own self discovery in the process of being his eyes.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">GUNA:</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRU6a5Zaxj4ZRo9ScnrPIk3QNm2QM4GDOEkcSy55MDhLpBxBK6DOcLuCivgjMxO131SyUtMB0NGaKdk77TqUl1fhbZeS7QyKLgELfbUdeduqw6pxLnx_7hPauR8cdD0iWAQVNikvNMiEkK/s1600/13MP_GUNA_1267125g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRU6a5Zaxj4ZRo9ScnrPIk3QNm2QM4GDOEkcSy55MDhLpBxBK6DOcLuCivgjMxO131SyUtMB0NGaKdk77TqUl1fhbZeS7QyKLgELfbUdeduqw6pxLnx_7hPauR8cdD0iWAQVNikvNMiEkK/s320/13MP_GUNA_1267125g.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This movie is about a senile man's mission towards his soulmate-<i>Abirami</i>,a namesake from folklore of his formative years.Raised by a mother, a prostitute in the backdrop of rampant fleshtrade, <i>Guna</i> believes <i>Abirami</i> to be his route to salvation. Shuttling between an asylum and the custodianship of his maternal uncle who uses him for small thefts, he finally happens to come across his <i>Abirami</i> in an affluent girl while in a temple as a part of a heist. The divine trance he breaks into at her first sight, is put across in one of the most poetic cinematic depictions, with acting in it's most unadulterated form punctuated to the mellifluous composition of Ilaiyaraja.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next time he bumps into her, he kidnaps her to a dilapidated mansion on the top of a relatively virgin part of a hilltop. From here on, the movie unfolds from the girl's perspective with her being wary of his delusional ways at the outset, to go on to endear the obsessive love from the hooligan, an amenity that had eluded her affluence till then. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In this set up, with mountains, wild vegetation and five sensed creatures for company, she reciprocates his primal love, with every layer of her sophistication peeling away to make her revel in the same pedestal as him, her maverick soulmate with brain of an eight year old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's this beautiful sequence in the movie before the finale, where Guna wants to write a letter to his love, <i>Abirami</i> but is an illiterate who can't write. So he dictates this letter addressed to her, to her to write. This leads to the evergreen song-<i>Kanmani Anbodu</i> , which she sets to tune while writing to herself as dictated by him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, with the ground below their relation shrinking with every passing moment with challenges galore, they jump off the cliff , to eternally be united at a place, elsewhere.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-45336134891834884862015-07-10T10:19:00.000-07:002015-08-29T01:34:56.404-07:00The Indian Dog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The other night when I was driving back home, I went past an aberration by the platform on the road. Curiosity had the better of me and I pulled over to revisit the aberration, God not again, it was what I was hoping it wasn't. A majestic mongrel, size of a nourished calf, pale white with black patches was lying dead in a fissure by the road. yet again to nobody's botheration.<br />
<i>Yet another driver runs over yet another mongrel, unscathed for its corpse to mutilate to a carpet with eflux of time on the same road or to be gracefully cleared along with neighbourhood trash the next morning</i>- pretty much remains the exit route of every second stray on road. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56lEzhEcMXF2ZDalIFH6GUvwrJA7e_CSXYWURczcc4hHO0ozRkA41VvehqYkpEnSESxFR30_p73fMCDWGe3v8xUx16wAKfiS-rC5IdXDVF4LE1ay3pexWdVjY1vF-pVFH4f7IDmzrA6Fe/s1600/udaipur-158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56lEzhEcMXF2ZDalIFH6GUvwrJA7e_CSXYWURczcc4hHO0ozRkA41VvehqYkpEnSESxFR30_p73fMCDWGe3v8xUx16wAKfiS-rC5IdXDVF4LE1ay3pexWdVjY1vF-pVFH4f7IDmzrA6Fe/s320/udaipur-158.jpg" width="320" /></a>They eat from overflowing trashbins and tea kiosk spill overs on luckier days. While most fraternize with fellow strays, some enjoy the patronage of benevolent security guards. They sleep on roadsides as torrid as the climate maybe, with parked vehicle for roofs on kinder days. While these kind faced creatures are undeniably adorable,notwithstanding their pollution-hit withering fur, more often than not their litter go through the same cycle as them.<br />
The irony involved is intriguing, given the fact that the self confessed "dog lovers" exist in the same ecosystem as these orphaned mongrels.<br />
<i>It's just that the ark of their multi-ethnic "dog love" that encompasses several breeds from the popular pugs,German-Shepard,Labradors,rottweilers to the niche Huskeys seems to eternally be short of space and resources for the indigenous breed of mongrels, thanks to the overbearing prejudice from western-european nepotism.</i><br />
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Let's assume a hypothetical scenario,where Indian households adopt foreign origin children from breeding place that lets them choose from a multi-ethnic(Non-Indian) pool of babies born out of artificial insemination due to spiked up demand for white skin & blondes, courtesy recently concluded IPL tournaments and hollywood blocknusters that have held the Indian imagination at sway. Meanwhile, there seems to be a northwards surge in the indigenous population of orphans & urchins with the number of orphanages remaining constant.<br />
<br />
What would you call the above- altruism or ethnic husbandry? It's less of an act of benevolence and more of another new found hobby of the <i>creme de la creme</i> suffering from money.<br />
<br />
I would date the founding stone of this misplaced virtue way back to the release of <i>Marley & Me, </i>for no pet movie had portrayed the concept in such an accessible way till then. It was not dramatic, with over-the-top emotional set pieces, but it showed how a family came of age along with the growth of their Labrador, Marley. The coolness quotient came from the fact that, Marley, was not a martyr or an attention seeking lackadaisical bag of fur, but an unruly beast which was as flawed as dogs get, yet so endearing.<br />
Instead of taking the film figuratively, we took it quite literally. So instead of taking to the habit of loving dogs and having them for pets, we got enamored by the fantasy of "cute" golden labradors tearing through our home appliances, while the mongrels continued to rot in platforms and pet cares with no takers right outside our homes.<br />
Why is it that after <i>Titanic</i> alone, all of us as love-struck as we were, went for Indian women with ethnic names and not for Victorian blondes named after flowers? So we do know to board the Pan Indian cruise , when smitten by a western sensibility.<br />
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There is no denying the fact that there are some genuine pet lovers , who do their bit by taking a mongrel or a cat under their wings. There are these places like Blue Cross which take care of abandoned pets, but even they are populated to the hilt and can't expand, not with their modestly filled coffers.<br />
But these odd cases wouldn't go on to make a collective conscience for the nation as a whole, which still shops for pets to embellish their manicured lawns. For we can't be called "<i>Clean</i>" country on the basis of a <i>Swach Bharat</i> gig outside Salman Khan's house on the eve of his birthday.<br />
<br />
Thanks to the gargantuan wave of globalisation sweeping us of our feet, we have Louie Vittons in places where Batas were and KFCs outnumbering Gangotrees. So, egalitarianism in a consumer goods industry seems like a misplaced ideal to have, as the preference seems to be on the basis of competence and ongoing trends, with less dynamic brands(indigenous or not) dying a natural death.<br />
<br />
But the concept of adoption is a way more responsible process than just buying a satchel or a sofa to go along with the carpet's texture. It involves the choice to make between allocation of resources to a every increasing population of mongrels, that are longing for love and attention as much as for food and shelter, over imported ones that are artificially bred to cater to the whims and fancies of a rather shallow population that's yearning for a pug from a mobile commercial.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-57244068850380376312015-07-08T06:56:00.003-07:002015-07-08T13:53:22.676-07:00Queer Pressure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7Zbkn9MS-UbCrrWxkjwWWpRngbJi1jP-MTqvCGMSGrNCqt237x-wiw_tY5S2V2JHUMlY66XMS0IgY3tOOftBi-Pk8UIhP8tiReICC03Mx93tw7k6lu0BCHvMNz3-82-dEeWNQsRl5zRR/s1600/0000778658_10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7Zbkn9MS-UbCrrWxkjwWWpRngbJi1jP-MTqvCGMSGrNCqt237x-wiw_tY5S2V2JHUMlY66XMS0IgY3tOOftBi-Pk8UIhP8tiReICC03Mx93tw7k6lu0BCHvMNz3-82-dEeWNQsRl5zRR/s320/0000778658_10.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Why does every tree have to bear fruits?<br />
Some timber, some shade.<br />
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Why does every relation have to be fruitful?<br />
Some passionate, some compatible.<br />
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Does a garden engulfed by a bed of red roses<br />
Make the stray lilac any less a flower?<br />
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When police won't regulate violation outside of four walls,<br />
Why the moral police to consent within fourwalls?<br />
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When subjectivity empowers an indivdual to pet or eat an animal,<br />
Why should the facade of democracy dictate his choice of partner?<br />
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When our mind isn't clear,<br />
Why call them queer?<br />
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<b>PS:</b>Who am I?For that matter who are we to allow a person to pursue his primal needs in a dignified way. We didn't allow them to be born as a girl or a guy, we accepted them for what they were born as. When we couldn't apply discretion to their births, why the furore over their grown-up choices?<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5199845594417684634.post-20017468811485447122015-07-02T07:27:00.000-07:002015-07-03T14:47:55.994-07:00Dancing to the tune of...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsdUd_2ZmESkSWJbWEp6FPt0M_8wW9QE9QRnq8h5jlD44oWrYASauXNQGU2AOva1R4-rJr8Ny7eIFl7Aj_uVGWLFj_Fbjp244yKRzDMivUW992Dx8_x4HmwpDOGAcbUVTYp4c-5W7GHdO/s1600/Song-Contest-Logo1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsdUd_2ZmESkSWJbWEp6FPt0M_8wW9QE9QRnq8h5jlD44oWrYASauXNQGU2AOva1R4-rJr8Ny7eIFl7Aj_uVGWLFj_Fbjp244yKRzDMivUW992Dx8_x4HmwpDOGAcbUVTYp4c-5W7GHdO/s1600/Song-Contest-Logo1.gif" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">While our lives can't
get any more realer, what with the dampness of sweat beads, uneasy taciturn in
conversations with loved(loud) ones, shenanigans of toddlers, unbiased
bills grinning at month beginnings and fancier manifestations inundating us from
the other side of "They Happily Lived Ever After" of either our
parents story or our own story, our playlist is our only go to place for solace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our panting span in the rat race, escapist as it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Songs arise from
catharsis called composing, involving a story teller's vision put to sound by a
composer. The lyricist makes the song talk the language of the indigenous hoi
polloi, the director paints the canvas and the the actor remains the
alter ego we would identify with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Few creative
manifestations have the ability to make a connoisseur straddle between
different phases of life like songs do. So when my grandmom listens to
<i>Partha Nyabagam Illayo</i> from Evergreen classic <i>Pudhiya Paravai</i>, she feels like a
spring chicken again, thanks to the nostalgia of her young self enveloped
in the song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">While I yearn to be a
dad singing an unconventional lullaby to his teen aged children, in a distant
future though, everytime I come across <i>Peigala Nambade</i> from <i>Mahanadhi.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Songs are our very
gate passes to past or future, the rewind and fast forward buttons to the realm of our memory. While they always trigger off an emotion in us, sanguine
or pragmatic according to the place they play in the movie, an over indulgent
connoisseur has to be watchful about the leverage attained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Songs more often than
not, euphemize a state of being by virtue of melody, poetry,conceivement and
enactment. <i>Ava Enna Thedi Vantha Anjala </i>from <i>Varanam Ayiram</i> makes primal
dancing in public, post girlfriend's demise look so cool. While <i>Aaromale </i>from
<i>Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaya</i> makes cross-country roadtrips antidotes to cop up with
being dumped. These songs by employing interesting montages and imaginative
camerawork, make the drunken lovelorn disrupting public life look like a
martyr, while being dumped is portrayed like a pilgrimage every cupid stuck person
has to embark upon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Songs can rig
emotions when not in a strong state of mind, ask me about that. There was this
rough phase post break-up where everything inanimate around me, seemed to act
like apostles of romance. So everytime when I got stuck in traffic or was
jogging alone in my gym, my playlist which seemed to have grown an emotional
intelligence of it's own,played just one song, </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tanhayee</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> from </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dil Chahta Hai</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.
The song was tantalizing with that frame of mind, little did I know that with
every listen I was sowing seeds of sorrow within. The picture of <i>Aamir Khan</i>
jogging along to stop to <i>Preity Zinta</i>'s absence, his void in an crowded Sydney
junction with inebriating lyrics which go-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Khwaab
Mein Dekha Tha Ek Aanchal Maine Apne Haatho Mein</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Ab Toote Sapno Ke sheshe Chubte Hai In Aankhon
Mein</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Kal Koyi Tha Yahin Ab Koyi Bhi Nahin</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Ban Ke Naagin Jaise Hai Saason Mein Lehrayi</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Tanhayee Tanhayee</span><br />
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Palko Pe Kitne Aansoon Hai Laayi</span></span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After
a point,a little late though I realised I had barely moved on from my break up,
Why? My repeated listening of <i>Tanhayee</i> like some anthem, which made the pale of
shadow my former self look like some rockstar,who epitomised love. Thats when I
decided to do away with not just <i>Tanhayee</i>, but other melancholic songs of the
same genre from my playlists including the sinfully soulful <i>Bhula Dene Mujhe</i>
from <i>Aashiqui-2,</i> and the result showed. I started to feel vibrant again, looked
healthier and went out with a lot of people.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Grim
accounts apart, there's this song I'm so enamored by from <i>Anbe Sivam</i> the
lyrics of which act as a torch of dichotomy when faced with an good vs
god dilemma which goes-</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Roboto;">Yaar Yaar Sivam Nee
Naan Sivam</span><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Vaazhvae Thavam Anbe Sivam</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Aathigam Paesum Adiyaarkellaam Anbe Sivamaagum</span><br />
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Roboto;">Naathigam Paesum
Nallavarkkellaam Anbe Sivamagum</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f8f8f8; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: rgb(248, 248, 248); font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">To
an overabsorbed listener like me, songs are life altering flying carpets, trove
of memories, medicine and poison, elixir and intoxicant, zephyr that gently
combs the face and the tempest that uproots the person. While for a person who knows to
objectify , it would be a superhit from a recent hit, a groovy number
in a DJ's playlist, even a ringtone or the perfect time to hit the loo in the cinema
hall. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08077275490124812527noreply@blogger.com0