June 24, 2014

3rd June, 2014

"Thousands of ghosts in the daylight
One day we all disappear
We'll walk till we get to the harbor
They'll never know we were here..."

In the Wilderness 4th June, 2014

Under the lazy January Sun,
The grass lush with winter dew,
Invited the melancholy straight
Out of my being, as I lay savoring
The delicate deliquescence around,
The tickle of the blades of grass,
And the sight of you,
Radiant under the illumination,
Half-asleep, half-distraught
At the lingering menace of 
A relentless grasshopper,
Who seemed to appreciate 
The kiss of your hair on its feet,
As much as I loved its caress,
On my cheeks, and face.

The festivals of light, the nights 
Of endless applause, made known
By the indefatigable illumination,
Conjured by incessant fireworks,
Released from the ground, 
And terminating in crescendo,
Inches above our selves,
And us in flight, of the relief
After years of strife, of love,
Of hallucinations that come
To mark youth and its many
Blind faiths, With the mild
Pungency of burning gunpowder
Igniting dreams that were to
Later need suppression, cruel.
It is dark now, has been aching
Eternally, this loneliness.
As I have been looking for you,
In this endless hollowness.

In this world, turned dark now,
Baby, I look for you,
In the wilderness.


23rd June, 2014 

I shall have a personal bone to pick with anyone who denies that the Chilean team deserves to go far in this tournament. What beautiful (possession)-control. #NetherlandsVsChile.

In other news, Spain scores a 3-0 victory over Australia, with goals from Torres, and Juan Mata (along with one from Villa). Reminded me of the Mata-Torres camaraderie moments from their Chelsea days together. Only this time,both of them actually scored. #SpainVsAustralia #SelfDeprecatingHumor#ChelseaFC


22nd June, 2014

1. It is time for Boateng Vs. Boateng


2. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is MIROSLAV KLOSE.

Two minutes in, and a goal!


3. What a great game of football. For a terribly ghastly first half, the second half more than made up, and how. Ghana, the underdogs, proved to be quite a scare for Germany, and at a point looked all set to win the game, albeit with quite a bit of pushing and shoving, and foul play, which was somehow ignored by the referee, until the yellow card for Sulley Ali Muntari at the last minute. 

The apparent mistake on the German part was to bring Schweinsteiger and Klose on so late into the game, when it was too late for them to effectively deliver too well. Now, since they are both recovering from injuries, this strategy could work out well in the long run. Letting them rest in a non-crucial match such as this one could reap rich benefits from their presence in later, more crucial matches.

Anyway, that's that. Germany still leads the group.

#GermanyVsGhana #FIFAWC2014

21st June, 2014

1. Remember, Carlos Queiroz was the assistant manager of Manchester United, circa 2008, when they won 1-0 aggregate over Barcelona in the Champions League semifinals(and eventually went on to defeat Chelsea in the finals).

Are you still surprised that Iran(currently managed by the same Queiroz) has managed to keep Barcelona's poster-kid Messi-led Argentina goalless so far?

#IranVsArgentina #Goallesssofar #PossibleDraw

2. Very well played, Iran. But Argentina had the luck, as well as the Lion. Saved them from a very embarrassing draw.

The last minute wonder reminded me of the Germany-Italy semifinal in the 2006 World Cup where 2 goals were scored by Italy by Del Piero and Grosso - one after the other in the extra-time, pushing Germany out of the cup, and Italy into the finals.

This is the stuff World Cup Legends are made of.

#CarlosQueiroz #IranVsArgentina #Messicre #FIFAWC2014 #CUPdates

20th June, 2014

And Latin America keeps trumping Europe, over and over and then some more. #ItalyVsCostaRica #FIFAWC2014 #BryanRuiz #NowBeginningToWorry

19th- 20th June, 2014

And we witnessed Suarez flushing England down the sewer,

#CUPdates #FIFAWC2014 #SouthAmericanSupremacy#Theyalsolegalizedweed #WorldCupOfTheDarkHorses#AlmostNamesakeWIN #LettingHisClubNationDown

19th June, 2014

1.Go Chile.  #WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs #ChileVsSpain

2. The Andes rise much higher than the Pyrenees. If you know what I mean?

#WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs #ChileVsSpain #ChileanDefense#JohnnyHerrera

3.Not like I particularly enjoy rubbing salt on other people's wounds, and I hate being an asshole, but Spain, this was payback for 29th June 2008 and 7th July, 2010. HA HA.

a fan of the Germany National Football Team.

#SpainVsChile #WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs

  • 7. The fatal error on the Portuguese side was to have invested too much faith and hero-worshipping into their singular "Best Player of the Year". Let him take all the penalty kicks, keep him at the centre, basically, just be subservient to his glory. Look, how that turns out. Hah. Germany, what a classy win!

    Brilliant, brilliant day for the German nation. Schumacher first, and now this. Yay!

    #GermanyVsPortugal #FIFAWC2014 #4-0
    14th June, 2014

  • Personally, I was hoping for a six-goal-difference win for Netherlands. But, 5-1 was good enough. For now. #FIFAWC2014 #spainvsholland #RVP

Buiya Goes To XLRI 15th June, 2014

So, the elder sibling left for XLRI, Jamshedpur today. First time that all four of us in the family will be based out of different cities. Feels strange as I witness the long-lost childhood blurring into a tinier speck on the horizon.

23rd June, 2014

Haan, phir bhi baatein kabhi toh hoti hi thi,
Par baaton mein se jaan kahiin gumshuda thi.

Yaadein, toh aise yaad aate hain (28th May 2014)

किसी अंजान शहर की कोई गुमनाम गली के
बगल में ठहरा एक अंधेरे मकान में 
एक बूढ़े इंसान के मुर्झाते साये में
खेलते दो बच्चों के किल्काडियों को सुन
दादाजी के शॉल की खुशबू, या फिर
छज्जे पर नींबू-शरबत पीने के वह
सांझे का ढलता सूरज याद आता है, 
यादें तो ऐसे याद आते है… 

किसी नये दोस्त के आवाज़ के सिलवटों में
तीसरी क्लास का बेंच वाला साथी,
और restaurant में नज़दीक के टेबल पर बैठा 
अजनबी की आँखों में, ग्यारहवी का 
वह प्यार याद आता है, और रंगीन 
एक शाम की मदमस्त जवानी में 
एक birthday के शाम का शोरगुल, माँ की आवाज़,
और तालियाँ भी याद आते है… 

Hostel के सीढ़ियों से छत पे चढ़ते वक़्त,
एक पेड़ के झलक से, बचपन के आम का पेड़,
उसपे चढ़ना, और फिर गिरना याद आता है,
और नशे में डूबे वीरान रातों में,
पुराने गीतों के Youtube-y मुदाख़िलात से,
एक अर्से की भूली हुई, यादों के किसी गुमराह
कोने में बसी लोड़ियाँ याद आते है,
हाँ, यादें ऐसे ही याद आते है…    

Kisi anjaan sheher ki koi gumnaam gali ke
Bagal mein thehra ek andhere makaan mein
Ek boodhe insaan ke murjhaate saaye mein
Khelte do bachchon ke kilkaariyon ko sun,
Dadaji ke shawl ki khushboo, yaa toh phir,
Chhajje par nimboo sharbat peene ke woh
Saanjhe ka dhalta sooraj yaad aata hai..
Yaadein toh aise yaad aate hai.

Kisi naye dost ke awaaz ke silvaton mein
Teesri class ka bench waala saathi,
Aur restaurant ke nazdeek ke table par baitha
Ajnabee ke aankhon mein, gyarhvi ka
Woh pyaar yaad aata hai, Aur rangeen   
Kisi shaam ki madmast jawaani mein,
Ek birthday ke shaam ka shorgul, maa ki awaaz,
Aur taaliyan bhi yaad aate hai. 

Hostel ke seedhiyon se chhat pe chadhte waqt 
Ek pedh ke jhalak se, bachpan ke aam ka pedh,
Usspe chadhna, aur phir girna yaad aata hai,
Aur nashe mein doobe viraan raaton mein,
Puraane geeton ke Youtube-y mudakhilat se
Ek arsey ki bhooli huwi, yaadon ki kisi gumrah
Kone mein basi loriyan yaad aati hai.
Haan, yaadein aise hi yaad aate hai. 

C'est La Vie - 31st May 2014

How easy it is to dream, when one is young, isn't it? To conjure up colorful worlds of reckless abandon, while sitting in classrooms as the teacher drones on about some irrelevant Mathematical theorem? The possibilities seem endless, the best years are all up ahead. Everything seems believable; success actually seems achievable. Nobel Prizes to the Bookers, Oscars to the Grammys, everything, we're taught to believe, is as likely to become ours as the next person's. The best relationships as well as the severest heartbreaks are yet to come, the first bank accounts yet to be opened, the promise of the first kiss lingers on the horizon, or rather, on the opposite end of the classroom, where the attractive batchmate sits, looking equally lost. The driving licences, the college-years, the many parties, the voting rights - everything is impending.

And then suddenly, you're a grown up, and the best of all the years have passed you by ! Now, every dream has to be carefully weighed out with scales of realism. The economy is shrinking, the jobs are like bad jokes life played with you, and forget being a millionaire at twenty-five, you're hardly making enough to pay your rents. The clogged drainage in the bathroom doesn't get automatically cleaned out by the domestic help- you have to pick up the semi-eaten morsels out of the kitchen sink with your own hands. The parents are growing old, and now look at you with quiet eyes, that never for once reveal their desire to be taken care of, for fear of damaging your dreams, of impairing your wings. The stench of eternal mediocrity, that you could easily ignore before, now seems to be your constant, albeit unwanted, companion, someone you are now realizing you need to make peace with. The bills keep piling up, the finances need to be kept tab of. You drive, not out of adventure, but out of necessity, and your votes are capable of only bringing douchebags to power, for they seem to be the only options. The first relationship, and many more after that, whizzed past you before you even knew what was happening. The many wrong turns you took, the mean words you said, the many hearts you broke, and the many people who broke yours, linger on as haunting blemishes on the life you were dreaming to build solely out of coruscating successes, and universal acclaim and love.

~ C'est la vie ~

May 17, 2014

FilmSchool And Such...

Last night, I revisited my old blog after quite a while. And after an even longer sabbatical, did I get down to reading the other blogs linked to mine. Those that were started by, and used to, some time back, narrate the stories of the lives of those who I used to then call friends. Time dented some of these friendships, and as between boats that drift away amidst a gale, or sometimes even at calm sea, their voices do not reach me any more today, and neither does mine, them. Funnily, I discovered, most of these blogs too have since turned silent. The tales they had begun to sow have remained unfinished, only half-narrated. It is as if a tempest drowned their voices, like their beings got lost along the way, never to be found again. Making my way from one abandoned blog to the other felt like walking into a cemetery - very quiet, very distant and reeking of buried-and-long dead hopes and unheard-and-oft-forgotten stories. The whole experience also rendered stark the loneliness, the chasm created in my life due to the departure of these people - most of whom, at some time or the other, were cardinal to my happiness, much akin to the loneliness, the sense of loss, that typically plagues a visitor at a cemetery.


There was a time in my life, post-school, when I was a spoiled-little-kid. I woke up when I pleased, slept when I wished to, and there was no upper-ceiling on the pocket money, thus making way for countless fine dining experiences, and hanging out at up market eateries and cafeterias, gorging on endless desserts- all at the most expensive eateries around the city. The air-conditioning in my room would be on all day and through every night. The situation intensified when, after my life altering accident, my parents started keeping no stones unturned to keep me out of depression's way. In addition to the previous liberties, suddenly, I had become the priority behind every policy implemented at home, Looking back in retrospect, I probably let them dote on me as much as they did because in my head, the justification was clear. I was dealing with paralyses and crippling handicaps at the age of twenty, so I let their attention and energies fuel my sustenance. "The parents' child is back from the dead, it is their duty to indulge the child"- I probably felt. Food kept me happy, the calories kept piling on, and when I left home last August, I was a ginormous seventy six kilos.

The first thing that staying away from home took away from me, was my sense of entitlement, the feeling that if, at home, I got adrak-wali-chai at six every evening, or if my wardrobe magically replenished itself with clean clothes, it was because of my right to such things. If before moving out of home, someone had told me that I wouldn't have, at one point of time, a bed to sleep on for close to two months, I would have probably never even gone ahead with the move. Shortly after I moved to film-school in Pune, however, for two months, I shared a two-bedded room with six other men. There, not only was there no air-conditioning, I just had a mattress to myself , to sleep on, on one 8ft*4ft area of floor space. The bathroom had to be shared with all the other inhabitants of the room as well, and my idea of "personal space" that I grew up guarding, defending and nurturing, was suddenly decimated.  The funny part, however, was, none of it hurt my self-confessed gigantic ego. None of it felt insulting or beneath- me. It all felt normal, almost a part of growing up. If I was dealing with the presence of six other men in my immediate vicinity all the time, I realized, so were they. I was just as much of an intrusion into their space, as they were in mine. Frankly, even the inconvenience wasn't as bad as I would've imagined it to be, had the situation been described to the old-and-spoilt-me. I had suddenly been yanked out of the cozy bedroom of my protected upbringing, and into the front yard of my adulthood. Today, with every hour of laundry that I do, or every cup of coffee that I make, or every time I have to sweep the bathroom floor, I am grateful for the years of comfort that was afforded to me, throughout my growing up years, by the folks back home. However, at sixty six kilos today, I am also grateful for the coming-into-my-own that staying alone has intimated to me.

The scary part about dreams coming true is that the realization that the Utopia you dreamed up, the reality you have today, isn't quite as fulfilling as you had dreamt for it to be. 


Residential college,in a strange city, is a funny place to be in. While you stay on campus, and acquaint yourselves with all the other residents of the campus, the non-necessity of venturing out of the campus retains your unfamiliarity with the city around you. Soon, the campus becomes an island, of known faces, and familiar idiosyncracies, amidst a wide sea, or city, of strangers. Film school, in this regard, is pretty similar to the small neighborhood- towns I have chiefly spent my childhood in. The Institute has a Central Lane, just like all of those towns would. If you took a stroll down that lane, especially in the lazy hours of early evening, you were likely to, at some point of time or the other, meet most of the residents of the town. Same is the case here. If on a late Sunday evening, I take two walks up and down the road that is the Spinal Cord to the Institute, I do invariably, end up meeting, or passing by, most of the residents of the campus, including the dogs.


The parties, they never stop here. From 7 am weed, to 5pm beers, the babydolls as the more experienced alike, refuse to stop painting the mundane dullness of the brass world with the intoxicated shimmer of their golden selves. The bells of the hearts keep chiming at the jubilation around birthdays, and productions, and festivals, and folk nights celebrating distinct cultures constituting India, and sometimes, even without any occasion. However, for a place brimming over with so much Art, and so much creativity, and so much hope housed in every vein of every person walking its grounds, for a place with such glorious yellow and orange on branches of trees heralding the advent of Spring, for a place with such over-friendly canine companions, the Institute does become a lot to handle, a lot to process, and a lot to survive at times. Despair looms large, and is kept at bay through frivolous conversations, endless chatter, or just about anything that keeps away the having to come back to bed alone at night, and grasp certain fundamental truths about life's limited possibilities. The dreams at times start reminding one of once-upon-a-time's nightmares, and the depressiveness starts seeming imminent....

(To be continued...)

March 4, 2014


Khabar hai ki, jisko humne ek arsey se
Bade dhyan se dekha tha,
Woh jo galiyon se guzar kar,
Raat ke siyaah aasmaan ko
Shawl ki tarah odhkar,
Bade hi naazuk kadmon se,
Humaare muhalle ko aata tha,
Woh jo tanha aa kar,
Khwabon ko jagaa kar,
Humaare angon ko sulagata tha...

...Woh aaj, humse naraaz,
Kahiin chhupkar baitha hai,
Humaari adhoori kahaani ko
Bin muqammal chhod,
Humaara woh chaaNd aaj
Gumrah ban baitha hai.


ख़बर है की, जिसको हमने एक अर्से से 
बड़े ध्यान से देखा था,
वह जो गलियों से गुज़र कर,
रात के सियाह आसमान को
शॉल की तरह ओढ़ कर,
बड़े ही नाज़ुक क़दमों से 
हमारे मोहल्ले को आता था,
वह जो तनहा आ कर,
ख्वाबों को जगा कर,
हमारे अंगों को सुलगाता था... 

...वह आज, हमसे नाराज़,
कहीं छुप कर बैठा है, 
हमारी अधूरी कहानी को
बिन-मुक़म्मल छोड़,
हमारा वह चाँद आज गुमराह बन बैठा है ॥ 


मैंने अगर आपसे तब पूछा होता की,
आपकी ख़ामोशी का लिबास पहने
किस ज़माने का ग़म छुपा बैठा है?
आप के आँखों कि नमी से,
किस अर्से का तक़ल्लुफ़ बयान होता है?
आप के होंठों के थड़थड़ाहट में  ,
किस पेहलू में छुपाए धड़कनों का साज़ है
तो शायद अपने 
खामोश ज़ुबान से,
नम आँखों,
और थड़थडाते होंठों से
आपने कोई तो जवाब दे दिया होता … 

मेरे ना पूछने में
इतनी भी कैसी चुभन थी
कि आपने दुनिया से ही
रिश्ता तोड़ दिया?

There Are Places I (Shall) Remember... 4th February 2014

Making my way through a chilly February night, past the familiar sights of Ring Road, of Safdarjung Enclave, of Aruna Asaf Ali Marg, and JNU, when I entered my room in Vasant Kunj tonight, I was hit by a feeling of loss, stronger than I had been expecting. Everything lay exactly the way I had left them about a month and a half back. Within seconds, my life of half a year came back to me. The partly-unmade bed, the quilts and bed sheets lying lumped together- as if comforting and protecting each other from the cold- all my clothes strewn around the room, the dried up bathroom floor, the Queen poster above my bed, the green lights - given to me on Diwali by someone who had warmed November up by his presence - garlanding the television on the wall, the Vodafone Internet modem I used for Internet connectivity here, the multiple empty Hot Chocolate, Nescafe and Nutella containers that I never bothered to throw away, the jute bag bearing the World Health Organisation logo- given to me by an uncle when I arrived to stay here, in August- one that I had hung behind the front door and never got around to dislodging from there even once since then, the books on Advertising- a course that had brought me to Delhi, a blue scarf that I had managed to procure out of one of my closest friends at IIMC- my Karol Bagh auntie- that I would also wear in class with my pairs of jeans and shirts(with the Bangalore Uncle, Mr. Chaithanya commenting - "very surprisingly, you do manage to pull this weird ensemble off as well"), the empty Ballantine's bottle and glass reminiscent of one particularly wild night around Diwali - all of this lying around, just as I had, running late and rushing to catch a train to Calcutta, left them - brought back so many memories...

...Memories of my first time away from home, my first time staying alone, completely by myself, like an adult, with no one to take care of me, or to pester me. Unlike most people, who graduate from home to hostel, to finally living alone, my first tryst with independence was marked by the complete, stark "alone-ness"(and I do NOT mean loneliness) that this place offered to me. I slept when I pleased, I woke up as I wished(though, usually, in time for college), I went up to the terrace with some food when I so desired, made myself as many cups of coffee as would keep me happy(having learnt how to make coffee here itself), climbed over the gate when I got too late in coming back at night, kept wondering what the warning sign asking one to be wary of "Non Ionized Radiation" meant. I danced by myself to the music played at the parties at the farmhouse next door and ordered countless meals from Hawkers and AFC's kitchen, and watched countless episodes of Harvey Specter's squabbles with Louis Litt, and bonding with Mike...This room saw love materialize, saw several varieties of despair as I desperately tried to figure a person out, gradually understanding him and accepting him for what he is. This room was for when my best friends trooped in to surprise me on a day I had overslept and missed college, found the door open, and found me lying on my bed, half-naked, and woke me up to a torrent of laughter.
I can't help but recall, after the decision to not put up with family here in Delhi, and the subsequent four days of house hunting to disappointing results, when I first set my eyes on this room, it had been love at first sight. The decision had been made then and there, and I had moved in a couple of days later. Today, on my last night here, as I try to soak in as much of this ambience, of this room, as possible, I am reminded of one cardinal truth about life. People attach a lot of importance to staying in touch with each other. This, they believe, would help them stay in touch with their past. Yet, for all the clinging on to other people that we do, as we tread through life, we forget that our past was necessarily made up of, besides the people, the places and the times we lived in - how the flowers smelled that day, how strongly the sun shone, and how much dust flickered through the sunlight pouring in through the ventilators. And thus, though the people live on( at least for a while), the times we lived in die, and with them, so does our past - never to be brought back to life, exactly similarly, even with all the people involved.