Thursday, August 18, 2011

Miserable South India

If faith is well-ground and belief is personal then, why you need to pay Rs. 100-500 for a temple visit. I am too disappointed with Southern part of India, primarily on two grounds:

  • First, the unkempt and almost ruined heritage which once housed many a great dynasties; forts in South India are into a pathetic state.
  • Secondly, the privileged rows to pay a visit to the deity. No wonder, why the temples in South India procure unaccounted wealth. You are charged get a good glimpse of the god else a ‘free darshanam’ will need a strained and jostling effort yet the god is almost hidden.
 And, then who said India is not a biased land.

 

Cantankerous Cacophony

I’m your man, Mr. Mephistopheles if god makes any more children. And, I’ve decided to sell me to your harem to get poked with pitchforks by red men with horns and goat-legs than being with bevy of cantankerous cacophonies.

Now, if you’re through with the mumble-jumble; do spill out the beans before I die from unnerving boringasmic. Damn! O.K., with clear thought and throat I proclaim that ‘world could be a nice place to live with adults only if those infants yet to pubertize leave us graciously.’ C’mon you lingbie…else I blow off.

Dear Blog, you won’t understand the point because there’s ain’t a childroid blog to torment thee. What rod? Childroid – the ones who can cause hemroidal pain on your background. Huh! Oh, you don’t believe… (huh, you!)

Fine, hear this: while returning from the most unorgansmic tour from one of the private parts of Southern India which offer nothing apart of teariness; I battled my way to occupy one of the window seats in a snail-like train. Thankfully, the train left the station timely and run amidst the green-filled landscape bringing relief to my sloshed and nicotine-sanitized mind. Droopy eyelids gets heavy as the mild track song sings me a lullaby. The busy compartment filled with strange and unknown Travelers Bum of all shapes, sizes and gender engaged in their selves while I got sleepy and fell sloshed.

An hour might have passed…the train cascaded over the sunshine track through numerous stations while I was sloshed when a screech woke me unwarranted. J-E-S-U-S! No Mephistopheles. Swarmed with gang of childroids – on floor, on the seat, on the passage, blocking the exit door; the compartment looks like a dungeon. (Moron, stop behaving a gay.) HELL-O!

I’d have been less hyper, if the train wouldn’t have delayed for more than two hours to reach the destination that otherwise take five hours. This must be ‘a divine injustice’ coz’ as the train start delaying the horror multiplies. The rest of the journey was a tortuous tour through hell. Screeching children, jumping children, crying children, annoying children – bevy of childroids popping up from everywhere and add to nuisance.

Twitched eyebrows, lips, eye-bags; I try to twitch every possible muscle to express the annoyance but nothing crease out the woe. My 8-hour long nicotine free mind now gets perky and looks for a gunny bag to stuff the bevy of childroids and beat them merciless. I wonder why people are not born adult. Is childhood necessary? F***

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Random and Randomness: When Mind Stop Thinking

It’s time for me to unwind myself and take to sojourn journeys to rehabilitate. Life is otherwise a booing bitch till a travel plan is doled out. This reminds me that “the last time I did the roads is two-year back…” So, before I again set forth and my blog turns into a mini-travel book let’s look at the things around. And, a horror struck.

The world around is burning (where do I step). London is burning, States is in debt. Asia is terrorized and Japan catastrophe. Skeletons tumbling out of the parliamentary closets, the common man shed his/ her immune self, jilted lovers find comfort by axing their ex’s, faggots settling for marriages. Where do I step?

Strangely but deeply, I began to believe that the 21-12-2012 is real. A new order is set to motion and before it happens let me look at the seas, mountains and plains before they all washed off or exploded. 

Birth hood is inevitable and I might born in a new way.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Indian Railways

Dear Minister…

This is an open letter, could be high on emotion, but deserving an honest version that any of the review statement churned from bureaucratic masturbation after responsibly dissecting the causes of train accidents in India. My version is neither populist nor propagandist rather heartfelt.

To the best of my memory, the last time I ever had lost any of my relatives in a train accident dated back to 1940s. Those were the time; when travelling by train was nothing short than a ritualistic practice with passengers tucked into a holdel (an un-fashioned military bedroll) and carry a personal porter too. Train journeys were considered as stress-filled and often sinfulicious. Interestingly, the concept of coal engines and waiting rooms add glamour to the journey. During one of those journeys, my distant maternal grandmother met with an accident and left abode. I was unborn then.

Generations of childhood, in our family, have been told the story and the harrowing experiences about how the family members’ strugglefest to trace her body lying under a heap of corpse. She was in her teens and newly married – petite, beautiful and young. Her body when handed over was charred, disfigured and partially decomposed. She was gone but her ordeal remains a talk-point during many of the train accidents we have witnessed, over the years.

Since then, my family has made many a train journeys. Some did it frequently while other occasionally but, we did enjoyably. We travelled alone, we travelled with families; we travelled during the happy summer vacations and (yes) when critical emergencies struck household. In fact, many from my generations and generation preceding us, has spend most of their memorable moments with Indian railways and still cherish them lifelong.

Indian railway, during my generation and ones preceding, is the lifeline to us. The mud-cup filled with sweetened milky tea was the favorite drink with unmatchable taste. The stretched acres of land with rows of palm trees, or the large banyan groves where men resting in a sunny day, or the changing land from red-to-brown-to-black; seen through the window of a moving train, brought us close to a realization about the vastness of our country called ‘India’. Indian railway contributed to our learning when we were child.

For me, the Indian railways always had a special connection thus it pains to witness it Erod. The proponents might misguide it as ‘advances’ but amidst of yearly up-gradations the system falters to meet the basic and fundamental requiries.

Dear Ministers, there are many a thing that the commission report never register except of number of casualties or the tariff rates or the new introductions in rail route; is how a commoner like me, feel when travelling around. If you pay notice:

  1. I don’t feel secure about the iron tracks anymore. They no more shine like they do when I was a child. In fact, the last time when I walked by the train tracks I noticed scratches and the screws are being rusted. Can you polish the tracks once again and spare few crones to buy new ones?
  2. My hometown is in Delhi while my relatives stay eastwards. Thankfully, we got ample of trains – so many that often we end up not reaching the destination on-time due to traffic congestion. On the other hand, when I settled in southern part of the country, due to professional compulsion, I almost lost being in touch with them. We got only few trains to connect and all of them remain over-booked (seasonal or unseasonal) so my mother can’t visit me often. She is sixty and diagnosed of having acrophobia. Can you make more frequent trains connect the north to south than north to east ways?
  3. Ah! Interestingly, when India became an IT-hub and almost all my relatives or friends start doing something or other with computers – we become the most technologically developed country. Yet, none of us have a full-fledged and flawless online railway system to build – neither the nation nor department. What a shame?
  4. My paternal house is located in distant suburbs of Kolkata where there was an unmanned check post. When I was child, we used to cross the tracks to reach the platform. It was 20-years back but 20-years later, during one of my Konkan vacation I have crossed multiple unmanned check posts and faulting signal systems to reach destinations. Life returns to a circle but with where we have the ‘proclaimed advancements’.
  5. Hospitality! A distant word that loses its definition either airways or railways. I’m sure we don’t mind spending few extra bucks while reserving a berth; provided the washrooms are cleans, water is safe and free-flowing, environment is hygienic, and food is hot and tasty.
  6. While writing the above comment, I stumbled upon the word ‘reservation’, which we need but rarely gets. Three-month advances, multiple changing of dates still ‘no tickets’ unless a tout is religiously followed.
  7. The arrival and departure of trains coined the term Indian Standard Time (or IST), which invariably means we don’t mind being late or never be on time. An efficient traffic system and all of the above could definitely change the meaning, if acted with diligence.
The moral: While the Indian Railways seems to have perfected rescue and relief operations following accidents, it has not met with much success when it comes to accident prevention. The safety drive needs a review to identify the grey areas — be it signalling, track replacement, or the status of the rolling stock. It is time the political class stopped viewing the Railways as a plum platform for patronage disbursal and saw the Railways for what they are: a vital, but failing component of India's transport infrastructure that has the capacity to make or break the nation's competitiveness.
 
 
 
Ministries must work now lest it could get too late.

Burden of Love

When debt began to burden your soul, it’s time to payoff. Love follows the same path. I no more feel, it’s worthy to write about ‘love’ so passionately because the passion dried. And, now I realize: “people have won their ways to be with me till they feel there’s nothing left”. So, time to put him in a trash-bin. Adieu love!

Monday, July 11, 2011

A Woman in the Chapel

Sitting before the altar with her fingers clasped to each other resting on her chest; her head bowed with a few streaks of loosened hair veil her eyes. She shed a single drop of tear. She spoke the most silent prayer.

A demure, frail woman as she wants the world to picture her but images could be deceptive. She wasn’t meant to be a skylark or a doe; nestling in a broken elevator and look at the weather change. With her ambitious wings spread, she can eclipse the sunny sky with thickened darkness where calm-bloodied moon shines.

The immortal Maria! It all changed when the ambitious-bee dunks her so deep that she didn’t mind walking down the memory lane, as one of the most notorious femme-fatale of crime of passion. Two of her victims – a naval officer and a media-man battled for her till one of them lie down in his grave while other languish in the jail.

Lovelorn Maria as she reclaims. None of them loved her soul but the body; and this enraged both to struggle till one of them pulls the dragger and the body fall. Poor girl, Maria! Grievously, she witnessed him bludgeoning and hackneying the body of second consort to pieces before they were exhumed in a deserted place. Maria stood by the survivor, like the Lady Macbeth, compassionately. A passionate crime or crime of passion that she witnessed, designed, and executed with ambitious grandeur; ironically exonerated by one compassionate judgment.

For three years…she watched the weather change in the sky from her pigeonhole…now, the sky remains prostrated but her fangs clipped. (Betrayed Maria!)

About New Self!

I am nothing but ‘a chronicler’ – of the times and my life. Both changes in most dramatic ways and often narrate a sordid story.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Love Him...I Mean the Writer

For a long time, I was searching for a suitable inspiration to rejuvenate my otherwise, fading pen. This article published by DAWN, a daily from Pakistan, did it. Thanks to the man who taped the conversation. I am lovin' him.


Read it here: http://www.dawn.com/2011/05/05/dead-man-and-the-sea.html

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Tere Liye...

दर्द की क़ैद से लील'लाह बचाले मुझको
अब सुकून धुन्दती है, ख़ाक नज़र मेरी...

Saturday, April 16, 2011

My Veritable Thought


At times, I surprise myself to extreme. This is one for record that made me realize ‘what’ve I spoken’. In fact, I am poked to make speech ‘like this’ not realizing the veracity of my words being so profound and truthful.

“Men can never be loyal. He was not even loyal to his own God when he ate the fruit from the ‘Tree of Wisdom’. Ah! Then, he goes shy and put his cowardice act to be the ‘fallen hero’ and gain sympathy. But did ‘ye talk about Eve – fallen, disgraced, cursed yet; she remain loyal to ‘her master’ throughout.

Gays have more of woman in them. Don’t you know we love loyally and disgraced always,”