The Boatman

Slither slither the water slaps the boat,

the edges blurring,

moving towards the other end,
the Boatman rows.
Nobody knows why he rows,
ever in this looming melancholy,
rowing silently with vigour,
with a silent symphany.
The darkness of the water ,
is attractive,seductive,
why doesn't he plunge beneath,
into the cool retreat.
But he rows on relentlessly,
untired limbs working away,
sweat breaking on his brow,
his passengers restless,
Because the River is threatening,
calm and cold,
it flows with a vigour,
powerful yet dominating.
Remarkable though it is,
daunting it seems,
darkness overflows and meets the light,
half elation and sorrow.

I often ask the Boatman,
why does he do it,
so on and so forth,
isn't it better to leave?
He smiles inimitably,
and moves his hand over his face saying,
when you have crossed the river,
as many times as I
Nothing seems to matter,
after a while,
everything's just,
coming and going.

I realize
that is what life is,
some come in,
some go out,
we are the boatman of our life,
And the comers mere passengers,
the goers mere passers,
The Boatman doesn't befriend them,
and he tells me to do the same,
"one day they all leave..."
I try to follow,
I ask him about the lure of the river
he says only the fear of the unknown
keeps him from abandoning his boat,
it's tempting to give up the boat of life,
and plunge into the unknown,
But then,
who knows what it has in store?
the Boatman doesn't know
and so I don't.

moments...

I have a heart shaped box.
It's empty now and full of nothing.
I have a little heart shaped box, I say
kept on the window sill of time
morose it looks all by its own
alone and pretty but still forlorn.

I have a beautiful picture
It reminds me of time that is gone
I have a beautiful crooked picture, they say
beauty lies in its simpleness
a simple painting with no color
of light strokes devoid of vigor.

I have an old book
It says 'come read me' now and then
I have an old tattered book, you say
it was a good read and still
I never read it again
and it calls me, its voice in pain.

I have so many things
I have so many things I say again
all neglected and forgotten pieces of past
jumbled up in the quagmire of memories
I gaze on them where they remain
wondering when I'll open them again.

The Non-Nerd Rules

The word "Nerd" has two meanings:

1.A socially inept person.

2.A single minded being dedicated to only one activity in life.


Every occurrence here belongs to the second category. That is persons dedicated to the sole act of studying and studying and studying and then...studying a bit more. These nerds affectionately called "maggus" here are a so called intelligentsia who prefers to devote their profound intellect to something as mundane as ... well ... you know.
And the worst part... they are proud of it.
I never say that Don't Study... I say... please do not become a socially inept person. A person who is so devoid of emotions when his ... you know... comes under purview ....and/or threat. A person who may just show you the door if you interfere when they are doing ...you know what. A person who may just giggle at your face when you try to ask some doubts just because he has already done it and thinks that s/he is superior now. A person who gets irritated just because you said ... "ooh ....this exam's gonna hurt". A person who is a full blown nerd.

This led me to categorize the people around us.
1. THE NERD ( The properties discussed above are applicable).

2. THE BENEVOLENT (These have some NERD properties but they help you out and never get irritated).

3. THE BONEHEAD (These don't know a thing, can't help you and never study).

4. THE PURE NON NERD (These study just when the time come).

There is a very subtle line of difference. The PURE NON NERD is not unintelligent...It's just that they don't like to exert it much.The PURE NON NERD depends on the BENEVOLENT most of the time as they share a symbiotic bond. The NERD and BONEHEAD have individualistic existence. Whereas the NERD has a territory defense mechanism; the BONEHEAD has a savage barbaristic appeal that defies all sense of understanding.

I was talking to a freind of mine (definitely PURE) Shrey when we suddenly had this idea to frame the rules of PURITY.
so here they are.

1. Thou shalt not mug.
2.Thou shalt not stepeth into the F 127th to study.
3.Thou shalt not study till the sems are a week awayeth.
4.Thou shalt not discuss the paper after coming out.
5.Thou shalt condemn the act of mugging widely, truly and as vehemently as you can at whatever time of the day.

This led to a discussion with my friend Palkush and we both agreed that there were very less PURE people... There are a LOT of NERDS and BONEHEADS and there is a fair amount of BENEVOLENT too ....but the PURE guys....are too rare. For eg. Excluding me and him only Shrey and my roomie Rohit manage to fit this bill.

My search is on.......

If there is someone who think they are PURE... think again... the Laws are too harsh.

A really nice poem that I came across....waqt nahin

हर खुशी है लोगों के दामन में ,
पर एक हँसी के लिए वक्त नहीं ।
दिन रात दौड़ती दुनिया में ,
जिंदगी के लिए ही वक्त नहीं ।

माँ की लोरी का एहसास तो है ,
पर माँ को माँ कहने का वक्त नहीं ।
सारे रिश्तों को तो हम मार चुके ,
अब उन्हें दफ़नाने का भी वक्त नहीं ।

सारे नाम मोबाइल में हैं ,
पर दोस्ती के लिए वक्त नहीं ।
गैरों की क्या बात करें ,
जब अपनों के लिए ही वक्त नहीं ।

आंखों में है नींद बड़ी ,
पर सोने का वक्त नहीं ।
दिल है घमों से भरा हुआ ,
पर रोने का भी वक्त नहीं ।

पैसों की दौड़ में ऐसे दौडे ,
की थकने का भी वक्त नहीं ।
पराये एहसासों की क्या कद्र करें ,
जब अपने सपनो के लिए ही वक्त नहीं ।

तू ही बता ऐ जिंदगी ,
इस जिंदगी का क्या होगा ,
की हर पल मरने वालों को ,
जीने के लिए भी वक्त नहीं ॥


Makes you think about the way our life goes about here.
How many times have I felt ...neglecting studies....neglecting friends...neglecting health...neglecting sports....neglecting parents...neglecting...life.

Falling.

Falling... Falling... my life flashing.

unseeming glimpses of my past.

I am falling backwards watching above.

from where I fell , aghast.

speechless I am my barren voice.

the visions slid by me , I

am but a morbid particle on the

highway of death and life.



I am falling alone here

but wait , there is something there,

something, no , someone falling with me,

hovering with me in the air.

I am ecstatic,finally

someone travelling my journey too,

she smiles back, looks at me ,

as if saying I love you.



If this was the journey of life,

I'd take the fall again.

not to have the visions and dreams,

not to suffer any pain.

but to spend some time with the lovely voice,

did I not tell you above?

If this is not then what it is

but pure free-falling in love?

A Nice Read

There are good writers and there are very good writers. But, Archer manages to surprise you by bettering them all. The book "A Prisoner of Birth" was perhaps the 16th book I read over the summer, but it was the only book that compelled me to write something about it.

To begin with I am now a sound believer that Archer's genius and the overawing finesse in his writing are something that I find unparalleled in many of his generation of writers. The plot which is a basic murder - legal - thriller tangle has been so orchestrated, that I found unable to put down the book even for a minute.

Archer's characteristic flamboyant pace and his expressive way of using words with unassuming ingenuity and a well - constructed climax has once again made me an ardent fan of his works. True, I had been more than a little disappointed with Cat 'O Nine Tales but this novel has surely redeemed Jeffrey Archer .

What to say of the man. While he remains till date one of the most well read writers of all time, He remains one of the most controversial person ever to be in the British Parliament. He has spent some time "inside" as I would like to say. But still he was awarded the title of "Baron" in 1992. This led a friend of mine who lives in the UK to remark on the intellectual honesty of the British people. She said to me "Look, this bugger was sent to the pen once. But , seeing his contribution to the field of Literature he was given this title...." . I replied " So what's so great about that?". She replied exasperatedly "Don't you see the good side of it...? The man spent some years in jail and yet he became a Baron... Isn't that remarkable? ". I could only say " In our country a person with a criminal record can become a minister, make laws, perform executive responsibilities and even become the President!!! So what's so great about our dear ol' Jeffrey....?"

She had no answer.

The unanswered question...

I heard a very moving story a few days back....
Unfortunately It's all true and as much I would have been pushed towards spamming-mail it I think this thing is not meant to be sent to the many anonymous people in my address book to be read and either pushed into the trash can or forwarded to all. Because I want this story to be read, and not merely read I want people to give me an honest opinion about what in reality makes a person? Is it good education or is it just the adversities he faces? Can really born in a privileged position be any help?

My story starts at a construction site in suburban Mumbai; A flyover was being constructed and a laborer's wife went the family way and our dear Kallu was born. Nothing unremarkable there. These sort of births take in India all the time. And most of them in much more appaling conditions then our dear Kallu here. He got his DDT shots in a nearby government clinic and maybe some kind of food from the local laborers. At the age of 3 and a half months his father died in an accident. Nothing remarkable here too; laborers die all the time all the place.

At the age of 4 Years his mother died of some unknown illness . Who knows what illness who has the money to go to a doctor in this country . His mother had been a God Fearing person and she hoped God would treat her . It seems that this family was one of the forsaken ones....

So we have this family again elder brother and sisters (2 of them) and one younger sister. After the death of the mother everything falls apart. As if disbanded from the army they all break up. Our Kallu is one of these left alone to forage on whatever he could find to eat, beg to have and fight to get.

At the age of 7 Kallu is a maverick of the streets . He is a shoeshine boy + a sweeper of the local train + a tea stall worker + a smalltime coolie.

If you go and have your shoe shined by him he charges 3 Rupees 50 paise for it. And if you decide to go easy on the 50 paise he says "Aye saa'b mere ko mera 50 paisa dedo". His arithmetic is flawless. He has his own place for sleeping inside a very large construction pipe; not very comfortable he accepts...but atleast it is his. Bought for that is... from a "seth". Ask him how much money he has and he tells you he has Three thousand eight hundred and fifty six rupees and twenty five paise. A total you can count and verify. He hides his money somewhere and he challenges "akhha mumbai mere paise nahin dhoondh sakti".

This guy does not have a bank account. This guy does not have a police record. This gut does not have a Birth certificate. This guy does not exist on paper. Never participated in a population census he tells me. What is this guy doing you may ask....

He survives.

Now tell me one thing ... what were we capable of at the age of 7?
We knew A-B-C thats for sure. and we knew a range of things like brushing our teeth and stuff. We knew if we cried really hard our parents would get anything for us.
We could not have demanded the 50 paise with so much conviction.
We would not survive 2 minutes in the same situation that Kallu presently lives.

Yes Yes... We are an educated lot. We studied in schools : there we learnt about science and history and geography, for God's sake!!! We were doing the "Good" stuff.

Think: Kallu did not have a formal education ; he did not have parents to guide him protect him. He was just a toddler thrown forcibly into this world to find his own path among the bushes. Who taught him? Nobody.

Adversities teach us better than schools then? Or do they?

You may argue that both the systems give rise to a very different individual. Catering to different needs of the society... but in the end... It's all about surviving out there. And Kallu's doing it from the age of 7. Just because we were lucky enough to be born in a well to do hospital than under a semi constructed flyover ; are we here where we are.

Think about it.