Dance bar

I went to a dance bar last weekend and to my surprise, I was the only one who was shocked to see what I saw. Ok, so I had never been to a dance bar before and I wanted to see what its like. I saw women sitting in a queue, in tight flashy clothes, covering the lower halves of their bodies with a cloth. When their name was called out they would come and perform a dance on a bollywood track, on a stage. It was clearly not a cultural performance, it was not the dance that people were there to sit and appreciate. It was more about the vulgarity of the song and the dance. It was more about some drunk men ogling at the women and their bodies. Apart from thinking about the men there, I also ended up thinking about the women and started imagining about their lives. The lady in the corner was continuously making passes at a gentleman sitting in front. I imagined them meeting outside the bar after a couple of hours and trading money for those 11 minutes of intimacy. There was one girl who looked quite upset while dancing, as if she was not that much into it. I could imagine her doing this for money, maybe she was funding her brothers education. They all looked like lower middle class indian girls. My parents would experience a slight discomfort just by the fact that I was sitting there amongst the audience. Do you think their parents had any clue that their daughters were doing this? Did they even know? Its quite possible that they think their daughters are doing a respectable job here, little do they know that there are some drunk men buying a dance while their daughters keep their self esteem in the changing room and provide for that father's cancer treatment or that brother's high school fees.. Maybe if I don't go there, that young boy might lose his chance of getting an education, but if I do go there, I am definitely helping that market exist. The market of trading the indian woman's self respect for money.

Time waits for no one

Just a couple of hours and he could have met her and said Goodbye. But time waits for no one. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and years - they are on their own schedule. Oh hang on a minute! No, time waits for no one. The rich, the poor, the old, the young, the good, the bad - no one. I got reminded of those eagerly awaited visits because you would get us a chocolate, those short stories, the family gossips. Brushing your hair and the red ribbon that you would tie at the end of that plat, the long car journey and using your arm as a cushion to sleep, and those childhood stories you narrated which transported me to the world where he grew up. I guess the time had come and it wouldn't wait. Its ticking away as I write this too. So - don't wait for the right time to say thanks, don't wait for the right time to say that you love someone, don't wait for the right time to say sorry. Time waits for no one. Once it's gone, it will be gone forever leaving behind memories and a new minute, a new hour, a new day. May your soul rest in peace.

Life in a Metro

Of alochol, women and a stranger.
A birthday evening, people start coming in. Alcohol starts pouring and in a few hours, most guests are slightly buzzed if not more. Blaring music, both rock and roll and the bollywood type play in the background. Soon a neighbour comes complaining, and the volume goes down. People dance to the music, the heartbroken guy and the girl-who-drinks-till-7 are quite drunk and start dancing close.
In the meantime, the Child-of-June invites the stranger-in-his-40s over, he comes, entertains us all with his crazy behaviour and soon passes out. His girlfriend is much awaited, soon she arrives, disappoints the men, and has to leave for her friend who's parents want her back home. In the meantime, the married couple start fighting over winding up and going home, the woman wants to stay and the husband says either you come now or never She starts bickering over how married life sucks and curtails her freedom. Soon, she cries, gives up and has to leave. Another bored chap says how he is missing someone (seems fake) and takes the opportunity and leaves with them.
The birthday boy gets an expensive gift from someone-who-he-is-not-his girlfriend. Another quiet guy who-doesnt-tell-girls-he-works-for-jumbo is just sitting around passing random comments. Soon, the heartborken guy and the drunk hippie girl start making out in the balcony, lock the bedroom door and stay inside for hours while the rest sit outside making fun at them and the passed out stranger who is salivating and constantly getting hiccups in his sleep. Some of us get tense, check if he is breathing, and then decide to let him sleep. Apparently, he pissed in his pants at night too. When he woke up, he was asked to leave.
The music lovers play songs on the guitar all evening for the guests and for each other. At 4 am, I decide to leave, as I have witnessed enough in my sober state (thanks to the mycoplasma-who-breed-asexually). I was bored and out of place for much of the evening, mostly because I was sober and because I do feel I am living in a different zone right now as compared to the rest of us. I feel disconnected with most of the music, the people and the lives they are leading. I come back home, take my medicines and as I lie down, I wonder, are our lives as fucked up as I think they are? Or is it me out of place and out of time?

As Lennon would put it - Imagine no possessions..

Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can...
Why are people obsessed with possessions? Possessing the biggest and fanciest house, the funkiest car, the latest electronic gadgets, the tons of clothes, bags and shoes.
It is so difficult to talk about your experiences, memories and opinions, and so easy to talk about the new mall on the street, the latest sales and promotions and the latest apps on your funky phone.
Even though you may have the latest phone with the latest applications, giving you updates by the minute, why is it so difficult for you to know the top news stories of the day?
Are these possessions making us better people, richer human beings, more intellectual, more sensitive to feelings and emotions, or are they just turning us into morons incapable of an intellectual mind and a human heart?
Can we imagine no possessions for some time?

The Newspapers of our existence

Newspapers have run out of fashion. The morning paper with bed tea is now obsolete. Everything is online. Be it checking the daily news on the desktop, the laptop, the notebook or better still - the BlackBerry or the I-phone.
Who cares whether there was an earthquake, a storm, a cyclone or a neighbourhood murder. We all seem to be more concerned about whats on someone else's mind. Someone is angry, someone is depressed, someone wants to go on a holiday, someone is happy, someone liked a movie, someone's dog has a birthday today, someone just took a piss after 4 hours. Ya, right!

Some people have a rare collection of beautiful pictures of themselves, which they change everyday while some people go about - "you guys look beautiful together!" and "ur such an amazing couple, made for each other" and then there is "wow... awesomeeeeee pics!"

Everytime a photograph is taken, it is evaluated as to how it would look out there and when is the soonest I can reach home and upload them all? Oh, hang on there is one more option - Mobile uploads!

Any opinions be it political, social, or fancy quotes stolen from the internet, find a way!

What is called "social media" is now, for me, a newspaper of one's existence - anything and everything from cold and flu updates to news about hookups and breakups, from pictures of short road trips to long holidays, engagements, weddings and honeymoons - and this newspaper gives you all the spice of everyone's life.

Gossip and spying has taken a new meaning and everyone seems to be hooked on to this. Including me. So when was the last time you posted something or checked someone else's photos? Its already been 15 mins? Don't waste your time here, go on refresh your "News Feed" and Enjoy!

While my guitar gently weeps

It was a winter morning of 2008 when I brought my 'wise little boy''s guitar with me to Bangalore in the hope of learning how to play it. I secretly started taking guitar lessons dreaming about a day when I could take the guitar from the 'jokerman''s hand and try to play it in jest and see him laugh at my stupid attempts and then surprise him by actually playing him a song. However, as things unfolded in the spring of 2008, i gave up on this desire and the guitar was left gathering dust against the wall in the corner of my room. I saw it sometimes and the desire to pick it up and play it came and went, came and went and eventually I never got myself to learning it.

Now, when it was time to pack my bags and leave the city, I wondered whether I should take it back with me or give it off to someone here. Taking it back with me home was always an option but of course, it involved the inconvenience of carrying it. To add to it, there was no one to really play it. Hence, after much deliberation I decided to sell it off. I saw two posts on the company bulletin board from people who were looking for a used guitar. I mailed my guitar details to both of them. One of them, sent me an sms late in the night saying that he wished to buy it and if he could call me. I gave him the guitar details; he said he was just a beginner and didn't know anything about guitars. I told him to have a look before he decides to buy it. He said he would buy anyway. He reiterated - "Please dont give it to anyone else." I promised I would give it to him only.

The next day, I carried the guitar with me to office, reminiscing about all my friends who had played it at some point of time. The person who wished to buy it came to collect it. Somehow suddenly, I didn't feel like parting with it. He gave me the money we had agreed upon. Then he said something which really touched me. He said - "Thanks so much for giving it to me. I want to learn how to play the guitar and I was looking for a used guitar for the last five months and wasn't getting one." He couldn't afford to buy a new guitar. I suddenly felt like giving him the money back and saying that you can take it as a gift from me. But then, the next moment I thought that I cannot disrespect him by doing that, i'm sure he wasn't here for charity. So I accepted the money with gratitude. I said - " I would not have given it away if I weren't moving out or if I knew how to play it. It was just gathering dust for the last one year. However, I would like it if you learn how to play it and have a good time. Happy guitaring! " We exchanged goodbyes and went our own ways. I looked back and saw him walking away with my guitar. I smiled.

The guitar, hopefully, shall now be doing its karma. As the 'wise little boy' said, there would be more music created in this world. I also thank God for giving me so much that I am in the capacity to share it. And as I approach the day when I shall be getting the last paycheck of my first job, I am again made to realise how 'less' for someone is 'more' for someone else.

Subterranean Homesick Blues

I might have the cash
To pay to a random person
To cook me my meals.

I might have the ways
To find a new one to do that
Each and every month.

But the taste in the food
Never comes close
To that of yours, My dearest Mum.

The credit in my account every month
Might be ten times now
Of what it was, when I was in school

But the work that I do for it
Doesn't comes close
To the effort I put in reading up the books

It doesn't even match
To the beauty Dad
Of asking you for the tiny monthly allowance.

You were away
On foreign shores
The distance was more, the call charges more.

Its just a rupee now, compared to six
The two and half hours gap, ceases to exist.
But I miss talking to you now, my dearest Sid

I know the work takes a toll on you
I know the commute is bothering too
Don’t worry baby, I understand and I'm not complaining too.

Inspite of hefty phone bills now
Compared to the tiny recharges and missed calls
Of those days back in school

I fondly remember the passing on
Of the phone from Dad, to Sid, to Mum
As a ritual, each and everyday.