Living in the Now

So easy it is, to think life is too long. As seconds tick by, minutes fly away, hours flow, weeks pass, months disappear, and years are left behind, we look forward in a foolish pretext that we'll live forever. So would our loved ones. But they won't. And so won't we. Because if you look up at the skies, you see a silent moon look back at you with it's perfect constant emptiness. You see stars and that darkness in which they swim, exactly the same as they were when you looked at them as a child in your mother's lap.

But now you've grown up, scars drawn down your face like footsteps of time mercilessly etched multiple times. We harden as beaten steel cast in strong pillars, foundations immovable with their might, to support a life built like castles of sand, guarded by principles and emotional and wisdom and shields of true pretext. And then as we stand amazed looking at that strange face in the mirror, who looks back equally amazed at how amazed you are. That lie strikes back too hard. A lie we innocently accept and absorb in its evil silence.

The Incomplete - A Tower of Memories

You spun threads of dreams like you were God. Now in the darkness you stare with eyes bloodshot.

The PJ
The Pact
The Song
The E-mail
The Lap hug
The Apology
The Question
The Toe Fight
The Bike Ride
The Digital Kiss
The Belly Dance
The Arm Wrestle
The First Chicken
The Butterfly Kiss
The Dharamsankat
The Balcony Climb
The Breakup Stories
The I'm Watching ya
The Hill-station drive
The Dating Like a Pro
The Entangled Fingers
The Hugs from behind
The First Song For Her
The Tour to the village
The Warm Winter hugs
The Good Night Selfies
The Smiley World Wars
The Leftie Birthday note
The Online-Typing Loop
The Salsa Dance Classes
The Ass Smiley Proposals
The Morning Dhaba Drive
The Resonance of Madness
The Chocolate Ecstacy Kiss
The Cooking For Each Other
The Midnight Horror Movies
The Whispering from Behind
The Metropolitan Exploration
The DSLR Friendzone warning
The Playing with Her Long Hair
The Sleeping Wrapped Up Baby
The Perfect Duck-Face Challenge
The WhatsApp Deactivation target
The Designer Valentine's day Cards
The Getting Lost After Dropping Ya
The Date Planning and Management
The WhatsApp Rhyming message Wars
The Birthday Night Automatic Response
The Huge Building Terrace Midnight View
The Thinking Of Thinking What I'm Thinking

Let their empty hollow corpses rot every inch of what you were to give, never to be given; what you were to receive and never to be received...

The Equation Called Life

Mathematics is one of the purest interpretations of human intelligence. And human intelligence is an inseparably integral facet of human existence. Hence mathematics, even in its most basic metaphysical form, abstracts the foundations of human existence.

I remember being introduced to the beautiful world of calculus at age of 15. It was suddenly bewildering to shatter the discrete bounds of known mathematical logic, and form a ‘naturally intuitive’ way of appreciating the larger picture. This was a realization of negative infinity on one side, and positive infinity on the other. A few days back, as I was walking bare-footed on wet morning grass in a garden alongside my home, this innocent appreciation unexpectedly exploded into a moment of an almost-enlightenment.

I saw life in Math and Math in life - Isn’t life but a Mathematical problem? It starts in childhood - with understanding various symbols associated with the problem. Identifying and isolating the constants and variables; appreciating the power that operations like addition, subtraction, multiplication, division possess; their impact to the foundations of the equation. We appreciate the constancy of action-reaction – that if you add ‘x’, an equal amount gets subtracted as well, and the equation never changes.

We grow up, and as teenagers we stop just-looking at the equation, but begin our journey to find answers – the Solution of the mathematical problem cast in an equation. We learn strategies, apply them, win or fail to simplify the equation, and evolve gradually. There are times when an approach strikes the bull’s eye, and you’re filled with jubilation – the equation suddenly feels much straightened out than before. And then there are moments when you’ve complicated it so much, you’re almost on the verge of giving up. It might have been because of a bad strategy, a wrong move, or focusing on the insignificant variables ignoring the primary weighty ones. Regardless, the process is dynamic, and so life keeps moving ahead.

And then comes that revelation – your equation doesn’t exist in isolation. You connect with people whose problem looks similar to yours, with similar solutions, or similar approaches towards the solution. Maybe you even end up with someone whose equation has the same ‘roots’. With these people, like magic you see both equations unwinding and simplifying with mysterious spontaneity. Life would suddenly appear much simpler and happy, with the best part that you didn’t need any forced effort for it. On the other hand, with few others your effort for a common solution seems to go round and round till you reach a point where there is no solution. You explicitly cast common variables to – Not Defined, and though at later stages this step might probably simplify your problem, there is equal probability of it making the path terribly complicated. In any case, throughout this journey you keep learning what to do and what not to do. This makes you short-circuit strategies in your mind, which is good and bad at the same time. You apply learning, but restrict creativity and appreciation of newness. It isn’t strange then to digest the fact that a lot of elderly gentlemen always go ‘Ek tha humaara samay jab <Include random-most comparisons here>’.

With advancing steps towards simplification, you come across moments when you have to consider certain Assumptions in order to simplify the equation more. These assumptions, at times, work out perfectly. But if proved false later on, they have the capacity to screw up your whole strategy. Additionally, in an urge to reach the conclusion faster, we short-circuit assumption phases with overwhelming spontaneity. Hence, we form presumptions about people, places, situation, time, etc. This does not need too much of mental capacity, as we become champions of prejudice, that is most clearly missing in children. But even the 6^th grader knows Math is not supposed to be done that way.

So what do we have to learn from Math that can make our lives simpler and happier? First, it’s okay to fail today, but incessant continuity is the key which defines whether you ‘slowly and steadily’ reach the solution or perish trying to. Unsolved problems are ugly. So does become the lives of those who just give up.  Second, a lot of times the perfect way-to-things strikes you purely by chance. Imagine the probability of the person who invented the concept of probability actually finding it probable to invent probability. I bet all innovations are children of this mystic Aah-moment, and so it’s okay to keep walking on, knowing with positive gut that one day soon your ‘Aah’ will hit you and transform your life – another step towards the solution. Third, unless your assumption is calculated, you are destined to be deadlocked and get back to amend your assumption. So being open to creatively, to newness of life, to everything that exists ready to be absorbed, is a way to walk the journey with a smile, and a hope that one day when you put down your pen, it is not to follow the easy path and give up, but to end your bare-footed walk on the rocky bed of thorns and bushes; to place below the equation a golden mark that’ll sparkle as a ‘Q.E.D.’

*Q.E.D. Quod erat demonstrandum – which had to be demonstrated 

The Forbidden Mysteries of Matheran

Looking down at the valley hundreds of feet below, feeling the echo of absolute silence brush past my ears, I heard my voice whisper to me – “How would it be to take a step ahead.  To fly down effortlessly to the deep vastness of this silence that lay below me; till it swallows me and makes me one with itself.” Just then, like a sting of infinite intensity, I felt my conscience flood back into me. I turned back and walked on.

It all started a day before Diwali ‘13 – when I realized the away-from-family, friends-leaving-for-their-homes, celebration-devoid disaster my Diwali holidays were going to be. As the last of my friends bade me goodbye, I still gaped at skyrocketing flight charges and overloaded trains wishing something could magically teleport me to-and-fro Delhi. Practicality struck me hard, and so I considered visiting this hill station close to Mumbai, called Matheran, as an alternative to celebrating Diwali a little ‘differently’.

I had heard a lot about Matheran from local friends. Google images made me ogle at the beautiful painting-like scenery, and so the plan was fixed. I packed my bag before I slept that day, and next morning I left early to catch an early local train toward Matheran. Taking a bite off the Samosa-pao I got from the Malad station canteen, I dived into the hell-packed Dadar-side local like a Spartan! Next was the lightly packed local towards Neral. Standing at the door of the train, feeling the soft morning breeze embrace me, with rhythmic music from my headphones, I felt the beginning of this journey couldn’t have been better. Little did I know what lay ahead!

Neral station reminded me of the classic movie Sholay - Red soil, scorching heat, and dust flowing past mysterious grumpy looking faces. I boarded a shared van-taxi to Aman-lodge railway station for 70 bucks, and all throughout the way up the hilly range, I was simply awed to see the beauty of those underestimated lower plains I was coming from. Up at the entrance to Matheran, a ticket for Rs. 50 was to be obtained to enter the station from where a toy train takes you up to the Matheran market. An alternative is a horse ride, or to simply walk up-hill for 20 mins. The toy-train looked fascinating, so I got the Rs. 40 ticket and boarded it, eager to see what the real ‘untouched’ Matheran was like. The journey was short, and as I exited the station, I was surprised to see a fully established organized bazaar – restaurants, resorts, hotels, parks, shops, and it didn’t look much different from the less-crowded version any Mumbai market. With the difference that the only modes of transport were horses, and your two strong legs! That’s why Matheran was untouched by pollution. No vehicles – no emissions.

But alas, this is where my fairy tale gets sorely interrupted. Reminding me of extremely incredibly annoying houseflies, all sorts of brokers got around me – with all sorts of prices for all sorts of places to stay. I’d stay No, thinking I’ll find a place to stay somehow. But they’d still linger on for minimum 100 meters more, asking on average 5-6 questions – “Kaisa hotel chahiye?”, “Resort chalega?”, “Privacy wala room chahiye?”, “Arey budget to batao kitna hai?”, “Valley view room loge saste mein?”, and the questions just got weirder. But the only question EVERYONE on the way had been asking me was – “Who’s traveling with you?” I felt really strange because when I’d answer “No one”, they’d suddenly stop walking and with eyes wide open, they’d just gape blankly at me as if I’d chanted an unforgivable curse. I anyways took the opportunity to boast “I travel alone” with a wink. Still wondering what the deep surprise on their faces meant.

I walked on though. I knew barely anything about Matheran as of then. And so it became really exciting. What was strange was that every time I’d ask somebody “Kya hai yahaan pe?” they’d give a “What-the-fuck!” expression, and so I concluded that just following the crowd was the easy way out. This way, I came across Echo point, Honeymoon point, and Sunset point. I also saw an artificial lake, and had a shitty tea at one of the nearby stalls for 15 rupees. The view at the points was amazing beyond any poetic vocabulary I’ve come across, and it was more than a dozen times I felt like what I saw was the most beautiful painting ever – an majestic creation of mother nature that no colour, no artist, no sketch, no photograph, no words can replicate. The temperature was uncomfortably pleasant, and a slight playful confusion of whether it was fast breeze or slow wind that whirlpooled itself in the valleys of your ears.

An insatiable curiosity made me walk on. For minutes altogether, it would be just me walking through the forest-covered hill roads. Greenery in all levels and genres of time – freshly sprouted shrubs like newly born toddlers, to ancient tress bent by the weight of their own years, hugged close that hard rocky crude road on which I walked on. It was easy to get lost. And that’s where footsteps of horses on the road, and their dung helped me. If there was fresh dung and prominent horse steps, I would confidently walk on. If the steps were scare, and the dung was dry, it was a less preferable road to take (because of some mysterious reason!) And the worst case - No dung. No horse steps. Fuck.

I thought of life in the woods. Far far away from the gaping brutality of city madness; from the place where a thousand emotionless faces swim by in dead stringent silence every morning, every night. Here – the birds, the tress, the horses, the wild dogs, the insects, the ants and their gigantic anthills, music of the leaves brushing against a humble breeze. The harmony was bewitchingly captivating!  The naturally unconditional resonance was pure fascination for me.

Lost in these thoughts and more, I stopped and looked down at my legs which were numb by now due to constantly walking on the ruthlessly hard rocky way. And suddenly that moment - to pure spine-chilling astonishment I noticed there were no horse-steps, no dung. I’d been walking for hours now. If I’d turn back, I might not reach to the main road before dark. And who knew how long was the road ahead (if there was a road ahead!). I suddenly noticed how alone I was there - alone as a modern human being, as effectively an alien to that ecosystem. As minutes ticked by, I heard occasional mysterious roars coming from the woods. I guessed it would be wild dogs, best case scenario. But in the back of my mind, I realized that as the dusk approached, the sounds seemed to crawl nearer every minute.

And just then, like a ray of hope in absolute darkness, I saw the tip of an old ragged hut meters ahead. It was my oasis in the desert of negative solace. I remember running towards it like a flash, absolutely forgetting about the pain in my legs. An old lady came to my rescue – giving me some water to drink, she showed me the way to the market. I still carried my backpack and was clueless about where to spend the night. But anything was better than a night being lost in a jungle with unknown wild animals. God! I shall never forget that horror!

On returning to the market, the brokers’ swarm surrounded me again. One of them showed me three places – unbelievably highly priced and unbelievably shitty condition. I thought this was illogical!  There were people from all strata who visited the place. There MUST be someplace affordable. The reason, I got to know much later, was because I was alone. Once I got rid of the broker, I searched on myself. Worst case, I thought, would be to sleep on the railway station. But it would be too cold at night, with new species of mosquitoes, and it was not wise to be beaten up by police in the middle of the night. Another stroke of luck, and I met an owner of a shoe shop, who happened to have a guest house. After an array of questions, he calls up my mother and asks another set of questions – “Is Karan your son?”, “What does he do?”, “Do you know where he was come?”, “Is he suffering with any mental depression?”, “Has he done anything to harm himself recently?”, etc. Although my mother was quite disturbed, she answered him plainly. A conversation later, I was surprised to know the reason behind this endless mystery – it was not allowed in Matheran for a person to stay single there. Why? Suicide! He told me that people who visited Matheran alone committed suicide. And the hotel where that person stayed would be investigated and hotel owner badly grilled. As no owner wanted to take worthless risk, even after asking me a billion questions, they’d offer me high prices for shitty rooms. This guy fortunately gave me sensible prices, and so without thinking much I agreed.

The next set of events was funny. I was given a room for 2 nights for 1.2k, and was asked to pay advance. After all this was done, I was ready to shift to the room, when a man in late 20s came our nervously from the adjoining room and started whispering something to the Guest-house owner. I intervened, asking if there was any problem. He just stood with an interestingly weird expression on his face, and that’s when I saw a girl peeping from behind the door of his room. The owner requested me to shift to a different room, as the man has supposedly complained that I might disturb them at night. I didn’t know whether to laugh or blow a punch in that bloke’s face. My legs were too numb to keep up that rage, and so I quietly shifted to the other room. To my surprise, the room was really decent. The bed felt heavenly, and as I removed my Woodland shoes, my feet came out numb and badly red. That night I slept like I’d been awake for ages.

An adventure had come to an end. Another, more mysterious one was supposed to start the next morning.

Shane Koyczan: Remember How We Forgot

Remember how we forgot?

Remember how no one ever really died in the wars we fought?

Because each gunshot came from our finger tips

And we never really kept them loaded just in case

Because each enemy was a friend and none of it was about oil, religion, or land

It was all just pretend

Remember how we used to bend reality 

Like we were circus strong men

Like our imaginations were in shape then

Like we were all ninjas trained in the deadly art of "did not". 

Like "I totally got you"

"Did not"

Remember how we forgot?

Remember how our parents told us never to look directly into the sun

And how we were their suns [pun on "sons"]

And so we never looked directly into the mirror, in fear that we would go blind

Remember how we used to find any old reason just to call someone we were crushing on

Like we would just pawn off our sense of embarrassment

Buy a chunk of courage that would last just long enough to have us asking them about math and stuff

And how stuff was just stuff

Like I heard you were getting braces, and how braces somehow were and still are kinda hot

Remember how we forgot?

Remember how we all caught mono and out folks would go, "oh the kissing disease"

And our first steps into gangstahood had us saying “mother please.”

Even though we’ve never really kissed anyone

Even though we never did half the things we said we’d done

We just spun yarn like Rumpelstiltskin spun gold.

We told ghost stories never realizing we would one day ourselves become ghosts

Haunting the hallways of schools

Poltergeist, breaking all the rules of silence in the library

But we had no chains to rattle

No voice to battle the fact that we had no vocal chords 

We had only finger nails on chalk boards

We had to scream, shout, and yell trying to tell ourselves what experience can teach is what no teacher taught

Remember how we forgot?

Once upon a time, we were young.

Our dreams hung like apples 

Waiting to be picked and peeled

And hope was something that needed to be reeled-in

So we can fill the always empty big fish bin with the one that got away

And proudly say that "this time, impossible is not an option"

Because success is so akin to effort and opportunity that it could be related

So we took chances 

We figureskated on thin ice

Belief that each slice of live was served with something sweet on the side

And failure was never nearly as important as the fact that we tried

That in the war against frailty and limitation 

We supplied the determination it takes to make ideas and goals the parents of possibility

And we believe ourselves to be members of this family

Not just one branch on one tree 

But a forest whose roots make up a dynasty

So when I call you sis or bro

It’s not lightly

And when I ask you to remember

It’s because the future isn't what it used to be.

So remember now 

Pay tribute to every sacrifice laid upon the altar of somehow

For all the times

Somehow we overcame

Somehow we pushed on

Somehow we’ve gone the distance

And in going there we’ve possessed the freedom to map the uncharted lands of any and everywhere

We are unbound

Six feet above the underground where we will all one day rest

So until then 

Test the limits 

Test the boundaries and borders 

Of the headquarters of potential lay just beyond the world's edge

Let the belief that hope belongs to us all 

Be the pledge you take to make the unachievable as inconceivable as the false fact that we were never here

We were here

And our memories are as dear to us as every slow motion moment or held breath

So remember every instance before death

Every first kiss, first dance, near miss, last chance, yes, no, maybe so 

Let us go the distance once more

Let us remember all the moments that were and were not

Like the point is something we can get and what we can get is what we got

Because all we have is the time between the moments we connect each dot so

Live and remember

Burn like an ember capable of starting fires

Like each moment inspires the next 

Like memories are the context we put ourselves in

So that life becomes the next of kin we need to notify in case of a big bang or extinction level event

Let now be our advent

Let us live like we meant it

Let us burn like we mean it

Because this world doesn't give a shit if we end in a train wreck or a car crash

If our story ends with a dot or dash 

If we were dust or ash

Because all we were is all we’ll be

And all we are is the in-between of so far, so good

So forget every would, could, or should not

Forget remembering how we forgot

Live like a plot twist exist now and in memory

Because we burn bright

Our lights leave scars on the sun

Let no one say we'll be undone by time's passing

The memories we are amassing will stand as testament

That somehow we bend minds around the concept

that we see others within ourselves. 

That self-knowledge can be found on bookshelves

So who we are has no bearing on how we appear

Look directly into every mirror 

Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story

And our story starts:

"We were here."

Een Inspiratie - Namesh Killemsetty

Namesh looks like a normal 'cool' guy when you first meet him. He would walk towards you and greet with his special big smile. Post that, the usual 'Where are you from?' etc.

It takes maximum 5 minutes after you're done with introduction (etc.), and Namesh would suddenly have begun your odyssey into his stories - stories lived and experienced. Ups and downs not in books, but felt and lived through in the real raw reality of itself.

So he would talk about a day when after depressing work at a job (for which he's extremely overqualified btw), he travels 3.5 hours in a local to his house, and discovers that there's been a robbery. Laptop gone, along with his branded jeans. He still keep kicking and surviving though. Amidst losing 12 kgs on shifting to a new city, being cheated by the company which employed him, and spending most of the time travelling and working stuff he would do in his sleep, he keeps faith. It's as tough as easy it sounds. And you can see that in his eyes.

And so randomly he would mention being selected for a conference by United Nations (one of the three people globally), featured on his University's website, on a newspaper, his experience working on his project, how lucky he would be at times and how proud he is about all of it now. It's impossible to not get awed by extreme levels of down-to-earth humility and compassion to keep living in the real sense of it.

A beer afterwards, you realize a throat sore of talking so much. You realize finding someone who shares that adventurous crazy part of you, and who, unlike you, has really lived it. You start realizing how important THIS time is, and how THOSE are the stories you are going to remember 30, 40, 50 years from now. Not how well that random project you worked on which got x billion dollars to the company (if ever!).

Namesh is a star to be. A star for himself. A star for all of us who are luck to know him personally. A true Inspiratie.

Namesh - The one NOT in Woodland shoes

-K

Confession : A CRIME I committed

What was it that I could not control that day. That I could see it working, and there seemed nothing I could do about it than let it flow. It was not a reflex action, but what made me strongly feel that it is?

Looking in his eyes, I felt the demon that silently lay within. The demon of selfishness. But the demon was not his, it was mine. His eyes seemed to be a mere reflection of what lay within me, and this observation, devoid of all logic and reasoning, stood there in it's bare rawness confessing a strange truth.

"Yes I bribed him, who the fuck cares?" protested logic. Selfishness? It's not bad. All humans are inherently selfish, and it doesn't matter if I was too.

The gnawing reality lay like a dead body hovering upon me, much aware of the crime, much aware of it's implications - none in quantity, but as a irreparable stroke on the purest element of one's existence - Integrity.

Integrity - the source. Foundations of existence since unrecorded history, relying on a single boulder of symbolic strength. The bribe was not just a forced transaction, it was a scar on my integrity. A moment of lifelessness trapped me into the transition between the conscious and the sub-conscious. I stayed there looking at myself, as if leaving my body and watching me walk away into nothingness.

I still look back and wish it was different. Wish that the moment wouldn't have existed, or else I would have not let it haunt myself so long by just being simple honest. Honest to myself. That is what I shall be. After all, every cloud has a silver lining...

Zinda ho tum

Dilo mein tum apni betaabiyan le ke chal rhe ho toh zinda ho tum

Nazar mein khaabo ki bijliyaan le kar chal rhe ho toh zinda ho tum

Hawa ke jhokon ke jaise azad rehna seekho

Tum ek dariyan ke jaise lehron mein behna seekho

Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein

Har ek pal ek naya samaa dekhe yeh nighaayein

Jo apni aakhon mein hairaaniya le ke chal rhe ho toh zinda ho tum

Dilo mein tum apni betaabiyan le ke chal rhe ho toh zinda ho tum....

Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai...

Jab jab dard ka baadal chaya

Jab gum ka saaya lehraya

Jab aasun palko tak aaya

Jab yeh tanha dil ghabraya

Humne dil ko yeh samjhaya...

Dil tu aakhir kyun rota hai

Duniya mein yun hi hota hai

Yeh jo gehre sanaate hain

Waqt ne sab ko hi baatein hain

Thoda gum hai sabka kissa

Thodi dhoop hai sabka hissa

Aankh teri bekaar hi namm hai

Har pal ek naya mausam hai

Kyun tu aise pal khota hai

Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai....

Yakeen

Pighle neelam sa behta hua yeh samah

Neeli neeli si khamoshiyan

Na kahin hai zameen...na kahin aasman

Sarsarati hui tehniyan...pattiyan

Keh rahi hain ki bas ek tum ho yahaan

Sirf main hoon...

Meri saansein hain aur meri dhadkanein

Aisi gehraiyaan...aisi tanhaiyaan...

Aur main...sirf main

Apne hone pe mujhko yakeen aa gaya.

Elishia

Elishia looks at you innocently and smiles, and suddenly life glows bright as the sparkle in her eyes infects you deep inside, and you’re too moved in that instant to absorb the intensity of her vibrations all at once, so you smile back a silly smile and you know how impossible it is to look away. But then she looks away herself, and the painful pleasure that dawns upon you makes you realize the fallacy of conceptual beauty you’ve known till that point of time. That how a delicate smile could disillusion age-old concepts of love and compassion established by the wise and the old, and establish forth a new meaning behind the youthfulness of the beauty in those eyes, thus imparting a beautiful meaning to beauty itself.

She looks back at you, and amidst deep silence you say so much of the unspoken love, of how badly you could give up anything just for her to keep looking in your eyes like that. But just in that moment, she would look away, close her eyes and smile, and you ask yourself if your thoughts were too loud, for the redness of her lips and the pink of her cheeks say much more than the richest of literature could ever even dream to convey. You want to believe that she feels you, that she loves the way you hold her hand and tell her how beautifully carved her fingers are, and how every entity of His creation could envy the softness of her skin, and much more, of the softness within.

And while you’re sitting down looking at her, wishing you could freeze that moment and make it stay like that forever and maybe even more, the hard unemotional reality strikes you painfully and you know she would have to leave you now, leave you alone on those steps where every moment would make you look up at Him and wish you lived that lifetime again and again just to be with her for that one single moment. And so you’d promise yourself to live every remaining quantum of time with her to the fullest, to softly caress her, to envelop her in your love compassionate and intense. But she would suddenly feel it and run so away far, hiding her spectacular aura behind the frame of her colourful spectacles, unintentionally softening more against you, in a way touching you strongly inside in a strangely painful manner which makes you smile on the outside but burn deep down. The lips would bid goodbye, but impossible it would be for the spirit to detach. But just then, a realization dawns upon you as you embrace her for the last time - a part of your stays with her and a part of her stays with you. Forever.

29-03-2013

HE
Living that moment of purest contradiction, she stood there looking deep into my eyes. Her soft hair traced the untouched curve of her face, her smile revealed the tempting softness of her lips. Impossible it is to stay away, to not look at her, to lock that temptation, which makes me wish I could touch those lips, feel her as she was my sketch - a part of me.

SHE
There he stood in front of me as we mounted the skies and beheld the serene the enamoring stillness of the spectacle that welcomed us.
The breeze playing with my disheveled hair as I stared in the depth of his eyes and felt the rhythm of life that filled his entire being with a subtle touch...In that moment the absolute seemed close!

The Child Inside Me

Growing up is tough. But then who has a choice?
I still remember how excited I used to be as a kid, watching young men all suited up, returning from their jobs, meanwhile I fantasized about the day when I would have my own job, and could buy my own Video games, chocolates and Watch movies without bugging Mum and Papa.
Guess what. The time has come!

But something is wrong. Yes, I don't want to buy Video games, chocolates or movie tickets. I'm concerned about GPA, about Recommendations, about 10, 15, 20 LPA jobs, about the dreaded Office coffee, the Boss' grim expressions, and blah blah...but that's not what this blog is about.

This blog is about keeping the kid inside you alive. Learning to be crazy, carefree, silly and idiotic at times! Yes, it won't hurt at all! Follow your instinct, maybe help someone in need, fall in love, fall out of love, and do that over and over again till you know the real meaning of being loved - just like you learnt how to ride a cycle after multiple cycles of 'drive-then-fall-then-drive-then-fall'.

I know I loved being a kid. Being pampered by Mum and Papa. And then beaten up too :D
And I know I cannot bring those times back. But at times, I can travel non-existent wormholes and shed those layers and layers of sophistication and maturity. I can keep myself alive :)

It's lovely being a kid. To discover the little Superman, or the Barbie doll inside you. And to keep it alive. Forever.

Photographs - With my little cousin in Bareilly - 2011 :)

- K

Voice of the Naga

'UNBELIEVABLE' was what came to my mind when I met these two babas on Shivala ghat today while watching the famous 'sun rise by the river'.



It all began when an old man started asking me about how much time would it take if he goes to Sarnath. I quickly judged from his hindi, that he was not a local, as he sounded very similar to how people back in my hometown speak.
He then talked for a while in English, and I was surprised because it was difficult to expect a baba to be so fluent. We talked a little while and I asked him about his life.
He was born in Kashmir, and has been roaming all around India since his childhood. He knows so many languages, it baffled me when he started speaking Bengali as fluently as any Bengali. He talked about how dramatic some babas by the ghats would be...smoking weed, talking like they were some spiritual geniuses. He said it was just a part of their lifestyle....the actual learning is internal and absolute. It was impossible to externally portray it, and being naked, white ash all over the body, smoking weed was just a way of life for them.
He told me his name was Pagal Baba (Mad baba), because he always remained cheerful. And others would say that only a mad man can always stay happy! He would find a reason to laugh in anything I would say, and I myself could not stop marveling at this Superhuman standing before me.....with the Superpower to stay happy!
Just then joined another baba who looked like he was relatively new in the trade. He asked me what I was doing, and when I told him about my University and the job I was going to do, he smiled and told me that he was a B.Tech. himself. Electronics and Communication. Had worked in IBM Bangalore before becoming a baba. That was 12 years back.
The Pagal baba would take rounds around the B.Tech. baba, and I figured out it was to give him a curse! For fun of course. :D They are humans too, very obviously. And humans need 'work-and-play' to NOT be a 'dull boy'. :-)
He told me how fortunate I was to get an opportunity to study in a city like Varanasi - the way to the ultimate knowledge was a fusion of Spirituality and Science. And we were the lucky gems who were gifted with the opportunity to study engineering in the Religious capital of India.
He talked about how people misinterpret religion as something they have to follow. We should always look for meaning behind what we pursue. One can read in the news about Kumbh mela being the largest gathering in the world, but how many people who go to Kumbh really know its significance?
It's an opportunity to wash off all sins and negativity, and be gifted with a new beginning.
He also explained the significance about the enormous fore-head wide tilak that they apply. The central point of the forehead is considered to be where God resides. And as we keep temples very clean and decorated, it is essential that we decorate the forehead too. As a way of showing respect to the Almighty.
He also emphasized on not being artificial with God, and being comfortable with Spirituality. One should be the best one can, and in that he would always be at peace with God. No regrets, no guilt.
As my Russian guests arrived, I made them both meet the baba, and suddenly realised how well groomed they were with flirting. :D Yeah, trust me on this!
I was surprised at how sensible all of what I heard sounded, and a sudden realization struck that all the engineering we have learned so far has no meaning without knowing the meaning behind those underlying layers - a necessary fusion of Science and Spirituality - non-existent without each other.
Think about it :-)

K

Role Model 1 - Mumbai Dabbawalas

The whole Dabbawala system works between houses and offices, and concerns the lunch in a ‘dabba’ that there dabbawalas carry from houses to the respective destination offices.

We were introduced to the scale by various statistics being brought into the picture – 4 lakh tiffin transactions in less than 4 hours. The people involved are mostly uneducated, and lack any management or technical skills. Then how do they manage such a complicated process flow? This is what their head, representing the Dabbawala community, talked about that day.

Each dabba shifts hands approx 6 times during a single transaction. The Organization Structure is composed of a multitier system, were each person higher in the pyramid is responsible for the team under him. The only modes of transport are Mumbai Local trains, and the cycles which the dabbawalas use.

Astonishingly true, the error rate is 1 in 16 million. A 99.99 percent efficiency on the six sigma scale. The cost of service is Rs. 500 to Rs. 550 per month from a customer. They stand for NO STRIKE, and earn about Rs. 9000 to Rs. 10000 a month in average.

All dabbawalas share an identity mark – the white cap, which makes it easy for them to coordinate and work in a team. Their moto is ‘Work is Workship’ and they truly live up to it, imposing fines like Rs. 50 fine for not wearing the cap, Rs. 1000 fine for alcohol consumption during duty hours, and so on. The discipline is very formally followed.

We were informed about their Unique coding system, and as the dabbawala hilariously stated – that sometimes the uneducated ones are more efficient at work than us, the educated crowd.

Overall, the session was hilarious, and we enjoyed it to the fullest. The key observation by many of us was that despite being uneducated, they held pride in their trade, and with remarkable efficiency, they made an impossible-seeming task possible, that too with 0% Tech support.

We still have a lot to learn from the Dabbawala uncleji!

Day 1 - December 24th 2012

My JY confirmation mail came in December first week, just after my college vacations had begun. Even then I was not completely sure of what the so-called ‘Yatra’ could make possible for me. So I just decided to ‘jump’ into the opportunity.

I de-boarded my flight on Monday morning as I land in Mumbai for the first time. As instructed, I took a cab to Tata Institute of Social Sciences. Coming from a foggy Delhi to a heated up Mumbai was quite a jhakta.

As I enter the venue, a horde of new faces were all around me – 450 young people from all over India – from villages and cities, ranging from farmers to professionals working with reputed Investment Banks, different cultures, different languages, but one thing was evidently common – the passion to learn, the urge to bring about change, the potential to be the foundation stones of a new India. I had to get registered after the luggage was tagged, and then we were asked to find our Group members. These ‘Groups’ of ‘strangers’ were Yatris strategically selected and placed together in Cohorts with Facilitators as coordinators and a collection of Cohort became the group. I got ‘Group I’ and very soon I was in a crowd of new faces – each one as excited and pumped up as me.

Each group is a combination of 3 cohorts (2 Boys and 1 Girls). Each cohort is composed of 7 people – 6 Yatris and 1 Facilitator. There are total 21 groups.

While people were still registering, we combined 2 groups and started introducing ourselves with just a single thing we want us to be remembered as. This was much fun, and we managed to mint out wacky nick-names for almost all of us. I soon realized that these 450 people are not ordinary young men and women. Each one has his own story to share, and a dream to chase. The diversity prevails in their stories too. With some of them you could relate very strongly, but others would seem too hard to digest.

The very much awaited lunch followed. And I must admit that the management by JY team was awesome right from Day 1, and the lunch went smooth with people still introducing themselves while having a bite of the delicious food.

We were then asked to get seated in the Convention Center, where the Induction Ceremony would take place, followed by Team Introductions, General Guideline discussion, Cultural programs, and the Special take of the day – Mumbai Dabbawalas.

At this point, I must bring an important point up. From about 19000 registrations, 450 top selected candidates got to pursue JY 2012. The selections were not random, but based on a careful selection pattern, gauging NOT ONLY entrepreneurial spirit, but also the passion to bring about a change. So it was NOT individual play, but a team effort. And that was one of the key issues brought about in the discussion – India has sufficient funds and resources, and there is no dearth of ideas for sure. So what we miss is team to work with. And thanks to the Yatra, our teamwork began from Day 1. And this was highlighted very successfully by the Dabbawalas!

The initial Induction sessions were formal introduction to the program, and hence, very detailed (and too boring too). The JY volunteers and Core Team looked as energetic as ever and I partially envied their vigor, which was very evidently missing from the crowd, where every second person seemed to doze off. Stories were shared by the Organizing team members, and ‘Thank you’s were given, after which the Orientation finally got over.

The next session was a BIG surprise. The crowd was awakened by dancing onto the Gangnam style! – A warm-up exercise as mentioned by them. ‘Yaaro Chalo’ was played for the first time next, and we tried to match our steps with those of the Choreographer. Each little step symbolized our vision – beautifully portrayed in moving art. Next, some volunteers talked about their own experience in a beautiful musical setting.

With this we were told that a session with the first Role model would follow now – none other than the Dabbawalas!