Your ‘high’ness

I have a disorder
To feel mediocre when praised
But to feel proud when being realized
of mediocrity

To extollers I am just the lucky one
There always seems so much to achieve
With ambitious ones I happen to be content and happy
After all, there will always something left even for the best

As the confusion about self mounts
Surprisingly clarity of thought forgets its bounds
Joking when sadness does it rounds
How many tears came watching that silly movie, well I lost count!

So I thought of writing something philosophical
Hoping of doing something mystical
Or at least clichéd rhetorical
But even failed to find something rhyming with ‘cal’!
Well, that was dull.

When life goals change sooner
Than Delhi buses changing lanes
You doubt if grass is actually greener
On the other side of the joints smoked in chains.

Welcome to the jungle – 2

Months back, a post was made entitled ‘welcome to the jungle‘. That post though full of wild trees and shrubs, had no wild animals in it. So this time, we have most of the wild animals found in this one, accidentally strategically being published just before the release of Jungle Book.

With 4 visits to the National Zoological Park (Delhi) over the last 6 months, I clicked over 1000 bad pictures. There is something addictive watching animals for hours and patiently waiting for hours in the harsh sun to get that one shot that can be shown to friends and family 😀 So here, I will post some of the pictures of some of our friends who are fighting for their existence and are forced to live in their dwarf homes at the center of one of the most densely populated cities of the most densely populated country in the world. try to get something funny out of these fat asses.

One fine day at the Republic of Zoorasia
“So, ready for the fight bro?” “Sure man! Start counting your days! But where is the lousy referee looking?”
“Fuck the referee bro! There’s only one rule in our fight club! It is, there’s no rule!”

Suddenly, the whole tribe intervenes and tells them to stop. They have a news!

Hey stop you naive idiots! Haven’t you heard of the Panama leaks? All the big cats have their names in it! Let us go and protest like intellectuals!
“Yes yes! Follow me. Those cats might be powerful, but hiding their money in the Panama Canal ! Hahh! They can’t be as smart as me”
“Hahaha oh monkey! You are such a monkey!”
“Hey croc! Just because he is black, you can’t call him a monkey! Racism is not allowed here!”
“And that is not racist, you asshole? Silly animals! The day I complete my evolution degree and get promoted to homo-sapien, I’ll teach you a lesson”
“Hehehe he’ll become a homo..”
Yup! That is why I prefer to say under water away from these people
“Umm, we are saving our seats here since morning to see the drama. Could you please protest now so that we can have some entertainment? We are really bored of news debates”
“Protest? Against us? Was peeing in my drinking water a part of that?”
Sorry dude, that was me. I feel my bladder is getting smaller
*ROAR* “What is this commotion about in my kingdom? Don’t you know I am a no-nonsense king?”
Speak up now! I, your king, am here! Or my roar has left you out of words?
“Ha! Silly old man! We had oil! So we became a democracy years ago! You are not the king anymore”
“And in democracy, we can pee and sell it as oil”
“I am going home :/

To be continued… Maybe, if I feel like… Someday. Please tell me if you smiled.

The phone

An old phone rang
An older heart sank
It was on silent mode for ages now
The heart, not the phone

The phone wasn’t supposed to ring though
Not because it was dead
But because  it’s callers were
The hands now shook in sync with the heart

A few steps felt like a marathon
Legs wanted to quit
The heart longed to win
And the heart won

Hello, trembled the lips
Hey Dominos, you suck more than pizza hut bro
Silence. Disconnected.
God can be impressive in bullying

Knowing heart

A monkey cap from the back
A cunning smile over a goatee
It was funny how she saw him everywhere
When she knew he’d never be there

Perhaps she didn’t know after all
Or she didn’t want to know
She heard a reference to rising from the ashes once
You never know” she said when was told the impossibility

Probably she knows he’s there
Helping in interviews, getting the cab
Cancelling of events, changing the seasons
Smiling, still making her heart skip a beat – while his own stopped months ago

Versions of history

107 days back, someone very close to me lost his life in the most unexpected way. Days were tough, nights tougher. I was, and still am certain that my outlook towards life, people and relationships will never be the same. Everything changed and became horrible in a flash.

105 days later, I start reading the book ‘India After Gandhi’ which notes that history in India has stopped being written after midnight of 15th August, 1947 (Independence day). And for those who wrote biographies on Gandhi have their history till 30th January, 1948 (Gandhi’s assassination). So the writer tries to explore what happened next in the contemporary India. Still it starts with 1940s.

Migration of 10 million people – 150,000 brutal deaths. These are the official numbers that are recorded attributing to partition.

The above two incidents, separated by 7 decades are interestingly connected by Joseph Stalin. I heard this quote years ago, but suddenly it started making so much sense. “The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic”.

While reading the book, I was reminded of an old photograph and a heated conversation that I had with my grandmother after this photograph was taken.

From left : Gurpreet, Abdul, me

The first character in this picture is 8 years old Gurpreet, my elder cousin, and probably my first friend. Since his dad (my father’s elder brother) was moved by the preachings of Sikhism, he changed his religion from Hinduism when he was 23.
The tall guy in the middle is Abdul in his teenage. He used to assist his dad in a shop in our neighbourhood when he wasn’t playing with us. Two of his many other tacit duties were to pick me up from school every day and to bring my favorite ice cream so that I keep my mouth shut as much as possible.
The third one, in the green sweater is me after 6 years of coming into the world.

If you are used to Indian names, you would get that the 3 people here are from 3 different religions – worshipping 3 different forms of God, going to 3 different holy places, though celebrating all festivals together. And how bizarre this fact sounds to me while writing. These people cannot be different. These are still inseparable!

But I do remember my grandmom advising me to stay away from Abdul. When a child aged 6 is asked to stay away from his friend who never fails to bring smiles to him, he is bound to retaliate. When I couldn’t find any sense in what she said, she showed me a deep scar on her back and narrated the day when at the age of 14 she saw her parents being killed and how she managed to get on a train to India from Pakistan, bleeding by the knife attack. No matter how much I am sure that she’s completely wrong, still I think I have no idea what she went through.

But the reason for writing all this is that I need to know the other sides of the story. I am sure there would be 4 versions to this history of partition – the Indian government version, the Pakistani government version, the British Raj version and finally, the truth.

One version’s villain is the hero of another. But I am curious to know what the people of Pakistan and British think about there versions. I sincerely invite everyone who is reading this to tell me what/who according to them was the reason of so much violence and their views about the partition of India. Also what image do they have of Jinnah, Gandhi and Nehru.

I am refraining here to give my opinion because I need to listen and learn, rather than speak, for a change 🙂


He knew mutual funds are subject to market risks. After reading the offer documents carefully, he dropped the idea and invested in traditional fixed deposits only.
Interestingly the colourless and seemingly harmless spirit in the man on the driver’s seat gave no such warning.
Trusting, he invested his life. Market risks seemed greater than life risks.

The bond forms

“I would say that if there has to be just one Governor, it has to be him”, he said to the selectors, realizing the consequences of saying this. It was the position he wanted the most and had sacrificed a couple of other positions to be in this race. But he also wanted the best for the society and knew it was safest in the referred man’s hands.
Their friendship wasn’t instantaneous. Coming from opposite parts of a country that changes it’s language every 22km, probably nothing was common in them, except enemies. They hated the same people for the same reasons. Notably, one of them was in this room asking for suggestions for new Governors.
Each other’s genuineness was what had appealed to them when they first discussed their unhappiness about the state of events. But his ability to sense hypocrisy and identify wrong but politically correct people made him the most deserved one for the post. The man batting for him in that room knew that though he can work his ass off with complete honesty, there was diplomacy and a little cunningness that was needed to run the society and to beat it’s rivals. But he had no idea that his friend will be doing the same for him a few days later when he would be called. His reason would be that an honest sincerity is needed to compliment his soft skills and as he described himself – ‘too badass to give a fuck’, he needed someone to keep him going while what  his whole body wanted was just a bottle of scotch and his speakers playing Les Misrables songs.
The person sitting behind the table spoke again, “if both of you are given the responsibility, will it be okay?”

*fast forward 2 weeks*

Batchmates, seniors, juniors congratulating them, some with happiness, some with jealousy. An unbreakable bond started to form from that day.

Open ended

He opened his eyes
Saw around him the blood
Heard the cries and shrieks
Thanked God, he was scratch-less

It was dark, the date had changed
And so was the mood of birthday celebration
He wished he could help his wounded acquaintances
But he cared for his sleep more, always

He reminded himself of the time
When his girlfriend broke up with him
For the n-th time because sleep was his true love
He laughed off the thought as his canines shone in the lights dim

He picked himself up and realised
That he was as full of life as ever
He looked around to find someone like him
Crazy enough to be playing football at that hour

Disappointed, he thought of his mom
She wouldn’t be too happy he realized
Last time he met her, she had fainted
Of fasting for her son’s good job
While he was unable to control his laughter

His dad always wanted him to confess that he drinks
But he was too smart to do so
He pretended to be as ideal as his brother
While he lived life by being as badass as possible

Probably the thoughts of some of his brought back his smile
He was again the first to do something
And got a lot of boost to his ego
Wo kehte hain na : Spotlight” – he lives that dialogue of his own play

He liked open-ended scripts
So it is unknown what he did next
Some said he stayed, watching and judging
Some said he started working on a new script
Some thought he left to meet his true love – peaceful sleep

They can’t be sure though
The scratch less body gave no clue

Evening blues


As the sun sets and it’s time to go home
A strange figure moves at the horizon
Its spectacles reflected the dying light
As the creature drank the water from the sea

Suddenly my eyes open and I see around
Moon has risen, highway still jammed
Around 7-8 people more in the bus
Expressing the frustration in their own ways

I see a lady with reddish brown hair
Communicating her inability to fly to someone concerned
A man with a moustache thicker than his arm
Murmuring best wishes for everyone who’s on road

A young man with a French cut
Staring at infinity and lost in its beauty
There’s also the conductor for whom keeping his sleepy eyes open
Is as easy as completing a marathon with a bun in the oven

There, I hear a slap from an elderly woman to her child
The favorite way of venting out by parents
And of course, the guy of my age sitting beside me
Reading what I write, scared of this creepy sight

Oh, the traffic moved!
The gush of air and the moods soothed.