The Funnier side of the blasts!

I don't know why I'm writing this. Usually I'd try to look at the funnier side of the more serious things in life but I don't think even Woodie Allen or Roberto Benigni could make a fine comedy out a tragedy like this.

More than 2 days have passed since the bomb blasts in Guwahati. And like every other coward I've fled away to safety. But the gory images refuse to let go of my mind. Every minute of 30th October 2008 was like living a nightmare, not merely living in one as usual. Strewn bodies dangle and dance in front of me just as soon as I close my eyes. Even a thousand miles away now I can't spot anything remotely funny in that fear. But I'm not one to give up so soon. It may be next to impossible when you consider the common and spread out destruction but on a personal front I'll now try to tell you how hilarious those events were.

# 1 : Okay, there's this new stupid mall in Guwahati called Pantaloons which has the distinction of being the first and only establishment in the state to have an escalator (big deal, yes!) and hundreds of people still untouched by the era of consumerism visit that mall only to experience the thrill of climbing up and down an escalator. Till two days back I used to make fun of that mall at every single opportunity but that fateful day it was this stupid mall that saved my life. If for some stupid reason (still very much arcane to me) I wouldn't have insisted my mom to pull over at the mall and spent some ten minutes looking and frowning at all the unnecessary things on earth I would have been buying 'bhoot jolokia' (The famous naga chilli which is considered the hottest on earth) at the Ganeshguri market place. And even basic probability would prove it mathematically that the chance of my mom and I turning into a 'bhoot' ourselves would be just a little shy of a 100%. I could have been amongst the hundreds of casualties bleeding to death in few of the most inept and unequipped hospitals in the country but I still went unscathed due to a silly whim...... funny isn't it?

#2: I'd refused to go home during my Diwali vacations on the pretext of preparing for CAT 2008. The real motive, though, was only to get stoned and drunk every night. But funds started running low lately and one day I suddenly called up my mom to announce that I'm coming home! And now, had I not been home for that short span of six days my mom would have been working in the court bang opposite the D.C court which experienced another deafening blast. I couldn't possibly comment on the possibilities of my mom being physically affected but it is for sure that our car would have been nothing but a piece of charred wreck and our driver a pulp of unrecognizable mass. With dozens of fatal casualties and dozens of vehicles being rendered worthless within a span of few seconds, my mom, our car and our driver (in that order of priority) are totally safe. All due to my inability to fund my own alcohol in Nagpur during diwali! Come on, that's a reason valid enough to get drunk tonight!

#3: The Jehadi forces along with the local ULFA are suspected to be behind the blasts. I've never been much of a pro-fundamentalist but there was a time probably when I'd have uttered kinder words for the ULFA. Yes, it's kind of amusing when I think of it now but there was a time I almost believed in the ideologies of the ULFA. Assam is separated from the rest of India not merely by the chicken's neck called Siliguri but also by the supreme ignorance and indifference in the minds of almost every individual in the rest of India. People ask me if it requires a passport to go to Assam. People ask me tigers roam freely in Assam and walk on the streets. They ask me if people in Assam still roam around in leaves with a spear in their hands. There are people who assume that ULFA is not a terrorist clan but the name for the descendants of Assam. I mean, this is the level of ignorance! So it didn't take me much time to get carried away when the ULFA leaders spoke of an independent nation with a redeemed self-respect and self-identity. I could almost visualize their "Asom', free from violence, intolerance and corruption where people would live happily and grow as one. Even if it meant having tea for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And riding on one-horned rhinos. And dressing up in silk for every occasion. I never doubted the concern and affection of the ULFA for its own people. But wow, how wrong was I!!! I don't know if it is the feeling of insecurity or power, but their revolution is long-lost. And my faith too has gone for quite a toss! Can it really get any funnier??

#4: Oh yes, it can. I was lucky enough to have fled away from Guwahati to Nagpur within those three hours that the curfew was lifted (an aggravated mob's procession led to the re-installation of the curfew an hour after I boarded my flight). And just as soon as I reached my flat here, my friend announced that intelligence has detected that the serial blasts all over India is not a haphazard one but follows a very planned and coherent sequence called the BADMAN sequence. B for Bangalore, A for Ahmedabad, D for Delhi, M for Malegaon, A for Assam and it has been presumed that the final N is for, yes, Nagpur. So having narrowly escaped the blasts in Guwahati and fled away to Nagpur, am I really finally safe now? Well, my guess is as good as yours!


And if you actually laughed at any of this, your mind is just as sick as mine!

I AM WOODY ALLEN (Or all you need to know about being in a relationship)

There's an old joke - um... two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions."

It all started with the starting of Annie Hall. Love had seen us through one year. But now, on this lazy Sunday afternoon, all the silent sufferings and hidden grudges were starting to vent out.

She blamed men.

I blamed periods.

Oh that nerd, whoever he is, is so much like you.

Hmmmn, that’s the best compliment I’ve ever got. I mean, seriously, Woody Allen is like God. He’s the funniest and wittiest guy ever!

MCPs, that’s what you all are!

Members of the corny parliament?

Ha! Male chauvinist pigs! You, that spooky nerd, all of you. Indifferent, reckless, careless, insensitive, jealous and in worse cases even sexists!

Wow, did you just mention sex?

Don’t try to act funny. I’ve been trying to figure out for quite a while now why’s the charm fading away. I thought maybe it’s just me. I’m going through a phase. But now I know. Even Annie went through the same phase. Courtesy your God, Goodie Allen or whatever.

Right! What a wonderful deduction! It was just a movie damn it. Get over it now!

But don’t movies portray reality?

Harry Potter and the sorcerer’s stone surely did!

At least I could relate to whatever Annie went through.

It’s only two characters you’re talking about honey. Let me tell you, Woody Allen is very happily married in real life. To his stepdaughter.

Oh great! What a lovely man. No doubt you worship him. I’m sure, given a chance all guys would do!

I’m bored. And hungry too!

That’s what I’m here for honey, isn’t it? To cater to all your needs and pamper you! To cook for you, to clean for you and….. what not!

Chill dear, I’ll cook. I just mentioned I’m hungry. So tell me lady, what do you wanna have for lunch? Garlic and pepper chicken? Sphagetti and meat balls? Just name it madame, and it shall be served to to you in a platter!

Oh, thank you so much but I’d rather not. You make a big mess in the kitchen whenever you enter there.

I promise to clean up too.

I don’t trust you.

Try me once.

No. I don’t feel like.

We order then, what say?

Do whatever you want to.

What do you wanna have?

I don’t know.

Is that a dish?

*Raised eyebrows*

Sorry, bad joke! Seriously what do you want to have?

Why do you care? Just order for yourself.

Aren’t cha hungry?

I don’t know.

Wow, I give up. I am your sinner. Tell me how do you want to punish me? Just don’t answer indifference. Shall I fetch a whip Madame?

Would you stop bugging me?

*sigh* what is it sweetheart? Why are you angry on me?

Did I say I’m angry? Infact even I don’t know what it is. You please order for yourself. I don’t feel like.

Are you having your periods by any chance?

Don’t copy that bastard’s jokes now. So not funny!

No, seriously? I wasn’t kidding! I swear I wasn’t!

I think it was just last week that I was down. So now you don’t even remember that?

Was I supposed to? I’m sorry I forgot. Then what is it? Why are you behaving so erratic?

I don’t feel the need to answer any of your questions.

Just tell me what have I done? And what do you expect out of me now?

Nothing. Honestly nothing. I have already expected a lot. And I’ve been royally disappointed. Now I don’t have the courage to expect anything more.

Don’t do that to me now. I know I have been careless and insensitive at times. But you know what, you haven’t been to my family. You must meet my brother, once atleast. This problem runs in the genes, And I believe, I’m the least affected one.

Only the male genes I’m sure. That’s where the problem lies. Everything in this world is just a joke for you. Your life, your career, my life, my career, our relationship…everything. And it has all ceased to be funny now.

A joke is only intended to ease all the prevailing tension. I bet we could all do with some extra laughs.

Well, not always. And the problem is not with you trying to be funny. The problem is that you keep creating problems and when I try to tell you how it affects me, you simply make a joke out of it too. And now, if you still pretend not to understand the problem, it’s your problem.

Too many problems to keep track. I’m tired. Just answer me one simple question. Do you still love me?

Yes, I love you. But love is not always everything in life. Right now it’s interfering with the priorities in my life. It’s taking a toll upon me. Honestly I’m tired of losing sleep over these issues.

What are you getting at? You need a break?

I think we’ve already wasted enough time. We need to move on.

Yeah, sure! The bicycle thief or Citizen Kane? You choose!

…………………………………THE END…………………………………………

RIP

music drowned
the other night
in a tub
of coke and soap

poetry died
the other night
of a heart failure
and a drug overdose

the storm
must have been too big
to ride
the bounds of reality.
and all obscurity faded
into the recesses of the night
while the shooting star
followed into where
rests the heart of wilde.

too many people
probe into the death
some call call it murder
and others term it
suicide
speculations would never end.

but how does that matter
for in their departure
they have left
their world
behind...

All in good humaar!

My phadar always told me that i should sometimes try to write in my natibh languaze as well. Honesly I always rephrained phrom doing so. My hesitason was a maniphestason oph my linguistic incapabilities an my lazines more than my naglact phor my madar tang. Assam is a dibherse land with an imansely ris history oph culsure behine it. It is knone phor its ris languaze and literasur as well. An I knew that I cud nebher do it any justis by attemting to write in assamese myselph. An so quite obhiously I had stuck to englis phor so long.

But resently my garlphrand has started throwin the same sit upon me. You know all that crap about not straying phrom your roots and respecting your languaze. The whole oph last week, see has been insisting that i write something phor her in assamese. So phinaly here I go. My pharst attemp at capsuring the risness and beauty of the languaze i pharst learned to speek. This is dedicated to my phadar. Ane this is dedicated to my garlphrand. I hope this will do away with most oph your complains.

I am bhery seriusly out oph ideas to write apon. My muse is on an indephinate bhakason. Hopephully this writer's block would soon be obher and i would be able to come up with something better phor both oph you. I hope I habh not let any oph you down. I may not be bhery good with my natibh languaze. But hey, atlis i tried!

THE MYSTERY OF THE SOLITARY SANDALS

“Have you ever given a thought about all these single sandals lying by the road? Just count them; they’re above twenty at least! Strange where they come from!” My friend Kiel uttered that comment on way back to the hostel after having two large glasses of chilled milk shake each in an attempt to beat the local heat. The road was not long. It must have stretched for less than a kilometer. And in those thousand meters, actually lay twenty-seven single sandals scattered randomly. Most of them were worn-out. Few were still in usable state only if one could complete the pair.
I was surprised that those sandals had never caught my fancy before but now that my friend pointed it out to me, this simple and yet odd observation obsessed me for lot many weeks to come. Whenever I would walk by that road in the ensuing days I’d always count the number of sandals scattered around. They always varied between twenty and thirty and occasionally it even went up to thirty-five. Never at the same spot though. Never the same color though. It was something new every time!

Very initially I’d to remind myself to count the sandals whenever I walked by that road. Few days later I started doing it subconsciously. I got so obsessed about the mystery behind these sandals that at times I went for a walk only to count them. They always maintained their consistency. Never less than twenty. Never higher than thirty-five. Whenever I walked by I kept my eyes focused on the road to learn where these single sandals come from. But I was never lucky enough to witness their arrival on the road. The obsession instead of subsiding kept on growing within me. I had to know the truth. I had to uncover the mystery behind these strange sandals. Or I’d starve to death. Or may be I wouldn’t be able to breathe however hard I tried to suck the air in. I started spending all my evenings sitting on the footpath balustrade puffing at a cigarette trying hard to understand a truth that had been eluding me like all the words while I’m trying to pen this down.

Sometimes I was accompanied by a friend or two in the evenings when I’d come out on my quest. We’d sit together, smoke together and gossip about lot many things but my central focus never shifted for a second. They often asked me what kept me so troubled and absent-minded. And most often they assumed my silence for unrequited love. I never bothered to correct anyone. I couldn’t even explain to myself why I never told them what I’d been observing but somehow I just couldn’t. May be I was apprehensive of being laughed at. Or may be this quest had infused a certain esoteric sense of adventure in me that I wasn’t willing to share. The whole thing would have definitely seemed ridiculous to another man. But I was convinced that behind this mystery lay the answer to most of the complicated questions in life. Something told me that once I unlocked the answer to the mystery of the solitary sandals I’d be enlightened with the meaning of life. All doubts and insecurities, all ambiguity and fears would cease from my mind and vanish into the slender air.

More than a month passed. The sandals were still there. Always in different locations but within the same stretch. Mostly of different types. Initially I’d found them to be different every time but now that my eyes were used to them I realized that few patterns often repeated. And the mystery remained as thick as over. I still couldn’t figure out where the sandals came from though I’d occasionally see a rag picker boy picking up one, observing it closely and throwing it back where he’d picked it up from.

My visits started getting less frequent though. Exam date sheets had arrived and I realized that if I didn’t start applying myself soon enough I would have no chances of being promoted to my second year of engineering. I’d of course still walk down that road at least once a day to refresh myself and smoke a cigarette but I wouldn’t walk the whole kilometer to count all the sandals. Although now I’d greater worries troubling me, the mystery of the sandals refused to let go of my mind. Especially when twitching restlessly on the sleepless nights the sandals kept flashing in front of my eyes . It was like a mental snap shot permanently loaded into my brain, which I couldn’t let go of even if I tried. Then I’d spend the next fifteen minutes or so trying to come up with all possible explanations. Just when I’d feel that I was getting closer to the truth my mind would go blank. And I’d wake up next morning wrapped up in the exam fever. And this would go on.

It was the night of ‘Baisakhi’ and as per the traditions of the hostel it was celebrated with much ado. It was one day when everybody chose to forget about the upcoming exams and made merry to their heart’s content. There were giant sound systems arranged and a dj was hired. Everyone was dancing however incapable they might have been of shaking their legs. Only one person was missing. It was Shayantan, whom we fondly called ‘The Bengali Babu’. He’d locked himself in the room and was trying his best to evade the noise and mug up his textbook. Reportedly Shayantan studied so much that he usually didn’t even find time to have a bath. I don’t know if the rumors were to be believed but the fact that his roommate always spent most of his time in a different room did hint upon things.

Anyway that’s immaterial considering that Shayantan has no role to play in the mystery of the solitary sandals. But I mention him anyway because all of us were enjoying ourselves and he was locked up in his room. And surprisingly no one missed him. Infact his absence was hardly noticed. Except for those few occasional times when someone would shout what a moron he was and everyone around would laugh. Indeed what a waste of life it was!

As the night progressed few of my friends invited me to smoke up some weed with them in the hostel terrace. Though I didn’t indulge usually that day I decided to be a little liberal with myself. Heck, how would one day matter? I’m not Shayantan! I accompanied these guys to the terrace and helped them roll up the joints. I wasn’t an ace and ended up spilling most of it. And the guys picked it up and used it in another joint without complaining. In around twenty minutes the six of us managed to roll up some fifteen joints. I lit up the first and we smoked up in a chain. ‘Death chain’ was what it was called. Around three joints down I started feeling a little light around my knees and guts, the first sign that the marijuana had kicked in. The lightness grew with every subsequent joints and so did the laughter. We were all holding our stomachs and laughing at the most corny jokes we must have heard a thousand times already. But surprisingly the jokes suddenly seemed to have rejuvenated their humor. But after a while I couldn’t laugh anymore. I even found it difficult to orient my thoughts. The jokes started seeming like a bee buzzing in my ears. Loud but incomprehensible. And gradually my mind returned to the perplexing mystery of the sandals. Where did they all come from? My thoughts entered deeper and deeper into a maze from where there was no way I could return.

And seeing my sudden change of mood, a friend quizzed me again if it was a manifestation of unrequited love. And like always I remained silent. But for some reason I couldn’t brush aside this consideration like ever. Could it have been true after all? Suddenly in this new light I could see my life so much like that of those lonely sandals. Yes, there was a girl I used to love once upon a time in my school days. I’d even confessed my feelings to her but she always remained indifferent. Those were tough days for me. It was hard to move on. It was hard to put her out of my mind. But then gradually I managed to get over her. And till now I was convinced that it was all a part of a past I’d left behind a long way back. But suddenly I was confused all over again. How lonely I was without her! How different life could have been had she reciprocated my feelings!
Even though sometimes we confine ourselves to solitude and try to seek happiness in it, the human heart is not meant to be alone. It needs the existence of another soul to care for and be cared for. Yin and Yang, Adam and Eve, the single sandals lying on the road, some things are always meant to be in pairs. Only if those sandals had a tongue to speak of their tale I’m sure it would have been just as tragic as mine. How wasted some things are when they are not in a pair. Had the very beautiful Mona Lisa been painted with a single breast would she still have been looked upon as an eternal icon of beauty? I didn’t have to slip my feet into those sandals now to feel their loneliness sear through me. Strangely enough I was one of those sandals myself. Rejected and thrown. And cut into halves. And where my other half was, seemed all unfathomable to me. Unless some kindly person picked me up lying dejected on the road and gave me a different existence, my loneliness and futility wouldn’t subside. Until then, I would remain just an useless artifact, something even the rag picker deems unnecessary.

Wrapped in my crazy thoughts I went off to sleep in the terrace itself and it was not long before I started dreaming. And it was the strangest dream I ever had. My exams were over and results were out. I failed miserably and Shayantan topped our hostel. And the girl I once loved suddenly appeared from nowhere and started walking towards me. My arms were wide open in anticipation but she briskly walked past. And she grabbed Shayantan’s hands and they started walking off together. I couldn’t let her go so easily. Just when I seemed to have discovered my existence I didn’t want to be lost all over again. And not Shayantan at least. Anyone but him! Shayantan started off on his bike and she sat behind holding on to him. I ran behind as fast as I could and I tried to grab on to her. I missed each time. There was this one moment when I managed to grab on to her feet. She freed herself but dropped her sandal behind. Just one out of the pair. And she disappeared out of my sight with Shayantan. I held on to the sandal for a while with tears rolling out of my eyes and threw it off helplessly. And the circumstance kept repeating. My dream entered into what a software engineer would call an infinite loop. Every time she would come towards and then walk past me. Every time I’d try to grab her away from Shayantan and but he’d manage to get away with her. And every time she’d leave behind one of her sandals with me which I’d throw away on the road in my helplessness and misery. And soon the road was covered with sandals. Single and solitary sandals scattered all over. Shattered pieces of my heart scattered all over. Waiting to be rejuvenated like the corny jokes under the influence of marijuana. And turned down by the local rag picker boy.