The Ghanshyams are at it again.Dark fat bastards. The barbarians hit each other harder and harder. Each blow brings a cry with pain and their shrieks are loud enough to rattle the windows.
They scared away poor little Fairbrothers. They always do.
Fairbrothers.White nimble darlings. Gently they move with heavenly grace. Always well behaved and quiet.
Right now, it is the grimy Ghanshyams who occupy the stage. But God, in his infinite wisdom, has ensured that they won’t survive for long. If they are lucky, they move away unharmed, with painful lethargy.
However, the movement only delays the inevitable for the doomed brethren. For, it is their fate to kill each other, to degenerate each other into the tiniest of pieces till the last drop of their blood spills over the ground beneath.
And when the massacre happens, the occasion is celebrated. Peacocks dance. Thirsty trees begin greening. The farmer Ramsakha from Bhusakhedi thanks God for the rain. The violent death of dark clouds nourishes life on earth.
Later, accompanied with cool wind, return the white clouds that were chased away by Ghanshyams. Then, even Ramsakha from Bhusakhedi, standing in his green fields, admires the Fairbrothers playing in the blue sky. For him, the only virtue in Ghanshyams is their immediate destruction, right in front of his eyes.
I call it God's own apartheid.
Added later: Many told me that this piece was confusing. So, to clarify, Ghanshyams are Dark Clouds while Fairbrothers are white.
________________________________________________________________________________
That’s it. I’ve deleted the remaining drafts now and would make a fresh start from next post.
By the time I publish this post, my brother (nicknamed Bala) would be on his way to Singapore for his new job. I don’t have a family connection now with Mumbai anymore which saddens me. He has been there since last eight years.
Anyone who needs Gold Gym membership in Bandra at dirt cheap price, please leave a comment. You get to pump iron and run alongside Salman, Bipasha, Neha Dhupia and many models and actors.
Bala would be sending his Television to me. No matter how far I run away from the idiot box, it follows me with even greater fervor. Three years ago when I shifted to my new place, the owner was a friend and left the Television back. I dumped it at another friend’s place. A bigger irony was to follow. I got a job where they write software for set-top boxes and I have Televisions (fantastic digital ones) all around me in office. I can have Tata-sky or Airtel digital Tv connection for free as per the company policy. I must withstand the temptation if the blog has to survive, if my Yoga has to continue and a few more good ifs, because the presence of TV around me works like dementors. I loose all senses and numbly zap thorugh the channels for hours. I prefer youtube. That way I watch only that which is worthy of searching and waiting for the streaming through broadband at Indian speed.
Bala had posted his requirements for a residential stay in Singapore on various rental sites. His inbox is getting invitation to share apartments from females too and each such mail is duly forwarded to all his friends in Mumbai.All of a sudden each one of his friends has gone high on morals and culture; they are voicing concerns that Bala should not forget the Bhartiya Sanskriti.
Understandably, my parents are not in a jolly mood today. But the point is that for all practical purposes he has shifted closer to them. Earlier, he used to go by an overnight train to Dewas which took 13 hours. Now he would reach home in 7 hours since all of his travel would be via plane.
He visited Dewas last week. He went to the VT Railway station directly from his office and removed his shirt to wear a black T-shirt in the taxi itself. Then he rolled up his yellow cargo pants. He was going to remove the black leather shoes in train itself before going for sleep. At the gates of the railway station, security police stopped him and started checking his luggage. He was surprised and looked around for a clue. Then he caught sight of a mirror. His outfit and luggage looked exactly like none other than that of Kasab. To make matter worse, he was carrying passport and other papers for visa preparations. You can only sympathize with the growing suspicion in police-wallas. Bala was a regular at the aforementioned gym and has good body with biceps and all. He answered all their questions patiently, explained them that the metallic rectangle is an I-Pod and let them hear Eminem through it; they even asked him to explain about the book he carried: “Three Men in a Boat”.
You feel the distance more when the time-zones are very much separated. Then it feels as if you are in a different universe. While in US, I always found it difficult to communicate with my parents. There were very few eligible slabs for calling home, mostly at least one party would be sleeping or in office. But Singapore is just 2.5 hours ahead, which in fact gives a perfect offset given the lifestyle of my parents and Bala. Parents sleep at 10.30 while Bala doesn’t even think of going to bed before 12. At 8 o’clock when my mom would ask, “Khana kha liya?”, I would still be saying “Itne jaldi kaun khata hain” while Bala just had to truthfully answer “Haan”. But the best thing about Singapore is that it is so easy to pronounce.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Good Old Days
After every seven years, you are a new biological person. Defining the boundaries of a new generation is a difficult question and doesn’t have any objective criterions. As against the present times, a man released after 30 years in jail in 550 AD wouldn’t have had to deal with the strangeness of cellphones, cable-TV, high rises and short skirts.
In Indian context, I would say that those born after 1987 are the current generation. They don’t know that Door-Darshan was simply called TV, those driving Maruti-800 were considered rich, they probably have never heard about Cibaca Sangeet Mala and the SurTaaz Bigul, and they didn’t witness the emergence of Sachin Tendulkar. By the time they were five, the waves of globalization had begun engulfing the country.
You hear a lot of “Kids these days are so smart” chat these days just because they know a lot and can play with gadgets. They absorb a lot of filth shown on TV. Life used to be simpler in those days when we just had Ramayana and Vikram-Baital for our fantasies.
My younger brother (Bala) and I used to have Yudhha with bow and arrows. It was a pattern with every game that I played to win while he played for fun. However, one particular day he was extra ferocious and caught me by surprise with his Brahmastra baan. The moment I died, he walked two steps towards the wall and shouted “Pushpa Varsha”. Three kids were waiting with flowers on terrace and threw them on him chanting “Dhanya ho Bala! Bala ki Jay ho!” Watch this video to gain the perspective.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC987YJCqvY&feature=related
Inspired by the Olympics of 1988, we used to have a fight-hour everyday after the school which included boxing, karate, kushti etc with strict rules like no pinching, hair-pulling, ijjat se khelna (pulling down shorts) and no going to momma crying after getting beaten. The last rule used to be broken sometimes or to shut him up I had to carry my brother on my shoulders (Vikram-Baital style) while he used my ears to navigate left and right turns. To begin pillow fight, we used to pretend as if we are laborers carrying heavy sacks (pillows) on the back and looking up at a fictitious aero-plane in the sky. Then we would collide and shout at each other “Abe saamne dekh ke nahi chal sakta” and then in rage, attack each other with our sacks.
Whenever there was any chat of naughty toddlers at home, my mom would start “Humara chotaa bahut badmaash tha…” When I confronted her once for any tales of my childhood adventures, the only claim to fame was “Isko to jahaan chodd do, 2 ghante baad wahin baitha milta tha”.
And then there were trips to villages, where we ran around in fields in 45 degree Sun, sat on bullock carts, bought 5 paisa burf-ka-gola and saw death been taken lightly. There was no need to divide players while playing cricket. Caste did it for us. It used to be Patils vs us. I was in a pretty good form in one such match and when I played a shot high in the air on leg side, the Patils shouted “Sursyaaa, Catch Ghe” who was supposed to be fielding there. Suresh becomes Sursyaaa in Marathi. However, Sursyaa was shitting outside the boundary at that time. For 70% India, the whole world is a toilet. I am probably the only batsman in cricket history whose catch has been dropped because the fielder was squatting to answer nature’s call. I wish I could show that video to bowlers when they angrily scream for catches that even a fifteen footer couldn’t have taken at the boundary.
Given a choice though, I would like to be born in present times. The only disadvantage I see is that there is a lot of borrowed wisdom nowadays due to easy accessibility to knowledge. It is a painful experience to read about a 14 year old blogger impressed by Ayn Rand’s philosophy since she was eleven. I am not against 14 year olds blogging and reading books. In fact, not very proud of myself that I read my first book at 19. But they must be shielded from stupid ideas until they acquire the abilities to judge them.
Taking things to be cool because they are western and different happens a lot these days. In Kharagpur, I once entered into the room of a friend who was shouting “We Don’t Need No Education” with Pink Floyd. That was the age when many of us spent days with drug, masturbation and rock n’ roll. Ok, replace drug with alcohol.
My reaction to that guy was “Saale nakli. Din me 25 ghunta padh padh ke IIT clear kiya hain. Abhi Stanford me Ph.D. ke liye apply kiya hain. Sun-na hain to sun ye gaana. Lekin feeling ke saath chillane ka natak mat kar.” I mean seriously. I don’t get the head-banging people over here do in rock concerts while listening to a number on Vietnam War when they can’t even locate it on the Map, let alone know reasons behind the lyrics. And they yell with rage “Daddy what you leave behind for me..”. Bhai , bharat ek parivarik type ka desh hain. We have mostly loving families here who want to leave behind as much as possible for their kids. The only single parents you would find in India would be Preity Zinta in “Kya Kehna” or Sushmita Sen in adopted reality. Teenagers here stay with their parents and the only ones who are independent and start earning by the age of sixteen, usually don’t have access to such songs.
Recently I read a blog of a teenager who was 17 and worried about getting older. She already has doubts that she would die a lonely dame. Let me recite a recent incident for her. Bala and I would be going home next week. We’ve been playing cricket on our terrace since the time it was built. Bala told me that when he informed Mom of our plans to come, she said this to the maid “Baai, chat (Terrace) achche se saaf kar dena. Bahche aa rahen hain. Cricket khelenge.” Of course, if my mom would have had her way, it would have been our kids for whom the terrace shall be cleaned.
PS: Preeti has tagged me here with the title of the post.
In Indian context, I would say that those born after 1987 are the current generation. They don’t know that Door-Darshan was simply called TV, those driving Maruti-800 were considered rich, they probably have never heard about Cibaca Sangeet Mala and the SurTaaz Bigul, and they didn’t witness the emergence of Sachin Tendulkar. By the time they were five, the waves of globalization had begun engulfing the country.
You hear a lot of “Kids these days are so smart” chat these days just because they know a lot and can play with gadgets. They absorb a lot of filth shown on TV. Life used to be simpler in those days when we just had Ramayana and Vikram-Baital for our fantasies.
My younger brother (Bala) and I used to have Yudhha with bow and arrows. It was a pattern with every game that I played to win while he played for fun. However, one particular day he was extra ferocious and caught me by surprise with his Brahmastra baan. The moment I died, he walked two steps towards the wall and shouted “Pushpa Varsha”. Three kids were waiting with flowers on terrace and threw them on him chanting “Dhanya ho Bala! Bala ki Jay ho!” Watch this video to gain the perspective.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC987YJCqvY&feature=related
Inspired by the Olympics of 1988, we used to have a fight-hour everyday after the school which included boxing, karate, kushti etc with strict rules like no pinching, hair-pulling, ijjat se khelna (pulling down shorts) and no going to momma crying after getting beaten. The last rule used to be broken sometimes or to shut him up I had to carry my brother on my shoulders (Vikram-Baital style) while he used my ears to navigate left and right turns. To begin pillow fight, we used to pretend as if we are laborers carrying heavy sacks (pillows) on the back and looking up at a fictitious aero-plane in the sky. Then we would collide and shout at each other “Abe saamne dekh ke nahi chal sakta” and then in rage, attack each other with our sacks.
Whenever there was any chat of naughty toddlers at home, my mom would start “Humara chotaa bahut badmaash tha…” When I confronted her once for any tales of my childhood adventures, the only claim to fame was “Isko to jahaan chodd do, 2 ghante baad wahin baitha milta tha”.
And then there were trips to villages, where we ran around in fields in 45 degree Sun, sat on bullock carts, bought 5 paisa burf-ka-gola and saw death been taken lightly. There was no need to divide players while playing cricket. Caste did it for us. It used to be Patils vs us. I was in a pretty good form in one such match and when I played a shot high in the air on leg side, the Patils shouted “Sursyaaa, Catch Ghe” who was supposed to be fielding there. Suresh becomes Sursyaaa in Marathi. However, Sursyaa was shitting outside the boundary at that time. For 70% India, the whole world is a toilet. I am probably the only batsman in cricket history whose catch has been dropped because the fielder was squatting to answer nature’s call. I wish I could show that video to bowlers when they angrily scream for catches that even a fifteen footer couldn’t have taken at the boundary.
Given a choice though, I would like to be born in present times. The only disadvantage I see is that there is a lot of borrowed wisdom nowadays due to easy accessibility to knowledge. It is a painful experience to read about a 14 year old blogger impressed by Ayn Rand’s philosophy since she was eleven. I am not against 14 year olds blogging and reading books. In fact, not very proud of myself that I read my first book at 19. But they must be shielded from stupid ideas until they acquire the abilities to judge them.
Taking things to be cool because they are western and different happens a lot these days. In Kharagpur, I once entered into the room of a friend who was shouting “We Don’t Need No Education” with Pink Floyd. That was the age when many of us spent days with drug, masturbation and rock n’ roll. Ok, replace drug with alcohol.
My reaction to that guy was “Saale nakli. Din me 25 ghunta padh padh ke IIT clear kiya hain. Abhi Stanford me Ph.D. ke liye apply kiya hain. Sun-na hain to sun ye gaana. Lekin feeling ke saath chillane ka natak mat kar.” I mean seriously. I don’t get the head-banging people over here do in rock concerts while listening to a number on Vietnam War when they can’t even locate it on the Map, let alone know reasons behind the lyrics. And they yell with rage “Daddy what you leave behind for me..”. Bhai , bharat ek parivarik type ka desh hain. We have mostly loving families here who want to leave behind as much as possible for their kids. The only single parents you would find in India would be Preity Zinta in “Kya Kehna” or Sushmita Sen in adopted reality. Teenagers here stay with their parents and the only ones who are independent and start earning by the age of sixteen, usually don’t have access to such songs.
Recently I read a blog of a teenager who was 17 and worried about getting older. She already has doubts that she would die a lonely dame. Let me recite a recent incident for her. Bala and I would be going home next week. We’ve been playing cricket on our terrace since the time it was built. Bala told me that when he informed Mom of our plans to come, she said this to the maid “Baai, chat (Terrace) achche se saaf kar dena. Bahche aa rahen hain. Cricket khelenge.” Of course, if my mom would have had her way, it would have been our kids for whom the terrace shall be cleaned.
PS: Preeti has tagged me here with the title of the post.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
What Happens In Dewas Stays In Dewas
After six long years, I celebrated Diwali with family in my home town Dewas (fondly called Las Dewas by expatriates).
“Aa gaya wapis ? Kya kiya Diwali par?” chirped Mukta, a very dear friend now, enthusiastically back in 2002 when I returned to Gurgaon after Diwali celebrations.
“Aisa kuch nahi kiya jo baaki log nahi karte” was the succinct response in a nonchalant and naturally cold tone.
I’ll answer her question this year with a little more description. Most of the mornings I had to keep a three year old entertained so that his mother could help my Mom prepare sweets. Another daily occupation was to wait in Verandah for a cow to come along and then inform Mom; she would feed her last night’s leftovers.
For Dad, I was the expert driver. Dad has been driving for decades, but still can’t reverse a car confidently. So I drove him through the town and waited outside while he entered his client’s places to distribute Gifts & sweets. Played a hard fought Test-series with Bro that spanned over five days. Met a couple of close school friends after very long time. We all have grown old now.
Dewas now has a cool multiplex to boast of. The ticket costs sixty rupees and they come to your seats to take the order for popcorn and soft drinks which, I am proud to say, are priced nearly as much as in Bangalore. Bro & I went with a couple of neighbourhood friends to watch “Golmaal Returns”. The seat next to Bro was damaged; whoever tried sitting on it fell on the floor. There were three such victims and watching them go down was way more hilarious than the movie. All attentions were diverted to that seat whenever a potential Bakra came to sit there; once my eyes were fixed on the screen when the stranger seating beside me nudged “Ek aur aa riyaa hain”. No one warned the poor fellow and once again everyone burst out laughing when he crashed.
Unwillingly burst a lot of crackers and ate thousands of sweets. Midway through all these excesses, I developed an irritating cough in my chest which made breathing difficult during the nights. I’ve managed to stay away from medication since last seven years with some luck, strong determination and persistent laziness. Expressed the desire to extend the run to ten years when brother suggested visiting a doctor. Bro reasoned “ Yaar wo record to Bangalore ka hain. What happens in Dewas, stays in Dewas.” Persuasive argument, but so many Sloths have survived a lifetime without a visit to the Vet. Good old treatment comprising of less food, lots of water and 12 hours of sound sleep for two days came to rescue once again. The glorious run continues.
One of the most enjoyable parts of the day is to read the local Hindi newspaper with morning tea. Fashion movie’s review read: “Is film me tamaam models nashe ki latiyad ho jaati hain aur apna jeevan bistar aur ramp par bitaa deti hain”. Even better was a Diwali-special booklet which had an article informing the reader with ten points about places where the Goddess Laxmi stays and the places she shuns. “Jo poora nanga ho kar nahaata hain uske ghar Laxmiji nahi rahti”. I know that Santa Clause doesn’t visit you if you are naughty throughout the year, but have my doubts over this “Thou shalt not bathe naked” maxim. Haven't done a survey on this one , but my guess is that most of the readers should be spending their life in penury. Also, please be informed that having sex at sunrise or sunset adversely affects your financial prospects.
Overall the trip to my little town was great and apparently aisa bahut kuch kiya jo baaki log nahi karte .
“Aa gaya wapis ? Kya kiya Diwali par?” chirped Mukta, a very dear friend now, enthusiastically back in 2002 when I returned to Gurgaon after Diwali celebrations.
“Aisa kuch nahi kiya jo baaki log nahi karte” was the succinct response in a nonchalant and naturally cold tone.
I’ll answer her question this year with a little more description. Most of the mornings I had to keep a three year old entertained so that his mother could help my Mom prepare sweets. Another daily occupation was to wait in Verandah for a cow to come along and then inform Mom; she would feed her last night’s leftovers.
For Dad, I was the expert driver. Dad has been driving for decades, but still can’t reverse a car confidently. So I drove him through the town and waited outside while he entered his client’s places to distribute Gifts & sweets. Played a hard fought Test-series with Bro that spanned over five days. Met a couple of close school friends after very long time. We all have grown old now.
Dewas now has a cool multiplex to boast of. The ticket costs sixty rupees and they come to your seats to take the order for popcorn and soft drinks which, I am proud to say, are priced nearly as much as in Bangalore. Bro & I went with a couple of neighbourhood friends to watch “Golmaal Returns”. The seat next to Bro was damaged; whoever tried sitting on it fell on the floor. There were three such victims and watching them go down was way more hilarious than the movie. All attentions were diverted to that seat whenever a potential Bakra came to sit there; once my eyes were fixed on the screen when the stranger seating beside me nudged “Ek aur aa riyaa hain”. No one warned the poor fellow and once again everyone burst out laughing when he crashed.
Unwillingly burst a lot of crackers and ate thousands of sweets. Midway through all these excesses, I developed an irritating cough in my chest which made breathing difficult during the nights. I’ve managed to stay away from medication since last seven years with some luck, strong determination and persistent laziness. Expressed the desire to extend the run to ten years when brother suggested visiting a doctor. Bro reasoned “ Yaar wo record to Bangalore ka hain. What happens in Dewas, stays in Dewas.” Persuasive argument, but so many Sloths have survived a lifetime without a visit to the Vet. Good old treatment comprising of less food, lots of water and 12 hours of sound sleep for two days came to rescue once again. The glorious run continues.
One of the most enjoyable parts of the day is to read the local Hindi newspaper with morning tea. Fashion movie’s review read: “Is film me tamaam models nashe ki latiyad ho jaati hain aur apna jeevan bistar aur ramp par bitaa deti hain”. Even better was a Diwali-special booklet which had an article informing the reader with ten points about places where the Goddess Laxmi stays and the places she shuns. “Jo poora nanga ho kar nahaata hain uske ghar Laxmiji nahi rahti”. I know that Santa Clause doesn’t visit you if you are naughty throughout the year, but have my doubts over this “Thou shalt not bathe naked” maxim. Haven't done a survey on this one , but my guess is that most of the readers should be spending their life in penury. Also, please be informed that having sex at sunrise or sunset adversely affects your financial prospects.
Overall the trip to my little town was great and apparently aisa bahut kuch kiya jo baaki log nahi karte .
Sunday, September 28, 2008
My Sweet Family
Refrigerator: Hi, my name is Calvin. This chap bought me three years ago. I have seen few things in life: Apples, milk, coke, beer and whisky (why whisky??). My freezer has never been used. This guy doesn't know whether and how to defrost me. Though my top is over utilized. He keeps nail-cutter, car-keys, expired pizza-hut coupons, coins, chewing gums and a lot of trash there. Spiders love my back side.
Washing machine: Hi, I am Whirly. I am in comma since last 2 years 10 months. The lazy bum doesn't use me any more. My work has been outsourced to a maid; reason being sighted was management overhead. He further harasses me by daily putting the clothes to be washed on me.
Laptop: Mr. Louis Dell here. My memory has been corrupted with porn, pirated movies and music. I seldom visit good sites; mostly browse through tabloids and junk sites dedicated to filmy-gossips, relationships ("10 ways to tell your boyfriend is bisexual" type) and explicit videos. First look at this geeky-looking dude and I had high hopes of running high-end algorithms on me churning out zillions of bits. Haven't executed even a single excel macro on me. The most respectable job I've done is preparing a word-document (the idiot's resume). I've never been entertained with a 3-D game; never gone beyond "Hearts" & "Solitaire".
Bed: He hasn't given me any name but I fancy myself being called Trash-bag. Anything in his house that is not at its allotted place is on me. 90% of his stuff fall into this category ; they are all in search of the promised land. Of course, the mattress is not on me. Poor her, she lies on the floor.
Chair: No name for me too. I service his feet more than his butt. I've been used to change tube-light and shove all the utensils given by his mother in a rack above where no one sees them. Mostly I am used to block the door from shutting when he needs breeze to flow through the house.
Car: My name is Vinnie (cause my number is V9920). I've been injured a lot in past; no medical care has been offered. He doesn't care whether I am serviced, whether the air pressure is enough, blah blah blah. All he does on time is insuring me; I believe he is waiting for me to die and claim the money. I haven’t seen any place outside the cities he stays in.
Washing machine: Hi, I am Whirly. I am in comma since last 2 years 10 months. The lazy bum doesn't use me any more. My work has been outsourced to a maid; reason being sighted was management overhead. He further harasses me by daily putting the clothes to be washed on me.
Laptop: Mr. Louis Dell here. My memory has been corrupted with porn, pirated movies and music. I seldom visit good sites; mostly browse through tabloids and junk sites dedicated to filmy-gossips, relationships ("10 ways to tell your boyfriend is bisexual" type) and explicit videos. First look at this geeky-looking dude and I had high hopes of running high-end algorithms on me churning out zillions of bits. Haven't executed even a single excel macro on me. The most respectable job I've done is preparing a word-document (the idiot's resume). I've never been entertained with a 3-D game; never gone beyond "Hearts" & "Solitaire".
Bed: He hasn't given me any name but I fancy myself being called Trash-bag. Anything in his house that is not at its allotted place is on me. 90% of his stuff fall into this category ; they are all in search of the promised land. Of course, the mattress is not on me. Poor her, she lies on the floor.
Chair: No name for me too. I service his feet more than his butt. I've been used to change tube-light and shove all the utensils given by his mother in a rack above where no one sees them. Mostly I am used to block the door from shutting when he needs breeze to flow through the house.
Car: My name is Vinnie (cause my number is V9920). I've been injured a lot in past; no medical care has been offered. He doesn't care whether I am serviced, whether the air pressure is enough, blah blah blah. All he does on time is insuring me; I believe he is waiting for me to die and claim the money. I haven’t seen any place outside the cities he stays in.
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