Dejavu’ing in Patna

Everything is back to the same place where it all started. Couldn't help but loose myself under this sense of Déjàvu. In Patna .

It seems that I have traveled two years back in time. Everything is the same. The same maths teacher who helped me with my IRMA,CAT and PO preparation is coming at my home to teach me maths , again. The purpose too is the same.

We study the same books, sit at the same place. We talk about the same things, the same political situation in Bihar. And before leaving he always ask me whether Bela is chained in or not, just like the way he used to do two years back.

At that time I had two parrots who would chitchat with me and inquire me about my progress in Quants. Times changed and one of the two died and the other flew away. Now I have two new parrot couple who too like their ancestors don’t mind poking me about my helplessness when it comes to maths.

The same room at my home provides me and Bela with a peaceful slumber as we sleep under the antic Khaitan fan. The age old fan in my room is still yellow and still it works in a silent manner unlike its counterparts who have either passed away or hanging in some obsolete corner and who cry out loud whenever they are switched on. I first slept under its cool air in Rajkot in 1987 when I was still trying to learn to recite humpty dumpty...

Two years ago I was not able to attend Abhivyakti in Bhopal because of my ensuing exams and this time too I will have to give it a miss and I will "miss it" dearly. The heart will require some consoling but I know it will manage, somehow.

II

Its election time in Bihar. The same political atmosphere easily identifiable by the flags on the street and the waves of white Kurtas that cover every corner of the city has engulfed Patna. Two years back it was the General election and this time its the assembly election. Two years back my neighbor Dasji tried his luck as a BSP candidate from Hajipur and lost. The slogan “Jahan hai Das, wahin hai Aas” didn’t help his cause much. 

But still he regards this particular slogan as one of the best he used at that time.

I met him yesterday while he was taking a stroll with his grandson and when I asked him 'which way the political river will flow in Hajipur this time', he replied that he is done with politics. He had decided that he would not contest any election again. Man of emotions and creativity are easily hurt and they find it aimless to bounce back and thats what happened to Dasji, who retired as a DSP and is an accomplished Tabla player.

Somethings I guess have changed.

Udankhatolas of various color and size are flying over the Patna airspace. As the Lalus and the Nitishs try to outwit each other.

For me this is the flight and fight for life and death for Lalu.He won’t form the government in Bihar that is a surety. Nitish kumar will come back again is a possibility that has to come true and will come true. But for Lalu, if he doesn’t performs substantially this time, his political career will be over for good and no amount of minority or Yadav appeasement will be able to bring him back from his political oblivion. He has to win more than 50 seats to command some respectability at the state and Center level.

It would be interesting to watch Congresses performance in the state as the party has decided to go alone this time. It was Rahul Gandhi who was more adamant in Congress going alone in Bihar, and he deserves accolades for that. It was sort of a huge political question that how a national party can be nonexistent in a state like Bihar. The absence of Congress in the state had created a vacuum that had led to the growth of regional parties like RJD and Ram Bilas Paswan’s LJP who were running the state like a fiefdom.

Read somewhere in a magazine that its "Resurgent Bihar" time. Hope this time goes on and on.

A Gharghoda of mines and elephants

Corruption and pollution is something that we come across regularly in our life. Be it a small village or a large town and be it Mumbai or Gharghoda every place has come to terms with its share of the “ion” .

Situated in the industrial belt of Raigarh, which should be more appropriately called Jindalgarh, because of the huge infrastructural presence of Jindal company, Gharghoda is the oldest block of undivided MP and Chhattisgarh, coming into existence in 1928.

If Raigarh is famous for Jindal, Gharghoda is famous for two things, wild elephants and coal reserves.

My uncle who stays in the hills of Uttarakhad had not heard about Raigarh before, but when I told him that I will be staying in Gharghoda, he promptly quipped, “Ahh! Gharghoda, the land of the wild elephants.”

Wild elephants are always in news in this part of this world. Mostly for wrong reasons. Some fifteen days back, one women who had gone to collect Mahua seed was trampled by a tusker. Similarly, while travelling to Raigarh on bus, I had the wonderful experience of being stuck in a traffic jam as the highway was blocked by a herd of elephants who were taking a merry stroll on the road.

To look after the elephants we have the forest department people and they are doing a good job of protecting both the elephants and the civilians from each other. They are very prompt in giving compensation in case of causality due to elephants. So everything is fine on that front.

They are also active when it comes to stopping illegal tree felling, of which I have already given a graphical description in my previous post. So far so good.

But the problem arises when Coal comes into the picture.

Due to coal mining, both legal and illegal, forest cover is being vastly reduced, leading to a sharp increase in man-elephant conflict. The elephants are regularly entering villages and destroying crops and huts because their habitat is shrinking.

To combat this the forest department is investing huge amount of money in increasing the forest cover by planting saplings, but its effort is being bearing little result as more and more forest are being cut to pave way for mines.

Strange paradox, isn’t it. One government department in giving money to increase the forest cover, while the other is giving permission to cut those very trees.

Stand at the local Jai Stambh chowk of Gahrghoda and you will come across many huge trailers that are carrying coals and transporting them to the numerous coal power plant near Raigarh. And most of them are illegally mined. And as is very common in our country, this is happening right under the eyes of the law as not more than 200 meters from the Jai Stambh chowk is the local police station.

The coal is mined from the many a nearby areas and as they make their way to smoke emitting coal plants they have to pass through many a check posts. And rarely have I come across a trailer being stopped for overloading and carrying illegal coal. Most of the trailers are filled more than their capacity and the chance of these huge machines losing control and playing havoc on the street is as much as you and I getting drenched in a rain if we are not carrying an umbrella.

Once in a full moon, a trailer is caught and its details are promptly published in the local Hindi newspapers. Most of the trailers are owned by one of the many big companies like Jindal.

Also having their hands full in this trade are relatively small businessmen who have come from outside and have been wise enough to purchase lands from the local villagers at throw away price and setup their business.

And this is just the beginning. Gharghoda is still a ripe bud when it comes to coal mining. Many new plants are coming up and by 2015, this place will be at its full bloom. When the clean air and green tress will be replaced by carbon monoxide and steel chimneys and when the “Saagun made Belgadi” will give way to “Mahindra Scorpios” and when the local man who walks in cotton loins will purchase a Levis.

May not sound true today, but then Noida is no myth.

Equally true is the fact that these coal consuming factories have taken the necessary permission from the environmental authorities and other concerned authorities before coming up, so they are not to be blamed.

Again a paradox that infects our system.

We allow a factory to discharge toxic waste into the river and then we come up with an authority to clean that very river.

The emission and pollution controlling authority says that they see to it that every thing is done under supervision and Regulation. Sounds just like a holocaust, where they killed selectively, under supervision and in a regulated manner.

I may look like that I from the old age, a Swadeshi, an Opposer of industrialization. Believe me I am not, but what I say here is what is I see here.

The rapid industrialization has brought lakhs of rupees for the local tribes which they have received after selling their land to coal companies. And they simply do not know what to do with it. And some of them lament that times are changing as they feel insecure when they see their neighbour living a life that is more lavish then what they are accustomed to. They don’t know how to face this disparity.

The social fabric is being rewoven in this part of the world as money is pulling someone up and pushing many of them down.

I though draw solace from the fact that I won’t be staying her for long. I will leave way before any of these rivers and trees and green leaves this place, affectionately called GG. And though I may come back , they will not.

Mussorie tale

I have been to many a place where I have only felt love and nothing else.

Mussorie ranks high on that very list. Some times back I went to Mussorie, and it was one of those memorable journey which you remember till you say the final goodbye to the world.

Absolute bliss it was. I stayed at the DRDO guest house, courtesy my ever jovial and lovable uncle, KK, who is perhaps more romantic at heart than me. The DRDO guest house is one of the highest residential place in Mussorie where you can stay. And if you go there at the time of monsoon , you will loose your breath again and again by the sheer simple beauty of that place,which is also called Landour cantt area near the famous Lal Tibba.

From there you can watch the exhilarating view of the majestic Himalayas as it white snow covered peak stare at you in a gentle silence. You can also hear the sound of Himalayan Langurs giving out their mating call which is heard for kilometers. You can watch beautiful Kumaoni girls with red cheeks and a mystifying smile climbing the high hills as if they are walking on plains. Or you can just close your eyes and feel the nature outside as it embraces you.

The beauty of a natural place is enhanced if it has legends and myths associated with it. And in the case of Mussorie, it has many a tales. Some haunting, some not so haunting. Stories of Memsaabs and Sirs that took place during the ear of Raj. The British Raj.

One night after having my dinner at the guest house, I came out and started taking a stroll down towards Lal Tibba. As I was walking, I heard some kind of chanting that was coming from a far distance. It was kind of mesmerizing and I climbed a rock to get a better view of the spot from where the sound was coming. And not too far away, in the middle of deep forest , I saw some foreigners carrying Mashals( torch light), as they danced in a circle and sang songs.

Standing at an elevated position i could only see their body under the faint light of the torch that they were holding. It was something that is hard to explain in words. Dark foggy cold night and people singing ancient hymns. It was an out of world experience. God knows how desperately how I wanted to be a part of that group who was enjoying life in its fullest terms.

Mussorie is home to many a legends. Ruskin bond, the great writer is one of them. And thanks to my uncle, I got the opportunity to meet him once. He is the most well known Mussorian and has written many books on Mussorie. A true gentleman. Also if are fortunate enough you can watch the towering Tom Alter sipping coffee at the historical Char Dukan.

If you are in Mussoire you have to go to 4 dukan. They are 4 small shops, located in the heart of Landour, where you find the most mouth watering pakodas and a highly recommended tea. There you can sit, chit chat with the local and the foreigners, watch small pahadi children going to school or just simply watch the sun rising or going down as the time maybe.

Please keep in mind that when I am saying Mussorie, I am implying, the area near the Landour cantt and not the over crowded mall road of Mussorie.

The Landour area is a magic in itself. The climb from the guest house on the gravelled path, surrounded by lush green forest comprising many a tall trees, mostly Pine. The ever present fear that if you are lucky enough you might come across a leopard, who too like you , is enjoying the clouds, that have stopped for few hours to cuddle you in their cold moist arms.

The Landour cantt area also has a language school that is more than 200 years old. Here foreign student come and learn Hindi. This very language school is adjoining a church, which in itself is a marvellous example of a serene construction.

Mussorie gives all this experience for free but in return you will have to promise that you won’t disturb anything. Not pluck the flowers, not harm the butterflies or the trees, not litter the place. And most importantly keep a smile on your face whenever you come across a marvel of nature, be it a tree,animal, clouds, fog or a human being.

The term, love is in the air is literally felt by our soul in Mussorie in no small way. If you are in love or thinking of falling in love go to Mussorie. It has an unexplainable lucky charm that will work for you and this I say on a personal experience.

Mussorie enlightens love in heart...

The girl on a moving train

The girl on a moving train

leaving a city poor as she moves to the next

the darkness outside matched by her black eyes

and a white moon that shies away due to her sparkling smile

a blue scarf that makes her appear more reddish

a white strap on her hand

and a lone colorful bangle to make the rainbow complete

songs of birds and of a silent night

are no match for her sweet voice

a casual look turns into an attentive stare

among the moments of attraction that looks to seek through

I watch silently as she speaks of her peaceful life

and of her vivacious life, of her hope and of her dream

and listens my tales of small cities and younger childhood days

the silence of something amiss

of something not the same

of something less than love

the strangeness that comes after the sudden familiarity

and the eager shyness to seek attention

maybe we will meet again

maybe she would not be the same again

neither would i be amazed to see her again

among the countless moments of aimless affection

A Gharghodan safari

It was 3.30 in the noon and the temperature was still 45 degree Celsius outside. The sun was playing the innings of his life and I was doing nothing except mumbling words of desperation at the sun and at the electricity department for doing what they are best at; load shedding.

But then like a merciful drop of raindrop on a parched land, my cell rang and it was Mr.X on the other line. Mr.X is one of the many forest department employees whom I have acquainted with since I came to Gharghoda. He was blabbering something that was making no sense and the only thing I could make out was that he was going on a raid to capture timber smugglers and if I wanted to join , he will be waiting for me at the forest guest house where I am currently staying.

I had five minutes to come with an excusable reason to explain to my boss that why I was leaving the office so abruptly . 3 minutes later, I was in my way to the spot where we had decided to meet.

There were four forest employees, one driver and one banker in that Bolero when it took from Gharghoda for the daring adventure to catch the tree thieves.

While on way to destination, which was 70 kms away, they told me that they had got information from the villagers that some timber fellers where cutting trees. And if we are lucky enough we would be able to catch them before they are able to smuggle the heavy wood out of the forest, probably Sagun. This area of Chhattisagrh has heavy plantation of Sagun and i’ts not rare to come across such smuggling.

Soon we were out of the city and curved roads dotted with green trees , lush fields and mountains of soil greeted us make the whole stretch beautiful. In between we also saw huge area of forest cover that was destroyed by wild fire.

Wild fire, they told me, rarely occurs because of natural cause. In 95 percent cases the fire is lighted by the Mahua collectors on behest of local Mahua merchants who find it cumbersome to separate the Mahua from the bed of dried leaves and hence they find it more easy to set the whole area on fire and take away the Mahua later.

The guards who are deputed to stop the fire from spreading have nothing highfi to battle this hot menace and they mostly rely on fresh branches of trees to extinguish fire and they admitted that once a fire starts it is very difficult to stop it from spreading until it has reached its zenith and starts dying down by itself.

The state forest department is spending large amount of money to plant trees and increase the forest area, but its efforts are being mitigated by the regular incidents of forest fire.

Then they narrated me a story of three bears, presumably siblings, who apparently after having their fill of Mahua decided that the shiny Tar road was the best place to have some 'after drinking nap as they laid there for 12 hours. Neither of them, inspite of being conscious, had any problem when the guards shifted them to a safer place using bamboo sticks. Ohh... How much I miss Jehenuma,TC.

And when they finally woke up, they walked away, still reeling on the feet to a nearby nullah to remove the hangover. My take is that these animals have been watching sitcoms too seriously.

One of the person sitting in the backseat narrated me of how he saved a life of an elephant calf who was stuck in the mud for 12 hours.

The guard was posted at a place, 90 kms from Gharghoda. And it was a night of heavy rains when he was told by the villagers that a herd of elephant had converged on a spot in the middle of forest and were showing signs of agitations.

When he rushed there he found that there were more than fifty villagers who had assembled there and were waiting anxiously to see why the elephants were so angry. As our brave guard went near he saw that a calf of not more than 2 months was trying to keep his trunk out of the mud pit in which he had fallen. The elephants were trying to pull out the calf but were not able to get a grip on him. And he was slipping back

So on a night when the rain drops were as huge as a peanut and the sound of thunder was making the overall atmosphere even more menacing, our guard decided to climb into the mud pit to pull the calf out.

The herd consisted of 15-20 elephants with 3 more calves and as you must be aware elephants, like any mother, are pretty unpredictable when it comes to the protection of their calves. But our brave lad took his chance and slowly but steadily walked towards them.

He told me that in spite of his being uniform totally wet , still he didn’t take them off, because he believed that the elephants recognize the colour of Khaki and would do him no harm and his belief was proved right as the elephants made way for him to climb into the mud pit.

Entering the mud pit was another thing and getting that scary calf almost another. And to make matter worse he had the company of so many huge agitated and confused elephants . Hardly any reason to feel comfortable.

The villagers were watching the whole drama unfold silently, perhaps thinking of what they will tell to the Bada Saheb who will scold them for not stopping an insane forest guard from taking up such antics. Or maybe they were thinking that whether the Gajraj will let them take away the body of the poor guard for a proper cremation.

Well fortunately, nothing of such short happened, and after 20 minutes of hard labour, the jumbo kid was pushed out by him. And everything ended on a happy note.

The guard then proudly tells me that when the elephants were moving back into deeper forest along with the rescued cough, the leader of the herd, turned back , looked at our dude and cried out in loud voice as she raised her trunk. Maybe saying thank you.

At the mention of this concluding remark all hell broke loose as the other guards who were quiet till now, started mocking him , calling him names that are too classy to be written here.

At this point we reached our village and saw our informer standing under a tree...

some months back...

A joyous ride on horse drawn carriage overooking the magnificent taj…some beloved time it was,

your laugh and your smile brightned my somnolent soul,

but then the moments in the black and yellow cab too were no less,

or the feeling of longingness on the volvo from pune to jaweri bazar;

exchanging of notes and something more in a dim lit atm, as i fervently wished it rained

and i leave myself in your hands on a not so empty local train

a whippy dog scares you as we play in one of those park

we say bye and soon the heart starts missing you

Kerala Diary-1

Have many a tales to tell
where to begin...where to end.

It is a new internet cafe, one opposite Bhaskar office where I sit and try to key in some exceptionally random thoughts. Don't have neither my dell nor the notebook which includes the diary linking my journey from Bhopal to Kerala.

The journey that passed through the beautiful Konkan Stretch through more than 69 tunnels made an otherwise boring ride a visual delight.

After a brief stay at INA I am back to my old place and to say that I am happily back would be an understatement. Also I had the twin privilege of ushering 2010 and my birthday in a moving train. I guess not everyone is so lucky or unlucky depending on the way you perceive it.


"Passing through tall trees
green fields,women in pink,flowing stream,
I go to places where I have never been before,
a heavy heart and a smiling past
to make sure that I reach ashore"

You can sit at the footsteps of a train going at a hair raising speed and ponder over how easy it is to end everything. Life included. And then you can again think about the rivers and streams and the tall mountains and think what they are talking to each other. What stories they might have shared with each other over the hundred years of sharing the same land.

The many a tunnels that dot the curved stretch make for a visual delight and then they also show you the meaning of light and darkness. Both literally and philosophically.

To be very honest life hasn't changed much or maybe it has. As Narayan Shankar says in the ever watchable "Mohabbatein" - I don't like changes Mr.Aryan".

But I look for change everywhere I go and to cherish those changes that might be painful sometimes is a way of enjoying life.

Keep smiling...A very happy 2010... the digits look good together ...may the year too bring more happiness and challenges.

Some moments to remember

I always had in mind that it will happen one day but was not expecting it to happen so soon. It is my last week in Bhopal and if I say that I am feeling nostalgic then it will be an understatement. Back in November 2008 when I gave my first paper for the PO exam, I was praying to god to make my efforts of joining SBI in Bhopal successful and it happened. Thank you god.

And these 8 months since I have been in Bhopal have been fabulous. The past was here and so is the present. Now the future is about Indian Navy as I leave for Kerala and then Mumbai.

The first thing that comes into my mind when I wander back into the recent past is friends. Old and new. They made an impression in my life as they never had before. Maybe I am being maudlin but then you can’t blame me. I guess it is something about this part of earth that has made me and left me even more emotional with every passing day.

I have already started missing Bhopal and moments spent here. The long nights behind Ansals. The not so sense-ful talks at the lake under the shining moon. The lone car standing at the great Lake, withstanding the fury of a wet monsoon. A car in which four guys are busy in building Magic moments with great songs playing on local radio station. The hot parathtas at 3 am from one of the stalls from Habibganj station. The hours of going into the past, dissecting the present and dreaming about the beautiful future. The after office evening chai at my home, sometimes alone and many times with Dino.

Songs like Yeh chand sa roshan chehra, raat ke dhai baje, wake up sid, khudaya khair, tu jaane na will be added in my long list of 'associative nostalgia' songs.

The plays at Bharat Bhawan, the night winds at Winds and Waves, the early morning coffee at Cafe Cabana and the exotic time spent at Tottenham corner. (Ignore the spelling of Tottenham if wrong, coz it was always too misty and blurry when we used to come out of this wonderful place making it difficult to read how and what was written.) A special thanks to Khan Sahab, especially from my friend Boddi for those shots and pints.

In between the not so hectic work came the eagerly awaited Abhivyakti and left me elated, like it always does. Whatever happens I will be here next year to be a part of it again.

My sister Lory blessed our family with boundless happiness as she became a mom of twin boys. When the long awaited news came to me through an sms sent by my dad from Patna,( twin boys...shortest possible way to convey), I was so overwhelmed that I just lay still on my bed as everything became so light and happy. 

I can well imagine that why my dad didn’t call me. Like son like father.

During this short period I went to one place after the another. Patna, Delhi, Indore, Bangalore,Mussorie and met many new people and many a new things happened.

Also I brought my first gas connection. Having tea prepared on my own gas stove was so satisfying, and so was trying to have eggs that tried hard not to become black but they did. I guess because of slightly over boiling. And I also brought my Dell.

Many people have made my Bhopal days a time to remember. The names that are coming to my mind are Dinesh, Palash, Dharmveer,Sumit,Akhil, Alka, Ankita, Meenakshi, Aparna, Ankit, Saurabh, Vivek, Roshan, Shruti, Romilla. ( I am sure I have missed out on someL)

And not to forget Browny, a limp dog that lives at the gates of Ansals, and who like me just gorges on Parle-G.One can identify him by looking in his eyes. They are emerald green. After me maybe it will be Dinesh and Palash who provide him with his supply of Parle-G. Maybe they will, maybe they won’t but whatever happens he will be a Parle-G dog.

Not that I won’t be coming to Bhopal again but maybe then woh shaam na hogi , aur shayad woh barsaat bhee na hogi. Saying goodbye is always so sad.

A day and a night on Bhopal-Patna broad gauge

Lying on bed at home in Patna I am still lost in the last 35-40 hrs that started from the moment I took a train from Bhopal to Itarsi at 10.30 morning on the 14th morning.

Just half an hour before I had to board the connecting train from Bhopal to Itarsi I found out that I had not taken out the printout of the copy of the e-ticket for the journey from Itarsi to Patna which was scheduled for the same day at 3 in the noon.

I called up my friend and forwarded the e-ticket at his email address and requested him to meet me at Habibganj railway station and hand me over the e-ticket after getting it printed. Then I boarded the train at Bhopal after getting assurance from the counter guy that the train would stop at Habibganj.

And I found my self sharing place in the general compartment with a group of labourers belonging to Balrampur in UP who were going to Mumbai, perhaps to take on the might of the goons of that rubbish called Raj Thackrey.

As the train reached Habibganj, I to my horror, discovered that instead of slowing down it was was gaining speed and soon it dawned on me that the train would be bypassing Habibganj without stopping.

I frantically called up my friend and decided on the best course of action available at that time.

As the train approached the station I perched myself on the gate and saw a guy running with me, and then after me. It was my friend Dinesh, and he was running after the train with the ticket firmly clutched in his hand.

And soon enough the ticket was in my hand.

Thank you dost. And thank you even more for giving me the printout of my return ticket. You did great. ( Dinesh by some great presence of mind (pun intended) took out the printout of my return ticket instead of my forward journey).

I can still remember the look on his face when he said "Happy journey dudeeeee......".

I had a very happy journey, seriously.

Later I messaged him apprising about the path breaking development adding hahahahahha in my sms. He too replied in the same way, albeit with more "ha" in the hahhahaha.

After two hours of having a highly fruitful discussion on the various socio-political-economic problems plaguing the country I got down at the Itarsi paltform no 3, feeling highly enlightened and for that I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to Prof. Sukhi Singh, Prof. Mahto Rana and the child prodigy who went by the name "Chottua".

The day was good with the sun shining brightly over the head as I headed for platform no 1 so to find out an Internet cafe where I intended to take out the print out of the eticket.

But my jovial walk was cut short as I was accosted by a TTE in the customary black coat and two RPF personnel in Khakis as they accused me of stopping the train illegally as if I was not Abhinandan the mortal one but Sabu the Lambu one . No preliminary talks worked and i was taken to their office.

There they told me that the train I was travelling in was not scheduled to stop in Itarsi and I had pulled the chain to alight at Itarsi. To prove my point they said that I had a ticket that I myself had taken from Bhopal for Itarsi. Talk of benefits of having a valid travelling ticket.

I told them everything in detail and said that I was told by the booking clerk at Bhopal that this particular train had a stoppage in Itaris, but to no avail. They were presumably trying to arrive at a point, a point where they would force me to cough up some money to make their Diwali more happier but which i was not ready to do.

This round table conference went on for thirty minutes and I was on the verge of blasting out with full force as I had reached the tipping point of my patience. At that very moment my cellphone rang and I answered it. It was ringing for quite a while but I was disconnecting it so as to focus on the other issue at hand.

The guy on the line was a person who was about to come to pick me up at Itarsi and I vented out my anger at him and referring to him by his surname I told him not to bother as he was already late by half an hour.

As I disconnected the call, I saw the picture changing. The RPF guys left the room and the TTE became sober to the extent of being polite.

To cut a long story short, with the help of the same TTE I was fortunate enough to get a confirmed ticket in a holiday special train which would take me directly from Itarsi to Patna, my destination.

It was already 5 in the evening and I was feeling sleepy as i had spent the last night roaming till Three in the morning and having tea in the old city with an even older school friend. And as soon as I climbed into the upper berth, I covered myself in the blanket, switched off my cell and went to sleep.

It was 8 in the night when I was woken up as someone was trying to shake me up. Still asleep I extended my arms out and found a food packet in my arms given to me by a guy who later i found was sent by dad. This was at Jabalpur station.

It was Ten in the night when I finally woke up and gobbled up the Indian thali that landed in my hands in Jabalpur.

I had Sleep, had food and now had nothing to do with sleep miles out of reach. It was time for night out or more aptly train out.

Soon my pyara humsafar Dell came out. After some minutes of chit-chap i found out the battery dying. And as I bent down to plugin the charger a hand came out of the middle berth and switched on the electric switch. My hushed thank-you was responded by an even more subdued most welcome.

Zoya had made her presence felt...

Bhopal diary II

Day before yesterday, I along with a friend went to my alma mater, my school, Jawahar Lal Nehru at 2 in the night.

As is with everyone else, this institution is very close to my heart. I can talk and talk and write hundreds if not thousands pages on my moments at Jawahar and it hurts very deeply and very subtly when you find that something which is so close to you, something which has given you so many things is going through a bad time.

As we entered the school campus, there was no sign of any welcoming party except a sleeping guard and 4-5 dogs who were as charming as they were allowed to be. Memories as unfailing as ever came back in waves.

Nothing had changed, sounds cliche, but that's the way it is. The same sprawling football/kabbadi/cricket ground. Even the lamp posts appeared as silent as they use to eight years ago.

As I went further, I found the stairs of the basketball court breathing its last few breaths. There stairs were located and built at a very strategic place offering good view of the many things. (No pun intended).

Then we had a stroll in the famous corridors of Jawahar---and as expected met no one. Went through the list of retired teachers and staff and was hit by a strong sense of nostalgia. It's sometimes very hard to accept a fact. Just couldn't imagine what was at work, maybe it was something hard to decipher let alone describe.

But now Jawahar has lost its academic and other attributes that were so once so famous. I guess the downfall started in 2003-2004. One of the cause was Trishal sir's retirement and the subsequent inability of the school management to instill the same level of discipline.

Have heard stories about misadventure in the premise of the school that was unimaginable in our times. It was not the fear of any disciplinary action that stopped us from doing any thing reckless but a sense of belonging and a sense of respect. And remember there was no RDB syndrome at that time which would have given us any inspiration.

About a month back while having tea at a roadside chaiwala I saw a bespectacled dude in Jawahar school uniform smoking cigarette. The best I could do was to ask him to keep the school tie in his bag because our school has a dress code that's similar to many other schools of Bhopal and it is the tie that separates or more appropriately used to separate the wheat from the chaff. He readily obliged as he was spared the lecture of the ills of smoking , which I had no intention of showering him with.

Can only hope for the revival of the good old Jawahar...

Still remember the last days.Everything is so vividly sketched,May they never fade.

When it all started…

Things were changing too quickly for them to react. A moment ago it was he who was seeking answers and the very next moment it was she who was asking questions.

Questions and answers; answers that were hard to come were by and even harder to absorb. And in between all this reasoning and explanation, love, that used to be the soul that connected both of them, was laid into oblivion.

The trust that still was in its blossoming stage trembled as every step taken by both of them to resurrect appeared to be like lighting a candle in a windy night. The hope that the candle would not extinguish once it was lighted, and the belief that it would give enough light and love to extinguish the stark recent days and nights of darkness was pushing them to try more and more. But the darkness prevailed. Darkness that was because of the other forms of love; Jealousy and insecurity.

No longer words inspired trust and no longer was expressing of love the response to all bitterness. The tomorrow that was built of love, of dreams, of moments that were inspired by looking into each other’s eyes, and of innocent touch, was slowly crumbling. Also ignored were the many love-filled ‘yesterdays’.

One was not willing to forget the past and the other was not ready to accept that past as a part of the present. The past that had come back brought with itself the unknown, the invisible yet a powerful poison due to which a love that was still adolescent and vulnerable started withering away.

What he asked of her was to forget the past. But for her this was too difficult 'choice' to make.

Suddenly the so promising future appeared a distinct reality as everything was forgotten in some hours of clash of emotions.

As one of them tried to walk the thorn strew path to the others heart, the painful journey was compounded by words that made the pain even more unbearable. A solace, a silent succor was all that was required to reach home. It never came.

In times of love they would talk about who loved other the most. Sometimes she won and many times he lost. This time no one won.

As Chunmun, the only living being that was mutually attached to both of them, tried hard to fight off an imminent death, the mutual love between the two, too was fading away .

Jaanu and Doggy will never be just a pair of words for them. They never were.

As one of them developed love in dogs, the other one found an added interest in the latest songs.

As is said, good things come in small packages. Four months fifteen days was small indeed. And it was sweet and a little bit of sour.

Memories that will come back will be hard to describe or to let go. Metro, Airport, Delhi haat, morning alarm, sleep calls, Raj Thackrey, CCD, Bhopal,Wadala,Nizamuddin,Bandhavgarh, Patel chowk, Republic day, Bournvita and the not so warm Maggi will sometimes bring fond,warm memories that will make them steal a concealed smile or a twinkle in the eyes.

Memories of time that was felt only by them and no-one else. Of standing in cold nights and watching the sun rise and of witnessing the many a toothless smiles. Moments of winking and waiting, of laughing and crying. Of sweet apologies and a world of happiness. Sometimes eyes may give away the extent of ‘happiness’. They always do.

Who loved whom the more is something that no one will be able to ever answer. Perhaps the saddest part of this tale was they even they themselves were not able to make each other understand how much they loved each other.

Maybe both of them loved each other equally, but some things should be left upon god to decide, for he sees what we may never even imagine.

It was the month of October or perhaps even before when it all started …

I miss...

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The early morning days of being woken up by smiling mom,

The small walk to the bus stop accompanied by smiling dad

The bus ride to the imposing gates of the monster school

The clinging of bells, the voice of the teacher in specs

The sharing of foil wrapped maggi with a friend so close

The drinking of hot water from the bottle in blue

The last period and the smile on face so cute

The evening prayer and the bus queue

As I grow up, I miss those days in small shorts

heavy sweaters, caring teachers, and a play time that was always short

In came the 12^th and we found the world too small

no more small walk, no more wake up calls

A world of friends and flames

an evening of hangout spots and watching birds

an age of dreams to weave

an age of expressing love that was deep

an age of flying aspirations,

of worldly flavors and neighbour hood inspirations

the demon that was 12^th board

the angel that was the subsequent result

as I grow up, I miss those days of attendance and rules

a life with friends, concerned teachers

of merry time that will never come back again

Ah Rail...

Everyone of us have some tale to tell when it comes to the great Indian railways.

Right from the days when we use to uggle and guggle and when a train journey in itself was a holiday, we have had fond memories of the black circle engine that pulled the red boggies.

When we use to travel with out parents to far off destinations we would wonder when we would graduate from staring out of the coveted window seat to the much exciting standing at the pedestals of the door.

The Giant bridges that stood on surging gigantic rivers,the dark long tunnels that appeared to be a gateway to the other world, the urge to stick out the neck so as to witness the breathtaking sight of the train in curve, all have left an indelible mark on our mind.

The long hours of the blissful journey gave ample opportunity to develop relations and friends. It was not very uncommon to share numbers and address of co-passengers and part with promises to keep in touch. Rarely were those promises broken.

The Majumdars,the Pandeys, the Singh, all would become part of one family as right from toothpaste, water, lunch,seats and even towels were shared.

Love stories too flourished in those not so small compartments. Eyes met,glances exchanged and a love story was all yours to talk, experience and write about. In winters of 1991 I was fortunate enough to be a part of one such tale. The fifteen hours journey was too small to even think of talking to her. But as we sat and waited for the inevitable to happen, love did flourish. And the epic love story ended sweetly with the colorful 'James choclate ' acting as the parting gift.

The urge to get down at stations, the craving to have tea from the station vendor, and the expectation of getting window seat, all added to the already jumping excitement. Those days the neighbor hood would know one month in advance that one of the near by family is going off for a hoilday. And 3 days before the actual journey, people would flock at homes, offering advice, giving eatables and clothes that was to be given to someone who would be waiting at one of the the station.

People come and moments go...some of them are remembered some of them are missed.

Last week of December in Bhopal

Flaunting a fishing rod all the way from Char Imli to Kerwa despite knowing that neither of us would really catch a fish is something that doesn’t happens in life so often. Similarly having a simple coffee at CCD has never been a rare affair but this time it was something that I will remember for a long time.

In the last week of December, absolutely mundane things like ‘doing nothing’ seemed so purposeful.

Questioning two children who were bicycling whether they were lost, in spite being aware that their home was just few steps away, hiding from know eyes and unknown stares, the two cats on the street, the white maruti with a very vintage music player, everything appeared so significant.

The sun that went down on the 25th of December, was beautiful ;like it always is. But why it looked more prettier that day is something that can only be understood by those who have been there where we were.

I was never aware that a blink can cause so much mixed emotions. When someone was blushing the other was smiling. And when someone blinked the other could not control her laugh. Yes, maybe it was the funniest thing that was happening at that time in the whole restaurant.

I say it so because even the not so funny pony tailed guy sitting on the nearby table with his wife found it hard to resist having a word about us, which he quietly whispered into her ear.

Moving from the dense forest to open fields, from a crowd filled hotel to a lonely road that had nothing but a security guard who according to some was not a human but a ghost, are some simple moments that I experienced when I was in Bhopal. And if it was not for the other person, the fields, the forest and the roads would not have appeared so significant.

In the last week of December in Bhopal, unknown strangers became important and the known friends and acquaintance where lost somewhere .

I discovered that if not handled well, the same level of jealousy can be caused by a 50 years old white haired guy and a 20 something restaurant boy. Also discovered was that blue-green eyes have the power to stimulate the same level of jealousy, specially if the eyes are that of a girl.

Kinship with two of my friends witnessed a new level of trust being reached. One which was expressed by words that cannot be written here. Strange are the ways of expressing care.

They are Friends. They understood everything.

The vibrancy that someone displayed, be it the blue color on her soft nails, the red cap that was apparently borrowed from a child and or the many a different shades of clips delicately inserted into her hair, made me experience colors of life through a new-never before seen perspective.

Missing the moments even as they were passing was so much painful to the heart. And painful was to let go off those moments that were built by those beautiful hands and the sparkling eyes.

I sometimes feel that we all cling to the past for too long or desire for the future so much that we are not able to enjoy what the present moments offer.

One day we all realize this. The only difference being that some realize it soon and some not so soon.

the road to Kerwa

the now closed Bhadbhada
the ever lightened Shetu
the majestic Nja
and the ancient Sakshi




the red old Block
the sprawling Som
and we reach NLIU home

the affable Mindori
the up and down to Kerwa kothi
the hot tea at 'Senti'
and some tales of old days

the trees of Kerwa
the road to Kerwa
old memories come back to life
I wish I was back to those carefree times again...