This is fiction.

“Excuse me! Do you mind?”

“Oh! Sorry.”

“Hey! Its you!”

“Yeah… Good to see you too.”

“Same here. So, whats up? what have you been up to? Long time since we me met? What? About an year?”

“Yeah. Just about an year. What have you been up to?”

“Ohh dont ask. I’ve been through hell in the last one year. Its a long story.”

“I have all the time…”

“I’m sure you have. But first tell me where the hell have you been?”

“I have been traveling.”

“Traveling where?”

“Here and there.”

“And where have you been living?”

“In the woods.”

“What?”

“Never mind. You were saying something?”

“Yeah. I was saying I’ve been through hell. Life has been pretty much on the rocks. Especially since dad passed away.”

“How long has it been?”

“Three hundred and sixty-four days. You know.”

“Hmm.”

“Life has sort of taken a U turn. Nothing seems to make sense. I am very worried about how things will go ahead.”

“Dont worry you’ll be fine. I assure you.”

“Thanks. “

“So, what brings you here? Bored of normal life?”

“Yes. That, and I went to Tirupati.”

“Good. I never expected you to travel to lord’s shrine. Alone.”

“I never expected you to show up here. I had been looking for you for quite some time now.”

“I know.”

“So, what have you been doing lately?”

“I said I’ve been traveling. You are still pretty absent minded and redundant. Just like before. You never listened to what I or anybody said!”

“Did you?”

“No”

“That’s it. I have my moments.”

“How was your Tirupati Trip? Any special purpose?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“Ok. So are you planning to visit again?”

“Yeah I’d love to. If everything goes by the plan, perhaps in the next one year.”

“I am finding a drastic change in you. Does this mean you have finally started taking responsibility?”

“I am not the judge here.”

“How are the folks at Indore?”

“They’re good. We talk about you.”

“How often?”

“Quite often.”

“Okay.”

“You want me to say hello to them? On your behalf, of course.”

“I’ll catch up with them. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, my destination is here. I’ll have to get going.”

“What? Wait! How do I contact you? Your cell phone’s been switched off for an year!”

“You’ll have to rely on rendezvous like today only. I’ll be kind of busy anyway.”

“But…?”

“And yes, Happy New Year!”

“Yeah but why now? Its still two days. Aren’t you gonna call me?”

“Uhm.. I’ll try, of course. But I just dont want to miss it.”

“Like you did last year?”

“Like I did last year.”

“Okay. Happy new year to you too.”

“This has a whole new meaning. I gotta go now!”

“But where do you live? I’ll come to see you if you cant come. Tell me where do you stay?”

“There’s a bridge. Of wood. Yeah… A bridge of wood.”

“‘Bridge of Wood’. What a weird place to stay! Lakdi ka pool?”

…………………………………………………………………………………

“Lakdi ka pool! Idharich Utarneka hey na tumareko?”

“Huh?”

Purani Jeans

As I sip real hot coffee from my super-duper-extra-wextra-dextra large coffee mug, my mind tries to recollect what I was thinking the other night before going to bed.*Scratches head in desperation*

I’m going to write about my school days. Of all the good and bad things happened to me in my life, Campion was probably the best. I had spent two miserable months in Bhopal in seventh grade – during which time I was not in Campion. I had heard a lot about it, especially from my father. He used to tell me in his semi-broken semi-Persian type English “beta, you will must go to the kempeon in the next year”. Then I had to return to Indore to finish the seventh grade. And after I passed it barely with oh-god-thank-god 56%, I was ready to rock Campion – the school of toppers – only for boys.

My mother was not really confident about me making it into the school. She had started consoling me even before I left Indore. “Its no big deal beta. On the contrary, there are some potential risks that are associated with boys’ schools… like drugs and all… you know what I mean”. A couple of years later when someone from office said the same, she replied “you’re probably saying this because your son couldn’t make it there”. But papa was always sure I’d make it.

So the day arrived. 22 June 1998. Still a jaundice patient me, went in the school and gave the goddammit paper. The results were out next day. One of my earlier classmates had made it in the list. But why was I so happy about it? Why was I not looking for my name in the list? Because his (name) was the first. “Saala kutta Bhograju Srinivasa Chandrasekhara kadipatta idli dosa first aagaya!!”

But it was there. Nineth (of hundred odd). So was this good news? Campion had such repute that it took only 2 students per class even if they had to start a new class. But then there was a Note at the bottom right of the list. This note, unlike the ‘conditions apply’ note that we occasionally see in the newspaper, was in bigger font than the result itself. That was probably because they wanted every parent to read that before kicking their son’s ass (no daughters applicable, please). The note read: ‘The first 16 students would be considered for admission in class VIII’. And as I turned – still widely confused like a 6 year old looking at the scientific calculator – I read the golden words on a dilapidated wooden board: “Thou shalt blah blah blah…”. Welcome to Campion.

Its been eight years, and my memory has faded pretty much. The only thing I remember before joining school was the joy and happiness I saw in Late Shri Subhash Chandra Sarode’s eyes. He told me once “it’s a different feeling. I also had it when I made it to Bal Vinay Mandir”. He bought me bag, clothes, uniforms, books, and what not. And one evening when he was really happy, he told me “ab yahaa do bachelors rehte hai!”. ‘You’ve had enough for today’, I said.

So the school started. The ambience was really different from the south-indian school in which I had studied earlier. They had a temple, we had church. They had yellow buses, we had white (Although now both have yellow buses). They had ‘Games period’ everyday, we had thrice a week (shit!). We had canteen. We had 100 acres. We had no girls. We had Peter Michael. Their’s was a school, ours was Campion. And then it all started. After a very tough and hard year, I began to come on track. Class VIII taught me what struggling meant. I mean, I succumbed in every subject – even in English, which I thought I was good in.

Ninth was the year of Renaissance. I started studying, eventually foduing in every subject. I was exceptionally good in Social Science, particularly in History and Civic, because I made notes of the subject everyday. I was promoted as an NCC Air Wing Seargant. It was the class in which I fell in love for the first time. And for the only time (not in with anyone in Campion, Of course).

Campion taught me to pick habits. Every school does. But Campion also taught me to quit habits.

Class X and onwards:
After countless unsuccessful attempts of trying to become a class captain, I was finally elected. This episode ended with me adding one more word in my vocabulary – deceit. What happened with me pretty much happened with Dharam Singh yesterday. I couldn’t even participate in the swearing in ceremony. The good thing in Campion was that it made us learn ourselves. I was pretty much heartbroken after my allies turned against me during the class captain elections. But it taught me that standing on the podium and taking the badge was not responsibility. The responsibility is to be able to stand infront of nine hundred boys with your head held high spitting in their faces and telling them “That’s why I’m standing here, and you’re there”. Eventually, I was nominated as School Magazine editor in eleventh grade (my shot at the podium as the member of Executive Council), and I won nomination for School-Captaincy, and Gandhi house Prefect elections – both of which I lost with pride.

School was great fun. It gave me five friends who stood for me every time I needed them. When I joined Campion, I was a simple, cute and fat boy who cried a lot. I was pretty much the same when I left after five years, but people knew me.

saath mere hain tu har pal shab ke andhere mein
paas mere hain tu har dum ujle savere mein
dil se dhadkan bhula dena aasa nahi hai
ab toh aadat si hai mujhko aaise jeene mein

juda hoke bhi tu mujhmein kahi baaki hai

Aadat by Jal (Kalyug)

Mockingbird

Many-a-times I’ve been complimented for my goofy sense of humor. Many-a-times I’ve also been fiercly criticised for my unhealthy ‘dogshit’ humor. It feels good when someone appreciates you. Doesn’t it? And personally, it gives me great pleasure to see an irritated expression on the face of my ‘dogshit’ fans.

However, this incident relates to a totally different circumstance. I’m a person who never gets amused by fake things: be it a fake identity, fake relation, fake smile (trust me, I can detect it…), or a fake orgasm. But this incident had, perhaps for the first time in my life, made me smile to a fake compliment (which wasn’t even hailed at me!)

13 March 2005 08:30 pm

Indigo Food Junction

Opp Bombay Hospital

Indore

“Why are we standing here like asses when we’ve left all our cash in Swiss Bank Lockers?” Asked Abhinav. It was his way of saying that we were bankrupt.

“Because Arjun’s got a new Bike.” Anish replied, sober – as always.

Everybody in the group knew it. We all stared at each other for a moment, and then started looking for our targets.

• Abhinav – For a girl. (Any girl, even a bai would have done).
• Anish – For a mallu girl.
• Ankit – For an MBA Aspirant girl.
• Anurag – For a Jain girl.
• Atish – For a ‘Nahta Professional Academy’ bound girl.
• Abhishek – Just for something cool, Man!
• Arjun (i.e. me) – For a Coke.

I noticed a small kiddo who was staring at our group for a long long time. We’re accustomed to a usual occurrence of such type, but this was different – for he had no sister (of our age group). I ignored the kid and went for a coke. As I was returning, I saw the kid telling something to his father and looking at me (staring, actually) continuously. I kept ignoring him till he stood up from his table and started heading towards us.

“Apan ne iska kya bigaada hai?” I asked myself. I have a tendency of sharing blames and abuses.

“Kya iski koi behen ji hai jise apan ne kabhi chheda tha?”

He stood some 10 feet away from us. And then he shouted at his laf-a-lympic best.

“Ye Dhoom ki bike hai na?”

Somehow, I just coudn’t say No. He looked at his father, who gave him an assuring smile, that “beta, I’ll buy something better than this once you get old enough.” Then he (Dad) turned to me, and smiled.

---

And if you ask me too
Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
I’mma give you the world
I’mma buy a diamond ring for you
I’mma sing for you
I’ll do anything for you to see you smile

And if that mockingbird don’t sing and that ring don’t shine
I’mma break that birdies neck
I’d go back to the jewler who sold it to ya
And make him eat every carat don’t fuck with dad

Eminem – Mockingbird