A Sin I Die to Commit...

This pensioners’ paradise, now metamorphosed into a fast-moving baby boomers as number of techno-geeks settled down with their laptops and often jamming mobile connectivity. There’s still much to be spoilt of the contented, laid-back time wrap and ‘pensioners cheque’. Many of us who filtered into the city counting ‘moolah’ and find adjustment as big compromise but the crispy golden sunlight striking the eyelashes and "bun in the oven" is a big compensation.

Learned to derive immense pleasure from staring at blank walls (when you're living alone in an empty home with no TV, definition of what's fun and what's normal takes a back seat) the tradition-old bakeries of Pune is simply unmatchable for their lip smacking assortments.

Almost all my friends who come to Pune from Bombay on their weekend splurge have the special ‘Shrewsbury’ from the 1955-built Kayani’s at East Street, run by the Iranian emigrants. Yea, we all want the butter to melt in the mouth but this is like the virus. Down the block, fantasies come to true as you rest under the Victorian porch of Marz-O-Rin, teething soft and fluffy chutney sandwiches or sweetened donught washed down with butterscotch shakes. Sit quietly in solitude, focus your attention, stimulate your taste buds, and mindfully savor the delicacies from the Pune cafes and bakes spread across the cityscapes.

While walking down Aund Road from Bremen Chowk towards Khadki with plenty of greenery and foliage on both sides, the Lamington at the Spicer College Bakery Shop is worthy for a treat. With chocolate icing and moist sponge cakes, the place serves variety of healthy goodies like carrot cake, nut cake, doughnuts, and Soya milk. If you don't have an oven, there's City Bakery. Their "melted chocolate chip" cookies are amazing. You got your pension and I'll give you this monthly tip to save on gas money and hop at German Bakery at Koregaon, unlike the brethrens at Nepal, Kashmir, and Goa, offering whole wheat breads and Nutella sandwiches with organic or herbal tea and juices from what-not. Its sin and you sell soul to Mephistopheles.

A reason to splurge on bakeries at Pune is most of them produce packed-by-hand bread and sell it over the counter. Soft, supple, and fresh…umm! Lovin’ it

Coming Out

It takes 60-seconds to make a confession and fortunately easiest task than few runs of clumsy and emotional roller-coaster. And, trust me you don’t need *balls of steel* but conviction. Don't be stupid! I don't want you to act as saint here. Well, if my employers found, and yes, what if I am fired?

A little confused. I mean, I'm... all sweaty... and trapped, no memory, hiding in a pipe from a vampire. I can't believe what I'm reading. You can't tell a gay guy to come out in real and on his own blog. Gosh! That’s hara-kiri. Fine, but I'm not donning any gay apparel.

Okay, let's keep this short. Recently, while dining with few of my friends at the city’s one of the best restaurant and down with two beer cans. I made a small prayer aloud and confessed. I'm some kind looking for a serial gay basher in them. ‘S’ dropped the menu card and said, “Can you do something about the menu card? There's nothing on it.” (lol)

You got to work free for shift meals or a discount on select menu items.

Embarrassed…Or…Regret

Dude, recently I broke the superhero secret identity code as I found a deep secret to mine. Oh, Gee…! I’m a super-hero now.

And now with the kitty-cat out (aka toothy fairy tales and prophecies), I felt like nothing less than a super-hero. Eew! No, I'm not really a cat person but the furry things could fit in pairs. So, when I’m born like a million babies born in this part of subcontinent and world across minus the pomp and grandeur…I’ve a secret finally that make me lil’ distinguished. Ain’t so?

Wat’s the secret, boy. Oh! Haven’t I shared with you? He…he!
That winter when my mother strolled to local dispensary to find whether they could do some nice trimming of her unshapely rotund belly. When discovered that it not an early stage or an easy task, the ever defiant ‘mom’ look out for pills that could flush down 6-month foetus. Well, that’s ‘me—to be born’. Discoveries run within my family gene and mothers from generation have the credits of having always discovered the deep secret acts, always. My fairy godmother or my grandmother therefore stepped in to do her part of contribution and cut a historic niche.

Stiff lips and yearning for a ‘male child’ finally dispel the dozes of pills and so, I am born with a lil’ secret to my demi-heroism.

Of recent, when my sneaky mom looked under the rug and found the truth that somewhere sticks to my neurons like ‘glue’: I’m embarrassed or should I rephrase to tell the truth…’I am filled with regret’ for having scrapped the event in a piece of sheet, one lonely evening. Or otherwise, ‘my mom is either embarrassed or regressive’ having discovered the secret discovery.

TeamWork...Huh!

Teamwork is a pitiful illusion! The only one you can rely on in this vast galaxy is yourself! Face it…We don't work for them [clients]. We work for us. I mean you'll take anyone as long as they'll fuck ya or fight ya. Well let me tell you something buddy boy, those are just little off tabs, little wisps of nothing compared to the nut you'll bust when this whole fuckin teamwork rips you off.

This is my life's work. Everything I've seen and everything I've done it all starts and ends with myself—good or bad. From the first time I failed, I've known it. I've watched myself grow ever since and teamwork led to mess. I had no choice but to find a way to win, no matter what the cost to myself. That's why I had to leave the team.

Now, the most important thing is, we have to work as a team, which means: you do everything I tell you. Okay, look! I don't work for you and you don't work for me. We're a team. Get it? As in 'I will kick your sorry ass if you don't listen to me' team. Let me re-phrase that. It's going to make things *difficult*. We all are gonna put the stupid heads on "together".

Conversation between Me and My Blog

Blog: Long time NO see…
Myself: But, I was not in a mood to say anythin’.
Blog: Anyways’ you don’t talk much of senses, either. So, I don’t mind your disappearance act.
Myself: How rude…?
Blog: Like you…
Myself: Stop complaining...moron!
Blog: First you. On the first take, why did you step-in? Happy being at your sabbatical prayer.
Myself: Uurgh!

Back from Recluse

Ten days and you call it a sabbatical … err! OK, I rephrase, it only a break. And, I wasn’t hitting the roads. Sulking like wounded lion(ess) after slipping to a trap that left deep scar onto me. I am in process to repurcate but healing is a ‘strange’ word. Rather, I will never out of it, ever.

November Rain

November…Uh…November again!
The leafless bird-less coming of season like an old man’s fancy likely turns to thoughts of indecent assault. It was November, when cherry faces went for fishin’, rode canoes, swim at lake and merry picnicking uh, [pause]. Then, one November came when a flock o`ducks came in and landed on the land as temperature dipped so low that the lake froze and so does the ducks!

November 15th and all I ever wanna know they brought him dead.
My father died. One minute he was fine, the next, on his back, dead. My momma said “…this thing stinks. Can't you go home and get him a bowl?” So, I buried him in the backyard and since then I tried to remember his face, but it always slipped away from me. Why is that I wonder? Today, its November again…another father died (my friends father expired today).

'Oh my, it's fruitcake weather!' With corpses, lying inside the open caskets and the ghost had taken a dump in my shoe. Happy Halloween!

Unknown

जब श्रीष्टि की सारि कायनात बुनी तुमने

में कहाँ था, तुम कहाँ थे
जब, जिस्म से रूह तक थी सिर्फ तुम्हारी ही बातें

खुदा जाने!
में कहाँ था, तुम कहाँ थे

बारीश की इक बूंद जब ज़मीं को चूम रही थी,
बताओ --

में कहाँ था, तुम कहाँ थे

Born Loser

What makes me write is unknown but having recorded the events, chronicled bits of dream does relieve me a lot. Admit, I am not a good writer (correction: not even a writer) still I writes and sometimes I write reams.

Most of these writings are reflection of what I see, what I do, and dreams or people I have cherished. Nothing serious still I crave for more concrete and meaningful matters to write which I fail. Is that how you grow as a writer? One experiment with nothingness until the words form meaning and bear the fruits of genius.

Isn’t I pacifying myself with weird imagination? L—O—S—E—R.

Dreams (A Poem)

sapane बुनते देखा हैं मैंने
नीले, पीले, लाल, हरे

धागों में पिरोये...कच्चे धागे
टूटते, उल्जाते, सिरों से जुड़ते
उंगलियों से फिसलती
सिरों पे अटकती
सपनों कि माला बनाते देखा हैं मैंने

सोचा-
कि आंखों में सुरमा लगा लूं
अपनो कि एक माला गले में सजा लूं
नीले, पीले, लाल, हरे
हंसते सपने...
अधूरी, रुलाती, धुप में अकेली बारिश के सपने
तुम्हारे सपने
मेरे सपने...

सपने बुनते देखा हैं मैंने