Take A Pause

Ready each day and nowhere to go,
Can’t recall the last time it was so,
Is it such a bad thing to cause strife,
Just a pause, a small price to pay for life.

Invisible enemy wreaks havoc,
Palpable fear reverberates, runs amok,
Indomitable spirit just doesn’t surrender,
Unyielding, unbridled, fierce yet tender.

The empty bench pines for the old couple,
Mute slides ache for the lil’ ones’ hustle,
Loved ones together, home full of chatter,
They are safe and that’s all that matter.

Desolate cafes, cinemas and stores,
Streets are silent as there are no chores,
Not a sliver of modern life’s chaos even if you strain,
Stars in the sky, birds flying high, their chirps are heard again.

The minutiae, the drama, following the herd were daily feat,
Running, panting, almost breathless, making ends meet,
Let the heroes work in peace, fight the villain that’s rife,
As for the rest, take a pause, it’s a small price to pay for life.

Lekar Hum Deewana Dil

What does a delhiite pareshaan with dilli-ki-garmi do in the month of June? No prizes for guessing he'll run to the hills. So did me, on my umpteenth annual vacation. It was an elaborate plan with 20 of my favorite people! I still remember driving from office to home like a madman with all that rain! The almost fatal skid, the tyre burst and changing the spare tyre for the first time ever! I was overtaken by a merry madness in my heart in anticipation of what lay ahead. After a quick meal and a change of clothes and super-fast packing, I reached my cousins place. Though we had plans to start at 2 AM that very night, we did not begin until 6 AM! One who said Man proposes, God disposes must not have been Indian. We make lofty plans for everything and break them conveniently our own selves!

We had 3 giants a Tavera, a Scorpio and a Bolero to carry us for the next few days. We started after much ado and were soon driving through the roundabouts of picturesque Chandigarh. We were treated with a lot of kada-prasaad of halwaa, chanaa and sweet water in Anantpur for the day was Martyrs day. Anantpur is a beautiful city with highest number of Gurudwaras I have ever seen! I still cherish the hospitality and respect that we were treated with; at every place we halted, by the large hearted inhabitants of the Sikh-land. We anchored at Bhakda Sadan in Nangal-township for the day. If the name rings any bells this township has the famous Bhakda-Nangal dams. YES!!!! Bhakda and Nagal are two separate dams! Well, it was almost a EUREKA discovery for my ignorant self. Good if you knew already. Derek-O-Brian, here you come! In case you go over to this place, do try out the chaats and ice-creams at the Nangal dam in the evening, sold on the mobile tapirs. Not for their taste, but for the sheer experience of standing there in the evening - watching natures wondrous creation in its most intimate embrace with mans engineering marvel - the 2 working together in harmony, merged as one. And before I am accused as guilty of almost sounding poetic, let me put an end to this thought that this was a dam(n) good iDEA that really changed our lives.

None of the elders had the strength or the intent to eat anymore after all that prasaad and a heavy lunch, but us kids (not to be taken literally) had guts of steel. We ventured out together and gorged on some amazing egg fried rice and chilly chicken at the local market. I was so enthusiastic that I even drove the Tavera, the speed though was 30 Km/hr, but thats really beside the point, right? Once we were back, we sat together under the moonlit sky and sung our favorite songs, sharpening our vocal chords. This wasnt without any purpose, you see! We had every intention of defeating the ladies of the house in a dual of antaakshari, that we had challenged them for. Actually, we had been trying hard at this for many-many years without any luck. We chatted the night away talking about a lot of things - college, career, girls, girls and girls (you expect bhajans in an all MALE gathering, dont you?).

We were mercilessly dragged out of our beds the next day, for we had to start early. Had a lot to cover that day. So, we drove and drove and then we drove some more. Mighty Punjab seamlessly dissolved into picturesque Himachal. The vegetation changed hues, the scenery changed for the better and the mercury dropped. We first went to the temple of Ma Chinntpurni in Una district, Himachal Pradesh. The temple is one of the 51 shakti-sthal of Goddess Sati. According to legend, Devi Sati (wife of Lord Shiva) was born as daughter of Daksh Prajapati. Her father organized a yagna, in which he did not invite Lord Shiva. Sati could not bear the disrespect shown by her own father to her husband. She decided to give her pranas by entering the yagna fire. Lord Shiva carried Satis dead body in all the ethereal worlds; Lord Vishnu used his Sudarshan-chakra to dismember Satis body. Her body parts fell at 51 different places which became the shakti-sthal of our modern times.

The Chinntpurni temple has parts of Satis lotus feet. There are many stories associated with the temple. I was fortunate to have attended the aarti at the temple with my family members. After spending adequate time at the temple, we furthered to Shri Jwaala Jee temple located at a place called Jwalamukhi, again in Himachal Pradesh. This is one of the most revered temples of the Aadi-Shakti, the provider of all the supreme Goddess. The existence of Shakti is in the form of continuously burning flames at this temple, coming out of solid rocks! The religious fervor of the bhaktas standing in serpentine queues was a sight to behold. There is an interesting incident related to this temple which has been duly recorded in our history books. The greatest ruler of the Mughal empire Akbar went to this temple with a solid disc made of rare metals including gold. He did not believe in the divinity of the flame that has been burning perpetually since time immemorial.

The disc was placed on the flame to put it out.

The jwaala leapt out, making a hole into the solid disc.

Making a believer out of Akbar.

The disc with the hole is still preserved at the temple, for the visitors to see.

We had tired ourselves with the entire journey, so we proceeded to Nagrota, our destination NEXT and called it a day. We stayed at the DoD guest house with very lavish rooms, kitchen and a beautiful, green garden. I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed and was treated to a much needed dreamless sleep.

Dharamsala is around 100 KMs from Nagrota and that is exactly where we moved next morning. The scenic beauty and the weather of the hilly terrain was worth every moment we spent driving. Dharamsala is divided into 2 parts: Lower and Upper Dharamsala. Upper Dharamsala is also called Mc Leodganj the home of His Holiness The Dalai Lama, head of Tibetan government, living in exile. It is a good idea to actually leave your vehicle at Lower Dharamsala and take public transportation to Mc Leodganj and explore the place on foot. I have been to this place a few times in the past, but had never seen traffic jams on the roads like the ones we had to face. There are many places in Mc Leodganj that are worth a visit. That includes:

• Bhagsunag temple
• Waterfall near the Bhagsunag temple
• Dal Lake
• Main bazaar
• Tibetan monastery
• St John Church of the wilderness with a cemetery to add to the wilderness effect.

One gets many options of shopping for woolen clothes and Tibetan silver ornaments. Do not miss the mouth watering pastas and chicken momos at the German Bakery, near Bhagsunag temple. The spaghetti Bolognese, chicken sizzlers and momos still bring mouth watering memories.

After spending considerable time in Dharamsala, we proceeded back to our guest house in Nagrota. The fresh and crisp hilly air and the surroundings brought out the child in each one of us. We spent great time playing vish-amrit and chain-chain. Our movements probably attracted a group of wild monkeys, who took over from us and showed their antics for a good amount of time. I have a very interesting video capturing all their frolics

National Geographic, Discovery anyone listening???

The day ended with ghar-ka-khana cooked by the ladies of the house and a looooong round of antaakshari, where we used every crooked means to crush our opponents.

Next day, we visited the famous Chamunda temple located in Nagrota after which we bid farewell to the hills and proceeded to Chandigarh. Though I was supposed to reach Delhi the very same night, I was persuaded by everyone to bunk office for another day. I insisted that I had to report back for work, but had to give up in front of such emotional assertion by elder and younger family members alike. And I get senti at the drop of a hat. We Pisceans, I tell you! Now, I had a task at hand to inform my superior of my cruel intentions. Suggested alibis varied from food poisoning to minor accident. But, being an honest person that I am, I chose to tell the truth. And yes, now you can laugh out loud.

During our stay in Chandigarh, we had meals at the famous Piccadilly and The Aroma restaurants in Sector 22, but the taste did not live up to their names! Before checking-in into a hotel, we visited the famous Pinjore Garden. Its a beautiful garden built on lines of royal gardens of Kashmir. Plush green trees and fountains are complimented with adequate lighting. Its a very romantic place to go to. Worth every moment you spend there with your beloved. Jiya absolutely dhadak-dhadak jaye.

On the last day of our elaborate trip, we started by visiting the famous Rock Garden. Believe me; I was amazed to see that such a place actually existed! It seemed like a hidden world, a kingdom, a lost world at its intriguing best! Its a combination of alleys, chambers, waterfalls, dwarf gates, open air theatres and expanse of huge compounds each of them getting more interesting than the other, the views getting better and better. The most striking thing about the Rock Garden is that it is made up all rejected items - broken bangles, switches, metal frames, rubber, plastics and buckets - to name a few! All of these items put together to create one visual delight after another. This world has its own inhabitants numerous soldiers, men, women and children, animals and birds too. Maybe, they come to life the moment the last visitor steps out! Hats off to Nek Chand, the founder of this remarkable and delightful place. Our trip was concluded by visit to Lake Sukhna. We had no intentions of pedal-boating in the middle of the day, so we ate to our tummies delight at the food court located there and finally bid a farewell to Chandigarh. I must admit that I find myself thoroughly confused looking at all the roundabouts in Chandigarh because they all look the same. Thanks to the sign-boards or Id still be driving around in circles! Well, I drove the Bolero for the rest of the journey. It was a major achievement for me. Why? Because, our vehicle reached home first, when the Scorpio and Tavera were being driven at much higher speed than our relatively new Bolero. Well, I had foreign help in achieving this feat. And literally so, because I managed to keep the Lahore-Delhi bus (running on the same route) right behind our vehicle. The bus was accompanied by two police jeeps howling sirens and light-beams ON, in the middle of the day! I felt a sense of false nationalism in ensuring that I kept the bus behind our vehicle. The best part was that I got to break all the traffic signals and drive through Delhi roads at almost 120 KMPH! The Tavera was challaned for driving at 70 KMPH! Hah, poetic justice

I never came to know how the time flew during all those wonderful days. I was consoled only by fact that someone very special was waiting for us at home.

I guess all good things must come to an end, or else theyll not be special anymore. Howzzat for a closing line?

So long

Till I am on the move again

Let The Music Play

Music goes beyond borders and connects despite difference in language, cast, creed and gender. Good music is like sunshine that provides warmth to everyone alike. A few days back I was browsing through a few old songs and it dawned upon me – how the quality of music has changed over the years! The lyrics have gone under a metamorphosis from times when we had Naushad to P K Mishra. From music directors like Lakshmikant Pyarelal, S D Burman, R D Burman to Himesh Reshamiya. Earlier we had singers like Kishore, Rafi and now we have Himesh Reshamiya. With all due respect to the multi-faceted man, I am a BIG fan, so please don’t think otherwise.

Our generation, very fondly called Generation X, is a sandwich of

The young guns of today, the dudes and damsels in schools and colleges– branded as Generation Y

And the Oldies – our most revered elders – I wonder why they have not been christened as Generation W??!!!

I have often wondered if there was a conversation between the 3 on music, how exactly it would shape up. On a recent trip to Mumbai, I got pulled into an intriguing chat, while traveling in a bus. Interestingly, we had representation from all three generations. Here is an excerpt:

Gen X: “K L Sehegal?”

Gen Y: “K L who???”

Gen W: “Kya gaata tha Sehegal. Wah wah. Kitna dard that uske gale mein. He was a musical genius”. W hums a line of “Mera bulbul so raha hai”. And then starts “Jab dil hi toot gaya”.

Y (wide eyed and open mouth) looks at W giving most incredulous looks, while I smile and continue looking on.

Gen X: “Lata Mangeshkar”

Gen Y: “Never heard of her! … Indian??”

Gen W: “You don’t know about Lata didi?!?”

Gen Y: “Hey! Take it easy. How am I supposed to know about your elder sister?” And then looks at me for approval.

I sigh and fondly think of the Indian Nightingale. I wonder whether the pride of India, the Bharat-Ratna just disappear into oblivion! Would the generations to come remember her name. That’s a disturbing thought that makes me shudder, but I am soon distracted from the reverie as the bus comes to a screeching halt. We halt at a place to freshen up. I walk out to straighten my legs and return back to my seat after a stroll. We begin our discussion yet again.

Gen X: “Kishore Kumar”

Gen Y: “I think I know this guy. Didn’t this dude sing for DJ Aqeel’s ‘Keh Doon Tumhe’? kind-a disappeared from the music scene after that”

Y winks at me, looking for affirmation. Not knowing where to begin, I start my explanation, while W raises hands in despair.

Gen W: “Hey Bhagwaan!”

Gen X: “How about Sanobar Kabir?”

Gen Y: “She’s awesome man! Ultra super-duper cool. You must have heard her song ‘Meri beri ke ber mat todo’ and the way she grooves to the ‘chubh – chubh – chubh jayega’.

Gen W: snubs Y “Oye khotey! That song is a distorted and provocative version of a classic song of our times originally sung by Lata didi”.

Gen Y: asks me in a hushed tone “Is W’s sister a singer too?”

I continue to look at W, as if I never heard the question.

Gen W: Aaj kal ke remixes I tell you! No talent left! These self-proclaimed DJs re-record old melodies, add their computerized jhang-bang and sell them as their creation. To add insult to injury, the music companies make cheap videos that lack taste and have no grace”. W further adds “Does our music industry have such shortage of talent that they have to stoop so low? And look at those scantily dressed models. Can anyone watch these videos with family?”

Gen Y: “Now that’s unfair. You flaunt IT, only if you’ve got IT. And have you seen FTV lately?”

Y sneaks up to me and speaks in a low conspirational tone “You gotta check out Mumait Khan in her latest video. She’s got her eye-brow and tongue pierced. I am planning to get it done too. It’s IN these days”.

The discussion has started warming up.

Gen Y: “What do you have to say about Himesh Reshamiya?”

Gen W: “Naam mat lo uska! Dimaag kharaab ho gaya hai. Jahan dekho bas wahi shor-cheekh-pukaar! Sab gaane eik jaise. I don’t understand who listens to his music!”

Gen Y: “I do”, protests Y.

Gen W: “No wonder!!! I am so bugged with his nasal songs. At times all FM channels are playing them simultaneously. I have switched to my own recorded CDs or else one day I’ll end up hitting someone in a rage. How can anyone have a perpetual cold?”

Gen Y: “Oh no! He doesn’t have a cold. He makes up his voice like that.”

Gen W: “Don’t tell me!!! Why does he have to make up his voice like that! And I do not understand the reason why he has to have dogs howling at the beginning of each of his songs. Is he trying to impress Maneka Gandhi?”

I choose not to speak as emotions fly high between generations. So, I continue listening.

Gen Y: “Are you serious? That ain’t no dog! It’s Himesh crooning.”

Gen W: “You call that crooning! This guy needs serious singing lessons.”

And then suddenly, without any warning, W starts howling. Oops, wrong word, I mean crooning.

“Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne

Aa aa aashiqi mein teri, jaa jaa jayegi jaan meri

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne

Jhalak diklaa jaa, jhalak diklaa jaa, eik baar aaja aaja aaja aaja aaaaaaaja

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne

Tanhaa jiya na jaye, tanha jiya na jaye

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne

Zara jhoom jhoom, zara jhoom jhoom, zara jhoom jhoom, zara jhoom

Samjho na, kuch to samjho na

Tera tera tera suroooooooooooooooooooooooooooor,

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo”

I end up laughing uncontrollably throughout this impromptu performance, while Y listens, expression changing from shocked to sullen. But, I must add that the entire piece sounded like 1 song!

Gen Y: “Atleast he doesn’t copy anyone else.” Y protests without conviction.

Gen W: “And what is it with this multi-talented producer cum music director cum singer and his cap? And his videos! Tauba!!! Microphone aise pakadta hai jaise lassi pee raha ho!”

I realize that W is one of the biggest Himesh haters and might as well start a hate-club. But, I see point in most of the accusations he made. As a matter of fact, I am yet to meet a real Himesh fan! But, there has to be someone out there who buys his music. W can call him nasal and repetitive, but as of now he’s here to stay!

I realized that almost half the bus was now intently listening to our discussion. This was FUN. So, I did my bit to diffuse the tension…

Gen X: “What about the lyrics? Do you feel that they are awful too?”

Gen W: “We do have some good lyricists in our industry, but they have taken a back seat! Have you heard the song ‘Teri Bindiya Re’. The lyrics are sensual but so gracefully written, handled and filmed. Very matter of fact and elegantly rendered. And off late you have lyrics which are mere word-vomit. Distasteful and appalling.”

W continues, “At one time, someone was asking Rukmani about her post-marital exploits. Then, you had choli-peepers looking for what lies beneath!!! Someone was heard asking for chumma unabashedly. Leading lady ‘telephone-dhun mein hasne lagi !’ Khatiya became the favorite place for the new breed of the lyricists! Some aflatoon was shouting obscenities and the lyrical attack continued…”

Gen X: “Good or bad, such lyrics have a niche audience too. They have found their own place and many of these songs have been BIG hits.” I gave my opinion.

Gen W: “Maybe! But I think such songs becoming HITS has more to do with sensationalism than quality”

Y has given up on the discussion and does not offer anything. W finishes off with a few grunts and groans and finally peace prevails.

Though it’s been days, but the conversation stays etched in my memory. I saw point in the accusations as well as the subsequent protests. The new musical culture – a cacophony of bhangra, hip-hop, pop, jazz, techno and what not, has become the trend of the day. Though most of the songs I hear already sound like remixes, I am guilty of shaking a leg listening to them in discos and pubs. Being part of the sandwich generation, I have had the chance of witnessing the musical transformation from “Teri Bindiya Re” to “Jhalak Diklaa Jaa”. I often wonder if the music would change for better or worse. But, there is a lot of hope. Nonsensical lyrics and loud music are still being annulled by soul soothing melodies and excellent lyrical expressions. We have an insatiable appetite for all kinds of music. What the heck, as long as we enjoy it!

So, let the music play baby!

Let the music play.

Sabse Bada Rupaiyaa

Ever wondered what the greatest power on earth is?

Go ahead, take a guess.

George Bush - No.

Perhaps the trigger to American nuclear missiles – Still No.

Osama Bin Laden – hell, No!

Who else could it be? Or what else could it be?

I know it’s a tough one.

Now if you were to localize your thoughts to the India context.

Still at loss?

OK, I’ll help you look for the answer from my perspective. Bear with me for some time.

Recently I was required to furnish my birth certificate with attestations from The Municipal Corporation of Delhi, District Magistrate and The Home Ministry. Checking out the NDMC website was a child’s play as most of the URLs on the website were “Under Construction”. The city of Delhi is divided into zones which fall under jurisdiction of various NDMC offices. And interestingly there is no source of credible information regarding the zonal offices. Not knowing better, I ventured out to the nearest NDMC office and enquired the easiest way of procuring my birth certificate. The officials directed me to the NDMC Headquarter a few Kilometers away. A visit to the HQ turned fruitless as they directed me back to where I started from. Incidentally, I had to apply for my birth certificate at the same place where I started my journey. But of course, the officials there didn’t know better. Returning back to where I started, I duly filled up the request form and deposited the required fees, a mere 20 bucks. That was a piece of cake, I decided. The events that followed a few days later proved it otherwise.

I was told to return 10 days later and collect my birth certificate. I gladly obliged. On the D-Day, after a long wait in the queue, I was informed that it was not ready. I thought 10 bloody days and you can’t find one lousy birth record. Thank God, I did not speak my mind out loud or else I would have been escorted to the exit like the angry and not so young man who was standing in front of me. I was directed to Gupta jee, when I asked the cause of the delay. Finding him was not very tough. Gupta jee was a pot bellied; balding gentleman with the grace of an ageing walrus. He had many expectant people following him around with pitiable expressions that would befit street urchins that you often find begging at traffic signals. I approached him confidently while clutching on the receipt tighter than dear life. After all that was an important piece of paper, one that would help me get hold of my birth certificate.

It took me a while before I could get his kind attention. Gupta jee informed me that he did not have enough man power at his disposal to look through all the registers that could contain my birth record. The enormity of the task was highlighted by the fact that the electricity supply on the floor that stored the said registers was snapped due to construction work. When I protested feebly that it had been 10 days already, I was asked to enquire IF AT ALL the information could be retrieved, a week later! Incidentally Gupta jee handed over the certificate to a fellow who had just joined our discussion. Though there were many raised eyebrows, Gupta jee informed us that he was his neighbor and the matter was closed. I was dejected and ready to leave with a face as long as the Howrah Express. Fortunately on my way out I met Gupta jee’s neighbor who took notice of my desolate expressions. He took me to a corner and informed that I was not doing the right thing. And what was that, I probed. He told me to slip 3 notes of 100s in Gupta jee’s bottomless pocket and get the certificate within a few hours. But, you are his neighbor, I said! How can you suggest something that could land him in trouble? He corrected me with an expression cool as cucumber that he does not know Gupta jee from Adam. Sab paise ka khel hai, he said. I concealed my shock with not so subtle smile and shook my head in agreement. Thanking him profusely, I decided on the course of action. Mission “Birth certificate”, here I come.

I have a confession to make; something I am almost ashamed of.

I had never bribed anyone before!!! Rather, I had been so idiotically righteous that I ended up paying full chalaans whenever I was caught for a traffic offence. I find it hard to offer money to someone older than myself! So much for my inane habits, let’s take the story further.

I had a tough choice to make now!

Choice 1 – Leave. After all, a government official had refused to hand me my birth certificate outright for some very valid reasons.

Choice 2 – Bribe. To support it, I’ve had information from a perfect stranger. Scandalous, but it perhaps could get me closer to my goal. After a few moments of head scratching and nail biting, I realized the futility of my predicament! The choice was so obvious. I knew who I had to trust. I had to do the right thing and assert my belief in the system. I had to hear the voice of my conscience and do what was right. So I decided to go ahead with Choice 2.

Bribing Gupta jee in broad daylight was tough. But the fact that I would have to return after 7 days and repeat the same exercise all over again gave me the courage that I needed. And believe you me, once I decided, my heart beat rose faster than it would, were I pursuing a girl as HOT as Angelina Jolie. I started following Gupta jee like a secretary trying to grab his revered attention again. He had quite a fan-following I must say, as I wasn’t the only one chasing him. The large number of people seemed to have irked his ire as he retorted that the people were following him like dogs. Woof – Woof, I obediently nodded and smiled, as if I had another choice.

Gupta jee finally paid attention to my clumsy & awkward attempts and took me to the upper floor. We went into a room that had the floor covered with thick registers that seemed to be lying there since 1947. The layers of dust would have put Eureka Forbes to shame. Gupta jee kept reminding me how BIG a favor he was doing while sifting through them. After all he had to bend down and pick them up. His gestures and posture reminded me of the Japanese SUMO wrestlers. The details were finally found in one of the registers, 300 bucks swiftly moved from one hand to another and the form was filled. Now the register did not contain my name at the time of my birth, so we had another problem. Gupta jee asked me to get some legal documents to prove I am who I am. The impasse was over another 100 bucks later. After all he was kind, considerate and very reasonable in reminding me that he saved me the hassle of getting all those documents. Another 100 and I could have had myself named Brad Pitt. I decided to save that for later.

With the certificate in my hands, the battle was still half won. I had to get them attested by the DM and Home Ministry. A friend of mine introduced me to a social worker. Well, that’s exactly what he referred him as. He takes money and gets the work done quickly. A process that generally takes few weeks could be completed in a day. The social worker (name conveniently forgotten), smiled and showed me an array of guthka stained teeth, each set missing alternate tooth like a saw. Nature seemed to have played its part perfectly in enforcing Darwin’s Theory of Evolution & adaptation. There wasn’t anything sinister about his appearance except that it was difficult to speak to him face to face. I realized that after exchanging a few syllables, as he did à la Satish Shah (Main Hoon Na). The gap in his teeth was enough for tiny droplets to escape his mouth every time he spoke. Instinctively my hand found its way in front of my face Manoj Kumar ishtyle.

I am not the one to be blamed for the exaggerations. Truth is really stranger than fiction. You ought to meet these wonderful people and you’d know better.

The saw toothed gentleman was a thorough professional. He explained that rates for each attestation were fixed.

900 bucks for DM.

Another 1000 for Home Ministry.

No bills attached.

I did not prick my conscience this time as the choice was clear as a crystal. I took out a wad of 100s and handed them over to him with great difficulty. The exchange happened quickly and he finally took my birth certificate and the deal was closed. No wonder I got the duly attested certificate the very next day at the promised time.

Though I was lighter by a few thousand rupees, I had got the work done in no time.

The incident in not so distant past taught me a valuable lesson. We may live in ancient times or the most recent, village or the capital of India, may be a bumpkin or highly qualified – we all have one thing that makes our world go round and round. Call it money, bread, dough, cabbage or the moolah. The greens make our eyes go wide and our hearts skip a beat. There is no dearth of middle men and corruption in our system is endless. While I recollect what I went through in the capital, the thought of what people in small towns might have to go through makes me shudder. I keenly remember something that I heard as a child “Baba bada na bhaiya, sabse bada rupaiya”.

I choose to do what I most conveniently can, utter a few grunts and crib endlessly. I don’t have the strength or the inclination to change the system. I choose to be an escapist like zillions of my fellow countrymen.

One where Jessica Lal is shot dead in front of hundreds of people and the law takes its own course (a decade) to punish the guilty.

One where a BMW tramples people to death and the killer roams scot-free.

One where Priyadarshini Matto is raped and killed and her father continues to prove it.

The common factor amongst all these and many of not well known incidents is that the perpetrators have had what it takes to escape - Money. And why just all these high profile cases? We have leaders of our nation digesting lakhs and crores and not even burp.

So the moral of the story is that…

You know what? The story has no moral.

It’s a fact.

Plain, cold and simple.

Hum sabka sapna Money, Money, Money.

Second Chance

I woke up irritated; perturbed and sweaty. It was almost 8 AM and my mother did not wake me up today. The air conditioner was switched off and so was the ceiling fan. Surprisingly, my father was already awake. I wondered why my cell did not make the familiar noise in the morning, though I clearly remembered setting up the alarm for 6 AM the previous night! I was running really late for office. Sleepily I found my way to the almirah, got hold of my toothbrush and continued to the wash basin in the same state. The house was filled with an eerier silence. Even our servant was missing! The fact that I could not find anyone home aggravated my annoyance.

I proceeded through the familiar walls of the bathroom and my own room. I got ready without conviction. There was no one to serve me breakfast. I was getting angrier by the minute! To add to my misery, I managed to hit the computer table with my foot, hurting it real bad. And while I was tending to my hurt foot, the phone started ringing in the drawing room. And it kept ringing, waiting to be picked! Where was everybody?

It was almost the time to leave for office. My frustration knew no bounds when I didn’t find my packed lunch. It was strange as I knew that my mother would never forget that. Disheartened, I proceeded out of the house. It didn’t look like any regular mornings outside! It rather seemed that the sun was in its way to set. But, how could it be? I just woke up in the morning. Didn’t I? Things were getting weirder by the minute!

I would have started my car and left, but it was stuck between 2 cars that were parked bumper to bumper. In fact there were cars almost everywhere. The scene was a familiar one. Often people park their cars haphazardly to attend discourses at the nearby satsang bhavan. Realizing that no one was coming to my rescue, I started toward the satsang bhavan cursing the drivers. I resolved to confront the irresponsible owners. I wanted to give them a piece of my mind.

Just as I was about to enter the hall, I heard a lady’s soothing voice emphasizing that a soul changes bodies like a person changes clothes. I had heard this many times before. Interestingly, I saw many familiar faces inside. I could see many of my next door neighbors while I walked to the center of the hall. I concentrated on the lady in white, positioned on a slightly elevated stage, sitting in padmasana and speaking into a microphone right before her. I knew her from somewhere, but where? It wasn’t tough to guess that this was someone’s remembrance, looking at so many people dressed in white. Surprisingly, no one seemed to notice me! Though, I usually attract a lot of attention.

I continued towards the center, so that I could ask someone to announce the car number and end my torment. But, then I saw my servant standing at one corner behind a table, serving water! What the hell was he doing here? I noticed my best friend standing next to the table. Now, this did not make any sense. And just when I thought that I had seen it all, I saw my little brother walking towards the table, picking a glass of water and merging back into the crowd. Though he looked in my direction, somehow he completely ignored my distant presence! I was completely zapped to find him there. My gaze followed him into the crowd. The recipient of the glass was my mother! My brain was on fire! Was I missing something? My heart beat rose to a thousand times. I looked around for my father and was relieved to find him sitting near a table with a large framed picture of someone. The photograph was partially hidden because of a garland and partially because of the burning incense. I also noticed that the hall was filled with almost all my relatives, cousins and friends. This was just too much for me to handle. It was clear that someone close to us had passed away. But, who? How could I have been sleeping through all of it? The WHY(s) and the HOW(s) drove me mad. I forgot all my anger, frustrations from the time that I woke. Mustering all the courage I could, I decided to face my parents, bracing myself to hear the bad news. And while I furthered towards my father, everyone continued to pay attention to the discourse, oblivious of my presence. Why was I being ignored? My pace slowed and my heart beat quickened while I neared the large portrait. My heart practically leapt out of my throat recognizing the face. I felt strong nausea and my legs gave way. I am not exaggerating, but how would you react if you realized that you were dead! Here I was standing in the middle of a hall, completely ignored by my near and dear ones, watching my own garlanded portrait, hearing my own remembrance. And the handsome devil in the picture gazed right into my eyes, smiling; almost a mischievous grin. 27 and gone! Just like that! Finito! The End! Kaput!

The entire thing was way beyond my comprehension. And suddenly a series of images started materializing right before my eyes:

I am driving my car, on the way to a cousin’s house. I am humming along the CD playing on the car stereo, visibly excited about meeting my siblings. But, my expressions change. I somehow feel that the car is not moving swiftly. I suspect a flat tyre. I immediately reduce the speed and park the car behind a stationary truck. While getting out of the car, I observe that there are no street lights and save for the headlights, its pitch black. I inspect all the wheels and am relieved to find that there are no punctured tyres. I see myself mindlessly thinking about something on the road. It’s the same road that leads to my office. It’s been many days since I visited it last. I also observe a bike approaching fast from the other side, facing my back. The rider does not seem to notice me on the street. I realize that there is something wrong with the trajectory of the bike and try to warn myself. I almost shout watching the approaching bike, but my scream dies inside my throat. The bike rams into my right half. The biker somehow manages to balance himself and skids to a halt a few meters ahead. But, the collision sends me flying into the stationary truck. I bang my head and chest into the truck almost simultaneously. The impact is so strong that I turn around and manage to hit the back of my head with the truck’s sharp edge. It slashes into my scalp and I end up flat on the asphalt road. I watch myself helplessly, unable to react.

The biker is now off his bike and is parking it at the road side. I watch myself stumble to my feet, ready to hurl abuses at the irresponsible driver, but I collapse on the road as soon as I try to get up. I feel no pain, rather a blissful numbness. It’s strange, but true. I watch myself reaching for my neck. I feel warmth of a liquid, flowing down my back. Maybe I am sweating profusely. I realize that thick viscous liquid is my blood! And then the shock starts settling in. I feel autistic! My brain stays alert, but my body refuses to follow orders. I try to reach for my cell phone. But, I can’t seem to find it. I remember that it’s comfortably resting on my computer table at home. This is not the first time that I am not carrying it. But, I really should have, this particular night. I watch myself, reeling under shock, lying listlessly on the road. And just when I feel that the hope is gone, the biker comes to my rescue. He lifts me up and covers my head with his handkerchief in order to arrest the bleeding. I stumble to my feet and soon find myself teleported at the emergency ward of a hospital. I remember the hospital’s facade. It’s in absolute proximity with my office and I have been here many times before. The biker asks me if I want to call any relative. I try to concentrate to remember my cousin’s number. Surprisingly, I am alert enough to spell it out. I call him and inform him of the situation and insist on not informing my parents.

The scene changes quickly. I am being taken in for surgery. My cousin is by my side and the biker is gone. The doctor asks me if I am allergic to any medicines. And though I am allergic to an antibiotic, I have no strength left to cough up the same. The doctor readies a shot and informs me that it would feel like peg of scotch, taken neat. I welcome anything that would knock me completely out of my senses. I already have had enough for one night. I feel the warm and fuzzy sensation of the liquid seeping into my veins and poof!!! I drift into a world of dreamless sleep.

The images finally stopped flashing. I was still standing in the hall and certainly didn’t remember dying! The attendees were starting to disperse. I walked to my mother and spoke to her. She said something, but it was illegible. And then there was a shrill sound. I felt myself being sucked almost at the speed of light into my house, back in the bed where I slept last night. I was finally awake; alive and thank God for that! It was sound of the alarm that brought me back from the grip of that horrible nightmare. I saw my mother and father lying next to me, still asleep. I had the bandage on my head, covering it almost entirely. My head pained like hell and my body felt 80 years old. I tried to remember the events after the accident.

I woke up after almost 12 hrs in the hospital. The large gash was closed and it took 14 stitches to do that. The first thing that I asked for was water, lots of it. And the next thing I enquired about was my car. My cousin was still there. My parents had thankfully not been informed. I was discharged almost immediately as the doctors declared me fit to travel. We found my car on the way back home. Once everyone came to know about the incident, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. And I enjoyed all the attention. Relatives and friends, distant and near, kept enquiring about my well being. Some sympathized while others fussed. They showered love and care; some called me an idiot for joining office within a day after the incident. And I smiled through all of it.

It’s been few days now and I have returned back to living my life just like before. I feel reborn and I mean it in the literal sense. The very thought of being deserted on the road that night fills me with dread! I could have passed out with all the blood loss and the consequences could have been disastrous. But, as they say, it wasn’t my time. I learnt a few lessons though. I have started taking life less for granted. I have started appreciating things much more than before. I wonder if I needed this jolt to get things back into perspective. I got my second chance and honestly, it wasn’t that bad an experience as things have turned out to be just fine. So, I am living my life, the same plain old way.
But, this time there’s a slight difference.
This time, I’m loving it.