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

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-2

In our concrete cities, everything is readymade; luckily in the wide expanses of Konkan, things are still natural, human. Take for instance, right here, in our cities; we walk into a restaurant and are sure of getting served on time. But when you are in Konkan or anywhere else, which is considered to be ‘the’ countryside, erase all your expectations, once and for all.

Therefore, taking ahead from where I had left last time - The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind; I wish to now proceed a little further (and not at all faster).

Once we alighted at Kudal, our bellies were reeling through first & fresh pangs of hunger. Since we had hired a van, we could feel the urgency of our hunger. Similarly, our driver too knew, how to settle us down. So once we had huddled inside the van, he drove a little faster and stopped only when he knew, he had the right restaurant on his mind to host us.

Remember, when we are traveling out of our cities, the rules of eating out changes! Restaurants stop being flashy but, the food starts getting tasty. Restaurants grow a little clumsier but, the hospitality starts growing warmer. We had a similar experience. Not too far from Kudal station, we walked into a restaurant, which moderately advertised itself as Hotel Pankaj and had it written loud within a bracket – Only during afternoons. This meant, we shouldn’t expect the place to be open during other hours or the food to be readily available at any given point.

Hotel Pankaj was thin on manpower but high on taste. The place was packed. Families, lovers, friends, groups, locals, runaways; everyone seemed to be thronging that place. We were politely told that we might be made to sit separately (this also meant, we could be brushing shoulders with strangers…complete strangers). We were also told that the food will take long to come to us. But finally when the food arrived, we were left overjoyed. The fish thalis, the chicken thalis, the veg thalis, the fried Surmais, the fried Pomfrets; all of it tasted so divine that we were no more left hungry. But we were left feeling greedy. For a moment, I thought we could have been blessed with a better appetite to consume more.

We were done with the lunch. We were done with the chewing of a sweet delicacy too. By the time, we stepped out of Hotel Pankaj, other groups rushed in. Their hunger pangs seemed far higher than us. As we geared up to board our van again, we could hear a flurry of burps go up in the air. To conclude, all that is cooked well ends up being eaten well in Konkan.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2A | 2017

Hotel Pankaj, Kudal

The 'Only Afternoon' rule, the warm little hotel follows

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-1

When in Konkan, the sea never seems too far, the food is never too late, the extended hospitality is never an unpleasant experience. And Konkan is where we chose to be at, for a short span of three days; December 1-3, 2017.

The time spent might seem too little. But the experience will continue to be too special. During this short trip to Konkan, I realized why the natives long to come back to their hometowns.

Konkan kept me excited. Maybe next time when someone invites me home to Konkan; I am going to promptly accept the invitation and pack my bags up.

Kranti, our tour team leader had proposed this trip while we were on a tour of Kaas Pathar plateau in Satara district. Initially I showed no interest. I was not even in a mood to give this outing a thought. Simply because, I wanted to save the weekend from just another trip and the exhaustion that ensues. But nothing was going to stop Kranti from planning this trip for us.

The blueprint was ready. The time had come to simply execute it. Kranti got everyone onboard and there we were; at 5:15 AM, on platform number 5 of Thane railway station. The much awaited journey was to begin now. Our gang was a motley crowd of 9 individuals. All of us were excited because we were travelling by the Tejas Express. On arrival, we didn’t have to hurry. Our seats were reserved in advance. Once we stepped in, Tejas treated us well. The AC temperature within was perfect enough to ensure desired coolness. The breakfast was delicious. The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2 | 2017

The Tejas Express

At the core of the sea

The Pomfret Thali

Dual Surmai in one plate

Ready to Sail

NEWTON’S THIRD LAW OF MOTION

Right now I’ve constrained myself to remain unaffected by the sight of the well-made bed. I simply wish to avoid the temptation of sleep, the reward of leisure and the bonus of pleasure. The Sunday is bound to die soon. Monday will follow like a rude beast of sorts. Therefore sleep should be the first thing on mind. Somehow I think, today I will succeed in postponing it; provided Newton doesn’t interfere.

Is something bothering me? Well, of course something is! Or else I wouldn’t have been spending this time, patiently thinking and writing these words. I am wondering and trying to choose between two sides of my life as a professional, a creative writer and a creative director. What are these two sides all about?

Side #1 – Should I turn a blind eye towards non-performers and embrace ignorance?

Side #2 – Is it OK to act like a coward and secretly keep praying to save the job?

If given a choice, I wish to abolish both. Seventeen years of my tough career in advertising have taught me certain principles; one of which is – Seeking Clarity. Even though I stuck to it like a dictum; in the last five years, I haven’t stressed on it firmly. As a result, a not so rare breed of unthinking client servicing executives seems to have taken undue advantage of the same. Rather than blaming them or holding them responsible, I wish to plead guilty. A certain guy called Sanjay Mukherjee spoilt me to the core. His was a personality of a hardcore client servicing executive who easily brewed an infectious blend of passion, persuasion, precision and presentation. How could that idiot never walk out without impressing or winning the client’s approval? Some say, he was blessed. But I don’t believe them. I cursed him every time because he drove me crazy with his ambition to achieve. Bloody hell, I succumbed so easily that I am yet to recover from that process of winning. Circa 2017, I am struggling to make the nonbelievers in good advertising to still seek the bigger purpose of creative communication. Shame on me!

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

I feel more ashamed because I read from the Bhagwad Gita every morning. Why does it time and again remind us to expect no gratification from our deeds and continue slogging? I feel ashamed because I memorize the line, extend it further by adding ‘never expect anything from anybody’ and I still fail on all counts. I start demanding answers. I start seeking results for the hard work I put in by setting my ass, my mind on fire. It sucks even more when the responsible act irresponsibly, choke the communication network to death and come running towards me to announce – ‘Taking a note of the caused delay in delivering, the client has sent a stinker’. I own up to the discrepancy and deliver. Suddenly the client seems to be in no hurry and the conveyor of the stinking news starts showing withdrawal symptoms. I start demanding answers again. I betray my own learning from the Bhagwad Gita – Continue delivering. Expect nothing. When none of these work, I voluntarily decide to rest my case and lose my cool. This is where Newton’s third law of motion jumps in.

To conclude, the fearless mind that I have been born with and the restless soul that I will continue being, I believe my action will definitely lead to reactions. Will that stop me from causing ruckus? Will I stop demanding answers? Will I decide to act like a coward? Or simply raise my voice and allow Newton’s third law of motion to take over! I think only when the apple falls; the issues concerning me will gain some gravity. Till then, I shall rebel.

-Virtuous Vociferous

ABRUPT LOVE STORIES

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

The time has come to bid adieu to sugarcoated love stories. In my opinion, all the visible sweetness is mere illusion. Or somewhere we are still trying to convince ourselves to stay believed in pretentiously sweet love stories! But they aren’t sweet. The line between love and lust hasn’t blurred but it has vanished forever. It is this cusp that makes me realize that love stories aren’t tender any more. Thankfully I have accepted the fact and I am not convincing myself to try narrating a sweet love story ever again.

My abrupt love stories take place between a Certain He and a Certain She. They don’t have a name. They are invisible to your naked eyes but omnipresent. Do they believe in religion? Are they victims of communal tension or soft targets of fluctuating faiths. Do they pray? Or they are happy being atheists! Are they rich or poor? Do they indulge in sex? Are they bisexual, homosexual, heterosexual, metrosexual? Are they sound, sane and in control? Or simply rebellious, wild hippies! Do they smoke and drink? Do they sleep with different people on different occasions? Have they been living under the same roof or they have been renting apartments in numerous cities, and disappearing without clearing dues for months! Frankly speaking they are an interesting twosome of a Certain He and a Certain She.

Both characters are a sum of their vices. Before He knows it, She is already done plotting something against him. By the time She comes to know of a certain action, He outsmarts her by being constantly, lethally active against her. I haven’t met these two characters in person. But I have met their exact opposites in the many journeys I have smoothly or abruptly embarked upon. Be it the certain He or the certain She that I am talking about, I know them of being emotionally unattached to each other.

The Certain He and the Certain She I have been talking about hide nothing from themselves or the society. They live within the stories and breathe within the stories. At the end of the day, their stories, which are so abrupt by nature, continue to matter the most.

Abrupt Love Stories are my hottest obsession, passionate possession and unmistakably my most favorite creation. Will these abrupt love stories culminate into a book? I am not even thinking of it right now. What if someone tries to copy them or copy the style? Did I say the stories are not getting copied, shared or reproduced? And I would never say that the style is yet a virgin. Thankfully, if searched by the hash tag #AbruptLoveStories; most of the results and almost all the results bring into fore my series of Abrupt Love Stories.

When I started writing the couplets with the hash tag attached to them, a few eyebrows were raised. But these are my #AbruptLoveStories and why should I reveal the source of my inspiration? If you wish to know more about these stories, follow the simple path – READ THEM, FEEL THEM, LIVE THEM.

All the love stories, which are abrupt in nature derive inspiration from the hidden side of the lives, we live without sharing a thing about them. My interest stays anchored deep in there. Where else but that little seed of abruptness, I observe in the love stories that most of us are faking like fake orgasms on a bad night of abrupt sex. Therefore if you come across a love story that’s sweet; chuck it and suck up one abrupt love story at a time.

-Virtuous Vociferous

TREK #1 09072017 Stage 2

I think recollecting memories of an experience should be turned into a ‘must have’ hobby. Yes, it should be! At the same time, this hobby should not be confused with memory game. According to me, game is a moment and recollection is an experience. My intent behind this opinion is rooted in what I am going to write now. I am writing about the first trek of my life, which I embarked upon on July 9, 2017. I am recollecting memories of that trek, a week later and thoroughly enjoying writing about it. Now you know why recollecting memories of an experience should be turned into a ‘must have’ hobby!

The decision to trek was impulsive and not so impulsive as well. I was enjoying my sabbatical from Facebook. Over a period of time, I got bored of what I was posting, sharing and debating in that space. But someday, somehow a return was on the cards. When I returned, a post by Dark Green Adventures about a trek to Sunset Point in Matheran grabbed my attention. Matheran, it was; my womb of inspiration.

There I was and we were, as decided, at Panvel railway station by 7 am. Krishna, our trek instructor had created a group on WhatsApp. We coordinated through the same and without wasting a single minute, proceeded to Dhodani village (located at 20.4 kms from Panvel railway station). After a quick round of breakfast of Idlis, Tea and Krishna’s Knowledge Nuggets, Krishna sought our introductions in the courtyard of the local temple. The first few names I can recollect at this moment are Aranya or Ananya and Sharanya, Hitesh, Ravi, Deepak, Pranav, Rohan, etc etc.

As planned, we started trekking at around 10:30 am. We were supposed to scale 1200 ft. Krishna led us, so did our hearts and our determination. We kept taking stops. Our first encounter was with paddy crops. Moving ahead we lost our hearts to a tiny waterfall. Post this point, Rohan had to retract; dehydration (maybe) had claimed its first victim. The trek continued.  No one was in a mood to stop or take breaks. But when the opportunities came by, no one shied away from taking that stop and the much needed break to guzzle water, chew some handy snacks, catch up with some breath. Rains were nowhere to be seen. The sun kept getting mightier. Through thick vegetation, we could see two youthful females take the lead; Ananya and Sharanya. I was in the fourth position. Krishna was somewhere in between. Hitesh continued nonstop as well. Pranav was busy discovering the unknown corners. Ravi was to climb last.

From a distance, we could spot the edge of Sunset Point. Fellow trekkers motivated us by remarking, “You are almost there”. But the so called ‘almost there’ kept postponing itself by additional 15 minutes. Did we lose our mojo? No. Did we get it back? But we had never lost it. Once we climbed over, a thick layer of fog enveloped Sunset Point. The much needed rains were here and they came heavily upon us. We were hungry, thirsty but not angry. We knew we had stories to go back home with. The team stuck together. Trekkers as we were. First timers, pro, seasonal, regular; trekkers were rocking. We had done it!

Lunch was served in Osbourne House, a tiny home owned by a villager. Rains had turned thick by now. The little home seemed like a universe of hope for us hungry trekkers. When the food arrived, the first six of us simply jumped in. We finished like Formula One racers and set out to spend some time at Louisa Point. Some of us went missing but, we were tracked down by Krishna’s special searching prowess. Ten of us decided to descend. If the ascent filled us with thrills, the descent was going to be another spinning moment of our lives. Someone was to lead and someone was to finish last. But joy was on its way.

Don’t miss the conclusion - TREK #1 09072017 Stage 3

-Virtuous Vociferous

RAINS ETCETERA

1.55 AM of June 26, 2017 is possibly the same time, the previous day (June 25), the rains debuted. The drizzles of Friday evening, the onslaught of Thursday or the suddenness of Wednesday stood nowhere closer to what ensued last night; continued to surprise till today afternoon. Rains, we thought are here. But by 1.55 AM of June 26, 2017 the show put up by the rains lack the ferocity, velocity and audacity of last night.

Did the earth hatch a conspiracy to attract rains? Is this then the annual moment of romance? Speaking of romance, I can only think of Raveena Tandon causing Yellow Fever in Tip tip barsaa paani (Akshay Kumar literally rolling and drooling around her).

Thankfully no political party has claimed responsibility for the instant burst of happiness insured by these rains.  Thankfully no terrorist groups have threatened of being in secret possession of weapons, which can trigger massive rains at the drop of a hat.

At this interesting juncture, I think rains come with their own package of etcetera (etc.).

As the rains swell, the pulse rate of Mumbai’s local train network drops. Even though the spirits of travellers and train spotter updaters like me fly high, the trains prefer to take it easy. This being one part of the package, we aren’t downplaying the possibilities of traffic snarls. Many of us blame it on the rains. But these snarls are necessary during monsoons. Or else air and noise pollution won’t breed. Would we really like to see them fail at producing their usual off springs of anguish, irritability and disasters?    

Trees are the permanent subscribers of rains package of etcetera. They keep on putting weight all year long. Just when they expect the municipal authorities to help them tone their body a little, their trust is left betrayed. So when the rains descend they activate the package and start falling on cars, humans, electricity cables, telephone wires and at times on themselves.

When rains dwindle, I am reminded of the seminars on climate change. I love the venues, the speakers, their sessions and the hosts who keep pouting at television cameras. If the talks held in these seminars are real, do they also work towards decreasing the impact of etcetera?

Thirty minutes into writing this and the rains have retracted. But mind you, the package of etcetera hasn’t.

I heard the dogs bark and see them running in pursuit of a hefty catch? I only hope they don’t spare its life. Because if they do, the rains might make it rot and the package of etcetera might grow hefty. We may have to pay an extra premium of tolerating the strange stench. Dogs are illiterate. They only understand the language of love and the unconditional freedom to poop.

The rains will recuperate; we can hope at least. The package of etcetera though requires rethinking.

Till it rains again, I am thinking of ordering etcetera online (much before GST slaps in).

-Virtuous Vociferous

WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

It’s the mid of June.

The monsoons should have been here by now.

As my skin bears the brunt of the sun, I gasp for breath.

On certain occasions, I’ve tried experimenting during nights.

I tried keeping the windows of my bedroom open to the skies.

All the experiments seem to have failed miserably.

I haven’t given up yet. I am planning to experiment again.

This time, I am going to extract the umbrella from my bag and deliberately leave it unattended at home.

I am sure when the skies see me walk boisterously without the umbrella in tow; they will open up and release the fluid energy of monsoons to set me free, my city free and its citizens free. I hope the skies will open up for the entire nation and for every Indian. 

Are the monsoons also capable of assuring peace? Or can they postpone the insurgencies, we are faced with recently?

Darjeeling is burning. Kashmir is mourning. Our hearts are bleeding.

We are in need of an experiment again. Will monsoon be that experiment? If it turns out to be successful, we will have our own Ooh la la moment. If the experiment fails, we will still celebrate because that is where I sense the beginning of a story.

Thus the title, which is also a question - WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

Each one of us has a story. We are humans, we are stories. When we set out to trace the beginning of our stories, we are confronted with a mother’s womb. It’s in there, our mothers proclaim. They add, “It is in here, in the womb, where the stories begin from?”

To disagree on this account is definitely human.

Just last week, I had least expected an angle from where my story began.

Take for instance the title - Biryani is an emotion.

I was blown over by the title. As I kept appreciating the line and its beautiful layout, I could also sense the beginning of stories.

The line, the title of Biryani is an emotion is bravely finds a mention in a cute little diary which was gifted over to me by my Cyan Buddy.

She was a little reluctant to gift me the diary. She mentioned, it was supposed to be my farewell gift (now that’s a different story to begin with). But somehow, the delivery got delayed. She had to reverse the decision and present it to me as my welcome gift (this would be the sequel to the different story, which I might begin with later).

A mere gift, a short pocket diary that it is could have evolved into nothing new until I decided to turn the diary into a chronicler. This diary will hold stories of my food expeditions. Every time, I end up loving a certain cuisine or am simply left speechless by a moment, which involves food, I will write about it in the diary. In the same diary, which carries that lovely title of – Biryani is an emotion.

I think I have found a story to begin with. The beginning would materialize when I start flaunting the diary and the little pieces of delicious surprises; I wish to write within!

But this is one part of the many stories, which begin from nowhere and find their way somewhere.

Imaginations form the other part about these stories, which also fuel their evolution. The choice rests with the storyteller; either to narrate them in a fictional format or try to fit them in that long beaten genre of nonfiction.

How do these imaginations start taking the shape of a story? I don’t think there would be a definitive reply to that.

For me, my imaginations could run wild and keep fluctuating between the mole, the nose ring and a tattoo somewhere. But how much time will they take to translate into stories! Only time will tell. At least I can rest assured that my story can be expected of having a beginning.

As I grow a word closer to conclude this blog post, I can hear that distinct sound of raindrops.

Seated by the partly open window, I can see the earth relish the momentary magic of rains.

Only I wish, the showers could have lasted longer. But nature has some other plans.

Till the time those plans materialize, I am happy to realize – my story has found a beginning. If your stories haven’t found one yet, ask yourself the same question, “Where do the stories begin from?”

-Virtuous Vociferous

IN THE SORRY STATE OF AMAZON.COM

Book lovers aren’t fools!

I being a book lover am not a fool for sure.

For years that I’ve been addicted to reading and writing as well, books have been a way of life.

So far so good, life was dreamlike in the company of good books, great authors and gigantic publishers until the Amazon.Com mishap occurred. I was indeed left feeling like a fool!

Since I was ordering Rishi Kapoor’s Autobiography, an option showed up mentioning that customers were also interested in buying Karan Johar’s Autobiography. To me, this seemed like a great combination. Even though Karan Johar’s book was announced to be a paperback, I had very little to grow concerned about. I sealed the deal and eagerly awaited the arrival of both books.

Both books arrived as per the conveyed schedule. But the big surprise was yet to be opened. On unsealing the package, which held Karan Johar’s Autobiography, I was left miffed. Even though it was a paperback, it wasn’t an original copy. The book looked as bad as one of those counterfeits, which are sold across innumerable traffic signals.

The compressed photograph on the top

The elements, which accompanied the book, were not trustworthy.

A handwritten note - Have a Good Read!! J , stamped by the dealer who had sent me across the book. His massive signature provided the much unrequited tease.

The handwritten note by the sender

Talking about the book, the cover looked dull. The author or the subject matter’s photographs were stretched, compressed and badly edited. The colors looked dull. The edges revealed the fact that the book might have been used by someone, badly manhandled and exchanged or sold thereafter. One of the inner pages carried the dealer’s stamp again. They were arranged in the wrong manner. The cut marks were visible (seems like someone Xeroxed the book before it went for final publishing). Pages were missing. Most of the pages repeated or disorganized. The photographs printed within were of poor quality. Print on some pages already looked faded.

The bad quality of photographs inside

The missing pages

The stamp on one of the inner pages

The tattered cover

Bad quality

The visible cut marks 

In short, Amazon.Com took me on a joyride (which was unexpected). On being displeased by the delivery, I had initiated a chat on Amazon.Com and demanded a replacement. But I was told, the book itself is out of stock. I still decided to go against my wish and retain the copy to continue reading. But when I discovered that many pages were missing, I couldn’t resist requesting them to help me return it. Right now, I am waiting for the refund to take place (of which, I am very less hopeful about).

Having said that, I also wish to know, is this a negative propaganda against Amazon.Com? Are some sellers queuing up to tarnish the image of Amazon.Com? It would be interesting to know the inner story or a discreet scandal in making.

I haven’t heard about a name like Nani-Intaya Consultant and Associates. But they being located in Delhi made my head turn otherwise. After the fiasco, these guys also had the audacity to send across an email to me:

Dear Buyer

This is to inform you that yours valuable money have been initiated back to yours account as a refund.

"We're sorry to hear about your experience with the purchase. We aim to offer quality satisfaction for all of our customer and will do whatever it takes to take care of you. Please feel free to contact us on +91-9910365748. Replacement of the purchase is always there for you. Thank for the opportunity to make this right. We've made changes to the way we operate to ensure this doesn't happen again. Your are our top priority."

It will be very kind of you if you receive yours refund back kindly notify us also and Hope you will not mind to give us some good feedback for our generous customer service via Amazon.in

Hoping to see You again :)

Thanking you.

Regards,

Nani-Intaya Consultant And Associates

New Delhi

PS: The language of this letter is questionable too.

I am disturbed that Amazon.Com is yet to drop this seller from its list of dealers on marketplace. I am equally disturbed to see how these guys are communicating with me.

If Amazon.Com can do something so hideous, I have no trust left in placing online orders for books. At the same time, it concerns me about the state of the author, the publisher. Do the author, the publisher, the printer, the editor know that counterfeit copies of an original book are sold on Amazon.Com?

If this is the state of what online shopping of books is all about then I regret to say, “We are in the sorry state of Amazon.Com”.

-Virtuous Vociferous

THIS ONE DOESN’T HAVE A TITLE

For a crude mind, which thinks about keeping this blog alive, this one doesn’t have a title.

I wonder why we stopped kissing the papers and dating the pens.

I wonder why we stopped embarking on impromptu picnics and teasing the trees.

For all the reasons not known to you, me and everybody this one doesn’t have a title.

Of the million things left undone, are the unread weekend newspapers. Personally speaking, I consider them a matter of a lost privilege. Or the million things left undone, are the sealed packs of fine, imported coffee, which are yet to be inaugurated, brewed and served.

I must confess I have been collecting movies from all over the available hard disks and backup drives. Some of them are stored in the laptop and some are stored in external hard drives. And I am yet to make time to watch them, one after the other. Do they comprise porn? I don’t think they are significant any more.

As we wrapped up 2016 through a chilling December, I wrote a short story and titled it ‘THE TINY TRAIN TO NOWHERE’. The story met with good response. I don’t repent the pressure techniques I used to extract genuine feedback from my friends and some foes too. And I still feel, there was no pressure on any of them.

I wish I could have set out on a trek alone. A trek to the womb of my inspiration, Matheran. For ages, I haven’t been there. I haven’t heard the neighing of the horses. I haven’t sunk my nose in the stench of the dung they leave behind, mixed in the red sands of a hill station, which never ceases to surprise me. The while might still take some while to materialize and therefore, this doesn’t have a title.

January 30 marks the completion of a month into the New Year.  January 30 also marks a few birthdays; my car, my bran new bicycle and some friends too. Did I forget to mention, it is someone else’s birthday too! Only if the world could have cared or as if I care!

The trip was just an experience. Just a year back, it was a trip. The experience could have lingered. But my greed overturned it into a culture of constant hatred and a discontinued story. 

Before I could alight, the train had set in motion. The crowd was thick with envy against my ownership of the window seat. I could have spared it for the needy. But greed overtook my conscience. This one therefore doesn’t have a title.

Project 365+1 never took off. Project Escapation is not yet shelved. And yet that feeling of restlessness never leaves my side. That means, the stubbornness to put my word forward is still alive.

The darkness was absolutely misleading. The handshake was great. I paid in cash to the entertainer and rolled out swaying to my right and left. The best that I could do at that point was to make sure, THIS ONE DOESN’T HAVE A TITLE.

-Virtuous Vociferous