XXXX XXXX XXX (Title censored after protests by Bad-rang Bull)

Rating: Insane Advisory. Must be read under the supervision of a lunatic.

Disclaimer: The following text is highly contextual and any resemblance to any person or any incident, no matter how far-fetched, might turn out to be true. I am not responsible for anyone’s psychic powers deciphering the import of the statements that follow.

There was once a knight in shining armour who saved the damsel in distress. Since then , they started having long walks and protracted conversations lingering for hours at a stretch. But now, I and the pie’-popper know that the knight, with a crown on his head and wired to the hype-o-ed, has got a chink in his armour.

P.S. The disclaimers are not applicable to any of my sort-ofs….and for the first and last time, the post was not about me. In case any one desires to know the controversial title, a special request needs to be sent to me.

A Few Breaths Lesser

Am I not asking enough questions?
(A sharp metallic hum. Strong dark silence)
Have I lost track in the quest they call life? What is this feeling? Is this an overflow or a void? Why am I getting this feeling, whatever it is? Ah, questions. Why should I ask questions?
(Silence.)
Why did I just do that? Is it my responsibility to do so? Why do we have responsibilities? Why does someone have to do it? Why does it have to be done? Oh, it’s the same feeling again. It’s getting stronger. Sad. Why is it making me feel sad? Why do I feel sad? What is sadness? Ambition. Aspiration. Why do I imagine myself in a better situation? What is better? Why can’t this moment be the best? Does this moment have to be “the best” at all? Can’t I do without being in “the best” moment? Why do I desire? These questions have begun to scare me. I don’t want to ask anymore. I wish I could sleep this moment right here, without an ounce of care in the world.
(“Why is he so quiet today?”
“I don’t know. Diptanshu, what happened?”)
A Question. (Silence.)
(“Oh, nothing.”)
Have I become less articulate? What is this feeling that I get upon her success? Why do I feel angry, bitter and sad for someone else being better? Is this a feeling I should not have? Fear. Why am I so afraid of this feeling? Weak. Why does it make me feel so weak, drained of all the self-exalting confidence I flaunt so often? Why am I afraid of feeling weak? Fear. Hey, I just tried to run away. Wait, do I run away from frightening thoughts every time? Am I a coward deep within? Am I so weak? Ashamed…of myself, of my weakness, of this resentment within me for others’ might. No more questions. Hunger. I must feed myself.
(Silence)
(Footsteps)
Choler. Ire. Why did I let him go? Why did I not hit back? Why did I not give that arrogant piece of dirt a piece of my mind? Is my anger too transient to last a retaliation? Why should I have retaliated? Why do I care? Does it matter anymore? Did it matter to me back then? Should any of it matter at all? Should I care? Why am I here? What do I want? Is there any interminable gain to be obtained from this meaningless existence? If everything is so ephemeral, what am I striving for? Does crying over anything help or, will laughing it off do the job? Is any of these emotions relevant to anything? Void, overflowing.
(Footsteps.)
Hey, I don’t know that person well. We’re only acquainted. Yet, he showed concern. Why did I reciprocate now? What happened to the angry me earlier? Why was I transfixed then? Was I afraid of the consequences? Why did I show concern for this guy? Was it forced or was it impulsive? Is this stimulus in-born? Or, has it been fabricated in me by the society in a senseless act of dictation? Why should I show concern if I don’t feel it? Why does everyone put on such pretenses every insignificant day they live? Why do I do it? Have I not ever questioned such a meaningless consuetude as this before? What use am I to this society if I too stop questioning it? Of what use is this society to me? Why am I so dependant on it? Why do I need the assurance of having atleast one person to look forward to, if everyone else turns his back at me? Fatigue.
(Blackout)
(Silence)
(Blackout)
(“Oh come on, say something. He’s freaking me out.”)

Am I worrying too much about something trivial, missing on something vital? Have I squandered too much and collected little? Hold on…..am I asking too much?
(Silence, Blackout)
(Light, Warmth)
(Air, Smile)

Seeking Solace

I am not afraid of failure. What appalls me is not giving my best.
When I do my best, even the most humiliating of defeats seems to be but a lesson. When I don't, I know that even the most exalting victory is nothing more than a fluke.

As some wise man must have once said;

" It's not the destiny that matters after all. What persists is the road traversed. "

Staad Wads I --- Fall of the Supedhedos

(*The following is an excerpt from digary ---digital diary--- of Fluke Skywalker. The digary was, apparently, inadvertently dropped in a time-travelling contraption and was detected and then captured, even more inadvertently, by my secret time-travelling-contraption intercepting contraption. One of the incidents seems to be dated to 1.3 Janworry, 0 AD. It’s written after the supposed death of Darth Hey-dhar in the lap of his own son whom I’ve been able to identify, after reading lots of the digary, as the straight Fluke himself. Interestingly, AD appears to be After the Death of Darth, which, as I find logical, should have been called ADD. Anyway, AD is also reported to be 23.5 Exceptember, 4172 AD ----Anno Domini. It’s also mentioned that just before his demise, Hey-dhar muttered something which seemed to be a query about kun-taynts of some random course called something like “I’m a Bengali rockstaad, tay-day ko kya padoblem hai?” Though this something doesn’t have any particular relevance as such, but demanded a mention due to its idiosyncratic mention again and again. Also, the writer seems to have a feverish predilection for a seemingly sacrosanct phrase, “May the force, chores and whores be with you.” Must have been a powerful, obedient, pervert kid, I must say.*)

A long time ago, in a galaxy not far away, there existed a planet called Earth inhabited by an unevolved, weird, diminutive species called Homo sapiens. The problem with these creatures was that they kept quarrelling amongst themselves for miniscule gains and sometimes, not even for that. Appallingly, the pitiful Homo sapiens failed to accept the futility of the constant bickering during their short life-spans. It’s said that they seemed to possess dark forces like ego, jealousy and the likes, which led them into bitter feuds. In their fanatical one-upmanship, Homo sapiens began to misuse the natural resources present on the beautiful Earth. This led to wide-scale pollution and rapid depletion of the resources.

On the planet Earth, there existed an even more beautiful territory (called country) by the name of India. This territory was abundant in natural resources and was, at one point of time, blessed with intellectuals of caliber far exceeding the others and comparable to creatures of today. It’s said, however, that incessant invasion of the territory by people from other territories enfeebled its core cultural and intellectual identity. The invasions were so powerful that even after liberation, people did not relent from stooping lower still. This resulted in a lot of corruption and again, pollution. These two factors, as is the legend, led to the fall of superheroes of yore and ultimately, rise of the diabolical ass-kit-ball player Darth Hey-dhar.

In the year -2165 AD, a massive congregation of superheroes was planned in Delhi, the capital city of India. The gathering was called Pee-8 and was convened to discuss means to tackle global problems like pollution, child labour, poverty, IIT female Homo sapiens, remixes, hip-hop, She-may Fray-shammiya, Mooli-kha Sharafat etc. The superheroes belonging to the conclave were called developed superheroes. Also present at the time were other “developing” and “under-developed” superheroes. The legend has it that all the superheroes died in Delhi. Here’s how;

1) Superman: The invincible, herculean superhero possessed extra-ordinary abilities like flight, laser eyes and the most envied ability; to see through objects, most notable amongst which were clothes. On that fateful day, while flying over the outskirts of Delhi, Superman happened to pass over Najafgarh drain.

Apparently, the local organization which was responsible for drainage, also called Municipality Corporation of Delhi (MCD), thought of it as an ingenious plan to make their young ones exposed to and thence, immune to environmental adversities. Sadly, though, it led to large-scale genetic mutation and gave rise to evil species like Rash-us driver-us, Pervert-o rapist-us, 764 conductorus, Slum-y dweller-us and the most dreaded of them all, Iit girl-phus. The drain was replete with all sorts of junk possible. It gave away obnoxious fumes having an acrid smell, a heady concoction of poisonous chemicals.

Unknown to and unforeseen by Superman, the fumes also contained his only weakness; Kryptonite. He was forced to inhale lethal amounts of Kryptonite, which led to his death. The inhabitants of Najafgarh mistook him for the monkey-man and called the police and the paramedics. As was the custom at that time, which I find to be very peculiar, the police and the paramedics reached a good hour and a half later. What ensued was complete furore. Indian rulers blamed its neighbouring territory, Pakistan, for the tragedy. Employees of various local organizations, particularly MCD, were relieved of their jobs. An inquest was swiftly ordered and the investigating authority, Delhi Coolies, hastily came up, perplexing as it may sound, with a list of suspects. Autopsy reports reported strangulation of the deceased and then backtracked on its statement, citing suicide as the reason, only to revert back to murder. Rumour has it that records relating to the inquest; compiled in one of the most durable, long-lasting, clever contraption ever made and called Indian government files; are there to be discovered floating in space.

2) Batman: One of his kind, a superhero without any superpower, Batman used his intelligence to beguile even the disguised. But alas!! Even his intelligence could not shield him against official apathy and the murky world of Indian politics. Due to airport staff strikes in India, a concept highly practiced and prevalent during those times, Batman was forced to shun Batplane in favour of Batmobile to travel. Driving over the bumpy roads of India, a tough ordeal in itself, Batman found his Batmobile engulfed in the infamous Gujjar strikes. The Gujjars, as is believed, were followers of Batman’s arch-nemesis Jokers and used to play practical jokes & political gimmicks.

Being the Good Samaritan that he was, he chose to evade the mob rather than kicking their posteriors. Hooking his grappling hook to one of the skyscrapers in a place called Gurgaon, Batman landed on a busy traffic intersection. Left all to himself, fighting paan-stains (which, even his special batsuit couldn’t exuviate), sweltering heat, Batman got Delhi belly, an ailment, and died soon thereafter.

3) Spiderman: A hybrid between spider, another species belonging to that era, and Homo Sapiens; Spiderman was known far and wide for his crying antics, adolescent mood swings & rebellious behaviour and, at times, for his agile body & spider sense. On his way to the Pee-8 summit, Spiderman’s websling got entangled in a horde of people. Fate always has the luxury of circumstances as its conniving partner and so it did at that moment. Spiderman got carried away with the mob to their destination, Baybay Kaam-de’s camp. After laying witness to the various pliant stances of Baybay, Spiderman got intimidated and felt that his girlfriend, Meri Pain, is cheating on him with Baybay. A challenge was raised and a duel followed. After 5 excruciating days of body-wrenching stances, Spidey’s body started whining and gave way. “Meri back, Meri Pain. Hasta Lavista Baybay.”, cried Spidey just before his quietus.

The fate of five others, I shall demystify later. But before that, let me expound upon the rise of the nefarious Hay-dhar, the Dark Fourses and the saviours of our times, the aa-ay ha-ay chee students, the group of farcical Homo sapiens. Even the bare mention of the likes of gunnyraj, troo the flu, Sexy Sam, a hoop, yell jo, half pant, chee po and of course, dipped 'n shooed were enough to give enemies agonizing moments of stomach pain from laughter, to set them rolling into convulsive fits of laughter.

(*The above text was translated from Sanskrit. The rest will be deciphered, as soon as I learn how to get to the next page in the digary.*)

21

“ Except ye become as little children, except you can wake on your fiftieth birthday with the same forward-looking excitement and interest in life that you enjoyed when you were five, ye cannot enter the kingdom of God. One must not only die daily, but every day we must be born again. “
-- Sayers, Dorothy L.


Unlike many other Homo sapiens, I don’t fret when confronted with the number called age. I treat it the way it should be, like a plain number. A silly fact that’s used in filling forms and helps doctors to judge the metabolic stage of Homo sapiens. Once one forces one’s hesitant psyche to go beyond the numerical nitty-gritty, all’s left to one’s prerogative. In short, one’s as old as one believes to be.
A lot of Homo sapiens, which pretty much includes everyone who knows me, think that I am childish. Well, I admit to have always been in awe of children. The infectious enthusiasm, the relentless curiosity, the ability to switch from sorrow to joy in an instant, the ability to be happy rather than just wanting to be, the gift of sleeping without a worry in the world. There are a lot of weaknesses as well. Agreed. But then, why look for qualities one does not want to imbibe? So much for positive thinking.
But then, yes, it’s time I grew up.

Anyway, there’s a list of things that I desire to possess but have not acquired yet. It omits a lot of things I now consider frivolous but wanted some time back. I present it to assist those who intend to give me gifts on my 22nd birthday. Also, I’m not being a whiner. I know it’s better to count one’s blessings than otherwise but desire is what keeps us alive.
No matter what the circumstances be, whether it’s befitting or not, I’ll get the following for myself someday (said with the grit, confidence and awe-inspiring tone of Cinderella man or whatever).

The tip of an iceberg (no preference order):
-> a pair of good formal-shoes
-> an ipod
-> Playstation (3)
-> a violin
-> a PC/laptop with the best configuration
-> a watch
-> a cricket bat with two sets of wickets
-> a football
-> a tennis racket
-> two badminton racquets
-> a car with all state-of-the-art techno-gadgets
-> Happyness
-> my own cricket ground/ stadium/ whatever’s more viable
-> tuna spread
-> a cruise tour with Brittany Murphy

What I can no longer become (but wanted to, in chronological order):
-> Mathematician (first love: maths)
-> Magician
-> Cricketer (fast bowler)
-> Classical singer
-> Theater actor
-> NBA player
-> Tall...on second thoughts, lets make that taller (still some scope, the eternal optimist that I am)

P.S. I never wanted to become a super-hero, as most of young tween want to.

Peeeee Pee-pip

This one, like all other events, starts with the Big-Bang, or whichever way the Universe was created. (Why do people care anyway?) However, setting aside all the details I deem unnecessary, allow me to come straight to the point. Also, let me try and keep it short this time (no pun, no intention, not funny).
Homo sapiens of my college are required to waste 50 priceless summer vacation days to undergo summer training. Sahee, Lullee (not a sheep, not even a female Homo sapiens) and I (a resounding applause, accompanied by generous doses of catcalling and appreciative whistling by the front-row audience) got selected by SRF. After much contestation, Lullee was selected to be butchered in Bhiwadi. Sahee and I were placed in Gurgaon. So, it started on 14th of May, when I heard that sound for the first time.
On the first day, all we expected us to be forced to do was to get acquainted with the L’ affaires of the office and that is what we almost ended up doing. We got introduced to the technical staff, which has more than half a dozen alumni Homo sapiens from my college, and to some from the administration. Here’s my first impression; hard working Homo sapiens, nice and accommodating; HR Homo sapiens appear to have abnormally fast internal metabolisms; lunch’s good; though usually impassive, people start whistling and singing in the company bus. Towards the end of the first day, both of us were summoned by our training supervisor. So, we’ve to prepare design documents for distillation and heat transfer, which, would take loads of theoretical studying and sifting.
On the second day, our tables are assigned and this is where my ordeal begins. I get a table right in front of the floor entrance and all I get to hear all day long is “Peeeee Pee-pip”. Apparently, some SRF techno-freak decided to install access machines at every floor entrance….and nobody protested.
So, every time the machine’s used, which, gallingly, happens quite a lot, “Peeeee Pee-pip” rams its way through my ears and down the auditory canals to the tympanic membranes. Well, I know so much because I tried to find a solution to the problem by studying the whole hearing system. Anyway, I get to hear the sound when I’m about to sleep while studying, when I wake up, while I’m concentrating on the gargantuan work at hand, while having lunch and while all other nominal activities in between, which includes studying. What unnerves me even more is the fact that it can possibly attack my subconscious when I’m half-asleep, studying. I don’t want to become a pee-holic/peep-aholic/whatever. The only gratifying fact is that I’ll get an access card soon and can then, make the sound come out of the @#$ing machine anytime I want. In a way, I’ll conquer the sound, rule over it. It’ll play to my tunes…and, I’ve already started losing it.
While writing this post, I got two more reasons to crib about. First, a Punjabi ringtone. The guy, brazenly, never puts his cell on silent mode. Second, another guy talking on his phone as loudly as pot-bellied neighbourhood Sharmaji laughing at his jokes and as brazenly as the previous guy. Another observation, the guy seems to be under a strange illusion that a well-formed English sentence must comprise of at least four “like”s and have to be pronounced as likeuhh. Annoying, brain-jamming, to say the least.

P.S. Thank god Sahee’s here. The F in SRF is fibres and not fertilizers. There’s one cute girl in the office. Whippiee.

Me

Maybe. Maybe not. But it's close.

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