A country where you can piss, rather not..kiss :-)

If you good guys n gals can scratch your rusty dusty heads I will make you remember something that happened few months earlier and got enough TV hype, debates and then useless enquiry commissions.

It is none other than the infamous Mangalore pub attack where young girls where attacked by activists of an organization called Sri Rama Sene.

The man wanted for such an act was Mr. Mutalik who looks no less than the monkey god Hanuman with his never smiling swollen face. The explanation for the attack was that the girls had violated traditional Indian culture.

Well done Mutalik bhai. Finally there is someone who could save our traditional Indian culture. You seem to be no less than a messiah of Lord Ram. But one minute. I am little bit confused bhai. I have read Ramayan and additionally Mahabharath also. But I have not read anywhere anyone beating a girl like that. Leave all that. Those are big issues. Let us deal first with silly ones. Ready? ,  good.

Few questions to you Mutalik bhai. Have you read anything about Rama staring at Seetha in a way to scare her? Then why have you not raised a word about the pain of a girl of 12 to a women of 40 being stared like that everyday and everywhere she goes? When did that got entry into our culture?

And next here comes my important question to you Mr. Mutalik bhai. For 1 million dollar! Nothing less than a question of  Such Ka Samna. And better money also.

So here is my question. Where on earth Shri Ram or Krishna or Arjun or even the villain Duryodhan or Dushyasshan pissed in public? Then why do I see so many shameless buggers open up on busy footpaths without even a hint of a care to the passing by women?

Is there a structure in India which has escaped the smell of urinals in its surroundings? Can you name a single school, hospital, play ground or a temple?

And is this what we say to our tourist? That we are all shameless buggers. That when it comes to attending this natures call, we are not limited by space and time! Incredible India! Ha!

There is a simple message I want to convey you Mr. Mutalik bhai. Culture is not stagnant. It goes on adding things as a river does. There are other important things to worry for. People like you have made my country like this where I would dare to piss, rather not…kiss

So boys, let us find a remote place to open up.

But don’t forget to open your heart and comment here. No restrictions for that…

keep smiling..

its ash

the birth of love…

It was a deadly, devastating war

For hundreds of years…. planets, fought fiercely

It was a war that was fought for the bare survival

A war…………. for the ‘nector of love’, the survival remedy

That was the time when there was life everywhere.

But the inmates missed just one thing…’love’.

And without love they feared that there generation would… end

It was a mere bloodbath

No victory, and no one survived.

Except for the two denizens

Of a low key fighter- the planet Earth.

And the prize of survival was all theirs

The ‘nector of love’

For the love of Adam and Eve

They found love, had love.

And for the best part…..

They made love.

Thus for the generations to come…

They shared love.

keep loving

its ash..

 

yaadein..yaad aati hai…

Some memories never fade.  Even through the winds of change  in one’s life and even through the times of maturity. They are like stump of a rose plant. When left uncared, it turns black outside. As you scratch, it shows the signs of a green life that breathes inside.

‘The Time Machine’ by H G Wells was not a stupid thing. I travel with his time machine to go back 12 years in time within fraction of a second. I find myself wearing a red chaddi that almost showed my thin thighs, a red and white lined shirt as my uniform with no shoes and no ties,  my mom combing my hair holding me tight, in a bid to stop me from running to my school.

It was already late. It was 8:30. It was late, not that my school would start. It was the time ‘she’ used to come . With garden full of lovely flowers on her short skirt that would  blossom only in my small heart (I thought so! Who knew, how many buggers thought the same way! So mean of them, isn’t it? )

I was the sole (!) topper  in my small village school.  And none of the guys and gals dared to think of competing with me..! Poor chaps!

But, kahani mein twist!! She showed the signs of being my competitor. And I liked it, I loved it- intelligent, cute, city returned ( ), short skirt waali. Tell me, who would not like it? And what’s wrong even if I was just 10 years old, a class five student, I was in a deep crush!!. Within very less time she became my childhood sweetheart.

And this is the story of a day in my school. And the special thing of that day was known only when,  that day my teacher announced to all girls to bring a rakhi while coming to school the next day. For  we were going to celebrate first rakshabandan in our school. Never knew for what good reason it was celebrated, I went to sleep after my homework- my play.

On that special day…. It was time for prayer and it is when my teacher asked girls if they have brought rakhis. The single word answer was, YES SIR. So it was time. He asked us to stand in pairs so that they could tie the only rakhi that they had brought.

So there was chaos all around. More than that there was more chaos inside me. Where is she? My heart jumped. I ran through the crowd. Ran….to…..find her!!

With no idea why someone would tie a rakhi, I wanted to stand in front of her. I wanted her, and only her to tie me the rakhi! With a fear that some other (stupid) bugger like me would go and stand in front of her, I ran to find her.

Finally I found her. Happy I was that no one dared (!) to stand in front of her. So all pairs matched. It was time to tie, and….she did!!!

And… her response went over ten times my expectation. what she would say…she said- “Bring 5 Rs tomorrow, it is not free” .

That was the story of my first rakshabandan!!

Later, I understood the sacred thought behind the celebration. And through the years a lot many rakshabandan came and went. It has always been a difficult day for me. I never allowed anyone to tie the sacred thread to my hand…And still, I have not paid her 5 Rs back. And I promise you , one day I will..

keep smiling , comment and express yourself…

Dost, dost na raha…(to my all dosti)

Dost..i feel like writing to you…have you got time to read ?

Life goes on and on. But the difference matters. My life has pulled new strings but, the music…tastes bitter.

My days are never boring. Since I don’t get time to be bored!. My nights are cool (and it has to be, after 10 to 12 hours of dumping my body and mind into making dumpers). You know, I will never be disturbed in my sleep by the shouts, intolerable drum beatings on the doors, metal chairs etc, and moans of the b‘day baby that rhythmically used to shoot up when each one of us gave our part of bumps. I will never get cold because of 12 o clock city beats, late night ice creams. I will never be tired on long  journeys. Life is so comfortable…

I come to my room, Try to take a nap-that never works. I try to paint, but colors look dull. I remember Mallika Sheravat singing in murder- jindagi is tarah se lagane lagi.. ( but she too fails to shoot me up ). I think of writing something for my loved blog- it seems like starting it all over again. I get exhausted trying to write something good. I try to read my recently brought novels-but then I realize that I have no exams, no internals to worry for. After that they too don’t seem to be  something to go through

I sit alone. I don’t want to go to my past. I feel like screwing her who said ‘student life is golden life’ ( i dont know who said it. aise bakwas bolne wali koi ladki hi hogi na ). But In these freaking times that statement seems soooo true!! .

My English sir used to say this- “The past pain is pleasure and the past pleasure is pain”. I remember my days. More of pleasure that brings a kind of pain.I have spent almost 11 years of my life living with my friends. From my days in residential school to engineering hostel life, I was more like a relative to my own family. You know me better than any of my family members. Suddenly dost, you seem lost . I know, you are busy. Suddenly life has become so serious. Job has become so important. We don’t have time to speak to each other, better not speak about spending some time together.

Dost …Is this a way of life? Was this our dream? Those lines from dil dosti etc..’ when you are young, you feel that the possibilities are endless’ teases me again and again dude. Isn’t it true that we have stopped dreaming? that life looks so settled to dream anything more.??  Then, according to ‘dil dosti’ are we already aged? Does the world really include us into the group that sounds so great, so ‘young’?

Ok.. leave all that. Are you happy? Don’t you miss something? Do we really need to pay the cost of friendship, togetherness to this freaking job? Why cant we manage life, job and still…get together to fight for the birthday cake? To ride on our mischiefs? to go on zero worry long long ride? A lunch together?

IT IS POSSIBLE DOST. Let us not lose each other in this meaningless race of life. I’m sure you will mind to reply?

 

Keep smiling…missing you guys

Yours truly,

Dost

 

seine, thames and the vrushabhavati…

The truth, more or less universal to the cultures throughout the world is that: the womb to the birth of their civilizations was…. a river. Yellow river drainage basin is considered as the birth place of Chinese nation and the cradle of Chinese civilization. This river was called a mother river of the Chinese nation, not only in the writings of poems but in the hearts of the people. Egypt was called ‘the gift of Nile‘.

Rivers were considered as resources and there had been many political rivalries among nations, regions on sharing of water. They still determine the way of life of a major chunk of world’s population.

Rivers are considered sacred, holy. This river, Jordan, is one of the most sacred rivers in the world. It’s a river in South East Asia and runs into the Dead sea. In the Bible it is referred to as the source of fertility to a large plain, called on account of its luxuriant vegetation, ‘the garden of God‘.

River Thames in London and the river Seine in Paris have been converted into the waterways of city’s life. The city Denizens celebrate these little rivers by letting off environmental friendly toy-ducks in summer and picnicking on the banks of the river. Thames is liquid history said British politician John Burns. This is how these countries treat their rivers though the rivers run through the thick jungles of cement and bricks. These are some of the pictures i could find. See them before going into the crux of the article…

This is the river Thames that runs through the heart of London….

river seine that makes paris baeautiful…

Ya, they are beautiful. Now, let me take you back from Paris to our loved homeland. This is the treatment we provide for the rivers which are being called sacred in Indian mythology, the rivers which were believed to clean us off our sins with a single dip in them. Ganga and its tribitary Yamuna that sluggishly moves through Delhi is the countries biggest sewer. Our sins are never ending it seems…

This is river Mithi, which during its short run, winds through Dharavi, Asia’s largest slum, as well as Mumbai’s glittering Bandra Curla comlex. It was once an angler’s paradise and with all our genuine efforts all the fishermen can catch are oil drums and plastic waste….

river Musi at the heart of Hyderabad…

This is..drain(sorry, it is no more a river) Vrushabhavathi and the drain i have seen and experienced its nose blasting,mind-blowing(in literal sense of the word) smell. The way a river has been treated speaks a lot about the people living in the land where it flows. And i feel sorry for the careless Bangalorians who are so self-absorbed and self-centred.

Why can’t we Indians do what a British or a Roman does?. Why do we just throw the wastes wherever we feel?. Why do we smoke in public and be nuisance to others?. Why do we spit in public?. Why can’t we just keep the chocolate papers in our pockets till we find a USE ME bin?. Why can’t Vrushabhavathi be a Thames or a Seine…Why can’t Vrushabhavathi ever be the ‘Pride of bangalooru’?. Any answers?

( i was inspired to write this article after reading a similar one from the magazine ‘THE WEEK’)

Here for you..

Its ash.

i too was innocent once…

I was on my way towards Macho’s men’s parlor. I had a date and I had to make sure that I don’t look like this man Macho (I really don’t know his name. so, I call him Macho). This man remembers me one of the extinguished species on the earth…..Veerappan! (I called veerappan a species because, he is better to be classified so. He has lived his entire life under the shadow of thick trees, living and also ‘dealing with the animals’ ). His long hair and thick moustache makes him the man ‘Macho’. But I respect him for his work. He makes other men look smart. I too was looking smart. She said so…

After that brief encounter with Macho, I was on my way back to hostel. As I made my way, I could see thick bushes grown on the side of the road. From distance I could see three small girls playing near the bushes. They were trying to catch something. As I killed the distance by time, I was just amazed by the way they used to catch those beautiful butterflies. I could no longer keep my lips intact. I smiled heartily after those many torturing days (that is my final year project saga. I will explain it once to you). Oh! Didn’t I tell you what it was?. Ok  take this.

The kids had a flower in their hand. It was plucked from the same bushes. When the titali sits somewhere one would go near, and hold the flower near the ground thinking that the butterfly would come and sit on that flower believing that it is one more beautiful flower!!!.:-)

I just loved their innocence. As I moved on, I was happy that, I too was innocent once….

We all were kids once. We have done such things in our childhood. Many things we might have forgotten. But whatever we remember they are all wonderful memories to remember and to share them. If you have got one worth sharing please write down here..let us all be kids again…

Many might have visited the blog to see nothing new written in it. Pardon me. This final year project has become a hell for us. Next time you visit, i will assure you that you will see a nice article..

here for you…

its ash

my hostel view..

hey gulAAbi..

please click on this twice. sorry for the inconvenience…

ee..modagale heegallave..