Dear Humans,
Before anything else, without any further ado, let me clarify. I did not cross the road. Not this road. Not that road. Not any road for that matter. And I never thought about crossing any roads ever. And I checked, my cousins also, had no fancy thoughts of doing such a ridiculous thing. And nor my forefathers and their forefathers. No one is interested in your roads. No one in my family and extended family wants anything to do with you guys and your roads. You may please keep them to yourself and create your own jokes.
You see, we are peace loving ... things. We just want to be left alone, to do out little jig with the torso, the neck, the beak and the chicken dance. I know you guys must find it amusing, the way we bump our head into ground all the time. But then like us, you guys have tons of rituals that our race hasnt been able to understand. I mean what could be so interesting about a naked, saffron loincloth clad man, dancing in weird postures that lakhs of women try and imitate all his actions? What happens on that night every year when you guys almost burn the entire city down with so much fire and lighting that it actually hurts.
May be it hard to believe for you guys, but we do have sleep cycles. We dont really have those REM cycles but we do have our chicken cycles and we need to spend a large part of our lives sleeping. And when we sleep, we want to sleep in peace. In one piece.
Thats grudge no. 2 btw. The last letter, listed in great detail, the tortures that every single one of us goes through all the time. The impending cage. Ofcourse it is really tough to spot your relatives in that huge a bunch of while haired things, all looking the same. The lucky ones reach the pressure cookers fast and they happily melt away with all the spices and gravy. The unlucky ones, us, the ones looking at all those of us being carried away, that sight is scary.
The next on agenda is all those filthy cartoon films. Do we really look that yellow? that furry? that tiny? that fragile? Do we deserve to be sold at traffic signals? And not just sold, but renegotiated on and bickered about. And its not even a genetic clone. It is made up of plastic! I know you guys are 7 billion and we are mere a few thousands but this is no way to treat us. If Noah had his way, you and us would have been in equal number. And since we dont have to wait for 9 months to produce the next generation, we would have grown faster. Mmmm, that could have been interesting. Imagine the menu reading butter aadmi, aadam musallam, aadmi changezi, aadam shawarma etc.
So, I am short on time. I understand that roads hold a special place in your life, lores and development. They connected you guys and helped moved faster. They allowed movement of people, things, thoughts and stories. Including the one about me crossing the road. I mean, who could even think of it? And why? Can you even imagine a chicken on the road?
Guys, can we please cut it out? Dont you guys think you have stretched this one, a little too much? Isnt the joke now too old, too predictable and too boring?
Sincerely,
The Chicken
This is day 03 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
Two down. Two to go.
Time for a small update on the Project 0811. I like the ring of it. Every month, I think I need to think of some interesting things and call it Project . Anyways, we shall cross the line when we reach there.
Coming to the update, its just the third day in the month and I already broke a rule (of the 4 I made for this month). I ate outside today. An iced tea at a CCD and some Chinese food from Yo China.
The second rule, the Rot 13 one, I was supposed to start it on day 1, I havent even started on it.
Not happening Mr. Garg. Time to pull up the socks!
Coming to the update, its just the third day in the month and I already broke a rule (of the 4 I made for this month). I ate outside today. An iced tea at a CCD and some Chinese food from Yo China.
The second rule, the Rot 13 one, I was supposed to start it on day 1, I havent even started on it.
Not happening Mr. Garg. Time to pull up the socks!
Aug 02: Love Letter 101
Dear You,
You know who you are. I am not sure if you read this blog. Nah, you dont have to be ashamed of the fact. No one does. Its one of those pointless things that people love to engage in. Actually I am not sure if people blog anymore. After all its the twitter generation. If you cant say it in 140 characters, not even words, characters, you are taking too much time and your audience has already moved on to the next effervescent thing. Effervescent. I think that is the word that defines conversations and relationships in this generation. Side note. Its funny how within my lifetime, I have seen multiple generations come and go. From the days when chatting on yahoo used to be in vogue, to orkut, to blogs, to facebook, and now to twitter. Wow. Thats 5 generations. Within the last 10 or so years. Anyways, coming back to conversations and relationships. Split second decisions and short term view is the name of the game now a days. You decide on drop of a hat and you move in an instant.
I, however, am still an old timer. I still love the fuzzy feeling of holding hands while walking on a long road. I still want to send flowery and cute greeting cards. I still want to write letters. I still want to read out long narratives on life and living when I am with someone I love. I want to do all those things to you. And more.
I am the kinds who thinks that 140 characters are too short for professing love. For that matter, even 140 words, or 140 letters, or even 140 long walks are too short to express how I feel about you.
Come to think of it, you and I, its really funny. If I was to ever describe the kind of woman I would want to be with, I could have never ever thought of someone who would resemble you even a bit. And now that I know you for a while, I am sure if someone asked you for your kind of man, I would probably be the last man on this planet!
You know, it was not love at first sight. When I first saw you, I dismissed you as yet another woman who was different from the crowd. But then like all different women, you had something that was, different! Slowly but gradually I was hooked. To you. The way you talked. They way you dressed. The way got the sunshine to peek through the clouds. The way you made things simple. The way you reassured that things would be better. Eventually.
And once I realized that its you, I started making those foolish attempts at trying to woo you. And was it difficult? Phew!
I have dropped hazaar words, hints, gestures, things, all trying to get your attention. All in hopes of telling how much you mean to me. You, however, refuse to catch the line. Is it me who is trying too hard or is it you? Too smart for someone as hopelessly in love as I? Anyways I believe that hope floats and wishes do come true. They take time, but they do.
Pray tell me that you understand. Tell me that you are just acting up and acting pricey. Please give me that smile that can brighten the gloomiest of the days. Give me that touch that can make all the pain in the word go away. Give me that sign.
Your's,
I
P.S.: Anyone is free to use this letter, in any form they deem fit. If you do use this letter, please let me know. Thank you.
This is day 02 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
You know who you are. I am not sure if you read this blog. Nah, you dont have to be ashamed of the fact. No one does. Its one of those pointless things that people love to engage in. Actually I am not sure if people blog anymore. After all its the twitter generation. If you cant say it in 140 characters, not even words, characters, you are taking too much time and your audience has already moved on to the next effervescent thing. Effervescent. I think that is the word that defines conversations and relationships in this generation. Side note. Its funny how within my lifetime, I have seen multiple generations come and go. From the days when chatting on yahoo used to be in vogue, to orkut, to blogs, to facebook, and now to twitter. Wow. Thats 5 generations. Within the last 10 or so years. Anyways, coming back to conversations and relationships. Split second decisions and short term view is the name of the game now a days. You decide on drop of a hat and you move in an instant.
I, however, am still an old timer. I still love the fuzzy feeling of holding hands while walking on a long road. I still want to send flowery and cute greeting cards. I still want to write letters. I still want to read out long narratives on life and living when I am with someone I love. I want to do all those things to you. And more.
I am the kinds who thinks that 140 characters are too short for professing love. For that matter, even 140 words, or 140 letters, or even 140 long walks are too short to express how I feel about you.
Come to think of it, you and I, its really funny. If I was to ever describe the kind of woman I would want to be with, I could have never ever thought of someone who would resemble you even a bit. And now that I know you for a while, I am sure if someone asked you for your kind of man, I would probably be the last man on this planet!
You know, it was not love at first sight. When I first saw you, I dismissed you as yet another woman who was different from the crowd. But then like all different women, you had something that was, different! Slowly but gradually I was hooked. To you. The way you talked. They way you dressed. The way got the sunshine to peek through the clouds. The way you made things simple. The way you reassured that things would be better. Eventually.
And once I realized that its you, I started making those foolish attempts at trying to woo you. And was it difficult? Phew!
I have dropped hazaar words, hints, gestures, things, all trying to get your attention. All in hopes of telling how much you mean to me. You, however, refuse to catch the line. Is it me who is trying too hard or is it you? Too smart for someone as hopelessly in love as I? Anyways I believe that hope floats and wishes do come true. They take time, but they do.
Pray tell me that you understand. Tell me that you are just acting up and acting pricey. Please give me that smile that can brighten the gloomiest of the days. Give me that touch that can make all the pain in the word go away. Give me that sign.
I
P.S.: Anyone is free to use this letter, in any form they deem fit. If you do use this letter, please let me know. Thank you.
This is day 02 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
Aug 02: On Samosa
Samosa, ladies and gentlemen, happens to be the best thing that has happened to mankind, since the discovery of fire. For the uninitiated, two things. One, if you dont know what a Samosa is and if you havent had one, you have wasted your life. Its divine. The crunchyness of the thick crisp shell, the smooth thick and hot potato paste, the tinge of chillies on your tongue as you bite in, the texture of the chutney inside your mouth, all of it is an experience par definition. Its actually a sin to try and capture it in words. I should be castrated for the sin. No kidding.
So, typically you buy a samosa from any of those million nukkad shops selling all kinds of savories and sweets. Invariably, the shop would be called Agarwal Sweets or Agarwal Corner. Or any other combination of words Agarwal and sweets. It looks like that all those Agarwals descended from some other planet and create a base on all the busy intersections and markets and now they have monopoly over them. I challenge that you goto any habituated locality in India and you would find at least one Agarwal doling out sweets and samosas by dozens.
Coming back to samosas, my love affair with samosas goes all the way back to my childhood. Ever since I can remember, I dint really have a sweet tooth (I could face a court-martial and can be charged with conduct unbecoming of a true Baniya, and disowned by my family, if my dad was to read this. Sweets and Baniya are like dagger and clock, like Batman and Robin, like Sherlock Holmes and Watson, like Razor and blade, unthinkable without each other). I liked things a little salty, a little tangy. And no wonder when all my friends were clamoring for that jalebi, I was happy with my samosas.
To put things in context, I dont really have the luxury of statistics here but I bet, India sells more samosas that America sells hot dogs. Per capita. A samosa infact has as much impact on the fabric of our country as much as a chai ka cup or a golgappa has had. Samosa transcends generations, genders, race, age, location, political inclinations, castes and all other such frivolous word that divide our society. Everyone loves samosa. There is no bias. Its like alcohol. If Harivansh Rai Bachchan was alive today, and if he was asked to pen a piece on samosas, the outcome would have been a more convincing case in favour samosa than his seminal Madhushala made for alcohol and bars. I am sure an entire generation would have converted into alcoholics after they would have read Madhushala.
Samosa, typically is made with potato but then there are people who innovate. They put in everything from peas to minced meat to eggs to even ice cream. Yes, ice cream. Apparently, the shell is that hard that the ice cream does not melt when the samosa is deep fried. To be honest, I havent had the icecream variety but I do not doubt for a single instant that the ice cream samosa exists, and is as good as its other, more famous and common cousins. I detest cooking to the extent of actually going without dinner, if there are no options, otherwise I would have tried making the ice cream one for sure.
Anyways the samosa rant has been stretched to the extent of becoming intolerable and its not even half funny. I wanted to write 500+ words and with this line, I am sure I have met the deadline.
But, next time you happen to be close to an Agarwal something, please do order a samosa and dig in. And do share your thoughts on what I think should be our national savory. Wait, do we even have a national savory?
This is day 02 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
So, typically you buy a samosa from any of those million nukkad shops selling all kinds of savories and sweets. Invariably, the shop would be called Agarwal Sweets or Agarwal Corner. Or any other combination of words Agarwal and sweets. It looks like that all those Agarwals descended from some other planet and create a base on all the busy intersections and markets and now they have monopoly over them. I challenge that you goto any habituated locality in India and you would find at least one Agarwal doling out sweets and samosas by dozens.
Coming back to samosas, my love affair with samosas goes all the way back to my childhood. Ever since I can remember, I dint really have a sweet tooth (I could face a court-martial and can be charged with conduct unbecoming of a true Baniya, and disowned by my family, if my dad was to read this. Sweets and Baniya are like dagger and clock, like Batman and Robin, like Sherlock Holmes and Watson, like Razor and blade, unthinkable without each other). I liked things a little salty, a little tangy. And no wonder when all my friends were clamoring for that jalebi, I was happy with my samosas.
To put things in context, I dont really have the luxury of statistics here but I bet, India sells more samosas that America sells hot dogs. Per capita. A samosa infact has as much impact on the fabric of our country as much as a chai ka cup or a golgappa has had. Samosa transcends generations, genders, race, age, location, political inclinations, castes and all other such frivolous word that divide our society. Everyone loves samosa. There is no bias. Its like alcohol. If Harivansh Rai Bachchan was alive today, and if he was asked to pen a piece on samosas, the outcome would have been a more convincing case in favour samosa than his seminal Madhushala made for alcohol and bars. I am sure an entire generation would have converted into alcoholics after they would have read Madhushala.
Samosa, typically is made with potato but then there are people who innovate. They put in everything from peas to minced meat to eggs to even ice cream. Yes, ice cream. Apparently, the shell is that hard that the ice cream does not melt when the samosa is deep fried. To be honest, I havent had the icecream variety but I do not doubt for a single instant that the ice cream samosa exists, and is as good as its other, more famous and common cousins. I detest cooking to the extent of actually going without dinner, if there are no options, otherwise I would have tried making the ice cream one for sure.
Anyways the samosa rant has been stretched to the extent of becoming intolerable and its not even half funny. I wanted to write 500+ words and with this line, I am sure I have met the deadline.
But, next time you happen to be close to an Agarwal something, please do order a samosa and dig in. And do share your thoughts on what I think should be our national savory. Wait, do we even have a national savory?
This is day 02 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
Aug 01: Of Writing, Reasons and Promises
Like I promised myself, that this month, each day, I shall update this blog. Here is the first post.
And guess what! I am stuck on line 1. I thought writing came pretty naturally to me and I could write more than the longest epic of our times but I was wrong. I have been staring at this page for more than twenty minutes now and I have no clue what to write. In fact as I write, I have not even filled up the title of the post, apart from the customary "Aug 01:". Once I finish writing this, I would get down to the title - which in my humble opinion should not be that difficult to pull off.
So let me talk about why I want to do the 31 day challenge. Quite a few reasons actually. The single biggest reason being that I want to create some discipline in my otherwise haphazard life. There are some things that are under my control and there are some that I cant control. Over the past few months, I have tried to work on things and have seen some good results. Not that I am a changed man but I do believe that taking baby steps does help become that giant that you always wanted to become.
Second, I realized that writing de-stresses me. Even though I am belting crap that no one in the world would care for, I still find pleasure in writing. I love the feeling when my fingers dance by themselves on the keyboard (I have used the finger dance metaphor at-least thirty times in past five years) and they end up producing a piece that is coherent. The piece may be grammatically flawed and factually incorrect but then I dont mind it. After all, no ones reading it. Not even you anymore.
Third, more I write, better I get. Like everyone who can speak English, even I have a budding author hidden somewhere inside me, amongst a hidden cricketer, commentator, guitarist, businessman, film maker, philanthropist, teacher, polymath etc. Writing is something that I can work on and improve. Of course story telling is a gift that you are born with, writing on the other hand, you can work on it. Did I come with the gift, time shall tell. But I will ensure that by the time I hang myboots pen, I would be an accomplished writer.
Fourth, once I start writing, my otherwise dead brain, the vegetable bit of me, starts functioning. I get ideas that I never thought I could come up with. Well, most of the times. Like right now, I dont really have any ideas that can potentially make that dent but most of the times, I do get those ideas. And I park them in another document. Or scribble them on a piece of paper. Its funny how our brain operates. In terms of creating new things, I dont think it can. I think it can only link up things that it had processed earlier and then make new links and then tell us on the surface about the new idea.
Five. There is no five! I mean I am sure there is a five but I cant think of it right now. May be some other day.
So what all would I be writing about in the coming days? I do not want it to be boring. I do not want it all to be too similar to each other. Although I suck at it, I would try my hand at writing different genres. Humor, Fiction, Non-Fiction (I think this piece may qualify for non-fiction), Personal, Rant, Review etc. I would try changing the way I write. I want to write something in third person (most of the things I write are in first person). I want to write something like a letter (I did try my hand at a fictional letter once up on a time. It was that bad that my friend had to drop the damn project!). Actually now that I am writing about writing letters, I realize that I want to write a lot of those. A love letter, a hate mail, a ransom letter amongst other things.
I think thats about it for the day. The wants got too much no?
And, the title. I will call this post, Of Writing, Reasons and Wishlists. Why? Go figure!
This is day 01 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
And guess what! I am stuck on line 1. I thought writing came pretty naturally to me and I could write more than the longest epic of our times but I was wrong. I have been staring at this page for more than twenty minutes now and I have no clue what to write. In fact as I write, I have not even filled up the title of the post, apart from the customary "Aug 01:". Once I finish writing this, I would get down to the title - which in my humble opinion should not be that difficult to pull off.
So let me talk about why I want to do the 31 day challenge. Quite a few reasons actually. The single biggest reason being that I want to create some discipline in my otherwise haphazard life. There are some things that are under my control and there are some that I cant control. Over the past few months, I have tried to work on things and have seen some good results. Not that I am a changed man but I do believe that taking baby steps does help become that giant that you always wanted to become.
Second, I realized that writing de-stresses me. Even though I am belting crap that no one in the world would care for, I still find pleasure in writing. I love the feeling when my fingers dance by themselves on the keyboard (I have used the finger dance metaphor at-least thirty times in past five years) and they end up producing a piece that is coherent. The piece may be grammatically flawed and factually incorrect but then I dont mind it. After all, no ones reading it. Not even you anymore.
Third, more I write, better I get. Like everyone who can speak English, even I have a budding author hidden somewhere inside me, amongst a hidden cricketer, commentator, guitarist, businessman, film maker, philanthropist, teacher, polymath etc. Writing is something that I can work on and improve. Of course story telling is a gift that you are born with, writing on the other hand, you can work on it. Did I come with the gift, time shall tell. But I will ensure that by the time I hang my
Fourth, once I start writing, my otherwise dead brain, the vegetable bit of me, starts functioning. I get ideas that I never thought I could come up with. Well, most of the times. Like right now, I dont really have any ideas that can potentially make that dent but most of the times, I do get those ideas. And I park them in another document. Or scribble them on a piece of paper. Its funny how our brain operates. In terms of creating new things, I dont think it can. I think it can only link up things that it had processed earlier and then make new links and then tell us on the surface about the new idea.
Five. There is no five! I mean I am sure there is a five but I cant think of it right now. May be some other day.
So what all would I be writing about in the coming days? I do not want it to be boring. I do not want it all to be too similar to each other. Although I suck at it, I would try my hand at writing different genres. Humor, Fiction, Non-Fiction (I think this piece may qualify for non-fiction), Personal, Rant, Review etc. I would try changing the way I write. I want to write something in third person (most of the things I write are in first person). I want to write something like a letter (I did try my hand at a fictional letter once up on a time. It was that bad that my friend had to drop the damn project!). Actually now that I am writing about writing letters, I realize that I want to write a lot of those. A love letter, a hate mail, a ransom letter amongst other things.
I think thats about it for the day. The wants got too much no?
And, the title. I will call this post, Of Writing, Reasons and Wishlists. Why? Go figure!
This is day 01 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
August - 2011
August 01, 2011
Beginning of a new month. And like all new months (and years), something inside me tells me to create a goal list. Goals and I go back very long. I have been making lists since 1947 and I haven't been able to finish a single list, since 1947! What a coincidence. Anyways, as they say, "koshish karne wale ki kabhi haar nahi hoti", today while driving to work, I decided that I would make a goal list for this month. Rather than making long plans that never fructify, I will make small, measurable
So here are the goals for August.
Beginning of a new month. And like all new months (and years), something inside me tells me to create a goal list. Goals and I go back very long. I have been making lists since 1947 and I haven't been able to finish a single list, since 1947! What a coincidence. Anyways, as they say, "koshish karne wale ki kabhi haar nahi hoti", today while driving to work, I decided that I would make a goal list for this month. Rather than making long plans that never fructify, I will make small, measurable
So here are the goals for August.
- Write at least one blog post each day on this blog. I do maintain a few other blogs (all of them as not famous as this one) and though I do update them occasionally, they dont give me as much pleasure as this one does. So the goal is, to update this blog, atleast once each day, for rest of the month.
- Stop eating out. I have been maintaining a rather complex excel sheet that keeps track of where my money is going. My top three expenses each month, month on month, have been Misc (this is where all my gadgets, gifts etc go), Petrol and Eating Out. I know I cant stop buying gadgets. I know I have to buy fuel to be able to reach office (my office does not pay for my travel. Boss, are you reading this?). And I can easily cut down on the Eating Out bit. It will save me some money (which I desperately need) and help me reduce weight (again, I desperately need to do that as well). All the coffee shops in and around Delhi would hate me for this but a man's got to do what a man's got to do.
- Travel. Thankfully, my work makes me travel a lot. But then travel is one of those things that a man cant have enough of. If all goes as planned, I am supposed to goto Goa and Mumbai this month. Both trips are for work but I will try and squeeze in some bit of personal travel post the Mumbai trip. So anyways, the resolution is that each month, I have to have to make one trip (of at least two nights) somewhere that is not related to work.
- Secret. Jevgr n obbx ol raq bs guvf zbagu. Gbbx vafcvengvba sebz uggc://jjj.anabjevzb.bet/ naq znxr Nhthfg zl Abiry Jevgvat Zbagu. Gb or ubarfg, ba qnl 1, V qbag ernyyl unir n fpevcg be n cyna. Ohg V jvyy jevgr n 50, 000 jbeqf. Naq yvxr Zngg (Phggf, bs gur Tbbtyr snzr), fnlf, qb rirelguvat va fznyy fgrcf naq V jvyy jevgr 1650 jbeqf rirelqnl. Hint: Rot13.
And thats about it. If there is more, I shall add on here. Or maybe push them to September. Right now, let me try and close these 4.
Taare Zameen Pay
One of those days when I left home really early. I was in Mumbai and had to meet someone for a breakfast meeting at 7. Since I no longer stay in Mumbai, Neo lent me his car and I was driving from his place. It was to be a thirty minute ride through a city that is more alive than anything else. It had just rained and the entire city was washed and had that damp look about it. The roads were clean, the air fresh and there were puddles of water all over. Not the mean ones but the cute ones. I could see life all around me. Kids trying to reach their school, vada pao vendors trying to make a living, little boys cleaning autorickshaws, sporadic traffic on the road. It all looked like a movie. And I was shuffling FM channels, the way I do all the time, hoping to catch a song that I like, still hoping for a better song. With so much of shuffling, its actually funny that I even get to hear some music. So anyways, some station was playing Taare Zameen Par from the movie, well, Taare Zameen Par. The movie is easily about 5 4 years old (it released in 2007. checked on IMDB) and the song got really popular back then. Those days I hardly paid any attention to it. So its a surpise that I actually stopped my fidgeting on this song and heard it. And as the song reached its high point, the chorus, I was so overwhelmed with the beautiful picture the song was painting that I got this lump of the size of a football in my neck. Ofcourse boys, I mean supposedly grown ups dont cry, I couldnt shed any tears but I would have, if I dint fear a public outcry and declaration of a national calamity over it. Obviously I am an emotional fool and I get carried away easily. Also, the tradition of wetting eyes runs deep in the family. Its one of those traits that I have acquired from mother side of family. Of course I have all the bad traits ;P.
So the song played and I was drowning in my emotions. One part of me wanted the song to get over as soon as possible and the other one wanted it to keep playing. Forever. May be for next few minutes that I could tolerate it. But then like most things in life, I dint have a choice with this song either. Like other things, the song ran its length and something came over to replace it. Isnt it funny, that our entire lives, we try to do things that would make us, our names, our work, our legacy permanent and when the day you bid adieu to the world, no one notices. I mean they take a note and they talk about your glorious achievements and illustrious career, for exactly three minutes. Imagine summarizing seventy years of your existence in three minutes. Ok, enough of rant. So the song got over. I was left with that itch. That despite it being such a brilliant song, how could I miss it! The itch that I had to scratch and hear the song once more. Somehow I had to. I dint have it on my laptop or on my music player (BB 9700 :D) or in the car, the only way to hear it was to download it off Internet. But then what about the damned meeting that had been planned for more than 4 months? And these are exactly the situations where God likes to plays his funny games. Makes you want to believe in his existence. Turn into a believer. Get you to goto temples, mosques, churches or whatever sanctuary.
So I wanted the song badly and I had no access to it. I hoped that it would be on some other station. I flipped stations and, yes, you guessed it. It was there! It was fucking there on some other station. It was playing. The way I wanted it. Without me making an effort for it. Without me praying to God.
Taare Zaameen Par is such a brilliant song. You must hear it. For best results, put it on a loop, put on some really nice headphones, turn off lights, set the AC to 24 and close your eyes. If it doesnt touch your soul, give you goosebumps and elevates your spirit, I will do anything you want me to. Anything. And I am not kidding.
Thanks Prasoon Joshi, Shankar Mahadevan and every other unknown name who played a part in making of this song. Thank you so much for giving us Taare Zameen Par.
So the song played and I was drowning in my emotions. One part of me wanted the song to get over as soon as possible and the other one wanted it to keep playing. Forever. May be for next few minutes that I could tolerate it. But then like most things in life, I dint have a choice with this song either. Like other things, the song ran its length and something came over to replace it. Isnt it funny, that our entire lives, we try to do things that would make us, our names, our work, our legacy permanent and when the day you bid adieu to the world, no one notices. I mean they take a note and they talk about your glorious achievements and illustrious career, for exactly three minutes. Imagine summarizing seventy years of your existence in three minutes. Ok, enough of rant. So the song got over. I was left with that itch. That despite it being such a brilliant song, how could I miss it! The itch that I had to scratch and hear the song once more. Somehow I had to. I dint have it on my laptop or on my music player (BB 9700 :D) or in the car, the only way to hear it was to download it off Internet. But then what about the damned meeting that had been planned for more than 4 months? And these are exactly the situations where God likes to plays his funny games. Makes you want to believe in his existence. Turn into a believer. Get you to goto temples, mosques, churches or whatever sanctuary.
So I wanted the song badly and I had no access to it. I hoped that it would be on some other station. I flipped stations and, yes, you guessed it. It was there! It was fucking there on some other station. It was playing. The way I wanted it. Without me making an effort for it. Without me praying to God.
Taare Zaameen Par is such a brilliant song. You must hear it. For best results, put it on a loop, put on some really nice headphones, turn off lights, set the AC to 24 and close your eyes. If it doesnt touch your soul, give you goosebumps and elevates your spirit, I will do anything you want me to. Anything. And I am not kidding.
Thanks Prasoon Joshi, Shankar Mahadevan and every other unknown name who played a part in making of this song. Thank you so much for giving us Taare Zameen Par.
Crib crib crib!
Disclaimer: Post full of rants and I might use profanities. Parental discretion advised.
So I have been panning a trip to Mumbai for a while now. And for some reason or the other, the trips been getting delayed. Been more than two weeks now. And every-time at the last minute. This time, I had even packed my bags and called my driver to drop me to the airport.
It sucks to work for someone else. It sucks to be at the mercy of others and it sucks to let others take control of your life. If you cant plan simple things like travel to friend's places, it couldn't suck more. Of course you may argue that once you grow in life, you would have more time. I have one word answer to that. Balls. Ghanta (for the noes who appreciate Hindi).
So I have been panning a trip to Mumbai for a while now. And for some reason or the other, the trips been getting delayed. Been more than two weeks now. And every-time at the last minute. This time, I had even packed my bags and called my driver to drop me to the airport.
It sucks to work for someone else. It sucks to be at the mercy of others and it sucks to let others take control of your life. If you cant plan simple things like travel to friend's places, it couldn't suck more. Of course you may argue that once you grow in life, you would have more time. I have one word answer to that. Balls. Ghanta (for the noes who appreciate Hindi).
So, Hugh, of the GapingVoid fame, says "Life is short and one day you're no longer going to be here; that's all the motivation you need". And this is exactly why I hate to work for someone else. When I am 40, when I cant lift my limbs, I dont want to look back and regret about things that I could have done and I could have achieved. Like that carpe diem thingy, life for the damn minute. If you were to die today, after this minute, what would do in this minute? Work for someone else? Wait for a meeting to start? What for someone to rub his ego at your cost?
And yes, the kid in me wrote this post. Anyone got any problems with it?
Zindagi Na Milegi Dubara - 2
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
Hawa ke jhokon ke jaise aazad rehna seekho,
Dariya ke jaise lehron mein behna seekho,
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein.
Har ek pal ek naya sama dekhein ye nigaahein.
Jo apni aankhon mein hairaaniyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
- Javed Akhtar
Credits to NV for typing this out!
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
Hawa ke jhokon ke jaise aazad rehna seekho,
Dariya ke jaise lehron mein behna seekho,
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein.
Har ek pal ek naya sama dekhein ye nigaahein.
Jo apni aankhon mein hairaaniyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho toh zinda ho tum.
- Javed Akhtar
Credits to NV for typing this out!
Zindagi Na Milegi Dubara
Jab jab dard ka badal chaye,
jab gum ka saya lehraye,
jab aansu palko tak aaye,
jab ye tanha dil ghabraye,
humne dil ko ye samjhaya,
dil akhir tu kyu rota hai,
duniya mein yuhi hota hai.
Yeh jo gehre sannatey hai,
waqt ne sabko baatey hain.
Thoda gum hain sab ka kissa,
thodi dhoop hain sab ka hissa.
Aankhey teri bekar he num hai,
har pal ek naya mausam hai.
Kyu tu aise pal khota hai,
dil aakhir tu kyu rota hai
- Javed Akhtar
jab gum ka saya lehraye,
jab aansu palko tak aaye,
jab ye tanha dil ghabraye,
humne dil ko ye samjhaya,
dil akhir tu kyu rota hai,
duniya mein yuhi hota hai.
Yeh jo gehre sannatey hai,
waqt ne sabko baatey hain.
Thoda gum hain sab ka kissa,
thodi dhoop hain sab ka hissa.
Aankhey teri bekar he num hai,
har pal ek naya mausam hai.
Kyu tu aise pal khota hai,
dil aakhir tu kyu rota hai
- Javed Akhtar
Credits to RK30Jan for typing this out!
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