THE REAL STORY

On a new note of re-beginning and retelling, many might want to know if at all I believed in the prophecies of the world ceasing to exist on December 21, 2012. To be precise, I didn’t! Not before, I had reposted on my blog. Did I miss updating it? I did. Did I manage to get rightfully inspired? I did. So much has happened over these last five months. Rise, fall, debacle, devastations, evolution, diminution and so much more to make me feel at unease with life. For a moment, I had sacrificed the thoughts of continuing to blog. Three things that kept me going strongly were – reading, writing and being loved. But two thoughts kept me thinking vividly – frustration and facilitation. Silently yet vociferously, I survived. I kept the grit alive to come back to write – THE REAL STORY.

It was on September 22, 2005 at exactly 22:45 hours that I filed my first post under my personal blog - http://bengalsurprise.blogspot.in/; I never knew the kind of relationship that I was getting into. Irresistible was my lust for seamless writing. Between many professional heartbreaks and personal displeasures, it was a decision to hop on to the then called bandwagon of starting to blog. Right from its inception, I wanted to set a dark context for my blog. I was never bothered about opinions. I was only driven by the preying quality of this epidemic to start my very own blog. Being a sinner myself, I could have never thought of preaching. Being insane myself, I could have never agreed with my brutal conscience to write sanely. Not a saint and so much more of a shaitan, I had to make a head start somewhere, someday!

THE REAL STORY is not a piece of ode to my salt sprinkled journey of life. Neither is it a sugar coated monologue of my many misadventures. THE REAL STORY is the other side of the real side that I am privy to. THE REAL STORY begins from that point of life when I refused to walk into an office of monotonous schedules. THE REAL STORY begins from the 10^th floor of Maker Chambers 4 where a hair-greased-with-oil Depot Manager turned my life upside down by kicking my ass off to a gallows like destination – Bhiwandi. It was a premium price; I had paid for being honest. THE REAL STORTY is a recap from the first day of being on my first job and reporting to a wrongly-believed-to-be-an-inebriated boss, whom I still consider to be my best boss. I learnt from him, one basic truth of life – LIFE MEY NA BHENC@#@ KABHI KISISE DARNA MAT. I saw him passionately running to an abandoned spot, to capture a moment of rapid action on his camera. That rapid action was of two cobras trying to tangle each other. He walked back valiantly, looked at me and proclaimed – AGAR AISA KUCH MISS KAREGA TOH DUNIYA TUJHE CHUT@#@ BANATI RAHEGI AUR TU CHUT@#@ BANTA RAHEGA. Did I ever look back to him after that incident? Yes, I did till the day he took off to Kuwait; abusing me for not holding a valid Indian passport. His last words to me were – TERE JAISA BARA BEWAQOOF MAINE NAHI DEKHA. His only desire was to take me along to the Middle East. When I asked him why? He had specifically replied – PURU IS THE ONLY ONE WHOM I HAVE EVER KNOWN TO HAVE RUBBED HIS ASS AGAINST ALL ODDS JUST LIKE ME, ALMOST LIKE A REAL BROTHER OF MINE.

I moved on. The illicit affair with Nariman Point continued. During late evenings, I watched many a young things age in the confines of cars parked motionlessly by the footpaths. During the dead of nights, I realized someone follow me and solicit my attention. The affair only ended when I got whisked away by another destination – Worli. THE REAL STORY’s twist which had waited to arrive finally arrived. I stepped into the big, ad world of limitless desires. Much to the dismay of my father, who had predicted my downfall from the following instances – 1) I was never able to fix a TV antenna, 2) I chose earning a Bachelor of Arts degree over my friends pursuing engineering and science, 3) I showed keen interest in music, movies, moodiness, 4) I kept pushing myself to a corner of my room and taking notes, and 5) I gaped at the TV Commercials, maintained cutouts of print ads and spoke animatedly about advertisement. My heart broke when I earned my first ever appointment with real triumph in advertising and my father left for his heavenly abode. I still remember the day December 1, 2001; he had for the first time spoken something, I can never forget – I TELL EVERYONE ABOUT MY SON BEING IN THIS CRAZY THING CALLED ADVERSITING. HE BUYS BOOKS WORTH THOUSANDS OF RUPEES. AND I STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT HE DOES. I rushed back early in the evening, from my diploma classes in Churchgate, packing all the props and materials required to be presented in the biggest ever viva, which was supposed to earn me the best job in one of the best agencies in India. I arrived home. Beneath my building, I saw an ocean of people waiting for me, not to greet me. But to break an untoward news! As I started ascending on the staircase confused and concerned, a neighbor held me tight and screamed – Be Strong. By the time, I reached my home on the third floor; I felt cheated by destiny and by God. Lying on a clean sheet of cloth was my father; calm and composed. My strong as iron mom, hiding her face behind unknown faces. Whatever I was carrying in my hand, slipped off. I just yelled – Baba. My childhood friend Prashant, my college buddy Nikhil & his family and my whole family stood by me. Eleven years is a long time and yet that feeling of being cheated hasn’t healed. His demise was just the beginning of a series of calamities that followed. Broken, challenged, erased; I embarked on a quest for THE REAL STORY that I wanted to be a part of. Maybe it was his death that helped me unmask the ugly side of Indian politics. A prominent political personality didn’t shy away from issuing a direct threat to me – BAAP MAR GAYA TOH SAMAJH PAISA BHEE GAYA; ZYADA UDEGA TOH TU BHEE JAAYEGA.

Angry, frustrated, heartbroken and derailed; I continued looking for inspiration to fuel THE REAL STORY. The Indian film industry was so far, an alien element. The only source to quench my thirst for creative inspirations, the film industry had its own pros and cons. Work was good, money was bad. Temptations were fierce, after effects were formidable. Never wanting to bid adieu to the illusion of being associated with an industry where I met lyricists, musicians, producers, directors, writers, junior artists, aspirants and the unsuccessful(s); I had to take a tough stand and knock on doors to ask for money. This was just the beginning of my begging days. Sometimes shooed away by a dog and sometimes a door slammed by a familiar personality from the world of television on my face, I ran away looking for answers in the Arabian Sea. I sat on the Marine Drive and continued sitting through late hours. I looked around me, how the world changed. From happy couples to client soliciting professionals, I discovered human stories. For the first time, I saw a woman lift her veil and press a cigarette between her lips. I astoundingly saw her take puffs after puffs. After crushing the butt beneath her feet, she took a few steps towards me then turned back and landed a tight slap on the face of the man who had accompanied her. She hailed for a taxi and disappeared. The man looked back at me, looked around and drove away in his car; only leaving me with an inspiration to culminate into a love story, I wish to go back to and complete writing about two characters – Nayantara and Neelanjan on http://nayantaraandneelanjan.blogspot.in/.

THE REAL STORY is still not what it seems like. It is as lethal and as acidic like that sensation of seeing your heart being set ablaze with a truth, you had never wanted to encounter. Deceived by a person you were once madly in love with. A close friend being chosen over you and to be shattered into pieces by an invitation to the most hated wedding of a lifetime! Once again an inspiration to evolve into something as heart wrenching as the letters, I would love to invoke on http://esotericletters.blogspot.in/.

But THE REAL STORY is far more elusive than just being an illusive replica of the ‘Real Me’ and categorically vociferous. Because it brought me closer to the man, I considered my guru in advertising – Prasoon Joshi. I remember, I had met him once and told him – I AM READY TO SWEEP THE FLOORS OF YOUR OFFICE, PROVIDED YOU GIVE ME ONE OPPORTUNITY. Who can forget the year 2010, when that dream translated into reality and I walked home with not one but two awards and a precious reward! The award was the biggest to come by in the healthcare segment. The idea was the most gigantic to keep up with benchmarks set by other stalwarts in healthcare advertising. The imagination was the most eccentric when approved by one extremely passionate Ryan Menezes. The journey towards success, powered by the video created by someone as talented as Monisha Rana Raj. And someone as talented as Ulka, who believed in my idea, my madness and more over in me to make my dream come true. Not only did she inspire a new episode of THE REAL STORY. But she went ahead in winning over rudeness, indifference, impatience and harshness of someone as intolerable as me.

Having consumed many a combined packages of success and failures later garnished with uncreative endeavors, once again the mind is breathing. Inhaling the aroma of creative freedom once again, I am all set to reemphasize that my passion for writing continues to be alive. I am still as unchained as I used to be when I started my creative journey twelve years back. Inspired by the will power of one important human being in my life, my mother… I never abandoned what I took over. My mother is my friend, my mentor, my motivator and everything to me. So is my better half, imagining and ideating with me incessantly.

THE REAL STORY has no ending. And THE REAL STORY would not have been a story at all, had it not been the presence of friends like Prashant, Swati, Nikhil, Satish (for always pushing me to write more), Rohini (for believing & trusting), Shankari (for motivating) and many others. A separate blog post is required to present the untiring list of friends, who pulled me out of depressing moments.

To (un)conclude, THE REAL STORY re-begins from today. My apologies to those, whom I have either tried deliberately or unknowingly to hurt! My sincere gratitude to my four siblings – Antara, Arpita, Udayan and Nibedita for making me feel sane and more.

On an ending note, but with a fresh breath of re-beginning; all I wish to say – THE REAL STORY is not yet the same; as written and read. THE REAL STORY in reality is a never ending saga of being a virtuous vociferous - UNABASHED AND UNDEFEATED.

-vociferous