I MISSED MEETING JEFFREY ARCHER

May 13, 2009 – HE WAS IN MUMBAI

I got acquainted with him when he visited Mumbai last year to promote his book ‘Prisoner of Birth’. I had at that time not paid much attention to his visit or to his book. I consider it an evolutionary phase to soon become a fan of his books. Accidentally I hit upon a link that transported me to the introductory pages of ‘Prisoner of Birth’. I started reading it and I continued doing so at the pace of a jet. I discovered how the characters were being carefully created by Jeffrey Archer to be profiled in a book which was so real at the outset. I knew I had to buy this book of his and I did so. From page one of the book to the last page that I read of ‘Prisoner of Birth’, I found Jeffrey Archer making a very strong statement. It had to do something with the lawlessness of a highly civilised society. It had to do something with the innocent lives of innocent people. The book was conversing with me. In Daniel Cartwright the main protagonist in the book, I found the wronged conscience of mine. From the beginning I knew he was innocent but was eager to find out how he was going to achieve freedom from the highly guarded Belmarsh prison. I was eager to know how he was going to make Beth realise that true love does wait eternally. After I completed reading it, I knew the fan in me had surrendered to the genius of Jeffrey Archer. I wanted to read more of him and more of his books. I googled and I found his official website and his blog. Both made for good read. It is here that I read about his life and the books he has penned. I am now eager to read all of them. Then I also saw the official launch of his new book ‘Paths of Glory’. Once again basing his story on the real life story of a mountaineer, Jeffrey Archer creates a revolution in the world of writing. I am yet to grab a copy of it. On his blog I learnt about his visit to India. He was also coming to Mumbai at Landmark Book Store at the Infiniti Mall to promote his new book ‘Paths of Glory’. He finally did arrive on May 13. I was eager to meet him. I had even carried with me the copy of ‘Prisoner of Birth’ to be autographed by him and had wished to purchase ‘Paths of Glory’ and get it autographed from him. No matter how much time it took. No matter how much effort I had to put in to do so. No matter how much delayed his arrival could have been. But destiny had something else in store for me. I was not able to leave my office. My presence here was important too. I kept looking at my watch and realised how and what I was missing. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be at the feet of my favourite writer. I wanted to catch a glimpse of him. Luckily he is again writing a book; a collection of short stories and I am sure he shall visit India again to promote it. It should be in the year 2010. I hope I survive that long because life now has become highly unpredictable in India. One moment you are alive and the other moment you are dead due to bomb blast, accident or murder. But I truly missed meeting Jeffrey Archer. Better luck next time says the struggling writer within me. Better luck next year says the survivor within me. Better luck next era says the ardent disciple of Jeffrey Archer within me.

- vociferous

ON THE THRESHOLD

I don’t know if my blog is been followed. It doesn’t even host a followers list. The only devoted follower is me and a sole me. When I recommend my blog to some one, it is read instantly. But that doesn’t mean that they would leave a comment. Some are honest, some pretend while some ignore it. Blogs over the world have been considered a reflection of what the blogger does in his every day life. In fact, a blog is a virtual diary made available online to be read by the world. I have been a less generous on that front. Honestly speaking I have been selfish, self centred and self engrossed. One question therefore has been bothering me for the past few days. How far is it justified? I am not a recluse. But have been forced to be one. The experience of nothingness has never been so intense. I have heard about boycotts that are categorised as personal, political and professional. Whatever the category is, boycotts hurt! They do hurt and the pain in intolerable. You are pushed to the limit of thinking otherwise. Suddenly the levels of communication hit an all time low. A pair of dark glasses replaces the natural vision we are blessed with. We try our best to see through it. The lack of transparency makes the situation even worse. I have been no stranger to hurt or discord. My actions have been always a matter of scrutiny and critical analysis. By the time the lamp of the scanner warms up, people are ready with their sharp comments about me. Misjudged from past couple of weeks, today for the first ever time on my blog, I wish to reveal my state of my mind and why am I feeling I am being misunderstood. I am not going to divide this post of mine into paragraphs. I would want the reader to read this piece without a break. When our rights were being challenged, I stood up with the baton in my hand. I could have easily chosen to put it in a violent way but circumstances made me act in a non violent way. Not that I remained unchallenged. Forces were at work and I realised they were stronger than me. I fought back and came out unscathed. I was in a similar position as that of Abhimanyu trying to break the vicious circle in the war of Mahabharata. I found my way out pretty sooner. Being a part of a team was never so rocking. The good times come back to me in sepia toned photographic instalments. Depression was a state of mind I was unaware about. In their company I swam out of it when I was depressed. Just one altercation and time stood still. I am back to square one still trying to figure out what, where, why, how it went wrong? They must have heard something very negative about me. I never had a hand in any conspiracy. If my religious beliefs and attitude is a major hindrance, I may try to tone down on those fronts. For God sake I haven’t killed some one. What is happening now is what I term as ‘blindfolded worship’ or ‘following a blind vendetta’. During tough times I had escaped situations. In my thirty first year of life, I cannot think of doing that. Backing off is like losing the war without even holding the sword against an unseen enemy. Their tones are hushed, their looks are fatal and their minds are poisoned. Had it been invisible, I would have never felt so exhausted. The premise that I stand upon is a known territory. The war declared is against me, my own self and my faith. They won’t give out the reason and neither am I interested in probing into it. I know I have challenged them. I maybe speechless presently but that doesn’t mean I am worthless. I don’t know how to operate a sword but I am well aware of launching an attack with my pen. Maybe some day they would realise that my anger is mostly pretentious and I am a different person from within. Only exception is, this time I am disinterested in dealing with people of less intellect. Barring a handful, most of them talk mindlessly and act insane. I am a kind of person who hasn’t lost his sanity. Life has challenged me again like it had challenged me six years back. Speaking to one of my friends we laughed out how our problems are multilayered and pose the threat of being endless. Losing hope at such a juncture makes me feel less like a man and more like a loser. But who said I am a loser? I am a fighter. The days of survival left maybe less but the days of glory are infinite. With so much of nothingness, I might appear to be on the threshold of going broke but I haven’t lost yet. On their faces I would fire not one but a battery of questions. If they can answer them satisfactorily I will kneel down and salute them and if they fail, I will make sure guilt overpowers them. Being a winner is not that easy and neither being a fighter is. Try being a mortal and you will realise what picture of you people around you paint in their minds.

- vociferous

THE GREAT INDIAN CIRCUS

India is a country where a political circus unfolds every five years. Being the biggest democracy, India has got its own advantages and disadvantages. Advantages are running scarce but there is no dearth of disadvantages. The biggest hiccup is the number of political parties that leave a voter confused and amused. When the elections approach, a battery of political leaders is seen visiting their constituencies. New promises are made only to be broken, ignored or forgotten. They dig believable/unbelievable facts against their opponents and raise issues which can provoke fatal repercussions. But who cares when these parties go to the extent of bribing voters, entertaining with money and implementing every trick to keep people from their constituencies tempted to vote. Months of planning go into trading of trust, loyalty and dedication. Phenomenal money is spent on the hara-kiri. News channels leave no stone unturned to rope in analysts to foresee the invincible.

The Lok Sabha Elections are being held for the 15th time across India. On April 30, 2009 Mumbai voted in full strength but still fell short of numbers. Performers of this great Indian circus were dressed in white, orange, green and blue to fight the odds, balance the evens. The results will be declared on May 16, 2009. Till then as spectators, we would be subjected to visual and oral torture. Worth mentioning also the sound waves which would keep knocking our eardrums. As the day of results would start approaching, due to desperation the jokers of the circus would start doing funny things. They would play their trump cards. They would mount horses to be traded in the open market. Sting operations would suddenly tarnish images. So till the circus is on, lets see and discover for ourselves who wins the bet.

The hand in support of the common Indian – Will it pat or push?
The elephant leading the unknowns – Will it salute or thump on millions of hearts?
The flower in the pond – Will it spread fragrance or emit a foul smell?
The bicycle of simplified transportation – Will it peddle its way smoothly?
The alarm clock – Will it keep ticking at the right hour or go dead?
The sickle and hammer – Will they cut or thrash?
The arrow in the bow – Will it hit the bull’s eye or break midway?
The lantern – Will it spread light or set fire to millions of dreams?

The curtains are expected to go up soon. The jokers are everywhere. The trapeze artists are warming up. The ringmaster is blazing his whip to take control of the show.
And we as spectators wait with oodles of expectation in our eyes to see The Great Indian Circus unfold.

- vociferous

3 DAYS OF 3 INSPIRING MOVIES

Movie 1: American Gangster
Language: English
Watched on: HBO
Date: April 24, 2009

It started on a Friday night. I switched on my television and rushed to a channel that sported the HBO logo. On the left hand side flashed the seconds which announced that the movie ‘American Gangster’ would begin in 0.00.02 time. Having put aside every thing that could have bothered me, I got hooked to the screen. I was both excited and curious to watch the movie which starred two of my favourite Hollywood stars – Russell Crowe and Denzil Washington. Based on the real life story of once famed gangster Frank Lucas, the movie began subtly on a premise that transported the viewer to an era of realising the American Dream. Lucas is shown walking the streets of America with his boss, mentor and friend. His boss points up to a structure and asks Lucas, “You know what that is? They have planned to call it the McDonald’s”. He suffers a heart attack and the scene shifts to his funeral. Lucas is a silent witness to the people who attend the funeral and crack jokes. Frank Lucas swears that his boss’s death won’t go waste. He hatches a plan to rule the underworld and get bigger than the biggest players. He not only smuggles 100 kgs of heroin into America but feeds the poor, serves them drug and gives them money. He buys a mansion, gets married to the most beautiful woman and manages to take his mother to attend a Sunday mass in the church. The bigger he gets, the more enemies he ends up making. These foes are also from the police fraternity who threaten to expose him if they are not being paid their bribe. Frank Lucas bribes them and also threatens them with dire consequences. Lucas also gets his family into the business. His brothers, cousins, nephews every one becomes a part of his business that in particular deals with drugs. The problem begins when Detective Richie Roberts sets on a trail to nab the drug lords smuggling every thing that is threatening the American future. Performed skilfully by Russell Crowe, Richie Roberts is an every day man going through a divorce, bedding innumerable women, missing his son and yet meeting the twain meet. He carefully creates a team of assault officers who are handpicked by him from clubs, corners and cabarets. They start hunting for the real man who is behind all the drugs smuggled in all the way from Bangkok. The heroin when tested emerges to be of finest quality. The missing link only is the player. Most magnificently in this movie the characters never come face to face until the climax scene is arrives on the screen. The visual encounter happens only after a lot of cat & mouse type chases and guerrilla investigations. In the final scene when Lucas is sure of facing an arrest, there is no exchange of dialogues. And neither is their any bloodbath. Lucas being aware of the crime surrenders; pleads guilty in the court and then he meets up with Detective Richie Roberts in his cell. The picture that Frank Lucas presents to Roberts is not only interesting but is quite a revelation. He ends up exposing the misdeeds of cops, the greasing of hands, the exchange of money and the aftermaths. As a result, tarnished cops are arrested, sent to jail and Lucas too serves a sentence. The movie ends saying how Detective Roberts goes to become an attorney to represent his first client Frank Lucas.

If not masterpiece, this movie is an institution in itself. Directed by Ridley Scott who has in the past offered the Oscar winning Gladiator, the soul stirring Black Hawk Down, the emotionally stronger A Good Year and the riveting Kingdom of Heaven narrates a story which very few are aware about. The movie invited mixed reviews. Many wrote it off following the first show while some stayed with it and even declared it to be Oscar material. As a movie buff, as a creative writer and being a die hard fan of Ridley Scott movies; I loved it to the core. I agree Ridley Scott might have not been able to do justice to the script with some loopholes some visionaries might have pointed it. I enjoyed the movie and so did my mom who rarely stays up with wide open eyes to see something so English. Definitely Detective Richie Roberts character could have been strongly developed. But that is not a deal. As far as a movie entertains you and keeps you glued to the edge of your seat, it is a good movie. I pity those who don’t appreciate a story told so well on the silver screen. The only Indian movie that has managed to come close to a movie of such genre is Ram Gopal Verma’s Company based on the life of real gangster rivalry between Dawood Ibrahim and Chhota Rajan. All said and done, American Gangster is a good movie and thoroughly enjoyable by those who love to be told a story at its own pace.
Repeated Views: Recommended Strongly.

Movie 2: The Brave One
Language: English
Watched on: HBO
Date: April 25, 2009

Jodie Foster is a radio presenter who is in love with an Asian doctor played by Naveen Andrews. Most specifically she is in love with a half Muslim half Chirstian guy. Both have spent beautiful times together. Time spent on the bed has been equally memorable. They have a lovely life. David Kirmani (Naveen Andrews) and Erica Brian (Jodie Foster) are about to get married. One evening the duo accompanied their dog go for a stroll at the Central Park. Suddenly they are attacked by some miscreants who have been busy drinking beer and cracking vulgar jokes. David is killed while Erica lands up in the hospital bed. Her entire career is shattered by one event. She loses her confidence and tries hard to bounce back to life. Her producer is apprehensive as to whether Erica would regain her status of being an unparalleled radio producer. Erica fails and then she decides to avenge every thing she had lost. She buys herself a gun and starts wandering the streets of New York in the dead of night. This is a city post the 9/11 incident. The city which was once supposed to be safe, secure and soothing is no more the same. Females can no more walk safely. They are molested, raped and killed. Erica’s insecurity provokes her to fire a shoplifter. Next she kills a bunch of goons in the lonely train she takes from her studio to her apartment. She rescues a girl who has been kidnapped from Las Vegas by a drunkard. Erica goes on a killing spree only to meet up with her fate in the form of a kind hearted Detective Mercer played by the seasoned actor Terrence Howard. Mercer reaches every scene of Erica’s deed an hour later. He sees her at the places the bludgeoning events take place and is yet confused to understand the possibilities of her presence & involvement. In Mercer, Erica finds her alter ego. Mercer too is frustrated. He has gone through a divorce, is amused by the outcome of a system that pardons a criminal and yet compelled to be a part of it. Mercer discovers Erica’s intentions and deeds only when she kills a criminal he had once really thought of killing. They both draw closer and one-by-one, Erica kills the people who had stolen David away from her.

The movie is no brilliant piece of cinema. But the depiction is no less than brilliant. Post 9/11, Americans have gone through the toughest phases of betrayal, deception and lawlessness. The Brave One represents their insecurities in a fictionalised way. Neil Jordan is no phenomenal director I had ever heard about. But the way he has made this movie is thought provoking. The moral of the story is if one commoner makes up his or her mind to bring a change in the society, it is possible. Two such movies in India had succeeded in depicting these quite well. A Wednesday starring Naseeruddin Shah represented the frustration of a common man while Ek Hasina Thi starring Urmila Matondkar revealed the insecurities of a single girl trying to make the twain meet in a distrusted society. Though I don’t recommend a repeated viewing but one time viewing won’t be of big harm.

Movie 3: Khela (The Game)
Language: Bengali
Watched on: Home DVD
Date: April 26, 2009

Rituparna Ghosh is a seasoned director of Bengali cinema. His stories are told authentically. His movies are full of characters which are close to real life people. In the past his masterpieces include Uneeshe April, Dahan, Utsab, Dosar, Chokher Bali, Titli, Antar Mahal and the much acclaimed Raincoat in Hindi. Teaming up once again with Prosenjit Chatterjee this time he ropes in Manisha Koirala to play his wife. Raima Sen plays a fashion designer. The story revolves around a director, his estranged wife, a child artist and a fashion designer. Excepting his usual way of story telling which basically take place indoors, Rituparna chooses to go outdoors. He enlivens the beauty of North Bengal without once flooding them with props. Captured beautifully on celluloid Khela follows a brilliant plot. Prosenjit plays Raja a film director in quest of an innocent looking child to play a young Buddhist monk. One day he spots one gulping delicious phoockas at a roadside vendor. He immediately approaches the child and presents him with the presentation. The child artist whose character is named Abhirup suggests that the director seek the permission of his parents as he is not supposed to speak to strangers. Raja follows suit but the child’s parents make their apprehension up, loud and clear. In no way is Raja willing to make the movie without Abhirup. Raja’s producer friend suggests making a choice from the innumerable photographs they have been receiving ever since the announcement of the movie. A major twist in the story is the brilliance of Abhirup who secretly calls up Raja and expresses his wish to act. The child hatches a plan to get self kidnapped. Leaving behind a letter to his parents, Abirup and Raja escape to North Bengal. The shooting begins. In the midst of every thing during interactions with Abhirup, Raja realises through flashbacks how indifferent he has been to his wife. The fashion designer cannot confine her romantic feelings for Raja to herself. The show stealer is of course the child artist who plays Abhirup. He is bright, brilliant and benevolent.
The bond that he develops with Raja is that of a father and child, a teacher and student, a saint and his follower. High on emotions, the movie is bright with colours. Not a single scene of the movie drags itself. In stead what Rituparna serves on his platter full of award winning movies, Khela departs from his past stories. Raima Sen is a discovery. Manish Koirala satisfies. Prosenjit Chatterjee as Raja is phenomenal. The thick stubble on his face, long hair and low paced dialogues make him seem like a director whose character is very much based on Rituparna himself. The only loophole in the movie is it ends too soon. I was really anxious to see how the parents react after meeting their son Abhirup who was supposed to have been kidnapped but is also the writer of his own story. Abhirup not only ends up shooting for Raja but also reunites him with his estranged wife. Raja confesses to his wife that while directing Abhirup, he realised how unfair he has been to his life partner. Rituparna Ghosh is the kind of director whose films are going on improving. He is the next director to be taken note of after the stalwarts like Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, Gautam Ghosh, Aparna Sen, Buddhadeb Das Gupta, Tapan Sinha and Ritwik Ghatak. He is the only one to make Bengali film lovers like me survive and end up asking for more. I recommend Khela to be watched again and again for the sake of the master genius – Rituparna Ghosh.

- vociferous

The Night before… PART 10

After an unbelievable experience, Pritish and Kunal drove quietly back to their office. As Kunal stepped in Rebecca informed him that a parcel and an invitation had arrived for them. Pritish walked in and picked up the parcel that was addressed to him. With the parcel accompanied an invitation card, which read:

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.: Florina Mendonsa 99796 *****

The parcel contained a tailored suit. Pritish was dumbstruck. He looked at his wristwatch to check the date which read January 23, 2008. Before he could say something a loud alarm interrupted Pritish’s sleep. He instantly opened his eyes and looked at his wristwatch which read January 24, 2008 and showed him the time as 11 a.m. Stella had sent him more than 10 sms inquiring about his absence since morning. This was the first time, Pritish had slept so late. Reaching office at around noon, Pritish walked into the Thought Room. The team was anxiously awaiting his arrival. He looked out at the reception area where Rebecca was seated. Her desk was empty with no parcel on it. There was no invitation either. As he settled down on his chair, Pritish looked confusingly at everybody present there. Stella pushed a document towards Pritish which read: SHORT FILM SCRIPT FOR CARIBBEAN CLIENT.

At the end of the script, it was written: Climax yet to be decided.

“Why is this yet to be completed?” asked Pritish.
“You were about to narrate it to us Pritu,” replied Kunal.
“But then what happened?” asked Pritish.
“Nothing…You took a break yesterday and headed home. When I called up, you didn’t reply my calls,” replied Kunal.

Pritish realised what he saw or had experienced was a dream that was an extension of the brainstorming session that he left halfway to take a break. On his drive back home, one thing that kept ringing in his head was the possibility of call centre employees doubling up as escorts. The woman was his interpretation because he still couldn’t get Nilanjana out of his thoughts. But Pritish was sure that he had a script for a killing. In stead of an ad film they can now do a short film that would satisfy the target audience that they don’t have to double up for extra earnings. In stead if they are working in the Caribbean call centre what they can look ahead for is a pay package that can take care of their expenses. Secondly they will not have to speak in an ugly accent for catering to Asia based clients. Rising from his chair, Pritish announced his plan and wished the team to work hard on a communication which in its inception sounded so strong could definitely end up bringing good business to the agency. On the other hand, the Caribbean call centre can end up hiring the right kind of people who can serve them better. Pritish looked at Kunal and smiled. Stella sat impressed. The entire team was gung-ho over the entire discussion. As Pritish went through the script the phone rang. Stella picked up the call to answer Rebecca on the other hand.

“What is it Rebecca?” asked Stella.
“There is a parcel for Mr. Pritish,” replied Rebecca.
“And where has it come from?” asked Stella.
“Renward & Co. and is accompanied with a personalised invitation to be strictly delivered to our boss,” replied Rebecca.

Turning her attention towards Pritish, Stella spoke, “Renward & Co. has sent across to you a parcel.”

Pritish thought over it and simply smiled knowing this time it wasn’t a dream until his thoughts were interrupted by the sms tone on Kunal’s mobile.

Advertising is a tough business. It looks glamorous from the outer. Innumerable people toil behind the walls of an advertising agency. The bigger the agency, the tougher are the tasks. Advertising does pay well but not before challenging the intellect level of a person passionate about this profession. There are numerous unsung heroes who work hard to beat deadlines. Sometimes their thoughts go so berserk they end up mixing professional and personal commitments. This short story is a tribute to the unsung and the renowned heroes of advertising who make ideas look great on print, television and online media.

The Night before… PART 9

Pritish was feeling quite tired. Stella tried calling him twice but he preferred to leave it unanswered. Saturday was over. The Republic Day celebrations were flashed over a million times on television. But Pritish was more interested in the Monday meeting. Sunday fizzled out like the bubble thrown out of a beer bottle. Pritish answered Kunal’s call and confirmed the time of the meeting but requested that they meet a little early in the office before they leave.

On Monday January 28, 2008; Kunal reported to office at dot 8.30 a.m. Pritish was eagerly awaiting his arrival. As Kunal settled in the chair he usually occupied in the Thought Room, Pritish started unfolding the episodes that took place during the night of the party. Kunal was dumbstruck not knowing what to say next.

Pritish and Kunal both reached Gary’s office at Powai by 10.45 a.m. Kunal was not that pleased to meet Gary now. But Pritish wanted to see the person who behaved like an evil the other night. They were both led to a Conference Room that was beautifully decorated with gerbera flowers. Having patiently awaited Gary’s arrival both started looking at their watch. As they were about to place their elbows on the table, the door flung open and entered a tall man suited smartly. He had blue eyes, black hair and with a thin file in his hand. Pritish couldn’t believe what he was seeing and Kunal too was amused about whether this was the man he had stories about. As Pritish shook hands with Gary, he started feeling guilty about a fact he thought he shouldn’t have acquainted with. The person seated in front of them was not the Gary Renward he had met on that night. This Gary was very much different from the Gary he ended up hating. This Gary spoke gently, smiled occasionally and meant only business. Gary kept talking but realised Pritish was lost in his thoughts.

“Mr. Pritish! I hope you aren’t bored of my conversation?” asked Gary.
“Hmmm. No, I mean yes and no. But what happened?” minced Pritish.

He was amused to find Gary addressing him as Pritish and not P2. There was something not at all right with his version of the story and with the person he had met. Everything contradicted the other thing. As the meeting ended Kunal had made his notes. But one person who was still left thinking was none other than Pritish. He couldn’t arrive to a conclusion that who was that Gary Renward he had met. Once again they shook hands, exchanged cards and parted. As Pritish neared the door, Gary patted his back.

“Pritish. I hope you will be attending the party tonight,” asked Gary.
“I have already,” replied Pritish.
“Which party are you talking about Pritish?” inquired Gary.

Kunal too was confused by now. Not letting any one else to further corrupt their thoughts, Kunal and Pritish chose to leave Gary’s office. The lift touched the ground floor of the building. Pritish and Kunal stepped out of the lift to approach the parking lot. Kunal excused himself to attend a call on his mobile phone. As Pritish started walking towards his car a woman came rushing towards his direction. Before he could think the woman had already pushed him side to make it to the lift the door of which was about to close. But before she could make it the door closed and she stood helplessly. Pritish couldn’t believe what had happened. As he bent down to collect the car keys that had fallen out his pocket, he saw the woman approaching him. Once he stood up, he saw this woman standing in front of her draped in a lovely sari making her appear more beautiful than she was.

“I am very sorry sir. I was in a rush,” said the woman.
“Actually I have to attend an interview and I have already run late. I am so sorry, in my rush, I ended up pushing you so hard,” continued the woman gasping for breath.
“It’s alright. Please don’t feel so bothered about that,” said Pritish.
“But I owe you an apology sir. By the way I am Mallika,” said the woman.

The second biggest instalment of shock had struck Pritish. Here was a female who introduced herself as Mallika and was not the same woman he had had a one night stand with. Then who was she. To confirm his doubts, Pritish tried looking at her left arm which was partly got covered by the drape of her sari. To his surprise there was a tattoo which read – LOVE BITES HARD. By the time he could gather his thoughts together to speak to the woman, she turned back and walked straight towards the lift. Kunal joined him later.

“Is something wrong with you Pritu?” asked Kunal.
“That woman!” exclaimed Pritish stretching his hand towards the lift.
“What with that woman?” asked Kunal.
“She was Mal…, forget it!” ended Pritish.

The Night before… PART 8

Mallika’s beauty was indescribable. For the first time, Pritish realised that he was not thinking of Nilanjana. He had already started falling for Mallika. But on the other hand he thought would it be wise enough for him to get intimate with an escort who might also be an escort. For that moment however he didn’t want to think but to act. Having thanked the bar tender for the drinks he had served, Pritish turned his attention to Mallika who was already producing rings of smoke from the cigarette she smoked. The light that ignited the cancer stick pressed between her cherry red lips was a gesture of the bar tender who expected something to happen, between the two customers who for that moment had occupied his mind. Pritish drew himself close to Mallika wanting to take her in his arms. Together they reached the third floor of the Grandy Hyatt and to the room to which Mallika had the key for the night as it was abandoned by her gay guest. Before they could turn that one night into a memorable experience, Mallika looked deep into Pritish’s eyes. All Pritish could see was a tattoo on her left arm which said, “Love Bites Hard”. As the night got wilder, locked in the room Pritish and Mallika had bid adieu to their millions of thoughts.

As the rays of the morning sun pierced through the windows of the hotel room, Pritish was awakened by the door bell that rang. Mallika was nowhere to be seen. Pritish knew such acquaintances had a life span of just one night. There was no point in even inquire about Mallika’s disappearance because hotel staff never involve themselves with the on goings of a client after their hefty bill is taken care about accompanied with fat perks and much more. After having freshened, Pritish headed to the parking lot of Grand Hyatt from where he pulled out his car to head back towards the town. As the clock stuck 11 a.m. Pritish received a call on his cell phone. It was Gary on the other end. Unwillingly he still had to answer the man whom he had ended up hating the last night.

“Yes! Gary. How can I help you?” asked Pritish.
“I hope you enjoyed the party last night and if you don’t mind can we meet up on Monday?” inquired Gary Renward.
“For sure Gary. Kunal too should be back by tomorrow afternoon and he will be joining us to discuss our future course of business,” replied Pritish.

Gary hung up but followed up with an sms saying: “Monday 11 a.m. at my office”

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