The Warrior Within...

When I was in school, I met a stranger
He winked at me, and told 'I was in danger'

I asked him 'Who are you, you look so mighty?'
He gave a grin and said 'His name was Society'

'What?' he said 'You wanna play football, you wanna take photographs and you wanna learn music?'
All you would do is sell 'chai' at the stalls, and your life would be tragic.

'Listen to my advice - Study Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics'
I did as he said and silenced the critics.

Few years later, he again came by.
'What are you doing man?' he said with a shrill cry.

'You are an Engineer now, you still stuck to music?'
'If you get a job now, it will work like magic'

'Dont worry, dear friend, I shall give you a solution'
'Have you heard about the IT revolution?'

'Listen to my advice - There is nothing in these songs of Tagore'
'I did as he said and headed for Bangalore'

He said 'Go Hi-tech and happiness would follow'
Without the mention, that the happiness would be hollow.

When the month ends, they will give money a plenty.
But even on those days, life seems so empty.

Few days back, he again came by.
'What are you doing man?' he said with that shrill cry.

'You are a professional now, for Gods sake, have some fear'
'Get rid of that guitar and focus on your career'


'Dont worry, dear friend, I shall help you with that'
'Have you heard about that exam called CAT'


'Listen to my advice - just run the rat race'
But this time I didnt and told him on his face


'I dont care how strong, how mighty you are'
I shall never ever leave that guitar.

And one more thing I wanted to tell you long before,
I shall never stop singing the songs of Tagore.

I looked at him, man to man, eye to eye
and said 'The day music ends, that day I shall die'.

Dreams that we kill...

Life passes by...
and we too...
with our regular days and nights...

People have dreams..
and dreams are there to die...
Still we kill so many dreams every day...


Every puff of the cigarette had a dream...
And every dream ended with the crush of that butt...

A Dream was weaved every night on the bed before sleep...
We dreamt about how magical things would be, if things would go the correct way...
We dreamt about life, we dreamt about love...
But with every dawn, that dream faded.


We dream after we watch an inspiring movie...
We dream that the future will no longer be the same...
We dream that we would work hard and would become the best...
We dream about that fairytale life ahead.
And the very next day, the dream fleets into nihility...


We dream after we read a book...
We dream when we relate ourself to a song...
We dream when we find that some one we know has topped an examination...
We dream when we listen that some one has got the most coveted job...
We dream that one day, our time would also come...
We dream about what we would do once we achieve that very feat...
We dream how people would look up to us when we do something great...


Our dreaming never ends, but every time we forget to turn that dream into reality...
We fail to keep that dream alive within us...


And then we say, this mundane life doesnt know how to change...
Well! We never taught her to change...
Perhaps we never want her to change...
And one day she would be alone and so would we...

And that is why,
our dreams die...

and in this way..
Life passes by...
and some day,
we would too...

Serendi-PITY

(This story is based on some of my experiences in life and some incidents are actually true.)

"There she is! And she is on her Pink Salwar suit today" shouted Parthada. All of us stopped work immediately and raced towards the window. And as always I was last. It was not that I was not interested but I was always beaten by the more agile guys around me.

There she was! And in that pink salwar suit she was looking even better today. I might sound cliched but my heart always skipped a beat when I saw her. She was sheer beauty! A wonderful face with a straight long nose which curved slightly at the tip, long black eyes, decent height, fair, slim, so delicate, so pure... God! Some girls are just out of this world.

Our cubicles were on the first floor of building no. 22. A very strategic location indeed. We could see the whole junta in office from this place without even a hint that they were being watched. We watched her the whole way till she reached building number 24.

This was our regular routine. All of us oogling at the girls that passed by.But I was not concerned about any one else except her.

"Well! We"... We here are 13 guys and all from different states of India except Partha Pratim Sarkar aka Parthada, my project lead and I. We both were Bengalis.

"She must also be a Bengali" said Parthada
"Who must also be a Bengali?" I asked.
"Yaar! Wohi" he smiled.
"Achcha Woh! Naah! not possible" I said"Why? Such a beautiful girl must definitely be a Bengali" said Parthada.
"Kyun? Why not a Punjabi or a Gujrati,even some south indians are good looking?" I asked.
"Nehi! Yaar...something tells me this girl is a Bengali. Intuition! Sixth Sense" said Parthada with a smile on his face.
"I just hope so" I responded with an even bigger smile.

There was a lot of difference between Parthada and me.
Parthada was smart and had a well built body to complement it. I was quite the opposite. Tall and lean with high powered spectacles that was so typical of Bengalis. I was never handsome but there was something that attracted women towards me. I could never find out what it was. Probably I looked like a simple good boy (aka scape goat) who would cater to their whims and fancies and act to their disposal. I always helped them and all I got in return was brotherly love and I was disgusted with that. I was always introduced as "Oh! he is Abhi! Such a nice guy..you know". But when there was a dance party in office, all of them would disappear.
It was always like "Abhi! Will you please do this for me? Please Please sweetheart". Now how do you not do something when a girl calls you a sweet heart. But when this sweet heart needed some one, there was no one at sight. Whenever I wanted some one to have lunch together. I always got an answer that started with the word "Actually". Something like "Uh! Umm...Actually! my friend is waiting for me, some other time, maybe next Friday". But the next Friday never came.

Next day was a Friday and Friday was independence day.. no tucked in shirts and terricot pants. Jeans, Tee shirts were the order of the day.

It had rained all day on Friday. We missed her sight for the first time. All of us had accumulated near the window but today all we could spot were umbrellas. I had tried to figure out under which umbrella would she be but there were innumberable umbrellas and finally I gave up hope.

"Wonder, What would she be wearing today?" I wondered and asked Parthada.
"Who?" asked Parthada..
"Yaar! Wohi" "Achcha! Woh! Dont know yaar..she must be looking like a bomb shell today" said Parthada with that smile on his face again.
"We must give her a name" I suggested."Yes! we should" nodded Parthada.
"How abt Lovebird?" asked Parthada.
"Too common!" I said.
"Dream girl?" asked Parthada.
"Too cheap" I responded.
"Daku rani?"
"Too Scary" I looked at Parthada with a hint of irritation.
"Yeah! Got it.." he said gleaming with pride. I looked at his face with expectation and enthusiasm.
"Lets call her Delicate Darling" said Parthada. My enthusiasm dipped.
"Too Long" I protested.
"Ok! then lets call her DD - short form of Delicate Darling" said Parthada.
"Didi Hogi Tumhari" I shouted at the top of my voice. The voice was so loud that when I looked around I saw 90-100 heads from different cubicles staring at me and wondering whats wrong with this guy. I was completely pissed off. I was tried of the brotherly love that was bestowed on me. I wanted something more and the word "DD(Didi)" freaked me out.

I was back to normal in 3-4 hours. Parthada was silent till then. He knew I was genuinely pissed off.

"We should give her a Bengali name" I said finally and looked at Parthada for his confirmation.
He nodded.
"Ok! Finally I Got it..." said Parthada. His voice looked confident.
"What is it?" I asked
"Lets call her Jalpari" he said.
I wanted to ask "Why?" but did not.
"Jal...What?". I said. Parthada had pissed me off again.
"It was raining outside so I thought of Jalpari" he explained.
"To hell with the rain" I said.
I did not want to talk to him anymore.

The rain had indeed given us the name. "We shall call her Brishti.." "Its cool, its traditional and its Bengali" I suggested.
Parthada commended my idea.

By the way, Brishti in Bengali means rain. I loved the name. One of my Moms relative had that very name. Although I never knew who that relative was, I knew that this relatives family stayed in North Bengal. I had never seen them nor was I interested to see them.

A week passed by. Bangalore had experienced some wonderful weather in the last few days. Bright sunshine in the morning and rain in the nights.

It was Friday again. This Friday was even more special. It was Ethnic Day at office. The junta were supposed to wear their traditional dresses. We were all eager to see the ladies today. All 13 accumulated at the view point. It was a wonderful sight. Almost all the ladies were in Sarees today.
Now unarguably ladies looked the best in sarees.
We watched about a thousand ladies one after the other, but there was no sight of Brishti. It was about 10:00 in the morning and we had to attend a meeting at office. But I did not want to go.

"Shit man! she did not come today" said a dejected Parthada.
"Day wasted!" he added.
I was too disappointed. I had started blaming my luck. Some guys are just born unlucky.

"Do you want to attend the meeting?" Parthada asked me.
"No!" I said.
"Neither do I" said Parthada.

Parthada and I thought a lot about our reason of unavailability at the meeting. The meeting was to start in 5 minutes. It was an emergency situation and we had to plan fast.

"Lets go for the meeting.Partha and Abhi, please come fast". It was the voice of our Project Manager.
"No, Ma'm! We are not feeling well. Just wanted to rest." I said.
"Why? What happened" enquired our PM.
"I am suffering from stomach ache" said Parthada before I could answer.
"What about you Abhi? Whats your problem?" asked the PM.
I was dumbstruck. I had thought of stomach ache. It was my greatest weapon. I tried to think of some other nice disease ,but at moment, the mind went blank.
"Well! er..umm.Same! Stomach ache! Ma'm" I said.
I realised my mistake and looked at Parthada. He was staring at me with anger writ large on his face.Shit! I thought. How dumb of me! I could have told her any other reason. I mean, there are so many cool diseases in the world, I could have told her anything.
"How come both of you have the same problem?" asked the PM.
My mind went blank again.
"Well! You see, we had eaten at a roadside restaurant today morning and have been feeling uneasy after that." explained Parthada.
"No silly reasons, you have to attend the session. Its mandatory" said our PM.

"But, Ma'm, I mean, nature has called us almost 9 times since morning and it has always been like yellow sticky liquid coming out as waste." I imagined that and almost vomitted. Our PM for sure was disgusted with the reply. She disappeared without saying a word.

I marvelled at Parthada's creative genious.

Parthada and I looked out of the window. The last bus to office had just arrived. This was our last chance to spot her. There was a crowd of about 60 . All late comers. And almost everyone was above 35. "Lazy people" I thought" Cant even come on time".

Parthada got back to work on his cubicle. I never wanted to. I stayed near the window for another 5 minutes waiting for her.
"She has not come to office today" I said dejected and disappointed. Parthada looked disappointed too. I cursed my luck again but my heart was not ready to listen.

I gave one last glance through the window and I am glad that I did so. At the far end was a beautiful face, coming so very slowly and gracefully, to make sure that her saree doesn't get affected by her walk. I knew it had to be her.
"Parthada! Come fast" I shouted. Parthada rushed in.
Goodness Gracious Me! she was looking gorgeous. My heart thumped! racing like a 10000 HP engine. We watched her go right till building 24 and every second of her passage was a treat. "Good girl" I thought. So what if she is late atleast she has come to office".

"Did you notice?" Parthada asked with the biggest smile on his face till date.
"What?" I asked."Did you notice her dress?" asked Parthada eager for an answer.
I said "No!" again disgusted with my stupidity.
"She was on a plain white saree with wide red borders." said Parthada.
"Oh!Shit! Yes" she was in that very dress which meant.....which meant..
"She is a Bengali!" I jumped in happiness.

I ran around the cubicles in enthusiasm. News spread like wild fire. All the 13 guys knew this within seconds. Parthada and I threw a party! People came and congratulated us as if we had won a date with her.

This happiness was our motivation to work hard. We worked continously like never before. We finished tasks well before our deadlines. Our PM was so surprised to see us work that she asked "Whats wrong with you guys? Have never seen you work so hard before."

"Dedication Ma'm, We were always dedicated. Its just that you didnt spot it out." said Parthada.

It was September and Cricket tournaments were on in office. Our team had reached the finals. I was a team member and so was Parthada. I was excited about the match. It was against a tuff opponent. We had lost the toss. The opponents batted first and scored 88 runs from 10 overs. We had bowled well. Parthada picked up 3 crucial wickets. I was not allowed to bowl. I was just given the ball for only one over in a group match and that over had costed us 28 runs. They never had the courage to give me the ball again. Our innings started well, thanks to Kartik Shankar, our star bastman, but we lost track in the middle overs. We recovered at the 7th and 8th overs but then again disaster struck. We lost 3 wickets in 4 balls. I was not allowed to bat either. I was the 9th bastman for our team. Not that number 10 and 11 were even worse than me, they were girls and a boy, however horrible he is would always be given preference over girls in cricket.

It was a tense situation but luckily for us Kartik Shankar was still at the crease. Another wicket fell and I was in next. We had to score 7 runs from 4 balls. I was at the runners end. Our team knew that if Kartik Shankar bats for the next 4 balls we would win.

Just as the bowler was going to bowl, I looked around and found Brishti watching the match from one of the seats at the far end. She was looking wonderful as usual. She was in a white salwar. Our ground was a windy place. Her silky hair was let loose and a single strand of hair fell on her face and she was moving it back behind her ears. I was mesmerized by the view. A rise smile had come across my face. My bliss was short lived. It was intervened by loud voices which said "Is Gadhe ko kisne utara yaar?" and the words were meant for me.
I looked around and saw Kartik Shankar going back to the pavilion.What had actually happened was that the bowl had been bowled and Kartik Shankar had hit the ball towards mid off and had shouted "Run". I was so engrossed in watching her that the word fell on to deaf ears. I did not run, my partner did and we were at the same end. I had run Kartik Shankar out.

I was biting my nails in tension. No Kartik Shankar meant match lost. We had to make 7 runs from 3 balls now and taking gaurd was Divya, our team mate. Divya, I thought played better cricket than I did. A slow ball was bowled to her and she hit the ball towards mid wicket. This time I ran. We had completed a run. We required 6 runs from 2 balls. My tension grew four folds.

I looked at the bowler, he was a huge guy. I felt scared just by looking at him. Forget, hitting a six I would be happy if I could survive the next two balls. He hurried through his run up. I noticed his hand, it would be a slower ball, I anticipated. I decided to heave it beyond orbit. The next moment I realised that my spectacles were no longer there on my face. I had heaved the ball so hard that in that motion my spectacles flew past my face almost towards sqaure leg.

"Arre yaar! Is gadhe ko kaha se uthaka laye re" was what the captain shouted. It was not a slower ball. I had missed it completely. I did not have the courage to look at anyone. Parthada came down and instructed me to be calm. I nodded. We needed a six from the last ball. I had never hit a six in my entire life. And the very next moment there was that huge guy again ready to bowl God knows what. I knew this guy. This guy had been bowling bouncers only in the last ball of the over. I had noticed that. I went on to the back foot, took my stance, gave a final look at Brishti, and swung my bat around with all the strength in my body. The ball sailed over mid wicket.
I had hit the first six of my life. My team mates ran around me...lifted me up and gave me bums for no reason. We had won the match. I was treated with Biryani. I loved it!

Another Friday. We noticed her quite easily next time. She was glowing in her black salwar. We wanted to have a closer look at her. So, we waited outside her building during lunch time. It was a long wait. We waited from 12:00 till 13:30. Finally, she arrived. We followed her. We were so close to her that if she would turn back we would be within half a meter from her body.

I was admiring her beauty from behind. It was all unprofaned admiration of her beauty and grace."Did you look at her back? I would have preferred a much rounder one" said Parthada. My attention was diverted. I looked straight at the place where I should not have looked. It was loud enough for her to hear it. Parthada, realising his mistake slipped back with all precision and smartness. She looked at me and found me staring at her back. I looked up at her eyes. the look on her face was devastating and which in all probability meant "You lustful dog."

I was flabbergasted. I did not know what to do. I turned back, there was no Parthada, not even a trace of him. I went back to my cubicle, this time feeling sick .

For no fault of mine, I was misunderstood. I was furious at Parthada, but later calmed down thinking that it was my mistake. I should not have looked there.

That day, I was heading home, back to Hyderabad by the evening train.
Next day morning I was at Hyderabad. I was so tired, that I just gave Mom a "Hi!" and rushed to my bed. The mosquitos in the train had ruined my sleep last night. Moreover, I was tensed about the incident at office. I slept for about 5 hours. I was woken up by a ring of the doorbell.
I realised that saliva had started dripping from my mouth while I was asleep. This had been my problem since childhood.

"Ting Tong" the doorbell rang.
I could hear loud sounds from the drawing room. I decided to sleep a little more thinking that it must be Aunty from the next door. But I was not allowed to.

Mom had come to my room with some one. I turned back and could see a blurred figure. I lifted my spectacles and put it on. The slim figure had become more prominent now. What I just saw was something that I would not forget for the rest of my life. It was she! How on earth was she, my Brishti, in my room.


Mom said "Abhi! Meet Brishti Sengupta, your cousin from Darjeeling."


The story thereafter--

I looked at Mom with a face which read "Ma! Why were you not born in a different family?"
I was awestruck at what had happened. Brishti too was, I guess. "So, you would have preffered a much rounder back?" she asked.
I was searching for a place to hide my face,( an inch of paper would have done) but was unsuccessful to find one.
I apologised for the incident, explaining her what had actually happened.
She said "Its ok! Chalta hai, now that you are my brother"
"Oh! no.. Brotherly love again?" I thought "God! why me?"

She conversed really well. I told her the whole story, how we used to wait for her at the window everyday. How we threw a party when we learnt that she was Bengali."She is a real sport" I thought. She laughed through out while I narrated the whole story.

Back to Bangalore, I told Parthada about the disaster. He could not help laughing. I became the joke of the project. Parthada was the happiest. Now he had no competition from me and moreover she was my sister so chances of striking were high .I dont know what was wrong with me but I warned Parthada, acting as a gaurdian to my sister. But Parthada was a guy with a cool attitude, he never bothered asking me about her.

The oogling stopped from that day. I tried to concentrate hard on work to forget the catastrophe.

"We would be having a ramp up. We would be adding a resource and Abhi would do the Knowledge Transfer" said our PM.

The next day while I was at work, I was interrupted, I turned back..and standing right infront of me was one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen.

"Hi! I am Preeti Sharma. I have just joined. Can you please give me a Knowlegde Transfer on the work that I have to do."
I looked up at the heavens and said " God! I love you!"

Preeti was wonderful. A bright trainee. We spoke a lot. She had a cool attitude as well. One Tuesday morning, after the Knowledge Transfer session, I asked her "Shall we go out for lunch together one day" She said "Actually! I am on a fast today. How about Friday?" I said "Ok!" quite dejected that that Friday would never come.


But this time the Friday came!

Rudiments

Time and time again my conscience has afflicted me to express my views to the junta around me. It has always said "Look! there is something in your mind that wants to emancipate itself and it is you and only you who is preventing it to set loose from the shackles of laziness and apprehension."
Bored as i was one evening in Bangalore,India... Lightning struck! a twinge of guilt provoked me to bespeak my views yet again and here I am trying to present myself in a way I best possibly can.
Still uncertain was I. I realised that I am no good at story-telling, so decided to start off with a few simple short stories which, at the moment, seemed to the most viable option.
Now here is something that I want the readers to do. My earnest request to all of you is to read my blogs, analyse it and provide a feedback, so that I can improve each time and in turn you get better blogs to read.
So its time for my first blog and as stated earlier my first short story.