Total Pageviews

Follow by Email

Monday, April 27, 2009

How I met your father

:-)
The bright morning of yesterday, while you were in bed...
Fast asleep in your hospital ward.
Me beside, holding your plaster hand... deep in love. Me and your hand!
With your girlfriend staring greedily from the opposite end of the room.

:-|
HE ENTERED.
A rugged man of the 50s soared above me.
Eagle Eyes. Laser-like.
And I knew the time had come!
But while my face prepared itself for the upcoming strike, my wit took body control
Forcing my hand to reach the pen in my pocket then quickly to her hand.
“Get Well Soon”- From ALL your college friends
Ha!
I smiled at the eagle. 1-0 Sir!
I win.

:-(
But by the time I could absorb in my victory
The door opened again. Unveiling white fairies. Stethoscope equipped.
“So Shivam... I see you are very happy that she is recovering. But stick to her. She panics when you are not around.”

(No face left to depict how I felt)
The quickness of it was the most savage part. The eagle tightened its wings.
The mere force of it blew me over. Nobody saw. Nobody noticed. Where I flew...
So now you know why.

PS: Please give Moushi Rs. 100 for giving this letter to you.
I can’t tell you where I am because the letter might be intercepted.
Sorry for having you face this alone.
But it’s not worth being together. If that means we have to be in adjacent hospital wards.

I still love you!

Saturday, April 18, 2009

‘5 must have agendas for the party I vote for list’

One thing we have to honour. Our Indian Politicos have balls like no other! I mean theirs have to be bigger than the ‘just’ nuts to come up stuff like ‘English abolition’ and crap like that in times so pressing as todays.
When the world is on the verge of bankruptcy, every country is struck by terror... Heath Ledger is dead! But NO... these dumb‘d’ucks are just NOT RECEPTIVE towards these issues.
I mean if I Ever Were to Use a ‘downmarket’ word like ghonchu, it would be to address these fools!
But Naah... I am not just going to sit and whine, like you do, but come forward and present my ‘5 must have agendas for the party I vote for list’ !!!

Point 1-
Better medical facilities: We had to fly my Amma from her village to Bombay... Oh MuMbAi sorry... after she complained of back ache and the doctor there suggested a Kidney operation. A KIDNEY operation for god’s sake! When it turned out to be a spine related problem. And I swear on my pink polka dotted pants, I Am Not Even Kidding! I mean medics is simple in most part of our country- Chest pain: Heart Problem. Lower back pain: Kidney transplant. Head ache: Crop the damn head!

Point 2-
Stronger defence: Oh... c’mon. None of the forsaken parties have highlighted this clause in their agendas. Recently, I was travelling by train to Churchgate and there was this bag lying near the door. Our ‘fist class’ compartment did pay heed... everyone came and joked, even from the other end... but we had no one to complain to. NONE of the stations had any official; no telephone number for help... in the end one flower print, velvet shirted man just picked it up and put it down on the platform when Bandra came. He said, “Kam se kam yahan koi police wala toh aayega... aur hum toh bach gaye naa!”

Pint 3-
Gay rights: The world has embraced them, and it’s time we do too. And I am not just talking about legal acceptance but initiative for social awareness and schemes to promote gay recognition in our society. How about having ‘Gay ministers’ for a start! Indian Harvey Milk!

Point 4-
Better Infrastructure: For living, education, business... I am talking about a MEGA PLAN to bring about that desired change! As for the required finances, proper utilization and channelling of public money should do the trick. Disruption of corruption! is the key. Tell me you will do this and only then I will vote for you.

Point 5-
Efficient Legislature: Please. Please. Please. Some party please tell me they are looking at improving the legislative procedures in our country. We have a wonderful constitution, pay due respects! All social evils can be cured with proper laws and implementation.

So I am hoping some political worker, while surfing porn or something (I will accordingly use keywords!) stumbles upon this article and READS it more importantly.
As for you’ll tell me what more do we expect from our coming government... Lets see if e can get our voice through... Deaf Ears!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The story for my next short film!!!!!!!


Yellow

A burnt hutment on the outskirts of a forsaken village. Sand infested gusts casting an ironic golden shadow on the sad land. Sharp heat dripping flooding the desert, drowning that stands amidst: A forgotten piece of thatch, within it... forgotten people.
“Sheetaala Bauua sheetaala... chau gangya paari kheti meri, eeju kheti meri... Sheetaala bauua sheetaala...” (Sleep my baby sleep... I am to cross four rivers to reach my farm... so sleep)
The old lady of the hut, in her mid-thirties, sings. Her voice, coarse, like her face, coarse and not cruel, brushes against the walls of the hut to return to her son’s ears, smooth, as he stares into her, with love, drowsy and confused.
A door-long boy in small khakis, small... like him, for his age. He is fiddling with his mothers naval with one hand while picking his nose with the other while she pats his face to make him sleep. He looks through the gaps between her fingers, spitting each time she stops patting. To show that he is awake. After some time, the fiddling stops and spit remains.
She sits head down for another while, trying to recollect what she is thinking, before jerking herself off sleep. Briskly picks up her steel tiffin box that is hanging on the wall above the stove and sets out. Into vulnerability. Into fire. Of false hopes.
For survival.
The boy gets up the moment his mother leaves. However, it is not the mischievous getting up of a child; his expression is rather grave as he looks out of the hole adjacent to the chaarpayi. At the sight of his mother. Walking unsteadily, flickering in the loo. Around her, more women with more steel tiffins, but they aren’t walking. They are being ridden on bicycles by door-long shadows, like his.
A twitch runs his body. He frowns to distract himself. Then takes out a slate and chalk from underneath the chaarpayi and starts to draw.
Two little kids (Way too little for his age... his friends) hiss from the door, “Ber todhne aa riya hai??”
“Na. Hat”, he shoos them away.
And continues to draw. Flat ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. All yellow.
He stares at the drawing. Then looks out. And looks at it again. Drawing comparisons. Comparing intentions.
Quietly then, he gets up and goes to the back yard of the hut, to his favourite matka (He painted a face on and made holes according to his eyes). Summons him. They talk via heat waves, his hollow eyes fixed on him, both their hearts upfront. And a deal is struck!
So he puts him on his head and sets out.
Towards the village. Where he and his mother are unwelcome, but what does he know... silly boy!
........................................................................................................................................................
The village is silent, stirred only by sounds of DD television from selective few houses. Outside one such house, parked is a bicycle like the one he drew! It stands consciously like it is being judged. It is.
By a brown matka, heavy on a weak body, with finger legs covered in small khaki. And, underneath it, a 20 year old boy. Their eyes maliciously set on the bicycle. The bicycle maliciously set on their eyes.
Two smiles and two nods!
The cycle follows them outside the verandah. Like a prisoner. Dust rising over their trail, in rebellion, in tribute. As they march through the village road, ignoring the noises reverberating along the path. ‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal.’
They grow heavier.
The boy is running now. Faster with each step. “Go slow” the matka warns! “No” he runs faster, the cycle beside. Shaking. “Go slow.” ‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal.’ He is sprinting now “No.”
More noises, and as he shuts his eyes to shout... he trips over a stone... hitting the ground. The matka shatters, dead instantly, quick and easy. While the bicycle, in its final attempt to escape rolls over and knocks on a nearby house gate. Sounds flood in from the houses.
The boy is still on the ground. As doors open and people are scrambling out of their houses.
But, just before they can catch him, he collects, both his self and dreams, and runs. While the cycle looks on, panting in one corner. Mockingly!
They follow him till the village wall, hurling stones and sticks. And then dismiss their pursuit.
‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal. Pahaadin ka Pagal’
But he runs fast right till the house.
.....................................................................................................................................................
He is happy to return to the unease of his house. Its dead smell fills his senses bringing them to life again, as he relishes the heat and hunger and despair. Not that they make any sense to him.
The vision comes back to him. And he gets back to his drawing.
......................................................................................................................................................
The sun has almost dried when his mother comes back. And so has she. She finds her son sitting in one corner near the hole. He is holding a cloth against his knee wound, which is heart red. But she can’t see that.
She squats near him, eyes shut. The stench of her sweat makes him dizzy. He puts his head on her feet and caresses them. Her hard feet. Then takes out his slate from behind and puts it in front of her.
Initially she doesn’t notice, she caresses back his hand, that’s when her hands touch his knees.
Immediately, she lights the stove and brings it near too see.
Light falls on his knees.
She looks at him, he looks at her.
Then he brings the slate near the stove. Light falls on it making it glow.
Flat ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. All yellow.
A door-long boy in short khakhis riding a cycle. And a lady with a steel tiffin box behind. Being ridden.
All yellow.
........................................................................................................................................................

The First Kiss!

7 things that may help

I still remember mine. Always will.
The dingy insides of my room had never smelt so sweet. Like the flowers on the bed sheet had come alive (To rescue me just in case I farted). We lay there waiting. And waiting some more. Both first timers gathering pictures from the movies, words from songs... anything at all that could help! Guide.
Cursing random questions that popped involuntarily: Tilted or straight, Do noses clash, What if I miss, Is it really possible to! Oh...
And then it happened. Within moments time had been sealed. Doubts swallowed. Because I did miss! Slightly. Yet it was such a joy.
The moment still lingers in the insides of my lips, just one thought away. Half actually! Such is its magic.
And therefore it is important that we make it unforgettable.
I was lucky to not have screwed mine and I want you to make the best of yours. So here is some stuff you can use:-
• Time it perfectly: Unless you are the wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of person, try and wait for a significant day. Like the monthly anniversary, or Valentines or New Years... Some date you can remember. Forever (without having to note it down on your ‘The people I have kissed’ spreadsheet.) Or if you have the balls, it could also be immediately after you propose. That’s very special (Caution- But beware of where you do it. Love isn’t in the air everywhere)

• Be yourself: You don’t have to be Leonardo Di Caprio and suck the life out of your partner. Though French ones are no big deal, but even a simple press on the lips is just as special and provocative. Whats important is that you be yourself. Let your first kiss represent the person that you are. Share yourself with your partner and get to know him/her too. Trust me ‘Lips don’t lie’! The first time.

• Its Okay! to laugh: Or miss, or shiver, or freeze... Embarrassments make sweet memories. (However don’t share them publically unless you are being paid to do so!)


• Pre-play: You know you are going to do it, and its better when you are already in the love mood. So talk right, bring it on by remembering your best of moments, funny romantic stuff that you have shared together ... get the flow and then let it lead you.

• Don’t miss ‘that’ moment: Sometimes comes a situation that despite being against all rules, amidst all odds just feels right. So when that happens and you will know when it foes, don’t let it go! Get someone else’s balls if you have to but just GO FOR IT.

• Place: May or may not be important. Depending upon the kind of person you are. Like if you get intimidated by people around, go for private places. The moment is about the two of you and nobody has to get a piece of it.


• And Lastly: The key lies not in creating magic but in discovering it, inside each other and within (Sure you understand!)

Go! Kiss the world. (‘World’ translates into ‘the person who will mean everything to you’)
Sick Bastards :-)

He ha ha ha ha ha ha!


She told me she vomited last night… and the night before we had been together!



She called me at 8:00 in the morning to tell me ‘I had the most ridiculous sperms ever… to have penetrated through her barriers. And mine’.

I laughed for some time… and then some more before saying ‘What the kcuf!’

What followed next was a hodgepodge of Google researches, remembrances of when and where and how and why, cold arguments…

And the decision was made!!! A preggers test would be taken (At my house. By her)


Although we chose to ignore (Or rather she threatened me to!) the fact that:

‘NNNothing had even happened… everything had been in the ‘fore’ because by the time the ‘play’ could come, my watchman called to tell me dad’s car was back”


But before I could elaborate more on that thought, she was standing on my doorstep. Holding her bag with two hands, smiling with two lips. It was the first time I noticed she had disfigured lips! And before I could notice more, she stormed to my kitchen. She was drinking cold water.


And she drank with vengeance,

Like the drunkard in the bar!

Her armpits wet with sweat…

I could smell from far.


Her bag was my item of interest though. Which did disappoint me when it unveiled an iPhone big and Cadbury thin (While I was expecting an enormous apparatus!), medicine-like sachet, pink in color… and I thought: Pink or White?


I took a picture!



And was almost confident about the process after I read the instructions 5 times.

While 5 is the amount of minutes it took to decide our fate.


The quietness still looms in my head… of the day when I took my first pregnancy test! With her.

Confessions of a fucked up mind!

Well... Hello to begin with!
And I am taking back my watch that I gave you, because it’s a harbinger of bad times!
Well never before in life have I been so embarrassed and probably never will... of course. This is the worst things can get.
So you think you can keep a secret?
It’s NOT a dark one...I promise... just one of the things that are best unsaid and unknown to everyone. To dads too but...it’s like this one was written years ago... some years ago!... Now I know History repeats itself, and that we never learn
I am just trying to be funny. I am so not. It’s just not the time. And you know that.
So how do you want to do this... talk it out or shut it in?
Oh! By the way, ignoring the humour... I am sorry!
I could have never meant it more earnestly. Of course.
I don’t know if this is the best way to do this... but I am not the kinds who can pretend and let go. I appreciate that you did.
This is about my dignity, and everyone else’s in this house and of a person outside. Primarily yours... and mine and of the person outside. And all are very important. Very.
So... let me know...

Your teenage asshole!
Hit me hard.