Happy Birthday!

Most of us send and receive more New Year’s wishes than Birthday ones. In less than three hours I would finish two dozen years of my life. Since I hardly got any New Year’s greetings I expect very few people outside of my family and pet to acknowledge this feat of mine and congratulate me. Not that it’s a huge cause of concern for me, and I am not going to exploit this to vent out some serious angst.

Maybe this is what it means to grow old. I’m hardly excited about tomorrow being the 24th of January at all. There was a time when January itself meant gifts, and cakes, and a party. And in college it involved treats and huge quantities of alcohol. Right now I don’t feel anything about tomorrow, which makes writing this post fairly difficult.

So I’ll just resort to much randomness…

*******

If any of you have been waiting to read about the U-tab, well, I don’t know… Initially I was so kicked about the stories that I considered not putting them up lest the ideas were stolen by devious scouts from major Hollywood studios. I can’t spend the rest of my life suing people. But then I grew lazy, and then even more so. However, when the trickle of traffic that makes it to slowtum-yayaya began to dry completely I sprung into creative action. Only to realize that even though my ideas were fairly interesting, I didn’t know how to put them into words very well. So the project has been postponed. I promise to put the post up soon. In the meantime, an excerpt –

Johnny Depp said that he used the tab on a visit to India. He spent almost a year living in a slum in India as a penniless traveler. Then he returned to his French villa but carried back the person he became while he was there… This helped him remain true to his character in Shantaram during the one year of filming, as he would have long conversations and spend entire days with the lonely wanderer from India captured inside the tab. And much to the delight of RSA the makers of the U-tab, he attributed his Oscar for Shantaram to their invention. Of course psychologists blame Depp’s bizarre use of the tab for his recent depression and anti-social behavior. (He sent his tab and an output docket to collect the Oscar, along with a note that said, Give it to him, he wanted it, I didn’t. So in his Oscar speech Johnny, wearing an Orange cotton kurta and sporting a dirty long beard apologized for not being there in person.)

So that’s that. Hopefully the rest of it will see the light of the day…

*******

Hmm – as I turn 24, I am fighting back certain truths of my life and at the same time maybe getting used to them. It seems more and more unlikely that I will eventually make movies someday. I am growing increasingly comfortable with my job, liking it often. The money is an even bigger comfort and a growing addiction too. Yes there is this great faith in myself that someday I’ll just snap out of this. But that faith is dwindling bit by bit. But that’s fine; it’s not making me unhappy or anything. Oh, also I think I am losing a lot of hair, and that I may not actually be sleeping with 20 women before I am 25 as was the plan mutually agreed upon by us friends at school. Also my body has been sending out dangerously firm suggestions that I might have to start excercising, get further root canal treatments, and use exercise and not hostel grub as a means of avoiding an ugly paunch.

*******

The last month or so has been crazy – it feels like I have been held by my ankles and spun around in the wildest possible manner. Things have come and gone and I have sat through them dazed, reacting appropriately but without much thought. To make matters worse all this happened along with some serious travelling.

Patna – Calcutta – Delhi – Patna

Patna – Delhi – Patna

Patna – Lucknow – Calcutta – Mumbai – Cochin – Kumarakom – Cochin – Mumbai – Delhi – Patna

Patna – Calcutta - Patna

The sheer variety of experiences and location makes the last month seem much longer than it actually was. There was much joy, alcohol, meeting up, tension, life altering moments (near), boredom, fear, guilt, gluttony, transit, bitterness, anger, luxury, fighting…

Desperately need things to slow down.

*******

There is a strange skill I have, which I slowly developed into a way of life. For as long as I can remember I have carefully segregated the events of my life, and its acquaintances from one another. I guess everyone indulges in this a bit, but I am certain that the precision and severity with which I compartmentalize my life, the ease with which it comes to me and the extent to which I take this sets me apart. I don’t know why I am talking about it, surely not to sound deep and intelligent. (I swear!) This actually leads to very funny situations. For example I go to great lengths to keep different sets of friends completely exclusive. I lie, I plot and I connive and sometimes it gets all too confusing and then I blame it on being absent minded. I don’t really know why I do it, maybe because I am a different person with each separate group of people, and I like that. For example I am this really dedicated, hard working and enthusiastic actor when I meet some people and with others I am just a regular bum. I am both, actually, sometimes both together, and sometimes neither, but if the two sets of friends were to meet then I’d have to give up one personality of mine. I even noticed I have a different tone with each group of people. Hmm maybe everyone does this, but only I choose to give it so much thought and then mention it on my blog?

*******

Why is it that as an art form, Cinema is most mutilated? I mean most people think (with significant legitimacy) that Cinema is actually a medium for entertainment and not really art. Well that’s not a debate I want to enter – I think it is something that needs to be decided by the director of the film. He needs to decide what the purpose of his movie is and why he is involved in it. I guess the reason most films are closer to entertainment than art is mostly economic. Cinema when compared to photography, writing, painting, sculpture, design etc. is probably on average the most expensive medium. In the sense that on average a decent movie costs more to make than any painting, photograph or a book. I am sure Titanic even in constant money terms was a more expensive venture for Mr. Cameron than any of Picasso’s painting. (Ok I am thoroughly clueless about how much a painting could cost, though I’m certain 5000 rupees is sufficient for a huge canvas of great quality. Yet, my hands are trembling after I made that comparison, art aficionados forgive me if my statement is flawed, plus it is of no consequence to the point I eventually want to make.)

Now, what I mean to say is that not only did Picasso have to buy only a little paint, a few brushes and a canvas and sit in a rented studio or just at home sipping coffee while he painted the Guernica, he didn’t have to care whether his servant or the barber down the street understood the nuances of analytic Cubism or the touches of Symbolist influence in his work. A painter needs one person to understand his work and he gets paid handsomely. He needn’t create a product that is understood and liked by as many people as is possible. For the director of a movie this is a continuous headache.

And therefore Titanic must come with packaged with a love story, and therefore we must live with a continuous stream of trashy senseless cinema.

I don’t know is there an economic solution to this. What if a director were to make a movie and then just release one copy like a painting or maybe only five? Say it’s Wong Kar Wai or the Coen brothers or some other fancier director like Kieselowski – what if they release just one DVD of their movie? Wouldn’t it go for a lot? And then the movie could be played in select theatres just like a painting travels across museums?

Or maybe we needn’t release movies in all theatres. What if movies by top directors were released only in a few theatres where they ran for only a week at very expensively priced tickets? And the director’s toured with their films just like playwrights do?

Hmm I guess this is fanciful, but it’s unfair for just one art form to be subjected to the vagaries of economics in this manner, for only cinema to depend on mass approval. What is most heart breaking is that this is what I would want to do. Why is it not painting or singing that makes me happy?

*******

Cooking is about the most enjoyable thing I do these days. Just made Dhansak; well only the caramelized rice part of it. Hmm it’s about the only thing I do these days which grabs my attention entirely for as long as I do it. Tomorrow there will be time for some Awadhi delights.

*******

Less than two hours now; I will be 24 when I wake up. Not going to proof read this… too tired. Sorry folks. And by the way three people have already wished me – kind of. So I break the trend of more New Years vs birthday wishes..

The U-tab

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Who are you?

Yes - really, who are you?

WHO ARE WE??

Are we what we do for a living? Bankers, Soldiers, Waiters, Student??
Are we just Men or Women? Or are we defined by our Religion?
Ethnicity?
Or how old we are? Kids, Grandfathers, Teenagers?
Maybe we are simply defined by our love lives? Married, Single, Divorced etc.
Millionaire? Billionaire?
Nationality?
Number of Pets?
Gay or Straight?
Smokers/Non-smokers?

We at RSA Inc understand that who we really are is probably a random combination of the answers to all of the previous questions and a million more. So many answers, some obvious and many not so. Answers that continuously evolve, new questions get asked, and old ones become redundant... And with it friends, we change. We begin to become different people.

Oh this is all becoming very absurd.

What we are trying to say friends is that it is our firm belief that we really are a collection of thoughts, ideas, actions, emotions and acquaintances. These set of variables though are continuously changing. Why a successful, married scientist I once knew is now a deranged pothead (his wife left him for another man.) Sad my friends... Really really sad...

Bravo! - you might say... Sarcastically you might exclaim - riveting, Sir, your line of thinking, your opinions. Ugh refreshingly original, you might add.

Well do not be impatient with me friends. I have much to offer.

It is a tough world we live in friends? Right? Not many people we can trust. How would you like to know somebody you once were? Yes my friends, a year ago you were quite possibly a completely different person - how would you like to get in touch with him? Researchers at RSA Inc have scientifically shown that people 'change' on average every 118 days.

Ladies and Gentlemen - behold The U-tab

(Image - Replica of the U-tab, scale of replica to original - 30:1)

What is the U-tab? Well, in technological parlance, it’s fitted with 5 miniature steady cameras and one moving camera, a voice recorder and a computer with an 8000TB hard disk and 1TB of RAM.

The U-Tab is to be attached to you friend, your collar button, or may we suggest the front of your neck? During preliminary tests women and even men have chosen to wear the tab on their necks, foreheads, in the centre of their chests… We are working on the fashion factor friends, soon their will be a curvier U-Tab in red which will glow in the dark…

The U-tab acts as a really really big diary. It sees and hears everything, everyone you meet, talk to, everywhere you go, things you do, your responses, everything. Its tiny but robust computer works on this huge amount of data and collates according to basic categories. Then it begins to form a personality depending on the data you supply. With increasing usage the tab gets more and more information and begins to refine the personality profile. The tab works constantly and notices everything, it puts different packets of data under different personalities – tests have revealed that the tab can sense up to 28 different personalities or ‘people’ at the same time… Of course friends we do not expect you to stretch the tab to such limits.

With time as you surround yourself with different people, ideas, thoughts and actions, the U-tab notices and begins to formulate a new personality and a separate person (assuming there are changes, but as mentioned this does occur, as soon as every 118 days.)

So that’s the theory – what’s the purpose of it all? I can almost hear you say…

Well – after a while you can take the U-tab connect it to an output docket, and have a conversation with it. You can ask questions, throw ideas, curse or abuse and the tab will search its massive database and respond exactly as the personality it has formulated within itself would. To add a touch of realism, it will project a 3D image of the person it contains.

Interesting? Interested? Friends? Got questions? Call 1-910-779-8457 (Toll Free)

It’s a fascinating gadget I assure you friends, imagine the possibilities. You could ask yourself why you were so stupid as to take that job a year ago, and actually get an answer from your own head then. You could be creative friend; long distance relationships could become easier, imagine, if you were going away you could buy your girlfriend a U-tab and let her use it for a while, and then take it with you. It would almost be like living with your girlfriend in a way.

Oh there is one thing, if the tab isn’t used for a while, the personalities within it begin to fade. It’s not a quirk, but actually the outcome of an effort to get the damn thing to work with stability. So if we strap one across Stephen Hawking’s head, he might still solve problems related to astro-physics for a while after his death but not indefinitely…

I READ THIS THE OTHER DAY, FROM A LONG PAMPHLET STUFFED INTO MY POCKET AT THE STATION, I CALLED THE NUMBER. IT COSTS $600 OR $850 (FOR ONE WITH MORE MEMORY). COMPLETELY WORTH IT I THOUGHT. RESEARCH ON MY PART HAS REVEALED SOME INTERESTING ACCOUNTS FROM USERS OF THE tab, WHICH I SHALL SHARE WITH YOU SOON…

Three Colours - Green, YELLOW, True...

Yellow

I was caught in the midst of a usual monsoon downpour in Mumbai... There were a million autos to choose from, all stranded in traffic right outside my office. I waited under the shed with the guards, carefully homed in on one of the rickshaws and then made a crazy dash for it. Well I did make it into the wretched thing in less than four seconds but I was completely soaked nevertheless.

Juhu Tara Road ...
90 lagega boss!
Kyo? Meter??
Nahin boss...
Saala tum Bombay wale bhi poorey chor ho - aisey hin log boltey hain ki Bombay ke auto wale imandaari se kaam karte hain...
Toh utar jao na...
Theek hai!

Hmm but it was raining so hard that I swallowed my pride and remained where I was - then I pretended to be on the phone. It wasn't the 90 bucks - it was irritating how he refused...

Anyway after my fake call - I engrossed myself with the chaos that is Bombay. Rain is such an integral part of the city. In Delhi when it rains people huddle under flyovers and bus stops - here life goes on. If its only a faint drizzle you'll probably even see someone read a newspaper in the rain or sip on tea or something.

Chori nahin karte hain hum boss. Majboori hai...

He was looking at me through the rear-view mirror. I felt a little nice - my jibe had probably unsettled him, I guess no one likes to be told, in a nice way, like you care or something, that they are cheating. No its not that - to be told that they cheat when you really really mean it in a genuine manner but not really yell at them or anything, just make an observation. We all like to believe we live honest lives.

I didn't talk about it much though, just said it was alright. A little later when we got further tangled in traffic, he began to speak. All Mumbai auto/taxi drivers can be grouped according to the actor/actresses they claim sat in their vehicle. Mine had a rendezvous with Jackie Shroff (eeks). He was apparently very nice to him and gave him his address and even now keeps in touch. I think Mumbai does that - makes all its inhabitants dreamy. Its a nice thing if you think of it.. Of course this information was passed on to me only after Girish (ya, I remember, clearly) took me through a thorough interview. But he was likable, and I obliged with accurate data.

We were still only one corner ahead of my office and Girish and me knew almost all there is to know about a stranger. Our conversation then moved to how he felt that the Bombay rains other than the two days in 2005 haven't suddenly become heavier. He said that it rained like this every year, except now the whole nation had gotten involved and the media was disappointed if the rains aren't exceptional and if a few people didn't die. At the next signal I offered him a smoke - we were buddies!

He had two daughters. Both were in school, he wanted to educate them and send them to college. He was from UP - but had settled here for good. He didn't seem to like his family back home - he thought they were petty and ignorant. He wanted to, at some point, start his own business - his plan was to be the one renting out cars for movie shoots. It was his dream job, Bombay does this to people I tell you... Girish and me then made general comments on things like poverty, good and evil, politicians, Taxi Vs Auto, Bombay Vs Rest of India, cricket, media, I even asked him to tell me the best places to eat in Bombay (Bade Mian)...

Somewhere in all this chatter we got back to the issue of the higher tariff. He said he knew he was charging more, but he was desperate. He owed somebody 3000 rupees and that he'd lose his auto if he didnt pay up by next week.

Garib aadmi kya karega? Humara sau-pachaas bahut kharab hota hai - baaki lakho rupiah kha jaate hain aur koi kuch nahin kehta...

When someone says something and they believe in it, like really believe in it - you cannot help it.. Also Girish in general came across as genuine. Hmm I said it was true but that doesn't mean one should give up on being nice and leading an honest decent life. He agreed in return, but said that the auto was everything to him and his family and he was couldn't help it. Well both of us didn't speak for a while, I was engulfed with some amount of sadness as well. I returned to staring at Bombay being lashed by the usual monsoon shower.

Girish broke the silence through his prediction of the fate of the latest Bollywood pot boiler. With a sense of relief, I entered into a masala laden conversation on Bollywood. We discussed box office collections, old movies and new, the prettiest women and even some gossip. Of course we revisited Jackie Shroff...

After a bit I told him I was in Bombay for my internship. If they liked my work they'd give me a permanent job. Girish thought it was strange - this whole business of internships. He felt one should be hired once and for all. Nervously he asked me how much I earned - I told him 12,500 was what was paid to me as stipend (the truth). Somehow I felt he wouldn't understand so I added with haste that my stay and meals were paid for and that the permanent job came with a much lavish salary. I don't understand why I did that but I didn't want him to think I wasn't getting much by way of money.

Girish was quiet for a while - then he said that he was very happy that I was earning so much at such an early age and that my parents must be proud of me. It really kills you when a grown up man says such things - he said he couldn't dream of earning so much ever. It was only the difference of the families that we were born in that made me sit where I was sitting and Girish the auto-driver. It was really awful. Once again we sank into silence.

I was looking now at a local train running parallel to the road. A ride on one of those was on top of my to-do list while in Bombay. Last Sunday I took a ticket to VT, when the train pulled in I saw a few coaches packed to such an extent it seemed they would burst and then others which were completely empty. I made the obvious decision and sat inside an almost empty coach. Apparently if you are caught in first-class on a second-class ticket you have to pay some five hundred rupees as fine.

It was my turn to break the uncomfortable silence. I offered to pay Girish the 3000 rupees he needed. I don't know why I did it, but I just did. It was the first money I had earned, and back home my parents would ask me to give some to a temple and to send some to my ancestral village. I thought there was more practical good in giving the money to Girish. We were almost outside my hotel and I gave Girish my phone no. and told him to give me a call the day after tomorrow (I was going to Pune that evening), I said I'd give him he money then.

******

Girish called me while I was returning from Pune - I had forgotten all about him and that strange afternoon. But I noticed from his voice that he hadn't, it was almost as if he was calling me from that afternoon, as if he was still in that day. I know I must have been in his thoughts ever since, he might have told everybody about me, maybe from now on, he'll mention me rather than Jackie Shroff to interested customers. But I hadn't thought of him at all... I asked him to call me in a few hours, when I'd be in Bombay. Suddenly now, the thought of parting with all that money didn't offer any philanthropic kicks. I had had a nice time in Pune and it had cost quite a bit.

My mind tried to go back to Girish. Had he planned it out? I couldn't decide whether when I offered my help he resisted or not. Unconsciously but rigorously I kept trying to remember something that would help build a case against Girish. By the time I got to Bombay (it was still pouring) deep down inside of me I had made up my mind - I wasn't going to give Girish the money. I don't even recollect feeling very very horrible about it, my chief concern was how to get him to not call me and also I was worried since he had seen the hotel where I got off.

I thought of Girish a lot in the next few days - the whole incident made me ask myself whether I was essentially a nice person like I thought or not. I knew it wasn't too far fetched a possibility that Girish was lying, but that was not enough to stop me from feeling guilty. I thought of Girish's daughters and what would become of Girish's plans of sending them to college if his auto was actually seized. I don't exactly remember how I felt, but it couldn't have been a great feeling. Girish's phone calls followed me across the country as I traveled on account of my internship, to Baroda, Varanasi, Hyderabad, Ahmedabad... He called me Nikhil Bhai...

Nikhil Bhai kam se kam phone toh utha lo - Girish

Then one day about a fortnight after that afternoon with Girish, I was on my way to office. I won't say he had tormented me ever since (every morning outside my office or the hotel I half expected him to be lurking somewhere with a knife, waiting to stab me) but I still thought of him every now and then. It was raining as usual. I ended a conversation with someone on the phone as the auto neared office, I homed in on the gate and then handing the money I charged towards the shelter. Of course I was completely drenched in less than four seconds.

As soon as I got into the lift, I realized something was amiss. I had left my stupid phone in the auto!! I ran out to the gate but it was too late. I called, but there wasn't any answer. I even sent sentimental messages but there was no response. I don't remember thinking of Girish immediately then. But later in the day I did realize that the phone had cost just about 3000 and I had left it in an auto after all. Also that Girish was lost to me forever...

Even today sometimes I think of Girish and wonder what he is upto...

Three Colours: GREEN, Yellow, and True...

One of the things ill always remember of my five years in Delhi will be the 3, 912, 779, 815 auto rides I took to various obscure corners of that giant city. Of course a lot of these trips were rather uneventful, but an equal number did offer me interesting conversations and experiences worth remembering.

They are a strange bunch these auto-fellows, compulsive eve-teasers, users of the most abusive language, crooks of the highest order, eager weather experts and commentators; they lie waiting for a nice conversation - ready with an opinion on everything from onion prices and sealing drives to family planning and the economics behind shopping malls or the Delhi Metro...

Green

It must have been my second or third day in Delhi. It was hotter than I, a boy who had spent all his life in the hills could imagine or bear. My brother just told me a 'Mudrika' would take Rs 10 to take me around the 'Ring Road' and drop me off at the 'Mall Road' which was walking distance from DU. Before I could grasp all of those bizarre names he had already left for work.

Well the ruddy bus was crowded with almost half of Delhi's population - the more stinky, sweaty and scary half. It took me about two hours to get to the Mall Road, and the walk to St. Stephen's college from the bus-stop left me fully dehydrated. I was there to apply for admission into the institute of my father's dream. Well all I remember of that whole process is that the application form was pale green, and that it involved a lot of writing and like an earnest young boy I wrote and I wrote and I wrote - till I missed the afternoon deadline for submission. So then I got out of the college and began the epic journey back to the bus stop.

I could almost hear the sun scorch everything in its sight - a slight hiss hovering all around me. Half way to the bus stop I stopped to have this strange drink everyone seemed to be drinking - yes my first bunta! I saw a few more buses pass by me, limbs and even entire bodies sticking out of every small opening.

Large portions of my family had showered me with small amounts of money to make my new academic adventure more enjoyable. I realized there was no better use for that money than to invest it into keeping me away from the horrors of a bus ride.

New Friends Colony?
Kitne Savari?
Ek - Main... Meter se chaloge?
180!
Meter?
150!
Meter??
Theek hai - baitho...

:D Even though it was the dry hot loo that blew across my face I couldn't be happier!!! The auto made as much noise as a race car, of course much less elegantly, but all the strenuous effort only resulted in 40 KPH. It was a bit hilarious to see it struggle that way, but in the midst of traffic and at red lights the short swerves the auto made to its advantage were almost lyrical when I first saw them. The driver was a scrawny fellow with a mole the size of an almond adorning his dirty weather beaten face.

Aap kahan se hain?
Bihar!
Arre main bhi.. Gaon kahan hai?
Bhagalpur...
Kitne saalon se kaam kar rahe ho yahan?
Dus Saal..

Okay so the fellow didn't seem interested in a conversation. What the hell - I stuck my neck out of the auto and caught as much of Delhi as I could. Raj Ghat, flyovers, very very tall building, wide roads, pretty girls with long hair and short dresses... It went on for a while my sight seeing till I realized that the same buildings seemed to be reappearing after a while. After careful tracking for fifteen minutes I understood that I was being taken for the proverbial ride.

The rotten son of a bitch was taking a left from a road covering some distance then taking a U - turn to rejoin it after a bit.. The meter read almost 70 and I dont think I was even half way home...

Yeh kaun sa rasta hai?
Theek hai bhai - naye ho kya?
Uhm nahin - kyo? Ye galat rasta hai, lamba hai?
Kahan se le jaayen fir, tum batao??
Umm theek hai... tum chalo, ab aage sahi se chalo, main naya nahin hoon yahan...
Sahi se toh chal raha hoon


The remarks only fuelled his treachery, I swear the meter went from 75 to 90 and we were still circling the same buildings I think. Somehow, I felt as if my upbringing was being challenged. No two-penny worth auto guy could take a hardened boarding school criminal for a toss.

It must have been 3 in the afternoon. It couldn't have been hotter, the sun seemed to have silenced everything around me and on top of that we were at a red light. It couldn't have been a more stationary setting. But my muscles were all tense and my heart was beating fast as I was about to take my first step out of th innocence of school and into the outside world. I sat at the edge of the auto looking intently at the traffic signal. It was red for about three and a half decades before it blinked into yellow and then green. The first row of vehicles roared into action and then the next - the wave reached us and my man pulled at his lever. The next wave was one of motion, I waited... When the cars immediately ahead of my auto trudged forward, I jumped outside of my auto, waved violently in front of a bus adjacent to my auto and crossed it, then bypassed a few more columns of vehicles and made it to the pavement. My auto was caught in the slow moving traffic, the fellow unable to get out of it, I could see his frantic efforts to locate me -

I walked away and got into a bus. It wasn't immensely crowded and even if it was I don't think I'd have noticed...

Well I'd like to tell you what became of the application, and in the five coming years in Delhi, but then thats another story for another time..

Tired Eyes and Laughing Darkness - A Day in the Night of an Insomniac in the Making

I don't know what it is, but I haven't been sleeping well at all for quite sometime now. It may be that the work is getting to me, but I don't think that's true. Odd and irregular doses of food and alcohol must also have a role to play, and then there is Cookie. Most mornings, before its even seven, the stupid dog insists on climbing on to my stomach, frantically wagging her tail and pushing her nose into my face. But it's difficult to be even slightly angry at someone who eagerly waits for you to wake up, only I wish she'd wait a little longer.

So, I've been sleep walking and absentmindedly going through work and life. It's critical, the situation I tell you - but still too early to announce it is insomnia.

******

But there have been brief periods in my life when I've suffered from that debilitating disorder. Okay it may not be insomnia as defined in teextbooks, but the effect was the same for the days that i suffered. One such spell occurred a year ago, and lasted for quite a while. It came to me in the middle of the exams, mainly because of the boredom from committing to memory page after page of useless garbage, coupled with the stress and pressure of doing this hateful task well.

One such night...

******

9:30 PM eh? Even if it takes an hour for it to come, I can sleep till about 6:30 - 7 and get more than 8 hours. Hmm, good thing, and it has to be done, otherwise the rest of the day will be spent doing nothing else other than saving my head from falling onto bits and pieces of Game Theory.

I have about half an hour to 9:30; enough time to eat something. Think it was hunger that kept me up all those nights.

(No you idiot!)

Chocolate Biscuits.

Maybe I should brush, I did that at school and at home, and nothing went wrong. But that would involve going out of the room, walking to the loo, contact with water and maybe a stupid conversation or two - Kitna Kiya? Boss, you are going to top this time, tu phodega!

I might as well dunk a few cups of coffee. Wait a minute - is it all the filter coffee at D School. Mmmm coffee, sigh!

...wasting time!

Brushed. Made threatening statement to neighbours to not turn on music, yell or breathe loudly or I'd pour cold water on them in the morning. All the walking and talking has robbed me of a bit of immediate drowsiness, so lets say I'll sleep at 10 and - oh well lots of time... I'll be on full throttle all day, tomorrow.

Turned off the lights. (9:15, alarm set for 7 AM)

I lay to rest my tired, dizzy and heavy mind on a broken excuse for a pillow but which has been used so long it fits my head perfectly.

(No I'm not disfigured.)

Eyelids shut, I do this carefully, I figure you shouldn't be concentrating on sealing them together, it takes too much focus and energy and will almost definitely keep me up all night. Gentle close.

But eyes still wide awake! If you have ever really really tried to fall asleep, you'll know the process involves putting to sleep first the various voices, ghosts and people inside you. And all this begins when you start to reign in thoughts. And that's when you fall asleep, when you run out of thoughts and then sensation. But its such a practiced art since childhood that it's meant to come naturally. The moment you attempt to consciously have no thought you can never do it because that in itself is a thought and leads to many more.

For example: Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - it began on the day of the TET paper - damn, I screwed it up - bloody Sudhir Shah, rotten questions - what is it that makes a teacher set a long and tough paper - I'd never do it to anyone........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(9:45, alarm 7)

Brief sounds of people fooling around outside. Even the occasional screech of a bus travels to my irritatingly alert ears from miles away. I am almost fully awake now. Hmm. Maybe I am moving too much?? So for the next half an hour I lay straight on my back...

(10:15)

Now things are begining to get scary; am losing too much time to all this... Yawning about five times a second I make a strategic intervention. Maybe I'll just keep my eyes wide open, and stare into the darkness... It will tire them just the right amount and close them exactly when I'm falling asleep. Also the boredom of the whole exercise will get to me, hopefully...

Except that my eyes were burning with sleep and it was difficult to keep them alive for more than five seconds. Plus I was too busy congratulating myself on my ingenuity and in the process making my self more and more alert...

(10:40, alarm reset to 7:30)

Okay now its really grim. I pray! I don't get up or anything, because all that movement would be suicidal in terms of sleep. But I pray, then turn on my right side and tell myself that now its up to Him (I absolutely believe in melodrama!) I imagine I am floating a few feet above my bed, and will fall asleep when I settle down slowly on the bed...EXCEPT THAT ALL THIS IS TOO MUCH MENTAL WORK!!!!!

(Chorus) Man I have to stop thinking - only way to sleep - haven't slept in four days now - can't ruin tomorrow morning because of this - damn, if I screw up Game, I'm done for - bloody hell, why didn't I take some stupid paper?? ........................Man I have to stop thinking ----

(11:15, 7:30)

Desperate now. Really really late. I am certain I have ruined the morning session of study too. But I tell myself if I can get some sleep and be fresh and all, then even post lunch I could do enough. But I need to sleep. I revert to being completely motionless, this time I am on my side, and I clutch my quilt like a pillow. Hmm I am sure if the quilt was a girl I'd be asleep in no time... Except maybe the hours before would be spent umm more productively. And the morning would be a waste in any case..


(11:35, 7:30)

Okay, all that effort I made to not move has made me hungry again. The hunger I am sure was an outcome of my paranoia, completely convinced as I was that I couldn't sleep even if I was slightly hungry. So for the first time in more than two hours I got out of bed, chocolate biscuit in one hand and water in the other. I swallow multiple biscuits at the same time, softening them with water. Of course all this action means I am not even drowsy anymore. So I decide to tire myself out by walking up and down the breadth of my room (10 feet). I do this for about ten minutes, counting the laps. I continue to drink water to ensure my stomach is completely full. The biscuits are making me sick and the walking is making me dizzy. To capture the perfect sensation of sickness coupled with giddiness I jump from my walk into the bed almost at once. Okay now, my approach to this has become a bit military - Sleep you stupid fuck! Sleep! No feathers, or eyelid control or anything else. Just sleep!

(12:00, 8)

Shit, I needed to take a piss now. All that water meant I had to make some five trips to the loo in the next half hour. I felt as stupid and distressed as it is humanely possible to.

(12:30, 8)

No attempt now to do anything. I just lay in bed. But like I said I am a bit crazy (refer to last post). I let my mind wander once again. I thought of possibly everyone I knew, worried about child labour and the falling dollar, man I was getting comfortable with my disorder.... But suddenly this separate voice in me understood what 'I' was trying to do. I was trying to tell 'myself' that I was okay with this so that 'I' would stop tormenting 'me' and WE could fall asleep.

(1:00, 9)


Okay I needed to iron out my reverse psychology skills before I could use it on my schizophrenic self...

(1:15, 9)

I sat up in bed with a jerk. So, I was helpless and everything inside my head was entirely muddled. Putting my head on my knee, I found all of this strangely funny. It was just one night I was fretting so much about, and only one exam I was worried about, an exam which was part of a course I really didn't care for deep inside, and I had studied well enough already... So I was smiling and all, really it didn't matter. One part of me was still in the immediate, still anxious and worried about sleep, but most of me was feeling nice and crazy. So I lay down again, what the hell! It wasn't even important..

(2:00, 9:30)

Okay, no acts of bravery or consolation coming out of the imagined and romantic futility of a single test could calm me now. I had destroyed the four hours I could use for studying at night and now I would in all probability be sleepy through tomorrow. So I switched on the lights and began to study...

(2:15, 9:30)

The simple world of even Second Price Auctions was completely baffling at the moment. Whom was I kidding, I should be sleeping... And then suddenly, from the wreckage of the night emerged this fabulous gem of an idea. Why don't I sleep on my desk? It's the familiar posture that my body recognises from the endless hours spent dozing off in the library plus I can wake up tomorrow and instantly jump into studying Auction theory. (Okay, the second benefit was trivial but it still gave me the hugest kick.)

(2:30, 10)

Imagine, a completely dark room, with a single sleepy-as-hell occupant. There is a perfectly normal, nice and inviting bed lying completely unused. The occupant decides to sleep awkwardly at his desk, only of course, he isn't really asleep. He can hear the darkness laugh at him...I gathered myself and fell on the bed once again. Lying down on my stomach I was staring at the walls...

(3:00, none)

I thought of many things, don't exactly remember what they were, but they were strange and funny. I thought of home, and Shagun, and how things were at school, and I thought most of my acting days, how it felt to be on stage, to play Ionesco's mad protagonist, I thought of the day I decided to read for a degree in economics, and how if it hadn't been too hot I would have stayed longer on campus and applied for a course in mathematics as well, and probably then I'd be at a different college, among different people, leading a different life, where would I be today in that life? I thought of the job I could get soon, how I wanted to do really well there, I thought of how badly I wanted to make a movie, and what it would be about, I spoke to my characters, got to know them better, I wondered why I always tried so hard to get good grades and when I did get them, for a long time now it didn't mean very much to me...I thought and I questioned and I remembered fondly and I zzzzz

******

It was eleven when I woke up, my head felt heavy after all the work that had gone into the previous night, but I wasn't sleepy. A cup of coffee later I packed in a few solid hours of studying. The next few nights were much the same but a little less dramatic. I didn't do anything exceptional with the exam, though. Of course, now, it's even more inconsequential.

Pages 95-100

I finished reading The Catcher in the Rye, for the third time. But I don't think I'm going to go back to it. A stupid thought passed my mind for a few seconds around page 95-100. And I have been disturbed ever since. Not disturbed really, but something like that. I still love the character. He is insanely funny, intelligent, and honest. Sad and pathetic, too. Well I don't think I can explain exactly what I thought or why I am disturbed. The vague outline though is that if Holden was a real person, I think he wouldn't have appreciated being written about and all. Or not that really, if Holden was a person, and if he were to read the book - he wouldn't be too wild about JDS. He'd probably think Salinger was an unscrupulous old bastard cashing in on the pathetic state of our very own protagonist.

But Salinger is a great man, he gave us Holden after all. All I'm saying is that Holden and Salinger wouldn't get along too well. Err in my humble opinion. Its a terrible tragedy isn't it? To create a character who if real wouldn't be too fond of you or the literary work he is part of?

Hmm but my love and loyalty is to Holden and not Salinger. So when at that instant on a page around 95-100 a set of wholly abstract thoughts ran through my head leaving an after taste that brought out the complete Holden vs. JDS saga I decided that this was the last time I'd have anything to do with The Catcher in the Rye.

Unless things get too bad...

It's a bit sad and depressing but while reading the book this time I couldn't help but think how I'm slightly like our friend Holden. I guess it's the curse of the hero worshipper, as in maybe unconsciously I'm desperately wishing I was a bit like Holden. But I'm certain a lot of the people I know relate to him, like I do. Almost everyone feels alienated and is seething with angst these days, its a bit fancy and also its heavily romanticised. Plus you are branded super intelligent almost as soon as you feel, or rather you convince others that you feel, alienated and that angst runs through your arteries.

I really do some of the same crazy things, though. Honest to God. Like I remember a few months ago our family (my parents, my brother and sister in law, and me) got into this terrific war. It must have lasted for about 6 hours. Me against all of them. All of us fell sick after the fight I remember, it was so ferocious! But I remember at one point I left everybody to go to the loo; and inside I stood in front of the giant mirror and smiled and made crazy faces for quite a while. I wasn't upset at all. Then I went back and rejoined the ruckus. I was laughing silently and all in the loo. This and other such insanities are an integral part of my daily existence...

There are these other set of similarities that I cant really speak of on this public platform.

So that's that.

******

Dear reader, it's been a few months since I have been writing this blog. And frankly I still haven't figured out why I am doing this. Right now, it just gives me something to do. Just something tangible that takes care of a day or two each month of my mundane life. I don't think I'll be able to dish out a tremendous piece of prose that will change your life forever. I'd love to though, to have a significant impact on your life (observe I don't mention positive or negative, either will do frankly) but really I don't see this happening, at least not in the near future. Till then I guess for you too, this will hopefully become something to do. A lot of what we do, we do because it gives us something to do I guess. Think of all the inane scraps sent on Orkut. It's the only rational explanation. I tell you it's not that tough, just visit regularly for a few days. And then every time you have no new mails, or no person to chat with and nothing else to do while on the net - you'll find yourself meandering through the the internet to come here. At least that's the hope.

The thing is I still want to come up with something substantial when I write here. So I keep waiting and then weeks pass by before anything turns up, if at all. Things do come and go, on and off - but nothing good enough for you, dear reader. So now I have decided to write in bits and pieces. To be more frequent. Even if it means putting up senseless photos of me and Cookie in obscure positions making funny faces.

Its an obsession, this tracking of traffic through my site. Damn you stupid Google Analytics! It's half the reason I haven't written in so long. I keep looking at who visits The Write..

******

Dusshera is a great festival here in Bihar. Everything comes to a stand still for a while. It's a little frustrating for us since our livelihood is linked to the markets and all. And everything remains shut for almost a week. Anyway, I made the most of the break to catch up on sleep and television.

Heard about this shocking incident that occurred during Dusshera here. It's all in the news and everything. Don't know why I am writing about this. I don't know anyone who was directly involved. I got to hear of it from Gopal who works for our distributor organization. Everything happened on the street he lives on, and he only vaguely knew the people involved. I can't say I feel sad for the concerned families, because frankly I don't know them. If at all I feel sad, it's only for Gopal and that too, slightly. And he wasn't even involved. But its disturbing how petty a thing can lead to three deaths. It's crazy how stupid a mob can be.

Basically at the corner of this colony called Shivpuri, there was a tobacco shop that also sold illicit liquor. In the ten days that lead up to Dusshera everyone refrains from eating any form of meat but towards the end of this partial fast people make up for all the lost good times by getting as heavily drunk as they possibly can. Now Kamlesh's brother who lived near Gopal's house went to the tobacco shop and was having a good time getting drunk with the shop owner. Once their spirits were sufficiently high the latter offered egg curry to Kamlesh's brother. But Kamlesh's brother refused on account of Dusshera. However, the shop keeper went on persuading and eventually in a drunken state shoved the egg down Kamlesh's brother's throat.

The fellow was hugely offended. They had a brief but violent argument after which the brother left. Only to return with a bunch of his cronies; they dragged out the shopkeeper's brother and beat him up severely. After which they departed.

But the fellow had actually died, Kamlesh's brother and his gang didn't know of this. In retaliation the shop owner gathered a bunch of his cronies went to Kamlesh's house dragged Kamlesh out of the house and beat him to death with iron rods.

Now Kamlesh's brother and his friends and all were really pissed. In all this, they happened to somehow come across a poor policeman. They blamed the fellow for everything and eventually got so angry that they beat the policeman to death.

All in one day. Dusshera. The day good triumphs over evil, nay, stupidity over mankind!! All for the sake of stupid egg curry. What is it about mobs that makes them so fearless and stupid at the same time? It's a funny place this, Bihar. People are murdered everywhere, but here, its strange how often ordinary people work together in a mob to kill. There are cases of mobs lynching petty criminal (alleged) each day.

Sad state of affairs.

******

A Dull Winter's Eve

I had been lying underneath the warm orange glow of my quilt for a few hours now. Fully awake. I threw myself out of the bed in a sudden jerk. It had to be done immediately.


My room, was dark except for the ugly glow of my monitor. I turned on some music, the sound of it was strange and out of place for my room had been silent for too long...I pulled on my socks, stiff with grime, torn and cold. Then my shoes, muffler and jacket. All this before a single song was over. Its always a shame when that happens, isn't it? I turned off the music, picked my wallet and cell phone - slung my bag and stepped out into the dark corridor.

Kahan ja raha hai be??
CP!
Ladki?
Nahin!

Sometimes I cant stand it when people speak to me for no reason. They just ought to know when not to say anything to me. Well, at least they shouldn't ask stupid questions, it pisses me off beyond belief.

I escaped from the hostel, quickly and without looking at anybody. The rickshaw guys weren't around so I had to walk to the Metro station. It was an entirely uneventful walk. Because it was not the purpose of my evening. If I had set out to go for a walk (which I'd never do) I'd notice the gray brilliance of winter, feel the cold breeze or simply count my steps. But that's not why I jumped out of bed. In my mind I compared this walk to being in an elevator on the way to Floor 38 for a very important interview - wouldn't you just ignore the time spent in the elevator?

Such obscure thoughts accompanied me to the Metro station. It was more or less empty and yet the bloody security fellow didn't frisk me well enough. Almost wanted to remind them of their job - but what the hell! Any how I got too busy getting a kick out of not having to stand in queue for a token because of my fancy Metro Pass, and completely forgot about the relative ease with which one could sneak in a bomb into the station.

There are two ways of getting down to the platforms. I always took the one that was hardly used by anybody else. It was an old habit, I did it for the first few times without thinking and then I guess subconsciously it made me feel like I was different and special and nice-weird. But of course all that was crap, since nobody cared which way I took.

On the platform, the people waiting for the train are distributed in a way so as to form a normal curve. The X Axis being the train; so if I was to wait at the tail of the curve ie in front of either the first or the last coach of the train I had the greatest chance of getting an empty seat inside the train. Because the least number of people would be attempting to enter with me.

Of course, the train was always empty at Delhi University since the route commenced there, so the empty seats were always aplenty and probably everybody else also thought like I did (albeit without bringing in normal curves and X axis) but were too lazy to move to the tails.

The ride to CP would have been another dreary torture like the walk to the metro station, after all I hadn't set out to simply sit on the train. But then there was the great chance of meeting a nice lovely girl on the train and starting a grand and interesting conversation. Of course this tiny dream of mine never ever came true in almost three years of needless trips taken on the bloody train. But it was a nice little hope, always fairly possible despite the high rates of failure. Come to think of it, I was as likely to meet someone taking that stupid walk - but that would be different since we wouldn't be forcibly confined in a compartment for half an hour and therefore the chances of actually getting to have a conversation would be very bleak.

By the way - another bit of analysis. I never ever sat on a seat next to an entrance. It's the area of the coach that gets particularly crowded. Plus on subsequent station when a number of people are trying to get in the first ones that manage to shove there way into the coach are uncouth young men, followed by women of similar age and character and then the rest enter in order of increasing age. So the last to enter are the elderly folk. They stand next to the seats near the entrance and look down expectantly at you with their eyes slightly moist and their lips quivering. Or at least the overall effect is such. Now I may be anything else but I cant help but give up my seat to someone bent double with age. Its the way it is, but at the same time I hate standing through the rest of the trip. So I always chose the seats furthest away from all entrances. This I'm certain nobody else thought of...but even then I have observed that the seats next to me in a bus, train or anywhere, get filled only after there is no other place to sit at all. Maybe the others sense my hositility...

Rides in crowded trains with nobody nice to speak to can be really really boring. But after a while I didn't care much since I was so close to CP. Once there, I got off the train, hurriedly made my way through the CP station, which by the way was teeming with a million people crawling around like ants, and escaped out through the escalator...

I love escalators. I really do...especially when they lead upto CP, its like making a grand entry into an arena.

Even though I have spent a thousand needless hours roaming around the CP I always get lost there. I think its both because I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to remembering and tracing routes and the fact that CP seems to evolve constantly. But that day I knew exactly where I had to go - I walked quickly, without looking up, as if in a purposeful trance. I didn't notice the various sounds, colours or smells of CP, and continued till I was there finally...

United Coffee House. I stood before its kitschy white door for a while, a few minutes ago I was under the warm orange glow of my quilt, in my room. Then I turned away to face the old pan-wallah who sat there faithfully, like always...I wanted to find out how long he had occupied that place. Must have been a few decades. But I didnt - left it for another day. I bought, in preparation for United Coffee house, a fresh blue pack of Camel Lights. Paid the man, and turned around to say - table for one!

Sure sir.

Typically, I have noticed they make Indians sit on the top floor, the ground floor is reserved for the firangs. Atleast thats what I believe. But today I was alone and the coffee house half empty. So I sat right in the centre of the ground floor. They were playing some cool jazz. I ordered it. Cona coffee with cream. Rs. 55/-

It came in a borosil round bottomed beaker and I was allowed unlimited refills. I dont remember what was going through my head at that time...but I do remember yawning at least once every two minutes.

Then the coffee arrived...I spent an eternity trying to perfect the proportion of sugar, milk, cram and coffee. I generally go by the colour but it takes me a while. I was celebrating. My soul danced with joy for I had complete control of my life - I had the freedom to act on the strangest of my whims and fancies. I could decide that I wanted to watch a movie even at 2 am, and not worry that I'd wake up late the next day. I could grow a beard, shave my head, wear torn clothes, eat aloo parathas and scrambled egg with tea at 4 am and fall asleep. I could listen to the loudest music, I spoke to only those I wanted to, I didn't 'need' to put up with anyone. In those days I could do what I wanted without telling anyone anything, without being asked any questions, as long as I managed within the money I was sent from home and delivered the goods (basically decent grades, which too I worked towards because I wanted to).

Another cup of coffee later, I paid my bill, got up, smiled at an old wrinkled couple, walked out of the coffee house, went down into the metro station, took the first train, didnt get a seat to sit till Kashmiri Gate, got off, took a rickshaw to the hostel, was running up to my room ...

Aa gaya ladki se mil ke?
No you meddling son of a bitch. (silently, to myself)

I was back under the warm orange glow of my quilt. Fully awake.