Realizations on a Birthday

Sunil Gavaskar curled up like an armadillo defending against Wayne Daniel. Twitching on my seat waiting eternally for Ravi Shastri to score a single run. Imran Khan sending Michael Veletta’s stumps walking. Cursing that Sharjah Cup Final falls on Fridays. Vinod Kambli crying in Kolkata. Zico missing that kick. News is only for half hour during prime time on DD. Waiting for the whole week to watch a movie on Sunday evening. Taking a break from studies for Chitrahaar. Hawa Hawa. Oye Oye. The taste of Re 1 Ice lolly during fielding at the boundry. Notebooks with Sridevi and Madhuri Dixit covers.Watching Wimbledon only for Steffi Graf. Playing dark room with friends.

All of these feel just as fresh and as vivid as if they happened yesterday. But if you ask me about memories of what  happened in the last few years—all the movies, matches, events become a jumbled mess of color and noise and I have to pause,  trying to unravel the tangled web of what passes for my short-term memory.

 Does that mean I am getting old? But Today, I don’t feel old but I do feel grown up a little.

And after all It’s not a bad thing after all. This passage of time….

When I was young, I wanted it all. Not only that, you do not even know why you “want it all”. It’s kind of confusing and overwhelming. Once you pile on the years, you realize your own limitations, which of the “I want it all”s you *actually* want and what kind of things are you willing to let go for each item on that list. That simplifies life. A lot.

The most important thing about becoming old is the realization of how little the so called “important things” really matters. When I was young, I thought getting 62 in my HS would ruin me forever. It didn’t. I survived. I also survived a many heartbreaks and failures and through the years, if there is one thing I have learned (not that I don’t re-learn it every now and then) is what seems a matter of life and death today becomes a mere footnote tomorrow, a heartbreak in the morning becomes a “Oh man what the fuck was I thinking” by the evening and that in life, there are just a very few things that are truly important.

What are they?

Well, I guess I have a long way to go before I shortlist further.

Happy Birthday to myself!!

Page 3!

“Now read the news on this page too”
Dadu (grandfather) demanded as he passed the Bombay Times to me.

“Dadu, There is no news on this page.”

“What! No news? Then what is all this written under the pictures and who are these people? Do I know them?”

“Who? These? How would you know them, dadu?”

“Then? Why are their pictures in the newspapers? Are they famous people?

“Well, don’t know, maybe in a way to some extent.”

“Who are they? Movie Stars?”

” No dadu , they are not movie stars”.

“Then? Models?”
Dadu frowned and adjusted his glass to look closely at the picture of a girl who seemed to be having a good time with the much older and completely bald man.

“Wait a minute. This girl…is she a model? Here… heres a name given Preeti…. Preeti Jaiswal.” Who is this Preeti Jaiswal??

“Dadu!! how would I know who is Preeti Jaiswal.”

“Then? Why the names…?”

“Dadu. They’re just there because someone paid the newspaper to have their pictures on print. It’s publicity, that’s all. They’re called the ‘Page 3′ people.”

“Ah. That movie. Did they acted in that movie? Where is Konkona’s picture?”

“Aaargh, no dadu, they didn’t. Page 3 is…it’s a name for…for these socialite kinds. Celebrities too are featured in it. It’s just like you know, the ‘editorial’ page where you find editorials? (Sheesh…what a comparison). But it’s just as an example, no please don’t draw parallels.” But it was too late. He was already at it.

“Editorial? You mean, these people have written all that’s written here, on this…this Page 3?”

“Daaaduuuu…”.

Michael Jackson’s last “Thriller”

Yumi mailed me the link that an apparition was witnessed while filming the Neverland for Larry King Show. Some believe that it’s MJ’s spirit walking by the corridor. MJ’s ghost moonwalking all over Neverland. Now that’s what I call a “Thriller”.

R.I.P Dear Michael, you have had enough.

A short glimpse of ladakh

 

 Ever since I can remember , I have always been fascinated by the Himalays. They have always appeared to me so mysterious and aloof. I  had seen numerous pictures and seen many videos, but when I actually caught a glimpse of the beauty with my own eyes, I fell in love with this region. So here goes the first of my Photo log with more to see and less nonsense to read.

The First Glimpse

 

Bit closer to Himalayas

 

Mystic Mountains

 

Snow Clad Beauty

 

It can get lonely out there.

 

The Leh Airport

View from Hotel

 

Shades

Prayer Wheel

Happy Birthday to Me…

Another year! Another birthday!

The cake

From 20 to early 20s to soon racing to mid-20s to finally late 20s.And soon in few years I would be 30, the mid-life. Birthdays have become a reminder that I need to act fast and settle down.    Life is racing like anything and I have just started discovering life.Birthdays also flood me with the memories of the yesteryears. No matter how hard I try not to get misty-eyed, my mind is flooded with memories of  June 16 when our living room would be decked out with ribbons, my dad would be blowing balloons, my mom would get busy preparing the cake and the dishes, while I would be rubbing my hands gleefully in anticipation of all the gifts I would have at the end of the day.

Gifts.Yes that’s what birthdays were for. By 8 o’clock in the evening I would start feeling jumpy at the late hangers-on as I kept looking at the clock with increasing impatience. Did these people not understand that it was now time to open my gifts ! Incidentally my parents were not in favour of opening presents in front of everyone, no doubt because of my expressive face which mirrored (and still does) my disappointment and glee a bit too honestly. Hence the wait.

And then at night I would be sitting on the bed and rip away  the gift-wraps. Blessed were those who gave Tintins, Moby books (children’s illustrated classics), cricket bats, badminton racquets  and damned to the 10th circle of hell were those who gave shirt and trouser pieces (somehow I never liked the gifted dresses), Russian fairy tales and birthday cards that had “Happy Seasons Greetings” written on them.

Gifts recieved from parents were always special as I had already coneveyed the list of what I expect since long. For me, it was mostly the latest G.I Joe toys or the video game that I would crave for as all my friends seemed to own them.However never was my wish granted. Mom and Dad has always been very practical and concerned with the utility of the gift they gave me.So it was either a bicycle, a painting set (yes I was good at drawing and sketching)  or a cricket bat. Sometimes I would be dissapointed initially but would realise that the gifts they gave me has lasted much longer and have been of better usage than the things I had wated at that point of time. Thank you dad(He was generally the decision make for the gifts and mom for the food menu)!

Another grudge I had with my birthday wa that it always came in during the summer holidays. This meant never getting to celebrate it in school. I was jealous of all those whose birtdays fell on weekdays and thus they had the liberty on that day to come in any casual dress they wanted. Also they would be wished by the whole class and treated a bit specially by all throughout the day. This never happened for me and has always been my regret.

 Things however have changed now. Older and wiser, I am supposed to dismiss a birthday wish with a shy “thank you” as if any kind of attention is too embarrassing for an old fogey like me.

I do act “mature” of course. But my heart is not in it.

Because honestly, I still crave for all the attention and the fussing.

I  count the wishes in my orkut scrapbook and the phone calls I receive even though I know this is “just another day”.

Yes birthdays are a bitch precisely because of this disconnect between what “should be” and “what is”.

Inner Self

Tommorrow is my birthday. Another year gone. I have aged another year, well atleast physically. However after doing a little bit of  introspection , I realized that not much has changed about me. In terms of my inner self. Externally yes, a lot has changed! Let’s not even go there – appearance, responsibilities, financial status, and all that blah, blah…that is the circle of life and most of us (most…) have to go round it.

But…have you ever felt this? I mean, your thoughts, your basic thoughts remain the same. Of course, as you grow older in this life, most of those thoughts become memories. “Ah, I used to think that way too” or, or smile at a youngster and think “teenage.” But that aside, what you are, you’re the same. And in that sense, you don’t feel a day older than school. Yeah, every now and then, along comes an event or person to remind you to ‘play’ your real age, your exhibited self. But that’s it. When you’re alone driving, smoking, lying in bed or even sitting on the…you know what, every morning, you are back being the kid, the thoughts playing hide and seek with themselves. Your ‘real’ opinions about things, which are not much different from when you were a …say, 10 year old peep from your mind. And it’s remarkable how our body is actually shielding our real self, like an astronaut’s gear. Insulating it and keeping it warm. And you carefully treasure that self day in day out. Looking at it every now and then, taking a peek at it when nobody’s looking.

I say the darndest things

Having long lived my life with minimal activities and with absolutely no method , I finally tried some variety by joining a gym. The schedule, surprisingly, has stuck. The sweaty hour and a half I spend at the gym every evening does make my day even though it leads to my whole body raising multiple revolts within and me becoming completely incapacitated in moving any part.But nevertheless I enjoy.

So there was this gal I met at the gym the other day… Now most gals at the gym are the sweaty and all huffy and puffy. She too was all engrosed with making the workout of her life on the treadmill next to me when I broke the mundaneness of her jog with a “Hey. major workout?” Now, that’s not the best of ice-breakers and coming from a sleazy guy, it would actually have invited the cold shoulder treatment but then I’m not sleazy… so she was all smiles and “Hey”.

“So why do you need to workout so much? You’re already in perfect shape.” This was obviously me to her and believe me, she was a stunner of an hourglass.

She continued to jog, smiling though.

“I mean, c’mon, look at me… I’ve got a waistline that’s threatening to sag and all. Why you?”

“Uh well… I’ve got a bit of a tummy too and need to get rid of that…”

Tummy? I looked her over… oh yes, just a bit…

I commented, “Yeah it doesn’t fit in with the rest of the figure.”

She smiled and continued jogging.

“Maybe you’re just pregnant!”, I said with a shrug.

The look on her face changed and if it was possible she would have increased her speed on the treadmill and ran the otherway.

She hasn’t spoken to me ever since.

 Why do I have to come up with such silly jokes and that too with women. Why can’t I talk just normal stuff ? Maybe I should just keep quiet for a change. What do you say?

These women find me irressistable.

 

I have become extremely popular with the ladies these days. Don’t believe me? I swear I have at least 5-6 pretty girls calling me every week. Well frankly speaking I do not know if these girls are actually pretty but surely they have sweetest and the most seductive voice. So they sound pretty pretty to me. And all this while I never knew I had such an influence on the female kind. Anyways another thing that I have observed with my sharp observational skill is that all of them seem to be working with some financial institution or the other. I guess my charm works mostly for the highly intellectual types and not on the usual pretty women around me.

 

 

Anyways most of these ladies call me almost everyday on some pretext or the other and ask me if I was ready. Well, that is for their services mostly, Insurance, credit cards, Mutual funds etc. But, being the smart person that I am, I totally understand that they just want to hear my voice and talk to me. 

 

But being a person having high moral fiber I handle them with utmost chivalry and not like those movie stars who press charge on their fans.

 

Here is how I spoke to the first lady who called me to sell a credit card –

 

She: Hi, am I speaking to Mr. Abhishek?

Me: Yes, please.

She: Sir, I am Lata, calling from ICICI life Insurance, and wanted to talk to you.

(Firstly somebody addressing me as “Sir” was totally flattering and made me feel like I have been knighted by her majesty the Queen and being called Sir Abhishek Basu.

Secondly let me tell you none in my family have ever used a credit card ever neither do they understand anything beyond a ration card which we use to buy our monthly sugar and kerosene. So definitely it was a huge milestone for the Basu family if I was offered our family’s first credit card.)   

Me: Credit cards? Hmm….but how did you get my number?

 

She: Sir, a friend of mine works at ICICI Bank where you have your account and she gave me your contact details. I hope you don’t mind.

 

Me: Arre..he he  of course not. Why should I mind. Just that I did not know that your friend had my number. ( I could not believe that women at the ICICI Mylapore Branch discuss about me with their friends and share my telephone number.)

 

She: Sir, this offer is valid only till this month end. And I would suggest you go for it right away.

 

Me: That was so nice of you to take the trouble to inform me about this offer. But what favor can I do for you in return?

She: Nothing sir, this is plain social work

(Mentally I was imagining lata as a beautiful angel who spread happiness across the world  by distributing free credit cards. She then asked me my Cost To The Company (Salary) and how many years I had put in with Mitsui etc)

 

She: Sir, We can offer you a Gold card. Also, if you have a picture of yours …we could use it on the credit card.

(Alright! so this was the actual plan I thought. She wanted a picture of mine so that she can show her friends and boast that I had presented it personally. I had understood her innocent plan but decided to go along with this and not disappoint her.)

 

Me: That would be great. I really like you. Do you want the picture autographed …err I mean signed?

 

She: No sir! Just an ordinary passport size photograph would do.

 

Me: Oh..ok. Hey thanks a lot for doing so much for me. Perhaps, we could meet somewhere and get to know each other better.

(I asked her out because I thought it was a man’s responsibility to reciprocate nicely to a woman who takes courage to approach a man. Also I guess I was falling in love with her.)

 

She: Sir, we could meet after you get the Gold card.

 

Me: Sure we can. And could I ask you a favor …please, don’t address me as ‘Sir.’

 

She: Sure Abhishek. So I will send one of my executives with the application form.

 

Me: But ..don’t you want to collect it yourself? (I was a bit confused to hear that she was not coming herself after all she took all this pain to call me and get my photograph.)

 

She: No Sir, actually I am a bit busy so will send an executive. Hope you do not mind.

 

Me: No absolutely not …. I understand work comes first.

(I did not want to be perceived as a demanding person and wanted to respect her career too. “Always respect the decisions of the career woman.” my father used to tell me while washing clothes and cleaning the house.)

In a day’s time an executive from the Bank came and in a few days time, I received my first Credit card.

But after that Lata never called. I tried calling the number from where she had called me, but a giggling girl told me that Lata had quit her job.

As days went by and I started recovered from a bout of Dev-D syndrome, I started going to office again. Almost immediately, I started getting many more such calls from ‘pretty’ girls and soon I partially forgot my heartthrob Lata.

While I felt happy that so many girls were taking interest in me…to this day…I fail to understand why they all shy away from meeting me directly!

 

P.S: Lata, if you are reading this, please call me. I promise to take all your insurance, mutual fund, ULIP products even if I have to use my credit card to pay for the premium amounts every month.

 

Discovering Sex

I have often wondered how people learnt all about sex when there were no porn either as magazines or movies. Is that what Ajanta Ellora is? Anyways before i start evoking religious sentiments of moral and culture pilce, let me tell you how i discovered sex. It is never easy if you are born in small family . With no elder brother to hand me down his playboys issues , i had to discover all by myself. Anyways when I was ten years old, I fantasized relationship with Surabhi girl Renuka Sahane – the ever smiling beauty who stole my heart. I even sent her letters after asking the answers from my dad after each episode. But, she broke my heart  everytime ignoring my letters . But my guess is, Siddharth Kak never let her know that I admired her. Maybe, he was jealous.

In those days Doordarshan was the only channel on television and believe me on my quest it did not help much.But destiny does step in the right moment and soon my parents  bought a VCR and I was exposed to the magical land of bollywood where I immediately had a string of relationship with many leading heroines. I was hypnotized by the chirpy laughter of Juhi Chawla, turned a smitten kitten by Madhuri and even thought of running away from home to meet Urmila and tell her how truly I loved her. Even though these ladies did not know that I existed on this earth , somehow I felt they were all made for me and waiting to discover their real hero which was of course your highness.

 

Soon I was old enough to know the human anatomy and was more interested in beauty skin-deep. Now, my 9th standard science book had the outline of a man and a woman. Watching it gave me such a kick. I still remember, looking at the two hollow outlines for hours on end although our biology teacher Mrs. Anita always skipped that page and never explained the details.

Mrs. Anita was also too shy to tell me how a kid was born. So she assured us that the kid was a result of the marriage. I believed her, but there was always this question, as to how could circling a fire with the pundit chanting some mantras result a child.

Then, I was exposed to quite a few cute women who appeared on the cover of English magazine Femina which my mom used to buy from the neighboring aunty. They were seductive and bewitchingly pretty enough to disturb my young mind. I still remember tearing the cover pages and hiding them and telling mom that I accidentally used them to throw litter. Of course I was scolded a lot for that but for the cover of Aishwarya I could bear that any day. From then on mother stopped borrowing the magazines.

In the ninth grade ,I fell in love with Shruti Sinha. A pretty girl who would dance all Madhuri numbers at all functions and at the drop of a hat. I was in love with her. Just that she did not know. Then…or now.

Whenever, she stood close enough for me to latch on to a few atoms of the perfume she used, I would get a high. Was something wrong with me? Or was everybody experiencing the same emotions. I would never know, until….

In grade ten I lost my virginity, figuratively that is. On a weekend one of my best friend Sourav’s parents went out and he was going to make the most of it. He invited his closest of friends and I being the next door neighbor and the safe keeper of all his secrets including all the times he got scolded or beaten, or that he had soiled his pants when we went to Darjeeling, naturally I was part of his inner circle and got invited first.

He had already arranged for `The Cassette’ (CDs and DVDs were yet to come) and we were all excited.

When we landed at his house on the appointed day, the curtains were drawn, and there was loud music playing inside. I was told it was some lady called Madonna and it was the coolest album of the year. All I heard was a lady moaning all along as I could not follow English too well even back then. Even as I sat I felt a sense of guilt and excitement overcomes me. I was about to watch a porn movie. I never knew what it was but there were these scenes we were never meant to see. But that day I had decided to walk the dangerous path and I couldn’t afford to care.

Within minutes, I was watching the first blue film of my life. So were the 17 others in the room. Even today, when we meet Sourav’s parents, Mr & Mrs Sen, we have special regards for them. Now that Sourav is married I bless the child he would have.

Only one grudge, my ten year old cousin says he likes FTV.

Hair today gone tommorrow!!

To break this news on my blog and write a post on myself I prepared well this evening. Yes, I had to down five pegs of Smirnoff vodka. This is just the right amount not to slump into a slumber and dream that everything is all right as it used to be, neither am all conscious and self righteous. I can accept reality better when drunk and go about the self-flagellation.

Didn’t someone very famous….(sorry I am not able to remember his name now)…once say: “Alcohol dulls the pain.”

Ok, to all readers let me break the news first – I am losing hair and have lost a considerable amount to be true. So much so, now I do feel a lot lighter in the head even without a drink or a fag. Perhaps it’s not such good news for the lices that were once so secure in their impregnable nest above my neck but hey!! Nothing’s in life is permanent and especially not a house illegally occupied over somebody’s head.

A few days back my mom showed a recent photo of mine to my sweet little niece all of eight years and she asked if the picture was taken in autumn.

“The whole of South India has only two seasons dear– the summer & the rainy. No autumn over there,” Mom tried to explain.

“But then why has uncle shed so much and looks like the palm tree near the pond hit by lightning?” As soon as I heard this, I immediately cancelled the plan of taking her a gift next time I visited my sister. So much for being her favorite uncle. Humph…

Like I was saying, I am losing hair. Now you would say, why the hell get so insecure about it when most men get bald anyways. But this does bother me as it is completely new to my family. There are stories about my grandfather’s hair, which when told after a drink assumes immense importance.

Legend has it that he never ever went to a barber in his life. Instead he used to ask the gardener to shape the mane with his garden cutter. It’s also said that the hair once cut were sold to the fence maker and used as barbwire around the garden.

My father carried the same genes and hence ended up with real strong head and hair. When he joined the armed force, he never wore a helmet. Bullets would never be able to penetrate the bush anyways. On top of that he also had a readymade disguise with which he could disappear among bushes without a trace. The only catch was that he had to cut his hair only during fire practice or heavy enemy shelling. This way the whole cantonment was not disturbed.

Now, thanks to my hair-gel and experimentations with different shampoos, I have lost the family legacy and the crowning glory. I do wonder if it has to do with the 10 ml herbal shampoo bottles I have been stealing whenever I stayed in a hotel.