A TWIST IN THE END

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

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

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

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

This is Vociferous.

DESPERATELY SEEKING 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vociferous

MAKING A COMEBACK

People ask me whether I have abandoned blogging!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vociferous

SOON TO RESUME BLOGGING

Dear Friends,

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

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

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

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

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

DARK TRUTH Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

DARK TRUTH Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

DARK TRUTH

Prelude

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

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

Regards,

Purnesh

Coming Soon

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

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

Till then bi.....

ORKUT IS KEEPING ME ALIVE

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

Beginning my book

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

Loveless Lives

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

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

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

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

COMING SOON IN YOUR CARD HOLDER

My New Card

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

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

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

myself designed this card in my office.

Thanks to millions of inspirations.

COLOUR OF MONEY

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

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

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

I explained to him the sequence:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INDIAN CINEMA – COMING OF AGE

Indian films have changed in a big way. Though, the credit goes to Dil Chahta Hai, which was a sort of a pioneer in changing the viewers’ perception of Indian cinema. Now, Indian movies are travelling abroad for not being viewed by NRIs settled there but foreigners too are getting addicted to the magic of Indian cinema. Lagaan broke all boundaries by getting nominated in the best foreign film category for Oscars. Next, to map the chart were Devdas and of course the very recent, Paheli.

Going back to Dil Chahta Hai, the film revolved around three guys with super cool attitudes. But, everything changes overnight. The twist was just not so obvious. It taught the youngsters to respect relationships. Secondly, thoughts changed, pub culture barged into our lives and relationships flourished. These relationships were mostly between elderly women and young guys. Some just got involved for fun and some seriously got married. If Dil Chahta Hai dealt with three guys coming to terms with their own lives, Yuva was a breakthrough in the politicisation of youth. It had an attitude of its own. Three guys, who had never met, come together face-to-face following a single incident. Abhishek was terrific, Ajay was kick ass and Vivek tried his best to regain his days of Company. The message it carried was terrific. It conveyed that only a government managed by youth could bring a sea change in India’s political system. Then arrived Swades. It showed how India is still divided with the barricades of caste, creed and sex. Only a scientist like Mohan Bhargava had the courage to change it all. Not because he was well read. But, he loved his country and wanted his country to match steps with the entire world.

I am very much fond of movies, but movies with a message work so well. I was very apprehensive about Rang De Basanti because Mangal Pandey despite being a well-made movie bombed at the box office. I was shocked to see the Aamir charisma fizzle out. Only this time, not only Aamir but also the entire team of Rang De Basanti left me mesmerised. At the end of the movie, I was spellbound. It was amazing to see the story of Bhagat Singh’s life being connected to today’s generation. If this is Generation Next then bravo! At least the director was honest to put forward a message, which is the most talked about today. Footloose youth, careless youth and cultureless youth are the tags to define the Indian youth. We are getting addicted to the western culture but we are only imbibing the bad qualities. The most important thing about western culture is time management and perfection. But in India there is neither time management nor perfection. We think, we say but we always fail to act. I am also a part of this entire matrix. I too sometimes stay idle without any work. In my spare time, I can utilise my skills and create what I love to. Being an Indian, I too seek pleasure in doing nothing.

My only concern is this revolution in Indian Cinema should not get suppressed. There are disturbing elements to pull the brakes on such real cinema. If Rang De Basanti is the beginning after Hazaron Khwaishein Aisein, then, Indian viewers should also learn to appreciate movies with a hard-hitting message. Perhaps, Mallika Sherawat should take note of such movies and improve herself. Don’t we know Tabu is respected for her author-backed roles like Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil, Konkana Sen Sharma and Chitrangada Singh?

Wake up viewers, to witness the revolution in Indian Cinema. This is new age cinema.

OH MURUD

Ok Friends! Now I am finally bidding goodbye to my Murud memories and will be back with some other things. Bi

MEMORIES THAT NEVER FADE

MURUD STILL IN MY MIND

Can't just get Murud-Janjira out of our minds.

The memories are still so lime fresh.

“Yuhi Chala Chal”

Rajesh’s sister Amruta joined us to our

journey to the fort of Murud-Janjira.

These photos were clicked a little while we were

about to board a special boat which took us to the fort.

BREATHLESS

“Last Woo-man Sitting”

The only human being to make it to the top at the first place. Sybil proved that excessive smiling can take you places. She wronged the proverb ‘Slow and Steady wins the race’. Right from the beginning, she was fast, leaving us behind and geared up to strike a pose. She knew no one could ever make it to that place without her kind of pace.

“Take A Break”

We were desperate to take a break. While this photo was being shot, Kirti’s hubby dear Rajesh chose to pose in a different way. Seen here are Harshada, Trupti, Bindu, Baiju and Kirti. But, try to concentrate and you will spot Sybil. Just concentrate and you will realise, she exists in that small rounded portion.

BE COOL STAY COOL

“Kya Kool Hoon Mai” Says Purnesh – The Shooter. Don’t go by the shooters looks. This might be the only moment, he is posing without his Nikon coolpix pouch around his neck. He is smiling but, every team member knows the way he was running out of breath. He just poses to be cool, but no, he is not. He was thirsty and his super cool attitude was nowhere to be seen. The bubble had to burst!