Tuk Tuk

The door opened, and ‘Maa’ peeked out. The ethereal smile, the affection, I knew my first play school was here. I no longer needed my mother, I wanted to be here. I wanted to be cuddled by ‘Maa’, to be fed by her, to play with her, to feel free. I knew within, she would only smile at whatever I did.

My mother cautiously let me go. ‘Maa’ assured her that she can relax, and come back later to pick me. I dreaded the thought of leaving at 5. What if mother doesn't approve? What about weekends? Will I be allowed to sleep-over? So many thoughts raced in my mind , as I watched ‘Maa’ mischievously looking at me, hinting the adventures that lay ahead. I could not wait to get started.

Mother left. ‘Maa’ put me on the couch, and called ‘Tuk Tuk’! Tuk Tuk? what a funny name to address!

And she came. slowly, tottering, round, my Tuk Tuk. She resembled my doll at home. As big as me. She was my Tuk Tuk.

We played everyday, i refused to call her anything but ‘my Tuk Tuk’. We we inseparable. I wanted to give her everything I had, including my most beloved doll. She loved me. She hated me. She could not bear me hugging ‘Maa’. She could not bear to see me taken away by my mother each day.

I wonder if ‘Tuk Tuk’ was ‘Maa’s real daughter, or was she someone else’s. I never cared. I never asked back then. All i wanted and loved was 'my Tuk Tuk’.

I remember the day when my mother was telling ‘Maa’, we got her admitted to the school. She won’t come from next week.

My heart broke for the very first time. I was being pulled away from ‘Maa’ and ‘my Tuk Tuk’. I remember those pearly eyes of Tuk  Tuk when ‘Maa’ told her to bid me goodbye and hug. She seemed to know we may never meet again. She seemed to know, even if we did, our love would be long forgotten.

I lost ‘Tuk Tuk’ at the tender age of 4, an year from I met her. I do not know, if I saw ‘Tuk Tuk’ again. I do not recognize her. Neither does she.

But 'my Tuk Tuk’, you shall always be, my first love...

Paris

I never thought beyond Mumbai, or so did I think. The subtle stilts by Gateway, the Victorian Era architecture left behind, the flora marked by its quintessential placement, the locomotives for the people traveling to ends of the city, daily, breathlessly. To me, it was the perfect place to breathe, live and die. A city I belonged to, a city I grew up in, a city I wanted to forgotten with in future. And that is when Paris happened to me.

La Paris, the city of music, art and love. I may not be an art connoisseur, or a musician, but I am a lover. A lover I never thought I would be. A hope to fall endlessly in love, is something that lingers in our heart, knowingly or unknown to some. And I fell, oh I fell deep, so deep that I rediscover myself every moment I breathe now. The feel to caress, to touch, to experience love, in dimensions untold.

The inexplicable rush of excitement in one's nerves, walking the parisian streets, watching men unfold their chairs in front of their shops, serving bordeaux I have never tasted better before, women laughing gently, and wandering carefree with their men to unfurl the parties of the night. The musette accordion filling your ears and imagination galore. The touch of the Renaissance architecture all across, the Sienne flowing through the hearts, the French delacour (oh yes, people were wonderful). Alas, I don't speak French, else I would have been a lyric in the poetry of France.

Someday, some birth, I want to be a part of this magic, when a Lewis Caroll could pen, "Delilah in Frenchland".

Solace in Solitude.

Wandering lest loneliness engulfs me,

in deep thoughts which nobody could see,

timorous of being stranded alone,

feelings hidden inside, never shown.

Desirous of love purest,

lustful for a warm shoulder to rest,

to vent it all out, loud, crying,

to lift me from where I am lying.

Mizzle from my eyes, as they wet the ink,

running afar from truth, the harder they sink,

the endless anguish tearing my soul and heart,

shredding away my dreams, part by part.

Solitary comfort, not many know it though,

easier to suppress and harder to show,

the blood from my quill flows all over here,

as I embrace solitude to slay my fear.

Words I weigh ...

Someone said - "You may feel the compulsion to flirt, but the fear to cross morality-level is what keeps you in check."

The mind tends to be so readable by someone, yet so crypted for some. Women boast of being impossible to be understood; in-fact, they are no less than an open book, one only needs to understand the language. And when that reader comes by, she wants him to be with her forever as someone - a friend, a companion, a lover, a soul-mate, relations undefined or many.

Some like to bury their secrets deep, never to be unearthed, never to see day-light or another's ears and eyes. But some love to flaunt their secrets mockingly, in a care-free manner, which when cared for and heard, hits them hard. The vulnerability of falling prey to one's own words is tough to reckon with, and to live with it trying not to repeat the mistakes is gruesome.

Somewhere deep within, to realize the follies, the intentional mistakes, some unintensional slips and finally, the repentance, is a big and brave step, but to change one-self , is still herculean ...

And I get back to the codes, reluctantly, to wait for tonight to move on, restlessly, to live and wilt, quickly ...

Incepting End ...

Last night was not well-received. Not at all. Sleep was intrigued by images; gory images which only brought tears in my motionless eyes. The pile of human dirt, waste, carcass, weariness, all building up to new mountains, across the world, occupying every inch of space and nature. I saw myself clambering up those hills, hoping for sunshine. But it had gone. Forever.

I wanted to go back to the place I love. Across those heaps, to catch one last glance of what I woke up smiling each day to. It seemed distant. Impossible to reach.

Yet the hope lingered.

Sleep leads to awakening. So it did to my mind. I have to go back, to where it all started. I need to live andd see, for the cause I feel I might have been made for.

Whether achievable or not, is not the question, not anymore. I need to achieve it. I need to ...

The need arises , so does the end.

A feather lost … So was my friend

Life and time never stops, not once for those who never want it to move. How one could wish if time waited for them, to explain, to repent, to act upon and to rectify life’s wrong moments. But alas, it happens only in supernatural fictions and dreams.

The day never blurs, the wound stays afresh, when she walked out. Walked far, walked beyond where she could hear my cries. My woes which had turned into bitterness within. The revenge I had to vent upon those similar, the trust I had lost hoping for the best. But she did not postpone her inhibitions. And I could not stop her from leaving.

I was a bird with fewer feathers, but a bird that learnt to fly low to still fly. Though obstacles increased, and vision obstructed, yet flying low was to land quicker whenever tired. Euphemism – a human with lesser good friends. Man never is complete without them, the ones who call to abuse you, who still wake you up from deserved sound sleep, who celebrate you’re-getting-dumped to make you feel lighter, who eye and gobble everything your Mom dishes out, and who always have to two shoulders for you to lean upon and wail.

The void lasts forever, trying hard to be replaced with new faces, failing endlessly. The search continues, till hope wilts and you coil up a loner. But does life end? It pulls on with more stabs sustained. And you are weakened to be stronger next. A good friend can never be bargained for, so cannot be life and time ….

Dedicated to all my good friends whom I treasure, away or near to me.

Slumdog Revisited...

paah...I know I must be the zillion-th person to write about this movie, but it still can be added to the list before reaching exhaustion. Watching SM, I wondered what would have happened if some Indian Guy had directed it.. would it have won so many Golden Globes and BAFTAs and the probable OSCARs too? Taking my thought a little more further (read: disaster) i wondered what if Mr. Sooraj Bharjatya had the oppurtunity to make SM... Won't it be tyranny to movies at its best ? So lets hit it folks !!!!

Possibilities Sustained:

• The title "Slumdog Millionaire" would definitely have to be changed, for heaven's sake !! To match upto Mr. Bharjatya's name-o-pedia, why not "Hum Gali-ke-Kutte Hain kaun, joh Crorepati banane-waale hain..."(phew !!! longest ever, I guess) WOW....the abbreviation would be HG2KHKJCBWH....(Random thought: he could use it as his e-mail password.)
  
• Movie opens with an elaborate song sequence of women dressed in vibrant colours welcoming Prem Malik(Jamaal is now Prem) and the host, Prem Kumar, of "Kaun banega SACCHAA Crorepati."
• We are replacing the cast, of course !! The host is "the long-forgotten" Mohnish Behl, Salman Khan as Prem (trying to look in his 20s and wearing a tight tee) and ofcourse, "yesteryear's sweet dame, today's pouting mame" - Bhagyashree as Latika Devi.( she still looks twenty). SB* had plans to cast Mr. Himalaya (her hus) as Prem's big B Salim, but the stone faced expressions weren't adequate for the over-emotive charactersand scenes involved here... so, Sallu Bhai's big Bhai is now taken by Sonu Sood....yaahhooo, the hyper-ventilating super-fluously righteous man who gets involved with underworld for the betterment of his younger brother's heart ailment.
• psst psst...Sallu is a heart patient.. So the first scene of playing cricket and running over slums is now changed to a golf course and Audis zipping around to tk young players(read: kids).After all, Sallu is a poor, rich son of a billionaire(Alok Nath, the perenial weeping father). Poor Sallu's richer father has spent all his billions to treat young boy but he does not recover...It will take the true love and care of a girl who is to come by...(We have interludes playing all along)
• Role 2: Bhagyashree is bhagya-heen coz she is born to a righteous saint in a brothel by chance... So she has to take up the dancing lessons to save her virginity and chastity.. Dancing away waiting for her prince "Prem" charming... Ring ringa ringa ring ringa ringa....Atta girl Latikaa !!!
  
• Sonu(Salim), to save his father's cuffs and Sallu's heart, plunges deep into underworld but instead, tries to reform the dons with Geeta pravachans. No avail.
• By now, Sallu(Prem bhai) is all beefed up and raring to go save Latikaa from the super flexing goons of Kamathipura...but his heart guys, his heart... We suddenly see Alok jee giving a big bhaashan to Prem to make him forget his heart and win back his love..( I am not going into details of how Prem met Latikaa....they were boating and Latikaa was singing and dancing in the boat...Rest is..ahem..)
• Prem fights goons with help of brother Salim... and saves Latikaa... Salim gets shot while jumping ahead of Prem to save him from a bullet which would have pierced his already hollow heart..(yuck yuck.. bad timing) Salim....booo-----hoooo.....dies !!!!!!!!!!! Big song sequence showing flashback of lil brothers in chaddi till date...(Were those pink chaddis?)
• Prem has surgery, but no money. What next? "Kaun Banega SACHCHAA Crorepati !!" Latika does a dare-devilry dance in temple of Maa Kaali while Prem plays till end..(by then, tomato sauce..oops..blood flows out from his nose, mouth, ears due to aaaargh...pain, guys !!) Prem Kumar, the host, lifts up pining Prem off the floor to make him answer the last question... and Janta ka vote makes him win !!!! 1 Crore !!!! Yippeeee, all blood dissapears (i think he licked up the sauce) and Prem stands triumphant when Latikaa comes running strainght from the finale performance to hug him...Alok jee's ashirwaad with Ganga-baho tears....
  
• We have the closing song playing..."Yeh Bandhan toh...pyaar ka bandhan hai...." (courtesy: Karan Arjun)

JAI BOL !!!!!

P.S: Last heard, Bharjatya had questioned OSCARS for their sense of cinema...

YES+ for me !!!!

My colleague urges me to do YES+ persistently. He finally succeeded in inducing a certain amount of inquisitiveness in my forever scurrying mind about this Art of Living (you guessed it right, its that kinda ! Dont be surprised I am going for it !!) course. And here I put what I read about it on their official site. (Please go search on net if you want more details, I dont have time to do depth research )
"The Youth Empowerment Seminar Plus (YES!+) is an intensive programme that offers tools for young people to learn how to navigate through life’s challenges. This innovative and dynamic educational and life skills programme provides young students and professionals the tools to achieve their ideal life with ease.
The growing demands placed on an individual to be successful in our fast-paced, stressful society make it even more necessary for college students to acquire the tools to take responsible life decisions with confidence and clarity, more joy and enthusiasm. Under stress and pressure, the mind often vacillates between regretting the past and worrying about the future and this results in lower performance, lack of concentration, decreased efficiency and more interpersonal conflicts. The YES!+ course empowers students to become more centred and focused.
What Do I Get?

• Learn to relax and meditate
• Deal with doubts
• Increase focus and concentration
• Fitness and health
• Break monotony
• Find a deeper meaning to life "

Wait a sec. Do I need all this? Yes, I do, !!!! Actually, atleast some of them. But being anti- Shri Shri jee.....funny hurting own pride going for his course. Course....hmmmm....I guess I still have time to think. Art of Living, gotta do some pro-research on that :))