The Most Beautiful Days || Childhood Days

Do you remember the times when your mom’s lap was the most comfortable mattress in the world and you loved sharing your “day events” with her explicating all details? Do you remember your first bicycle ride; recall how many times your body touched the ground but it seemed impossible for your feet to touch the same? Do you remember the times when your favourite teacher drew a smiley on your hand and you refused to wash your hands to make it stay longer? Do you recollect crying when you lost your favourite lunch box, pencil box or for your broken toys/crayons? Do you remember the times when cricket was called bat-ball, and power cuts were an insinuation to play hide-n-seek? Do you remember the days when you dozed off on sofa and magically woke up on bed? Do you think of the times when picking out colours seemed to be a difficult task as 24-shades colour set was not enough, or the times when drawing a scenery meant few brown coloured mountains along with a sun rising between them and a river flowing from between the mountains and a triangle-roofed-hut with a road coming straight from the front door? Do you remember the petty, rhyming fun filled jokes and poems, the times when your goals/Ambitions changed with each uniform in fancy dress competition? Do you retrieve the times when you eagerly waited for the summer vacations, planned to do something new like dancing, sketching and ended up sleeping the whole vacation? Remember the times when you liked colourful kites, colourful ribbons and colourful, glittery stickers? Do you remember flaunting the collections you made of tazos, tattoos, paper planes, dolls or all kind of free gifts you got? Do you commemorate your birthday celebrations, when cutting the cake was less important than opening the presents? Do you remember the days when watching Jerry shoot down Tom, Scooby doo solve a mystery, Uncle Scrooge carry out an adventure, Gummy Bears make new potions, Baloo pilot laughing made your day? Do you recollect the days when bathing in rains, playing in mud and making boats seemed the sole aim of the season? Do you remember when the bell rang after the last class and you fly like a bird freed from cage to get to your bicycle and go home, or the happy times when school was declared off due to a “rainy day” seemed like a dream come true? You remember staying in wet shoes, catching cold and then embracing the mix of bitter medicine along with sweet mother’s love? You remember falling in love with new toys especially the ones which were forbidden and later asking them as your birthday present felt like mission accomplished? Do you recall gloating each new silly tricks, games and pranks you learned? Do you remember your childhood dreams, day dreaming a bright future, a world full of creativity, fun where everyone is equally appreciated? Remember the days when you hated being kissed, or your cheeks being pulled hard or people calling you cute? You remember how a tiny butterfly or a colourful bird made you smile but a mighty cockroach/lizard scared the hell out of you?

And do you remember when you had the most beautiful days of your life and all you wanted was to “grow up” thinking elders enjoy more?

Being grown up isn’t as interesting as growing up is. This New Year make resolutions for growing up once again. Make time for parents, talk to them, love your friends, notice the nature, embrace failures and work harder, make time to set goals/dreams, observe your environment, there’s so much to learn, love yourself, you’re unique just like everyone else is, live in the present!

Revolution 2020 : Book Review

Note: Read the following article only if you have read the novel, else this might spoil your appetite

After reading the book “Revolution 2020” by Chetan Bhagat, the first thought that ran across my mind was whether Chetan Bhagat has turned into a Bollywood movies’ scriptwriter from a novelist. With 3-4 of Chetan’s books already turning into reels, one of them being a huge blockbuster who wouldn’t want to enter the most sought after industry namely, Bollywood. The story of this particular novel seems to be inspired from a number of movies, e.g Guru where press(newspapers) seemed to be the most important tool to showcase truth, and many other bolly-flicks where the hero/villain, a small town guy tries to make it big in small time to exert his power over his companion. The book has parts where the reader may hear “Gopal”, the protagonist vaguely saying “aaj mere paas gaadi h, bangla h, tere pass kya h?” to Raghav, who happens to be his cold-rivalry and Raghav seems  to be replying “mere paas “Press –Newspaper Revolution 2020” hai.”(Raghav is a journalist). The filmy touch is very evident. The author is very opportunistic in my opinion; he shrewdly takes up the burning topic of “Corruption” into account which has currently gained a lot of audience already, thanks to Anna Hazare. From the very inception, to the end he showed how easy life is if you know powerful people, how white envelopes under the table works, how “contacts” & “references” helps. Money speaks, big time. He also brings up issues like the “glitches” or let me rephrase it to the “blunders” in our education system. Indirectly he shows the growing competition, and how the ratio of students applying to institutes to the petite number of good institutes is preposterous. Very interestingly, amidst a love triangle Bhagat is able to squeeze in all the above sensational issues. Not only Bhagat did his homework by learning about Varanasi, the city where it all happened but he also inputs some realistic view of Kota, the pre-iit-city, where many dreams are converted to reality and some dreams shattered. Psychologically, after reading the book it seems the whole system in India needs a change let alone corruption. Coming to the characters, Gopal ; a poor fellow, a small town guy yet very ambitious, emotional person, true lover, adventurous , jealous, seems to be one-woman man, until the end twist. Raghav is work-alcoholic, passionate, and faithful and determined who is ready to follow his dreams. Aarti, on one hand is very loving, caring and understanding but on the other hand she seems to be a muddled person who sways between her two best friends. She proves (yet again) that a woman is the reason for initiating a fight between two best friends. The story revolves around Gopal’s struggles to make it big and get his girl back and is balanced between the good and the bad. Reader’s wonderment regarding the title “Revolution 2020” is maintained almost till the mid of the book. Although the end is workable but he could have changed the end; it was a bit abrupt and seemed coerced. It didn’t make sense how Raghav stood for elections as an MLA when he gave up his job in a reputed IT company just to work for his passion, journalism. I was expecting a more interesting end. The affair between Gopal and Aarti is kept a secret and Raghav never even suspects: Doesn’t fit to reality. The book is in similar tones to all Bhagat books, the language is dialed down and non-novel-readers are comfortably able to envisage the events. Overall I would say the book isn’t a must read like his first novel but yes, if you are Chetan Bhagat’s sincere fan you can take a shot, otherwise wait for the movie. ;)

The above is purely my thinking, perspectives may differ.

The Journey

Sometimes a simple dialogue like “Life is a race..  ” stands so true. But in this rat race people often miss the small things that teach us more valuable and important lessons. I’ll share one such anecdote. Recently I went to Lajpat Nagar, New Delhi for some work and I being totally jobless (I left the earphones at home!), started noticing the elements in my journey and to my surprise I learnt so much. First thing I noticed was how Life follows the “Murphy’s Law” at every step. I started late; hence I was rushing and waited for the auto which would take me to the nearest metro station. But as the law states, “the frequency of the availability of Autos at a particular time is inversely proportional to the exigency of your work” so, I had to wait for the auto for more than 20 minutes which otherwise comes at an interval of 3-4 minutes. Finally one auto showed up. But the Murphy ’s Law continued. Certain routes were diverted as some minister was scheduled to come through the same routes and the hoi polloi had to suffer for one man. Even the ambulances were not allowed. How lame.  A person sharing the auto yelled at the auto driver, “Drive faster, I’m already late”; the person sitting next to him starts supporting him, abusing and calling the ministers the “good- for-nothing” people. Within seconds discussions started and extended to the passing of the Jan Lokpal bill. Heights of Digression! The driver replied politely, “sahab, you should have started early, this happens. At least the roads are now cleaned and stitched (with tar coal) just because he’s (the minister) visiting the city “. I learnt how positive and phlegmatic some people are, and how some people are always backing up causes, whether it matters to them or not. Soon after travelling along the circumference (an extra 6-7km) instead of the diametric path, we reached the destination, but the driver charged the same amount as he was otherwise supposed to. The riled up customers now smiled. I learnt how Money Matters! The driver smiled back. I paid and rushed to board the train. The train showed up 5 minutes late due to some technical glitch. As soon as the train arrived and the gates opened, the jostling crowd rushed for a seat pushing and elbowing anyone who came in their way. I too caught in the mob rushed and grabbed a seat. Just when the doors were about to shut I saw a diffident girl drag her torn slipper and get inside the train just seconds before the doors collided. Her sister and mother got in before her. The sisters looked alike, twins probably. The other sister was pulling her leg as she tried her best to fix the slipper. The mother gently scolded the one who was deriding and selflessly gave away her sandals to her daughter and took the torn ones in her hand and stayed bare-foot. Mothers are the real beauty, I learned. The girl was embarrassed but wore her mother’s sandal along with a sheepish smile. All this time, the train moved at snail’s pace, all hail Murphy! Finally, my stop came, I ran towards the escalators, and a thought floated in my head that how our life is similar to the escalators, we are born, we grow up and die just to be born again. Eventually I got late for my work but I was happy I noticed the worth-noticing life. Life is beautifully strange, Carpe diem!!

Ghost Vaticinators || Part 2

Contd  from Part 1 Ghost Vacitinators

Part 2

...

My mouth opens into a big “O” with the largest possible diameter as soon as I heard what my neighbors said. I was flabbergasted. The second truth wasn’t that stringent as the first one was. What? MY fiancé has lived here, how he can lie to me. Why is he lying to me? What’s the truth? Several question marks started revolving in my head. I started thinking of exorcising the house but then thought not to, since I didn’t want mike to know that I know about him. So, I thought I’ll run away.

As darkness started engulfing the beautiful Seattle evening, I pre-planned my exit. I couldn’t sleep although I pretended well. Soon Mike was asleep. I got up on my toes. The only noise I could hear was of the crickets. I took my handbag, which I filled with just the necessary documents I would need beforehand only. I scarcely opened the door, when the pivots creaked. With trembling hands I managed to open the door slightly. I saw someone. Someone or Something, I wasn’t sure. I saw the specters. It was the twin-like girl but with no deformities unlike other times and mike’s poltergeist. I saw the girl carrying the same handbag, the one I was holding. She wore my dress and she was looking exactly like me. I freaked, and closed my mouth with both my hands as I breathed heavily. I saw mike’s apparition interrogating the girl where she was going. When unable to answer he slapped hard and took her outside by hair and banged her head against the wall. She was crying out loud for help but no one came. Just as I paced behind them to see what happened next, I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could turn back, the ghosts disappeared and Mike asked “where are you going?” I turned back, perplexed I couldn’t think of a reason and before I could make one, he slapped me. He grabbed my hair and dragged me outside and banged my head against the wall, I cried for help, but all in vain. I saw mike he was mad, his eyes turned red. I was bleeding and told him I was going to visit my parents as I got a call in the afternoon. He simpered and said “you’ll never leave this place”. I ran and bolted the door from inside, tied a scarf around the wound on my head which eventually developed a bump. I tried to maintain my composure and somehow fell asleep trying to connect the dots.

Morning rays entered my room through the window and I woke. I heard knocks on my door. It was mike asking me to open the door. He was iterating what was wrong with me as if he didn’t know. He mentioned he was worried about me as he saw blood on the front door. Bemused, I opened the door. He took me in his arms and was crying. I asked if he remember last night, but he didn’t. He took me to the hospital where I got a couple of stitches and the nurse drugged me. Upon gaining consciousness I saw my parents standing near the foot of my bed. I asked mike how they got here, Mike answered that I was going to them last night so he called them here instead. I was certain he was lying before, that he didn’t remember anything. He remembered my reason, hence the night too. Soon mike left and I was too scared to tell my parents anything. I asked them to leave as well.  I wanted some time to think. As I sat clueless on my bed, I overheard some voices. It was mike, and I was not certain whether the rest two voices were of my neighbors. All I could hear was that I am useless as I had a scar on my head now, and that I should be killed before I become some sort of danger to their community. As I heard, my hackles rose. With tears in my eyes I lied on the hospital bed.

I know I saw the ghosts direct the same scene last night before it happened. Everything happened exactly the same way as I saw them act. It occurred to me, were the ghosts trying to tell me something? Were they helping me? What if they predict everything before it happens? were they trying to foretell my future? I was sure Mike had no idea about them and I remember the first time I entered the third room, I saw the ghosts’ enact mike killing my parents and me. Will that happen in the exact same way if I stay? Before I could connect more dots I saw the twin-like girl floating in my hospital ward, mouthing the words, “come”. I got up, for now I know I am not scared of the dead but the living. I followed her. The hospital seemed quite. She took me to the mortuary and she pointed to a body. I saw it was of a young girl, and as I slowly removed the shroud ,I noticed her nerves were cut. The ghoul transformed into that girl. I cried, as I got that mike tricked her just like he tricked me to come with him and killed her. Shortly, the room was filled with several ghouls, all young girls floating few inches above the ground, pointing to their respective bodies. It was vivid that Mike and the people of this town tricked and killed them too. But still I had one question unanswered, why was he doing this? I heard footsteps and I ducked down, the apparition vanished. I saw a part of some crumbled sheets below her body. I pulled them out. Soon the footsteps were not audible. I read the sheets only to corroborate that the girl’s name was Arienne and she was from Seattle. She was “married” to Mike. On the other sheets there were caricatures and strange figures drawn which I couldn’t figure out. I took the papers with me to my ward.

As soon as I got home from the hospital I scanned those papers and searched on internet what the caricatures/figures meant, and found that they were used in Voodoo, to stop the process of aging. Mike has been performing the same to remain young forever. It was also clearly mentioned that the protocols involved the sacrifice of a young girl who does not have any scar or marks of wound on her body; it was to satisfy the pagan God/devil or something. Everything fell into places. I solved the mystery, but just one problem, how will “I” escape? Mike and the whole town had made several such sacrifices and God only knows Mike’s real age. If what the ghosts predicted was true then I will die just the way they showed in that third room. I thought if I throw away that dress, the knife in which the ghouls showed I’ll die I will never face it because I know the future will change if I change the environment/situation. I burnt the dress in the backyard. I locked the third room and buried the keys along with the knife. And I asked my parents to leave town as soon as possible. I didn’t wait for mike or the night to fall. I hurried out, but I saw mike standing at the front door. He looked irksome, and asked, “So are you leaving?” I started taking backward steps and looked at my neighbors with great hope. They didn’t react. Mike had a knife. A different one. I ran inside the house and came escaped through the back door. I took a train to San Francisco and left the place without turning back, but wondered what happened inside.

It’s been few months since “Mike episode” was over, which I buried in the past until one day my neighbors showed up. I was scared as to why they were here. But it was a relief when they hugged me and told me that Mike’s dead as he was not able to sacrifice a girl in time and that Mike was a voodoo performer. They also told me that the night I escaped, Mike was caught up in an illusion created by the ghosts just the way I was confused when I first saw them. The girl apparition morphed into me and in a rage without noticing much Mike followed her instead of me and since he was occupied for some time it was enough for me to run away. I realized, the town never supported mike, but they were too scared to take any action. The last truth they told me was that the girl ghoul I used to see, the one which helped me was their daughter who fell in love with mike only to meet her utter death. I smiled innocuously for I was lucky to survive.  

Horror || Ghost Vaticinators

 This is a small horror story. It’s written in two parts. The second part is found here Ghost Vaticinators Part 2

Part1:

I am Elisha, I lived with one my best friends, Mike in a small house in the outskirts of Seattle. We moved from New Jersey few days back because of Mike’s transfer. It was an esoteric small town and people were very friendly and they happened to know each other quite well. I believe because of a small population it’s not hard to remember names and know each other. Mike and I had been best friends since the very first day of my work where we met. He was friends with my boss. Within a week he asked me out and I accepted to go out with him as he seemed not only friendly, but also very caring. And just like any other couple we planned to introduce each other to parents, when he mentioned for the first time that he had lost his in a car crash. On the very day when I introduced Mike to my parents, Mike proposed to me and we got engaged. Although my parents had always been a little skeptic about Mike, I never took their dubiety seriously. But then I believe every girl’s parents are a bit choosy and dubious when it comes to their daughter’s relationship. I trusted him a lot and we were living together, to be married in a couple of months. The place we lived was a small apartment with 3 rooms and a kitchen opening into the drawing room and a bath. We explored all of the rooms save one. The room was locked and was stuck badly so we preferred not to wrestle and break the door. Mike always used to go back to New Jersey every last two days of the month; he said he had being doing some other part time work as well. I never asked him what work, as he seemed to be worried about our future and I thought he was working hard for some extra money. As usual, Mike told he had to go out of town for a couple of days, but this time I was a bit scared as I was new in town. Yet, I thought I can manage, but the truth was I never lived alone. I got back from work, and I saw my bed was moved from its place. Prima Facie, I thought burglars had entered; probably they broke in and looted. But nothing was missing. In fact the bed was moved but the sheet on it was not, pillows were in place, and everything else was in their respective places. I got scared and called up mike to confirm, it wasn’t him or one of his poor jokes. He seemed bemused and said he was in New Jersey. I started to check every room to corroborate there was no intruder at home. I opened up every room but found everything perfect, except for I saw the third room for the first time since we moved. It was a quirky that the room opened at one go. I gathered myself and thought the best was not to think about it much as the more I’ll think the more I’ll picture gory events in my mind and I’ll end up scaring myself. I ordered food and after finishing the same, I crushed. The next thing I remember was waking up in the middle of the night as I heard my fiancé’s voice. I was baffled, as just few hours’ back he told me he was in New Jersey and that he will return after a day. So, Was I dreaming? Or did he come back early? IS it someone else? am I hearing voices? Suddenly my head was developing a coagulation of thoughts in my mind, some of them horrifying. Still, I mustered courage and climbed out of my bed only to find that it wasn’t just one voice but “voices” and most importantly all of them were originating from the third room, the room which was opened first time that very night. I was terrified as I myself scrutinized the same room before and found nothing odd. I dragged myself closer to the room and tried to listen intensely. I could make out my parent’s voice along with mike’s voice. There was dissension and they were fighting. I got scared but as I flowed with my emotions with shaky hands I pushed the door ajar. I was totally taken aback to see mike, and my parents standing, but something was different. They were not totally visible, their bodies were blurry, and they were somewhat “transparent”. As soon as I opened the door, all three of them looked at me and Mike smirked at me. I looked at him, with fear in my eyes and thousands of questions in my mind. In a jiffy, the blurry Mike picked up the side stand next to the bed in that room and hit my dad, and then my mom. He clobbered my Dad to death. I ran towards them, but just when I was about to touch my mother, everything went into thin air. I was standing in the room with the broken stand which was blown into smithereens. I was crying, my mind was going crazy. On the spur of the moment I saw a girl who looked just like me, sitting at the corner of the room, her eyes were bleeding and she had scratches all over her body and a knife was pushed deep into her throat. She was so similar to me, so twin-like as if I was seeing myself in the mirror. I got up to her and she held my hand, jerked, and she said in a low tone “go away” and disappeared.

The next thing I remember was I saw mike standing next to my bed in the local hospital ward. He explained me that my neighbors found me unconscious in the kitchen and took me to the hospital. It was quite incredible that I skipped one whole day of my life, and most importantly I was in the kitchen, not in the third room where I was supposed to be. After I was discharged from the hospital, I reiterated the actual episode to Mike, but he didn’t pay any credence instead blamed me for my lack of responsibility and maturity. A week passed and I almost forgot the incident, thinking it was just a bad dream and my mind was playing games, although at several occasions I woke up in the morning only to find my furniture moved from its respective places. I ignored them, taking them to be mike’s pranks. But one day, at the grocery I saw the “girl” again, the twin-like girl standing at the end of the store. She was in torn clothes which when I focused harder found it to be one of my frocks and she had the exact same look, the first time I saw her. Her eyes were bleeding and the knife was half way down her throat. I was shocked, petrified. She was trying to communicate with me, when suddenly a fellow shopper passed through her and she disappeared. No one else saw her but me. Curiosity didn’t let me breathe in peace, there were many questions revolving in my mind and I wanted answers. I thought it might be the soul of my twin or my sibling, but my parents ascertained me that I was their only child, my mother neither had lost any child in her womb nor had twins. I went to my neighbour’s place the very same day and interrogated who were the occupants before we moved. At first they were reluctant and loathing but soon they broke the silence and revealed two verities. Firstly they said “your “fiance” lived here before you moved” and secondly my house was haunted with several specters.


To be continued .... Ghost Vaticinators Part 2

The internet is not written in pencil but in ink

Writing a blog used to be considered for people who love writing, who are into literature, but Soon blogging gained popularity and now it’s included in the daily chores of every common man who have an access to internet. People throw their emotions on the web without noticing the ethicality of their words. Some think it is a great way to seek revenge by disparaging and vilifying others; some just want to put their emotions deliberately on a platform where everyone has an access to. For centuries writing a diary is counted amongst the good habits and for some it’s as important as to brushing your teeth before you go to bed. Soon the very same habit was given a digital touch, but what people often forget is writing one’s day on a paper is different than writing the same on the web. A diary is usually confidential and reachable to only few a people but writing a blog means sharing your thoughts with thousands. Blogging is of many forms, some create a blog which is private among a small group only, and some write general articles to be shared with all. And yet it proves Blogging is a powerful tool. It can help change the way one thinks. It is very similar to the concept of movie reviews, which have the power to alter one’s perspective towards a particular movie. I don’t say reviews are the only thing that matters for a movie; still it plays a huge role. I personally have spurned watching certain movies just because the reviews were bad.

Not digressing, blogging helps us to know the different thoughts, suggestions and individual opinions. But blogging can be dangerous too. The reason I entitled the article “the internet is not written in pencil but in ink” (A dialogue that has gone cliché’ from the movie “the social network”) is because young people find this to be a fancy digital tool to humiliate someone in front of huge audience. Of course it’s a coward act of hiding behind the screen, writing repugnantly about someone. But the blogger forgets that though this scornful act of his might have placated him for the time but it leaves a profound impact on the victim's life. The victim is the subject of mockery and embarrassment for a much longer period of time .Not only this, in some cases soon after the assailant's rage pacifies he writes another blog to apologize. Only if life was this simple, everyone would have chosen to hurt and apologize over the internet, an easy way to escape the catharsis. People must realize that virtual life is different from the real life and virtual life harms one's real life. Recent studies which were published in many national newspapers also showed the impingement of social networking on young generation. Although a lot of people say that how on earth will others (the people not involved) ever understand what we are writing about. True, but one must know how this attitude will slowly devoid one of one’s emotions. One will be in a constant habit to skip the “emotional decision making part” of one’s life and avoid conversations. Rather discussing the same and sorting out the matter, he’ll prefer to write about it which will not be of any help. Within few years he’ll become a closed book, a very unsocial person who is hard to understand as he’ll never be able to show correct emotions.
Apart from displaying revenge and aggression on the global platform, few find it amusing to disclose their “affection” on net. Again, it’s very sweet to write good about someone, but is web the haven for lovers? Some find it an easy way to hit the bevy of ladies. I don’t say writing blogs are harmful, as long as the content is helpful or at least the content does not aim a person/group in a negative manner. Sharing recipes, games, poems and articles, paintings or even putting up classic videos or self composed music are some of the ways to make the most use of blogs. And I once read this in a book, that if you are angry with someone, write an email about it but never send it. Just by writing about it we are mollified, then why to send it and make the situation worse. Let’s use blog just for the purpose for which it was made, to share thoughts, ideas that help the world in some way. I know, there exists an evil for every good, but if each one of us try to be good, I hope the power of blogging can actually help cope up with many problems।

This is my view ,I look forward to any cogent arguments against my view.