The Night before… PART 7

Pritish’s anger was about to explode when suddenly the lights went off following a technical snag. But within five minutes the entire place automatically lit up. Gary was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared. Pritish gasped for breath having utilised his energy to criticise Gary and his gory plans. He pushed himself towards the bar. Seated on one of the chairs he asked the bar tender to serve him whisky on the rocks. In one single breath he downed it without the wink of an eye. As he sat there frowning, he once again was interrupted by a pat on his back. With the glass gripped tightly in his palm, he turned round to attempt hitting Gary. Only this time it wasn’t Gary but a female with a slender body, dressed seductively in black and smiling.

“Do you have a light?” inquired the woman.
“I don’t smoke,” replied Pritish.
“What kind of man are you? A non smoker. Hard to believe, easy to rubbish,” replied the woman.
“What’s your name?” questioned Pritish.
“Mallika. And may I ask your name?” replied the woman.
“Pritish. That’s my name” replied Pritish.
“It is very strange to see you sitting alone in a party that is supposed to be full of escorts. Haven’t you helped yourself or your preferences are a little different from the normal guys?” teased Mallika.
“No! I am straight. By the way, who are you and what are you doing in here?” asked Pritish irritatedly.
“I am an escort brought here to entertain a guest who was flown all the way from Alaska,” said Mallika. She continued, “Sadly it turned out he is a gay and I was shown the door.”

Quite amused, Pritish was finally meeting and interacting with an escort face to face. Inquisitively he asked Mallika, “So what happened next?”
“Nothing,” replied Mallika.
“I ended up at this bar asking you for a light and only to feel upset about the fact that you don’t smoke,” continued Mallika.
“So what next?” asked Pritish.
“Let’s see what the night has in stock for both of us. Maybe you would be interested in getting entertained by me?” replied Mallika teasingly to Pritish.

The Night before… PART 6

“I am Gary Renward,” introduced the voice.
Recharging his mind Pritish replied, “It’s my pleasure meeting you Gary. I hope you don’t take an offence for being addressed by your first name?”
“Buddy I never mind being addressed by my first name. In fact I insist that people do so more often. It helps in smoothening relationships – personal and professional as well,” replied Gary with a mischievous smile on his face.
A little later while they continued conversing, Gary was joined by a scantily dressed female. Gary introduced her to Pritish saying, “My date for night”.
Pritish never needed to be explained that she was more than a date. To be precise she was Gary’s mate whose fate was at stake tonight. Foreigners are renowned for their abusing habits on bed. Pritish knew that once they drag an Indian female to their room, they rob her of everything starting from dignity to morality and strip her of everything only to assault sexually night after night.
“I hope you enjoy the party Mr. Pri…,” Gary confused over Pritish’s name.
“Pritish! You can call me Pritu,” remarked Pritish with a warm smile.
“P2 would be fine. Sounds like a processor inside a CPU. P2, enjoy yourself. We have got the finest of wine, hottest of women and miraculous of wonders for our guests to explore,” announced Gary. He introduced Pritish to his partners willing to invest in India and escorted by their dates for night. Instructing a steward to serve Pritish well, Gary disappeared for some while with his escort. He was nowhere to be seen for at least two hours. Pritish knew what he was up to. Finally Gary made his appearance this unescorted. He once again joined Pritish and started discussing his plans referring to the meeting he had with Kunal the other day.
“India is beautiful P2. It is here I realised how understanding women are. We men are nothing compared to their intellect level. I have made up my mind to hire 90% females as my employees and the 10% can be handled by able men,” spoke Gary.
“I appreciate your gesture Gary. In a way you are helping the Indian women achieve their dream to be independent and on their own,” appreciated Pritish.

Thereafter Gary shared with Pritish how he planned to expand the call centre that was already operating from Powai in Mumbai. Gary eyed the women more than having taken interest in talking animatedly over his plans for a call centre based in India with Caribbean roots. After all the invitation had read Revel an evening of wine, women and wonders.

Pritish checked his watch third time in the two hours that he had been at the party. Everywhere that he looked men and women were immersed in the blissful experience of consuming alcohol without a hiccup to bother. Wine was just a metaphor to curtail controversies. Vodka flowed like water, whisky was splashed like lime juice and there was rum, gin and everything else that kept members of both sex busy. Pritish had already started feeling lonely, a little ignored and confused. Once again he was interrupted by Gary who this time came escorted with two females.

“P2! Make your choice,” surprised Gary.
“Excuse me Gary, I fail to interpret your presentation,” exclaimed confusingly to Gary.
“Too perfect of an English to bowl me P2. I said make your choice from these two females. It’s an evening of wine, women and wonders. Don’t you remember?” said Gary.
Pritish was not only surprised but he wondered whether Gary was the same person who had expressed his concern to Kunal over call centre employees choosing to be escorts as a part time career. It was obvious that Gary was himself a part of a nexus between the world he talked about and a world he created to exist. No doubt he was indeed the author of the stories he narrated to the world out there. There were millions who disbelieved him and there were the likes of Kunal who bought his story, too it ahead and made it appear like a fact that was unexplored.

“I think so I should make a move now Gary,” said Pritish.
“Come on P2, be a good boy. Spice up your life,” resisted Gary.
“Gary! Let me tell you I never get fooled by half baked stories. You might have convinced Kunal. After coming here I realise every thing is not what it made you seem like,” yelled Pritish.
“Ok! Now chill your outrage. I leave it up to you whether you want to be entertained by the lady to my right who has her navel pierced or the one to my left who is an expert at playing hide and seek,” replied Gary without a sign of remorse.

The Night before… PART 5

Finally arrived the 25th day of the first month of 2008. Having kept busy with two exhaustive meetings Pritish was feeling a bit giddy. Kunal had already flown to Bangalore that afternoon. Stella sat thinking and reading her favourite Mells & Boons. The Ice Spice creative team kept doing what they enjoyed the most that is of doing nothing and hooked to chatting.

Pritish chose therefore to not make it to the office. The weekend syndrome was fast catching up. He called up Stella and informed of his absence from office. At around 6 p.m. Pritish bathed and shaved the little stubble that had developed on his face. Though he considered getting his hair trimmed a bit, he muted that thought and prepared himself for the party. He had to leave a little early to avoid getting stuck in the traffic. South Mumbai at least doesn’t boast the kind of traffic one gets to feel frustrated about. Besides travelling in his brand new Toyota Corolla to a suburb well explored in the past was much of a risk. Zooming his way through the broad roads, by lanes and the single slum flooded lane that led to the five star hotel Pritish finally was at peace at himself. The Grand Hyatt had been his favourite ever since he acquainted himself with the world of advertising. This is where he had met Nilanjana at a party and their romance had bloomed while dining at the China House restaurant. He had treated innumerable clients at the ‘M’ restaurant. But he was visiting this place after two years. In the mean time, he had preferred the Trident or the Taj over the Hyatt. His dress code being quite identical, he was approached by a concierge and led to The Courtyard which is located exactly behind the main reception zone. The artificial waterfall was well lit and the cone shaped structure was decorated with chilly lights which made it seem livelier. Pritish remembered how Nilanjana had demanded that their reception party be held at this place. A wind of memories swiped over his mind. Nilanjana was no more with him but her thoughts had never left him. He might have bedded budding Bollywood beauties, understudy theatre artists and eager-to-debut-on-the-ramp models but Nilanjana or her thoughts could never be substituted or replaced. She was desirable and addictively beautiful. Over the years while Pritish got busy with Ice Spice Nilanjana had started feeling ignored. They set up a model supplying agency Glam Sham to save their marriage. But things never got even. Lastly Nilanjana fell for a budding male model, bedded him secretly and deserted Pritish in the middle of a night. Pritish had gone as far as Delhi to look out for her but she was nowhere to be found. At her home town in Kolkata her parents shunned Pritish by slamming the door on his face but Nilanjana was still untraceable. Over a time she disappeared like a mystery in the events of time. Pritish was lost in Nilanjana’s thoughts when he was interrupted by a pat on his back.

The Night before… PART 4

Pritish walked out of the Thought Room to find a well dressed man standing in front of him. In his hand the man held a black coloured envelope slightly bigger from the usual ones. It was glossy, shining and accompanied with a black coloured parcel. The words Special Invitation were imprinted in special gold colour.

Pritish inquired about the addresser. To which the person carrying the parcel replied, “This is a personal invitation to you from Mr. Renward. All I am aware of is, it comprises of an invitation card and guessing the weight of this parcel, all I can say is it might be some kind of gift made of heavy cloth.”

Not doubting the man’s brilliance, Pritish accepted it with a thankful gesture and signed on a special folder like confirmation of receipt leaflet. Returning back to the Thought Room, Pritish held the parcel in his left hand and the invitation to his right. Placing the parcel on the centre table, he unpacked the envelope. Inside was laid a card that had the words imprinted in gold:

Renward & Co.
cordially invites you to an evening of prelude
to our brand new Indian endeavour.

Revel an evening of wine, women and wonders.

Your arrival would be eagerly awaited.

In the event of you not making it to the event,
a friendly call from you can make us feel sufficed.

Date: January 25, 2008
Venue: Hotel Courtyard - Grand Hyatt, Mumbai
Time: 8 p.m. to heaven knows when

R.S.V.P.: Lorina Menzes 99796 *****

Turning towards Kunal, Pritish inquired, “Isn’t this our new Caribbean client?”

“But, Of Course!” replied Kunal.
“Where you aware of this party,” inquired Pritish.
“Certainly not,” responded Kunal.

As Kunal finished speaking to Pritish, his residence number flashed on his I-Phone. Excusing himself to attend the call, Kunal spoke - “Yes! Tell me darling. What is it?”
“There is a courier for you. Should I receive it on your behalf?” inquired Rekha, Kunal’s wife of two years.
“Sure. Do it,” replied Kunal.

Realising that the courier was from the same place, Kunal turned to Pritish and informed, “A courier has also arrived at my place.”
“Today being January 23, the party is to be attended day after tomorrow,” said Pritish.
“I can’t make it, Rekha and we are flying to Bangalore to be with her parents,” commented Kunal.
“Do you suggest I go alone or perhaps send some one else?” questioned Pritish.
Looking closely at the invitation Pritish held, Kunal said, “It is a private invitation with a bar code pasted on the rear of the envelope. That means the entry is reserved for only Mr. Pritish Bera. I suggest you attend it.”

The only person to feel uncomfortable over the entire conversation was Stella. She had not taken kindly to the words Revel an evening of wine, women and wonders.
After all the discussions concerned to the party, Pritish once again resumed speaking over the new client that Ice Spice was about to cater to. Having briefed his team, turned to Stella.

Pritish informed Stella, “I wish to attend the party.”
“Do as you wish, why bother me?” pat came a disapproving reply from Stella.
Taken aback, Pritish fired back, “Watch that tone of yours Stella. The next time you do this to me, I shall be replying you in a much sterner way.”
Stella went speechless again.

The Night before… PART 3

Kunal replied, “First and foremost he wants us to work on a powerful communication inviting more and more youngsters to join this call centre.” He further explained to Pritish how the Caribbean envisioned a great endeavour. His only concern Kunal explained to Pritish was of the falling numbers of youngsters making up their minds to join call centres. The media expose on growing numbers of drug abuse, illicit relationships in office and other malpractices in the BPO sector had started discouraging youngsters in hopping on to the bandwagon. Pay package was never a problem but the market was getting flooded with rumours of BPO employees opting for part time escorts (mostly females) or gigolos (toy boys) by sometimes day and sometimes late nights.

After having taken stock of the enlightening conversation Pritish had with Kunal, he glanced at his watch. Ticking 5 minutes remaining to 1 pm, Pritish turned to Kunal who was busy filing back the papers he had taken out some time back.
Pritish asked Kunal, “Would you mind joining me for lunch?”
“No! I am taking Sonia out for lunch. She needs to be made a thing or two understood. I envision her handling the Caribbean account.” said Kunal.
Pritish promptly inquired, “Are you sure she will be able to handle it?”
“Don’t you worry Pritu, Sonia is an MBA and she should learn a thing or two a little faster than we expect from her. I will meet you in the Thought Room.,” signed off Kunal.
Pritish dialled Stella’s extension to inquire about whether she had ordered the lunch for both of them.
“Chicken masala with tandoor roti, I kept it ordered for you dear. Once it arrives shall join you” replied Stella.
After the ordered food arrived Stella joined Pritish. Exchanging a few romantic glances, both wrapped up the lunch to team up again in the Thought Room at sharp 2.30 p.m.
Pritish was impressed to see his team come together with a little bit of higher energy levels. Once again the team settled down to start with the brain storming session. Pritish rose from his chair with a white board marker in his hand. Turning his attention to the team, he began talking.

“All of us are aware that we are about to start serving a new client. It is a Caribbean company that is poised to set up a call centre catering to selected countries. Thankfully guys back here in India will no more have to resort to ugly accents that alienate them from their real self.” said Pritish.

As he breathed a little to continue further, he was interrupted a call on the phone installed at the centre of the table. It was the receptionist on the other end informing Pritish of an important invitation that had arrived by courier.
Pritish frowned, “Why am I supposed to receive a courier? You have been doing it for the past two years ever since you were appointed to illuminate our reception zone.”
“I agree with you Sir! But this seems to be a special invitation that has not arrived through an ordinary courier. It needs to be hand delivered with the concerned person accepting it personally. It is packaged in a special way. If you can just make yourself available for five minutes?” hung up Rebecca.

The Night before… PART 2

And the story begins…

Like every year, the first week of January 2008 was as eventful as the many years bygone. Seated alone in his office, Pritish was anxiously awaiting his team’s arrival on a rather lazy Monday. The first one to make it to the Thought Room was Stella Dolas, Pritish’s secretary and secret squeeze. Thought Room was where the Ice Spice team had over the years cracked many advertising codes. Adjusting her glasses and straightening her short skirt, she settled on the first chair installed on the right hand side of Pritish.
Looking straight into his eyes she apologetically said, “So sorry Pritu; couldn’t make it to your place last night. Simpson is in the town.”
Disallowing himself to look amused, Pritish replied, “I’ve become immune to such excuses. Ask our copywriter to pen a few for your sake. And please don’t mask your sniffing habits by lying about Simpson’s sudden visit.”
Sensing trouble Stella chose to mute her thoughts and voice. The second person to arrive was Kunal Hasti, Pritish’s trusted account head and aide. Over the years Kunal has not only taken Ice Spice to greater heights but also managed to retain an impressive clientele. He never had to apologise to Pritish because he was allowed privileges of supreme nature.
Positioning himself on the first chair installed on the left hand side of Pritish, Kunal opened a file and spoke out, “The weekend has been hectic. While others in our team have been cooling off their heels at a suburban resort, I was stuck with this Caribbean client.” Glancing at Kunal, Pritish inquired, “Any breakthrough?”
Kunal was quick to reply, “Yes! But it took lot of convincing to break the Caribbean cart. He has agreed to appoint us as their agency for their soon to be launched endeavour in India.”
Satisfied and slightly relieved, Pritish turned towards Stella and signalled her to check out where the others were.

“This is Stella. Where are you guys? Pritu is here and I am sure, the team’s absence will not keep him in the best of spirits. Better hurry up and ask the others to accelerate their speed and make it to office at the soonest,” hung up Stella. .
Huddling his way through disarranged chairs, combing his hair with his thin fingers; Parth entered the Thought Room. Before Pritish or Kunal could question his delay, Parth spoke out. “Apologies, apologies, apologies… I should have avoided Tequila. Believe me, I tried my best but I was blackmailed to do a macho act.”
Pritish promptly inquired, “And who is to be blamed for it?”
Parth remained silent.
They were then joined by Sonia Sukhani, the Client Servicing Executive who had not yet learnt to decode a client brief. Pritu’s interaction with Sonia always remained imbalanced like the misaligned wheels of a bouncy bicycle. The two designers Alok Awasthi and Tulika Kentucky entered the Thought Room like conjoined twins separated forcibly. At a glimpse, Pritish could make out how much harder his team had partied over the weekend. Sensing boredom, he postponed the meet and signalled Stella to organise a post lunch brainstorming session.

Followed by Kunal, Pritish entered his cabin. After he positioned himself on his lounge sofa Pritish asked Kunal, “So… how tough was the Caribbean cart?”
To which Kunal gaspingly replied, “As tough as titanium. Only God could have been able to melt/break him.”
Pritish teasingly asked Kunal, “You mean to say in the Almighty’s absence you played God!”
Kunal replied, “Should I consider this as your blackish sense of humour or a comment worth taking note of?” Pritish remained quite. Proceeding to present a first hand account of what transpired between the Caribbean and him, Kunal once again opened his file and said, “This guy plans to set up a call centre in India. Primarily this call centre is supposed to cater as usual to an international clientele. Strangely the countries on his target list are Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Nepal, Burma, China and New Zealand.”
Taking note of what Kunal has just said Pritish inquired whether the Carribean was setting up the call centre for the first ever time in India.
Kunal replied, “Not exactly… He has a miniscule version of the call centre functioning from a 25 storied apartment located some where in Powai most probably.”
Pritish interrupted, “How many employees are working and any idea about their pay structure!”
Kunal answered, “No idea. It seems it is a small establishment and employs a handful.”
Thinking for over ten minutes Pritish spoke again, “So Kunal. How does this Caribbean friend of ours wants us to help him?”

The Night before… PART 1

A short prologue

Being a creative person may not sound a big deal to the uncreative or to those remotely uninvolved with the world of advertising. But for people like Pritish Bera, it is life. In the last 3 years ever since he has been heading Ice Spice, the ad agency that caters to Bollywood and FMCG sectors; he has never looked back. Life before that for Pritish was nothing less than a prison; overpopulated by insane characters. Pritish had always envisioned himself heading a creative team. Though he started off as a Copywriter; destiny got him tempted to the finer nuances of designing and audio visual media. With 3 short films, 7 documentaries, innumerable ads and one book to his credit; Pritish today is almost a celebrity in the social circles of Mumbai. He is also rumoured to be the most eligible bachelor after having gone through a bitter divorce with his model wife Nilanjana. Together they had also set a modelling agency Glam Sham. Nilanjana is rumoured to have had an affair with a budding model and one fine day she fled Mumbai in the cold of a chilling winter night. The marriage ended after two years of mutual understanding Pritish tolerated with her as a husband.

Pritish presently being alone prefers staying alone, travelling alone, partying alone, dining alone and yes… sleeping alone. Pritish is supposed to be a man of his words. Foresighted, highly creative and generous is what describes Pritish precisely. Though not fond of crowded parties, sometimes it becomes mandatory for him to attend a party or two. And one night he does attend a prestigious party and goes through an experience of a different kind.

REVOLUTION

A revolution doesn’t begin at the wink of an eye. It takes millions of suppressing years for the blood to reach a state of anguished boil. Unaccountable instances of injustice fuel the fire that burns within. Accusations, anarchy and arduous attitudes further complicate the presence of an individual in today’s society. Finally one day, when the individual is torn apart between the rights and wrongs of an ignorable life, he seeks revenge. The time has come for a revolution to begin. 1857 might have been a failure but the 21st century presents innumerable opportunities to emerge winners. Come! Not one but one million, billion & trillion to revolt against the unjust, unruly and the unbelonged. If the opponents carry a gun, don’t just stand guarded with a bamboo baton. Need a gun; buy it, grab it, steal it and surge with unaccountable force. The time has come to reclaim what we have lost in the last 200 years. It is either in this century that we recreate our identity or lie dead without a heart to pound, without a soul to feel and lie dead for another century to arrive and leave us shaken. Wake up! Before it’s too late!

REUNITING AFTER 7 YEARS

MORE ON THAT AFTER THE EVENT ACTUALLY TAKES PLACE TOMORROW!

EXCITED... WE ARE AND PARTICULARLY I AM. BECAUSE WITH THE PASSAGE OF TIME, WE ALL HAVE CHANGED SO MUCH.... WOWWWW!

DEATH – AN UNCHALLENGED TRUTH

--thoughts from 2008--

THE DEATH OF A FAMILY FRIEND

Death in dictionary is defined as:
the act of dying; the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism.

Most hard hitting is the mention of: “the end of life”.

Philosophers and great thinkers have called it the most certain phenomenon. Long back, I had also seen a tattoo on a wrestler’s arm, which read: “Life is uncertain, death isn’t”.

Death…in itself is marked with agony, helplessness and unaccountable grief…

Someone had rightly remarked long back, “Love and Death arrive unannounced in one’s life. But once any one amongst the two arrives, there is no respite!”

I feel disturbed… truly disturbed.

As I was informed about the death of a very close family friend, the images of the beautiful moments spent with her flashed in my mind at one glance. Just last week, she had visited our home on a religious occasion. Extremely God fearing and full of life, she made it a point to taste the Prasad (the mandatory serve of Dal-Khichdi) offered with pickle because she liked it that way. Her fetish for food had any how taken a backseat owing to a prolonged disease. Diabetes was the main cause behind her emotional debacle. I had heard stories about how she entertained her guests who just dropped in at her nest for a Sunday brunch. Kids loved her, elders loved her, we young ones loved her…and every one else loved her. There was not a moment I remember; we had seen her without a smile on her face. Few months back when she was hospitalised, she didn’t lose her enthusiasm. Once discharged, she was back home cooking stories…making calls and making life memorable for her entire family and friends - known, unknown.

She never knew that the messenger of death was long waiting for her to come along. She might have sensed it but kept evading him for the sake of her family. She loved being amidst people and people loved being around her. Every Durga Puja celebration stands witness to her hearty laughter and spicy gossips. But surprisingly her gossips were unharmful, uncontroversial and unending. Every joke she cracked had laughter written all over them. Every wedding she attended transformed into an event of a lifetime. Every phone call she made transformed into endless conversations of a life filled with nothing else but happiness. It is unimaginable to discover that while she was hospitalised before her demise, she spent her spare time talking to her visitors. The hospital authorities had to request the visitors to leave her alone because they wanted to be by her bedside till the wee hours. No one realised how all of a sudden she was overpowered by the severity of pneumonia and she succumbed to it within hours. The absence of a ventilator made things worse. All efforts of taking her to a distant but well equipped were foiled by the messenger of death, who was armed and well prepared to take her along. She might have definitely requested him to wait for the sake of her elder daughter’s wedding. But he was adamant. He might have explained to her that he too was a slave of his Master and could do very little.

My aunt and mom visited her home to console her family members. But her loss cannot be compensated by any other entity. They both told me how her daughters reacted to their mother’s death. They told me how her husband had lost faith in himself. Lending an ear to the stories, I could never muster the courage to visit their household. I am too immature to handle such fragile situations. I can understand what they might be going through. They were so dependent on her. Because not for a moment did they feel that she would leave the family so soon and so unsuddenly. The fact is she is no more amongst us today. The truth is her daughter is getting married on the pre decided date. The reality is…we will miss her for all the years to come.

Because death is an unchallenged truth. Yesterday it was she, a day before that some one else, today a some body, tomorrow a no one and maybe in future…the clock is ticking. I understand because I too have lost a few good lives who were close to me: My Dad, My Paternal Grandpa, My Maternal Grandpa, My Paternal Grandma, My Maternal Grandma’s Mom, My Paternal Aunt’s Husband, My Distantly Related Maternal Uncle, My School Friend and many more I love and cared for…As I write this, there is somebody lying in a hospital bed counting her last days…

With a heavy heart, I would say I dislike death no matter what it looks like or what it is…But such is life, everything with a beginning has to end one or the other day gracefully or disgracefully.

- vociferous

DURGA DIVINE

--thoughts from 2008--

Celebrations at Skylord

Just as it happens every year, this year too the entire Bengali community of Skylord gathered on the same ground to celebrate the yearly Durga Puja. Only this time, it seemed to have lacked the traditional lustre and glamour. Thick with politics, the entire atmosphere seemed to be grim and disturbing. Sudden monsoonal threats at regular intervals further jeopardised the somewhat festive mood and the melodious feel of the once-in-a-year very Bhadraloki celebration.

WEDDING SHADING

When a caterer’s son decides to get married, he should always remain extra cautious that food is the underlining factor of all the occasions that take place in his life.

With hopes riding high on food and quite a handful of guests in attendance, the premise of Dipankar’s wedding reception seemed to be pleasantly perfect. Making it on time proved fruitful for us as guests. At least we were saved of catching a glimpse of the glamorous photo sessions where the couples are made to look like clowns. Made to sit comfortably on two thrones Dipankar & his wife Geetashree resembled Romeo & Juliet truly in love. Luckily we also happened to be the first to compliment the couple with an envelope of cash. Greedy to be photographed, I made it a point to smile at my best. But distractions of flashing bulbs never make me look like the Mr. Right; girls would drool upon. After wishing the very best to the couple, we were back to our pre occupied seats in the audience. While I had just taken to treating myself to the vegetarian kebabs, the pleasantries arrived in typical Bengali form. Geetashree’s family members carefully carried them in their palms. After an unending round of seeking blessings, Dipankar & Geetashree were finally smiling again for the audience and of course for the camera. Then the host, Dipankar’s loving dad made an announcement, “Dinner is being served”. The venue being an open ground was already susceptible to intrusions. So, in stead of the guests taking it to the buffet… barged in the slumdogs. Not in groups but in hoards. Within 30 minutes like a tornado they gulped away with all the interesting food items. Then arrived our turn, the bhadraloks (gentlemen). Surprisingly nothing of much interest was to be found to lay our hands on. The plates had disappeared, the spoons had escaped and the vessels were visible half empty. The queue refused to move ahead. Unavailability of spoons still didn’t deter the invincible. They bounced on the food with bare hands. The noodles too were not spared of being taken to the plate with dirty hands. The rasogollas (paneer balls dipped in sugar syrup) yelled painfully while they were being squeezed by dirty fingers and the rasmalais were looking for ways to flee the event. Thankfully God had mercy on us mother and son duo. At least we returned home with a stomach filled with not food but love and respect shown to us by Dipankar, his lovely wife, his loving dad and his concerned mother. What still surprised me was the indifferent attitude of some guests towards Dipankar’s dad! They have known him for over 10 years. But they chose not to support him when the slumdogs were busy looting the venue of all the delicious food. I still feel the presence of a security guard at the entrance could have served the purpose. But as we were poised to leave, I turned back to look at Deepankar; clicked a snap of him and his cute wife and invited them over lunch/dinner to our Garib Khaana.

I simply hope the guests who fall in the bhadralok category could have been a little lenient towards the Bhadras. Contradicting the situation, I would say the entire event was truly Bengali and the ambience simply infectious for the many smiles I caught a glimpse of single and married females dressed in vibrantly coloured saris & unrevealing dress materials. And I am sure; the couple is going to live a lovely married life for years to come.

This one is for you Dipankar and Geetashree: Life is full of surprises. Keep surprising each other when two eyes meet each other.

- vociferous

MAR 01-07 2009 UPDATES

March 1, 2009
AGING GRACEFULLY

Watching ‘THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON’ was a sheer delight. Brad Pitt not only acted well but the plot was pretty interesting. The movie reminded me of the concept that childhood and old-age days are alike. Both need utmost care. So, here is Benjamin born in a distorted form at the age of 80 year old and ages reversely to reach the newly born stage. High on emotions and as rightly reviewed – nothing less than an epic. Cate Blanchett as Benjamin’s love interest just acted to the ‘T’. I felt like grabbing her out of the television and propose marriage to her. All in all, the movie was an experience of its own kind.

Venue: Home Theatre
Verdict: Speechless

March 4, 2009
ESCAPED

At times… almost unknowingly work stress starts taking control of lives. All we can do is allow being preyed upon by its adversities. And when it goes on increasing, energy levels hit an all time low. Last evening that is on March 3, 2009 I had a similar experience. Today it was time to face the truth of life – SCHEDULES ARE GETTING TIRESOME. The mind demanded instant refreshing while the body demanded immediate rejuvenation. Last night I shivered, my body trembled and I realised something was terribly wrong. Today finally I made up my mind to escape from life and before I could set my foot out, a voice stopped me from within. It repeated my thought – ESCAPE. And I escaped.

No Venue No Verdict Just wondering over a thought!

March 7, 2009
PAST COMES HAUNTING AGAIN

“You have to pay for all the sins you commit in your present tense. Nothing gets carried forward.” One of my best friends had remarked a few years back. Born as a human being and groomed to be responsible, I still committed mistakes, crimes and of course sins. Considering myself to be collectively responsible for the same, I was busy living a calm life. But memories of my past have come thumping back into my life to haunt the hell out of me. An already complicated life seems no sooner to get simplified. It will worsen by the day, rot by evening and turn into a horrendous reality by night. Expecting to stay alive and witness the sun rise only seems to be fast becoming an imagination. Entrapped by situation and slightly shaken by the episodes unfolding every single second… I feel we owe a lot to our past. We can never ever right the wrongs of the time bygone. All we can do is locate a support system to protect our present because future is just an illusion. And even though, we keep struggling in the present, the past is going to stay with us. I still don’t understand how the past comes haunting again. Thought process has suddenly hit a road block after having discovered the truth of a khaki clad chap visiting the nest. Already choking… the next bad thing to happen was the black suited guy not responding to frantic calls. On the local level, every thing is lying motionless. The only motion to be witnessed is in time. Tick tack tick, it is advancing at the pace of a bullet. I remain clueless. If I allow my anger to hold my mind captive, I can easily take law in my own hands. But the repercussions would be drastic. With a family behind me, I can not fly over the world in a black suit. But yes, what I can do is set some things right. In fact it is high time, I do so… Considering the situation, I am aghast because of my past. I prefer to leave it but the past chooses to make an exception by not leaving me alone.

Venue: My Life
Verdict: Outraged

- vociferous

FEB 22-28 2009 UPDATES

February 22, 2009

LET’S SAIL THROUGH

Attended the Mumbai International Boat Show. The Entry Fees being Rs. 200 per head helped in keeping the disinterested away. There were boats, babes and of course loads to learn & imbibe knowledge from. Being the last day, the event registered amazing number of boat enthusiasts. Every one was allowed to capture images of the kayaks and other marine gears. Simply amazing! Venue: BKC Complex, Bandra
Verdict: Awesome

UNIQUELY UNFORGETTABLE
Another exhibition that held me spellbound comprised lots but under one roof. From impressive garments to attention grabbing potteries. Extremely well organised, it also facilitated payments through credit cards; quite an exception compared to other exhibitions. Consumer durables were definitely registering a huge number of visitors. Truly worth checking out was the eatery that dished out well grilled sandwiches and a special mention goes to a good looking female. Till date, I don’t know her name. But the way she enticed guests to the stall could put marketing personnel to shame. Her eyes did all the talking and her smile was infectious. While leaving, I bid her a good bye and she just responded saying, “Would you mind trying out dahi puri?” For a food lover like me, it was a slice of life offered by the most beautiful woman I had ever met in my life. Aishwarya please take a back seat and make way for the stranger who knew exactly how to rule hearts!
Venue: Bandra Reclamation Grounds, Near Lilavati Hospital
Verdict: Fantabulous

February 23, 2009
HISTORY IS CREATED
Slumdog Millionaire wins 8 Oscars. A. R. Rehman brings home two while Resul brings home one.

Another Oscar comes to India because of the documentary Smile Pinky Smile.

India Rocks… Because it served as the premise for both. And still we complain of being an Indian.

Venue: Kodak Theatre, California
Verdict: Rocking

February 26, 2009
LIFE IS A BATTLE OF ODDS & EVENTS
Finished reading ‘THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SEX WORKEr’ by Nalini Jameela; herself a sex worker. I was totally speechless having come face-to-face with the problems commercial sex worker goes through. Men might be considered strong. But women like Nalini Jameela through examples put us men to shame. The woman is the creator. We should humbly remain grateful to her for having created us Men. It doesn’t matter whether she is a mother, sister, grandmother, a hooker or a sex worker… she demands respect!

Verdict: Stunned by the power of womanhood

February 27, 2009
BE POSITIVE & ACHIEVE
Started reading IDLI, ORCHID & WILL POWER! by Vithal Venkatesh Kamath…
Status: Still Reading

February 28, 2009
GOOD NEWS
My friend Nilesh informed he is soon going to be a father. I realised how time just flew away like the flight of flamingos. Just yesterday, we were singles… then married. Some marriages survived & some died a silent death. Relationships were established & then forgotten. But Nilesh survived and so did his marriage. With a new member soon to join his household, I pray to God he continues being the Nilesh he always has been – disciplined, humble & honest.

-vociferous

COMING SOON...

Writings: 2009 - The Turning Point Series & Thoughts from 2008

First story under 2009-The Turning Point Series

Three Corners of Life...

The changing image of Modern Indian Women

A guy's experience with three women in his life:

Roshna Sen- The Friend who turned Foe

Rajeshwari Gundecha - Once alone, again alone

Kamakshi Kelkar - Widow by choice, man eater by habit

Swayam Sharmachari - The narrator and the guy who gets involved with the three women....

Signing off hoping... my readers will like it!

- vociferous

VOCIFEROUS GETS AN IDENTITY

Finally as a Creative Writer and a Blogger I now have an Identity.

I am

VOCIFEROUS

The card you see above is that of mine. Deliberately I wanted to give it a very different look. In the age of Digital Printing Technology, thinking of getting it printed from a professional printer could have been foolish, time consuming and a bit costlier.

So, my readers, my critics, my friends and my foes... this is my new identity.

'V' now stands not just for VICTORY but also for VOCIFEROUS........................

I haven't made my numbers available as there are people hungry and thristy for me and my blood.

Beginning a journey in writing all over again with a new identity to leave every one surprised.

With love,

vociferous

DHUNUCHI NAACH AT DURGA PUJA

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=bfUhWHJjZHE

Click on the link above to view the video.

Regards,
Vociferous

COMING SOON

A sweet little anecdote on Durga Divine – The Power Goddess. I’ve deliberately tried to give the title, a very cult status. Through this anecdote, I’ll try my level best to present a picture of what happens during the five day festive occasion. There’s so much to discover from gossiping ladies to swinging singles and romantic liaisons to rumours galore. Let’s see, when can I post it? Because I’m not in the pink of my health. Trying to fight the October heat and chasing a hectic schedule, I would look ahead to fill this space with images of Durga Divine and the marvellous experience of the festive occasion.

KALKE MAA ASHHCHEY

5th Oct

10.30 hrs - Sasthi Puja, Kalparambha
20.00 hrs - Bodhan, Amantran, Adhibas

6th Oct

9.00 hrs - Saptami Puja

7th Oct

8.30 hrs - Ashtami Puja
11.30 hrs - Kumari Puja
00.05 hrs - Sandhi Puja

8th Oct

9.00 hrs - Navami Puja

9th Oct

10.00 hrs - Dashami Puja
15.00 hrs - Bisharjan

CORRUPTION IS PROTECTION

“Corruption? Corruption is government intrusion into market efficiencies in the form of regulations. We have laws against it precisely so we can get away with it. Corruption is our protection. Corruption keeps us safe and warm. Corruption is why you and I are prancing around in here instead of fighting over scraps of meat out in the streets. Corruption is why we win.” blasts the character Danny Dalton enacted by Tim Blake Nelson in the spy thriller ‘Syriana’ released in the year 2005. And it holds so much truth. This he says in context to corrupt practices followed in America.

I think ‘Corruption’ is the most delicious delicacy ever served on a platter called ‘Democracy’. Yes! At least in India, Democracy is nothing more than a frayed platter. Corruption breeds within our day-to-day chores. Its reproductive quality is unparalleled.

So, why am I talking so much about corruption? Simple, I had experienced it in the past and I succumbed to it recently. The point of discussion is the sudden loss of my driving licence. At the first place, I lost it because of my own fault. While it rained incessantly, I chose to wear my windcheater. After having paid the electricity bills, I tucked the receipts, my licence and cash amounting to Rs. 450 in a polythene bag. I was supposed to insert it in the pocket provided in the windcheater. This is exactly where I committed a major mistake of not checking whether I had tucked the polythene bag rightly. I realised my foolish deed only after 15 minutes. I drove back to the same spot where I might have misplaced my licence. To my surprise, I discovered that someone had already made away with the booty. Only the cash might have earned him a fortune for a day or two. But the licence and receipts held little relevance.

Quite frustrated, I started inquiring about the procedures to acquire a duplicate copy of the driving license. Thankfully, I had sufficient Xerox copies of my license safely reserved at home, in my wallet and at all possible places that has something to do with my passion to drive. After almost 15 days of the grand loss, I approached my agent at the RTO. Middle-aged, composed and ever cheering; she asked me to first lodge a complaint at a local police station about the loss. I rediscovered her after having lost track of her for last four years since my first licence was issued.

I hurried at an indescribable pace to the nearby police station to register a complaint. A smart cop whose only responsibility is to issue complaint numbers asked me to first get an affidavit done about the loss of my licence. This particular task made me travel to the nearby court where hundreds of Xerox centres are ready to shell out an affidavit at a cost of Rs. 140 in flat 10 minutes. After I got the affidavit done, I rushed back to the police station. The smart cop scanned the affidavit with his feisty eyes and replied that he cannot register a complaint at his police station. The reason he cited was quite legible. The actual place of loss mentioned in the affidavit did not come under the jurisdiction of the police station he was attached with. The other available option left was to get the complaint registered at the mentioned place in the affidavit.

I had never entered a police station in my life, not at least a local one. The entire ambience was gloomy. On entering the police station there was a dingy room on the right hand side with a cage like structure installed. I suppose this arrangement is usually referred to as a police lockup. Seated in the room were three teenagers who were supposedly beaten up badly the previous night. “Ok” I said to myself as I was facing the harshest reality of life. Not a single cop paid attention to my sudden appearance. It was only after a middle aged cop inquired the reason of my presence that I gathered some courage. I informed him that I had lost my license and was looking ahead to register a complaint. He asked me to hand him over the affidavit. He rose from his chair and walked inside. He inquired for the person who was supposed to register the complaint. To my surprise, the cop; a man reaching closer to his sixtieth year of existence on planet was dozing off somewhere inside. He emerged quite lethargically. His disturbed looks confirmed my doubts that he was least interested in doing some work at that hour of the day. Ok…so after having disrupted his siesta, I expected him to work a little faster. But…no! His fingers refused to follow the rule of the day. The pace was unnerving. His task was interrupted with punctuations of filthy communications.

Finally the complaint was registered, which consumed 45 minutes of my otherwise busy schedule. After having scribbled something on a recycled piece of paper, the cop stretched his palm just like a beggar does for soliciting alms. Puzzled…I inquired about what he needed. He bluntly replied, “Money…young man…show me the money!” To which I questioned, “How much sir?” His imaginative reply, “Anything you wish to young man…500, 1000 or 5000 bucks”. I felt like screaming, “Are you out of your mind?” But I maintained my calm and shelled out Rs. 100 instead of the contemplated Rs. 50 note. He would have shot me for getting into that act of bravery. Quite displeased, he reluctantly accepted Rs. 100 and commented that it cannot buy him even a kilogram of mutton. I replied, “Sir, chicken would do for you?” He replied back, “Please leave”. I hurried back to the RTO and handed over all the papers to my agent. She replied, “Now you can leave…” I inquired, “And my licence?” She requested me to hand her over some more money so that she can fasten the process. I bluntly replied, “No…first get me the licence and then you get what you want.” Money paid, formalities done…I eagerly waited for my licence to arrive. I nagged my agent, tempted her with lunch offers, but to no avail. Finally three days back, she informed, “Hey aren’t you coming to get your licence?” I rushed to the RTO. She was standing there like an angel, smiling devilishly. As I was about to take the licence from her hand, she stepped back. I said, “Hey…?” She bluntly asked me to first pay her some extra cash. I pulled out a 100 rupee note and took control of my licence. Somewhere within her, a little bit of conscience prompter her to do one good. As I planned to walk back to my office; she offered me lift in the rickshaw she was driving back in. I discovered that other side of her…which was soft, motherly and caring.

We struck a conversation, which brought to my notice the fact that she too has adapted herself to corruption. On inquiring why? She replied, “Well young man…this is the demand of time. If you aren’t corrupt, you cannot survive.” I agreed with her and as she departed dropping me near my office, she screamed at the peak of her voice, “Don’t lose your licence now because I won’t like you to see greasing filthy palms again…and take care son.”

I hate corruption from the bottom of my heart. But I can’t stay away from it. Because at regular intervals it has protected me and bestowed on me some benefits, which could have been unimaginable without being corrupt. So, long live corruption because one day it would meet its fate just like it did in the movie – V for Vendetta.

My count of corruption:

Cash paid to agent: Rs. 500/-
Affidavit: Rs. 140/-
Bribe to cop: Rs. 100/-
Travelling expense: Rs. 160/-
------------------------------------------------
Total Rs. 900/-
------------------------------------------------

ON OCTOBER 2, 2008

Durga Puja Preparations:
Housekeeping
Done away with junk, old newspapers, magazines and other papers
Application of Henna to my salted and peppered hair
Thinking of availing leave on October 7 & 8

Bike:
Maintenance done after eight months
Filled with 3.74 litres of petrol
Tyres hard with air
She looks sexy again

Celebrations:
Gandhi Jayanti – Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday
Every news channel carried extensive bytes on the ‘Mahatma’
Movies shown: My all time favourite – ‘Gandhi’ and the adorable ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’
Lal Bahadur Shastri’s birthday – Forgotten and Ignored

Visits:
Local Gaon Devi temple after a long time
Goddess Kali’s abode in colony after a long time

Encounter:
One of my best friend going on a long drive with her handsome hubby and cute son

Phone Calls:
My childhood friend and one of my best colleagues from earlier office

PATH TO REDISCOVERY

That day...I was walking on the road. I was walking with my head down. Suddenly I heard a car stop at a distance. I looked up and saw the car slowly moving back. From the car peeped out a face. And I was shocked as hell. It was none other than 'Me'.
It was quite amusing to see myself step out of the car and walk towards me. 'Me' suddenly popped a question, "Hey dude...Whazzup?"
I was speechless.
'Me' continued..."To be frank, let me tell you that you are at the crossroads of your life.
You spent 17 years studying and 10 years working.
During all these years you earned money, fame and hell lot of other things. Not to forget that infamous French beard too.
But, have you reached your destination?"
I was still speechless.
'Me' showed me the sportswatch on his wrist and said, "Time is ticking away. Do what your heart says." He further continued, "I am making a move. I'll see you in two months from now."
He walked towards the car; opened the door and drove away.
I stood there watching 'Me' disappear.
In a few seconds, I received an sms from 'Me' saying, "You are walking on the path to rediscovery. You would find mountains, obstacles, dacoits and many other things. Keep walking and do make it a point to fail yourself. Because after failure comes success."
I am walking and will be back blogging when I reach a suitable destination..........!!!!!!!!

-vociferous

A TWIST IN THE END

On 15th January 2008 with great pleasure we celebrated 'Makar Sankranti'. Being a die hard addict of mouthwatering products made of sugar, escaping those sweet somethings was a temptation, I couldn't afford to miss. On the other hand, I am fascinated with food. Anything that kills my hunger gracefully is good food to me. Why am I stuck on 'Makar Sankranti'? Because this year I am running short of 'Tilgul' supplies. This Maharashtrian sweet made of jaggery and mixture of groundnuts and 'til' is my personal favourite. During my days when I used to teach mathematics to some of my students they always tried to bribe me to escape my tantrums by offering the first 'tilgul' of the season. Those memories still keep lingering in my mind. So, I am still talking about 'Makar Sankranti'! That is because from 15th January 2008, the temperature in Mumbai is rising higher and higher. And it has started taking its toll on me.

Today I planned to visit Mumbai Central for some personal work of mine. I was at the first place put off by the long time it took me to travel to Byculla by a slow train. I am accustomed to travel by fast trains. The journey was not only irritating but frustrating too. The train seemed like taking ages to reach each station. I finished reading the gossip tabloid 'Mid Day', which now-a-days has nothing to offer except the Mid Day Mate, which was a fascination in college days and now is just an accessory which comes free with the timepass daily. I read it for yet another reason. I am personally aware of a female journalist who along with one of her other journalist colleague comes up with somewhat interesting stories. But now-a-days even she has disappeared. And this has happened right from the day, I thought of appreciating her efforts by personally congratulating her. Ok....so without losing focus on what I plan to write, I was busy reading the Mid Day. Quite impatiently I awaited the arrival of Byculla. The moment the train stopped, I jumped off and landed on the platform. I felt, I am free. From Byculla, I made up my mind to walk all the way to Mumbai Central. I repent that decision of mine. The sun seemed to be teasing me from the sky above. It reminded me of the story I had once read in one of school textbooks about who is mightier the sun or the wind? In my case, I agree the sun is mightier than any one else. I walked for 20 odd minutes and finally reached Mumbai Central. After my work was done, I boarded a Churchgate bound local. At that hour of the day (14.20 pm), I was surprised to see the second class compartments packed to the cored. 75% of them were my bengali friends, who travel all the way from Bhayander and Mira Road to turn gold into beautiful pieces of jewellery. While the 25% were travellers of a normal nature like that of mine. I descended at Churchgate and once again chose to walk towards Regal. Once again, I regretted that decision of mine. Because this time, the sun had made up its mind to melt me. I ran out of breath and finally feeling hungry reached the Majestic Hotel.

This Hotel was our favourite joint in the past when we frequented the Gateway of India on holidays. I feel very sad to say the Hotel has lost its expertise it had in cooking the best Mutton Biryani. At the first place, the mutton was half cooked and on the other hand, the rice served was cold. I couldn't fully enjoy the four pieces of mutton which came hidden in the rice mountain. I tried to tear the flesh apart from the bones, but, I failed miserably. If someone would have been supervising me secretly, I must have definitely resembled a creature out of National Geographic. And yes, there was this beautiful lady who was watching me from a distance. Feeling dissatisfied, I first planned to order another plate of Haka Noodles but then settled down for a lassi. I politely told the waiter, I didn't enjoy the food. He smiled and gracefully walked away with the money I paid for that half cooked biryani. The lady too left looking at me still very amusingly. It was only when I gulped that 'Mitha Pan' from a pan vendor located at the hotel's entrance did she believe that I was as normal as she. But the twist was yet to come. The lady was walking towards Regal talkies. She seemed like curiously walking towards me. She stopped at the same pan vendor, I was having my pen and ordered the panwallah, " Ek Wills ka packet dena". She tore off the thin plastic cover on the pack, pulled out a cancer stick, pressed it between her lips and lit it with a lighter offered by the panwallah. Now it was my turn to watch her amusingly. But she just turned to the right, called for a taxi, settled in and rode away....I stood there for 10 minutes wondering "Women Liberation Zinadabad". The panwallah told me that she owns a boutique at Colaba, is married twice and now lives somewhere at Charni Road with a guy half her age. On inquiring as to how does he know so much about her, he replied, "Mera bhai boutique mein kaam karta hair aur Charni Road ke ghar par aana jana hai".

Shaken and stirred, I walked towards Mumbai CST and settled down in this Cyber Cafe which has been my favourite choice to browse the net. Blogging from portasia.

This is Vociferous.

DESPERATELY SEEKING 2008

The countdown to 2008 had begun right from December 30, 2007. There was no end to excitement. Be it conversations, arguments or mere discussions; means to celebrate the New Year occupied a prime position in every other thing. I have never been fascinated with the entire concept of ushering in the New Year. For me, it is the excitement of unveiling the new calendar. Earlier I was the first to receive a copy of the year’s first calendar. Now the expectations are scarce. I don’t even expect a diary to come my way. Thanks to my Mom who manages to get one for me.

My friends asked me, “What’s your New Year Resolution?” I replied, “None”. Then they inquired, “What’s the plan tonight?” I replied, “None”. I was not interested in divulging my plans as I held it too personal. But quite selfishly I took keen interest in eavesdropping about what others were planning for 31st night.

After having left office a little early I eagerly anticipated boarding a vacant train. To my surprise, the trains were running behind schedule and were packed to the core. Reasons cited for the delay and overcrowding was a derailment which occurred in the morning. Accepting the fact so closely witnessed in the morning, I managed to cut through the crowd and was smartly pushed towards the window which separates the ladies first class from the compartment flooded by men. Though people deny not fancying to this lucky spot, I frankly say 98% of them lie. There is immense curiosity to stick to that place. I too stuck there without a sign of apprehension on my face and without any guilt in my heart. In my hand, I held the latest issue of ‘The Sunday Indian’ which showcased the year 2007. On other days I listen to a bunch of songs stored in my Sony Ericsson W700i but today I chose to shun the melodious songs. I stood there near the window which is also regarded the video coach in many of the suburban locals. The entire compartment was abuzz with conversations and plans to usher in the New Year. After having left Byculla, the train’s next halt was at Dadar. Just like their mighty male counterparts, females rushed into their first class compartment; screaming, yelling and arguing for a better place. Amongst them a young female managed to occupy the position bang opposite the window I was standing and looking at the hara-kiri. Without paying any heed to what was going around she fished out her mobile and started speaking. The first line she spoke in Marathi was, “Kuthe Aahes Tu?” (Where are you?). On learning the destination of the person on the other hand, she said, “You should have boarded the same local. You have to understand that I have told my parents that I am going to a friend’s place for some work. They aren’t aware about my plans of spending the night at a resort located in Karjat. Do one thing; make it a point to board this same local from Kalyan where you had your meeting.”

I had never come across souls so desperate to usher in the New Year with such excitement. I just wished secretly that the female stays safe tonight and returns home safely to her parents the other day. Luckily her conversation lasted only for 7 minutes.

The train slowly reached Kurla. A very loudly dressed lady boarded the train. Looking at the way she boarded the first class compartment, she sent out loud signals that she wasn’t a frequenter. After 10 minutes her phone rang. She answered the call in broken Hindi with a heavy Bengali accent. The first lines she spoke were – “Abhi bola gadi Thane mein layega. Aur abhi bolta hai ki rickshaw se aao” (You just said that you will be bringing the vehicle to Thane. And now you say that I have to come by rickshaw). Then she continued that she will not be charging a penny less for services that would be sought from her. She repeatedly inquired about at least three hotels which are located on the Ghodbunder road in Thane. That confirmed my doubts that she was a prostitute who had been paid the advance to entertain some unknown guests during the New Year eve. After disconnecting she dialled some more numbers and spoke in fluent Bengali. She said, “Ora bolche aro teente aurat lagbe” (They need three more women). Bangladeshis always make it a point to include Hindi words in their otherwise Bengali conversations. Then she disconnected saying, “Thik ache kalke ashey commission diye debo” (Ok! I will give you your commission on my return tomorrow).

The unpleasant conversations made it apparent that she was on her way to entertain some clients and had already arranged for some more girls to extend an olive branch to some pleasant guests. It was interesting to know that people still find it so interesting to experiment when India is already showing early signs of being a nation highly susceptible to the spread of HIV/AIDS virus.

With every New Years Eve we are exposed to a new evil in the society. This year I discovered them in these two females. One female was making herself available at a cost while the other was falling prey to the intentions of a friend she might have known for long. What needs to be understood that what might have happened to both of them on the other day? As far as the prostitute is concerned she might have walked back with loads of money and gifts in her kitty. But what about the pretty female who was over excited to spend the night out with her male friend, fiancé, acquaintance, office colleague or a blind date???

Curious and concerned I stayed awake till 1 a.m. to welcome 2008. Being a holiday I spent the entire day doing other household chores and on January 2, I am back to work but still the thought revolving around both the females are lingering in my mind. What a beginning to 2008?

I expect others also to think with me..........................

Any ways, wishing you all A Happy New Year and announcing my comeback on the blog circuit.

Expect more such practical and very real stories to come your way.

Vociferous

MAKING A COMEBACK

People ask me whether I have abandoned blogging!

Oh no…how can I do that? The freedom to write creatively and with an open mind is possible only through blogging.

For the past few days, I’ve been thinking of putting up a new blogsite. But consciously I decided to go ahead with my existing one. The sole intention behind revamping the content on the existing blogsite is an effort to present the real ‘Me’ to the big bad/good world out there.

Some time back, I had temporarily disallowed all kind of access to my site – www.bengalsurprise.blogspot.com, which has already left me feeling incomplete. I am aware of a female blogger friend who blogs from the other part of the world and makes it a point to comment on every post of mine. I haven’t received any response from her for quite some time. I think, she too would be little busy with the year end festivities.

I have never been an addict though of the arty party types. But what makes me feel awkward of feeling disconnected is the inconsistency I have suddenly developed in my blogging behaviour.

So here I am, back with not a great bang but at least to create a little bit of concern and curiosity. I know I have also temporarily abandoned the story ‘Dark Truth’, which I was publishing chapter wise every fortnight. I hope I will be able to continue doing the same amidst all the blogging I wish to continue.

In the coming days, I am going to surprise my readers of the blog.

Love to all............

Vociferous

SOON TO RESUME BLOGGING

Dear Friends,

Whoever happens to read my blog.....I apologise to them.

I am very well aware that I've left my story half way.

I am very soon going to complete the same and get ahead with more blogging.

Till then chow.............the other chapters of 'Dark Truth' would be made online, very soon!

Love to all...........................

DARK TRUTH Chapter 2

Rajat knew he had disturbed his neighbours. With no options left to think over, this was the best, he could do. He wanted to know whether his neighbours were aware about his missing dad. After a patient wait, Rajat saw the neighbour’s door open slowly. Before he could speak, the woman who opened the door spoke out. “Why do you bang the door at wrong hours? My boring husband is home and I could be of no help to you”, said the woman who had wrapped herself in a bed sheet. Quite apologetically Rajat inquired, “Did my dad leave the keys with you?” Annoyed the woman replied, “I wish I had the keys to your heart!” Rajat always knew that this neighbour of his was no ordinary woman. Her name was Jyotika who chose to marry an old man for his money. She not only convinced her seventy-year-old husband to disown his family but also made it a point to make him dance to her tunes. The only thing Rajat was unaware about was Jyotika’s secret desire to win over him. Ignoring her comment, Rajat asked Jyotika to take care of his bag and left.

Roaming around on streets during midnight was the least he had expected to do. But, finding his father was important. Not very sure but with little confidence in his heart, Rajat headed to the liquor bar, his father often frequented. The streets were empty. Some people were sleeping on the pavements. And the lane he was about to enter next was considered a famous pickup joint. From a distance, Rajat could see his father tumbling to gain support. The old man was badly drunk and was murmuring at the peak of his voice. Before he could again fall down, Rajat rushed to hold his father. Seeing Rajat help, the old man screamed, “Leave me alone. Don’t you dare touch me.” Before Rajat could say anything further, his father fell unconscious. Finding no available source of transportation, he put his father’s left arm around his shoulder and slowly managed to drag him to their home. Rajat felt lucky that his father though drunk, had not misplaced the keys.

Back home and with no intentions to wake his neighbours again, Rajat unlocked the door. He lit the lamp to take his father in. The sudden blast of brightness due to the glowing lamp made his father sit up suddenly. As Rajat got closer to take him in, he resisted. “Who do you think you are? Why don’t you understand, I am not your responsibility! Let me lie down here. And please don’t push me into the house which holds memories of my misdeeds”, said his father. He further continued, “I have told you, I can never accept you as my son. You are a result of a mistake. And I am tolerating you for being a part of that mistake. Please, I beg of you to allow me to sleep here. I don’t want to bother you. We have nothing in common. I am an alcoholic and let me be under its bad influence. Don’t spoil my mood and go away.” Before Rajat could react, his father fell down and murmuring some complicated abuses fell asleep. In disbelief, he continued staring at the man who was his biological father and at one time considered a maverick film producer. It was his father Gautam Dutt who always was mistaken to be related to the legendary filmmaker of Bollywood, Guru Dutt. But he was different as Gautam believed in thinking ahead of time. As a filmmaker he was aggressive and ready to take on any challenge that came his way. In the 70’s, when people were bitten by Amitabh Bachchan’s masala movies, Gautam was busy planning a movie on the life of a prostitute.

After having slipped into the past for a while, Rajat dissolved his thoughts to grab a warm shower. With the shower on and the warm water soothing his tense nerves, Rajat started thinking again. He just started speaking to himself. He had been doing this for the past many years. In the absence of friends and companions, he found it wiser to do some self-talking. He spoke, “The man lying outside is my father. Still he doesn’t want to be known as my father. I have accepted him as a responsibility and a favour I owe to my unseen mother. He doesn’t want to accept me as his son. And I don’t want to allow him disown me. I know he holds a secret. He is aware about a truth, which he calls a mistake. Maybe he fears that the secrets known to him can cause apathy. But, he doesn’t understand as a father he needs me and as a son I care for him.”

Having dined out at a restaurant and feeling tired, Rajat chose to retire to the bed. Week long meetings, daylong discussions and month long hectic schedules was taking a toll on his personal life. He held professional commitments very important. Once in office, he would detach himself from the entire world and continue slogging unstoppably. Day-by-day, the pressure was increasing. The anniversary issue of ‘Mumbai Life’ was round the corner and loads of work was yet to be completed. In the absence of a great story his boss Alex was a worried man. Leaving all his worries behind, Rajat closed his eyes. Slowly he fell asleep. After a day’s work and a turbulent hunt for his father, this was the least he could ask for.

Next day while Rajat was still asleep he was awaken by a knock on the door. Lazily he pulled out of his bed to open the door. It was his father standing with a hung head and clothes stinking with the foul smell of alcohol he had consumed last night.

DARK TRUTH Chapter 1

A frail man in his 60’s found himself lying flat on his face on a dusty road. Though it was a summery night; a cold breeze brought in more dust and blurred his already fading vision. He tried to recollect the incident, which made him land in such an awkward position. He stressed on his thoughts. He tried very hard. He murmured. It was getting difficult by seconds and minutes for the old man to recollect what had led to his fall. He questioned to himself, “Was it 10 minutes back?” or “Was it an hour back?” or “Was I lying here for quite a long time?” Life around him was normal. He knew he was drunk and he had downed an entire bottle of country made liquor from the dingy bar behind him. He clearly remembered that he is a regular at this place almost every day and night. The only thing he couldn’t recollect was the reason behind his insulting ouster.

After a hard day’s work at his office, Rajat was back. The lock on the door let him know his father was not home. It was 11.30 p.m. and he had to get ahead with another hard task in his hand. For the last two years, it had become his responsibility to hunt for his father who went missing for days, weeks and months. Unwillingly he rang the doorbell of his neighbours. Being the creative head of a newspaper agency he had to always carry his work home on a laptop. Also with him were loads of papers on which he had this habit of making short notes.

It was 1 a.m. Ankush was all very excited to leave for the airport. A student of journalism and zeal to achieve big had always made him stay ahead from others. Though a Delhiite by his heart, his mind always was impressed with Mumbai’s glam life. While doing a research on the yesteryears of Bollywood, he had discovered something, which very few knew about. He was sure no big news agency in Delhi would ever add any kind of seriousness in considering his story. His hopes were zeroed in on ‘Mumbai Life’ which would not only give a thought to his story but may perhaps help him earn mullah, bag a job or make him famous. After having applied for a month long leave, he was set to fly to Mumbai. He felt lucky he could afford a flight ticket. He thanked his freelancing assignments and the wealthy wives of rich businessmen he escorted when needed.

It was close to 1.30 a.m. Ruksar a woman in her 50’s was readying Gracy for an appointment she had fixed with a wealthy hotelier. Ruksar told Gracy not to be reluctant. She advised her to feel light and go ahead with a free mind. “Don’t be shy. Do as he wishes. And then from a budding model he will make you the face of Bollywood”, said Ruksar. She was quite a prominent personality with the page three socialites of Mumbai. People who knew her were sure that she was the one to pump excitement in late night parties. She was blessed with this quality of luring young girls to the world of glamour. She made them dream big and pushed them to high-level prostitution. Her loose hold in Bollywood helped her make tall claims about making stars out of aspirants. But the truth was much darker than imagined.

At around 2 a.m. Madhoo was busy filing some papers she had printed after an extensive research on the yesteryears of Bollywood. This is the longest; she had ever worked in the office. She knew she had to toil hard for one more week. And if her story managed to make news, she wished to join her sister Kriti in England. Kriti was busy creating a campaign against racial discrimination inflicted by fellow whites against immigrant Indians.

Alex, the chief editor of ‘Mumbai Life’ wanted to bring something special to the anniversary edition. It was ages that the favourite tabloid of Mumbaiites had created any ripple. With a creative team in place and a marketing strategy implemented Alex was hungry for instant fame and long lasting glory.

DARK TRUTH

Prelude

With the sole intention of mastering my writing skills, from today, I begin my short story on my blog. I hope every one would like it. And you are free to also criticise it at your own will. This is the beginning. First I had planned to create another blog. But then I realised this blog of mine is the max read. So why not post my story in a chapterwise format on my personal blog.

So, friends enjoy reading and do register your comments and feedback.

Regards,

Purnesh

Coming Soon

After having spent a good amount of time pondering over the idea of releasing a single story, now I've two stories debuting on my blog. The stories would be available on my other blog which you can see in my complete profile. It is calledRelationships With A Twist. I like to call it the Story Box. And the first story I am putting up to be read by others is ZEBRA CROSSING. And the second story in the offing is RUMOURS.

Both are important in their own stride. Next week just look out for the upcoming stories..

Till then bi.....

ORKUT IS KEEPING ME ALIVE

Yes! i have finally discovered orkut.
I am networking socially. There are so many friends of mine, who still remember me.
I am happy. And I keep reporting such stuff to my mom. She is pleased to hear such stuff
from time-to-time. She has been my friend and continues to be my friend. And she is happy
that I am getting to know my friends vide Orkut.
Orkut is keeping me alive, literally. I am only disturbed by regular powercuts.
Otherwise, I am planning to get a net connection at home and enjoy staying connected.
Love to everybody, love to all.......

Beginning my book

I had promised myself. Next year Mid 2008, I complete 10 years of my professional life.
I have seriously decided to start writing a book on the experiences of my professional life.
Keep a track of this blog, to know the progress on the same.
Rest, everything fine...It feels gr8 to get back to blogging.
Lot more in the offing...New experiences about to begin....

Loveless Lives

Last evening, the three friends met again. This has been a regular habit of theirs since they graduated. Earlier it used to be strict Sunday evening meets. But now Sunday’s are defined in a different way. It is a special day saved for family and girlfriends.

What was so special about last evening? Well one of them has mistakenly fallen in love and is expecting a marriage any moment. The other one is still looking hard for a prospective bride after having browsed and grilled fifty odd wife materials. The third one always makes it a point to keep the attention nailed on him. How does he manage to do so? In his mind are stacked stories of all genres. His tireless conversations on love, life, profession, marriage, identity crisis, sex and humour helps him grab the limelight. But, what was so special about last evening?

Last evening was a blend of confusion and chaos. One of the friends who is expecting marriage any moment failed to display even an inch of excitement. The third one who happens to be the storyteller questioned his intentions and inquired about the lack of excitement. The truth was to be told or else the confusion would have persisted. The conversations between the three were a rerun of episodes, which had taken place in their life and had led to heartbreaks. It is difficult for a person who has never been in love to fall in love. Now that one of them has got him bit by the love bug, it is difficult for him to withstand the sting. His love is not unconditional but prone to conditions. His girlfriend has laid a series of conditions and he has to either accept them or reject them. To begin with their families would soon be at loggerheads over the issue of caste. If the guy belongs to a specific caste, the gal belongs to some other caste. Whose caste is superior and whose isn’t is still not clear? And they both have decided that both the sides have to be amicably convinced for their conjugal union. Even if a single member differs the conjugal union would be put on hold.

The wife browser inquired about the motive of such a decision with the guy in love. He began spilling the beans. Love is not that easy. Its tough, especially when you belong to a family where love marriages are a complete no no. He is not against anybody but he is upset with the familial pattern of marriages. He is complaining against the practise of being questioned about decisions made as an adult. His rebellion is against the thinking of his father who chooses to discuss matters with relatives rather than discuss with him. So is it a threat to his love story, which has just begun? Or the beginning of a change in a titanic sized close-knit family. All said and done, the guy in love looked upon his other two friends for a solution. The storyteller inspired him to speak up while the wife browser motivated him to face his father. The guy in love says he is ready to go against the wishes of millions but is still confused about the after effects. In the trio, the storyteller is somebody who is experienced as well as inexperienced. His life is amalgamated with marriage, love, liking, hatred, jealousy, ego and an entire gamut of unexplainable problems. Though he has never succeeded in love he has not given up the hope to do it again and again. The wife browser is till expecting his Mrs. Right to walk into his life. The guy in love is expecting a quick solution to his problem. And the storyteller is still looking for one big thing. The only problem with the three is they are saturated in work. They have no time for love but still looking for it. Even though they make fun of each other, what they need is love. The problem faced by the guy in love is just the tip of the iceberg. There are lots to happen now, tomorrow or in the unpredictable future.

COMING SOON IN YOUR CARD HOLDER

My New Card

Finally my creative instincts have come alive after a long time.

The last time, I had my visiting card done was in the year 2000.

This year, with an intention to bring in more creativity, I have

myself designed this card in my office.

Thanks to millions of inspirations.

COLOUR OF MONEY

Money is addictive. Money is decisive and money is dangerous. I am not saying it out of nowhere. My personal experience with money handling, made me learn a lesson. I learnt that money disregarding the value should never be taken for granted. I would not even have written about this incident, had I not been personally involved with the incident. It happened and I lived to tell the tale.

On Sunday March 19, 2006 I visited one shop in the suburbs to purchase a ceiling fan and a pair of exhaust fans. The total amount was declared to be Rs. 3350 by the shop owner. I ended up calculating Rs. 2350 disregarding what he was saying. Still, I ended up paying Rs. 3350. Late evening, when I sat down to tally the entire days expenditure, did I realise that I was running short of an exact Rs. 1000 from my transactions. From the time, the renovation work at my home begun, my friends and others advised me to keep an eagle’s eye on my cash transactions. This is the first time I was left miffed. Quite unluckily the bills of the exhaust fans were missing which were not handed over by the dealer. The next day being a Monday, the shop remained closed and I was not able to discuss the issue.

Then arrived Tuesday March 21, 2006. From morning I was thinking deep. Also feeling a little let down by the fact that my Mom’s hard earned money was at stake. It was not the question of Rs. 1000. It was the question of being careless or say hassled in a situation less acquainted with. When you are sandwiched between loads of expenditures, you feel the pinch of every penny spent day to day. After having reached my under renovation home and having cleaned all the unnecessary things, I was at the shop. I chose to directly speak to the dealer himself. I chose to maintain my calm. I didn’t intend to get into a blame game fearing that I may lose on my money following a heated debate. I started with reminding him of the episodes that followed one after the other on that fateful day of an erratic transaction.

I explained to him the sequence:

I asked for a 56 inch ceiling fan and then I asked him to show me a pair of mini exhaust fans.

Ceiling fan was priced at Rs. 1250 while the pair of exhaust fans rounded up to around Rs. 1100 (Rs. 550 each).

I asked for a calculator but the dealer himself couldn’t provide me with one.

I calculated the amount on the calculator in my mobile phone.

Though I calculated the grand total to be Rs. 2350, he made me pay Rs. 3350.

While he was preparing the bill there was another person keeping him busy in his conversations.

Luckily the last sequence reminded him of having struck a conversation with his astrologer who it seems comes visiting his shop, every Sunday.

Being a staunch Sindhi entrepreneur, I should have not taken the chance of demanding my money back. But, I knew I stood by what had happened. He shook his head in disgrace. Also apologised and within seconds returned me my Rs. 1000 in cash.

Though the entire incident involved 30 minutes of rigorous conversation without a break, I ended up on a positive note. He said that he liked the confidence with which I spoke about my loss of having paid up Rs. 1000 extra.

Yes! I was confident. Because, I knew, I was not wrong.

The only good thing about this entire incident was, it reinstated my faith in God and the power to think positive. Besides being a major booster of confidence, the incident made me learn a lesson. And that lesson is “Think Positive because Nothing is Impossible”.