The unusual sojourn!!!

Somehow I have always found it inappropriate to bore people with my travel escapades but can’t resist putting to words this exceptional experience. Now that you have decided to read through this post let me briefly do what I love doing the most- talk about myself (as a traveler this time). I am a man of very few words . Unlike many,I avoid striking conversations with co passengers . It feels good to just gaze out of the window thinking about my next blog J. And there is always a respite in the music of the collection of songs that I carry in my mobile. More so a notion has gotten into my head that women fall for men who speak less J . Not that I am always on the lookout , but trains are the most promising platforms to bump into some beauties. The idea gets strength from the numerous success stories that my friends have shared over a period of time. I haven’t met success yet but as they say “one should never lose hope”.

It happened when I boarded the train back to Mumbai from Ranchi after spending my vacations. After the emotional adieu that my mother had to offer (I ensured it to be a low key thing), in the hope of a rendezvous with some lovely work of art by the Almighty ,I scanned through the passenger list, hoping to defy my usual journey bad luck,eagerly looking for any signs of F 23-30 ( I have raised my age limitsJ) only to find a F8 and M9, F35,M38, M 48,M50, M60,F58…. There you go!! I knew how my journey was going to be. With a heavy heart I got myself seated and donned the usual “Angry Young Man” look. The recently grown “Sarkar Raj” style moustache finally touched up the look .Without making an attempt to exchange greetings with the co passengers I had my ear phone plugging me out from the outside noise of the stupid games that the kids were playing so joyfully. I am always intrigued what makes the kids do these stunts in the railway compartments. I never indulged in these activities as a kid. . And even if my brother and I tried to, a stare from my father was enough for us to get back to Chacha Chaudhary and Billu. “These new parents should know how to discipline their kids” I thought and tried giving an irritated look to the mother of the two who was busy picking out oil laden puris from the huge mountain of eatables she had packed for the entire family. “No use”I shrugged.

On the other side sat two middle aged men with pan masala stuffed up their mouths. They seemed to be engrossed in an animated conversation. I got curious and took the earplug out . Yes,my guess was right. It was the usual political discussion that had gotten both these gentlemen so charged up. People in this part of the country are never short of opinions. So one of these gentlemen had a word or two to offer to the Bihar CM. Poor Mr. Nitish, he missed those words of wisdomJ. Their conversation meandered from Nitish to Dhoni to Bipasha Basu and finally came down to the Mayor elections in Dhanbad.

Gentleman 1: “Are is baar Dhanbad k mayor elecsson me kisko bhot diye?? Srivastav ko ki Jhaji ko???

Gentleman 2: “ Aur kisko denge, apna jaat bhai ko diye hain….kaahe tum kisko diye??

Gentleman 1(with a smile): “Nechural hai” (It’s obvious, no need to ask)

I smiled. Don’t know why. Just when I was about to re plug myself to the wonderful world of music I exchanged glances with an old man who was constantly looking at me. I cursed myself for the immediate reaction of smiling to him. “Oh God, now I will have to talk to him and wear a plastic smile for atleast an hour”. He started with a normal “Kahan padhte ho beta”? And then what followed was a series of similar questions. By the time I was answering questions related to family his wife had joined the conversation. Thankfully they recognized the name of my college which was quite rare. Incidentally their elder son had passed out from the same college and was working with a multinational in Mumbai whom they were visiting. Surprisingly I survived the conversation much longer than I had expected and found it not that boring J Sensing the silence, I excused myself and climbed on to the upper berth. And then it was Sonu Nigam all the way J .

A sudden commotion woke me up to find that the old couple I had chatted with was in a heated argument with a few men. I leaned down to learn that the seat numbers had been reshuffled thanks to Lalu ji’s innovative idea of adding an extra seat on the side. So the original seat numbers got all jumbled up. One gentleman had carried out the math and taken the lead to put people at their new locations. The old man resisted and so the heated discussion. By the time I could grasp the matter; the men had started mishandling the old man and displaced his luggage. The old couple looked up at me; whereas all I could utter was ” Are bhaiya,buzurg hain…zara aaram se baat karo”. The old couple was displaced and all were settled in their new locations but the desperate look on the couple’s face started to haunt me. "I should have done something". I hated myself for the inaction.

Unusual things happen with Indian railways. The AC of the compartment stopped working. After numerous attempts to repair, the crew decided to shift the passengers to an empty coach in Nagpur. As I was getting down I saw the old couple struggling with their luggage. I bent down to lift his suitcase when the old man caught a glimpse of me. I could just manage an unconvincing smile...

Johaar Jharkhand!!!

"Are bhai rukiye na,kaahe albalaye hue hain. ek ek k karke na milega tikatwa sabko" I could hear the ticket collector for the bus plying from Jamshedpur to Ranchi vent out his frustration as various 100 rupee notes tried to poke into his nose. I could not help but smile at the words ,the dialect ,the place. I knew I was back to the land I had started from. And for some reason it gave me an innate sense of relief. So I went ahead and shamelessly joined the crowd in poking a 100 rupee note into the ticket collector's nose."Ek ticket idhar dena bhaiya; Aage ka seat dena". For the moment I had forgotten the more civilised method of getting things done by queing up or the luxuries of online reservation system I was so used to.I knew my land and how to get things done here. This 'poking the 'thing' into the nose' tactic was ingeniuosly brought to use by us in college days when we had to get our "NO DUES" done before every semester. When there are hundreds of hands in competition ,you are in with your best chances when you poke it straight into the nose of the collector.Somehow my trick didnot seem to be working here and I could only manage the ticket to the last seat. Feeling utterly guilty and ashamed of my failure to get myself an AAGE WAALA SEAT I made way through the congested pathway of the bus to the much dreaded sweat invoking last seat of the bus. With tobacco chewing people seated on both sides I knew my journey was going to be exciting!!!
The bus moved on and so did my train of thoughts. I was still not able to get over my disastrous performance at the ticket collector's. I tried to console myself that it was Darwin's theory of SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST at work but the fact that I was not the fittest was difficult to gulp down. And as the bus tried to inch out of the ever slow traffic of Jamshdpur my frustration knew no limits. It was only after about half n hour when the bus moved out of the crowded city into the highway and I could breathe in some fresh air that I began to calm down and then the rational me took charge. I tried to reason out my frustration on a petty issue like this. Very soon the reality struck me hard.I realised that I have been groomed this way to fight my way to the top. So the frustration was inevitable.Interestingly majority of the people in my state have been groomed the same way. And that is the reason you seldom see a queue lined up.Even if there is one ,there are some smart souls who will never find time for these mundane queuing up activity. Getting the things done in the minimum time is a matter of pride for people out here. And here is a state where you will find more BAAHUBALIS than civilians. I had one such encounter when our bus was stopped by his acolytes for about 10 mins because some netaji was about to do I dont know what. There was immense confusion over the issue but what infuriated my senses was the manner in which the gunmen kept the bus with 60 people stranded and the way these bastards lionized the local netaji. When our intrigued conductor seeked permission to move on he got the reply "Are kaahe bahas karte ho re,bole na bhaiya ji aa rahe hain". Welcome to Jharkhand.
I thought hard. Over the pysche of the people of my state. I wanted to get to the evolution of such a clan of domineering inhabitants of which I was very much a part.What I could derive was that the people here are groomed this way-to bully their way upto the top grabbing the thing before anyone else does. And what we see and observe is the outcome of this very mindset.And that is the exact reason why we Biharis have earned the ill fame of involving in many of the unruly acts all over the country. One would argue that this happens to be the story of the entire nation and I would not like to refute this line of argument but what troubles me immensely that this "Haq maanga nahi cheena jaata hai" sydrome has affected Jharkhand(or erstwhile Bihar) the most.When I delved deep into my reasoning I find an answer to that. The answer is scarcity. Yes there has always been scarcity of resources.There has been scarcity of water so you find people fighting over community hand pumps. There has been scarcity of berths in trains so you find people fighting over tickets. There has been scarcity of education so you find students competing hard for a few berths in a very few good institutes.The survival of the fittest has to take place where there is scarcity of resources. Yes this is precise reason of the behaviour of my statemates. Then who is to be blamed. Once again I cant resist pointing fingers to the governments which have been in power whose ministers have amassed immense personal wealth but didnot have an iota of time to attend to the needs of the common man. Its the politicians who have turned my state into a vicious food chain where one has to feed over the others to survive.
I got down at Ranchi and had a swarm of auto rickshaw drivers vying for my attention at the bus stand. There was mayhem at the autorickshaw stand as they saw the customer in me coming. There were skirmishes and the milieu wore a modicum of sobriety only when I decided to seat myself into one. On my way I could hear the autorickshaw driver abuse the poor rickshaw wallahs who by mistake have strayed on their way.These incidents did nothing but reaffirmed my reasoning I had carried out on the bus.I reached home. My father almost simultaneously entered the gate. I saw a ticket in his hand and a smile on his face. I knew what was it for. My father never queues up.:)

My Tryst with eggs!!!

Scene I, Ranchi: “Promise me , You’ll have two boiled eggs everyday for breakfast before leaving for the plant.” My mother was virtually in tears as she stuffed my travel bag with almost everything edible she could find. On earlier occasions I would audit the packing she would carry out religiously and do away with superfluous eatables.” Less luggage, more comfort” I am a firm believer…Unfortunately my mother isn’t. This time she was not even ready to let me have a look, leave alone the screening. And she had reasons strong enough. I was leaving for Pune after two months of medical leave at home and somehow the doctor had managed to convince my parents that the reason for my prolonged ailment was my carelessness towards diet. So I had been through long sessions on what to eat ,how to cook etc. Unfortunately this time around my mother had the support of everyone else in the family. And I had to abide by.

Scene II, Pune: Day-Thursday, Time:11 am. I am off my bed wandering in my apartment to find my roommates cosily scattered on the bed. I was missing the juice, an apple, some dry fruits, a glass of milk and neatly buttered bread along with some eggs which would be beautifully laid down in front me as soon as I was off the bed. The doctor’s words echoed in my ears “Eat high protein diet and don’t skip a meal” I went down to the grocery bringing back some eggs and a packet of bread. I was determined not to starve myself to ailment again. I was sick of lying on the bed with thermometer stuck up my throat. I started off with boiling the eggs which was the easiest thing to do according to my mother. You just have to put some water and two eggs in a boiling pan and put it on the heater and wait till the eggs boil. Sounds simple-I had thought then. I followed my mother’s instructions and after putting up the pan on the heater I went on to watch some news showing Shri Ram Sene sainiks beating up girls in the pub in Mangalore. The gory images and the stark immorality of the so called moral police had me stuck to the idiot box a little longer. The eggs by the time were beginning to send signals by spilling hot water almost everywhere and I had to rush to the kitchen to pacify them. Buttering the bread was not that difficult and I sat on the sofa with the bread and boiled eggs to get a hang of what was happening in Mangalore. To sit for a breakfast prepared entirely by oneself is indeed a great satisfaction. Alas….the feeling was short-lived. I peeled off the outer shell of the eggs only to find a pulpy interior and when I cut open the eggs into halves my disappointment knew no limits. I was shattered. The egg was far from boiled and all I could do was stare at the yellow yolk flowing out soaking my neatly buttered bread. I remembered how I used to demand for another set of eggs to be boiled for me if I found even a tinge of unboiledness and how easily my mother would oblige. I was beginning to miss my mother. Recovering from the egg fiasco I decided to put some milk into my system. This time I wont hurry. I had decided. I left the milk to be boiled and got myself glued to the Mangalore debacle again. And by the time I recalled that I had an appointment in the kitchen, it was too late. All I was left with was a burnt finger and milk spilled all over the place to be cleaned up. My first attempts with cooking had met with a disastrous fate.

It was 12.30 and I was feeling miserably hungry. I had lost every little hope that I had with my cooking acumen. I rushed to Chaya Parantha House ordering “Ek chicken masala aur rice”. As I ravaged on the delicacies I pondered over the answers I would be giving to my mother’s incessant questioning. The inevitable had happened. My phone rang and it was my mother. “How are you? Are you having proper diet? Did you boil the eggs for yourself? Did you have milk for your breakfast? Did you weigh yourself? How much weight have you put on? Are you having fruits along with milk and eggs? “ She was firing questions. My first instinct was to narrate the kitchen ordeal to her. But then I chose to be my natural self and just answered her questions with a nod and an unconvincing YES. I just hope that the girl I am married to is not as bad a cook as I am. I am amazed at the genuine attempts I have made. And you call me a chauvinist….Not fair..;)

A page from an Automobile Engineer's Diary

“Hmm”….The doctor gave a gentle nod as he scanned the anatomy of my lungs which lay glowing in front of him thanks to William Roentgen. I looked on helplessly as a student dreading to hear the word “FAIL” from his class teacher. The doctor put down the spectacles on the table and began – “Seems you have been enjoying your freedom over here too much, too much of smoking and drinking going on?” I was caught unaware at such a stark remark but then the Hindi film dialogue echoed in my ears “You should never lie to your doctor and lawyer”. I confessed sheepishly and the doctor carried on. “You have asthmic bronchitis and you need to quit smoking immediately. I am writing you some medicines. Have them for a week and then we will meet to see the improvement.” I nodded gently and as I started to open the door the doctor intervened with his fat finger wagging at me “Remember, NO SMOKING”.

“Yeah Yeah NO SMOKING “ I tried to imitate, much to the surprise of the secretary who sat outside for the bill to be paid much like an alligator stretching its mouth waiting for its prey. As I rode back I thought about the disease I was carrying with me at 60 kmph. BROCHITIS- The word was enough to produce numerous images in my nerve cells –the most prominent one being coughing myself to death. The thought made me shiver as I lamented every puff of cigarette that I have so proudly inhaled. Collecting the medicines from the chemist’s store I went back to the room and after struggling with the tablets and expectorants prepared myself for the bed.

The mobile alarm is adamant on waking me off the bed and after a few tantrums I succumb to the irritating alarm tone. I get ready for the office coughing intermittently in between cursing everyone under the sun. It’s 8:30. I am into the office premises swiping my identity card and logging on to my computer. I scan the e mails in my inbox. “200 components of Gear Shift Lever Knob rejected” I read the message. Almost simultaneously my boss calls me up: “Aashutosh, There has been some issue on the line of your component. What about it?” I have no answer. Meekly I trouble my vocal chords to utter” I haven’t seen it yet, sir. I’ll get back with the analysis to you.” “You better do and do it fast…….Bang” came the prompt reply. Then for the next 4 hrs I keep on running throughout the premises of my company, on the assembly line, making calls to the suppliers and then finally sit down on my desk for the most dreaded job I have on hand-Analyse the drawing. I just hate these engineering drawings. I know this is blasphemy but I cannot help but curse the day I chose to get into the Mechanical stream of engineering. The icing on the cake has been the automobile company job. “Who the hell has designed this component? Why couldn’t he make a simple one.” I am virtually in tears trying to create a 3-D picture of the gear shift lever from the maze of straight lines and curves I held in my hand. I give up and make way for my boss’s cabin hoping that he is busy with some other work and will call me afterwards which would never come;). “May I come in ,Sir? A nod. I make way into the chamber coughing and laying the huge expanse of the drawing in front of him I prepare myself for the assault. During the next hour he goes through every negative expressions one can imagine. Anger,frustration,disgust…I am running short of adverbs …pardon my vocabulary. He tricks me into various technical jargons. “ Can you draw for me the schematic diagram of centreless grinding” The words sounded familiar to me. My innocuous brain goes in flashback. I strain my brain cells to retrieve images of the bygone “Manufacturing Process” lectures. ”No image found”…pat comes the reply. Of course….I never had the privilege to attend those lectures. I curse myself for bunking classes for the first time. An expression of blankness conveys my answer to him and he loses the little hope he had from a freshly passed out engineering graduate. After one hour of humiliation I head to infuse some caffeine into my system and then motivated by the recent failures I sit down on my desk. “Centreless grinding” I type into the google search bar. Eerie images of big machines followed by prolix description flash in front of my eyes and I am finally led into a yawn. I am not made for this kind of a job. Manufacturing is not the field for me. I pass the verdict and the hooter blows. Its time to pack up. I log off and within minutes find myself ordering to our Anna. “ Ek chai aur ek Classic dena” ….Suddenly the doctor’s fat finger comes wagging at me….”Sirf chai dena”.

I am in my room coughing my heart out and now I sit down with the TIME mock papers. Yes you got it right. I aspire to join a B school. So I cram a few puzzles, solve a few questions of number system and geometry,some sentence corrections and then I am off to the Chhaya parantha house for the dinner. “Ek paneer aur ek aloo ka parantha” I order and sit back ,hands itching to have the white thing but self restraint persists. At least for today. I look at a young couple (not married) sipping juice from a single glass. “Idiots , I shall never do this” and by the time I meandered into my world of thoughts as to how I would never display affection in public,our Dada comes with the order. It’s 11.00 and yet again I am off to bed consoling myself that things will change soon and I ll be out of this life of machines and drawings to a comfortable world of numbers and strategies. Deep down I have doubts though. “ Mirchi sunne waale always khush “ the over enthusiastic RJ helps me run away from life . And I am in my dreams not knowing what lies ahead in the world of machines for me.

Three Promises

"How do you feel and do you have any mesagge for the other students"? Aashish found himself surrounded by reporters all over. " I owe my success to God,my parents and my hardwork", he had come up with the cliche' answer. " And my message to all the students preparing for......" "Aashish..Aashish".There was a violent shake of his shoulders. He opened his eyes and found his father waking him up vehemently." Check your IITJEE results. They are out".He got up rubbing his eyes and it didnt take him long to realise it was the D-Day. Yes,the results would have been out. He jumped on to the computer and after spending around half an hour got through the jammed website. His nervous fingers fed the roll no. only to find the message" SORRY YOUR NAME DOES NOT MATCH OUR LIST OF QUALIFIED STUDENTS". He sat there staring at the screen reminiscing of the 2 years he had put in the preparation of this coveted undergraduate exam. The message was clear -" You are not among the BEST brains of India,go for some other GOOD colleges out there". Hard to digest as it was for him for he always had this illusion that he was among the brightest of his school and deserved a berth in this mecca of technical education. Moving on with this newly discovered fact about himself he took admission in a good engineering college of his hometown. He had never thought during his two years of preparation that he will land up in this place.

1st day of college in the hostel: He was standing in a clumsy,stinking room full of smoke, staring the ground beneath with two more of his batchmates whose names were not known to him. And on the bed sat a huge group of 2nd year students who were having a feast on the "Murgas". "Abe Ma*****od....tere ko bola na intro dene" The words startled him. He looked up...SLAP!!! " Ghoorta kya hai Be*****od". He was not new to these exclamations but their use was banned in the school gang he was part of. You were not supposed to bring mothers and sisters into this. This was new to him. Later during his traumatic hour long session he realised that these exclamations found unrestricted usage among the seniors. He was baffled. This was certainly not the place where he was supposed to be. From that room they were referred to another room full of seniors and then to another. Finally when he reached his room it was 1 o'clock in the morning. Lying on his bed he thought about the moral degradation of the youth and found himself a complete misfit to this world of engineers. His regrets for not getting into the IITs grew stronger. Later, he came to realise that the scenario was same even in the IITs. But for now, he was disturbed. His roommate who had done rounds of the senior hostel rooms with him broke the silence. "Don't take those abuses personally,everything is technical here. Your senior girls are your technical mothers and your batchmates are your technical sisters". He was amused at this new definition. He smiled at his roommate. Though he had vowed that he will never degrade himself to such levels.

The morning began with a long line in the bathroom. Standing in the queue he cursed himself " What the f*** , I crammed for 2 years only to land up in this shit". Somehow he got through the morning rush but only to catch the 2nd class. His bunking had started from the first day itself. Not by choice though. Days passed by. He attended the classes during the daytime and entertained the seniors in the evening. During one of his ragging sessions he was forced to smoke and was let free only when some moderate seniors saw tears in his eyes. He hated smoke and smokers. Finally the mid sem dates were out and Aashish took it as an opprtunity to restore his lost self confidence. God was kind this time and he topped the batch with maximum marks. His name started to do rounds of the batch. People would come up and greet him "You are the one who topped the mid sems?" It was then he realised how much fame meant to him. He almost lost all the regrets he had been nursing till now. He had started to discover the real Aashish who craved for attention. He was used to that in his school and a sudden slide into oblivion had disturbed him immensely. Now that he had proved his mettle again , he began to enjoy the college life. The ragging also had ceased and now the freshers could flaunt jeans and T shirts which was prohibited earlier. The girls too had come out of their salwar kurta-two plaits mode and now the real figures were beginning to be flaunted. College was much greener now. Being a Mechie he neither had the opportunity nor the courage to talk to a girl.The first year passed off with his results being just above average. But he had made his mark and his name was there to stay.

3rd year students throw freshers party to the 2nd year students of respective branches. Mechanical party was notorious in many ways. With no girls around, the guys were at their natural best rather than impressing them.Every prohibition in the civilised world would be ceremoniously carried out here,be it cigarettes,drugs,booze or for that matter even adult films. By now Aashish was quite familiar with these ways of celebrating bachelorhood but he was yet to endorse the practices which he considered morally degraded. He had vowed to himself in the 1st year that he would never use "technical language" , never smoke, never drink. Today one of these promises would be broken. Let's see.

The seniors welcomed them with utmost warmth and after the formal inauguration and lighting of lamps when the teachers were gone the real party had begun. Carats of cigarettes were taken out. Within minutes the room was filled with smoke.He still stuck to his vows. It was then that he caught sight of one of his revered seniors who was known for his intellect and was hailed as one of the brightest brains of the batch. Surprisingly the white thing looked "cool" in his hand and his charm was magnified. And then a friend of him came with a puff in his hand. He asked surprisingly" How come you are smoking? You never smoke." He slid the cigarette into Aashish's mouth and said " Come on ek puff maar, aaj k din sab chalta hai. Everyone is smoking". He did not resist. He never knew why he didn't. He coughed and removed the thing at once. "No,I can't". After almost an hour he asked his friend for another puff and then another. Perhaps the background score of "BC Sutta" was doing the trick.His friend gave him the entire cigarette. He held it with style in his hand and for the first time he enjoyed being BAD.


Mechanical guys were known for their carefree attitude and mental and physcial toughness. Now that he had taken the first step he was quite enthused to take the ride. So he accompanied his friends to the RMC. A gang of girls passed by. And there was mayhem. Comments began to flow. Lewd and vulgar as they were he never thought he would enjoy being a part of the gang. Though when left to encounter a girl alone a Mechie would shiver to death but when you have a gang behind you ,you can take on any gang of girls.[:)]. So his image began to change. Girls were beginnig to talk about his group being the most notorious and troublesome. To his surprise he was enjoying this new incarnation of his.


His room door banged open." Chal be,Class nahi jaana" . Not removing his eyes from the computer game he had been playing all night he said" Nahi yaar,mera proxy laga dena.Us Ma*****od ka class nahi karna mere ko" . He left the room,but Aashish was astonished at what he had just said. Yet another promise broken. He thought for a while,shook his head and resumed the game. Things which mattered to him so much had managed just a minute of reflection and a shake of head. He had changed or at least it was the beginning.


Placement time(Final Year) : There was anxiety in the air, even the carefree mechanical brats were found in their rooms mugging up the Automobile Engineering books. Some were found improving their soft skills in the informal GD sessions. Previous year question papers of various companies thronged the rooms and the hostel lobby flung into action only at the time of lunch or dinner. Aashish knew this was the time to get serious. He got engrossed in the preparations. Finally the first company had come.It was the best for Mechanical and he knew he had to get through. As he moved out of the interview room he chuckled. He knew he had done it. And yes he had done it. The names were out and he was being greeted by everyone around. Friends had lifted him up and cheered him to the RMC. At the RMC he lit a cigarette ,lifted his head and exhaled the smoke into the sky with pride as if declaring to the girls" Look the hooligan has bagged the first job of the college". He had lived for this moment of fame. By now he had realised how much he craved for fame,stardom and attention which has eluded him throughout his life. He wanted to live this moment of success to the fullest.


It was party time. A grand party was thrown at the Madhuban-The Mecca for BITians. Drinks were served and when his friend offered him one he didn't resist. He didn' know why and he never thought about it. Next day when he woke up rubbing his eyes he felt his head in a dizzy. The hangover was there. He came to know that he behaved like a drunken dog yesterday night and it took four of them to bring him to the bed.He went to the wash basin and stared into the mirror. " Was this the same Aashish?" Red eyes stared into him from the mirror as if searching for the real Aashish. "F*** it; I don't give a damn. What's the use of being so good. I have got nothing but failure."


Last day of the college: He swung the bag on his shoulders and stood in front of the main building of the college.This was the college he never wanted to be in,yet he had spent 4 years here and this college had completely transformed him. And this is where his THREE promises were broken...

India is my country and all Indians r my brothers n sisters?????

One morning, as I bent down to collect the newspaper my eyes rolled over a bizzare headline. I remained still and gazed at the line.It had a famous political leader of Maharashtra blaming the people of Bihar and U.P of spoiling the local culture. He also slammed festivals like Chath and wanted every one in Maharashtra to speak Marathi if they wanted to stay. I was still bent over and by the time I retained the Post Neantherdal Homo Sapiens posture I had gone though the whole story. And I smiled.....Yes I smiled. Though the news should have worried me, me being from Bihar and putting up in Pune, it could hardly trouble me.As I ushered myself under the shower I found myself murmuring "What do they think of us? They think they can still do this? Inciting one group of people against others on lingual and communal lines. Gone are those days.Our dear Mr. Politician has infallibly made a fool of himself and he was sure to lose any political ground he had aspired to acquire."...Perhaps the internet savvy and consumerism driven image of Indian youth in my mind had made me think on optimistic lines. Later I was to realise how wrong I was.

For the time being, I buried myself in the daily chores of the office and almost lost touch with our ostentatious orator. But I could feel his presence being zoomed every day, his speech finding way into the headline almost every day. He was surely gaining strength,thanks to our media. And as he rallied along with his venomous speeches and incredible demands, the state got prepared for the final blow. He came out with insulting remarks for Amitabh Bachchan. You dont do that. Not in India. You can abuse Gods in India and get away with the blasphemy. But you darenot speak against Sachin Tendulkar and Mr. Bachchan. I was almost sure of an outburst from the migrants of U.P(Amitabh belongs to U.P) and was surprised to find that the next few days went by peacefully.Perhaps they were too scared to do anything.

But the inevitable had come. One morning, the headlines again caught my attention. The front page flaunted pictures of dishevelled migrants from Bihar and U.P fleeing the state in large no.s in trains. As I scrolled down the paper,I came across pictures of Bihari auto rickshaw drivers being beaten up. The situation was tense. My mobile rang up. I I answered and found my mother talking frantically on the other side. She was scared and was asking me to be careful. I told her that the situation is not that tense as it is being shown and that I was SAFE.. I somehow lacked the conviction in my voice which my mother seeked...She could sense that. You cannot fool mothers.

As I hustled my way through the fast moving morning traffic the thought came to my mind. "Am I Safe"???? What the F***....They can't do this to me. This is my country. I can live anywhere I want to. I had been friends with many of my colleagues who were Marathi and they never let me feel alien to this land. The thought sobered me down a bit as I managed to avoid an early morning clash with a cycle. "Dekh k chalao,yaar" ...and I sped past him.In my office I found everything normal except a hiatus in the supply of the material which was supposed to be inside our premises a day before. When I got to the crux of the matter, I found our Mr. Politician had a role to play over here too. The supplier pleaded that the supply of the auto parts he was supposed to deliver was held up because all the workers who worked for him had fled the place,thanks to our leader.
I shrugged my shoulder in despair. This affair was beginning to affect the biggest automobile company of India. Someone walk up to Mr. Politician and let him know that.

I finished office and rushed to our favorite hangout. "Anna, ek chai laana" I called out. "Aaj chai nahi milega,band ho raha hai dukaan" I could see him folding up for tha day in haste. I enquired and discovered that the area had seen some hideous burnouts following the rumours of arrest of the leader.And soon curfew can be imposed. I rushed into a general store to get some Maggi,anticipating that the curfew may last a few days.As I was discussing the scenario with a friend of mine, the grocer who I knew was a Marathi intervened and sort of concluded our discussion." Pet ke saamne koi dharm aur bhasha nahi chalta"...he said with a stoic expression on his face.I looked into his face and realised that the politician never had the masses with him. I was right. It was just a group of acolytes that had made him look like a leader with a great following.

Fortunately, the curfew lasted for a few hours only and as days passed by the matter went into oblivion only to be brought up by our politician when he felt the need to gain some political ground. I got busy with my work just as my countrymen got in theirs. The issue had taken a backstage when one morning I again had a rendezvous with our 'speaker-of-my-mind" leader. This time he demanded a reservation for the Marathi locals in private companies. This time I could hardly smile.

Love is not for me!!!

Love is not for me. Yeah…… This is no Devdas telling his heart melting story. Neither is he a DCH fame Aamir Khan’s fan who would not let love happen to him. It’s just that the fact keeps coming back to haunt me that I am not Cupid’s favourite.

I loved it when SRK said in DDLJ…”Is duniya me itni saari ladkiyan hai, kisi ke hoth achche hian to kisi ki aankein….kisi k baal achche hain..to kisi ke…..” So true. And that’s my problem. I do not know who the one for me is. Well for now let me share my observations which I have been consistently making throughout my college life. Yes, I observed my friends who would spend sleepless nights on phone. I also betrayed sleep, but had plenty of other interesting things to do in hostel than to hibernate into a gloomy corner of the hostel lobby and whisper like a mouse. Yes that’s my problem. I can think of umpteen ways to pass away idle time than ring up a girl and recite to her my daily chores as if she was my boss. I always wondered when I saw my friends huddled into corners as to “What do you talk to a girl about”. That’s a big question, mind you. It’s not a simple boy to boy conversation where you can include the wildest of topics into your conversation. And moreover being an Engineering student I find it difficult to put a check on my ever deteriorating language….I once asked my friend “How do you manage to be so polished for so long?”…So that’s also a problem with me….Girls like gentlemen and I am far from being that.

Now, something which can alienate a lot of my female friends and feminist ones, to be more specific. It’s about sense of humor. Sometimes I wonder what can make girls not laugh. They will laugh at the poorest of your jokes which you would never share in your boys’ group for the fear of being lampooned. That's still fine. But the sad part is that they expect you to giggle at the most pathetic jokes of theirs. God…Again I love SRK when he says “God…… I …I just hate girls”. Ok no more bitching about girls. I was telling you about my problems. I can’t spend hours on phone reporting to her about the thing which I did the whole day. I can’t be polite and chivalrous. I find it difficult to laugh at their genuine attempts to humor. Is that all?? No, I have a long list of problems that has finally convinced me to believe that I shall remain sans love.

I observed during my college days that guys who had girlfriends could hardly devote time towards their boys’ group. Many a times I have seen guys opting out of a booze night-out party because they had to report to their girls at the stroke of midnight hour. (Don’t get me wrong, I was talking about calling up their girls when the rest of their group members are on a high). So girls want commitment from boys. No harm in this. Any relationship needs commitment to survive. And there goes another problem. I prefer to be in a group of dwellers from Mars than to roam around hand in hand with an angel from Venus.
Roam around??? Aha…That’s not so easy. When you have numerous licentious eyes gazing at you and gauging your girl’s assets you would definitely want your eyes to be one of them rather than helplessly staring the ground beneath. So in a way I salute the men who could muster the courage to walk around in the college putting the lustful gazes and lewd comments behind them. I can’t do that.

There are some minor things like buying her a gift every now and then….taking her out for a movie and watching it like a gentleman. I don’t remember a single movie with my hooligan friends when I had not whistled and hooted. And the poor guys and girls who had come together on a so called date stared at us, girls with disgust and the guys with envy. So I hereby solemnly conclude that forget about love in the air, even if the air is laden with thick clouds of love, I shall stand dry. Not by choice though.