Memoirs of a Sleepless City

So I was thinking # 2

2011-03-08T11:41:00.000-08:00

If you die today, then nobody will remember you in a year’s time.

Not entirely true.

May be your parents will. They’ll miss you the most. They are getting old. You are the one thing that they look forward to. They will miss you. And may be four of your friends. They’ll miss you. Especially on Saturdays, when they get together. Or at night, when they are expecting your phone call. But eventually they’ll get used to having the fourth chair empty. They’ll get used to the phone not ringing at 23.22 hours. And life will move on, as life does. And then probably a year later,when your Birthday alert pops up on Facebook, some people will think of you. May be feel a little sad as well. But then they would get back to watching IPL Season 5 or How I met your mother re-run.

And then, memories will start to fade away. It will become bleaker and bleaker, till you are extinct from their memories.

That thought scares me. Not the idea of being dead. That’s an eventuality. But the realisation that your existence will cease to exist.

If you die today, then nobody will remember you in a year’s time.

This sort of thought hits you on a Tuesday afternoon, while you are sitting in office, working on an ‘important’ presentation. And then your mind wanders. You think about how all our lives have always been full of ‘grades’ and ‘class tests’ and ‘ppts’ and ‘deliverables’ and ‘deadlines’ and ‘interviews’ and ‘salary’ and you get the point. True, when you were studying for that class test in seventh standard, it did feel like, the world would come to an end if you did not pass it. True, when you were working nights to meet the deadline, it did feel like, your client’s business will come to a standstill, if you don’t have the code up and running by 4 in the morning. True, you thought that meeting target of tampons in Patiala was the only thing that ever mattered in the entire history of the universe. And then what happened? Then, you died of course. Class tests gone. Sales target gone. Presentations gone. Promotions gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Zilch. Nada. Zero. Nobody will mention that you scored the highest marks in the history test in seventh standard, or achieved record sales of tampons in Patiala in February 2011.

If you die today, then nobody will remember you in a year’s time.

This thought could have been the beginning sequence of a movie. A movie about a regular guy, who reaches that stage when people get annoyed beyond endurance and start something and go on to make history. It could have been the moment, when you discover the Tyler Durden in you. When you realise how badly we are stuck in this unending quagmire called mediocrity. It could have been the point where you start to think about your ‘project mayhem’. Think of how you can leave that ‘dent’. Small but unmistakable. A dent which will be your own.

It could have been one of those moments.

So, I was thinking # 1

2011-01-20T04:03:00.000-08:00

There are three fundamental physical quantities.

Length, Weight and Time

The greater part of the world uses the metric system of measurement to measure length and weight, and other derived quantities (like force and acceleration).
The metric system is an international decimalized system of measurement that is the common system of measuring units used by most of the world.

For example all lengths and distances, are measured in metres, or thousandths of a meter (millimeters), or thousands of metres (kilometers), and so on. There is no profusion of different units with different conversion factors, such as inches, feet, yards, fathoms, rods, chains, furlongs, miles, nautical miles, leagues, etc. Multiples and submultiples are related to the fundamental unit by factors of powers of ten, so that one can convert by simply moving the decimal place: 1.234 metres is 1234 millimeters, 0.001234 kilometres, etc.

This of course, has been done for standardization and convenience of conversion.
Similar story with grams, and Kilograms and milligrams.

But think about time.

This one is sort of the odd one out.

To begin with, this is a physical quantity, which cannot be seen or touched. Yes, man has found a way to keep track of it, or to measure it, as we say. But that is more like cutting up an unending ribbon into pieces, so that it is easier for us to gift-wrap our small packages.

And then, when we do cut it up, why do we cut it up into such strange denominations?
What I mean to say is, why is it 60? Why does a minute have 60 seconds? And an hour has 60 minutes? Why not 100? The length of time, which we call a minute, could as easily have accommodated 100 seconds instead of 60, right? Or an hour comprising of 100 minutes. But it is not so. In spite of being so madly in love with our 10s and 100s, we still measure time with 60 seconds and 60 minutes and even stranger… 24 hours…

And it beats me… And so, I was thinking about it…

What do you think could be the reason? Has it anything to do with a circle having 360 degrees, and time being measures by two radii along a centre? Or perhaps it has some other history behind it? I don’t know. But if you have an answer, or actually let’s rephrase it, if you have a thought on it (thoughts are not Googled, and are therefore different from answers, unless of course you already know about it) then enlighten me!

(there might be more ‘so, I was thinking’ posts, and therefore this one is #1)

Cobb's Cob

2011-01-13T12:29:00.000-08:00

(Warning:This post is not for the impatient.)

I am a business analyst at an IT firm. My job entails looking into the clients’ businesses and telling them, how we can help them do it better. So, often before we can tell them, how they can do it better, we have to understand how they are doing it currently. Or as they say, understanding the ‘AS-IS’ process.

Some of these hot-shot fortune 100 companies have processes and systems which belong to the neo-Paleolithic age. So, to understand the ‘AS-IS’ is more like being at an excavation site, digging up bones from the Stone Age. It has its own charm (the bone digger will vouch for it), but sometimes it can get very VERY tricky.

This is the story of one those times.

So, this company, that I’m currently doing the project for, has offices across different cities in the US of A. Different people handling different functions (processes) at these different locations.

For example
• Process A at New York
• Process B at Ohio
• Process C at San Francisco
• Process D at Las Vegas

These processes (A, B, C and D) operate in a nested structure which looks something like this:
Process A (Process B (Process C (Process D)))

Which means: to complete Process A, you have to complete process B. And to complete process B you have to complete process C and so on.

If you have reached till this point, pat yourself! You are indeed patient.
10 points to Gryffindor!

Ok, back now! Now, let us look at it from a ‘systems’ perspective of the structure.

Process A running at New York, uses System P.
From system P in New York (used for process A), you can access system Q (used for process B) in Ohio
From system Q in Ohio (used for process B), you can access system R (used for process C)
You get the drift, right?

Now, if you thought, this was a little complicated... in comes the excavator (or shall we say the extractor!) aka yours truly! Sitting in Chennai, Da!

To start process A, you must login remotely to a computer in New York, from the computer in Chennai. Now I hope you remember that to complete process A, process B needs to be completed.

So, yes, go drink some water, pee, and come back, this is going take a while…

So, I was saying, to complete process A, process B needs to be completed. So what do you do? (Remember at this point, you have already logged in to the terminal in New York). Now, you login remotely from the computer in New York to the computer in Ohio to complete process B.

Yes it is getting a little smoggy, isn’t it? But wait. Because by the time, you login to the terminal at San Francisco you are pretty much in the middle of the Cobb web. You are trying to switch between terminals, furiously trying to keep track of which level/ process/ city you are in, but DAMN you!

AND THEN, in walks Mr. Christopher Nolan sir jee!

He looks at me, smiles and says,
‘No, there is something fundamentally wrong in that structure. All the levels can’t be operating at the same speed. As you go deeper inside, the perception of time elapsed increases. So, an hour in Chennai, is a day in New York, and a day in New York is a week in Ohio. But I warn you. If you go to Las Vegas, then you’ll come out of it, an old man, with your brain like mashed potato’

I ignore him. Think he must only be kidding about the speed thing.

Lesson# 1: Always listen to Christopher Nolan!

And then it starts to happen.
To open a browser on my own machine in Chennai- .3 secs

To open a browser on the machine in New York, via Chennai- 1 min

To open a browser on the machine in Ohio, via New York, via Chennai- yes, you can go drink some water and come back, and it is still opening…

To open a browser on the machine in San Francisco via Ohio, via New York, via Chennai- Hey, you want to go for lunch at this new restaurant in T Nagar? It’s a little far away. But it’s got an excellent buffet spread. Perfect for opening a browser in San Francisco

To open a browser on the machine in Las Vegas via San Francisco via Ohio, via New York, via Chennai- DIE OLD MAN, DIE!!!

Yes, you want to get out, but right when you need it, there’s no one to kick you!
Now, if you thought Las Vegas was all fun, then well
Lesson# 2: Limbo Las Vegas is not good! Opening a browser takes an eternity! Imagine, how much time, the strippers must be taking to, you know, strip!

Anyway, enough said. This post is a ‘in-between-work’ post.

I am currently in San Francisco.

Talk of DREAM job!!

And oh! Slytherin gets 100 points and wins. Haa!

Neurotransmitters

2011-01-06T06:24:00.000-08:00

Here’s the thing. I am lazy. Really Really lazy. All that excuse about being busy and all, is just bull. One can always find time. Half an hour. No big deal. Unless of course one is lazy. I’m. Lazy.

I just got interrupted. Interruptions don’t help. Not at all. You have to get the thing done at one go. Otherwise the moment is gone. Forever. You can’t do anything about it, once it is gone.

‘A’ once told me, that scholars at MIT juggle. When they are thinking deeply about something, they start juggling. It increases their concentration. I am no MIT scholar. And I have horrible hand-eye coordination.

Anyway, so the point is my blogging record is abysmal. Actually not even abysmal. It is non-existent. So, I am thinking I should do something about it. There has to be pattern to it, right? I mean a routine? Like every time ‘something’ happens, I blog. That ‘something’ can be anything really. Like every time it rains I blog. Or every time my maid doesn’t show up, I blog (then I’d blog, every Sunday or the entire month of December). Or every time I don’t brush my teeth, I blog (I’m not providing statistics for that one). There has to be a trigger. I am not saying, if the trigger is rain, then every time I write, I’ll about rain. Or my maid (But that could actually be an interesting proposition).

And that brings us to the next question. What should I write about?

I just got interrupted, again. DAMN. I should learn to juggle.

So I was saying. Content. Now, any Communication01 lecture will tell you, that the content of any presentation should be decided according to the audience. Right. Audience. Let’s ponder over that for a minute, shall we?

Ok, so I’m sure she will check my blog. And him. And him from that city. Oh, and sometimes, the other one also might drop in. 4 people. Yes. Ok, then. 4 people. But I don’t know what these 4 people might want to read. My best guess is that they will not want to read my blog. It’s difficult to target, when you don’t have a segment. Yes. One must target.

Do you think, I am digressing? I mean what are we even talking about? But well, I think it’s good to digress. What I mean is, lots of time you don't know what interests you most till you start talking about something that doesn't interest you most. I mean you can't help it sometimes. What I think is, you're supposed to leave somebody alone if he's at least being interesting and he's getting all excited about something. I like it when somebody gets excited about something. It's nice.

So I think that’s what I’ll do. I’ll digress. And you digress best, when (as ‘B’ puts it) you feel like a police van in Kashmir. Yes. So every time I feel like a ‘police van in Kashmir’, I’ll digress. It might be interesting. Unless of course I’m feeling lazy. But I feel lazy a lot. I’m lazy. I swear I am.

(Why is the name of the post neuro-transmitters again?)

Ending?

2010-03-30T02:24:00.000-07:00

And so, one by one the list is being ticked off... But when you have been to your farewell party, then you have just hit the rock bottom... there’s no beyond, isn’t it?

The two years, play out in front of my eyes, like a movie on a giant screen... You watch, sometimes from outside, and at other times, may be you are one of the characters inside the celluloid. All the light, noise, conversation, smell, sound, song, colour fuse to create what we call memories. Not that one remembers all of it. More like snatches put together, to make it look like a real movie.

Snatches.

• The yellow door of my room at d-hostel. The corridor.
• Room No- 834. Roomies.
• Room No- 833. Pseudo Roomies.
• Prahlad, beginning to warm up at 12 in the night.
• The door of Room no. 306 closing... Shit, I’m gonna miss my attendance.
• Statistics lecture- what is that?
• The ‘lifecycle stages’ class.
• Someone stole the library register?
• Sitting for the Economics FCQ, wondering why life is so unfair.
• Sitting at Legends with friends, drinking Old Monk, thinking, may be life is not so unfair!
• WAQ submissions.
• Is there a fire in the building?- no placement season is on!
• Is there a carnival on campus? – Well, sort of, it’s called NEEV!
• The e-mail ‘The French FCQ has been cancelled’.
• The singing in the bus on the way to the city.
• The definition of qualitative research.
• Chai, Vadapao, and smokes at Shivaji.
• Is it time for our evening tea yet?

Snatches.

Sounds.
• ‘Hello Hello... yes yes... Good evening everyone’.
• In the corridor ‘Papa topper hai!’.
• ‘Is batch ke G mein D nahi hai!’.
• Friends talking.
• The alarm clock going off at 6 in the morning- sound of the impending FCQ.
• ‘Operations and marketing batch to apply for this job’.
• ‘Tonight’s gonna be a good night’- batch party.
• Friends talking.
• ‘mujhko ranaji maaf karna’ -Legends.
• The bat hitting the ball, the crowd erupting into joyous cheer- Symbi-olympics.
• ‘Last Kiss’- ‘90% on the rocks’ on stage.
• ‘Sutta na mila’- Milaap.
• Random songs on mobile phone at the water cooler- stoned.
• Friends Talking.
• Late night arguments with the long distance counterpart.
• Very late night conversations with campus counterpart.
• ‘Did you see the two of them together taking late night walks?’- Gossip.
• Friends talking.
Sounds.

But coming back. When you have been to your farewell party, then you have just hit the rock bottom... there’s no beyond, isn’t it?
Well, I disagree. Farewell parties are just a way of saying, that it has been an absolute pleasure- these last two years, and I’ll carry these memories forever. Carry these sights and sounds and will remember all of you. For the good reasons. It’s just a way of saying- Good Bye and Good luck, till the next time we meet....

Spaces

2010-03-10T12:39:00.000-08:00

The red and blue neon sign read SPACES. Not that it had much space around it. A shop bang in the middle of the city... on one of the busiest streets.

The boy and the girl walked past the sign. She pointed it out and smiled at him. They had been talking about it. Spaces. And how important it was to them... Their own private, personal space, where they wouldn’t let anyone else in... Not even each other.

They shared a cigarette and walked into the bakery, for dessert. It had been a lovely summer evening so far... A visit to a couple of art galleries... Dinner and drinks at their favourite place and now they had walked into the famous old bakery for dessert.

The evening was drawing to a close though. They walked out, walked towards the station, perhaps a little silent than usual. Their destinations were in opposite directions. So, they would take different trains. The girl walked over to the other platform. The boy stood and watched the space growing between them. The train hurled in, like a giant metallic earthworm. She got in. It picked up speed, and then vanished into the dark tunnel.

The boy’s phone beeped. A text. He looked at it, smiled and nodded. It read “May be its over rated after all... Spaces”.

Not, Not

2010-02-12T14:48:00.000-08:00

I think it was a bad idea, and I refuse to stick to bad ideas. So, I’m giving it up. This whole ‘non-blogging’ thing --- bad idea. So, I’m starting NOT to NOT blog again.

I realise that I’ve never really spoken about my everyday life, in these last two years... And I think that was a good idea. I’m all for sticking to good ideas. So, I’m not going to talk about my everyday life.

But I can tell you some of the things that are crossing my mind right now... good and bad ideas... therefore I’m not sure whether to hold on to them or let them go...

Anyway, so I’m thinking:

• I’d like to go to Tokyo during spring, sometimes.

• Have you had the feeling when you want to leave something badly and hold on it as well?

• Schrodinger’s cat

• This song called ‘If there is something that I might find / Look around corners’

• Why is my roomie snoring so much?

• Lamp shades

• About the last two years: My takeaways.

• I should buy a new phone...

• About the next two years.

• Home.

• Friendships. About the spaces between them.

• A wooden bench in the middle of a lush green field.

• Whether I can hold on to the ‘not- smoking’ stand.

• Deep strong brave soulful guitar strumming.

• If I go insane, please don’t put your words in my brain...

Conclusion.

2009-11-06T05:33:00.000-08:00

Do you wish to continue on this blog?
-May be...

Have you run out of things to say?
-Quite on the contrary. I have so much to say, that I don’t know where to start from.

So are you saying, you are going to write, not going to write... which one is it, I’m confused!
-Well, I guess I am just saying that I’m not going to write for sometime... But I guess I’ll come back...

-But why this hiatus?
a) Well, the hiatus, started quite some time back... so this is just a formal declaration
b) I’m busy... genuinely, really, really busy
c) Nobody visits my blog anymore, what’s the point :(

-Are you unhappy?
Why do you say that? No, I’m not. Don’t go by my puppy face. :) I’m happy. Yes, not excitedly happy, but very calmly happy.

-Any reason for this formal declaration?
Well, I didn’t want, my last post to be called ‘Confusion to Conclusion’... I wanted it to be called ‘Conclusion’. So here it is...

The conclusion. (Shuts the laptop, walks to the window, and lights a cigarette)

Confusion and Conclusion

2009-03-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

The Kirghiz tribe believes that as the moon completes a cycle- one from full moon to darkness, from completeness to nothingness- its dying parts waft away into the sky... like sawdust... giving birth to stars...

As I stand here today, looking at the moonless blue and at the plentiful stars dotting the summer sky, I wish I could pick up each one of them, carefully and vigilantly, and put it back, sawdust by sawdust to spot the moon again... travel the other way round...

My mind is flooded with thoughts... not worries... thoughts... like the night... where the stars gleam through sinisterly, etching strange patterns on the mossy walls of ols buildings. You wish you could see things more plainly, see them how they are. But all that is visible is the shadow on the wall. Shadows from your past... shadows of the future... and you are stranded wondering about your present. You try and chase the shadow... but all that you are left with is the cold feeling on your hand from the wet mossy wall.

But somewhere deep down, you know, that it's not far away... the reversal... when the moon will start to materialise into the sky... and before you know it, it will be a full moon night... and you'll see things clearly... not in the glare of the white sun, but in the gentle silverweed of the moon... You'll feel the summer breeze caressing your face... and you'll know... just know...

By then you would have completed the cycle... the cycle from confusion to conclusion...

Fooled by Randomness...

2009-01-15T00:03:00.000-08:00

15th Jan 2009. I was 25. She was 23. Coldplay. Lenny Kravitz was kravitzing. The statement. It’s really hot. My body.

You might be a big fish in a little pond, doesn’t mean you’ve won.

Now the words have died. It’s just the mumbled music and the guitar playing... And a finger... Random Names... Stupid Laughter... I love this song... Mine made you laugh... Make it nice.

And were stoned good... Good stoned. Stone. Why stone? Rock. Were rocked.

And so I picked it up... no, not it. Them. I picked up two stones... rubbed them together, intending to light a fire. A stone fire.

Everybody wants a happy ending

For so long you type, and this is what you come up with? A happy ending!

What do you think of yourself?

The end.

It’s not, it can’t be...

A Little High

2008-11-12T12:46:00.000-08:00

A little high is how I like it. A little high like now. High enough to forget, but little enough to remember. High enough to live, little enough to end it. High enough to let it go, little enough to hold it back.

And so I stand at the pub, alone. A little high. The band plays my favourite song- wish you were here... The woman in red dress sits on a high stool at the bar, slender fingers tapping the rim of the tall glass... the man in stripped shirt, loosens his tie and orders for one more scotch on the rocks... the head bangers in the front row, their beer bottles held high, long hair following the rhythmic pattern of the music... I stand, and watch memories playing out in my head. Memories of happier times... when people smoked in the pub... when the heavy scent of tobacco, mingled with the fragrance of expensive perfume and wafted away, creating a heavy concoction... times when I would stand in the front row, chant out the lyrics and bang my head to the beat of the song... times when I would hold a woman close to me... Her hair touching my face... my arms around her waist... swaying slowly to some old love song... And then the memories dissolve... Only the lights remain... blue and yellow and green... and shadows... and reality... and the little ‘highness’... and the little loneliness...

They say that parallel universe exists... and therefore a man exists in parallel dimensions... Different copies of him... Like photocopies... and out of those multiple existences, only one of them is happy. The rest of them stand at the bar, taking swigs at their rum and coke... a little high...

They also say, your blog is like your diary... Well, I disagree... how I wish, it would BE like a diary... how I wish, I could write EVERYTHING I wish to write... how I wish, I knew, how to say, what I WANT to say... how I wish... But, I’m just a little high. High enough to forget, but little enough to remember. High enough to live, little enough to end it. High enough to let it go, little enough to hold it back....

Ponder...

2008-10-15T03:34:00.000-07:00

I guess sometimes fairy tales and magical stories, say more than what your own words can express. So, I’ll just let these few lines from Harry Potter do the talking this time.

- It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.
-It is my belief... that the truth is generally preferable to lies.
-Curiosity is not a sin.... But we should exercise caution with our curiosity... yes, indeed.
-Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.
-Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy
-Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?
-I say there are spots that don't come off.... Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?
-There was no point in worrying yet.... what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did
-Time is making fools of us again.
- No, I think I'll just go down and have some pudding and wait for it all to turn up.... It always does in the end.

This post is for you...

2008-09-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

It’s for that one rainy evening, when we sat on the second floor of McDonald’s at Andheri, trying to figure out our lives…
This post is ‘just for the time being’
This post is for: ‘What would you do for love?’
It’s to that one early morning, when we sat on a beach, half stoned, watching waves crash at our feet, speaking in silence
To the first time, you came to my place, when I skipped office, because I was down with a fever
To the times, when we fought and did not speak for days
And the times, when we made up after the fights
This post is a dedication to all the rickshaw rides in the sleepless city
To all the movies at Fame Adlabs
To all the Home deliveries from Alpha.
To all the alu-fry, daal, and egg-curry and magi, cooked in the 1503 kitchen
This post is a toast to the good times; we have had in Toto’s
And the better times we had in Shack
To our drunken feats in Rio’s
And Midnight buffets in Land’s End
This post is a dedication to the mundane, the everyday and ordinary things in life
and also about finding happiness in those everyday things
This post is about my life, in a lonely city… which was not so lonely after all…
The memories reside in the folds of the pages of old books, in the sudden scent of a known perfume, in a pair of blue suede shoes, a song in my iPod…
This post is an ode to all those memories, silent and unspoken
This post is for you….

Life in Technicolor

2008-09-05T23:44:00.000-07:00

It is flowing through my veins and rushing to my head, filling me up, draining me out, and filling me up again. My vision is a swift swirl of blue and white. The sunlight etches intricate patterns on the road, a chaotic knit of grey and golden. I am walking down the road. Only this time, it is not a real road. Nothing that I see is really real. Only the music, that mingles with my blood and rushes to my head, and bursts out in colourful bubbles is true.

Nothing can touch me now. The brown dog at the corner of the street, the smoke coiling up from the steaming tea pot of the road side tea stall, the cars… blazes of black and silver speeding past, nothing . I cannot touch them either. I can only watch. Like one watches a movie. Observe. The rhythm. The beat. The way everything fits into the sound. Life surrounding me, orchestrated to the subtlest note of the music. Playing out like a fancy techno visualisation. As if everything else was created after the music. Planned according to it. And suddenly, everything seems so perfect. The wind after the sudden autumn shower ruffling my hair, the golden sunlight lighting up the mossy wet walls, the smell corn being roasted…

the music is becoming louder…. Reaching a crescendo…

Life in technicolor.

Last Nights

2008-08-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

We were at D’s place in Cal. The night before she left for Bombay. It was coming to an end. The lights were turned out. The music played slowly on the Sony sound system. We hadn’t started smoking yet. We started only a year later. We were high on alcohol. The door which led to the open terrace besides D’s room was open. The fragrance of jasmine flowers, planted in pots, strong and intoxicating, wafted in the humid summer breeze. The three of us, D, P and I lay under the whirring ceiling fan. Silent. Listening to the Anjan’s ‘Bondhu’. Finally P spoke.

So, this is it. This is how it ends. Our last night together. 15 years, and this is what remains.

It was difficult. Difficult, to accept that it would not be the same again. The times that we had left behind. The times spent in dingy classrooms of our school. Times, when we bunked tuitions and ate at cheap restaurants... when we roamed the streets of South Calcutta, singing newly learnt tunes from Bengali Rock Bands... the movies at the Lighthouse theatre... eating beef rolls at Nizam’s... Drinking old monk at Olypub... Our culinary misadventures at P’s place... the delightful fried rice and chicken at D’s place... The nights spend in ‘beckoning the spirits’... The musical endeavours on the brightly lit second floor of Barista at Park Street. This was life, as we knew it. This was our world. And now, D was leaving for Bombay... and the night was all we had.

Jump cut to three years later. And things hadn’t changed much. Sure, we had started smoking. Cigarette and other stuff. We were drinking Teacher’s instead of old Monk. The music, playing on the iPod was different. And yes, the city too. We were in the sleepless city. On the second floor of a bungalow called ‘West Virginia’, belonging to an irksome Christian family. But, well apart from that nothing much had changed. The three of us were still together. And it was the last night, one more time. D was leaving the sleepless city, and going back to Calcutta. The room was dark, barring the mellow yellow light streaming out of the rectangular Fab-India lamp. P sat slouching back on the cushion, fiddling with the guitar.

The last two years went exactly as we had planned... well almost. Our suburban existence, our own place, 1503, 800 square feet with a view of the Arabian Sea. It came with its ups and downs. Well ups mostly... with the stray, Bombay rains... train blasts... D getting lost... S meeting with an accident... friends walking out... financial crisis... you know the regular day to day stuff. We were out of our comfortable cocoons. We had grown up. But we didn’t outgrow each other. And so we smiled, sat back and talked about the good old times, raised a toast. But this time it was different. Because we had that this was not the end. There were more last nights to come.

Afterthought: I don’t know, how would life be without D and P. I guess I don’t want to know either. I just know that they will be there no matter what, thick and thin. And knowing this makes life a lot easier... makes me a happy person.

Sleep

2008-08-25T22:08:00.000-07:00

This post is a result of deep agony, a state of acute ‘sleeplessness’, and a burning desire to call it a day and crash... but I’m not giving in yet... I’m going to fight it, and I’m going to write...

Let’s start out by doing some basic math. Don’t worry. I’m getting to my point.

So they say that you can go without food for a week at a stretch and still be breathing (if not more)... but one week without a wink of sleep, and chances are that you’ll be lulled into sleep forever.

Normal people, sleep for 8 hours a day.
If 8 hours of sleep= alive and kicking
And 0 hour of sleep= fatality
Then well, you know, mathematically, I’m half dead.

Some six months back, when I started this blog, I didn’t realise the tremendous power of foresight that I posses. I thought ‘Memoirs of a sleepless city’ was a harmless title, a nostalgic whiff of fragrance, a thing of the past. But take it from me, and hear me out carefully, when I say- there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING, romantic about being sleepless. If I knew the title would back fire on me, like this, I’d think twice. Alas... It’s too late...

This is how it happened...

The first seven days are exciting. Yes, this is how life in a b-school is supposed to be, isn’t it? Going down to the all night cafeteria, at 2’o clock, sneaking a smoke in the loo, and pre-reading the first chapters of Kotler.

Week three comes, and the situation is a little different. The classes from 8 in the morning to 8 in the evening have started taking a teeny-weenie toll on you. You are struggling to finish your case study assignment, and you don’t have the slightest clue about what ‘Cooper Fabrics should be doing to get their sales up’, leave apart a contingency plan. Before you could get Cooper Fabrics out of the mess, you realise it’s four o’clock.

Enter second month, and you are well into the methodical madness. Now, you have a new problem on hand. This thing called an FCQ (Don’t bother about the full form). So, it’s this weekly test. But like every other thing in a b-school, this one too, comes with a twist. You don’t know out of the 17 odd subjects (Yes, 17 it is... it’s not a typo), which test you are going to take tomorrow morning. So, you try and do some methodical guessing, some furious elimination and finally a few coin tosses, and boil it down to 5 subjects, for the night. By the time, you finish with all this, it’s already 10’o clock and your eyes are screaming for some rest. But mind over matter. So, you smoke profusely, stay awake, juggle with 3 subjects, fail to understand all three of them and turn to the fourth for refuge, only to realise its 6’0 clock. An hour later you sit in the exam hall and watch the 10th subject on your well-educated guess list, sitting pretty in form of a question paper. You curse yourself, not for not studying, but because you stayed up all night... But Alas! It’s too late.

And so I say, and I beg, and plead, and scream out in my head for some sleep. I can do with some. Okay, perhaps, a lot. A whole day... or a whole week... Yes... I’ll settle for a week.
But then, when you’re in a place like, where I’m right now, you know that your plead/ prayer/ demand is falling on deaf ears. You know, that after finishing this post, you have to get back to doing your FinAcc assignment.

And so I resign, give up, surrender. And a couple of lines from one of my favourite song play out in my head.

This one’s dedicated to her... The ever elusive enchantress, the one who can take away all your worries, the one who comes to bed every night, the one I miss so badly that it hurts...

Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nail, she makes me wait
And I’ll wait without you....
With or Without You...

Rain

2008-08-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

Imagine yourself high up in the sky, gliding around lazily. A bird’s eye view of the city. Come down in concentric circles. The tiny dots acquire shape- regular and geometric… irregular and chaotic. Rooftops of high rises, serpentine roads, patches of greenery, shimmering water bodies. Further descending, you notice newer colourful specs appearing… cars, billboards, trains like millipedes crisscrossing the city. The August sky is pregnant with dark rolling monsoon clouds. The city looks a dangerous shade of grey. The wind picks up. Open your wings and let the coil take control of you. You are being tossed around like a weightless plastic bag. Dust from the street kicks up and blurs your vision. And then the water breaks.

Inside, the windows are open. The orange Fab-India curtains flap witlessly, in the gusty wet wind. The raindrops arranged like sheets of sleet change direction with the squall. Ravishankar plays the Malhar raga on the iPod. Let’s say it’s a Wednesday afternoon. The guilty pleasure of skipping office spreads through the body, like a shot of cocaine. There’s no milk at home. So, they cut a thick piece of lemon and squish it into the freshly prepared tea. In another half an hour, they’d go back to bed… hold each other… watch the raindrops trickling down the window pane, as they make love. Waking up, they would take a walk to the nearby beach… the wet sand touching their feet, the wispy drizzle caressing their bodies.

And so the August afternoon, turns into an inky monsoon evening. Orange street lights reflect off the wet street… black umbrellas everywhere, as the crowd returns home… the Bhuttawala roasting sweet corn on the earthen kiln… street kids play in the grimy water of the roadside pothole.

Start ascending… follow the same helical pattern. First the umbrellas will become mere black dots, then the orange neons will turn into an illuminated pearl necklace… the cars with their headlights like urban fireflies… rise further, until the whole city looks like a glittering electronic circuit board… then further up… and further… until darkness engulfs you…

Coming back to Life

2008-08-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how to start this post.

It’s like that awkward feeling that resides in your gut when you go to your workplace after a long break. Nervous smile... piled up work, out-of –touch friends greeting you on a lazy Monday morning. Yes, I’ve been absent from the blog scene for quite some time... and so much has happened in between, that I’m a little lost.

It has taken me

· almost three months,
· a trip back to the sleepless city,
· my favourite cane sofa and
· a couple of pegs of Bacardi,
to pen down my comeback post.

Quite a tall order for 500 words, eh? But, truth is I’ve tried and I couldn’t come up with the first line. It’s always the hardest part. I knew, once I was able to get past that illusive opening line, the rest would follow, but I could not make it happen. Everything that I was living, was too sharp and too clear, so I could never tell where to start- like a map that shows too much sometimes can be useless.

To put it in a nutshell ‘I’m living a different life’.
· From a plush Bombay apartment, to sharing a room with two other guys.
· From making a decent living for myself to thinking every time I buy a pack of cigarettes.
· From comfortable ‘wake up at 11o’ clock and go to office’ to ‘run half asleep to attend lectures at 8 in the morning’
· From a horizontal learning curve to a vertical one
· From scrumptious cuisine at fancy restaurants to the bland mess food (which is vegetarian, and this has got NOTHING to do with my previous post [except for it being a cruel joke played out by fate])
· From late night shows to late night ‘group-study’ sessions
· From ‘cut-throat’ to ‘I wanna take your spleen out’ competition
· From living in the ‘sleepless city’ to living in the memories of the place.
Life has surely changed for me.

I’m back to school, a b-school to be more precise. For people, who have gone through this hell hole, I don’t need to explain, what it is like. And for people who haven’t, no amount of explanation will suffice. But I refuse to go through this alone, and therefore will be torturing you regularly with the accounts of insanity from my life.

For the times, that I’ve lost, I will make up for it. Yes, I promise. I cannot deny you the sadistic pleasure that you will experience once you read about my life in the last two months. But, now is not the time.

Now, it’s time for me to enjoy my well deserved holiday and pour myself another drink...

Veg Food is like Gay Porn!

2008-05-29T00:13:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok... calm down, calm down…

I know there are a lot of vegetarian people who come to my blog, and often :-)
So, let me just clarify, this is not a dig at you people…

I don’t know, if any gay man/ woman visits my blog, but in case you do, this is not a dig at you either…

This is just a simple statement, coming from a non-vegetarian straight guy!

Ok, now let me explain:

Premise: Men watch porn.

So, when men (straight men, I mean) watch porn, they are basically looking at the girls in action, doing whatever they do. The men in the video are really redundant for us. I mean, they being there/ not being there, doesn’t really make a difference to our lives or to our porn watching.

Similarly, think of a situation, where you go to a party, and there are a variety of scrumptious dishes, waiting for you to be savored. Now, a true blue non-vegetarian (like me) would never really, care for what’s there in the vegetarian category (yes, that’s how, I think of it: category) and would straight away jump for the meat! So, all the vegetarian dishes, that are there, is really unnecessary for a non-vegetarian.

Okay, now think of a situation, where you go to a party, where there is NO non-veg food… Say, it’s all vegetarian!! What do you do then… yes, do you see it now??? It’s like, a straight man stuck with gay porn, with all the useless men in it!! It’s sex, and it’s porn, but it’s that one time when you wonder, how to get rid of it!!

Guess, I have made my point… As, I said, this is a non-vegetarian straight guy’s POV. Would like to hear, what you have to say.. So, pour in those comments!

(Thanks VB, for that line, Veg food is like gay porn… WHOA!!)

Rambling on a summer night

2008-05-13T13:17:00.000-07:00

A lot has changed since my last post… For starters the city… I am back in Kolkata.

I sit in my room… 1’o clock in the morning… the AC droning softly… the summer night outside; very quiet; the Kadam tree still standing upright and silent, the occasional rickshaws lazily going by, their wheels whirring loudly, breaking the silence of the night... this neighborhood is quiet, barring a distant din of late night TV shows.

I think of this time of the night in the other city… Coming back late from work… ordering late night Pizza delivery (which continues to be the only hope for us bachelors in alien cities)… sitting down in the hall, on the cane chair… switching on my favorite corner light… pouring myself a drink… lighting a smoke… playing David Gilmour on the I-pod… every action so known, so repetitive, so lonely, and so personal… In another half an hour after finishing my first drink, I would switch to a livelier Billy Joel, go stand near the window… feel the sea breeze on my face… watch cars zoom past on Juhu road, their headlights shining like little golden fireflies… the sleepless city…

I guess, I have always found a certain kind of a pleasure in living in the past (which doesn’t mean, I hate the present)… I have always longed for things which have left me or which I have left behind… I have always let little strings from yesterdays tug away at my heart. So, now that I sit in my room, filled with memories from my childhood and books from my adolescence, I can’t help but think about going back to my room in Bombay! Going back to the writing desk, where I hardly ever sat down… to the shabby sleeping mattresses (though I confess, I’m happy sleeping on a bed after three years!)… To the large orange cushions… the white electric kettle… the cane pin-up board (with photographs of the ‘Mumbai-family’ on it)… to 1201…

Also very strangely (and yes, I must say this), I never thought, I’d miss my office so much… I miss my cubicle at the corner (1D21)… my little white board (where every afternoon, I’d scribble a few lines or draw a strange face)… the coffee machine in the corridor… the cigarette shop right outside our office. But most of all, I miss the people. I miss M (one who used to sit diagonally opposite to my cubi) and M (who used to sit in the next cubi), and P (the crazy one!)… and P (the Boss!). I miss my band, and practicing with them after office… and I miss our magazine ‘W’, which I had a ball of a time, editing and being involved with… Our hastily planned pizza parties… the aimless loitering in the canteen… I miss Gateway Park.

Well, and then comes the hardest part… my friends. And the times spent together… The crazy nights… The brilliant-est conversations… The madness… But that surely calls for a separate post.

For now I must leave you with these lines, which has been playing in my head for quite sometime now:

What shall we use

To fill the empty spaces

Where we used to talk?

How shall I fill The final places?

How should I complete the wall?

In Bed

2008-04-16T07:12:00.000-07:00

This one is a game, I found going on in an Orkut Community. Basically, all you have to do is read what your fortune says. Then add ‘IN BED’ at the end of it. The result is hilarious. So, check what your fortune says and add it in the comments section

Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded… IN BED (Ahem…)

Behind an able man, there are always other able men IN BED!!! (Ouch!)

You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier IN BED!! (Phew…)

A thrilling time is in your immediate future IN BED (Yippee!!)

In God we trust; all others must pay cash IN BED!!! (Amen!)

You have an important new business development shaping up IN BED. (Ermm…)

You have a potential urge and the ability for accomplishment IN BED (Let’s GO!!)

You are soon going to change your present line of work IN BED (ummm…)

Versatility is one of your outstanding traits IN BED (Thank You!)

The only good is knowledge and the only evil is ignorance....IN BED!!! (Be informed)

The philosophy of one century is the common sense of the next IN BED! (Move on!)

Society prepares the crime: The criminal commits it IN BED. (Joint Venture??)

You will never need to worry about a steady income IN BED. (I call it ‘Hard Work’)

Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you IN BED. (You mean, the pillow )

Your mind is creative, original and alert... IN BED (Alert…yes… but mind??)

Avoid Hasty decisions...IN BED... (Difficult… but, if you say so…)

You will be recognized and honored as a community leader IN BED (Finally!!)

Promise only what you can deliver...IN BED (but… I mean… you know…)

You are talented in many ways... IN THE BED (Thank you, once again!!)

The great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do in BED. (Forbidden fruit!)

Orange Mumbai...

2008-04-08T03:34:00.000-07:00

That’s what K said about the city… Bombay is orange

The three of us were sitting on a rock at Bandstand, D, K and I. The salty sea water touched our feet… The dirty Arabian Sea swirled away merrily around the rocks. The sun had set. The sky was a dull shade of orange, turning to purple.

After the first 7 days at K’s place, I had finally managed to find a place of my own at Crimson Tower, Flat No: 2003. It was on the twentieth floor. Everything from up there looked small and insignificant and orange-ish. I had moved in with P, A and A, my friends from workplace. Soon K moved in with us.

Hardly two weeks had passed, and already the city was changing me … I was starting to find a sense of freedom, unlike anything I had ever known before. Living all by myself, working to earn a living, staying with people I hardly knew, being accountable and responsible for the things I do…

During this time, we started hanging out at Bandstand. D used to come all the way from TISS, and join us at Bandra station. We used to head to Mocha, where every time we religiously ordered a portion of Lava Lava (and at times, two of them!!).

The sound of the waves lapping up on the rock and then retreating , the setting sun, couples sitting and making out shamelessly on adjacent rocks, the ever-enigmatic ‘Jeevesh terrace’ looming large behind us, and the three of us, singing our hearts out… that’s how our weekends went by.

On one such weekend, K pointed out that the city was orange. Everything about it… the light streaming out of the street lamps… the orange tiles on the Barista floor… the colour of the flag flying at every party office … the Fab-India curtains at the window… the cushion covers… This city was orange…

We also thought, we will write a book some day, and it will be called ‘Orange Mumbai’. Well, we are yet to start on that, but at least it’s got a preface now…

This was of course the calm before the storm… soon the pirates would arrive on the shores of Bombay, and change life as we knew it… but then that’s one whole different story..

(To D and K: This one is for you guys… To the January evenings… Lava Lava and Bandstand! )

I want to break free...

2008-03-27T08:43:00.000-07:00

Yes, that’s the song you’ll hear when you call me…

It’s a song by the British band- The Queens. Apparently, this was Freddy Mercury’s way of ‘coming-out’ to his mom. This song also became an anthem for the ANC in South Africa in the late-'80s when Nelson Mandela was still in jail and the white government's apartheid policies were still in place. But that’s just a little trivia, about the song… that’s not the point of the post…

I guess every piece of art becomes popular, when people start associating it with their personal experiences. And this one is no different… We all want to break free. We want to break free from sadness, melancholy, hatred, boredom, more work, less work, no work, hard work, smart work, appraisals, deadlines, assignments, plans and basically everything in life that binds and gags and makes you suffer.

But even that’s not the point of the post…

So, Dude, what are you getting to??

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Pregnant silence

Drum rolls …drrrrrrrrrrrr……

I have resigned from my job!!!!! Yes dear folks… I have resigned

I HAVE BROKEN FREE!! (Umm…well, at least for the time being)

Memoirs of a sleepless city- 1

2008-03-25T04:42:00.000-07:00

It was a winter night in Bombay. I lay in the bed, drifting in and out of a reverie. It was my third night in the city. The first two days had been really frenzied…running around with all my stuff, from one end of the city to the other. Finally I had ‘settled in’ at Kaustav’s place…for a week.

The orange neon light, from the street outside, streamed in through the blemished glass casement. The midnight radio hummed away softly, somewhere in the next room. Other sounds included the soft drone of Sandip’s snoozing, the street dog’s incessant howl, and the occasional cars whooshing past…..They say the city never sleeps…..Well at least I wasn’t….

The development of events, in the past two weeks had been really rapid. One leading to another, without giving much time to contemplate. I have been mulling up the idea to come to Bombay for a very long time…so, when I was asked to give my choice for the place of posting, I never thought twice while selecting Bombay. In another week, my training in Calcutta ended. Soon, I was, standing in the long queue, at the Sealdah station, to buy my ticket for Gwaneshwari Express to Bombay. And, in three days, I was standing in front of my house; my suitcase chock-a-block with my clothes, books, and shoes. My handbag crammed to limit, with packets of biscuits and wafers, and my wallet…..well, the status of that was quite unlike the other two. As I waited for the cab to arrive, I watched the Kadam tree, tall and upright, with its bare branches, drooping into our balcony, the long-standing rickety wooden trolley, right under the tree, where the Istiriwala used to press clothes day n night, I watched Ma’s cotton saree, fluttering in the wind, left for drying up in our balcony, and everything else, that had become so familiar, that I had never cared to take a second look at them. But at that moment, as the cab pulled up, my eyes drank up every sight and sound that was around me.

Yes, I was stepping out of home, stepping out for good. Going to a city that attracted me like a forbidden craving… to the city that never sleeps.

I'd rather..

2008-03-24T05:45:00.000-07:00

1. Be at home, reading Doris Lessing, drinking Tia Maria, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the guilty pleasure of skipping office on a Monday afternoon

2. Be in Shantiniketan, getting lost while taking a wrong turn in some unknown village, and spend the night under the starry sky…

3. Make time stop, so that the weekend would never end, and the three of us would be together, at least for a little while longer…

4. Be with my friends, on a trip to a nearby hill station… may be Matheran

5. Be eating home cooked dal, rice and aloo fry rather than ordering Joey’s pizza, every other day

6. Stop working, quit smoking, and start exercising…

7. Become a Buddhist monk, and sell my revolution!

8. Be friends with you….

First

2008-03-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

The first times are always special. Your first day in school, the first time you went for a movie all alone, the first time you flunked in a subject, your first drink, the first kiss, your first job, the first time… you know… I guess you have got the point.

Likewise, this post is special, because this is my first post. It was due for a very long time… but somehow my wise words didn’t get a chance to sail in the network of cyber channels. But now here they are, to enlighten you and more importantly to unburden me. I don’t promise to post on a regular interval (if you are reading this... then probably you are thinking … who the f*ck cares anyway!!). But I’ll try my level best… this is not a promise to the reader (because I don’t have any!) but a pledge that I’m saying to myself.

Well, there are many things that I want to say… but I’m going to take it slow…

Will sign off with these words by Lifehouse

I'm feeling alive all over again
As deep as the sky that's under my skin
Like being in love, she says, for the first time
Maybe I'm wrong, I'm feeling right
Where I belong with you tonight
Like being in love to feel for the first time