The Knight in the Shining Armor

He lifted his head as an act of defiance. The face which loomed into his vision was nothing more then a blurred blot. He focused his red swollen eyes and struggled to engrave that face in his memory, just in case if the future gave him a chance for the payback of this predicament.

In the past hour, he had already swallowed half of his teeth and puked out most of his breakfast. By now, he also had a pretty good idea what Mohammed Ali’s punching bag must have felt like.

‘So,’ the garlic smelling voice filled the room. ‘Are you going to be a good boy and tell me what I wish to know or you still want to enjoy my hospitality a little longer??’

He could feel his heart thumping against his rib cage and the numbness of his shackled limbs. A cold chill ran through his spine as all of his common sense told him to quit and spill the beans but instead he forced his bloodied and bruised lips to form a smile and said as coherently as his swollen tongue and crushed gums allowed him to, ‘FUURRCCK YAAAHHHH.’

He could never figure out what hurt more, the punch that broke his nose or the kick that ruptured his spleen. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what followed what. But at that instant he was sure that he wasn’t going to get out of this room alive.

He wasn’t scared or sad. Death was part of the job description. He waited for the clichéd show reel of his life to start playing in front of his eyes but instead only the images of his parents flashed before his eyes, with the feelings of regret in tow.

He regretted not thanking them enough for bringing him up so well, specially his father for installing so much belief, confidence, courage and all the other values that molded him into the man he is today. He hoped his father wouldn’t be much distraught with his death. Being an ex-army man himself he would understand why his son had to die. Wasn't ‘Duty onto Death’ had been the motto of his force.

The backhand slap across his face brought him back from his musings. He re-tasted his own blood and coughed violently as he tried to breathe in some of the stale air.

Suddenly, someone kicked open the door. The blare of the sunlight caught them both, the torturer and the tortured, unprepared. For the next 3 minutes both of them were blinded by the light but they did notice a figure entering the room.

He clenched his eyes in pain but heard the two shots fired at close range. With the ray of hope in his heart he opened them again and saw his torturer lay dead near his feet with two neat holes in his chest.

He saw the figure of his savior move towards him and tried to mumble his thanks for saving his life.

The figure kneeled down. There was something very familiar about him, the smell, the way he moved, but his numb mind refused to make the obvious connection.

Just before he fell unconscious he heard his father’s soft voice in his ears.

‘No need son. After all, what else are fathers there for?’

-----

This one is for my Dad. Had written it for his b'day on the 21st but couldn't edit it properly till today. A bit late but well he would understand I hope. After all that's what fathers do best. Love Ya Paa

7 Days & 18 Hours

7 Days & 18 hours.

7 days of backpacking across India and 18 hours of total sleep I got in between.

7 days of total ecstasy and euphoria & 18 hours of the realisation that a soft bed comes only third to sex and vodka.

I travelled to the City of Nawabs-Lucknow, My home & the capital of this country-New Delhi, the financial capital-Mumbai and in the end the oxford of India-Pune. And in between I squeezed a lil village called Taregaon near Pune.

I travelled in the luxury of Rajdhani's coach, in total comfort in Shatabdi's chair car, travelled in the cramped environment of the Mumbai local, sat idly in the Mumbai-Pune Volvo & watched a mindless flick called 'Partner', travelled in an inter city local, almost got duped by the local Auto wallahs and finally slept through the cacophony of a sleeper class.

I ate Aloo vada, batata vada, idli, biryani, matar paneer for lunch and dinner. I smoked hashish with a big hearted and breasted Austrian lady, drank two bottles of vodka with my elder brother cum best friend and almost missed my 5 fucking 30 A.M local and gave my ice cream to a lil beggar girl.

I met a kayastha family from Delhi settled in Mumbai for the last 25 years who treated me coldly at first cause they thought I was Muslim because of the long kurta I was wearing, eyed their beautiful, young, married but not happy daughter, met a confused railway clerk who had just been offered a job as a manager in some hot shot company and also has gotten a call from Bihar police, met a girl doing her biotech from Bangalore a city of which she was sick of, totally blasted the interview panel I was facing in Pune, met a CRPF officer who went out of the way to make my stay comfortable.

And in the end presented a sight to 50 dumbstruck people who'll never forget it as long as they will live.

I entered the sleeper coach's waiting room attired fully in a two piece suit wearing a crisp shirt, a great tie and shining black shoes. 15 minutes later I departed from the room wearing shabby clothes and nondescript sleepers in feet leaving everyone wide eyed and giggling.

7 days & 18 hours.

I've just tasted life with no wings attached.

oNE WiLD NighT

Pre-Script: I was drunk as I had originally written this...drunk as in totally wasted...with no sense of time, direction, stairs, person, food or something else for that matter. There might be some mistakes in there but even as I re-edit it am not gonna rectify them...originality matters. And besides what fun it would be if I didn't have a drunk, insanic post in my blog???

31st December 2008/ 1st January 2009

Finally my craving to get drunk and my wish to have a hangover are fulfilled. It's 7 in the fucking morning, 1st January 2009 and pretty chilly. The fog is quite thick right now and I have just driven 20 miles in half conscious state with two of my buddies (actually one is drunk and was asleep the whole time...still is {& remained so late till the afternoon}) acting as my eyes and mind (I couldn't see a bloody thick chain cordoning off the entry of one of the roads and almost drove through ot) with the sounds of Bon Jovi and Linkin Park blaring through the speakers to keep me awake and with prayers in our hearts for the dearth of the traffic cops,to finally have a cup of coffee in the comforts of my own home.

The plan was simple. My home was supposed to be the venue (since my parents are conveniently out of town) and we were supposed to have a house party and get drunk on vodka, GUYS ONLY!! But all plans have a habit to go awry and what good is a man who can't derive the best out of a worst situation. 'We' were just four guys, GK..the man...my blood brother...the closest friend I have. Meena...a school buddy..budding script writer and director. Pawan..the boyfriend of my ex-'s sister..my big bro cum best friend. & finally, yours truly... the brain behind the whole idea...the man with the thousand nicknames and thousand plus one smiles.

The first setback happened in the morning when I ran out of cash. By the time I got to the Bank it was closed and the only thing I could do was to call GK and ask him to get the moolaah. GK had problems of his own by the way. His brother has wiped off his account of all the cash and had left him broke. Still he managed to scrape through somehow.

The second pitfall happened late in the evening when three of us were waiting for Pawan to reach my place and controlling ourselves not to start drinking the pure Smirnoff right away. That's when he called to say that he can't make it cause some dumb asshole of a guy had punctured both the tires of his bike. Instead of loosing hope and playing into the hands of despair, I took command & decided to move the party to Pawan's house. With no cash left in any of our combined pockets and minimum of petrol in the car, I drove the 20 miles to his place in my trusty car with fuckingly best fuel efficiency.

The pain in my head is searing, eyes blood shot and puffy from lack of sleep and the brain. an old has been sword, jaded and rusted. GK is snoring away to glory while Meena is desperately trying to sleep. I have made eggs for myself for this early morning breakfast and am still reading the message my ex- sent me after I had talked and somewhat screamed at her after she had pissed me off.

We planned to go bowling before drinking but here despair outplayed us. The malls were closing just as we reached there, which was surprising cause we had thought this was New Year's Eve and at least malls will be open at least till 12. With slightly dashed hopes but still with some spirit we went back home to our bottles of vodka and the now ice cold chicken and play out the original plan.

Meena broke the seals and I did the honours of pouring out the pegs for everyone. And then Pawan's gf called up and he went out of the room to talk to her. We like good old fashioned guys threw obscenities at him for walking out on us, kept drinking while litting up cigarettes after cigarettes and kept the mood swinging. We recalled our school days and welcomed nostalgia to the group, I proved to GK that he ain't in love, prodded Meena that his love calls me her sweetheart and flirts like anything, I boasted that her cute lil 11th class sister thought I had a sexy voice and then 'she' called.

I had read somewhere that the best cure of a hangover is sprite and tomatoes ( had read on Sia's blog) and something else to do with curd. But with lack of luck I'm out of tomatoes, sprite, curd. lemon, bananas, vegetables, or any kind of food for that matter. I roam around the house to find something to do instead of sleeping, inspite of the weariness and the tiredness am not ready to give rest to my eyes, atleast not yet. My mind keeps acting like a pendulum, swinging this way and that, restless, wishing for something to think about but all thoughts pouring out of mind like water from a hand, unable to concentrate and form a coherent thought.

I had been waiting for my girl to call me and actually didn't expect that my ex- will wish to talk to me when the clock will chime 12. We started talking and wished each other (actually I did, she ain't too keen on the concept of special days...New Years, B'days, Anniversaries etc etc.) and then my special girl called. I hung up and began my struggle with the jammed networks to listen to her sweet voice again. After a struggle of half -an-hour I was finally able to bore through the vodafone-airtel networks and talk to her.

I returned to my medicine after having a brief chat and then my ex- called up again. I listened to her audacious talk, spoke some angry words and put the phone down. And I passed out after 12 minutes. I found out in the morning that my cell had run out of balance, was low on battery and by some godforsaken miracle it was blocked!!!

Still later I found out how I had blabbered to Pawan that what a great and nice guy he really is and am gonna tell his gf not to trouble him much.

The world outside is blue, devoid of the rays of the sun yet there is nothing sad or depressing about the concrete landscape. It is the New Year's first day and the scene gives me the feeling of peace and tranquility. It gives me the sense of hopefulness that everything good will happen for everyone of us.

I messaged my ex- apologising for my behaviour the night before. And

I'm still to message everyone who wished me throughout the last two days (yup people started from 30th).

And now I gotta sleep cause I can't keep my eyes open.

PEACE.

& A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU !!!

& we ate a half cooked, ice cold chicken for dinner.

Me, Music, Condoms & Something about my Family

This started when my dear old Dad (yeah right Old... girls fall for him more then they fall for me and my bro...talk about competition at home) said to my mom (she looks more like my older sister...has been mistaken for a college girl in the past...why do I have such Dysfunctional family???)," I don't understand what they are singing but I like what I hear"(it was an Akon song "Mindstate of a Mobster") ,but it was the next line which actually started the thought process,"they are teens,('they' here signifies me and my brother & my dad keeps forgetting we have grown up quite a bit in the last 20 odd years but I give him the benefit of doubt, he was not around when we were growing up, busy at the border and stuff) while I'm not...our tastes are bound to be different." For him the dialogue ended right there but for me it was the initiator.

Everyone, or usually everyone, thinks that being from Generation X-,Y- or Z-( I've no idea I'm part of which by the way & quite frankly don't give a rat's ass) is all about having those wild times,when the adrenaline is pumping high and your mind is just taking a vacation in some irrational, irrelevant place. It is the time of the carefree attitudes and the time when we let go of the rebel in us, do whatever we want, drink the night away, experiment with dope and pot (finally deciding dope is better but more expensive so I ought to stick to my packet a day of cigarettes), have countless love affairs and go out of the way to help a buddy out of a tough situation even when it means we'll become a party to whatever fuck your mate decided to land into (including a freaking police case...man Sush what were you thinking??). We do it all, giving the impression of wasting our lives.

I actually am quite a lucky guy in this respect that I've got understanding parents, who maybe are very simple and innocent that they believe everything I tell them, including a gum that smells of cigi's or are rather onto me knowing every time with whom I'm with or why it is essential for me to take a night time stroll with matches in my pocket. I fear it is the latter and instead of praising my over-smartness I should thank lord for their nature (or maybe for the fact both have been through the same motions, Dad specially...He was a Rockstar in his time, still is actually with his branded suits and cargoes and leather jacket and shirts, a Tissot watch on his wrist, Ray Ban sunglasses and racing antics at the Greater Noida expressway in his Chevrolet SRV...I got one hell of a role model ).
I never had to switch channels when an adult scene played on in a movie. Never I had to justify to my Maa why I had a girlfriend whom I used to bring home and suddenly there is no mention of her. Even when mom found a pack of half open and empty condoms in my almirah she listened to my take that it was just part of a 'dare', laughed out loud (I still got a feeling she knew the truth) and never mentioned it again.

Of course there have been times when my parents had gone through dilemmas of their own and have behaved in purely orthodox fashion but I understand. They are confused whether they should act like modern parents and give us a home where we can talk about virtually anything, from being gay to asking Dad for a drink(I drink with my Dad so sue me...he taught me the difference between scotch and premium whisky and developed my taste for vodka...his thinking goes that now that you know of the evil and are comfortable with me, you'll drink with me where I can keep an eye on you and look out for you or atleast let your better sense prevail & won't get talli...I overheard this... I GOT THE BEST DAD...YEAH I LOVE HIM !!!) or they should teach us the values and tradition that have been installed in them by their parents.
They learn each day how to deal with two vicious monsters in the house, balance modernity and traditionality and in turn show us what parenting is all about (and maybe that's why I have a feeling I'll be a terrific dad... I got two great role models in front of me ).

I know maybe I won't ever get the opportunity to tell them what a great job they are doing and they have actually reared us quite well, have installed the values of love and care in us, made us compassionate and yet at the same time shown us the perils of the world, made us street smart, gave the best possible life that someone like me deserves, listened to my situations, solved the worst of my problems and been there for me (my bro is the good son so I have the duty to keep shaking the lives of my parents to install some excitement in their lives).

And yeah a special mention of my Mama, he is a Gemini like me, cool as a cucumber, got a great sense of humour and one of the most intelligent persons I have met. We are not as close I would like us to be but just so he is very important for me. As my Mom once said about me to my Nani ," Antriksh doesn't care what we'll think but he sure as gives a lot of weightage to whatever Akhil says(my Mama), he kind of worships the ground I walk on (I never knew that it was that obvious !!!) but follows him blindly".

And as for my Music taste, Dad asked for some golden oldies and gazals to be downloaded from the net, which I had already done so, and he said "Now you are developing a taste for some good music".

Yeah right Dad... All thanks to you. (Wait till he hears songs from Zeest, Honey Singh and Linkin Park I have in my collection.

PEACE TILL THEN !!!

Good Night Mr. Crichton

Today is the 6th of November 2008.

A Thursday. The 4th day of the week. And the day I found out Michael Crichton died of cancer at the age of 66.

Mr. Crichton was not considered as a literacy giant by many in spite of his best selling works and in these times of fast pace not everyone thinks about the person who conceptualized dinosaurs walking in our present times or how an alien virus wipes out an entire community. From taking up air industry in 'Airframe' to dealing with global warming in 'State of Fear' all of his novels dealt with technology going awry and resulting in worst case scenarios.

But I feel the lost of this man not because now I will be deprived of his great techno thrillers or the world has lost the maker of 'ER', my loss runs deeper than that.

A strong believer of 'Indirect Reasons', Whatever I can flaunt in Intelligentsia is all due to my reading habits. All the useless piece of information cluttered in my brain or whatever knowledge I can present to this world to make my Mom and Dad proud of me is all due to this one good habit I picked up along the way in this course of life,I read.

And I'm indebted to this man for it.

I was 9 years old when out of sheer boredom I picked up 'Sphere' and discovered the world where imagination runs wilder then wild and ideas are presented in the most thought provoking manner. I finished it and fell in love with books (an affair which is still getting stronger and stronger with time) although with hindsight I can safely say it was not his best of work yet I still remember the excitement when I read the turning point of the novel,Jerry is Harry (incidentally a film was made on this starring Michael Douglas, Samuel L Jackson and Sharon Stone). I immediately started on the widely known 'The Lost World' and with that to the delight of my mother and my Nani(maternal grandmother) I got enlisted in there gang of Novel Readers.

With time I rose up in the ranks, I moved on to Jeffery Archer, discovered Clive Cussler, read and became a die hard fan of Alistair MacLean, laughed my worries away in the world of P.G Wodehouse, like all readers of my generations got excited about Harry Potter saga courtesy Mrs. J.K Rowling and found out the Indian wine of Munshi Premchand & Khushwant Singh. Arthur Hailey, Albert Camus, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Paulo Coelho, John Grisham,H Hawksey, David Baldacci, H.G Wells, Fredreick Forsyth, Robert Ludlum the list of my affairs in matters of books goes on and on because of these masters who presented yours truly with things filled with such excitement, whom I can love again and again and every time with a new zeal. But every time when I have to tell someone my favourite author,the name of Michael Crichton springs to my mind. He is like the first love whom everyone says you can't ever forget.

It is not the fast paced action or the adrenaline pumping scenarios nor is the intricate details of Industries, Machines, Processes which made him different from others but it was his theories,his ideas, his views which he presented in his works like on Chaos Theory,making it the backbone of all 'Ian Malcom conversations' in 'Jurassic Park' or the way he presented the idea of global warming and climate change in 'State of Fear' or ethics of genetics in 'Next'. His views and ideas were considered as controversial but to me they gave the much needed food for my mind, presented me with a new way to think about the world and make up my own viewpoint.

I never wrote a fan mail to the guy and never knew about his life or read his biography for that matter, but to me he was more than just a name on the cover of a book, for me he was the guy who showed me the path and actually made me what I'm today.

To you Mr. Crichton from one of the many fans you have around the world.

Goodbye and Thank you.

Revised & Revived

Since when did my life become a canvas of colours??? Rather than painted it is splattered on the poor surface.

I know this is the time of Modern and Abstract arts but call me old-fashioned or anything, I’m an old timer. Call it my tendency of resisting change or my stubborn attitude, I’ll rather have a Sistine Chapel or a Mona Lisa on MY canvas rather than whatever today is considered as ART.

So many of emotions, so many of after and before effects have made themselves comfortable in my life for my comfort. Sometimes I wonder whether my Life was always this complex or this is a new phenomenon showing its effects known? Whether my life was always this simple or that I’ve removed my Rose-tinted sunglasses?

From Love, Pity, Anger, Rage, Sadness, Amazement, Acceptance, Denial I’ve gone through it all in this past months.
Whatever might be happening or has already happened in this phase of my life, I’ve learnt a lot, Found out about people and now am in the position to add one another Hero in my ‘Batman-Superman-Phantom’ cliché.

And this is just one of my minor steps to take the control of my life back into my own hands.

The Revival of ‘SPACE-O-NOMICS’.

Applause anyone???

The Way I am...

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