Follow Your Heart. Lead Your Mind. You'll find a window everywhere.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Cricket says it all


Is cricket just a game or an insect? Is it a colonial hangover or a tremendous scope to bet on and earn a few quick bucks?

Many a question has done its round on my mind, and finally I could conclude that cricket is a brilliant lesson for every couple to make their marriage successful forever.

Have I sounded weird? If your answer is affirmative, I acknowledge and appreciate your doubt on my statement.

And since you are doubtful, I guess it’s my responsibility to help you clear your doubt.

Equate your marriage mandap with a cricket pitch. Your marriage is as if you are going to begin and continue your innings with your partner.

There will be plenty of people around. Call them spectators, opponents, team mates, society, family, relatives, friends, colleagues, or anything else, but their prying eyes will always be on you two, so will their said and unsaid expectations for the success or the failure of your partnership or innings.

Amidst all these, you two have to perform, score runs, build up your innings, make centuries, and succeed like anything as a pair.

During your batting, expect not only lollypop half-volleys or full-tosses that you can send over boundary rope all the time but also get ready to receive the snort of deliveries like yorkers, beamers, bouncers, and googlies that certainly can send you or your partner to pavilion at any point of time, forcing you or your partner leave the other midway of your innings.

In cricket, it’s called OUT and in marriage, it’s called DIVORCE.

It’s not like that that in case you are out your partner can’t find a new partner and bat on or if your partner is out you can’t carry on your innings with someone else. But, with every new partner the momentum of the innings suffers a lot because every new partnership needs a new beginning, a new set of game plan and strategy, a new set of understanding, and so on.

Then what to do?

Before you get out or your partner does, make sure you along with your partner – with whom you have started your innings first – have tried to play well within yourselves. In order to guard your respective wickets i.e. your respective positions at the crease.

For that, if your partner is not playing well, you try to play doubly well and if you are not fairing up to the mark, at least hang around there without throwing away your wicket and let your partner build and carry the innings in tandem with you.

Mind you, when boundaries and sixers are hard to come by, you and your partner have to rotate strikes for singles and twos as much as possible. Otherwise, your score won’t move and gradually, rather helplessly, your innings will be exposed to all’s unwanted concern, rebuke, banter, boo, sledging, tips, and what not.

Moreover, feel absolutely free and happy to run even for your partner’s runs, because unless you run hard and seriously for him / her, you won’t really realise why your partner also runs for your runs.

During innings building, this hands-on lesson on sharing the turf together is actually the real and best knowledge, which you can get and exploit in life.

Ultimately, when cricket says it all, why don’t you just play it on, on, and on… together?

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

2Is – a narration of Incest India


Screw you, Chetan! That’s the only way I can meet up my grudge against you. I’m pissed, and crossed too. Yes dude! Because you took the sheen off me with your latest novel “2 states – the story of my marriage”. Unfair; you have not only stolen my plot but also shared something - very dear to me - with the world.

Anyway, as every coin has got two sides, I also do have dual thoughts. Hence, on a second thought, I think I should salute you for writing that story; hence accept my gratitude and love. 377 is legal now, so accepting my “love” is no big deal.

True, in India, boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. Boy needs to scratch girl’s father’s balls. Girl needs to smell boy’s mother’s fart as jasmine. Boy’s family and girl’s family need to press and pinch each other’s bosoms and butts and so on. And everything is done for a greater cause called “marriage” and collective “happiness”.

Unless and until families get involved how could a marriage be successful? Correct, it’s impossible. Since, a boy needs to seek permission from in-laws in order to fuck his wife, so does a girl to get fucked. Indeed, family prestige is well and truly dependent on this social legalization procedure to legitimate sex, for life.

Love may happen at a boy and a girl’s will. But, marriage, no way! If it happens that way, shit, what will people say? We are social animals though mistakenly considered by a few jerks (read scientists) as “Homo sapiens”. Balls to those nerds’ (read scientists) face and their knowledge!

Marriage is an occasion, a public event, such a circus, seriously. To show off, to goof-up, to hush up, to go up on social ladder, and to do so many things, that only god knows… or perhaps he doesn’t. Because god hardly needs to get into marriage in order to make a goddess pregnant. If someone is god, his all illegal children can be considered as his boon, so what’s the heck. Fuck free and enjoy the worship, worldwide!

On the hindsight, engaging family has a real advantage in marriage. If things don’t workout well between a boy and a girl, sharing and bearing responsibilities of this mismatch can be minimized. No wonder, why a boy and a girl love to love and make love before marriage at their will but shrink rather willingly into their familial pressure when their marriage needs to be taken place and continued, successfully, on their own.

In case families are involved, it becomes much easier for a girl and a boy to inflate the elders’ ego out of proportion so that even a minor misunderstanding, argument, or difference between them can be exploited… thereby ensuring a breakup or a divorce just as a cakewalk.

In India, a marriage is still expected to be sacredly and stringently monogamous, and that creates suffocation to some extent in a couple’s life of late – when things like multiple-relations and partner-swapping are very much in vogue.

Being successful in profession is also the need of the hour; hence divorce is not a bad solution either over marriage. A divorced person spends more time at work and this just suits the colleagues, the bosses, the clients… as the name of the game is “productivity” and sometimes “re-productivity” – if there is someone or a group available to sponsor the cost of an abortion or an accidentally born child’s incidental care.

Plus, when family shield is available, courtesy parental blindness and offspring’s manipulation skill, making the mockery of a marriage is a good fun! For instance, if parents select a boy, a girl can jolly well be kissed in a car, get fucked in a hotel room… courtship, you know… however, if a girl gets married to a boy against her parents’ consent, even after marriage, she is not supposed to see her husband because if she does so, it’s a sin.

A mother has always been extra concerned and ultra sensitive in India. She is doting to the core. That’s why, she might forget to check on her daughter whether she (the girl) had ever gone to school or college but will never forget to check her daughter’s boyfriend’s or husband’s passbook. Alternatively, a boy’s mother is equally proactive in understanding her daughter-in-law’s father and his weaknesses – which can be cashed in on, incessantly.

Simple money matters, to strengthen the "bond" between two families as marriage shouldn’t happen between only two individuals, so let’s make it a “families-fuck-together affair”.

If blood is not involved, no marriage can be honoured in India, for, who the hell friends are! Right, blood is everything. And if it is, let’s make it “incest India”. Let’s call it “2Is”. Let’s allow father to screw his daughter and mother to get screwed by her son. Everything will be kept within blood then. Easily. Conveniently. And family ties will be more solid and concrete than ever before as a result of this blood or bloody involvement.

So, what are you doing? Screwing, or getting screwed up? Socially, of course.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Can never be a human...


My late mom used to think I’m talented. My late father would reckon I’m intelligent. To my siblings I’m rare. My nephews consider me as their best friend. The relatives hail me as a living joke-machine. My teachers felt and still feel I’m a good student. My ex-series of girlfriends thought I’m impossible, incorrigible, funny, honest, caring, sexy and what not. My ex and present set of bosses thought and think I’m professional to the core but quite temperamental as well. Clients believe I’m their greater ROI (Return on Investment). Markets imagine I’m easily saleable and purchasable. Friends trust me as loyal. Foes fear my fierce revenge. Competitors loathe me for my “I’m only game to win attitude”. Readers love to read my lines. Consumers acknowledge my ads. Awards welcome my entries. Media sometimes take interest in me. Listeners won’t mind hearing me crooning or singing. Composers don’t kick my ass, hating my lyrics. A few institutes summon me time to time for lectures and training. There has never been any dearth of respect, admiration, and accolades. The packaging has always been very well done and maintained. Two lives have continuously been lived and led with ease and √©lan – one outside the packet with an expiry date on it and the other inside the packet without an expiry date, however might expire any moment. Perhaps that’s why, I was, I’m and I will ever be and remain PRODUCTIVE – a Product, which (who) is Creative! Though it’s unfortunate, that with my all puns intended and unintended; I can never afford to live as a HUMAN, only.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

My journey with a TEACHER


The richness of the saying: Simple Living, High Thinking is actually embedded in the saying itself. True, unless and until a mind is free from the complexities of living, it can’t function to think anything high.

Albeit, most of us prefer to follow the reverse adage that might sound as, “Complex Living, Petty Thinking.”

Fortunately, I used to know and relate to a person, since my birth, who happened to personify that simple living, high thinking stature like anything.

He was a schoolteacher by profession. A freedom fighter. A compulsive benevolent man known for his philanthropy. And someone who had given a damn even to the epidemic disease called plague during pre-independence in order to save lives at Kolkata (erstwhile Calcutta).

Post independence he travelled to Myanmar (previously which was Burma). There he explored his luck and maintained his life kingsize. Thereafter, he couldn’t feel like taking the nationality of that country and was adamant to remain only in dhoti instead of being lungi or sarong clad.

As a result, he and his wife along with their little kids had to come back to India as refugees. On his return to his very own Kolkata among his relatives, he found that the things were changed.

He along with his family was simply driven out of his own houses by his beloved cousin bro and sis. Who not only took the undue advantage of his long absence at his own houses but also made sure that those establishments belonged to them only.

He smiled back at his cousins and gifted them his own abodes.

His struggle started. In a new vein, as if in a new country – as a refugee in his own motherland.

The HUMAN – yes, he was a human more than a man – was pretty clear on his moves that he would slog like hell but none of his family members. Especially his little kids were not really supposed to suffer, as per his strict principle, irrespective of any circumstance.

In line with that, there was never ever any shortage of foods and books in their supply to the kids. Because at his family, foods for thought was always the priority as against the thought for foods. He knew it for a fact and quite rightly so that before his children would live in a “house” or drive a “car”, it was imperative for them to know and understand the real worth of “H, O, U, S, E” and “ C, A, R”.

Besides, there was never any slackness of fatherly care and concern on his part even for his students. In fact, a lackluster student with almost no merit happened to be his blue-eyed boy. And to make him pass and successful in an examination had always been his challenge. For that, in addition to knowledge such a student was by default privileged to have shelter, food, and the like, if need be, without any discrimination… between his own children and him (the student).

Moreover, his treatment to his children was more like their best friend than a father. He was much ahead of his age and never cowered to anticipate and accept any change toward contemporariness.

Plus, his direction and lesson to his children and pupils around was simple, “Society is for Humans but not the other way round. Thus, it’s better to live as a lonely Human than somehow surviving as a social animal in a herd.”

Given this, his children and his favourite students alike hardly disappointed him. They attained the status and the position he always hoped for them. However, he remained the same.

For instance, despite of the best efforts put forth, none could ever make him wear anything costly or glossy but his trademark white Panjabi and Dhoti made of cotton only.

But, like a bold from the blues, when he lost his wife after 45 years of togetherness, for the first time in life he showed a sign of nerves. His somewhat rock-solid composure began to feel an uncanny kind of restlessness and helplessness. Loneliness at home used to drive him outside more often than not, to some extent unnecessarily.

Indiscipline, unrest and stress and strain due to overwork got palpable in his attitude quite in contrast to his original calm-self. Pretty painfully, he was like indulging himself in self-destruction.

In the process what was expected to happen, happened actually.

He had to face two major attacks. First the cerebral one followed by the cardiac within an hour to be precise.

And, thanks to those health mayhems, finally on October 18th, THE TEACHER left his classroom and home forever.

“The teacher was my father.”

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Schizophrenia, no social stigma.


Curiosity kills the cat. Thus, to me it’s always better to kill the curiosity itself than getting killed as a cat. For that, I would rather be a dog to sniff around. So that, eventually, I can sneak into the truth. Even, if it’s buried under the ground, I won’t mind to dig. To know, understand and unearth the reality as closely as possible.

And this inquisitiveness of mine has encouraged me to unfold some darkest of dark creases of a mind, which suffers from Schizophrenia.

In this article, I shall try to explain everything in a very lucid way, so that to comprehend what is what none needs to be a Nobel Laureate or a medical maverick.

What is Schizophrenia?

It’s no sin, no crime, no curse but a disease, an ailment, an illness of mind. As the adage suggests that idle brain is devil’s workshop, this sickness tends to prove this maxim 100% right in reality.

What are the signs and symptoms of Schizophrenia?

1. Auditory hallucinations – as if she listens to some alien, surreal sounds.

2. Delusions – she loves to live in her own imagery world being oblivious of the ground reality.

3. Disorganized and Unusual Thinking, and Incoherent Speech - her thought process hardly seems to be on track rather it’s seen mostly derailed. And this loss of thought-train and subject-flow with sentences only loosely connected to meaninglessness, confusion and incoherence is known as “word salad” in severe cases.

These symptoms gradually lead a Schizophrenia patient to demonstrate the following problems –

A. Paranoia – a hyper sense of skepticism, fear and suspicion of losing out something, or someone, or self without being sure of why so.

B. Avolition – a psychological state that creates lack of motivation, desire and determination to pursue any meaningful goals in life; personal or professional.

C. Catatonia – where one remains largely mute or silent and motionless in a bizarre posture or position, and exhibits purposeless agitation, arrogance and attitude, and strangely lies at random to manipulate things for nothing.

D. Alogia – a flat approach that blunts the effects of any emotion.

E. Asociality – an apathy or lack of desire to form and firm up a serious relationship.

F. Nymphomania – a tendency to enjoy multiple relations just for sexual adventure and carnal varieties. Though it’s not seen or guaranteed to happen with everyone whoever is suffering from Schizophrenia. This symptom is just an outside possibility.

Why Schizophrenia occurs?

There are no such hard and fast rules to define why it happens. However, there are a few reasons that can be considered as the root of Schizophrenia. Those are as follows –

I. Genetic – if parent(s) or someone up in the ancestral ladder was/is schizophrenic chances get increased for a descendant to fall prey to it.

II. Twins – if someone was born with a twin bro/sis, Schizophrenia might occur to her. Though concordance rates for Schizophrenia are higher in monozygotic (identical) twins than in dizygotic (fraternal) twins.

III. Social – poverty, migration, racial discrimination, unemployment, poor house condition, and above all else, “family dysfunction” are the risk factors for Schizophrenia. If any abuses - like physical, mental, and sexual – took place, precisely at the crossroads of one’s childhood and adolescence, she becomes very prone to this sickness rather unknowingly.

IV. Drug, Dope, and Alcohol – though it’s very hard to prove whether any drug or dope, or the alcohol causes Schizophrenia or not, still this phenomenon can be described in two ways: “Substance use causes Schizophrenia” and “Substance use as a consequence of Schizophrenia”. Owing to the absence of any concrete theory in this regard, it may be taken for granted that some people use drugs to cope with some unpleasant situations such as loneliness, boredom, depression, anxiety, and the like. But, there is no certainty that those situations are the results of Schizophrenia only.

How to treat Schizophrenia?

The major problem, incidentally, is individuals take years time simply to accept the very fact that they are Schizophrenic.

Once that acceptance is taken care of, a patient needs to be treated by the following methods –

a. Medication – she should be taken to a good doctor, who knows better how to treat her with proper and appropriate medicines and clinical remedies.

b. Psychological or Social Interventions – help, support, confidence, compassion and care should be provided to a patient through psychotherapy or counseling. In this method, a patient family’s understanding, involvement and acceptance of the gravity of the problem is an absolute must.

c. Other - electroconvulsive therapy is not considered a first line of treatment but may be prescribed in case other treatments have failed. This method is more apt, if the symptoms of Catatonia are present and prevalent.

d. Alternative Medical Treatments - orthomolecular psychiatry considers Schizophrenia is a group of disorders, some of which can be treated with megadoses of nutrients such as Niacin (vitamin B-3). This theory is yet to be proven though. In spite of that some researchers suggest that dietary and nutritional treatments may hold promise in the treatment of Schizophrenia.


After all, Schizophrenia is no social stigma. It’s a sickness, hence needs treatment. PERIOD.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Is the spoon missing?


A few days back, a SMS reached my cell. The message was, “Sumtimes v struggle thru a tasteless coffee till d last sip n we find d sugar lying at d bottom of d cup… THAT’S LIFE… Enough sweetened, but not stirred well!”

When the message came, I was sleeping. With its arrival beep, I woke up, actually. Initially, I was not enough intrigued but as I kept reading the text for more than once, something in it encouraged me to think.

Precisely, not only think but also write this piece.

Let me begin with a doubt.

If we found the coffee was tasteless firsthand, then why would we continue to sip into it until the last draw! Why won’t we order a new cup of coffee – in the present context that is trying to change our life? Since, having a new set of life in the life, we are living already, is not possible!

We won’t do this because we are too lazy or reluctant to adapt to any change? Or we simply love to carry on with the tastelessness dwelling on a hope that the tastelessness, which is occurring presently, might turn into a helluva tastefulness later on, automatically?

If this is hope, then certainly we are neither lazy nor reluctant. Reason being, laziness or reluctance can never entail hope. On the contrary, if there is no hope, there can’t be any hope against hope as well.

The logic is simple. If I’m not in front of the mirror how can someone or I see my mirror image?!

So, the only possibility remains in any such tasteless situation is hope, and hope is human, so are we. Hence, the equation forms as Hope = Human(s).

If so, and as hope also generates will and subsequently will paves ways – one after another – for us, then why shouldn’t we find at least one way i.e. a spoon to stir the coffee earlier than it comes to a tasteless end?!

Does it mean that hope alone is not sufficient? Yes, true. Only hope can do nothing. To get a thing or two done, successfully, hope should always be backed up by the sheer courage of action. That is work. And that’s why, work is worship.

Now, from the gamut of life if we bother to separate a small pocket of relationship and do apply this theory, I reckon, we can very well comprehend the importance of having such a spoon in our life.

Here the spoon can be anyone. A good friend, a family member, a relative, a colleague, an acquaintance, or even a mere stranger. The reality lies in the fact that we have to identify the RIGHT spoon only to accomplish our task in hand. That is stirring the coffee. Otherwise, irrespective of our indomitable courage to work hard (and hope harder) success in a relationship (or life) i.e. the sweetness of the coffee will remain ever elusive to us.

Just the reason, every successful man (woman and human included… LOL) has or should have the right kind of associates and association. More so, as after a while post our childhood, our inherent and inherited qualities get empowered by our imbibed virtues.

Therefore, whenever we tend to lose on life or on a relationship, I guess, we must think, “Is the spoon missing?”

Saturday, September 5, 2009

None will cry...

Prolixity is human. May be, more Indian. Possibly that’s why; we, the Indians, love more talks, more jargons, more lingo and more arguments.

As a matter of fact, none other than Mr. Amartya Sen has beautifully essayed this very quality of our inherent culture in his book The Argumentative Indian.

Taking cues from that book and blending it with the epic The Mahabharata, I have also found something to mull over and germinate an argument.

An argument that has always disturbed me and my thought process due to which I can never take the concept for granted that the battle of Kurukshetra took place ONLY because of Duryodhana.

It’s very easy to hold Duryodhana solely responsible for the entire mess, mayhem and massacre happened in The Mahabharata, whereas the real truth is entirely different, as per my opinion.

Here I go with my logic…

First things first, so I begin with Dhritarashtra. He knew it for a fact and from the word go that he was blind. Of course, it’s a handicap for ruling a dynasty. If he was a little bit sensible, he could have understood that reigning an empire was not his cup of tea, really.

But, as the blindness in his eyes got into his mind too, he never bothered to think in that line. Rather, he literally forced Gandhari to get married to him… probably bragging that he was the king of Hastinapur. This, for the reason obvious, didn’t go very well with Gandhari herself as well as with her brother Shakuni.

As a result, the bro and the sis took an oath in unison that they would see the end to it. From that day onwards, the seed of peril and death was planted in the garden of the Kauravas.

The playact started with Gandhari. She simply blindfolded her eyes, intentionally, with a piece of cloth. She actually did this just to avoid even the slightest glimpse of her blind husband Dhritarashtra but marketed it so cunningly that her mockery became a talking point of unprecedented sacrifice of a wife – as if made in order to match her husband’s footsteps in every walk of life. A petty dig at someone’s misery and handicap was dramatised, ironically, as a high-graded commitment and dedication of a lady.

Besides, knowing her bro Shakuni quite well, Gandhari was convinced that this make-belief sacrifice of hers would be fair enough instigation, pep and constant reminder for Shakuni to accomplish his task against Dhritarashtra and the Kauravas in general.

The plot was well laid out and amidst this Duryodhana and his siblings were born to Gandhari and Dhritarashtra.

Their birth was adequate piss [and pee, since pee and babies are synonymous :P] for the first lady of Hastinapur.


Getting pregnant by Dhritarashtra early and then delivering 101 number of children drove the lady crazy to her wit’s end, for sure.

No way was Gandhari willing to take more beating on her. So her plan was simple, “Let’s make Duryodhana himself the nemesis of the Kauravas.”

But how? As no child is born as a criminal. But, yes, a child can be made so. Hence, let’s made him one.

As she thought, she did it accordingly. Gandhari assigned Shakuni to take care of her children, especially of Duryodhana. And she herself began to massage the inflated ego and false pride of Dhritarashtra by pushing the blind king more n more into the dark lanes of skepticism, lament, curse and vengeance against the innocent and helpless Pandavas.

While she was doing her part, Shakuni was outstanding in his role. He made sure that Duryodhana gradually grew up as an epitome of lie, deceit, whim, indiscrimination, manipulation, indiscipline and idiosyncrasy.

It was not like that that other elders in the family or in the close circle of the Kauravas were not aware of Shakuni’s misguidance to Duryodhana but they decided to keep mum – as, it always feels good if others’ children get spoilt. Sad, but true!

Given this, when Duryodhana fabricated the reason and the rationality of his never-to-be-quenched grudge against the Pandavas, the Kaurav-brigade of grey hair gleefully accepted the story that Draupadi laughed at and made fun of Duryodhana while he slipped into the water at the palace in Indraprastha mistakenly thinking that he was walking on a glossy floor.

I still find it difficult to acknowledge, whether an innocuous laughter could at all be any cause to such a devastating war like the one held in the battlefield of Kurukshetra, later on, as a consequence of Draupadi’s laughter!

I have my serious doubt in place. Honestly.

Then came the famously infamous or infamously famous strip tease of Draupadi – courtesy Duryodhana’s direction and Dushasana’s roll, take and action… and Sri Krishna’s intervention for a premature cut.

This leads to the reality that what Sri Krishna even being an outsider could afford to do for Draupadi, the family members and the relatives of the Kauravas – who were incidentally also related to the Pandavas – didn’t even feel like doing.

Why so?

Was it because they also wanted to experience the fall of Dhritarashtra and his family, eventually? Or the produced titillation of a female skin and flesh – even if she’s a daughter or a daughter-in-law – was an unlimited free seduction for those men who were supposedly suffering from mid-age and old-age crisis with an insatiable orgy?

If so, then why should we blame only Duryodhana for blackening and painting the face of his family when he was literally first spoilt and then exploited by his own mother Gandhari, father Dhritarashtra, maternal uncle Shakuni, and the likes.

Had Duryodhana been so evil, then he wouldn’t have given the shelter and the due respect to someone like Karna – who was rather unceremoniously delivered to be dumped by his own mother Kunti, so that he lived a life of a bastard.

Proves the point that Duryodhana was not at all a bad soul. But his problem was he was hatched by his family and relatives in such a way, so that he could be used like a puppet or a sacred goat in line with his inherited and imbibed bloated ego, stubbornness, mindlessness and anxiety – altogether that never helped him take any right decision per se.

To say the least, Duroyodhana’s vindictive nature or attitude was the product of his father Dhritarashtra only. For, if, as a loyal son to his father Dhritarashtra, Duroyodhana saw that his father embraced a iron idol of Bhima (Duryodhana’s cousin bro) to crush the idol in a vain effort to kill Bhima what lesson misguided Duryodhana was bound to learn then from none but his blind father about relationship and love, and humanity?!

Of course, the lesson for him was, “Killing is everything.”

Perhaps, pursuing this wrong understanding about life and owing to his bad education, stale value system, tasteless upbringing and spiteful principles and morals, Duryodhana could hardly justify any of his actions against the Pandavas and invited his untimely death as well as all others’ for nothing in the battle of Kurukshetra – known as Dharmayudh.

Now, as a conclusion, in light of The Mahabharata and the TRUTH, it ensures that if parents are so blind on mind their child(ren) ought to be depleted, defeated and defamed everywhere; be in life or death. Thereafter, it’s only those blind parents who will be left alone and forced to bear the corpse of their beloved child(ren) to the burial ground or the crematorium on their own. And for them, none will cry!

PS: If you liked this piece or even hated, feel free to comment to talk your mind.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Rani said nothing


While returning home, I was thinking about Fakir. My friend Fakir - whose corpse was burning behind at the crematorium. For those with raising eyebrows; Fakir was Muslim but he preferred fire to soil. To him there was no difference between Lord Shiva and Allah.

Fakir happened to be a very simple guy. Very simple, indeed. As his name suggests, the guy never had any greed whatsoever for any earthly possession. It was always music and writing that would tug at his heartstrings.

My association with Fakir was for long. Pretty long. If I say correctly, it was for no fewer than 37 years. Yes, we were kind of born together.

Fakir lost his mother quite early. Then his father. He made himself almost on his own. The only asset my dead friend inherited from his departed parents was a heart – that was simply matchless, priceless and very true, for sure.

Unfortunate, that the fire in the pyre won’t spare this heart unlike his naval.

Honestly, I have never seen anyone like Fakir – who just used to believe in the power of love and honesty.

Fakir was a very good singer in fact. And that was the quality, which attracted and then attached Rani to him.

The two fell in love in a flash, crossing each other’s path for the first time in life. Of course, there were love and passion between them, so was their conflict of education, upbringing and culture. The formation of their respective beliefs, principles and morals was not in conjunction at all to say the least.

But they were in love. Madly. (Or should I say badly and sadly, as Fakir is no more.)

The drift between Rani and Fakir started when Fakir visited Rani’s place to meet her parents. Rani’s family members, precisely her mother, made sure that Fakir got humiliated, hassled and heckled by them like anything.

Why so? Because Rani’s parents were moneyed unlike Fakir – to whom money never counted.

From there, many dramas took the stage one after another at Rani’s place, so that Rani dumped Fakir.

Many tags such as Satan, Hypnotizer, Urchin, and the like were assigned to Fakir as the easy and prompt descriptors of him. The poor guy never knew or understood what his fault was.

He kept asking Rani about it. He cried. He lost his temper on this issue. He lost his sleep. He almost lost himself.

Still, Rani said nothing.

Days were flying off. There were ups and downs in their relationship. However, they managed to cling onto the side of their rocking boat in order to stay together in the sea of their emotions that had become quite turbulent by then.

Intelligent Fakir asked Rani to help herself slip into the life-jacket and leave him. For, the guy realized Rani was actually keener to harbor inside a safe cocoon than fighting against the odd tides by being beside Fakir.

But, Rani said nothing.

Instead, Rani hanged around. She insisted they tied up the knot in a hurry. She literally forced Fakir to perform the event. In the midst of a high current situation, their marriage was solemnized.

Immediately after the wedding, Rani went back to her place for a few days leaving behind a promise that she would come back. Soon.

Fakir found another job to get himself indulged in. That was counting days for Rani’s arrival.

Fakir was happy. Very happy. He thought, honestly, that Rani also turned happy as a result of their marriage. Thus, to add respect, amplification and shine to their happiness, Fakir began to acknowledge Rani as his wife. In private as well as in public.

And to share his happiness with all and sundry, he never felt like taking any permission from his wife Rani.

So, Rani said nothing.

On the contrary, the poor chap was accused of bringing insult and disrespect to Rani because Fakir told and exposed the truth to the world that Rani became his wife.

Fakir lost his speech. His eyes went blurred. His heart was almost chocked. And he didn’t know what to do next. The guy fell sick. Seriously.

He kept trying to reach Rani. Everyday, in every second.

Though, Rani said nothing.

After that episode, suddenly, two guys from Rani’s place came to Fakir. One of them literally challenged Fakir by saying what the hell Fakir could do in case Rani didn’t turn up.

Fakir did nothing but gave the petty person a walkover with a plate of sweets.

Following their visit an eye-wash reception was arranged to accept Fakir as a mere compromise, as if thrown upon Rani and her RICH family. To prove this point and instill more pain into Fakir’s injury, Rani’s father made sure that Fakir’s late mother’s name got dropped off the invitation card.

Fakir got upset. Terribly upset. He asked for a proper clarification from Rani.

Yet, Rani said nothing.

Rani’s family reached at Fakir’s city to organize the party. As planned, they visited Fakir’s siblings just a day before the event. And pursuing her ulterior motive, Rani’s mother left no stone unturned to perform a well calculated rudali-show or sobbing drama to express her helplessness on conceding Fakir as Rani’s husband.

Because she knew it for a fact, when Fakir would come back home and listen to it, he would blow off his mind’s fuse. And if it happened, she had a chance to call off the party by taking Rani in her confidence holding Fakir responsible for every mess.

Clever Fakir got it very clear. So, quite willingly he walked into their well laid out trap. He reacted strongly and vehemently to the ongoing fracas – as brought to him by Rani and her family and relatives.

As expected, they latched onto this provided spark of Fakir. A big fire ball was created by blowing off naked lies, manipulated stories and fabricated tales simply out of proportion, in tandem with Fakir’s residual wrath and frustration

The reception got cancelled.

And, Rani said nothing.

She along with her family went back home. Prior to that, she asserted that she was INSECURE with her husband Fakir.

Got to be! If a husband always wants his wife beside him how can a wife be secure?! LOL.

A few days were spent.

Then a letter of false allegation greeted Fakir. He was charged of executing unbearable mental and physical torture on Rani. He was blamed to bring insult and disrespect to Rani’s parents and family members and relatives.

This letter entailed the Petition for dissolution of their marriage on mutual consent.

Each paper was duly signed by Rani.

Nevertheless, Rani said nothing.

Fakir signed on the papers. Arranged an advocate for Rani. And gave the green signal for the legal proceedings.

Rani was elated. So were her family members and all other relatives. Seeing them happy Fakir also felt good. Quite relieved.

To celebrate his peace, he called me up. I went to his place. We talked. We sang. We boozed. We enjoyed, together. Whole night.

At dawn Fakir had to catch some sleep. So had I.

We slept. After a few hours I woke up. But Fakir kept sleeping…

In the evening the hearse car came.

The pyre was all set to welcome my friend Fakir.

I said, “Goodbye!”


Rani said nothing.

After all, Fakir too said nothing.

The moral of the story is: "Say nothing to feign humble and live long!"

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Off the rear view mirror


Yesterday, when I walked off Sarda Plywood’s office at Park Street, it was 3.30 PM, sharp. Immediately, I hailed a cab and the cabby obliged. I had to reach Gariahat, soon. So, without wasting a split second, I got settled (you may read nestled) inside the vehicle.

Then only I noticed the cabby. The guy was in his early 50s, I guessed. Slender. Having grey hair. And also realized, in a short while, that he was on a higher plank too.

Firstly, thanks to the smell of the country liquor he must have consumed at lunch and secondly, owing to his worldly expression of commonsense and life’s experience.

Actually, the incident took place while we reached the intersection just under the Park Circus flyover. A young, quite hardy, and self-employed beggar knocked on the windowpane close to my seat in the rear to draw my attention. He was begging in the name of Lokenath Baba, as if the BABA instructed him only to beg from people minus doing any work in order to worship the BABA as a devotee.

Facing the beggar (or should I say the bugger) and his petty efforts to make a few quick bucks, I, obviously, became very disgusted. Though I didn’t utter a single word but my facial expression was changed. So was my body language. Towards annoyance, of course.

The cabby, on the rear view mirror, I’m sure, witnessed that change on me. Hence, he opened his mouth to talk. For the first time, in fact, since I boarded his cab.

The first thing he said was that we, the Indians, especially the Kolkatans were losing on our workability and self-dignity rather thick and fast.

Frankly, I was taken aback. Those types of word, and that too, from a so called “illiterate” cabby… well, kind of a shockwave to me. However, those words helped me erase my beggar-bugging irritation and, instantly, I turned pretty curious to know why he said so.

So, I enquired and he explained, “Sir, foreigners love to see beggars in our country, especially begging on roads. Thus, they are the major contributors or donors of such an easy-money to our young brigade – who don’t have the requisite education to understand what’s good to earn and what’s not. Plus, those moneyed men of our own nation also patronize this begging spree, so that they too can exploit and pick those uneducated and idle brains as and when required.”

I was stunned! Yes, I was truly stunned! Was I listening to a cabby? Was I? I didn’t know. And, inevitably, my next question to the guy at the wheel was, “How could you utter such things? Who told you these?”

Pat came his reply, “None, sir. Whatever I told you was my hard earned experience. Because I have seen places and people. I have been driving for 22 years. Earlier, I used to drive trucks and travelled to Delhi, Mumbai, and Siliguri, and almost all parts of Assam and Punjab… and now for the last three years, I have been driving taxi at Kolkata.”

I pushed his words down, in a great hurry, through the gullet of my mind. There was no time to digest though, as we reached Gariahat.

Later on, in the evening, when I was strolling around the lake, I was actually trying to digest what I heard from that cabby.

I really wonder, if a cabby in our country can think so and reflect such a truth, as a matter of fact, off the rear view mirror, then why can’t the majority of our leaders, politicians, industrialists, intellectuals, social, motivational and management gurus can’t do the same for the millions of followers whom they lead everyday, everywhere, and every time!

Strange!

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

5th August


The day began with a bright sun. The sky was pristine blue. There was serenity in the air and peace all around.

I woke up quite early on that day. The clock was ticking at 6.30 only. On my way to the balcony, I peeped into her room. I thought she was sleeping. So I tiptoed close to her bed. Frankly, I had no intention to disturb and break her sleep. The room was dark enough to balk my vision. It was tough for me to get a better view of her through the mosquito net. So after a while, I resigned and reached the balcony.

I was feeling an immerging sense of tranquility inside me. The feeling was intensifying because of the environment, which happened to be so clear and clean that early morning.

Breakfast was over by 9.30. As a result the gush of deep thoughts started to toss my mind into the whirlpool of idleness. What to do next and what not to… happened to be a million dollar question to me that time, because I was jobless in those days.

All of a sudden the phone rang at around 11.00 am. There was none near the cradle. So I had to go and attend the call. Bingo! It was for me only. A sweet female voice checked on me whether I was game to visit their office for an interview at 3.30-4.00 pm. The position was: Junior Copywriter.

Honestly, I was no insane to give it a miss. Thus, pat came my reply, “Yes, I’m coming on dot!”

I got ready rather in a hurry. Before I left, I again went to her room. She was wide awake then. Lying in her bed, nonchalantly, she was looking at the ceiling with a vacant and visionless stare. Incoherently, she was feeling the lump on her forehead and trying to move her unmovable and motionless right foot… of course, in vain.

Metastatic Carcinoma i.e. “cancer at last stage” was forcing her and her indomitable spirit to succumb to death. However, she was reluctant to surrender so easily, hence there was always a continuing fight between pain and perseverance.

And I was a mere spectator of this grueling battle… bout after bout… everyday, every night, offering NO relief to her thanks to my joblessness and helplessness.

I used to realise that no more she was able to counter the pain. Her ability to punch back was diminishing, gradually. Despite, she couldn’t feel like giving in because she had a worry, a big worry, about me and my future.

Anyway, I reached for the interview. The bullies took off, immediately, in their most sophisticated guise. And why not, after all admen would hardly get such a soft and non-English speaking target like me for their fun-crunch! Therefore those guys’ suave humiliation and intimidation was jolly well acceptable – as if their guidance provided me with, honourably.

Somehow I managed to survive and got selected for the final round – scheduled to be held after two weeks. I was elated. Precisely, relieved.

I walked off the interviewer’s office. Looked up at the sky. And found unlike the morning it was cloudy and heavy. It was about to rain cats and dogs.

I had to return home soon. I had to convey the good news to her.

But how? Before I perched onto a bus, the sky opened up. Torrential shower engulfed the vicinity. I tugged myself under a shade competing with a few dogs, roadside. I was praying to god, “Please let me go home fast,” as I had to see the smile on her face, courtesy my first ever success in job market.

After almost one and half hours, the rain ceased a bit. I boarded a bus. Then took an auto. And was reaching home almost running through the lane with a heart full of happiness and smiling galore.

I reached home. But felt an uncanny lull in the surroundings. A few people were standing underneath our house. I asked them, “What happened?” None said anything. I chose to waste no time. Rushed to the staircase. Climbed up to the door in a flash. Then gate crashed.

I saw that she was lying in her bed with an angelic smile on her face. There was no sign of pain. She was rather resting in heavenly peace. Perhaps god conveyed the good news to her on behalf of me.

5th August, exactly at 5 pm, that’s how she left me forever.

And she was my MOTHER.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Mahayana

Dear Friends (and Foes),

Since my childhood, the two epics: the Ramayana and the Mahabharata have fascinated (and flabbergasted) me and my wit (if any) to a large extent.

Why so, to unveil… let me begin with the Ramayana.

The king Dasharatha had got three wives. Perhaps any Hindu marriage act was not applicable on him at that point of time. Or may be, as the diktat articulates that a king IS a king, he could manage to raise himself above the reach of any such marriage act or law.

They say that the first criterion of a great king or ruler is impartiality. So, when Dasharatha was quite admittedly and evidently more inclined towards his second wife Kaikeyi than his other two wives, I suppose, this was the king’s unbiased love for the queen sans any discrimination!

As far as my little knowledge goes, it understands that a king governs the lives in his kingdom or realm. And, I guess, the king’s bedroom also falls within his empire. If so, then when a mere maidservant Manthara could afford to exploit his supposedly in-the-bed promise to his wife (Kaikeyi) for an evil interest, I wonder, whether it should be considered as Dasharatha’s governing power as a king or his meek surrender to love (read lust) as a helpless hubby darling!

[Then why only hold Ekta Kapoor responsible for giving India the family feuding K-factors, when on the contrary Maharshi Balmiki had introduced us to those K-marked family politics ages ago!]

From there, Ram was asked to leave his paternal house for 14 long years. Fair enough! But, I’m not sure, if it was fair at all to allow Laxman to get himself tagged along with Ram and Sita while Urmila – Laxman’s innocent wife was not a party to the awesome threesome’s jungle venture for such a long period of time. It’s quite bizarre to note that poor Urmila had to suffer from a conjugal void, as if her marriage was annulled for nothing. Sorry to cite that was quite selfish of Ram and Sita and simply irresponsible of Laxman.

In the jungle, Sita may have demanded for umpteen times for a golden deer or anything trivial, but being a mature person, if Ram couldn’t predict the inevitable danger lurking around his wife (Sita), then it was sheer lack of commonsense expressed by a husband following the suit of his bro Laxman. Seems this IRRESPONSIBILITY was quite hereditary in Ram-Laxman’s family.

Also, it’s weird how could a man be called as Sri Ram instead of Srihin (lackluster) Ram, when the guy actually killed the super-ape Bali from behind like a coward in order to pursue and benefit from a give n take deal signed with Bali’s bro Sugreev – who was eyeing for Bali’s throne by hook or crook.

Plus, if you take Ravana and his intelligence into consideration, I’m sure; you would be as perplexed as I have always been. It’s strange that even with ten heads the guy failed to think of the consequence of offering fire to Hanuman’s tail!

Amazement continued! More so, when Hanuman could manage to put his blazing tail into his mouth for a permanent facial tan but couldn’t feel like putting it into the sea, which he actually crossed over by air after finishing off his famous Lanka episode.

God and Sita only knew how tough the days were out in Lanka; however she was ordered by her great husband (Ram) to walk straight into the fire on coming back home… because society demanded it. Peculiar! What a god damned god, I swear!

Now let’s take a peek into the Mahabharata, which also contains no less atypical actions and activities.

In case we start with Dhritarashtra, I don’t know whether the king was actually blind in eyes or on mind. Reason being, his actions and reactions helped one arc his or her eyebrows, incessantly.

Frankly, if a father remained always engaged in child production (101 children, no joke folks) without being bothered about his offspring's education and nourishment, it was pretty obvious that his children would be misguided and spoilt only.

[Sometimes, I seriously contemplate why Dhritarashtra shouldn’t not be given with the due credit on a/c of his labour to unearth the pitcher babies one after another much before the incidence of a test-tube baby took place!]

Exactly that happened with Duryodhan and Dushasan. Not to mention their maternal uncle Shakuni who took ample advantage of this family disorder of the Kauravas complementing his ulterior motives of finishing off the king, eventually, rather smilingly.

Put some light on Yudhistir and the black spots will become so conspicuous in his somewhat honest and prudent character. Really mind-blowing; a man who personified morals, values, principles and truth kept his wife as a bet to be naked in public because he was reluctant to leave a game of gamble, while losing on it badly!

What to say about Kunti! First she got involved with Surya, brought Karna on earth as a result of her pre-marital adventure and then floated her helpless baby in the water to save her painted face from society. Mother’s care, you see! Not only that but also Kunti’s idiosyncrasy was simply unstoppable when, without even seeing what (or whom) Arjun brought home, she ordered her five sons to have the equal share of Draupadi among them. Interesting, that to a concerned mother like Kunti her son’s (or sons’) wife was nothing but a commodity! After all, Draupadi was others’ daughter (read kitten), so why bother, may be that was the thought cooked up in the shallow kitchen of Kunti.

On the other hand, it was very frustrating too, when the people like Vishma, Dronacharya, etc. chose to play the puppets’ role instead of using their weight, might and thoughts to thwart the Kauravas from forcing continuous injustice to the Pandavas. It proved, in fact nakedly, that a chair and its associated lifestyle-perks and privileges have ever been everything to all from time immemorial… till date.

Now, if I don’t mention of none other than Sri Krishna to conclude my viscera report of Mahayana (Mahabharata + Ramayana), it would be a condemnable offense, I admit. Honestly he was the man who held the key and boldly showed the (marketing) world how to steal the limelight from taking off as a saree seller to Draupadi to completing the cycle as a motivational guru to Arjun by selling the Bhagavad Geeta to all, including any Tom, Dick and Harry, or Ram, Sita or Mita.

Finally, NO WONDER that the practices such as Hintuva (not Hinduism, mind you), social niceties (read cruelties), passing-the-buck ploys and the like are still building our nation on others’ profound notion that India is a happening THIRD-WORLD country even in the year 2009!

Devotedly yours,

Sushovan

PS: Feel free to let me know how you’ve liked my Mahayana (Mahabharata + Ramayana) only at
rana12feb@gmail.com

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Accenture is not THE NEXT BEST THING TO > NAKED




What’s the difference between “Accenture” and “Jockey”? No prize for guessing, or answering. Because when the former is synonymous to “Consulting. Technology. Outsourcing.”, the latter stands for “Comfort. Titillation. In-sourcing.”

However, rather interestingly, Accenture concentrated quite hard on their “Business Attire Policy” in recent times. Perhaps the organisation felt that to combat the heat of the global meltdown should never be an in-office “Jockey-ing” – practiced by its employees.

Thus, prophet-ing “Accent on the Future”, Accenture helped the creation of a few ads (as showcased along with this article)… flashing the company’s restrictions on the flesh, skin and brawn shows of its Adams and Eves in office.

It seems, in line with the punch-line “High performance. Delivered.”, Accenture had to do something so dramatic in a desperate effort to keep the “brain-factor” alive among its employees.

Now the point is when worldwide the never-aged maxim says, “Sex Sells!”, can Accenture afford to denounce and deny the flesh-factor of its employees so easily? More so, when on an average an employee spends most of his quality time in office only… at present?

Or the company is too much worried about its female-employees’ calves, shoulders, bare-backs, etc. or its male-employees’ biceps, armpits, and the likes?

If flesh and skin of opposite sex are distractions at workplace, in that case when Adam gave away his apple to Eve for sharing knowledge, may be the first dude of mankind was in his Armani suit, so was the dudette fully wrapped up inside her attire… right?!

For that matter, then the top-to-bottom clothed Talibans are the most productive manpower and womanpower around for any organisation that promises things like: “High performance. Delivered.”

Bizarre! Quite weird! And too some extent pathetic work culture to bring in to any organisation for any employee per se. More so, when it’s 2009!

As a matter of fact, gimmick is nothing new rather an essential part of HR policies (fallacies included) in an organisation. But, when this type of gimmicks goes overboard it actually comes crushing down to the ground reality defining HR as “Humour Resources!”

Frankly, from a concern like Accenture that was the last thing expected. For, Accenture has never needed to worry so early that if the prevalent economic crisis continues; its workforce might come down to office in two-pieces only, eventually. The company could have or still can jolly well rely on its employees cloth-buying capacities at least, if not working abilities, despite of the current financial doldrums.

Finally, people who join an organisation of Accenture stature and calibre have certainly got the greys inside their nuts to opt for “Jockey” in place of “Accenture” – whenever they feel like getting: “THE NEXT BEST THING TO > NAKED.”

Friday, June 5, 2009

From broth to brothel… how relationship travels


You wear shoes? I’m sure you do. So do I. But our respective sizes differ. Hence neither you nor I can get into either’s pair. Tough! Just the reason, matching one’s footsteps is not that easy for others.

But, if we felt like walking beyond the barrier of (self-inflicted) “social jungle”, barefoot, a bit at least, I guess things would have been different in every walk of life. Unfortunate that it never happens, rather we don’t like to get it happened that open and free way.

Reason? None knows. Still our animal instinct flows. Generations after generations, yielding nothing but a BIG ZERO for a BIG HOLLOW, when we love to define ourselves, helplessly, as “social animals”… massaging false egos, flaunting pseudo pride, practicing prejudice, and killing the truest LOVE all around.

Resulting… almost every selfless relationship nips in the bud, divorce helps a marriage go successful, miscarriage fulfills a pregnancy… and the saga of agony and dismay continues. Ironically always in the name of family and relatives, and the likes.

In India we call it ethos, but just outside of our mushy cocoon, our ethos turn into perpetual pathos. Admit it or not. And when it happens, even in the year 2009, the phenomenon can only be described as the SICKNESS OF MIND – incurable, unbearable, and above all else condemnable.

Perhaps that’s why, George Bernard Shaw explained it aptly a long ago: “Marriage is nothing but legal prostitution.” So true. As every unsuccessful marriage is the “broth” duly and intentionally spoilt by many cooks with their ingredients of injurious concern to take away all the “sweet n salt” off a relation… making the “broth” indeed a “brothel” – from where both the husband and the wife get compelled to sell their real emotions, feelings, and eventually themselves to the “bazaar” called society.

Sorry folks! I don’t belong to that society. Because I know my limitations. I know I can never be a “social animal”, instead ever remain a “social human” until I breathe for the last.

And every humiliation on a relationship or a marriage notwithstanding, my fight will continue against this corny society, which actually creates frustration across the length and breadth of lives to promote nothing but “bastard-ism”… in order to breed more and more ailing “social animals” – whose only criterion of living is “suffering from an acute identity crisis”, and thereby forgetting the basics of life that SOCIETY IS FOR HUMANS BUT NOT OTHERWISE.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Alice in YOUnique-land


Next day a presentation was lined up. For that, I was burning my ass in office. Given my fantastic complexion though the burn would hardly affect the tan of my orbs, still the fire was felt. Quite tellingly in fact.

My corneas were aching as well. I needed to catch some sleep. I folded myself somehow in a nearby chair and slipped down instantly… deep into the rabbit hole.

I landed. A tender touch welcomed me there. “Hey who’s this?” My mind enquired.

“Hi, this is Alice!” The tenderness personified, as she introduced herself with a soft smile.

She looked at me. Precisely she looked into my eyes. I was fixed. Mesmerised by her sight.

I never knew her. But her company was so comfortable that in response to her introduction I could only say, “Hi, I just can’t do without you.”

Once said, I was expecting indifference from her. Nope. It didn’t occur. She took her strides toward me. Winged open her arms. Took me in, and asked, “Why? Tell me Rana, why can’t you do without me? I’m serious, tell me why?”

Oops! She even knew my nickname. Amazing!

My heart fluttered. I felt a sudden choke inside. It was getting tough for me to keep the eyes dry. “But, hey, I’m a guy. So can I cry?” Not really. Hence my jaws were struggling to remain softer. Huh! Sadly all in vain. Tears tore me apart. Sent my toughness for a toss. And simply threw me in the air of emotion that I never realised still alive in me.

Weakly, I could murmur, “Because I love you!”

Alice said nothing. She lowered her head on my chest and decided to nest in there. I thought for ever.

In a single moment, life became worth living a million years and everything turned hunky-dory.

Then???????

Then Alice began to get sleepy. She slipped out of my arms and slept in dark. Her world of fantasies, her impossible dreams, and her larger than life confusions started to take its toll on her… and she refused to stay awake anymore in light.

Her heartstring uncoiled off mine, soon. To catch and give credit to the dollars with the wings. And willingly she chose the captivity to the freedom.

Also, from outside of the Rabbit hole, I heard a call. Gosh! The presentation awaited my presence, immediately. “I have to talk, talk, and talk… slide after slide, after slide… notwithstanding the landslide that happened inside.”

I was in a great hurry. I looked at Alice. Kissed on her forehead, caressed her mane (perhaps) for the last time. And silently said, “Tata!”

And on my way up off her, I left behind my heart on the layout of a YOUnique Kurti for Alice, which she can wear, nowhere, but only in the world of YOUnique-land!

To know more about what happens in YOUnique-land, email to me at:
itsyounique@gmail.com

Friday, January 30, 2009

Life's not gonna forget you

I have composed this number for someone special who tried to finish me off rather in cold blood, but to no avail, as like always and as usual I survived and excelled... screwing up every filthy action performed against me -

Life's not gonna forget you
Life's not gonna forgive you
The damage is done...
N you can never return

Think, if you ever wish
Think, if you ever can
Where have you been then
When there was drought but rain
Go, go away from me
It's your last chance to flee

Life's not gonna forget you
Life's not gonna forgive you

No, no more you can lie
No, no more you can ditch
No, no more 'am yours
I've gone outta your reach
Go, go away from me
It's your last chance to flee

Life's not gonna forget you
Life's not gonna forgive you

You made me such a fool
Though I kept loving you
What a shame it was for us
As everything became a fuss
Go, go away from me
It's your last chance to flee

Life's not gonna forget you
Life's not gonna forgive you
The damage is done...
N you can never return

Life's not gonna forget you
Life's not gonna forgive you

Friday, January 23, 2009

Oh Dumbo

12 years, quite a long time... I guess. Still it felt the same, the same kick of happiness and contentment, when I composed this song once again... exactly the way I used to compose and sing for my band "GUNJAN" in mid-nineties.

The muse of this number of mine is a girl, of course. Whom I rather call "Dumbo" despite of her all intelligence, knowledge and wisdom. Because I have the right to call her whatever I want and say to her that I (can still) LOVE.

The lyrics of the number "Oh Dumbo" -

When I fall weak
I think of you
I turn strong n fresh
Kissing morning dew

Oh Dumbo oh.. get, set, go
Oh Dumbo oh.. let our love grow!

When I can't see
I look into your eyes
A brighter dawn appears
With new sunrise

Oh Dumbo oh.. get, set, go
Oh Dumbo oh.. let our love grow!

When I can't breathe
You lend me the air
Everyone goes away
You hold me near

Oh Dumbo oh.. get, set, go
Oh Dumbo oh.. let our love grow!

When I fall sick
N death threatens to kill
You take me to your arms
Giving life's zeal

Oh Dumbo oh.. get, set, go
Oh Dumbo oh.. let our love grow!

I may marry 1000 times
Not to be happy even once
Miss you baby every time
Coz you only my romance

Oh Dumbo oh.. get, set, go
Oh Dumbo oh.. let our love grow!