A Game

There was a game we used to play

waiting for the time every day

when he would come to my door

and we would run to the moor

The game was a lot of fun

it was called hit and run

While he was the tough cop

with a fancy red cap on top

I was the smart theif

who would fool the sheriff

So i had to run from the tree

making sure i get their free

If i could get to the post

i would be intelligent most

but if on the way he could stop me

then victory was his to be

Everyday i would steal

and run as per our deal

I would run so hard and so fast

till i felt my lungs would blast

till my legs were cramped

and my way was jammed

My run was very good

but his hands were wood

that would hold me tight

for me to put a fight

I would struggle n cry

till throat went dry

I would pinch and bite

till my head felt light

As shrilly shrieks became soft cries

he would become my accomplice

He would slowly let his grip lose

look at his little muse

wait for a moment and look

into my eyes, reading a book

Then he would look at the post

in the background like a ghost

which would take me away

he could not make me stay

So he would let me go

in a motion so slow

n i would run like mad

to victory i wanted so bad

Just when i would jump at my gain

i would feel a sudden pain

pain for him who let me fly

n yet again i would cry

Standing at post looking at him

water in my eyes at its brim

he would smile n act it cool

n say that i am a tiny fool

But i know he sweared in his heart

that the post cannot set us apart

so i would run again to his surprize

to get my real bumper prize

He would open his arms for me

this time i would be really free

House of Hope

I live in a house of happiness

high walls, open spaces, open windows

lighted rooms, breezy porch, gardens, gardens

I live in a house of celebration

happy faces, perfumed bodies, perfumed satin

laughing, dancing, music, music

I live in a house of security

High walls, plenty locks, plenty gaurds

fire extinguisher, safety exit, alarm, alarm

I live in a house of garage

rotting trunk, dead snake, dead mice

torn clothes, stinking pickles, decay, decay

I live in a house of happiness,

house of celebration, house of security

and of the garage that no man can see

I am the garage, the garage

Two Lives

We talk at length, my love

of things that dont matter, things so pity

We please with little stories n jokes,

we try so hard to be witty

We talk about routines n irregularities

of books n movies, of silences and parties

We talk of goodness and the good, and of the evil too

we talk of misdeeds n regrets, of gifts n charities

We talk at length, that we do

trying to find meaning in what is said

trying to catch the touch in voice

trying to smell the breath..

We have our own little stories made

but my love, is it but a facade

Its what we have in the name of intimacy

as the feel of our skin and bodies fade

We fight and we argue about non issues

we the jealous, idealism we feign

we burn in fire of the trivialities

of what is not heard or seen

As our eyes get cold n smiles become scarce

as our last kiss withers into the space

The air between us gets heavy n moist

moist are the hollow eyes..moist is the damp face

Yet when u touch me with music,

music in your whispers, in your sighs

it makes me shiver with pleasure

It makes complete the two lives

Misery loves company

A very sad thing happened today, a wonderful person went through a wrong and broke down in front of me... as the tears dropped down her cheek and she looked at me for advice, i gave it her all..the advice, the sympathy, the sermon, saying everything that was expected of someone responsible and considerate and maybe a little more. Why did I do it? What made me console her at length and comfort her pain? What made me spend twenty minutes instead of two minutes of sympathy...I wish it was the genuine consideration of a fellow human but most most unfortunately, I did it as I was relishing every moment of the episode. I may or may not admit, like many of us, but the fact is that misery loves company and it gives us great pleasure to console others. More the similarity between the incidence and your own "jane eyre" episode, more is the pleasure. I have often noticed people sucking comfort out of this vitual umbical cord between the sympathiser and the sympathisee. Its like comforting energy running from former to latter in form of sound & reflecting back , being doubled in force.

We all hate it when we are subjected to a wrong..at some level we almost hold entire world responsible for that and when the episode is repeated to someone else, preferably someone strikingly similar, you love it, cherish it, its a balm to the old wounds gone sour.

Realising what a feel good we are giving to the world, many intelligent people prefer to stick to themselves when in pain. Yet again, not because they can deal with the pain in a better when left on their own, but simply because they hate to give others an opportunity to seek comfort out of their misery. Very smart indeed.

But again, it does not cease to surprise me how can other's comfort become a bigger bother to us than our own misery. Why does it hurt us if others are enjoying your company in misery...how would it make us worse off. But whatever is the logic of the dear mind, it certainly does not hold true when we seek comfort from someone who has been through a similar experience...what happens then?? Why do I confide my clash at career with someone who does not have a job at all rather than the best performer?? Would the hero not help me better? Or do i feel that he would derive more pleasure out of my failure, when it is far more likely for a loser to be comforted by my loss. The games of mind are complicated. It is insecure and jealous, it is hurt and sensitive...

Whatever be the case: whether you are the jealous seeking comfort out of oher's misery or the vain refusing to share sorrows...everyone has reasons to be sad and unfortunately, the reasons always seem to be far more relative than absolute.

I have been here before

I know this road very well

I have tasted the tears you cry

I have the same story to tell

But today I laugh, I laugh at the ways

Ways in which Justice fails

Deep is my pain, but I am the Vain

I shall die but share

I know you do not care

Laugh if you must, but not at me

Deep is my pain, yet alone I shall be

U r a cheat..so m i

I am a cheat, a theif, a crook, a liar n probably a manipulator as well. This is not a confessional..well lets admit v all r...v all cheated at some time in life..cheated system in exams, our partners in relationships, our bosses n collegues n mostly ourselves. We all have picked on cookies mom hid in kitchen, our brother's best tee when he was not around, our company's car for a night out...we all have lied n manipulated. While most of these mischeifs are situational and usually done to serve some purpose, the purpose itself has a subject and an object. Object may vary from your boss to your boyfriend, cookie to car..but the subject of the purpose remains the same...it is the euphoria during the crime. The rush of blood while exchanging question papers to lifitng mom's perfume to faking up you whereabouts in front of your partner.
The drink of sin brings such a pleasure..such a high. The constnat fear to get caught, the tention in the air, the swiftness and stillness of the moment and the pure concentration during the act...the one moment when u r so completely into action. It is this addictive intoxicating drug created by our own brain that pulls a child to kitchen every time mother is out, which makes teenagers call their crushes late at night and which makes so many theives claim they did not mean to do what they did.
I, for once, enjoy this self induced euphoria so much that i have often pushed things off the edge hurting many of those whom i love and treassure just to apologise for my immature behavior. But is this tendency immature simply because "elders" have found substitutes to get high and they can do with artificial stimulators...but the question remains the same: are the sources of adult euphoria really the subject or are they just a comouflage to hide the addiction to their minds' whims... is it always the liquour that makes you high while drinking. I believe you are, more often than not, as high as you think you are (no psychology angle suggested) I have seen woman "cross limits" in the veil of liquor while others seriosuly wonder how can a human body go out of control in 100ml vodka...it is not the liquor but the rush to get out of control, the thought itself is intoxicating enough to make you drunk...
If so is the case, that idea of any kind of "wrong" can get us high, if it is so that there is no pleasure better than going anti-taboo, then this clearly indicates that the worst addiction v can get is discovering our ability to intoxicate ourselves..its like having a brewery right inside your head...and overconsumption is dangerous. You might love the racing heart beats, the slight darkness in thoughts, the fear in background and the quick and concentrated action..u might admire ur ballet to a state of perfect crime...but it is a dangerous trick to appease yourself and consequences are often worst than intended or imagined!!

I dance everynight, for my own desire
To feel rush in my veins, to set the blazing fire
To do what is wrong and do i must not
but weak i am, how is this heart to be fought
slave to my own mind, i perform in the night
victim of my own demons, who am i to fight...

Baawara mann...

This evening while i was using coffee to stay awake in an extremely boring session of Daily Management (something..ZZZ) in tarapur, my eyes fell on my feet and a feeling of disgust rose in my stomach. With broken stained nails , parched dry skin and discolored ankle bone, they could actually compete with..well with someone's ugly feet. While I was still thinking of pedicure, my hand reached my face where I could feel the newly emerging developments likely to leave some permanent memories of bihar dust and orissa sweat on my face. I also realised how dry and thin my hair were getting and actually felt like dead graying threads forced to tag along wasted flesh. As my hand reached for another of those chocolate biscuits (comfort food) I thought of my alarmingly increasing weight.
Just when I was absorbed in these appreciative thoughts, I saw one of my most annoying customer's number flashing on my cell (on silent mode ofcourse). Now that I was attending this stupid training program, I could obviously not do much about this jerk. I am Screwed. I reached for another biscuit. (I am sure not all sales managers need to compete with Kareena kapoor..huh!!)
If you are still with me, then probably you are thinking that the blog was dedicated to my continuous self obsession but rather what I want to talk about here is how we guys have complicated our lives. Work, money, family, personal life, looks, peace, there are just so many things calling for our time that may of us run away from this chaos to get comfort in some of the most useless tools like drinking, smoking, clubbing, drugs, partying, gtalking, facebooking, blogging n what not.
There are those who think they should have better as they deserve it, while there are those who think that they need to be in a better position simply because their present situation sucks pretty much. I wish I was the former, but unfortunately I belong to the second category. i have issues with just about everything in my life, all my priorities are screwed and I strongly think that there are millions in this world with this compulsive-hate-urself disorder. However it is actually the first category which catches my fancy.
The self assured classic fools who actually think they are a gift to mankind. i mean i just dont know how can anyone stay so happy with themselves when they do what they do, look the way they look and basically are what they are but no matter whats happens to them in life, there finger always finds someone in vicinity to lay an accusation upon. I so wish i could be like one these guys. One of those girls who would actually get a predicure and be happy rather than fret about latent issues behind bad feet days..who would take bad feet as a cause of distress and not the effect.
i wish we could want less out of life, specially when it comes to our eternal quest for improvement towards perfection. i wish my need for results was mitigated by my love for myself and my self respect was sheilded by my vanity. Alas it is not the case, like millions m suffering from the hazaron-khwaashien-aisi-syndrome.
I think m losing track of time now...too sleepy...last one week in bihar was amazing bullshit..would talk about that some other day...some intelligent guy told me to stop wasting time on useless things like internet..i wish i would listen to him but uff yeh baawara mann..kya kya karwata hai!!

The Hosts..

It was certainly not one of my best days..i got up in my lodge room to find that there was no hot water available. When I ventured out of my room to the so called recption, I could only find a sort of bell boy with his jhadoo who managed to communicate in oriya that the electricity was not to come before 10..anyways after this not so good start I got ready to leave to discover that I had to go to a dealer's place for breakfast as he was deeply "offended" when I declined his invitation last night (now thats another story).
I reached his place (I am yet to know his name honestly..let use Mr.X for convenience) flanked by my ASO and driver to find a virtual mansion of sorts. A huge 3 storeyed building with marble flooring n quite jazzy wod work but surprisingly with least bit of furniture. For once it reminded me of Arya Samaj temples with their marble floor and vast spaces. More so as the only prominent furniture in the living hall (really a hall) was a temple (lovely) and some bhajans were playing in the background (today being shiv ratri i guess).
Mr. X , with that kind of decency on his face,his round rimmed glasses, khadi kurta, pepper white head, tiny built and a serene smile, could easily pass for a goverment school teacher (bollywood ishtyle) rather than a marwari steel trader. Mrs X, on the other hand, could easily pass for our typical maru aunty with everything going for her- the gold, the bright lipstick and nail paint, a reasonably "healthy" body..pretty much everything including the accent.
Breakfast was served within minutes of my arrival. Upma, bhujia and rasogolla. Now, anyone who knows me any bit would know the kind of importance i give to my breakfast and how badly i need my bowl of cornflakes and coffee to brave the day ahead. Also, anyone who knows me any bit also knows that how much i HATE stuff like upma and sweets.
Someone rightly said that u need to adjust more than u think in sales jobs...pehle that lodge with its hard bed, worst dhaba food n chilled water aur ab royal nashta..man m so screwed.
Anyways, knowing where i was heading i had my expectation set right, thanking god that it was not halwa puri, I started ulping down the greasy upma, taking bits of bhujia now n den when aunty would insist. As if the nashta was not heavy enough, Mrs X started with the family talk..there 3 daughters and 1 son..all mba's (y r there so many of them..i almost feel lost in millions before i remind myself of the "top 5" mdi jargon ;)) Once aunty was done with her family biography she moved to mine...papa kya karte hain?? bhai behen?? education?? Salary kya hai...now thats too much.. Y is this sounding inccreasingly like a matrimonial interview...anyways!!
After an hour of chit chat and a chai to gulp down the upma..i am introduced to the mba son who starts talking about tata steel as an employer n all dat crap (wat company are u in anyways...n now i am seriously getting tired of smiling...u have tortured me engh with that upma n rasogolla..ur family details, my faily details..pls let me go, i have two districts and 200km to cover today)
Finally as i am done with my cuppa, Mrs X invies me for a ghar dekhai...given her excitement i could not refuse. So there we went room to room, washroom to washroom (comeon the last thing i want to do in the morning is take a view of ur intimate zones and listen to why you have both english and indian seats in the same washroom...mannn). After our kitchen round aunty ji handed me some special meetha ber and I finally bid goodbye to Mr. X, Mrs X and MBA son wondering y did i not make an excuse of shiv ratri n avoid the whole thing.
I am running an hour late already..maybe I can do the thinking in the cab.

another day on road in orissa...

I had a petty argument with my distributor yesterday...it was not the first time i came back from work fuming with anger bordering at a burst of tears. Later at night as I thought over the d argument (afterthought: terrible terrible habit!!) i could not get the source of this explosion. Some reasons were quite obvious...like my dbr being an absolute pest...but thats a given and his behavior should prompted no more disgust than the way you feel every time you use a public washroom or every time you get something that looks like rajma in your mess...they are disgusting and they are to stay that ways...
Maybe it was the change in my plan which was now to cover eastern orissa instead of keeping bhub as base and be back to the familiar, comforting room at ginger every night. It meant, i had to travel twelve hours a day...stay in shady lodges and sit in my tata indica for hours...All this coupled with cold and fever were perfect recipe for an outburst at slightest provocation...
Maybe it was something not so obvious.. like my general restlesness about my exponentially increasing waist size...i am just not used to such a sedantary lifestyle..
Given my situation what i needed was familiar places and some comfort and what i was getting was quite the contratry...my dbr being the cherry on the cake...
I got up today morning heavy headed to realize that I was already running an hour late...oh wat the hell...as if the retailers are dying to c me...or as if it even makes a difference whether i go or not..should i callup n tell my dbr that m changing my plan n i wud cover cuttack first..shud i head back to jsr...okay girl, packup..time for some district hopping...
After having a super heavy breakfast i finally decided to leave for my dbr's office while answering all those "maal aya..nai aya..kab ayega..rate..dispatch..loading" crap with my other dear customers.
The best thing i did this month was that i bought the lovely book by khallid hosseini..a thousand spledid suns..finally i get to read this one.. I am sure that it was the pills and not the book which got me doze off right after first few pages...anyways i finally reach mancheswar industrial area and there he is...my dear channel partner...dressed in his usual bright shirt and brighter tie (whats up wid the tie..now dats new). I flash my business smile at him and walk upto to make a couple of lame comments while mentioning i am down with fever (U have to work no matter what..got the point mr. good for nothing!!) He checks my forehead (TOUCHING!!! Is that allowed?? oh whateverrr..) anyhow he moves on to tell me some dadi maa ke nuske for cold and tells me he wud mail it to me (if only i cud get a mail for the month's indent from u, sir).
I finally leave the premise with my ASO (who took the front seat dutifully..thanku, i dont hate u now) and we hit the highway to hit bhadrak via cuttack.
The highway is wide and one can c long stratches of feils on both sides of the road...fry and arid land (mayb its winters) I slept and read and slept through our way to bhadrak.
These districts always surprise me..the sheer commercial qoutient of these areas is like wuhuuu..is this the bottom of pyramid?? i dont think so...
I mean being from delhi this "typical" view of orissa and then there is this district in orissa which mnay of us might not have heard of..which does not flaunt any bif mines/forests/industries/power station..we never came across them in our GK books or during our conversatins with those guys who know it all...but there it is..full of life..flooded with brands...my dealer owns a honda city...how in the world can soeone make that kind of money from a 10*10 ft hardware counter..it makes me blush at my own ignorance.After i gave some gyan to the chosen ones in bhadrak we headed balasore where i checked in the biggest hotel available...i opted for deluxe..the best room they had, hoping that they would have hot water shower facility..Hardluck!! Not much can be expected in Rs.700 per night..
In the evening, after i finished my business with dealers , i headed to gopinath temple with my ASO..it was nice..i always like going to temples...while coming back i stopped at a gen store next to my hotel (coloured with all HUL, Cadbury, Britannia POSM) and got myself some chocos (and i wonder y i put on weight!!)
Finally its time to sit back and relax with the things familiar and comforting..chocos, nice book and internet baba...
God y did i tell my ASO we wud go to that beach in morning..another early morning screw calling ;)