A woman with the potential to make it big. It is not that she cannot: she simply will not.
The closest anyone has come to being an adopted daughter.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Somewhere, in future...

"Oh it'll be all right! It's sure to end with a banquet under the starry sky, same as usual."

Sunday, January 24, 2010


I wonder how many hitch-hikers shall have a toothbrush as the number two option on their priority list while packing. I don't think many would.

Toothbrushes are not essential components of survival. You can ideally go without them for ages; we're not discussing towels here, or somewhat less importantly, oxygen, water or food. There is the hygiene issue, but I suppose if you're really stranded in some deserted place, you can do without dental care for a few days.

However, we're ignoring something over here: our minds.

Something doesn't really click when you pass away when the clock strikes noon, and your teeth haven't encountered that weird bushy feel throughout the morning. Add to the fact that they haven't faced the feeling the previous week either. Now, as day fades into night, you suddenly crave for that feeling. You suddenly realise that you cannot live without it any longer. There's this inexplicable feeling all over your insides which you can't explain, and you suddenly crave for it. You turn irrational, you shout at random people, you put up bizarre outbursts, and you cannot find a reason for all that.

And then, suddenly the feeling begins to strangle you, but you feel more helpless than ever and shout and groan and writhe and shout in agony and bang your head against the wall and feel like you're going insane and try to cling on to whatever you can and you become a nobody and nonentity and a pathetic helpless worm and...

... and then, it suddenly hits you that the supply wagon has still a month to arrive. Or maybe a year. Or a millennium.


When I head this for the first time I thought this was a joke. Barring trivial exceptions, the life of a convict usually stretches to beyond fourteen years after he comes to know of his lifetime sentence. I found it somewhat strange that in India a life imprisonment is synonymous to fourteen years. It somehow reminded me of the exile in The Ramayana.

Then I thought about it. Fourteen years is a lot of time, guys. I was in my first year at college fourteen years back. Consider the fact that I was imprisoned for some heinous crime at that point of time; it would've meant that I would've been released roughly at this time. Which means that I would have missed out on college, university, ten years worth of job experience, my bank balance and what not, including the fact that a career would've been impossible for me after I was released.

Would we prefer them to imprisonments that really last a lifetime? I suppose so. At least you get away; at least you can call yourself free; and most importantly, you have something to look forward to - a day when you'd be free. That's the most significant difference between the two situations - one of them actually gives you a dream to live with: the other eliminates even that. It kills hope.

Some other countries have ninety-nine years or a real lifetime imprisonment. I shudder at the sheer thought - remnants of a wasted life, neutralised by the fact that all hope has been obliterated, somewhat similar to a Dementor's kiss. The Indians are better that way.

I sincerely hope that all lifetime imprisonments last a span of fourteen years, with the scope to get away if you behave well (like they show in movies: that's true, right?).

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Growing up

No, this doesn't refer to a certain organ of mine that derives excitement out of proximity to members of the opposite sex (and which, somewhat inconveniently, doubles up as the endpoint of the excretory tract).

This refers to me. Myself. Not Irene, though (yes, I know that was a pathetic one).

As a rule, people are expected to grow up with time. I've never found out why, though. They say, it's all about responsibilities, but then, responsibilities are supposed to make people matured; how relevant are responsibilities as far as growing up is concerned?

I'm expected to grow up, I know. This possibly means I cannot afford to remain innocent. I need to strangle the child inside me, somehow. This means that I cannot
  • afford to take a walk when I like to (which would double up as a physical exercise on a serious note)
  • call up friends when I'm keen to converse with (surprisingly, there are quite a few)
  • read books that I crave for (as if the list isn't infinite...)
  • go for a movie (or a hundred) just like that
  • watch cricket endlessly (they do seem to be endless these days)
  • pull the flush halfway through a pee and try frantically to finish off before the water runs out (and invariably fail, and wait back for the cistern to refill)
  • or do lots of stuff that I really like to do.
And then...
  • I shouldn't jump up trying to reach the leaves of the oh-so-close trees while I walk back home (I did touch one this week!)
  • I shouldn't fall asleep on the grass during an afternoon stroll (preferably not on a winter night)
  • I should prefer porn to animated movies (to be honest, I do at times)
  • I shouldn't take the first tram that runs through Maidan, stuffing telebhaja with an insatiable lupine hunger (cut down somewhat due to dieting)
  • I shouldn't stand on the terrace for hours to greet the first rain (and catch pneumonia)
  • I shouldn't while away my time sniffing warmed-up mattresses in the lazy spring afternoons with polash all over my back (okay, I know I need the tree somewhere on my terrace, but let's not spoil the mood)
  • I should rush through the supermarkets at lightning speed instead of spending hours trying to read the label on the newest detergent (and point out the spelling and grammatical errors)
Well, I can crib all day on this. But, as we all know, grown-ups don't behave like that. They absorb their tears the way grown-ups are supposed to do, and grown-ups have done over centuries. And then, boy's don't cry, remember?

Monday, January 18, 2010


Of all the metals that exist, copper is possibly the most sensuous. All metals have certain common properties, as they had taught me in physics a decade and a half back. They're malleable, they're ductile, they possess a unique lustre, and they usually dazzle when you throw light on them.

Copper, however, has a distinctive colour of its own, as we all know. Most metals look gorgeous in bright light, but copper, somewhat uniquely, reveals its charms in the dark. If you really need to mesmerise yourself in its appeal, I suppose you need to catch a glimpse of the metal when there's no light. It looks more sensuous, more seductive when there's no illumination; you might be stunned by the sheer eroticism of the metal in the dark.

And then, there's the fact that it's a wonderful conductor of electricity.

Monday, January 4, 2010


All animals, other than those in Chordate subphylum Vertebrata, are called invertebrates. They comprise about 95% of all animal species.

However, the main advantage with invertebrates is the fact that they rule, and rule big time. They're the majority, they never aspire for a spinal cord, and are remarkably conscious and proud of the fact. They can neither run nor soar, but they simply don't seem to care.

Of all invertebrates, my favourites are the molluscs, since they also have a solid shell.