THROUGH THE DAY

She is relentless.

Over the years, she has been wielding power.

I remember the slogan, she had introduced us to – Mother, Earth, Human.

We were waking up to brightness from an era of darkness.

Her arrival on the political canvas had meant independence from hooliganism.

Sorry to make a note and blow a bugle of caution; she has reversed the course of hooliganism and remolded it into something worse than that.

Her political demands have never followed a pattern.

In the past, she was a rebel, I had personally looked up to.

Today, she is someone, I don’t wish to even catch a glimpse of.

Her speeches are punctuated with hatred.

The least, I had expected of her was to witness an unnecessary change – West Bengal to Bangla.

What next?

She is talented.

Today she turned the stage into a space of well-choreographed miracle.

I read through the reviews, she had curated to be shared across.

It didn’t take me much time to realize; I had missed out on a real talent, performing live on stage.

Till the eventuality of ‘next time’ resurfaces and she decides to dance on stage, I shall wait.

She is unpredictable.

I know it was not on purpose.

The language is to be blamed. The time is to be held responsible.

During late hours, none of us are at liberty to weigh the impact of words.

I might have overreacted; it seemed so unnecessary the next moment.

Just a word, to think about. In the end, everything remains the same.

She is happiness.

I am sure, she might have repeated the shade of yellow.

Her fondness for that particular color isn’t hidden.

It was her birthday yesterday. She made sure to wear the shade, which always makes her happy.

Our conversations were too thin throughout the day.

But somehow, I left her craving for a cup of tea, just through a menial conversation of mine.

She is trying.

I know, it is not too easy to tolerate someone who has grown unpredictable.

But life needs to be balanced between possibilities and probabilities.

I think someday, she will definitely get the picture right in her mind.

Maybe that day, her anger and her irritation will also settle down.

She is daredevil.

In the toughest of moments, she will end up sending a message, which will guarantee a hefty laugh.

Her approach towards life is so positively driven, I am timelessly greedy to continue seeking inspiration from her.

She is calm.

Storms don’t move her a bit; emotional storms to be precise.

She never reacts. She neither overreacts.

She prays. She prays through days. She prays through nights.

All she has is the one, she gave birth too.

She makes sure, he continues to live his dreams and makes their dreams comes true.

She is clueless.

Guided by wrong people, her mistakes are not to be counted or discussed about.

After a period of time, she is to be forgiven and forgotten.

She is she.

Spending time amidst children with special needs isn’t easy.

But she does it with envious ease.

Through the day all I sensed…  

She is some kind of a mystic medley that surrounds me.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 27 | July Blog-4 | Making of the beast | 2018

THE RAINY PREFACE

The first thought

10.45 PM – It is raining

10.45 AM – It was raining

I am seated in the farthest suburb of Mumbai, which according to residents of SoBo (South Bombay) can’t even stand eligible to be addressed as NoBo (North Bombay). I am seated in my very own corner, writing this piece; also thinking, how nothing has changed in a course of 12 hours. Not the people, not the conversations, not the conspiracies; nothing at all has changed. Neither do I expect them to change because it is me, who has to become the change.

Skipping work came naturally. I am happy I skipped making fool of myself as well. As the rains kept lashing, journalists of innumerable news channels turned into weather experts and kept reporting bullshit. But am I supposed to complain? Nah! Instead I kept staring at the rains, from the comfort of my dream home. Every drop of rain left me with these lines, which I call the rainy preface (also the title of this blog) –

TODAY IT RAINED

TODAY IT POURED

I STOOD DRENCHED

FOR A MOMENT, I FELT

ARE THESE RAINS CAPABLE ENOUGH

OF MELTING A MORTAL BEING LIKE ME?

ME… THE @#@*@#@*@#

The special characters form the name of my second book. For days, I’ve wanted to start working on my second book. I invested an entire year, thinking of it. I invested an entire year, trying to adjust to it. Interestingly, I invested two years extending my seva, my meva to a place, which in return has given me new lessons to learn from for a good life (this line is dedicated to the advisors, who will continue holding me wrong for all reasons and once again ask me to not get frustrated, stay diplomatic, decent).

The Final Thought

11.00 PM – It is raining

11.00 AM – It was raining

Away from the trappings of emotions, WhatsApp messages, birthday wishes, Facebook likes & dislikes; I lived through a peaceful day. This day was exactly the kind of day I wish to have a constant affair with. I drove in my car, walked below my umbrella and continued conversing with some intelligent minds. Some questions did come my way. I chose not to answer them. I am sure, some will come advising me again of being obsessed and being wrong. Having decided to follow what the heart prompts, I continued being myself and kept chanting a mantra for my well-wishers – My Foot, My Foot, Foot, Foot, Foot. They disappeared!

Concluding on a happy note by saying… Writing begins and continues every single day!

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 9 | July Blog-3 | Making of the beast | 2018

POST INTERVAL

Beneath a thick layer of ice, a certain province in Kashmir is inhaling hope and exhaling despair. Terrorism is at its peak. So are the precautionary measures and military operations. Half of the men have disappeared and have been declared untraceable. A chorus of gloomy voices seem to be puncturing the insanely tense, hung environment. Just then, a man walks out of the woods; wrapped in thick blanket, wearing post-surgical eye glasses, he takes a pause then proceeds. An unusual limp in his walk makes us sympathize for him. It’s interesting to note that the arrival of this man mutes the chorus of gloomy voices and triggers a crescendo.  This is the very moment, when the screen comes to a standstill and one word floods the screen – INTERVAL.

I am sure, we are familiar with this term, this word called interval and its immediate cousin - INTERMISSION. If we haven’t paid too much attention, we may realize that these two words have also played an important part in our lives too. Haven’t they? Well, if you haven’t yet realized then you might be living in some other world till now. Thankfully I am living in this world and after having stayed awake through the major portion of night, which served as an interval, I am ready to step on the other side. This other side is called POST INTERVAL. At this juncture, nothing remains the same. Change is the only constant and the signs of this constant, show up instantly.

Post interval, the gloom, the grim, the nightmare and the dream; everything start to settle down or grow adverse. This is when, the heart decides to shed the excess baggage of apprehension, inhibition, reluctance and regret. On the contrary the heart decides to rebel.

Rebel it will; but is the heart ready yet? Of course it is and maybe somewhere deep within, it isn’t ready. The traces of heart’s readiness could be found long hidden in some of the most inhuman strategies ever adopted or implemented by some human agents of anarchy.

Post interval may also unleash truths, no one else wishes to know about. Just then a new breed would come barking from nowhere and position itself being diplomatic.

We are no more in need of any diplomacy. All we are looking forward to can be termed as being in action. After the interval, the cogwheels of probabilities and possibilities will experience certain friction. This friction will give rise to eventualities of an ouster. Who is afraid of it?

Now that the interval has concluded, life is up for grabs. Who wins it over or who loses it will depend on the story-line. In my case, the story-line would be that of a rebel who holds his head high against fear. All the fear, all the chaos is man-made. The urgency that we are asked to think deeply about is a ploy to fail us. Only I am not ready to fail this time over; I have decided to win. In this phase of post interval, it is me who will win and it will be the big bad gang of contenders who will fail; they will lose badly. So, what’s the plan? Nothing, but being ready to live every moment of being me post interval.

As I conclude, I wish to draw your attention to the first paragraph of this post. It refers to a moment from the Vishal Bharadwaj masterclass retelling of The Hamlet in its Indian context – Haider. It is the interval, which introduces us to the mystic character of Roohdar. This character has a vendetta of his own. Inspired from the same vendetta, I now cross over to the best side of life post interval. So, see you there, right out there on the battlefield.  

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 9 | July Blog-2 | Making of the beast | 2018

SUNRISE ON THE FIRST SUNDAY OF JULY

My car is parked in the open. The beams of bright sunlight have been constantly hitting its roof since morning. As my eyes stretch out of my gallery and from the window of my bedroom, I see the top portions of some roofs, which are covered with blue plastic sheets, reflecting the brightness of sunlight. I am trying to put a strong belief in place; this is the second month of Indian monsoons. What we are faced with is a sign of delayed monsoons ahead. If told differently, the monsoons may just prolong themselves.

Going by the beginning of this blog and reading through the title, may create an impression of a geological article or an environmental thesis. Sorry to say, none of the both can be associated with this written piece. What I wish to write now has nothing to do with both and yet has something to do or undo, with regards to both!

July is supposed; I hope I am writing it right when I say – July is supposed to be the month of heavy downpour. The skies are supposed to be constantly overcast. At least from the time, I started appreciating or avoiding the monsoons, all months of July in my 39 seasons of monsoons, have looked the same. But one of the Julys from the many Julys could be figured out being different. Maybe this is just that kind of a different July. But why am I speaking so much about this specific month, out of the 4 crucial months of monsoon? There could be a reason.

The sunrise in the title is symbolic of hope. The first Sunday in the title is symbolic of inspiration. The July in this title is symbolic of present phase of life.

From the past few months, I’ve been witnessing the rise of a phenomenon around me. I would like to tag or label or call this phenomenon as something vexatious^#1. Even though I have been trying my level best to ignore this evolution, I still get tousled in its web. 

The minds behind this phenomenon, which I now label as Something Vexatious, come with their own share of history. I would like to raise an alarm in here. This is not exactly the kind of history someone could be proud of. This history is truculent^#2 in nature. Even though, I haven’t dug deeper into their past. But, I am sure, they have remained this way throughout their lives. This is what their present is all about. This is what their future will be all about. The only exception being me and some others, supposedly like me.

As the phenomenon keeps getting heavier and affecting optimism, my mind fluctuates between grimness of heavy monsoons in July and expectation of sunrise someway.

Therefore, when I woke up at some other place this morning and peeped out of the window, my eyes fell on the beams of a sunrise, which prompted me that hope is still alive. When my eyes fell on the calendar, it reminded me of today being Sunday and also made me aware of the reality that inspiration is not yet dead.

To conclude with an ode to present phase of my life, I wish to write – Hello July. This is my month, our month to excel. No matter, where the propellers of the vexatious phenomenon come from, I shall triumph, we shall triumph!

-Virtuous Vociferous | July 1 | July Blog-1 | Making of the beast | 2018

Vexatious^#1 – annoying / Truculent^#2 – aggressively hostile 

NEXT YEAR OF NO MANGOES

The Jadhavs have shifted to a new neighborhood. Their modest bungalow is supposed to make way for a multilevel apartment. Fortunes have changed overnight for the much deserving Jadhavs. Long live their ambition and long live their prayers for a good life. We are happy for them.

Jadhavs and we have been neighbors for almost twelve years. We saw their son grow up from a toddler to a teenager. Evolution has been an integral part for the Jadhavs, our locality and of course the neighborhood & ties we shared.

As news spread about the Jadhavs planning to make their bungalow available for demolition, real estate developers started queuing up at their doors. The Jadhavs must have rejoiced the opportunity of handpicking a developer, who promised to not only raze their bungalow but also flatten the existing piece of land. Apart from the deals, which were finalized on paper, the Jadhavs seemed to have made another deal. This one turned out to be of lethal nature.

Their property comprises three trees; the mango, the jackfruit and the Indian bael. Of all the trees, the mango tree has been a consistent favorite for many reasons. Year after year, we have consumed these mangoes; sometimes in secret and sometimes with due permission of the Jadhavs. We’ve spent many afternoons, staying sleepless, only to spot a mango drop and hop over it. Never did the mangoes betray our excitement of wanting to consume them more.

But as mentioned above, apart from the deals, which were finalized on paper, the Jadhavs seemed to have made another deal. This one turned out to be of lethal nature. According to this deal, the mango tree has to go and make way for the multilevel apartment. Mowing down of the mango tree means there will be a ‘next year of no mangoes’. In short, we will have to do away with all the emotions, we held for the mango tree.

In this situation, I am reminded of a song sung by Manna Dey in Bengali. In that song, the singer questions – when a human is murdered, the court decides upon a punishment; but when a rose is mutilated, who is supposed to convey the sentence to hold someone responsible. The felling of the mango tree is a depiction of human brutality on nature’s precious gifts.

Not many years back, I remember, Jadhav’s little one Yash coming down to our home and inviting us for a mango buying festival. He had collected all the mangoes, put it in a bamboo basket and was selling them. Every mango turned out to be sweet, juicy and worthy of repeat.

All these memories will remain unchanged. But what will not remain unchanged is the fate of that mango tree. For those, who took up the task of chopping the branches off, tearing the leaves apart and ripping the tree were ruthless in their act.

To conclude, tired people won’t ever get the chance to seek shelter beneath this tree. There will be no tree at all. All the adventures of spotting a mango will also draw to a painful end. As we progress with our life, we will be reminded of a mango tree, which stood here. We will choose to not forget about jackfruit. Maybe we will be reminded about the next year of no mangoes.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 14 | June Blog-2 | 2018

PURNESH@PANCHGANI

Purnesh@Panchgani

The memories will never fade.

The photographs will find their way to the soft board.

The fireflies will continue flying between trees.

The temperatures will keep dropping.

I will untiringly travel back to Panchgani.

I will excitingly travel back to Panchgani.

I will repeatedly travel back to Panchgani.

Destinations, which echo in the mind, body and soul are where we should keep going back to rediscover ourselves. This is what, I, as Purnesh, a normal human being, minus all the pseudonyms thinks. This is what, I, as a writer, minus the titles of a creative director, a copywriter, an artist thinks. This is what, I, as an observant, minus the tags of a blogger, a hobbyist photographer, a fan of Instagram feeds thinks. The experience being so magical; I associate my name with the place, which moves something extremely deep within me. Just three days of stay, the third proper vacation, the second awesome accommodation at the hill station, leaves me with so much to ponder about, write for and continue imagining with.

Pouring in Panchgani

Little am I aware about the restaurant, which sounds like a pure vegetarian restaurant; they serve me the best chicken thali for lunch. My eyes try to stretch as far as the abyss of the valley is. The roof vibrates, the temperature drops, the blowing breeze turns extremely cold, the aroma of wet mud diffuses. The rains are here. The camera, lies unpacked in the hotel room; the mobile rings to rescue. The first glimpse of raindrops, in their full glory, make a straight entry into the memory card. The white car, parked just outside the restaurant now wears a shiny look; the heavy downpour has left it look like a new one, a renewed version of its old freshness. Once again, a confirmation, Purnesh@Panchgani; happy, thankful to self.

Excuse the limited but happy space

Only two cars are parked in the limited space that the hotel offers. Other guests join in; families, lovers, kids. None of them loud. Everyone aware about maintaining the serenity, sanity of this sleepy hill station, which is now busy soaking the rains. The texture of the water run, wet mud is worth a thousand more glances. The noon has turned cloudy again. The rains return to calm the valleys, which are losing out their patience to the scorching sun. The absence of an air condition doesn’t bother. Unfolding the blanket, I celebrate the short but satisfying afternoon siesta. Once again, an assurance, Purnesh@Panchgani; at ease, at peace with self.

Auto-focus to manual focus

For the first time in last five years, the camera shifts gears from auto-focus to manual focus. I as the hobbyist photographer chooses to go rapidly footloose; shoots curtains, windows, flowers, people, greens, doors, guests, kids, empty bottles of wine, a newly gifted coffee mug, lobbies, guests, birds, smoke, homes, hotels, dish antenna, raw mango, black cat. Every time, I release the shutter, a new story is revealed. Once again, an imagination, Purnesh@Panchgani; capturing, creating freely.

In company of the two varieties of wine 

Those two bottles of wine, Satori Tempranillo and Wonder Wyne (Apple Wine), add up to the splendid experience that Panchgani already is. I pour myself from both, raise a solo toast to myself; both are successful in giving me a high. I switch off the lights and the night takes over. Two stories keep me busy throughout the night, by appearing as dreams (sounds strange but true); the third one crawls in from a lost conversation in space. Once again, an inspiration, Purnesh@Panchgani; sleeping, dreaming.

The dinners are served; purely non vegetarian on the first night, purely vegetarian on the second night. Before the hunger pangs set in, stories make sure to engage. Stories about crabs, germs, ghosts, betrayal, deceit, backstabbing, conning, revenge, hatred, spirituality, reincarnation, realities. Once again, a delight, Purnesh@Panchgani; eating, relishing.

Fireflies fill the skies. The caretaker of the hotel mentions that they are common when it rains. He says, he is sure of seeing more in the coming nights. I smile at him. The smile makes him converse more about the owners of the hotel, his modest family, the kind of guests who keep checking in. I am staring up there between trees, up in the skies, into the open garden area and beyond; the fireflies are putting up a stunning show for me. Once again, a visual treat, Purnesh@Panchgani; spotting fireflies, expecting more fireflies.

Before I gear up to drive out of the hill station; sometime around 6 AM, the mind is racing back to the night before. A couple of candles after being lit, release an aroma, which fill the senses with innumerable desires. Someday I shall live them. Once again, a surety, Purnesh@Panchgani; seeking, telling.

Releasing the shutter

I take another turn. I am home. The day goes by. The evening disappears. The night takes over. I switch on the laptop to insert the memory card. A little window leads me to the folder of PANCHGANI JUNE 1 AND 2. I find myself. Standing solo, in front of a mirror, in the hotel room, releasing the shutter and a thought jumping out of my mind – Purnesh@Panchgani; ready to return again. Where else? But to Panchgani, for writing many sequels hereafter of Purnesh@Panchgani.

-Virtuous Vociferous | June 04 | June Blog-1 | 2018

MEDITATING UPON A CONVERSATION

This is where it all began

Picking up a thread, from where I had last time, I am writing again.

Yes, the urge to write has always been honest. But, the urge to seek inspiration, I agree has earned some reputation. I won’t wish to still tag it as procrastination. But, the process of writing, as an art form, has definitely slowed down.

Thus days went by. After ‘My letters for October’, I really didn’t write anything much interesting. Today, as I write this piece, I am left with very little choice or no choice at all. My inspiration, this time over too is none other than the man, who created that magical drama on celluloid called OCTOBER. The man, Mr Shoojit Sircar.

I’ve been his fan, ever since his first cinematic presentation of YAHAAN. Yet his imagining of PIKU, PINK and OCTOBER, turned me into a bigger fan of his. Of late, I’ve been spending a lot of time on YouTube; listening to his interviews, watching the making of his movies, discovering him share his experiences & learning. Just then, a post popped up on Instagram. IFTDA (Indian Film & Television Directors’ Association) had put up a poster, which informed about a Masterclass to be conducted on May 19. I knew I had to grab this opportunity.

There I was, seeing and listening to the man himself; Mr Shoojit Sircar (The Storyteller) in conversation with Mr Anjum Rajabali (Another Storyteller) at the ISKCON Auditorium, in Juhu.

Besides sharing some rare gems about how he respects his writer, Mr Shoojit Sircar left me feeling rich with an experience, I can’t define in an ordinary manner. At the same time, he taught me something very important. The learnt lesson is so significant that it made me grow selfish by the time, the seminar ended.

I must confess that Mr Shoojit Sircar put all my inner and outer conflicts to rest. The lesson, I learnt from his conversation, almost magically, took the shape of meditation. I am in no mood to reveal any details of that very special lesson. Instead I am going to turn this learning, this meditation into highest source of inspiration.

This inspiration will lead to something; I haven’t felt before or associated with either. His words were simple but their intent was extraordinary.

Even though, I was eager to present him with the copy of my blog, in appreciation of OCTOBER, I hardly got a chance to meet him in person. But that leaves me with no regrets. There’s always that next time to hope for and the next moment to be a part of.

Suddenly all the excitement, which seemed to have taken a backseat, has returned. Yes, the urge to write has always been honest. Yes, the urge to write will continue being honest.

One person, who made this possible is Mr Shoojit Sircar. If not today, maybe someday very soon, I am going to sit across and convey my heartfelt gratitude to him.

Two amazing storytellers in action

-Virtuous Vociferous | May 20 | May Blog-1 | 2018

MY LETTERS FOR OCTOBER

I watched and I experienced OCTOBER, irrespective of the flood of reviews, reactions and response.

I watched and I sensed OCTOBER, with my mother seated beside me.

I watched and I felt OCTOBER… My eyes turned moist. My speech trembled. My faith in love turned unconquerable.

Thus, I chose to write these four letters; my letters for OCTOBER.

Letter #1 for October (To Writer, Juhi Chaturvedi)

Dear Juhi,

I was eager to gift my mother something very special on her 65^th birthday this year. She celebrates her birthday on April 13. Like every year, I asked her, if she had something specific on her mind to receive as a gift. Just like every year, she smiled and said, “I’ve everything my son. I wish to see you happy. I think as a mother, I can’t ask for a bigger gift.” Moved emotionally, I stubbornly clung to my wish to gift something special to her. Then, OCTOBER came by. So beautifully written by you; almost like poetry in motion. Since I knew, I will be busy with meetings on her birthday; I booked the tickets for the last show of April 14. Guess what Juhi, we were seated there at the multiplex, watching OCTOBER unfold in the month of April. Both of us kept wondering, how could you’ve thought about creating those two lovely characters of Dan & Shiuli (By the way Shiuli is my mother’s and my favorite flower. Our garden has a total of three trees. Mom and I too enjoy collecting those fallen flowers every morning). Coming back to Dan & Shiuli and their presence in OCTOBER, let me tell you, it was the way you told the story, which left us speechless. Such a wonderful story. Being a creative writer myself, I can understand the detail, which went into making us experience the pathos in this epic love story. I simply love the way, your pen moved and created an amazing October for us, in the month of April. Trust me, as I write this letter to you, I am still in tears.

More power to your pen!

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #2 for October (To Director, Shoojit Sircar)

Dear Shoojit,

The movie ended. The credits rolled. The lights jumped back to life. My mother and I left our seats and started walking towards the exit. I was holding her hand tightly so that she didn’t lose her balance on the stairs. Just a day prior to today (April 14), on the day, you released OCTOBER (April 13), she turned 65. As we held hands, she looked at me. My eyes were moist. I was yet to recover from the story. I was yet to recover from OCTOBER. I connected with the movie emotionally and in every single way that you might have wanted the movie to resonate with the audience. I just wish to ask you one thing Shoojit – How can you think of a character as selfless as DAN? I wish to ask you another thing Shoojit – How did you think of making SHIULI walk into our lives and take control of our lives? Tell me Shoojit. I am still seeking answers. You are the one, who introduced us to this OCTOBER. Therefore, I request you to answer my questions. Let me conclude by confessing – I loved OCTOBER to the core. I loved it because you made this amazing love story come my way;  when I went out seeking love but realized that the story had never begun and yet, I kept seeking a conclusion (rather a happy ending). Thank you Shoojit. Just like Dan, you made me find my purpose in life.

I wish to sign off saying, “You reaffirmed my faith in love.”

Please don’t stop telling us such wonderful stories.

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #3 for October (To the two miracles, Banita & Varun)

Dear Shiuli (Banita) & Dan (Varun),

I remember confessing my love to her. We were not even a breath away from each other. I ended up saying it to her and made it sound like a normal conversation. But the conversation wasn’t that normal, simple or forgettable. I know, she heard me. There’s no reason to disbelieve her. She didn’t deny anything. Neither did she accept everything. Somewhere she made me realize, we could be great friends. But, I committed that stupid mistake; I grew possessive about her, I suddenly grew protective about her. I started taking control of her emotions, her behavior, her conversations; almost everything. Not for once did I give myself a chance to love her, like her selflessly. Before the love story could begin, I could sense it was over. Yes, Shiuli & Dan, it’s over. So I told myself, no more falling in love. And then, you both came my way. I met you there, in the multiplex. Not for a moment, I could take my eyes off you. I invested all my senses in your love story. But, yours is not a love story… yours is a story of love. That is what, makes the difference. Loads of love to you both; Shiuli & Dan, thank you for coming my way. I might not endeavor seeking love the way, I went seeking. You both, made me realize, I should rather allow love to happen.

So Shiuli, next time, when you ask – WHERE IS DAN? I will be the first one to tell you, where he is.

Love to you both for making me feel in love again and helping me start to love myself.

Regards,

Purnesh

Letter #4 for October (To the flower, Shiuli)

Dear Shiuli-The Flower,

The next morning, when I or my mother shall come downstairs to collect you, I will be reminded of OCTOBER again.

Regards,

Purnesh

Conclusion of this post: Love, if selfless by nature…. can create GREATER WONDERS!

-Virtuous Vociferous | April 14/15 | April Blog-1 | 2018

DRAWN IN FAVOR OF 40

I might have not felt it strongly on my first birthday. Maybe it was during my twenty fifth birthday in 2003, I knew that 15 years down the line, I will turn 40. Does that give rise to a thought that I might be preparing for it? Did turning 40 require any preparation? Honestly speaking, it didn’t! 40 arrived as smoothly as 25 could have. All I did was take a quantum leap of making an announcement to the world that I was feeling MIGHTY AT 40. Millions of thank you to one of my senior designer’s in office, who created a logo around the theme. Even though I am yet to thank him in my special way. But I am yet to live up to the promises, I had made to him. On being asked as to what I would do with the logo of MIGHTY AT 40, I had made him clear – I will make visiting cards, print envelopes, get a t-shirt printed. I did none of them. Not due to any particular reason but, due to lethargy.

Someone asked me, how do I feel being at 40? I replied with the zeal of #MightyAtForty. I compounded my reply with the same old cliché of ‘life begins at 40’. Someone brought in his own touch by adding – hey dude, being naughtily sexy at 40. Yes, I feel sexy. Thanks to the newly found freedom from many reasons, which kept me tied down to unnecessary responsibilities.  

Equally surprised I am at writing as much as any reader of my personal blog would be. Why am I writing so late about my experience of having turned 40? There’s no logic behind it. I am yet to share my splendid experience of having attended TedX Panchgani in the month of January. That was good old 18 days ago of my birthday. Now, almost after one month’s time, I am still waiting to write an account of it.

As I stepped in the 40^th year of my life, I stuck to the ritual again. This ritual is the one, I’ve been following for years. At exactly 8.05 am, I touch my mother’s feet; she blesses me and kisses me on my forehead. She recollects the stories that revolved around my birth at the hospital she was admitted in. I followed this ritual in 2018. I shall follow it in the near future too. Only this time, I was a bit forthcoming about my plans of celebrating my MIGHTY AT 40 moment in style and with friends.

Having turned 40, I am analyzing my stance in life. This age, this phase seems like a blank cheque drawn in favor of 40. I am not tense like others tend to. I think, I haven’t felt so excited ever. I feel now is the time to grow emotionally intelligent, physically alert, mentally sound and absolutely determined. I can sense the urge, to not wanting to stay stuck, with what I have or what I could work my ass off, to have or possess or achieve.

I am not the only one to have turned 40 this year. My closest friend Prashant and I turned 40 this year. Prior to us, a year back, my best friend Nikhil too turned 40. In a smiling manner that he took it in his stride. He might have complained about loneliness; but, he didn’t. He sounded so happy to have the run the race so willfully. I think Nikhil’s immense faith in himself made me rethink my 40. Replacing old thoughts with new ones, turned me into a research scientist. The journey of research, I’ve embarked upon, in the month of January, will continue for a few more months.

The research that I was speaking about is more human than being practical/engineering.

But what’s the agenda for this #MightyAtForty? Maybe a little mightier!

-Virtuous Vociferous | February 18 | February Blog-1 | 2018

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-4 (THE CONCLUSION)

Kevin Kelly had quoted – TRAVEL IS STILL THE MOST INTENSE MODE OF LEARNING. The three-day trip to Konkan was one such learning. I learnt how strangers become friends and eventually evolve into a family that travels together.

The day broke earlier than expected. Our bags were packed, the breakfast was served and Vicky stood there supervising every move. Bidding adieu, we moved out of Vicky’s guesthouse.

We stopped by a newly built temple, which is regularly seen in one or the episode of a famous Marathi serial – GAON GAATE GAJALI. The next stop was yet another temple. From here, we made our way to Vijaydurg fort. History seemed to be still alive in here. This is a fort, which was built by King Bhoj, won over by Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and now in ruins. Luckily we were helped by a guide to understand the history as well as the geography of this fort.

By the time we finished, hunger had announced its immenseness. Local food rushed to our rescue again. After a sumptuous lunch, we made our way to Vaibhavwadi. This is where, right in the middle of crops and with a mountain range serving as the backyard, we were welcomed to Kranti’s (our team leader) native home. The temperatures had dropped. The mosquitoes had grown fierce. As we spent a large chunk of our time at her blessed home, we couldn’t stop ourselves from checking our watches.

At around 8.30 pm, from Vaibhavwadi station, we boarded the Tutari Express back home. All we held closer to our hearts were memories. Memories of Konkan.

When in Konkan… Make sure to have all the fun!

Dedicated to every awesome soul on this trip.

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1A | 2018

Saying a Goodbye 

Visiting the temple

Temple run continues

Vijaydurg fort

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-3

There’s a difference between checking in and walking into a hotel. But it makes a big difference, when you step into a home and are left to think, “didn’t they say this is a guesthouse?” Vicky’s guesthouse in Malvan did exactly the same. We were left to think. Initially I had my doubts as to what a guesthouse could put on offer! Trust me, these guys have put more than one can expect. Had they not done so, they wouldn’t have found a mention in the considerably prestigious ‘Lonely Planet’.

Vicky’s guesthouse seemed to be one of the best parts of this trip. Possibly the best discovery too, through our team leader Kranti’s extensive research. The more we thank her for this trip, the less it feels in the tradition of conveying gratitude.

After freshening up, from the lovely surrounds of Vicky’s guesthouse, we dashed to Tarkarli beach. This was one of those moment, I had been personally waiting for since long. Especially after I had closely missed accompanying my friends from Pune, for a New Year bash on December 31, 2016 (regret it for reasons, not closer to the heart anymore). At Tarkarli, not only did we bathe in the saline waters but, saw the skies change colors, heard the waves grow louder & fall silent too, sensed a different kind of energy run within us.

On returning, we were treated to one of the finest dinner spreads from Vicky and his family. This was the moment, when we realized how Vicky had transformed his guesthouse to a home, for many of his guests. Each of his family member (including his fiancé) worked together to keep us happy. After we rolled in, some foreign guests checked-in too; we got introduced to only in the latter part of the day.

The next day morning by 9 am, we were already sailing around the outer peripheries of Sindhudurg fort. Our only expectation was to spot some dolphins. But we seemed to have already run out of luck. The dolphins had retreated. The boatman apologized. I somehow felt sorry for him and hugged in return. It’s while boarding this boat that I misplaced my camera’s lens cap. I was instantly reminded of my own piece ‘IN THE SERIES OF NASTY REALITY/REALITIES’ (http://virtuousvociferous.blogspot.in/2017/11/in-series-of-nasty-realityrealities.html). In this piece, I had tried to establish that the things we lose might just be hinting at us to do away with the past. This lens cap too was a part of one such past. Post the breakfast, we were back at the beach to try our hands at parasailing. I must say we did pretty well.

In the evening, we sailed to a massive historical experience called Sindhudurg fort. The moment you step in; the fort makes you realize the great prowess of the greatest Maratha warrior & ruler Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The legacy that he left behind is fast fading out. I wish, the so called custodians of a million odd things could have, for once saved the forts. I would like to put it this way – Old, unattended, uncared forts are earth’s most helplessly decaying monuments.

To conclude in the next post…

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1 | 2018

On the quest for dolphins

Kissing the skies

Sindhudurg fort