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

Dev ME

What sort of person must Sarat Chandra be to write something like Devdas in the first place?
J K Rowling may be responsible for spreading Pottermania around the globe and J R R Tolkein's Rings trilogy might have won the most Oscars in the history of academy awards but I guess there is still to come a piece of fiction that had inspired 10 different film versions of it.

I saw Anurag Kashyap's version of Devdas yesterday with my own 'Paro' & the similarities between me and the protagonist were striking. The self destructive streak, the helplessness of love, the pendulum swinging between self pity & despair, the carelessness about his own self, the unnecessary indulgence in cigarettes, hashish and ganja, the inevitable search for happiness and love, my own Paro whom I can not hurt, my Chanda whom I had to see after watching this flick, the two Chunnilal's of my own life giving me a shoulder to rely on from time to time, the dark void sucking in my sanity every night and last but the most important similarity- the worshiping of the brand name 'Smirnoff', I could relate everything with myself.

The novel can be considered as the convergence of the tragic Hamlet and the classic Romeo & Juliet but is in fact bigger then both of them. Every human has an evident dark, uncaring & self destructive side to himself and the way it has been shown in the novel as well as the films, specially in Dev D, will make look both Kafka and Edgar Allen poe as amateurs.

The whole kaleidoscope of emotions running through the reels, the bizarre colours splashed across the canvas, the first shot of our protagonist making a joint, the open sexuality of Paro and the coming of age of Chanda, every second of the next 3 hours is engrossing. Unless until you are the happiest soul in this world you won't relate an iota to it but for the rest of the majority there will be at least one moment in there where you would sit up and take notice.

The leads are naturals and actually brilliant in their portrayals. Never once will you will be reminded of Abhay Deol from his earlier works he is totally convincing as the new age Devdas, Mahi Gill as the bindass punjabi lass who transforms into a mature lady is completely believable, Kalki as Chanda the teen-lady prostitute struggling with her own ghosts has that innocence and vulnerability on her face that makes you want to reach out to her and in the end Dibyendu as the practical Chunnilal who makes you wish for a resourceful tout like him in your own life's script.

The music is brilliantly awesome but am sure will sound just like a raucous cacophony to most purists. It's a healthy blend of Rock, Lounge and a little folk thrown in for the extra flavour. As with the whole film nothing here is formula driven and the songs just take the movie forward and disclose the turmoils of the leads. The rock version of Emotional Atyachaar, The peppy Duniya number, soulful Nayan Tarse and Aankh Michonni are THE tracks to listen in this quarter of the year.

The cinematography, camerawork, lighting and all other technical details are done quite well. My only complaint is the second half that could've been a little more sleek if edited properly.

As all the columnists in the newspapers are rejoicing this is a coming of age film for Indian cinema but as a warning watch out with whom you are going out with. Your family might want to get out of the hall in the first ten minutes (and maybe later individually book the next show for themselves alone).

Saratchandra considered Devdas to be his worst book but it became his most celebrated work. I guess this proves the point that we people are addicted to self pity and love to brood over our sorrows.

Last point. This is the best version of Devdas to come out. Dileep Kumar's version is the second best.

A Time called 'NIGHT'

The sun shines brightly for a change as I sit down in front of the family’s common laptop.

It is a glorious day outside with a slight chilly breeze reminding that it is still the start of January & officially, still winter in the Indian plains. For some this day might signify happiness and joy & maybe some pessimists might consider it as the last day of light before the bleak future sets in, but nevertheless no one can deny that this is a magnificent winter morning.

But alas the philosopher in me is not easily side tracked by such playfulness of nature. In my pursuit of materialistic gains & bodily pleasures, I don’t usually stop to marvel at nature’s artistic talent. I just take in the wonderful surroundings and move on to do whatever I was doing.

Considering the surroundings and my elated state of mind, one might assume that I might be dwelling on something which is bright and maybe holds some promise for the future. Some line of thought which deals with the lighter side of one’s self or atleast won’t have something dark associated with. But as usual my thoughts are directed in a different way altogether, which by the way is duly affected by this bright sunlit day.

The harsh reality, which I’m quite sure has revealed to me only due to this burning sun, struck me across my face that all my creative musings and my spiritual awakenings happen during the late hours of night. My emotional threshold point reaches to its peak only during these dark hours. I fully feel alive at that time only. All my doubts and problems get solved during these ungodly hours. I’m free to think and devise ways to live life on my terms. Make fallback plans for some future endeavor at 2 in the morning. My craving for something non-veg, a little drink, smoking everything starts when the dawn of the devil is happening (Sex is an obvious exception, every guy is and rightly so, ought to be ready for it 24 hours a day, 365 days a year). It is as if my life actually awakens during the night.

So what is my fascination with Night?? Actually what is with everyone’s attraction with Night?? You will always hear about the nightlife of a city, will always be judged by at what time you sleep (even when you are studying late into the night instead of partying for a change), all the greatest of personalities (and I include Dracula, Frankenstein, Werewolves, Paris Hilton to name a few) roam in the streets only during ‘when darkness falls’. Mother’s fret over their children because everytime they wake up during the night they finds them well awake. Father’s still play Mt. Vesuvius because their sons are taking the prescribed 5 hours of sleep at 11 in the morning.

My mother always told me I was a nishachar (demon in devanagri). I was a child of the night who used to scream his head off from the window when my neighbors, bless them, were trying to go to bed. I used to be full of unspent energy which surfaced during the night and which I used well to cause mayhem around the house. I was the only child who used to keep wide awake whenever a family gathering was happening and all the adults were getting nostalgic about their childhood. I still love to drive away in the dead of night on the streets of Delhi, still remember the nights when I used to meet my ex-girlfriend under her apartment.

I guess it has to do something with the fact that we spend all our day living for everyone else and it is only during the night that we can unleash the rebel within, hoping that our dark side will be lost in this darkness or maybe it has to do something with the reveal-hide quality of the night which invites us to shed our inhibitions or maybe I’m overcomplicating a simple way of life & it has nothing to do with anything. Whatever might be the actual reason this is for a fact that Night is a special time of everyone’s life, one time or another, irrespective whether it’s a blue full moon night, a half moon yellowish night, or a night of no moon and total darkness, the pull of the cities lights or the charm of the quietness of the dead paths, of both metros or villages, is something no amount of sun can match. For me a dark cloudy day is always much better then a sunny morning.

With time my parents finally understood the fact that I will always have my life in the night but alas they still haven’t come to terms with it. They don’t stop me from partying late into the night but my mom still calls me at 11 to remind me to come back home, with the faint sense of unmistakable hope in her voice that she’ll hear that I’m already on my way. My dear old Dad still sleeps in fits until I return back from my midnight strolls. As for me, I still hope to drink the elixir of night every night and get high.

Night.

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.

No 'frills' attached

I had one of the best coffee in the world today. The froth was an inch thick, the liquid sweet with lots of chocolate powder thrown in for good measure and was piping hot. The best point??? The fucking cup cost me 15 bucks. 15 lousy rupees which I might have used to buy some cheap cigarettes (am kinda in budget mode...spent all my money a week ago on vodka), were well used to discover the best joint to have coffee in this part of town. It is a cold night in Delhi and having a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, cigi's in the other and eyes on girls passing by with your best man, rambling about his fucked up love life, in tow is simply priceless.

And then there was the roadside burger nested inside a fried bun with a healthy portion of veggies (tomatoes and cabbage and onions) to please the health freak and that sweet, liquidy, water-thinned sauce oozing out of it everytime you take a bite. 5 rupees only.

Screw the CCD's & Baristas of this world and McDonald should just roll over and die.

BLOODY FUCKING CAPITALIST BASTARDS.

(I bloody well forgot that I was supposed to be depressed after the outing & by the way you can get that coffee at PVR Saket).

Antriksh the Skinner

In the late 18oo's, London was terrified by a serial killer christened Jack the Ripper by the press. The man used to kill prostitutes during the night. The victims were strangled and then their organs removed.

Cut to 2008, New Delhi. Tonight was a night of turmoil for me. At first I decided to curl up in bed and wish to the Almighty that he takes away this godforsaken life.

And that is when Satan approached me and suggested that why not instead of ending this life I put it to some better use and punish those who had made my life hell and are pushing others to the same path of madness??

That is when I decided that I'll don the role of 'The Skinner' who'll skin his victims alive.

I was a happy-go-lucky guy, sane in the head, quite satisfied with his life.

Until I decided to take a brake and watch some prime time television. And my ordeal started.

Mindless Reality shows, Reruns of family feuds on each channel, comedy shows which make me puke instead of laughing, a fuckingly mindless flick 'Blackmail' (I used to like Priyanka Chopra & Ajay Devgan before this) and on whatever is branded as the News channel,"Ek sadak jo khoon mangati hai....jise laal rang pasand hai...jahan maut ka nanga naach hota hai"(A road which asks for blood...which likes red colour....where death dances naked[END QUOTE]...I guess this was the part cause of which even Satan sat up in his warm little 'Hell-pad'...someone says your girlfriend dances naked on the street you sure won't sit away idly will you??), every fucking thing fizzled out my brain and left me in the state I'm.

I've decided that I'll roam the streets at night and when ever I'll find someone who is associated with with these mindless freak shows, I'll make sure that they pay for making me and my fellow human beings watch all of this crap.

Though there is something I can watch when the adrenaline has stopped pumping and am washing away the blood stains from my clothes, Cartoon Network and other Kid channels are worth a timepass...even falling anvils and talking animals make more sense than these family sagas and you can always switch to a sports channel (somewhere around the world someone must be playing something..even a kho-kho match between Bangladesh & Fiji is worth a dekko than the usual horseshit) or Discovery (or its subsidiary viz. History Channel or National Geographic) and learn something about this world and use it to show that dumb lass you've been trying to woo away from your best friend that you are smarter than him. And the music channels,only when singers in skimpy clothes sing or Katrina Kaif comes and shakes her booty(I don't give a damn about the Music..if I wish to hear a good song like a good criminal I'll download it from the net...Piracy Rocks !!!).

Time to go. Just saw an assistant of Ekta Kapoor. Need to sharpen my blade.

Where have the Jokers gone???

The most important of all the senses god bestow upon us is without doubt the Sense of Humour.

You can do away with smell when you are passing through the streets of Mumbai, eyes can always take a hike when flipping through channels(except in the cases when Katrina Kaif is on the screen...obvious exceptions), sense of touching is of no use when you have no one [:)] to touch, as for taste,if you've eaten south Indian once you've eaten it to last a lifetime ( if you've eaten a lot at 'Sagar Ratna' then maybe you'll understand what motions run through my mind and belly at the mere mention of it) and lastly as for the sense that provides us with hearing, well when horns are blaring at you in a Delhi traffic jam you'll wish you were born deaf.

All in all it is the Sense of Humour which don't have any ill effects (except maybe if you laugh at someone else's expense who looks like a cross between Batista and Khali and you are a poor copy of Rey Misterio then my friend you are in a lot of trouble and have all my sympathy with you).

Well my friends and me used to have this in abundance, the ability to laugh at others, make others laugh with us and when it really mattered make everyone laugh at someone we actually didn't liked. My best friend and me were quite a lethal duo in the last department, in fact the only time I was beaten was the one when I had pissed the guy really off and he was almost in tears, twisting and turning my dearest arm while I was laughing out so loud that I couldn't defend myself and my useless Partner-in-Crime was busy rolling on the floor laughing (with the whole class mind ya). Although with hindsight I can preach that laughing at someone else's expense can be quite hilarious provided it is safe (read the Batista-Khali scenario again) and clean but at that time we were the laughing duo, who disrupted the peace of the class and with whom even the class monitor used to laugh when we were suppose to play lambs (which mind ya is quite bewildering, I mean c'mon have you ever been with a bunch of lambs?? They make more racket then a mob of Manchester United fans).

Me and my mates have gone through a lot but always had each other to pass on the worries and laugh at our miseries. We still make fun of others and each other, sometimes even raising doubts over another persons sexual orientation and manliness (cheap jokes...hitting below the belt but we are usually drunk or high,in our defense, so it doesn't matter), even once in a while prove that the other person is pregnant and the fact that the other person is a guy never bothered us (am the only one with biology written as a subject in his HSC certificate but still I keep mum and enjoy the festivities never telling them that it is impossible... or is it??? haven't a guy given birth recently?? I tell you in this world of 'man-playing-god' anything is possible, even me getting a decent percentile in CAT or Kulu getting a job or Gaurav finally figuring out his love life).

Inspite of all the laughter and joy we share something has added up in our life which have changed all of us a lot. From simple carefree guys who used to idle away there time to glory without a thing to worry about in the world suddenly all of us have started trodding on the path of becoming Man. Real men like our fathers with responsibilities, commitment, troubles and problems on our minds (my parents were thinking of marrying me off to thrust some responsibity in me & the only thing that stopped them was my threat that then I'll leave my pesky kids on their door step while me and dearest will be out there earning our chikkan tikka and rumali roti, and trust me after raising me, ma & pa aren't be interested in rearing even 50% of my DNA for half a day). Studying like never before to get into a good college, worrying about the job at hand, going to the office at 7 and returning at 9, calling other pals to ask them whether they can post a resume to a company, screaming 'fucking hell' when the dean has banned their placement, worrying about finances and actually learning what really happens in the share market just to make a lil extra cash we all do it while planning for the life ahead.

The realisation that the era of our 'I-don't-give-a-damn' attitude is over is quite sad but that is reality for you. Reality continues to ruin my life.

And by the way there is a saving grace for me after all.

Bill Watterson said “Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words.” Thankfully I learnt a lot of them during my course of life.

I'm a simple man in the end.

Although yesterday I wished for a nuclear powered car that could turn into a jet with laser-guided heat-seeking missiles yet I'm a simple man.

I just got complex tastes.