Pas-e-aaina...

Parwaazon se darta hoon, khamoshi mein chhupi awaazon se darta hoon;
kuchh aise anjaam dekhe hain, ke ab aaghazon se darta hoon

Roothne-manane ke takalluf; kisiki aankhon mein ho jana masroof;
Ek umr phir kharchni pad jaaye jinpe, dil ke aise armaanon se darta hoon

Kholta hoon jab wo puraane waqt ki kitaab, muskurahatein maangti hain ashqon ka hisaab;
zehen se to mita chuka hoon har haseen kissa, magar tasveeron mein chhupi kahaniyon se darta hoon

parwaaz - flight, anjaam - end, aaghaz - beginning
takalluf - formality

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aitbaar aur dhokhe ka kissa hai
teri meri jo kahani hai,
kirdar saaf nazar aate hain dekh,
tere hothon pe hansi hai, meri aankhon mein paani hai.

'aitbaar' and 'dhokha' are personified as characters of a story.
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ittefaq phir wohi aaj ho jaaye,
main guzrun wahin se aur tu ek baar nazar aaye;
khwaab jo hai khoobsurat, haqeeqat ban jaaye,
may pyale se khaali ho kabhi aur maykashi ban jaaye

ittefaq - co-incident, may - sharaab, maykashi - nasha
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kyun usi manzar par phir aa pahunchi hai zindagi?
tajurba ghum-e-aashiqui ka kam to nahi
patthar ka khuda ya armaanon ka raqeeb
rehnuma kaun hai is dil ka, main toh nahi.

raqeeb - enemy, rehnuma - guide
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aaj phir ek sheher ki talash mein niklenge hum
aaj phir ek khamosh ehsaas mein jiyenge hum
aaj phir aaine mein apne purane aks ko dhoondhenge
aaj phir wohi safha palat kar padhenge hum

aks - reflection, safha - page of a book
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Acknowledgments

I thought of writing this when my first book gets published. But given the fact that I have seven posts on my blog in 2 years, I kind of had the feeling that that would not happen anytime before the 29th century. And I'm guessing most of you would be dead by then. Except Baa, of course. But she doesnt get a mention in my acknowledgements anyway. (For those who do not know, Baa is a character in a popular daily soap, who has managed to live for approximately 8 generations so far. And she is still extremely fit. You see her once in a while on the show on her great, great, great (six times) grandson's friend's cousin's daughter's wedding, laying chairs. You see, at the age of 280, she doesn't have much to do.) Anyway, so today, when I was lying on bed and was very productively involved in picking my teeth and wondering if there is a chance that the girl next door would agree to go out with me, it struck me that I should be thankful to a lot of people for whatever magnificent success and overwhelming love I have NOT received. Actually, whether you have achieved anything or not, thanking people, who are by no means related to whatever you do, makes you feel successful. It is a sign of greatness. I mean, come on, after all, you are sharing your success, a non-existent thing, in a world where people don’t even share things that they do have.

So, I thought of creating my own success story, and the first step, obviously, is to write acknowledgments.

Firstly, I am thankful to my best buddy - beer. No, not that all my blogs have been written under the influence of beer. Only 6 of them have been. Statistically speaking, 85 %, which is less than the rate at which Mandira Bedi fumbles while anchoring the IPL). Honestly, the reason I included beer here is that I cannot imagine my life without it. And no matter what the bible says, it would have been difficult to write if I was not living. So, thanks chilled beer. I owe you one. A drink perhaps!

I also want to thank the SMALLER things in life. Like my nose-hair. It has never created havoc in my nose causing me to sneeze when I am holding a cup of tea filled to the brim. Imagine, if that had happened. I could possibly have spilled tea over my shorts, which are almost as old as me, and then I would have to wash them, which would be like tearing them on purpose. On that great loss, I would be too depressed to write. So, thank you little ones in there. I haven't forgotten that you exist. Very soon a scissor will come your way and make sure that you continue to stand tall with pride.

Now before I forget, I would like to thank my girlfriend. She has never been around. That is one reason why my blog has never touched socially and politically sensitive topics like lip-glosses and eye-shadows. Another reason why I don’t write about them is that I dont know what they are. Oh, crap! I just called for a huge lecture by her on my indifference towards fashion. I hope she doesn’t read this.

Lastly, I would like to thank my friends. They have been around whenever I was low, feeling like a loser, ready to give up and run away. So, basically, they were almost always around. Laughing at me, holding beer cans in the air.

That brings me to the conclusion of this note. If I have missed mentioning you, don’t feel bad. Life is huge and you might do something worthwhile some day. And even if you don’t, the world is kind enough not to mention that in your obituary.

MadeOver

Based on true stories from the chronicles of a makeover event.

All my life, I've been a brave man. Only two things could scare me. Living and non-living.

I discovered a third the other day - A short skirt. You know how sometimes women do things to attract you and you think they are just traps being laid; well, give it some time and you will discover that, yeah, they actually are traps!

One day, I was told that I have been selected for a makeover event. Now, selection for a makeover event does not mean you are a good-looking man. In fact, it means, you have to be “made over” to be presentable. Logical, isn’t it? But after umpteen rejections in life from engineering colleges to business schools to companies to women, any sentence beginning with “You have been selected for…” makes me jump with excitement. Sometimes, I don’t even read what follows. Once, I threw a party for getting sacked. The email had said “You have been selected for a premature termination of the service contract…”

I agreed to be a part of the event, which also involved a hair makeover. There were a few things that had never happened to me before. Like having my head in the sink for 20 minutes. Or four totally hot women sitting around me, trying to make me look extremely attractive. It was unbelievable. One of them said,

Woman 1: "Let's give his hair a D360-1 with a G-Force. That would make him look really sexy."

I gave her my I-know-what-you-are-trying-to-suggest smile.

Woman 2: "But that's not what we want".

What??? How can you not want that? I so wanted to smack her. But she was wearing a short skirt. Forgiven!

Woman 3: "I think what he can carry better is, the XMark 11 with an Apolo13".

Now wait a minute! Wasn't Apolo13 a failure? They termed it a “successful failure” but that phrase hardly makes sense. Scary thoughts are populating my mind now.

Woman2: "Or why don’t we try the Rough-up with X-580 on him?"

The other 3 women tried imagining me with that product and I could read their faces:
Woman1: "Does he deserve such an expensive product?"
Woman3: "Man, he's gonna look like an alien. This will be fun."
Woman4: "Finally, we would get to know if that combination really damages the hair beyond repair like the booklet says."

I said:
Me: "Umm, I am really glad you are doing my hair, but... try not to make it too... umm.. umm.. out of this world".

The girls giggled. In their minds they said "Oh, come on. You're a techie. You hardly have a life. Just shut up and let us make an alien out of you. You just think about the blog you are going to write about this."

With slow, held-back steps, I walked to the guillotine. It was placed in front of a clear mirror, so that the slaughter could be watched by one's own eyes. Two of the four hot women stood alongside, probably having a last look at my gorgeous hair, running their fingers through it. (Another dream come true for me. I mean, two lovely ladies running their fingers through my hair! What are the odds?) The undertaker amongst the two announced "Let's get started". As the cape flew around me and settled on my body, my hair was seeing its imminent death in the eye. Another beautiful goddess had the most important task - to sit on the couch and keep me mercilessly hypnotized, even as my hair was being beheaded. She had her weapon on her; the short skirt. The scissors audaciously made their way through my hair ravaging it, and one after the other, or rather thousands after hundreds, fell helplessly as their fellow ones who were lucky (or so they thought for a little while) stared at them in despair. The rampage culminated with the X-580 and its complementary WMDs clandestinely spreading their reigns over my head.

"Shew shew shew..." the water spray brought me out of the hypnotization. I looked up. A fine, young man, was sitting in front of me but his hair was a little too messed up. I thought to myself "What's with him? What would have made him do that to his own hair?" Before I could completely sympathize with him, I realized a scary thing. It was a mirror! The man was, in fact, me! My heart stopped beating for a while. I froze. A porcupine would have looked at me and felt better about itself. I got really hot under the collar, rose angrily, and turned around. The entire brigade read my rage and declared an emergency execution of plan B. The woman on the couch crossed legs, the four hotties stood in an indescribably sexy posture and the rest of the women exclaimed in chorus "Wow!!!".
I smiled, thanked them for everything, and walked out. I could hear laughters behind me as I left the salon.

At home, my mom answered the door,
Mom: "Look gentleman, we already told two of your colleagues that we don’t want the detergent which removes grease stains in one wash and ink stains without even washing. Now just get lost."
Me: "What? Mom, it's me".
Mom: "Ankit!!! What happened to you? I told you not to mess around with electrical equipments".

I have been drawing similar reactions from all the people I know. On the bright side of it, I am at least drawing attention. I remember watching a Yoga program on television, which taught how to save yourself from falling into such temptation. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and think about your credit card bills. Since that day, whenever I come across a short skirt, I say to myself: "The hell with Yoga. I am going to enjoy the sight."

Made for the maid

This is with reference to "Say bye bye to cheap Bais", TOI, 14 Mar 2008.

The proposed bill to ensure fixed pay and other benefits to house-maids, is a move in the right direction.
Economic imbalance is arguably the gravest issue that growing India, or rather "shining" India as we crave to call it, is facing today. In this nation, proud of the capability to aspire for a consistent 9% GDP growth, there is one class whose pockets are swelling uncontrollably, and there is another, for whom it is getting increasingly difficult to buy a square meal everyday. A considerable portion of the latter are these house-maids, who work tirelessly to earn as meagre an amount as 5 rupees a day per household. Most of these women are also victims of torture from their shameless men, despite being the bread winners and sole supporters of the family. Such policies would give them the ability to stand against atrocities, support their children better, and live a respectful life. Such initiatives from the government should be applauded.
Once the bill is in place, the next step would be to make sure that each and every needy is made aware of this and they know who to and how to approach with their complaints, if any.

to B.E. or not to B.E.

Today, when I look at my old study table, I see the partially rusted pen stand with a little less than a million pens in it. They come in handy for many useful purposes, except writing. And the table lamp, protected by a thick layer of smooth and glittering dust. The lamp has come as a legacy to my father from my grandfather and to him from my great grandfather and so on. The history of the lamp would probably date back to early 1600s, when, I guess, the Mughals used it first to deceive the Marathas projecting it as a nuclear weapon. Today it stands erect in all its pride, resembling the hardships that my ancestors went through and yet the perseverance that they demonstrated - in cleaning it time and again. The lamp does not work on electricity anymore. On electricity, it only sparkles to show that it is still alive and if you are interested in playing a little fun game with it, it can electrocute you, just for fun. I just wish I had used that table for studying. All of these things remind me of those good old days - when I was not doing my engineering. “Engineering was fun”. This statement is as clichéd as it is untrue. To all those who say that, I would like to ask - which part exactly are you referring to?

Part1: The admission:
Admission process for engineering is the grossest of experiences. You run around relentlessly for weeks using bus, train, motor-bike, non-motored bike, auto-rickshaw and all other public and private modes of transport, and stand at the tail of immobile queues for collecting the form, filling the form, attesting the form, submitting the form, following up the status of the submitted form and performing all other activities that can possibly be performed on forms, including using them for fanning when you bear the scorching heat while standing in the queue. At the end of all this, all you get rewarded with is the smallest possible piece of paper reading “Acknowledgement” at the top and a stamp/seal at the bottom, which is barely readable. You just see two concentric blue circles with something written between their circumferences. It could in all possibility be “Mugambo khush hua” and that too in Arabic and nobody would know. Even the tickets that are issued when you travel by a PMT bus are comparatively bigger and can be maintained at least until the journey is over. With this acknowledgement receipt, you should consider yourself lucky if you manage to retain it in your fist in one piece until you come out successfully, fighting the crowd on your way back from the window.

Part2 – the college faculty and the syllabus:
After studying your ass off in 12th grade, coping with the incessant pressure from teachers and intimidating parents, spending sleepless nights awaiting the results and the plethora of hardships described in Part1, you manage to secure admission into an engineering college. Now, you can get one and only one of - a good college or a good stream or a free seat. None of them co-exists with the other. The stream is your primary concern and your father does not trust that you will be able to do justice to two hundred grands. Consequently, you end up in the worst college of the university. A college where the faculty is as novice to the subject as you, as afraid of ragging as you (because the senior students wouldn’t realize whether the person is a first year student or a faculty and the faculty himself would be too terrified to remember that he is not supposed to be ragged), and as lost as a baby amongst strangers. You try to not care and consider him as a source of entertainment and a topic that you can discuss whenever you are hanging out with friends and are already done with discussing the antonyms of beauty in your college.

Being a computer engineering student seems to automatically obligate you to study how a Reinforced Cement Concrete wall is stronger and lasts longer than other types of walls. Or how the piston in a four stroke petrol engine makes four to and fro motions – two more than a two stroke petrol engine (it’s supposedly a difficult guess) - inside the cylinder of an automobile engine. Also, perhaps you will never be able to develop a software unless you understand how a silicon controlled rectifier is used in regulating a fan’s speed or you are able to visualize the orthographic projections of a given body i.e. its elevation (front view), plan (top view) and side view, and draw them (perfectly, to scale) on a large sheet, using instruments like the drafter, which you carry on your back like a warrior carries his weapon. Somehow, you fight everything and clear the first year, only to find yourself lost in the name game of subjects. Theory of Computer Science does not seem to have anything to do with computers (or ‘theory’ and ‘science’ for that matter). In Linear Circuits Analysis, the circuits are anything but linear. [to be continued...]

Magic Moments - A memorable trip to Alibag

Magic Moments - A memorable trip to Alibag
07 Oct 2007
Abhay, Jay, Tushar, Jomesh, Kalam, Paro(sex - male), Ankit, Peji, Romel

At the age of 45, when you get together with old friends on a weekend, in your drawing room, you will recall some specific moments of your life. You will gasp to go back in time and live those moments again. Such moments are called 'Magic Moments'. [Of course, no disrespect towards our first love - Magic Moments is also a liquor brand.] On the 7th of October 2007, the 9 of us, friends since school, 'lived' such magic moments and there is no way to express what we experienced. Yet, here's an attempt.

4.30 a.m. in the morning, we all assemble at the KPCC headquarters, which is strategically located under the balcony of Jomesh's house. [Honestly, this place has earned itself the honour of being KPCC headquarters by hosting numerous 'magic moments' in each of our lives. It deserves an exclusive article on it and I promise to work on it in the future]. Our throats are sore because of unfinished sleep and hence our abuse for the person who insisted on starting this early sounds all the more harsh and genuine. Thirteen people had confirmed their availability the previous night; but as the moon traversed from over the head to in front of the eye, making way for the sun, 4 of them backed out. One of them was going to get his car and hence we are one vehicle short now. Jay rescues us dramatically from the situation - "I can get my car".

All geared up, letting our hair loose, dumping all the traveling paraphernalia in the dickey of the two cars, and chanting 'Ganpati Bappa Morya', we start at around 5.30 a.m. (only an hour and a half late) evenly distributing load in Romel's Omni and Jay's Indica. We are all just trying to settle and suddenly Jay's car stops. All those in Jay's car want to contemplate on the possibility of changing the destination. After a ten minute long brain storming discussion, putting a lot of facts about several other destinations into perspective, complex time-distance-speed-velocity-and-acceleration calcuations and lighting the cigar which Tushar had brought for us from New York (yes, the one in US and not the store in Pimpri), we come to the conclusion - we should not change the destination. It comes as no surprise because five of us are IT professionals and are used to storming our brains over serious issues only to find that the issue is not so serious and there is no point in storming the brain. Back in the cabs and back on the road.

As the sun bestows its first rays on us, the surroundings become picturesque and we have to stop for clicking. Abhay and Tushar flaunt their sophisticated cameras, which appear to have nothing less than divine powers, and Ankit hides his modest camera in his bag realizing that it would appear like an M-80 amongst Ducatis. A few clicks and we are back on the route. We enter Alibag village and the surroundings start to impress us immediately - yes, there are more and more beer shops around. Finally, we reach the Nagaon beach and begin a game of volley ball. Jay joins us a little late as he has to address some critical issues. He is helped by Paro - only for filling him a bottle of sea water (Fortunately, Jay takes care of the rest by himself). The three volley ball games turned out to be one of the best parts of the trip. Abhay gets the ball bang on target every time, but in another court, Tushar keeps hitting the ball so hard that if it is not for its light weight, it might well cross the sea, Jomesh and Peji lead the cheating from their side with occasional intervention from Abhay, and Romel and Jay lead the cheating from the other side with Ankit to their support, trying to convince the other team to believe him as he was 'paanch waqt ka namaazi aadmi'. I have never been involved in a better volley ball game in my entire career of... 5 games. Anyway...

Three games suck all the energy out of us and we want to gulp something. We order tens of bhurji-pav, Omlet-pav, Pohe and then tea. Everybody finishes their breakfast and is burping and Ankit is still waiting for his Pohe. He doesn’t deny that the thought of giving away vegetarianism crossed his mind. Finally, to the relief of Ankit (and a few others, who were just supposed to be onlookers), Pohe arrive. [Kalam is still feasting on a pav with tea.] Having restored energy, we move to the beach again, this time with the cricket bat and ball. Experts lay down the rules, teams are created, boundaries are marked and the match begins. Once again, no matter how much one tries to keep track of the score, after every alternate ball there is a fight. It is all OK until Jomesh and Romel get into a virtually real fight, pouncing over each other. Ankit, whose both thighs combined would barely makeup for one bicep of these individuals, tries to intervene. No wonder he gets thrown a few metres away. The quarrel turns so fierce that a passer-by tries to pacify both of them. That is when they declare that it is Ok and they are not serious. Phew! sighs Ankit. The game is over and we are all exhausted.

A refreshing hour in the sea waters, then a shower and then beer and food. All of us are dead tired. Nobody wants to move an inch but it is about time we begin the return journey. Making ourselves comfortable in the cabs, we start towards Pune. We are back at Chafekar chowk at around 9 p.m. Least bothered about the expense, contribution etc., we bid each other adieu and disperse.
That marks the end of a memorable trip, which each one of us will cherish for the rest of his life. We don't know where each one of us is heading in life and may be time will part our ways soon, but at least we have moments to reminisce and get all nostalgic about.

-Ankit
Elite member, KPCC.

What a win

NatWest Series [India in England] - 6th ODI

05-Sep-2007

What a win India pulled off on Wednesday. It was the most dramatic victory in recent times. I cannot disagree that I was at the edge of my seat for every second of the last hour or so of the game. Every ball being bowled counted and you could not afford to blink. This is the time when you feel that ad-breaks between overs are a must. One can only imagine how much pressure the players themselves would be under whilst they struggle against the mammoth total. Think about it - Winning is difficult and you cannot afford to lose. In such a situation, only a Maverick can hold on to the belief - "Failure is not an option".

Robin Uthappa, emerged out as a hero in the match. He literally dragged India to victory despite restrains of all forms and deservingly had the honour of hitting the coup de grace of such a historic win. I would not say his batting was impressive, though. He was favored by luck on numerous occasions and runs came to him without any special batting skills of his own. His batting graph showed a prominent 'V' formation behind the wickets, indicating that he scored most of the runs in that area. Now, apart from the one unorthodox scoop that he hit there, towards the end of the game, fetching four crucial runs, none of the shots were actual skillful maneuvers. The ball, always, accidentally took the leading or inside edge and fled past Prior fetching him runs.

But his attitude deserves appreciation. He did not give in to the pressure and constantly vied for runs in spite of escaping the return to the pavilion by a whisker many a times. He never seemed to be in two minds like Dravid and Yuvraj, who ultimately threw their wickets off just because they couldn't decide which out of the hundreds of techniques that they have mastered over the years should they apply. In a post match interview, he was asked, what did he plan to do when he was out there and India needed around 9 runs an over. He innocently confessed that he could not devote any time to thinking and had no plans as such. He just wanted to get fast runs. When asked whether or not he thought that the unconventional flick towards fine leg in the last over was a risk and he could have got bowled like Dhoni, he had a plain answer - "I never thought about getting bowled". Sometimes, that is exactly the kind of thinking you need to adopt. Just focus on what you are there to achieve and forget about the possibility of an untoward happening.

Sachin Tendulkar, once again, showed what he is made of. Missing out on his century for the umpteenth consecutive time did not seem to bother him as long as the country marched towards victory.

All analyses apart, the match was a thorough entertainer and my romance for cricket is back.