What's in a name?

Bombay or Mumbai, the bard once said "what's in a name?". The 'cool peeps' will call it only Bombay and refuse to call it anything else. The 'nationalists' will call it only Mumbai and will break the heads of those who think otherwise. Grow up folks, call it what you want. It is officially Mumbai; if you don't like that, you should have stood in line and cast in your opinion in the ballot box.

Be Yourself

'Be true, Be yourself if that doesn't work, be someone else'

Sight

"I like what I see for I see what I like"
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Two years

Two years, this very day... shizer, it has been one hell of a roller coaster of a ride

Ek aawaaz

Kya woh samaa tha
chandni raat woh thi
baal unke khule khule
chehre pe rounak unke thi

usne poochha apne aapse
kya ye sapna toh nahin
jannat ke dwaar khol
aayi ye pari toh nahin

uski saasein phool gayi
uske khone lage hosh
kadam aage usne badaaya
kaabu mein tha naa josh

issi sab ke beech mein
ek aawaaz kaanon mein padi
kaminey, dooor reh meri beti se
warna padegi pichhwaade pe chhadi

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Scenario Analysis

Best case
Dance like people are not watching
Love like it does not hurt
Work like you do not need money

Base case
Dance like people are watching
Love like it hurts
Work like you need money

Bear case
Dance like it hurts
Love like you need money
Work like people are watching

Worst case
Dance like you need the money
love like people are watching
work like it hurts

Think

Be not the Ostrich that buries her head in the sand and thinks its cant be seen
Be rather the Giraffe, who stretches her neck out to see things beyond the blinding green

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Link Politics

So, its time to unveil an ambitious project... one that connects Bandra in the Western suburbs to Worli in the city. It is the Bandra Worli Sea Link. Great job with the conceptualization, engineering and execution [it was late, will ignore that for now].
Source:Bandra Worli Sealink Blog
So while it has been ready, we have been waiting for a while to inaugrate it. Do you wonder why? It is simple. The need for a VVIP to inaugrate it so that the common people can start using it. So, where do the authorities go looking?

First Choice [Obviously]: Ms. Sonia Gandhi, Congress Working Committee President
Second Choice [Reluctantly]: Dr. Manmohan Singh, Hon. Prime Minister of India
Third Choice [Well, we need 'someone' important]: Ms. Pratibha Patil, Hon. President of India

Such is the mockery of the Executive positions of the Republic of India. Its a pity indeed. Yes, it is upto the government to decide. Nevertheless, no person is greater than the Constitutional heads of the Country.

No escaping the Walk

"I don’t much care where... so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice said.
"Oh, you’re SURE to do that," said the Cat. It added "but only if you walk long enough."

Bandra Boy II

~Time of Day: just past midnight~
Friend 2: Okay, that was a long discussion. I think I need to go to sleep now.

Friend 1: What's with sleeping off at midnight? This sounds like the cindrella-esque story of Bandra Boy [BB].

~Both ponder for a while on how BB is off to bed at midnight. Friend 1, the worldly one, offers a possible solution.~

Friend 1: Do you think like you, BB too needs his beauty sleep?

Friend 2: Why would BB need beauty sleep? Do you think it will matter?

~Sounding all smart, Friend 1 replies~

Friend 1: Maybe its for his inner beauty?

~Friend 2 is now rolling on the floor laughing and holding onto the stomach~

Friend 2: Inner beauty? Are we talking about the same person?

~Both slip into deep thought again on the absurdity of the statement. Friend 1, as usual, offers a solution~

Friend 1: Yes, for his Inner beauty! Maybe he needs it to even have a nice thing to say once a day.

~Friend 2 is again rolling on the floor laughing...~

Bandra Boy I

Friend 1: I have not seen Bandra Boy [BB] online or connected with him since the day he was to leave for Canada.

Friend 2: I have not seen BB either. He seems to be incommunicado. Wonder whether he's hooked up with some chick out there.

~Both ponder for a while to realize the incredulous thought they just had. They decide to ignore the thought and act as if it never happened. Friend 1, the worldly one, offers a possible solution.~

Friend 1: Do you think that it is possible that some dudes beat him up out there?

Friend 2: Why would anyone want to hit BB?

~Sounding all smart, Friend 1 replies~

Friend 1: Maybe some Indian dudes thought he was Canadian and beat him up for the racial abuse in Australia?

~Friend 2 now excited by the plot~

Friend 2: Yea, he probably kept pleading that he was Indian. But, when they asked him to speak in Hindi, all he could muster was namaste!

Distorting history

Disclaimer: I have moderate political views. Right of centre rather than left of centre. I support the BJP for their policies. I do not agree with some of their divisive political stunts. The reason I do not support the other party: the Congress, is because they merely hide behind the garb of a 'holier than thou' mask.

The BJP and its HRD minister, Murli Manohar Joshi was chided by one and all [rightly so] for attempting to distort history. A point often raised by BJP baiters. Now, the 'can do no wrong' Congress is doing just that. As a kid, we learnt about Dadoji Konddeo, the mentor and guru of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, the greatest Maratha ruler. The Congress [and NCP] government has now 'changed history' bowing to the demands of casteist organizations, long considered 'vote banks' of these political organizations. An article on this can be read here.

For all those espousing the credentials of the Indian National Congress, I am sorry, but this is a bad slap on your face.

Polyester Connections

Dearest Polly,

I do not know what to feel. A part of me is happy. The other is sad. As she walks on the other side of airport security, I know I will have to fight to hold back my emotions.

You always appeared from nowhere. When someone asks how we know each other, I am still not sure. I remember 'Cousin R' probing that line of thought deeply and persistently. Or Saffron Aunt giving me the third degree. It did ‘suit’ the occasion.

So, we met through some random connection. Then there was that coffee at Moxa. The bubbly you, I was impressed with your joie de vivre. Then we bumped into each other in Newport. The bubbles still there while I was grappling with life in the trenches. I wish I knew you only as that person. But alas, life is one roller coaster of a ride. And so, one fine day past summer, I received the weirdest of messages. I have no idea why I received that call for help. But, I was shocked to see the ugly joke that life had played on you. As we sat in the park, I saw you there… a little kid grappling with a coffee. Wanting to talk and yet, not knowing where life was to lead. The C story, while funny, did not take away the fact that there was a huge perceptible change.

Your journey back home and then back to the city saw you crawl towards a semblance of normalcy. It has been close to a year since then. It’s interesting to see how I have made such a great friend within just under a year. I do not believe in numbers and rankings. But, I will go out on a limb and say that you are the best friend I made in NYC. NAF came a close second. The rice-cooker: the clincher. What we have is different. [Saffron Aunty and Anna, if you are reading this, we were just good friends. :D]

We have shared some great moments: random chats, nautanki, home drops, inane fights, walks in the park, bug bites, movies and the like. Some regrettable moments: inane fights, bug bites, name-calling and the like. Some disappointing moments: Ibuprofen, First Ave visits, late night D train travels and the like. Some awkward moments: Sea, 5am noises and clatter, life decisions, hard-facts and the like.

We are quite different in more ways than one. We stand on different sides of the line. And yet, there is some common ground. There is so much to write. And yet, there is nothing that I can write. As are the ways of life: It was a good ride while it lasted. The flight is now boarding. You return to a faraway land. I may be soon to follow. Out of sight we will be; out of mind, I believe not. I can be an annoying bug.

So long Polly, it has truly been a pleasure. Keep that smile. Be the kid you truly are. Don’t let that rebel die. Be your crazy jhola kurta self. Breathe in, breathe out.

It started with that walk in the park… It’s a new journey you embark upon. Tum toh thehre pardesi…

Jai Maharashtra!

Love and Hugs,
Max

Crazy enuf for Courage

Time and again, people have encouraged me to jump off the fast track to take the road less traveled. Not to live their own dreams. Not to live their hopes for me. But for me to live up to what they believe is my potential. When I say 'what they believe', I use that reference as I believe in the testimonial of others around oneself as a barometer rather than your own.

While people may admire the limited talents that I may possess, I for one believe that its not talent that gets a person to his goals. If there is a single thing that makes a difference between a prodigy [without calling myself one] and a success: its COURAGE. The courage to jump across that crevice to traverse a seemingly deep abyss to land on the side of self fulfillment and ecstatic joy. The real question is: Do I have the courage to leap? Aah well... not right now. Tomorrow? Only time can tell. As for me, I sure hope so. Then again, the Tower Bridge was not built in a day. All I can hope for is that I am crazy enough to jump.

And just like that...

It all started much like most things do; a seemingly distant dream. The dream, while rosy, did not consider the distance that one would have to travel even to get to the starting line. A long laborious road ensued. Then, as the flowers blossomed radiantly one final time before grudgingly yielding to autumn, we made our way to the City.

The City was vibrant, as at any time of the year. Skeptical faces surveyed through the conundrum, looking for familiarity in an expansive sea of the unknown. Enthusiasm ran high, as did the tabs at every conceivable bar in the neighborhood. Ever as slowly through the mist appeared, half a pint at a time, the new kids of the block.

The unknown beat a hasty retreat to accommodate the evolving bonds. Time flew by in the blink of an eye. The first act was on and the appearances changed to suit the occasion. While the circles remained, content was conspicuous by its absence. The mission: not to kill, but rather to not be killed. The alcohol had quickly sunk, allowing the water to float above. While conversations were aplenty, interest was left at the door. The song and dance was quite elaborate, just as the wine and cheese were cheap.

As time passed by, the race was getting clear. While the thoroughbreds pulled through to gain a lead, the also-rans watched with a sense of awe and bewilderment. Nevertheless, in true Hollywood-esque manner, the odd dark horse nudged through the crowd to make it a true photo finish. While the winners painted the town red, the mere mortals were left to clean the mess. Lessons were learnt and backs were broken. It was the inevitable truth and yet none of it was spoken. While many chose to blend into the background, a chosen few rose through the ashes, a phoenix at a time.

Elsewhere, the Trojan horses snuck through the gate, the guard opening his eyes too late. The enemy emerged from within the Trojan, attacking all in sight with toxic waste. And as they attacked the heel of Achilles, the mighty fell one at a time. The king saw the writing on the wall, change was plotting a mighty fall. The world as we knew it saw change; we doubled as unpaid targets at the shooting range.

When we thought we weathered the storm, another one rocked the boat. Life has taught us many a lesson, none as many as the time here. There was suspense; there was drama, a pinch of romance and some action. Why, there even was an elaborate Bollywood song and dance. Preached we were by the god and the soothsayer. We even learnt that greed is good. Some made us laugh, some made us weep. Some made us listen, others put us to sleep.

We look at the mirror, where we are today. We reflect on how things were two years back. And we notice the change. Change beyond just the debt and the long list of Facebook friends. Change in the attitude and the knowledge. Change in the attitude towards life. A few friends made for life. The number of bars visited in NYC. Change was the flavor of the season and that is what we saw.

Along the last mile, few moments away from walking down the river quay, we wonder whether it was a good dream, a nightmare or just another two years of life. The answer would be different for each of us. In many ways, it may be all of the above. All we know is that we spent a good time of our life here and had a great time whilst doing so. We leave with a mixed emotion of exhilaration and disappointment. Like all great journeys, this too has come to an end. It started one windy morning in August… and just like that, it will all be over.

Locus Standi

As the Sri Lankan Army closes in on the LTTE in the Jaffna Peninsula, there is a huge call for a ceasefire. This obviously makes sense on humanitarian grounds as innocent civilians may be [and probably are] killed in the melee. There has been a call for Indian intervention of some sort, especially from the Tamilians in the country.

Without trying to make ANY sort of political statement and in all my naivete, I ask the following: If Kashmir is an integral part of the Republic of India and Pakistan, UNSC and the US have no locus standi on Kashmir, an internal and sovereign issue, what locus standi does India have on the happenings in the internal matters of the Republic of Sri Lanka?

I have heard certain people say that LTTE are not terrorists. If so, the Mujaheedeen are not considered terrorists by many, nor are the Lashkar or the Jaish. We cannot apply two different yardsticks. A terrorist is a terrorist.

Kya Tha Woh Seherr

manzil pohounch humne jaana
kya haseen tha woh safarr
tha kya woh jalwa
tha kya woh seherr

mile jab hum pehlee baar
naach aata naa thaa
chhaa jo hum gaye manchh par
aangann ab tedaa naa thaa

dheere dheere haule haule
unki ungli pakad hum naache
mitti se shuru toh kiya
antt mein bane pakke dhaanche

manzil toh hai aa gayee
naa rahee koi kasar
shuruwaat thi toh tal se
jaa kar pohounche hum gadar

chehre the woh naye
dost humne jo banaaye
naacha khoob saath saath
sukhbir ke dohe gungunaaye

iss hasee gaane ke baad
ek mayusee hai ab chhayee
dil baith sa hai gaya
vidhaiee ki ghadee jo aayee

raah apni apni pakad
jo hum hai chale
aao milke ek saath
bolein balle balle

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Down to Business - I

“Promise me that you won’t become a Yankee fan” he said. As Ted Sullivan laughed at his own joke, Rohan was not sure if he was serious or whether he was joking. Ted was from Boston as he told him later. A manifestation of a deep-rooted rivalry, Ted did not want to be the recruitment officer for the rival camp. Rohan did quip guardedly, “I am a soccer fan and I am not much into baseball. So, I guess I will not be a Yankee fan.” As Ted proceeded to stamp the visa and told Rohan about the amazing times he had had in New York City, Rohan realized that he was two more stamps away from the big apple.

Rohan had never doubted the fact that he would get the visa. He had been to the US before, travelling to New York and Los Angeles for work. That was a fun trip. He work hard and partied hard. While most of his brethren thought of spending frugally in the US, Rohan had gone all out. This time it was going to different. He was in pursuit of his dreams; something he had dreamt of every night for the past two years.

Picture Source: NYU Webpages

The tie came off, as did the jacket. As awesome that he felt, it was a hot June afternoon in Mumbai and the sweat was slowly trickling down his forehead. Realizing that he would soon miss the small things in life back home, he stopped for a cold glass of sugarcane juice. One glass quickly turned to three as sudden pang of hunger made him realize that he had not eaten since morning. As he sauntered down the street in search of a taxi, his mind wandered again. Rohan could see a bagel with cream cheese in front of his eyes. He wondered whether it was the heat, the hunger or the call of the City.

He still had two months to go, but Rohan was already thinking as though he had to leave the following night. He decided to make the most of the next few days. The first stop was a roadside vendor where he picked a couple of wada pavs to fill himself up. The juice had left him pretty full, but he coaxed himself into gobbling them down. It was almost as if this was his last chance to appreciate the staple fast food of the city. The city that he had come to call home for three eventful years.

Picture Source: George Koshy
A few blocks further down the road, Rohan found that elusive taxi. Torn between taking the taxi all the way and hopping onto the train, he knew he had lost it when he mumbled to the driver, “Bhaiya, Mahalaxmi chalenge?” Mahalaxmi was the closest train station to the American Consulate. While the trains would not be crowded at this hour, it was not exactly wise to travel suited up. The crowds, the heat, the humidity and the ensuing sweltering feeling were not entirely conducive for the formally dressed traveler. Rohan stood at the door, half to beat the heat and half to feel the wind in his face. And as he felt the cold breeze rustle his previously well-kempt hair, he could not help but wonder whether these were the winds of change…

This is a pilot for the book: Down to Business

Unke Jaane Ki Chubhhan

saal bhar ho aaya hai
dil mein abhi bhi hai aggan
janaaza toh kab ka hai nikla
hai abhi unke jaane ki chubhhan

nazron se gire hai woh sabke
unke jaane ka phir bhi hai gamm
saal bhar ho aaya hai ab
ye dard na hua hai kuchh kamm

nakhre unhone humaare jo uthaaye
dekha unhone jo humaara bachchpana
kabhi woh unka hona gussa
kabhi humaare baalon ko sehlaana

woh toh thhe do sunehre saal
dil mein kitni yaadein hai bharee
unka woh lamba sa kadd
unki woh kameez haree

har raat dil ye hai mujhse poonchche
hai kahaan woh samaa apna
kya hai ye iss din ki haqueqatt
hai kya ye ek buraa sa sapna

saal bhar ho aaya hai
dil mein abhi hai aggan
janaaza toh kab ka hai nikla
hai abhi bhi jaane ki chubhan

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Fear

In this journey called life
feeling the fear of crash and burn
Winding down an unknown road
Feeling the fear of a wrong turn

Astray seen the charm of life
Being led into a well gone dry
Unless we choose otherwise
Giving ourselves a try

Deep down lingers the feeling
Lest it does not work out
Horrid is the walk away
before the start of the bout

Trust in thy instincts
giving self the chance
shall sand slip through fingers
shall the horse prance

when things do matter
choose not to hate
charting the course ahead
not leaving it to fate

precious water you lose
untamed deserts as you chart
elusive will be the oasis
unless you choose to start

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