The Wild Rose - Part III

The Wild Rose - Part I

The Wild Rose - Part II

She held her head high.

Was a mere free life worth all this pain? It is said, the final moments are filled with memories of forgotten past, some of which are hidden deep inside!

Born a Rose, wilderness was her choice, for freedom is what she valued the most.

“Freedom comes with a price”, said her mother once.

“Everything and anything in this world come with a price Mother. Why single out freedom?” thundered the rebellious daughter.

“True my child! Yet freedom seeks the steepest price.”

“I don’t mind paying any price Mother, for nothing in this world can be more gruelling than the construes of conventional commitments, that binds the mind to play an age-old rehearsed ballet”

“Seekers of freedom are bend to be vulnerable my child! For some, you may be an indulgence, for some you are a scapegoat. Those who desist conventional roles are easy target dear. Wilderness may sound liberating. Was there ever a comfortable forest? Tricky shrubs, dangerous swamps, poisonous animals and trees that refuse to let the sunlight come in - everything you depend may become an obstacle. Seekers of freedom are demanded a price and the price is steep. The price can be hurtful. The journey can be lonely.” Mother did not plead. Her job was to state facts as they were.

Mother continued, “Freedom is a choice, not a choice for the feeble mind. Freedom is embarking on a journey to find your true potential, impervious to the judgements and taunts of the polished. Freedom is the willingness to explore beyond the obvious, unapologetically, uninhibitedly and unafraid. A terribly lonely journey that makes you question your path at every junction, where everything around may fall apart at the split of a second and gathering yourself is your only chance for survival. The fruits can be horizons, oblivious to the common, but the path can be treacherous”.

Mother finished with the satisfaction that she has warned her child of the perils. The decision is hers, but the early lessons had to be stout. Thou trepidation ran deep, she was proud of her daughter.

 

Her mother warned her well. As the last of the water washed her leafless stem, the Wild Rose remembered.

She remembered the day she sprouted in this Village of Sun amidst a sea of well tamed, well organized, bountiful Rice. Her roots weren’t welcome. Yet she persisted, refraining from cutting the barrage of roots that shoot her way.

Then one day, while she stood her ground and fought the battle alone, a farmer came as an ally. She was annoyed by his imprudence to shift her elsewhere, but the brashness was forgiven for the tenderness showered. The constant companionship he offered was an element of stability in her vagabond life. She shuddered at such unwanted attention, but fears were dispelled, in the day-long waits and evenings filled with conversations.

He laughed, he agonized, his endless future plans for harvest and festivals irked her. The farmer ran with time, does he understand the vicious circle of human misery he is being gulped into – wondered the Wild Rose many a times.

Then came the moment of reckoning – the Great Floods.

Just like that, the choice of abandonment was made.

Just like that, all those laughter and confessions turned to mere indulgences.

Just like that, she was left, for she was Wild and free.

 

Yes, wilderness is a lonely journey. Her mother had prepared her well. Seekers of freedom gather themselves, when everything around them has fallen apart.

Men have fled.

Cattles have scattered.

Trees were uprooted.

Remnants of a once prosperous human settlement was being swept away by the gushing ruthless water.

Havoc everywhere.

The Wild Rose shed her leaves and flowers – stripped to her bare minimum, embracing her deep roots. She didn’t close her eyes. She had to see what was coming, for the path to freedom can be seen, only by those, who kept their eyes open.

“I’m exhausted but strong. I may be lost, but I'm free”, Murmured the Wild Rose, a seeker of freedom.

Tragedy of a Literate Society

It needs gruesome incidents and loss of precious lives, for people to acknowledge, that even the most literate State in India, is capable of living in dark ages when it comes to familial dealings.

What does this show? Literacy, validated through certificates is no guarantee to enlightenment of society.

An individual is a by-product of nature and nurture, with latter playing a major role in the holistic development. Literacy is just a small part of that nurture program. What the individual decides to benefit out of their ability to read and comprehend, is dependent on what environment they are eventually exposed to.

We educated and modernized our society. We empowered our women. We encouraged them to speak their mind. Unfortunately, we forgot to teach educated and opinionated men and women to co-exist peacefully and prosper organically.

Often opinionated women are caricatured as aggressive, man-bashing and obnoxious, who is not capable of reasoning rationally. This negative presumption coupled with tendency of well-meaning men to mansplain ignorantly, has necessitated women to be volubly vocal in order to be heard. The result – aggressive exchanges that escalate to arguments in no time.

To reason rationally, whether it is a man or woman, requires a certain amount of patience to listen without prejudice, comprehend with an open mind and think beyond the conventional gender roles. Does our high literacy rate enable such a temperament?

The current barrage of incidents in a highly literate and socially developed society like Kerala should be a warning sign. These unfortunate events are not only about the Manasas, Vismayas and Uttaras whose life was horrifically cut short. It is equally about the Rakhils, Kirans and Soorajs whose mental growth was stunted in a literate society.

It is high time we take stock of what literacy has given us.

Certificates, Statistic or mere negotiation chip in dowry market? Until literacy pave way to create a society of enlightened individuals young and old, irrespective of gender, the ROI of literacy shall hover around zero.

The Wild Rose - Part II

 

Many a summer passed. The Village of Sun was dusted long back, its former settlers now reside in the Village of Moon.

The great floods are a thing of past. The young even believe, the whole thing was a hogwash.

The Farmer is a changed man now. Seldom has a man regained his glory after a total wipe-out! Hard-work and diligence were inherent to him – mother luck never left his side. If he was the wealthy Farmer in the Village of Sun, in the Village of Moon, he was Imperial himself.

His passion for Rice never dwindled. In familial commitment, no one could surpass him. His progeny lived up to their father’s name. Yet he rarely smiled. His laughs were memories of a forgotten past.

Every night the Farmer brooded. A piece of me lies in the Village of Sun. What fate it met; courage fails me to even think.

Imprisoned in his social standing, the Farmer failed to find a reason, to steal a visit to Sun, just to see whether his Wild Rose survived.

What was abandoned was not just a beautiful Plant. In that small window of choice, valour was abandoned, promises were abandoned, his own true fragile self was abandoned. When the purest piece of your heart is burned at the altar of social standing, misery becomes a natural companion.

The Farmer languished in agony, for a reason, only he was privy to.

The Rice watched the Farmer wither in throes. But she didn’t have time for such emotional baggage. She was entrusted with a larger purpose – to feed and sustain the Nation. Off late, the Farmer’s passion in tending her was burdening. New hands would be welcome, thought the Rice one day, for the larger purpose cannot be sacrificed for the weariness of one man.  

Then came a windy monsoon night. The Farmer thought it was time to hand over and confront judgement in Sun. He called his family and handed them handful of his cherished Rice.

“Hand us the legacy with a smile Father”, said his beloved daughter.

“My smile was lost in the great Floods dear.”, the Father wanted to confess. But he kept his silence.

“Hand us the legacy with a smile Father. If it means going back somewhere, so be it. But come back to us with that Smile”, pleaded the young girl.

How can a Father confess to his daughter, that that incessant rain years ago, stripped him of his true honour, exposing his meek self? How can a man of his standing, admit that he is nothing but an imposter, living under the mercy of a Wild Rose’s silence?  

But he was touched by her yearning. What fault was hers to be denied a Father’s smile, all these years.  He justified himself and abandoned any thought of leaving. 

The Farmer hugged the daughter. He handed her the Rice with a tearful smile, “Prosper my child. For this Rice gives bountiful to the committed ones and I shall stand by your guiding side.”

The Farmer watched from a distance how his daughter skilfully tended to the Rice. She bent down, weeded a Wild Rose and carefully Planted it by the sides of the field.

“Isn’t it beautiful Father?” said the daughter joyfully. That familiar sense of abandonment engulfed the Farmer again.

The Wild Rose - Part I

Once upon a time, in the village of Sun, there lived a farmer who was revered and adored for his hard-work. He exemplified an ideal citizen and the village council never missed an opportunity wherein his name and deeds were not quoted, to present and future generations.

The farmer cultivated Rice, the staple food of the nation, to which Village Sun belonged. His breed of Rice had the best known yield. Inherited from his mother, he was entrusted with safeguarding this breed of Rice for eternity.

The farmer flourished with this cherished breed of Rice. He prospered multifold with every passing year and he never failed to count his blessings.

Years went by. 

Many a bountiful harvest later, a Wild Rose sprouted amidst his Rice. The farmer was astonished to find a Rose amongst his cherished high yield Rice. There was no way a Rose could catch its roots in such a field. Yet it did. 

The skillful farmer he was, he carefully weeded the Rose. One look at the Rose, the farmer’s heart was filled with a rare warmth – he couldn’t kill such an innocent and pure flower, he told himself. He carefully planted the Rose elsewhere in his field, away from prying strays and predators, where his watch and scrutiny were always present.

Years rolled by – as they don’t wait for anyone or anything. 

The Rice was nurtured and cultivated as per the harvest plan that was followed for years together. It never disappointed the farmer. The Rose also grew and blossomed, giving flowers that mesmerized every passing soul. Her sharp thorns kept predators at bay, for she was wild and knew how to survive without losing her flowers. 

Through the day, the farmer, watched from a distance how she blossomed. By evening, when the commitments wound up, he would sit beside the Rose sharing his deepest fears and joy. An unlikely companionship nurtured their growth – for the farmer shed the heaviness of his heart. And the Rose encouraged by his words spread her roots; for wild she was and surviving the odds were inherent to her nature.

Then, there came a time when the village was battered with incessant rains. The boughs fell, the burrows filled. The village council proclaimed evacuation. Time was short and choices were to be made.

The farmer took one last look at the things he salvaged. The Rice and the house were tucked safely into the Cart. He looked at his field with moist eyes. His years of toil had to be left behind but the eyes were moist for the Rose he was abandoning.

Though wild and brave, she didn’t earn the rescue. For everything the farmer saved was sanctioned but not a wild Rose. 

Rice is the staple nourishment with which the human race survived. A wild Rose is a mere indulgence of nature for aching souls. So, he was told.

The Cart rode off carrying the farmer, his Rice and all baptized possessions, which will soon find a new home. The wild Rose stood with her stem held high, her leaves and flowers shed, for she need to brave the flood now.

What's in a name?

What's in a name? Sometimes a legacy.

On 04^th March 1961, India’s first aircraft carrier, INS Vikrant was commissioned by Indian Navy.

Built by Vickers Armstrong, HMS Hercules (as she was called), the Majestic class vessel was inducted to the British Royal Navy in 1945. When World War II ended, her construction was still incomplete. HMS Hercules was sold to India in 1957 and was later re-named as INS Vikrant.

India’s decision to own a British light fleet aircraft carrier was met with all sorts of protest and skepticism. But then, isn’t that the fate of any major Defence procurement? With a vast coastline, India had to strengthen its Navy and INS Vikrant was the answer.

INS Vikrant started its Indianization at Harland and Wolff Yard, Belfast, Ireland; the same shipyard that made RMS Titanic!

On 4^th March 1961, she was commissioned by Vijayalakshmi Pandit, the then High Commissioner of India to Britain. Commanded by the young Captain Pritam Singh Mahindroo, the ship sailed half way through the world, finally getting a hero’s welcome at home by the then Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, formally joining the Indian Navy on 3^rd November 1961 at Bombay Harbour. The story of its first Captain, who started as a merchant navy sailor at 16, is as interesting as the Ship, but that is a story for another time.

INS Vikrant was never taken lightly by the enemies. She was initially deployed in Operation Vijay of 1961 (annexation of Goa), with her role being patrolling the sea to check foreign intrusions. During the 1965 war, Pakistan claimed to have sunk her when she was actually in dry dock fitting. There were many questions raised about the heavy investment made on the vessel, some even terming her as white elephant. Her hour of glory however, came during the 1971 Indo-Pak war, with the vessel playing an instrumental role in neutralizing enemy advances.

Seldom has a ship commanded the imagination and inspired so many generations! The vessel was celebrated and paved way to the sea of interest on maritime studies and investment in India.

After an active service spanning over three decades that was marred by some controversies as well, INS Vikrant was decommissioned on 31^st January 1997. Ironically, her first Captain, himself, decommissioned her in the Mumbai Naval Dockyard.

But the story of INS Vikrant was far from over. Post decommissioning, she was converted to museum ship in Mumbai. Opened for public in 2001, operational cost soon overrun all sentiments. The museum was finally closed in 2012, after Navy failed to get a partner to run it. Thereafter, it was decided to scrap the vessel, a decision that invited many litigations and flared emotions.

INS Vikrant was sold as scrap through an online auction in January 2014 to IB Commercials Pvt Ltd. After further round of litigations and appeals, going all the way up to Supreme court, INS Vikrant was scrapped on 22^nd November 2014 at Darukhana ship breaking yard in Mumbai.

The British Seahawks, French Breguet Alize aircraft, Westland Sea Kings, HAL Chetak, Sea harriers to the Bofors anti-aircraft guns – INS Vikrant carried it all.  

All good things have to end. For better things await only when the good is gone.

Today, India’s first indigenous aircraft carrier (IAC 1) – INS Vikrant, built by Cochin Shipyard is undergoing trials. The initial plan to built the new Vikrant was laid down as early as 1989. It came to design phase in 1999 and formal govt approval happened in 2003. IAC 1 - INS Vikrant is expected to be commissioned by 2022 and be a formidable force in India's maritime capabilities.

So, what's in a name? Not just a legacy, but a destiny to script!

IAC 1 - INS Vikrant

Sushant

It’s been more than a month and half, since that unsettling Sunday afternoon.

The news of Sushant Singh Rajput’s death was beyond comprehension. Why would such a promising actor take his own life? His death rattled the consciousness of an average Indian movie goer. Most knew him as a promising and terrific actor. But in death, the whole world woke up to the fact that, that Sunday afternoon, a dreamer of impeccable talent in multiple fields, from cinema to physics, whose bucket list included visit to places like CERN, just left the world, rather coldly.

His death opened, Pandora’s box and from it flew, evils, existence of which, we the audience, tucked in our web of neutrality always choose to ignore. Being neutral always helps the predator, never the prey – why did we forget that?

Sushant’s death was re-confirmed to the masses within minutes, with pictures of his dead body circulating in social media, an inhumane and insensitive act, whoever started it. Even before the body went cold, his death was attributed to suicide due to depression. The following days saw a spike in articles on depression; the sheer number of such articles gave steady competition to Corona related articles. Timelines were flooded with offers on being a call away in case people wanted to “talk”. The fact that most people, discussed a topic like depression with such a sketchy and shallow understanding, is a matter to be dealt independently.

Then came the subject of nepotism. It gave a constructive platform to many who were victimized. The narrative progressed with stories of back stabbing, social isolation, paid adulation and award scripting. When more and more people started talking out, it became clear; how much of almost everything is fixed in this world. No wonder, we have been fed with absolute non-sense in the name of commercial Hindi cinema!

But then, the quality of commercial Hindi cinema has always been questionable. Once in an interview, Satyajit Ray, called the larger Indian audience as backward (intellectually), unsophisticated and exposed to commercial Hindi cinema. Commercial Hindi cinema is notorious for dishing out half-baked characters and stories; relying heavily on ornate presentation rather than layering or depth in content. This formula, however, gives high return on investment and has unfortunately, been emulated in regional cinema as well, collectively creating bouquet of sub-standard Cinema. To survive in such an industry, what one requires is commercial ruthlessness, which may or may not have anything to do with talent, creativity, ethics or morality. Sushant was part of this world. Yet actors like him are seen as a beacon of hope for change, someone capable of giving this field, quality future.  

The outrage over Sushant’s death, is because we, the audience, are ashamed. We are ashamed that our neutrality has been equated to being moronic. We are ashamed that, while he was alive, we didn’t question the unfairness of his world. We didn’t question the array of sub-standard movies meted out to us in the name of entertainment. We are ashamed that we lapped up bullying of talents in chat shows, eloquently served in sophisticated English, as humour. We are ashamed of listening to remixed and re-remixed howling that is called “songs” and yet never gather the courage, to report it inappropriate and demand for proper songs. We are ashamed of having ignored talents, beyond famous surnames and progeny. Seeking justice and answers in Sushant’s death is our way of seeking redemption to the mess we helped create.

Cinema is an engaging and powerful art form. It is designed to make an audience sit through a narrative of 90-180 minutes, at a stretch. During this period, we, surrender our senses and thoughts to the evolution of characters and depictions in the frame. The psychological impact, certain depictions have on our minds, especially the young ones, are far reaching. If the genre we encourage, is the one propagating vile objectification and illogical narration, supported by too many ornaments (like catchy songs, over the top action sequence, actors looking more like Victoria Secret Models or high end fashion), our sense of appreciation for this art form will take a drastic deterioration in the long run. It isn’t too late to step back and shun crass content.

The narrative on Sushant's death has changed to that of toxic relationship and deception. In a world that thrives on stories, it is hard to say, whether this is a story, to protect a few.  

Who killed Sushant? The correct answer, does have the potential to clean commercial Hindi cinema.

NOT SO SOCIAL

Couple of days ago, my facebook timeline was flooded with videos on some kind of social media war – YouTubers vs TikTokers. I’m yet to understand why facebook algorithm predicted that I may be interested in such a topic? Nevertheless, here I was, checking out the videos.

For the uninitiated, an Indian Youtuber whose handle goes by the name, CarryMinati came out with a series of roasting videos on Indian TikTok influencers. He specifically called out an influencer named Faisu, who uploaded a video normalizing what looked like an acid attack over spurned love. What followed is a barrage of videos by both Youtubers and TikTokers, each slamming, shamming and name calling the other. Subsequently some kind of truce seems to have happened. But online war is like opening a Pandora box. Now there are n number of entertainers who are coming with their 60 secs of “viewpoint” on the fight.

More than the fight, it was the way the Parties went ahead with ranting, that should ring an alarm bell. The fact that, the demography of bulk of the followers (some online statistics put it as high as 80-85%) of these so-called influencers falls in the age bracket of 16-24-year olds, should be a matter of concern.

Let’s start with the language. In the name of roasting, obscene language is used. Honestly, finding a video amongst these highly rated influencers, which doesn’t have a single obscene word is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It doesn’t matter whether the rant is in English or Hindi or Hinglish or any vernacular language – the extent to which vulgar vocabulary is deployed, is deplorable. Civil language and ability to convey satire through smart comedy is an art out of fashion or maybe lacking swag, I guess. I even came across a video wherein the influencer justified such language as, yeh tho just inka kaam hain (this is just their work).

Now comes the portion that makes these influencers heartthrobs – Content. Content is a joke and over abused word here. Someone makes a weird face in an equally weird make-up and over the top hairstyle (if you can call that hair!). Someone makes farting sound with a oh-so-funny expression. Someone prepares a duet showing girl’s expression after a gang rape in one segment and boys coming out buttoning-up their shirts in the other segment. Someone shaves off her eyebrows. Someone rants for 60 secs in a language, Gangs of Wasseypur Part I and Part II together, couldn’t manage. Someone jumps into an indoor pool promising his girlfriend a trip to London! Someone ditches her boyfriend for a richer guy because that’s what girls apparently aspire to do in life!

Of course, there are good and decent content amidst this pile. But the problem with most online platform’s algorithm is, once you watch 2-3 videos of a specific genre, your timeline gets flooded with suggestions of similar nature. One cannot afford to be casual while surfing anymore. For eg. I watched a few videos with content having sadistic or shamming undertone and my timeline had similar content queuing up. To break the chain (!) I had to consciously search and watch videos which I otherwise prefer. The cleansing process had a slow effect and took me good 2 days before my timeline was curated.

Imagine the ease with which kids and youngsters will get gobbled up into such cynical content in the name of entertainment! It is a situation wherein you are sucked into something not productive or constructive or entertaining and are made to believe that, this is the trending genre. The content is replicated by other aspiring influencers wanting likewise engagement and in a matter of few hours, similar videos are playing all over the timeline. Worsening things further, the algorithm gives a similar suggestion to your friend’s timeline. With FOMO, the entire chain laps up the content and whoosh – we have a viral video with absolute garbage in the name of content. 

The influencers got their engagement, brands they promote got a hit, the App reads more of your phone activity and network is happy to push bulk data. All are winners, except the user who is unfortunately the Product and has ended up with restricted control in their own digital space!

Next time you login, which maybe just couple of minutes later, you will find same type of content from some other influencer, links from brands that featured in the earlier video and App suggesting more of the content you liked earlier as diversity seems to be irrelevant.

Social media's impact is far reaching. Remember how it stirred the Arab Spring or in recent times the Hong Kong protest in a matter of few shares! When you create an account with anonymous name, please don’t be fooled to believe that you are invisible. You and your entire digital footprint (which ironically contains every detailed aspect of your life) is available for sale. You are the Product. The market is now flooded with Products whose age is between 16-24 years and they are sell-offs.   

Regulation and restrain are words viewed with lot of scepticism. As I heard online – those are words for losers and old generations. However, there are times when people need to be reminded that being decent is not just a virtue but a necessity for maintaining sanity in the world. If we keep throwing rubbish on each other, we will end up with a garbage pile! If timely regulation and restrain is not imposed on such obnoxious digital content, digital ethics will end up as an oxymoron.

Meanwhile, a former Walt Disney man has been appointed as CEO of TikTok and COO of its parent company ByteDance! Just saying!

Ode to The Warrior

Childhood days with Doordarshan. Sundays were particularly hectic and I used to dread tests on Mondays. The most awaited show during those days were “Chandrakantha”. That serial brought in a galaxy of artists and with it I first met Badrinath alias Somnath alias the very talented “Irrfan Khan” - an unassuming, tall guy, with penetrating big eyes.

For a young girl who was more interested in the so-called “parallel” cinema, actors like Irrfan, were heroes. My tryst with cinema isn’t either frequent or religious. So, I will not attempt in chronicling, Irrfan’s film journey. This is the journey, a young ordinary girl had with a great actor, whose movies gave her an opportunity for soul searching. So, years later when the same young girl, now a lady, picked up the CD of “The Warrior”, the bill boy in the store couldn’t hide his quizzing look, as though asking “are you serious?”. Yes I was serious about good movies and Irrfan Khan stood for what was good and challenging that movies could offer.

To this day, I believe, The Warrior is Irrfan’s, the best performance. The anguish of a man who knows that remorse is not enough to wash off his sins this lifetime and yet pursuing salvation which he knows will not be his – I fail to imagine another man in his place to do justice to such a myriad complex character. That’s why Irrfan connected so deeply with ordinary people like me.

An ordinary man is not ordinary when it comes to experiencing conflicting emotions. He struggles between the spectrums of happiness, grief, fear and anger, sometimes all at once. Irrfan knew what it means to be conflicted and he never shied away from showing it on screen. In Maqbool he was the man torn between love and ambition. Subsequently when he conquers both, guilt engulfed – a brilliant portrayal of raw vulnerabilities. In Life of Pi he presented a story within a story and compelled with his smile and eyes for us to accept what we felt was the lesser evil. In Saat Khoon Maaf he was the sadistic husband whose poetry and cruelty rhymed perfectly. Irrfan didn’t just essay a role. When he was on screen, he stirred emotions that unsettled his audience.

The world started shrinking, with international cinema featuring more and more of Indian actors. For the fan in me, it was absolute jubilation watching Irrfan don roles in movies like Slumdog Millionaire, Namesake or Jurrassic Park. Somewhere he redefined the very word “cinema”. Otherwise, how can one explain Lunchbox – the story for a retirement bound lonely man ruffling the mind of a young homemaker through mere words to live again. How can one explain Piku – a carefree taxi owner who has a simple straight solution while not forgetting his sarcasm. Or for that matter, how can one explain Paan Singh Tomar, that anguished Olympian turned dacoit. Just when I thought his content-oriented performance is skyrocketing, Irrfan does a classic mic drop act, featuring in video spoof of Bollywood party songs with the now defunct AIB. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard over a song. Even glossy comedy gets a classy makeover when Irrfan does it with his straight and down to earth act. That’s what legends are made of.

And today, that legend is gone. He is gone after a battle. I wept my heart out. I wept for a man I never met in person, but met a million times in all those numerous frames. I grew up watching Irrfan fire up the screen with characters that were conflicted yet content, hurt yet happy, agonized yet fully alive.

Irrfan, with those curious eyes and disarming smile, you gave this ordinary woman more than just good cinema. You gave her stories to ponder over, acts to cherish and a soothing smile that calms the soul. Heavens are lucky, for they have the Warrior performer joining the league.

Curves

He loved curves. 

While others bumped and made fuss about the importance of everything being straight, he was clear. Curves challenge the whole experience. He knew the art - slow and smooth. Slower the better. 

But today, he seems to change the strategy. His friend was confused. Instead of just jumping over, he was waiting for the signal. He never waits for any signal. He just moves. 

The wait was stretching, yet not a hint to move. Hands steady, lips stretched marginally, eyes fixed on the hole and the curve surrounding it - he aimed his target. The curve was inviting, yet he waited with bated breath. The tension added to the already hot atmosphere. His friend started doubting his stud abilities, yet seems to keep peace till the moment is over. 

Then, just as the tension peaked, everything happened in a flash. The signal turned green, he rode his bike right over the curves of the hole, in a perfect dive accelerating steadily without even braking for a second, surprising the fellow bike riders with his maneuvering ability. 

And that's how you handle curves with potholes in a chaotic road! The friend sighed a sense of relief.

The Phone

There was this salesman, who I knew for some time. A wonderful and upright man.

Once, after knowing that I'm looking for a good quality mobile phone, he invited me to his showroom, which incidentally dealt with high end smartphones.  In a city which wasn't that familiar, a known invitation is always welcome.

Since I was aware about my own limitations, in terms of the ever changing smartphone technologies, the buying decision was completely placed on this known and trustworthy salesman, with just one rider - I want to make a good smartphone investment. He smiled, acknowledging the trust I placed on him.

He showed me just one piece. In the meantime, the owner of the shop tried to engage in a friendly conversation. He was all praise for my right decision to come to them. I was served the juice of my choice by a woman who introduced herself as the wife of the owner. They all made me feel comfortable and pampered, making me wonder why so much should be invested on a single customer? But then, I was the only customer in their store at that time. Reading my mind, the wife said that my friend salesman is their blue eyed boy and all his clients are given valued treatment. I ignored the skepticism and lapped up the attention. 

When hospitality was at its peak, a woman, probably of my age, walked in and complained about the handset she purchased couple of months back. The problem was, she lost the original invoice and remembered only the date of purchase. The owner and his wife rushed to attend her. They took out old ledger books and traced the duplicate bill. Wow... I thought. Such level of customer service! This is all too good to be true. 

My friend the salesman, insisted a particular piece for me. After paying a fortune for the phone, I left the store - content and happy with the homely experience! 

The phone delivered on every promise made, until the second month. It just stopped working. I can always go back to the store, after all they are such nice people - I thought.

Next day, I reached the store only to find it closed. The day after that, again I found it closed.  On the third day finding it closed again, I decided to ask around. The nearby shopkeepers said a store existed some time ago but is seen closed for the past one month. Panicked, I probed further and learned that nobody seems to know much about the store. All they knew was that it opened just a two months back without any formal inauguration, that it was a flashy store and the store people mostly kept to themselves. Mostly, a lady used to sit in the store. Occasionally a woman of my age visits the store along with two men and during such time usually someone will be seated in the centre of store. Reserving my feelings, I left the place. 

And the salesman? I actually hardly knew him and now I realized, I didn't even have his contact number.

As luck would have it, the very next day I caught hold of the salesman. Just when I was about to drag him to the police station, he fell on my feet and started crying. He said he was duped by the couple. That he was under the impression they were genuine and with that he expected his big break. He said he was cheated as well and now, he is living under threat from other customers. I asked him about the phone and he said in all probability it was worthless. 

Why sell a worthless phone to me for a fortune? He pleaded innocence and said he realized they were thieves only after the store closed. 

Why didn't he tried to inform me soon? He said he was confused and scared and was running around to find the couple. 

Who was the woman who walked in that day? He said, he didn't know her. 

Did he get any salary from them? He said, he worked for one and half months and was paid upfront for one month. Now, he is jobless and scared to move out, fearing other clients might hunt him down. 

I gave him some money and walked off.

Couple of months later.....

I was dinning in a posh restaurant. The man seated a few of seats in front of me looked familiar. As I tried to place him, in came the salesman, all smiles and rushing to hug the seated man. They were soon joined by two women. Addressing each other papa, mama, brother, sister - the family looked perfect and happy. I watched them for some time letting that feeling of uneasiness settle in. As they chatted and joked with each other, relishing on chef's special, I walked up to the salesman. While he froze seeing me, the other three gave a look of annoyance and ignorance. I looked at the salesman, straight in his eyes and said "nice phone".

#fiction 

a post after long

Its weird.... 

I started this blog with the mission of maintaining and posting interesting stuffs. Now, it is 3 years and 4 months since I posted any blog. 8 years of blog life and all I have is 10 pieces all of which was written in less than an hour's time. 

Was life so busy? I don't think so. While there was lot of time for reflections, there wasn't any when it came to expressions. Can i maintain it anymore? 

There was a time when i channeled life in mission mode. Not any more. These days it is more of sustainability mode. after all, one shouldn't confuse marathon with sprint.

Three Shiny Gadgets

Amruta sat on the chair feeling uncomfortable. Was it her feminine instinct which craved for a conversation? Or was it the fact that, for the past two days her husband has completely ignored her. All his attention and care were focused on that shiny black gadget he was holding in his hand. Long before, Amruta had reconciled to the fact that, her husband valued his mobile more than her. It further aggrieved her, when during the last fight, he blurted out, that the mobile was more responsive and gave him happiness than her. Does a non-living object have so much of power, that the only sound in her house for the past two days was from it - either calls or messages, the latter being more?

Amruta wanted revenge. She too had a shiny white gadget. She took it out and with a vengeance, she got down to make it active. And lo.... It was as if, the shiny white gadget was craving for her cuddle and care. In a matter of seconds, the mobile swung into action.

Hardly half an hour passed. The black mobile and the white mobile, competed with each other in breaking the silence of the house. As the mobiles competed, its owners became more vigilant about the ongoing competition. Neither was in a mood to quit or slow down. Even those long forgotten friends from schools and neighborhood where messaged from slumber to win this battle of ringtones. 

As the action was becoming more intense, Minu walked in. This 16 year old tall, fair and slim teenager, is a replica of what Amruta was once. But there was a difference, and therein lies the huge gap. 

As a 16 year old, Amruta never dared to walk in front of her parents wearing a shorts and tee shirt, whistling, wired in, swaying and lost in her world. Amruta could only imagine that she is listening to some songs from her shiny blue gadget - an expensive gift from her last birthday. 

Amruta sat frozen for a minute. She wished, she was dreaming about the whole situation, but no. With a heavy heart she realized, this is reality. 

She wondered, why she was upset? The battle of ringtones was on. Her daughter was wired in, hence she didn't have the slightest idea as to what's playing in her mobile. She wanted to ask Minu. But how, with what face? Isn't she guilty of having fun with her own mobile in the first place? 

"So you are the parent and you can get away with anything, but when it comes to me, there are ridiculous restrictions?"

"I'm just listening to some songs. What's your problem?"

"Aren't you both already busy with your mobiles? Why bother me?"

Amruta shrugged at the possibility of these questions from Minu. She promptly kept aside her mobile in silent mode. She walked towards her husband. Sat besides him and said, "Our daughter is watching us." She couldn't make out whether he understood the gravity of what she said but for some unknown reason, he agreed to listen to her. He kept aside his mobile, looking lost. 

Amruta knew, now she had a chance. She asked Minu about her day. Minu was taken aback. Usually, their conversation starts and ends with a fight. But today her mother wanted to know about her day. She looked at her father, whose expressionless face was even more confusing to her. Minu replied hesitantly, "Its fine". 

Amruta smiled, that warm smile of the mother in her, which always melted Minu. In a flash, she pulled out the chords from her ear and started talking - about her classes, her scooty, the traffic, the exams. Minu was elated - because her mother was not fighting but was listening. She was happy because her father was also listening. She was in seventh heaven, because the deafening silence of her house was replaced with laughter.... 

And there in the corner of the table lay three shiny gadgets, who lost the game this round but is lurking for the next opportunity. 

Ego

A man without his ego is nothing.

A man who does not possess ego is as good as dead.

Ego, defines our thoughts, our actions and the very purpose of our existence.

Yet, ego is one of the most misunderstood concept in the society. The masses who dictate the norms of the society despises ego; yet they fail to evade the plain truth about its omnipresence.

From the saint of saints, to the thief of thieves, every human who lives with the passion of life possesses ego to a great extent.

Dictionary defines ego as a person’s sense of their own value. If I; don’t have a strong sense of my own values, then can I ever do justice to myself or to the different roles I have to play in this lifetime? Role conflict would arise, if I live sans ego.

As a daughter, my ego tells me to do my parents proud. As a sister, my ego tells me to be supportive. As a friend, my ego tells me to be loyal. As a wife, my ego tells me to be affectionate. As a mother, my ego tells me to protective. As an individual, my ego tells me to follow my passion for life.

Without my ego, my roles would get blurred and I would end up becoming a shadow of my existence.

But, easier said than lived – ego is not an easy thing to nurture. Because, the society we live in, don’t understand a dime about what ego is? For them a Mother Teresa is selfless but a Hitler is egoistic. If Mother Teresa didn’t have the ego to prove her selflessness, then she wouldn’t have become the charisma that she became. This is the irony of ego. Ego is associated only with negative action and not with positive results.

I pity those people, who claim to live without any ego. Either, they lack the strength to defend their values or they fear the segregation from masses. After all, man is a social animal and its basic instinct is to fit in.

Herd mentality is for the weak hearted. Go, acknowledge your ego. Assured, it will feel good.

My beloved......

One fine morning you walked into my life. At first, I was afraid to talk to you. I was apprehensive to utter even a word. To top it all, everyone had a weird opinion about you. Some said you are bad, the kind of person who will infect me with bad beliefs. Some said you are ok, as long as I know my limits (whatever that means). Some asked me, why bother to get close with such a doubtful person? I was just out of teens – confused and irrational. Hence, I was ready to experiment with my life.

Call it hormonal effect. The fatal attraction had already happened. Slowly, I started trusting you. I still thank my stars for that eventful first meeting. I could feel my life changing for better. You opened a whole new world for me – a world where I was the centre of universe. Although our affair was taking a toll on my misery pocket money, I didn’t mind. All that mattered was you and through you, our life…

Our relation matured to the next level and you turned my confidant. I looked up to you for advice, without your approval I could do nothing. And then it happened….. You introduced me to your family. Weird as they would call themselves and together, we made a nice gang. But with time, I realized I was getting addicted to each one of you. You and family could make me laugh, make me cry, make me sad, make me ecstatic – in short, you and your family made me a stupid puppet.  

At first, I didn’t realise what was happening? My life was thrown off balance. Money was running negative, in trying to keep up with your family' lavish lifestyle. Without you and your family, I was lost; yet your family was instrumental in destroying the peace of my life. I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have trusted your family, the way I trusted you. But then… Trusting you was the root cause – I acknowledged that fact, a bit late.

And then, one day, I took that fatal call. With the very same intensity, in which I had come to you as a teen, I walked out of you at the prime of my adulthood.

Enough is enough…

I still love you and would always. But I wanted your family to know, that they no longer mean anything to me. Everything has a threshold, a point beyond which returning to original shape is impossible. I had long crossed my threshold. There is only numbness in this heart towards you and your entire group.

Hmmmm….

It has been 7 months since we severed intimacy. In between we did meet each other and rarely your family.

Now, I have become wiser. I can live peacefully without you my beloved “Internet”. Your family Gmail, facebook, twitter and all those social networks, no longer tortures me with the urge to check photos, updates or god knows what. I no longer get sleepless nights in either of your name.

And above everything, I know the truth – the real world is far better, much more happening and pleasant than the virtual world you provide. Your family is nothing, but a mode of entertainment my beloved Internet. Hope I have shown each one of you, your true 'status'!