Coming Back to Life, or not?

... a post that was long overdue, something that took 5 years to acknowledge...

Of the good times, of the not-so-good ones
Of the exaggeration of happiness, of the ease of pain
Of the people abound during moments of joy, of the loneliness of sorrow
Of Coming Back to Life, of being lost in time

Songs are integral to life. If someone were to say his/ her hobby is to make playlists, people might laugh. Still, he does, he makes playlists to live by songs that help him recollect memories. There is a story in every song. There is a story in everything.

One fine day, the rain did fall outside, while he pondered on an irresistible timeline. There was a friend who waited anxiously for something good to happen to his best friend. He ignored the friend, as always. He couldn't possibly think of his friend's anxiety when he had his own. Waiting, and batting the much-needed sleep, he came across some good news, across joy. He left his friend behind to pursue the other friends who abound him in that moment. There were greetings, and congratulations. He shared the news with everyone, but he forgot to thank his friend. The friend had to find through someone else, but was happy enough to ignore that.

To the people who stick around and wait for the people they believe in to get their share of joy
To the people who stand by the good and the not-so-good times
To the people who exaggerate happiness and ease pain
To the people who don't leave you, no matter how happy or sad you are
To the people who always stand by but are taken for granted

There is never an end to questions like: who are we? why are we here? what is our future? But, there is always time to thank people who stood by. To the music that reminds of them. To the thing that keeps us going.

... a tribute to David Gilmour. Listen and enjoy! :)

P.S.: a very odd post after a long, long time. But, there are good ones to come during better times.

For the love of Wall Street

Those towering buildings, those opulent cars, those brisk walking savants, those coffee paper-mugs - it was 11 Wall Street! And, as always, there had to be a horde of jobless people standing there, closely noticing the people with jobs walk. There was another horde, who wanted to get clicked with that stock exchange in the backyard. And then, there was a confused boy, quietly stuck to the stairs beside, watching what those with and those without jobs were up to. He did have a job, just that it wasn't there.

Suddenly, a gasping old man sat beside. In an elegant British accent, he said, "You don't look like the one, but do you have a cigarette by any chance?"

"I have a pack, but I wonder if we can smoke here", said the confused boy. He was in awe of the guards standing in front of "The NYSE". But, he did light up, when the feeling of enjoying a smoke at the "Wall Street" overcame his fear of everything else in the world.

The two sat down, each with a cigarette in his hand. And cigarettes held between fingers make the weirdest of people talk. From life in India to life at Wall Street. From living in a suburb in Mumbai to living in SoHo in Manhattan. From a back-end Management Consulting role to a front-end Investment Banking role. From a new joiner Analyst to a high-level executive. From immature phrases to sentences of wisdom. From a role model for the boy to a peek into the past for the man. And everything else!

The conversations were so brisk that the confused boy who had a pack of cigarettes when he came to Wall Street was now just left with 10. He did find a way to cut the conversations short. He had a flight to catch and the old man felt obliged to get him a taxi, when there was none. What next? Who could get a taxi at 10 am in Wall Street!

Suddenly, the man said, "Let me get you one!". He did something with his iPhone and within a matter of seconds, there was a Limousine beside. The boy didn't want to miss his flight, and just thought, "What the heck! How much more will it cost? Let me just take it!" He knew he had an American Express card with him.

He reached JFK, and asked the driver how much he needed to pay. The driver, in his African American accent, just replied, "Dude, it has already been charged to your credit card." The boy, totally surprised, tried to understand something he never could. There was a concept where you could book a cab with your iPhone and the amount gets charged to your credit card. Welcome to Uber!

Then, he thought of paying gratitude to the British man, only to realize he had left his visiting card along with the 10 cigarettes in those staircases beside the NYSE. He remembered a sentence the wise old man had said, "Sometimes - one of those very few times - good things happen to good people and they miss out to thank those better people who made those good things happen."

Dedicated to those forgotten better people who make good things happen to good people. Cheers!

If it's You, please don't read!

All characters appearing in this article are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Every morning, I wake up to a call from an extremely enthusiastic girl. Just to remind you of the fact that most males from my Alma mater have the luxury of getting such calls only from their mothers, colleagues or wives (courtesy the increasing trend of young people falling into that trap). Of course, I am young and unmarried and my mother would never dare call me in the morning.

Anyway, when it comes to that call, a winter morning infuses enough courage in me to touch the "reject" icon. But, she never understands, does she? She keeps calling me, once every seven and a half minutes (a made-up number) until I finally decide to give up. Even the wake-up caller at the ritzy Ritz-Carlton (no, they still haven't automated that) would have given up on me. When I finally answer the call, contrary to my expectations, she never seems pissed at me and carries her bit of enthusiasm all along. My bewildered mind keeps wondering how she could still do it, after being rejected far too many times for far too long.

The one good thing about this time of the year is that it is not quite uncommon to switch ON your television to the sound of a Kookaburra. And again, there are only two good things about cricket these days - Matthew Hayden's commentary and Led Zeppelin's songs, the only things that keep me from falling asleep again.

However, one fine morning, I did manage to frustrate the "girl" to the extent that she reported my stakeholders of my lackadaisical attitude towards work. And yet again, she chose the best time of the day to do that. This time, I woke up to angry calls and I was obviously mad at everything wrong in this world. Again, I turned to my savior, the television, only to witness a very unusual scene. I could listen to victorious chants coming from the Barmy Army men in limited-overs cricket. The conditions so lousily favored the batting side that even the English batsmen were slogging away to glory. I so much hate the usual lopsided contest between the bat and the ball. The day couldn't have been worse. Suddenly, a wicket falls, and there's Bob Marley.

Now, I'm not a Bob Marley fan. But, he somehow reminds me of that West Indian quartet of the 1970s - Marshall, Garner, Roberts and Croft. Of the 1970s, when quick bowling was about the eyes, the art, the concentration to unsettle a batsman. Of the 1970s, when commentators used to say, "I wonder if this would be at his jaw as well", "That would have broken his jaw, that's ALL RIGHT". Of the 1970s, when aggression meant aggression, when all was fair in love and war. So much unlike today when a batsman gets unluckily hit by a bouncer and dies and the pundits call for a ban on bowling such deliveries.

And, I could somehow relate it to the workplace of today. Of course, my current workplace is much more kind than the past one could ever be. But, isn't today's workplace about the aggression, the ruthlessness, the art of unsettling others, the schadenfreude, the going-to-the-extent-possible to break someone else (and not just jaws)? Laid-backs don't stand a chance here. There are hopes, there are dreams, but, like it or not, the environment breaks more people than it makes. The cricket of the 1970s happened for good, but I'm not too sure if the workplace of today will be do any good. Anyway, life moves on!

P.S.: For people like me, who, more often that not, work on discovering trends in women, celebrities, make-up products, Botulinum toxin, under-wears, infertility rates et al., we need to dream. Only then can we stand against the workplaces of today. So, just in case, despite the repeated warnings, if you're reading this, I have only one thing to say, "With a pretty fucking please with sugar on top, let me sleep!"

One more drag, please!

Disclaimer: Views are personal. Read, only if you want to. It would be very much appreciated if you take it easy.

"Long time no see"

You make us read facts about the perils of smoking. You make us see the tar-studded lungs of the John Terry look-alike in every pack of cigarettes we buy. You make us watch the cancer patient Mukesh die, every time we visit a theater. Yet, we don't say a word! All of us know how injurious cigarettes can be. Yet, we smoke! Not that we don't care.

It helps! Imagine yourself trapped in the middle of a conversation so boring that you start caring about Neil Nitin Mukesh more. Time lost can't be retrieved or reversed. But, you don't want to be rude. There is always an exit for us. Not sure if there is (always) a definite one for you. You are so busy thinking about everyone else's life that you don't need it anyway.

It helps! Imagine yourself having an unusually good time at work. You are working at your own speed, just letting the feeling set in. Then, all of a sudden, there are random rumblings, something that distracts you and you don't like it. You can  switch to music, but sometimes you don't want to. There are people who can't work at the same time as listening to music. You make your way to a quiet room, but none is available. You can be rude to those people. But, you would want to save that for worse times. There is always a way out for us. But, you have so much interest in everyone else's life that you don't need it anyway.

It helps! Imagine yourself in the need to vent out frustration. At anyone, anyhow! But, you might regret that. Not everyone is equipped with venting out that, at the right time, at the right people. There will always be future regrets. No other way, right! You just do it.

Sometimes, the light doesn't seem bright enough. On other occasions, it seems to produce a terrible inferno that might compel you to shut your eyes and relish the darkness within you. It's just that feeling, the feeling that lends credence to existence, no matter what. Sometimes, when the feeling doesn't come from within, we need to create them. It helps!

Everyone is inexorably addicted to something. It may not be right, but not everyone is too irrational to want death. That's it! Sometimes, it is okay for us to tolerably listen to the well-wishers genuinely asking us to quit. It feels good to be cared about. We just don't need every random passerby to remind us that. Cheers!

For the love of that "non-living" fag!

Of memorable travelogues

It was the summer of 2010. I was doing an internship at a research organization in a small town near Venice. One fine day, frustrated with the monotony of life, I decided to spend the weekend in Paris. I reached out to a few friends, only to realize that everyone either had prior plans or was skeptical of travelling at such a short notice. That didn't deter me though and I went ahead to book my flight tickets. Without thinking about anything else, I packed my ruck-sack and left for Paris the next day.

I reached Beauvois Airport (an airport located at a distance of 85 km from Paris and used mainly by low-cost airlines) at 11 pm in the night. I decided to skip the last bus to the city with the hope of spending the night at the airport and saving some money for other adventures. A few minutes later, airport officials asked me and a handful of others still at the airport to vacate the area. The airport had to be shut down at night.

It was pouring briskly outside. There weren't any means of transport available and we had to restrict ourselves to the enclosed area of a bus stand that seemed to be a few hundred yards away. We were drenched and cold by the time we reached there. 

A few hours later, when the rain had cleared up, we could see a jeep coming towards us. At first, we ignored. But, as it passed by, its brakes suddenly squeaked and a group of extremely sloshed people started walking towards us. They looked like thugs. I could do nothing but stare at them. They bombarded us with questions in an unintelligible language. We couldn't understand a word. We just tried to explain that we weren't in any better situation than them. They seemed clueless but perhaps realized, to our surprise, that we weren't the best people to mug. They were kind enough to leave us with a few abuses in "the unintelligible language". We heaved a sigh of relief.

They went ahead, found a few airport officials smoking outside and started shouting at them. Abuses in "the unintelligible language" were being passed on from both directions. We couldn't understand a word but kept our eyes fixated at them. Then, something happened and the parties suddenly started fighting. One of the thugs took out his shotgun and shot a bullet towards the sky. There was silence after that. The officials, certainly terrified by then, took out their wallets and offered them to the thugs, who grabbed them willingly, got into their jeep and drove away. We could hear evil laughter followed by a few more gun-shots. The officials quietly went back.

We were terrified and decided to hide somewhere. Luckily, we found a place in the wilderness. It was quiet again. Gentle breeze was running across the lush green bushes. Rain droplets on the leaves were shining in the dim light. I kept breathing the atmosphere of sorrow. And, the very first thing I did the next day was to go to Paris and book a hotel. Everything was awesome thereafter.

Let thoughts flow

A great man once said, "Your life hangs by a rope. You never want the rope to break. What happens if it does break? You don't know. You can try it or you'd never know what lies ahead." This is what my first year at work taught me.

If fresh graduates were dogs, I was one of those dogs who put their tongues out with the expectation of an awesome kick-start to their job career. I landed in Mumbai, enthused with the prospect of working for a company which is, arguably, a respectable one. At the same time, I was apprehensive of what I had left behind: a part of my life which I so desperately wanted to re-live. Of course, there are some desires that never get fulfilled.

I suddenly found myself up against a fast-paced environment which, in its entirety, was strikingly difficult to cope up with. People seemed content dealing with travel snarls and jam-packed local trains after spending some of their most harrowing days at work. Even the word 'analyst' never lived up to its euphemistic etymology: a person who 'analyzes'. In my opinion, the word had originated from a four-lettered slang visible  within it. In short, everything seemed wrong.

A year passed by. The city looks the same. The people look the same. But, perspective changes. When I look back at what I had experienced in the past year, I ask myself, "Was it really that bad?" Even after embarrassments, heart-breaks and epic failures that unfolded, I'm happy to have experienced everything (not in a sadistic point of view). In corporate culture, even schadenfreude is as ethical as abstinence from "insider trading". Every random thing seems perfect now.

In the end, it all comes down to how you judge your life. Would you have been happy yesterday to see yourself in this position today? If yes is your answer, you are incredibly lucky. Otherwise, you might need to realize that you don't live in Utopia.

Dreams do come true!

There is a gentle charm in watching Sachin Tendulkar bat. There is a patient charm in waiting for his turn to come. And when he does bat, there is a tense charm, the fear that he might get out and the charm would end. Yet, you watch him bat. There is a gloomy charm while he is at the non-striker's end, the charm that he would not get out off this ball but he is not the one at the striker's end. And, when he gets out, there is a charming eagerness to wait for the next match. You know you can watch him bat only after a few days. There is a certain joy in watching him score runs. Centuries can only prolong that joy. And when records are broken, you enjoy recollecting the memories of those happy moments he has showered upon you.

Today, I was sitting on the edge of my seat, chewing 'peanuts' so steadily as if they were chewing-gums. My heart was beating nervously and eyes were anxiously fixed to my computer screen. I kept pressing the 'Refresh' tab on Google Chrome. The page at cricinfo.com was taking ages to reload. Tendulkar was on strike, batting on 99. It seemed as if the ever-so-lively environment at my workplace had suddenly come to a standstill. Then came the moment... the moment much awaited by the cricket fraternity. I heaved a sigh of relief. 

The moment has been experienced many a times by Tendulkar, but never was it so special. The fact that it was his 100th international century didn't make it a special one. To add to this, the innings was in no way a reflection of how Tendulkar bats. It was a meticulously executed exorcism of the devils playing in his mind. And, even the man himself must have heaved a sigh of huge relief after getting to the milestone. 

100 international centuries is a 'cosmetic' statistic, contrived so cleanly by the media that it was on the heart and mind of every cricket fan for more than a year. Then, what made this century special? It was because it made us believe that even Tendulkar is fallible, that he is mere human. If you go by statistics, this century didn't make him any greater than what he already was. But, if you go by emotions, it certainly raised him to another level of greatness. 

This century was long overdue. Of late, Tendulkar seemed to be in sublime touch but just wasn't able to get the big one. Every now and then, he would give a feeling that a big knock was  around the corner. But, he just couldn't get to the finish line. Such is sports!

What next? All of a sudden, the same journalists who were calling the shots for Tendulkar's retirement started talk-shows to congratulate him. Tendulkar was glorified, but for a mere three and a half hours, after which they starting referring to him as "Match ka mujrim" (the culprit of the match). Such is the Indian media!

Anyway, Tendulkar made me feel proud today. No article can be enough to describe him. I can very well write a book on him. But, for now, it gave me a joyful hour thinking about him.

Hats off to the legend! He is here to stay. 

"Enjoy your game and chase your dreams. Dreams do come true." -Sachin Tendulkar