About a year ago, whilst on my weekly tour of Dave and Busters in NY, I happened to see something tragic which haunts me till date at night, something that dethrones hope from being the centre stone of my very existence, something that words may just not do any justice in explaining. 

 Perched among the ravaged, long-forgotten soft toys was the effigy of the once-ever-loved, Spidey. How innocent in its comportment; and content, as if the world's hatred towards him was but a distant memory. While his masters, nay betrayers, enjoy the lap of luxury in the city with tallest buildings and work in banks reminiscent of the silicon valley. While they devour savoury delights from distant lands and yet cherish the dietary programmes, listen to exotic play lists before bedtime, revise eastern movies million times, discuss the colour or colours of the month; the story goes that Spidey lay in his demolished shack to be thrown around, hanged, burned as an outcast, a loner, a bad taste to be cleansed soon after. 

 He crawls out of his unjustly imposed banishment, some school kids then point fingers at him and laugh as if to say, "What's the use of a soft toy that doesn't serve? doesn't provide protection against forces of the netherworld? " or "Ye despicable outcome of a mama-spider" Harsh, the stinging words that hovered like merciless hawks, swooping at his time of loneliness and despair. 

 Then a good Samaritan who happens to pass by this worthless hideaway, notices a body uttering words from its dry lips, as if some one's names, - "Ne..." ; "Ra..." but the gentleman hears the garbled words as "De..." and "Ba...". Ah, the plight of humanity! Yet, the man helps Spidey up, feeds him juice and pours a bucket of water over his rotting body and takes him home. 

 The next morning, as Spidey's eyes roll open, he finds himself in a huge double room which reminds him of his short but glorious years in Van Winkle. He was lying next to middle-aged hairy man smelling of apple and Chardonnay. 

"What happened last night?", he yells covering his half-naked body with the soft plush covers. The gentleman responds, "You were in a desperate condition, and I helped you, remember me, my son?". As wild thoughts run in Spidey's mind, he prepares to defend himself, "How could you ...". The gentleman understands the situation and interjects, 

"It is not as you think it is. You were lying in the rubbish and I bathed you...". 

Spidey utters in sheer dismay, "You what? ..." 

Again the gentleman explains the events of the night and finally pacifies Spidey. "I have arranged a surprise for you, Mr.Spidey". 

'What more could be a surprise after being thrown away from my masters, ostracised by the human race, and waking up next to a man smelling of apple and Chardonnay?' sighs Spidey in his mind.'

 In the next couple of hours, Spidey finds himself on Times Square and eyes couldn't believe the words they were reading, "Dave and Busters? Why here?" 

"Why you don't remember, you uttered De and Ba last night, so I got you back to your home"

 Spidey smirks sarcastically at his own fate. 'To be brought to an amusement centre after years of public service is just befitting, isn't it?'

 Years pass and visitors still repulsed by the sight of him, walk away as if they had seen a ghost. 

 And then I see him. "Spidey, you remember me? I am their friend. We had picked you up from Orlando where you were hitch-hiking? " 

 Silence, no response. 

 

"Dead inside", I sighed and walked away. 

 

Nov 2nd, 2007, Memoirs of Ni

 

Why don't I remember that Buddha statue....

Have you ever wondered what would it be like to go through the same path you travelled in one of your excursions from the past and hope to see things differently?

It was in  Sri Lanka in 2002. It has been one of my favorite countries that I can proudly say, ' I have been there.' Catholics, tamils, hindus, buddhists, muslims and their harmony and friction of cultures, its a bit like India, only smaller but similarly filled with wonders. For one, our guide took us to one of the most rarest coral islands in Asia - Pigeon Island near Trincomalee. Imagine a building sized island bed filled with only white corals, surrounded by deep blue water, trees scattered at distance and one which allows just 30-40 visitors at a time. Never did I see such distinct colors arranged in an order by nature. With my eyes already awed with some of the architectural wonders I saw on the trip I had decided to just lay on tree bark hanging over shallow water and take pictures. I thought I would remember that scence but I frankly just remember a cliched view of a beach and the ocean. May be it wasn't that rare.

On my way back west towards Colombo, our guide asserted that we visit this giant Buddha statue in a random location.  We decided to take an off road towards the site mostly because we couldn't face his unparalleled enthusiasm and decided to concede. 

There are many many many Buddhist paintings, statues and temples around the world with even more statues. So I proceeded to inquire: What's so different about this one? "Oh its very rare. Its sacred. Not many people know where it is" he replied in a broken accent. "Fair enough" I said excitedly.

 At that time peace had returned to this riot ravaged country but we were just starting to get concerned about the really bumpy roads and the heavy downpour rain for the entire duration of our trip. "Oh this is normal" he insisted. We couldn't help but think of ways not to dishearten him but explain our concern. 

"Not many visitors know about it." he kept on going. 

A heavily unchartered road, with holes, rain puddles, screaming lightning and dwindling daylight all started to set on our spirits as we pummeled through the thick forest. "Sir, we will be there in 10 minutes. Its worth it." he said. "We will see it in a few, in fact", he continued.

As we reached the edge of an uphill road, our car just clamped on sinking mud. As my father's patience started to wear off, I decided to call it off and face our guide. As he dislodged some 2 feet of mud surrounding the car in the heavy rain and faint light, he realized this one wasn't going to work. As he grudgingly reversed the car in this one way, rocky, "katcha" road, we saw a slight glimpse of the statue for about a matter of 2 seconds. 

It was gold plated, may be about 30-35 ft tall standing in the middle of nowhere, with no trees to shadow it, no rocks to envelope its majestic shine, but all it possessed was a glowing light in a distance. My father let a "wow- what a statue" out and I panicked. I could just see a golden light and the soaked windows and thick forest didn't offer much of a view! I know it looked like a statue and then I think I caught a glimpse but then I don't remember anything after.

I have always played that scene in my mind several times but I can't remember the rest. I don't know where we were going that evening. I don't know where I was coming from. I know we were headed west. I just remember seeing the light of that statue in a such a dark setting. I can't remember anything else about the car, the drive or the guide. My parents in last several years have mentioned that incident atleast once and they have mentioned our itinerary, our guide's name, and the mishap with the mud-hole. Yet, all I remember is that I missed seeing that statue but I don't know how I do see it again? How do I track that guide down and will he remember us? TO begin with, how safe is it to even visit this violent place now? How do I retrace my steps? 

Oh well, the memory of that light is etched in my memory and hence may be I can't see beyond the events on that evening. Its funny how our brain works sometimes, doesn't it?

NY memories:

Clubbing scenes, dirty streets, late night escapades, kati roll and sweets, cold stones, central parking, jammed parking, miniscule dogs barking, lombardi’s, puk, zanzibar, Lesouk, pipa, faluka, 3 AMs but still bhuka, afghani, rice to riches, beautiful piers, but no bloody beaches, karaoke, Ethiopian, crazy people on the streets but thankfully egalitarian, chika on a day off, then movie in AMC, Saravanas or chennai garden?, better than cheesy serendipity, Chinese mirch, bowling alley, chelsea beers!, the taste of mango lassi, maritime and rooftop bar, underground, lotus, and “subway” not London underground, analyst events, cruise around the city, no dinner and its freaking 2.30!, khyber pass with the closest 2, mughlai food obsession, and golfing but no bloody participation!, work soups at hale and hearty, plaza terrace with times square view, hampton chutney fusion, café lalo with a chosen few, glass, sheesha with fuss, max brennars!, boathouse but no veggie food for us, world cup soccer on the beach, FIFA soccer on the xbox, crazy car drifting game, yet no cable for the idiot box, wireless blues, visits from babsonites, cooking spree, traveling with samsonites, cooking spree with yum kadhee, iron chef gowns, kantaben’s excellence but indiscipline, halloween clowns, jaiya thai, pam real, CFA beard, honey bunch cereal, disappearing grocery stores, run by the westside highway, megu with colleagues, walking people uttering, ‘get the f out of my way’, byrant park performances, hand in hand in times square, remembering torta, demonstrations about tiananmen square, taking lovely to la lanterna, cityseach all the time, poker nights, getting tempted for a gamble some times, atlantic city plans, vegas plans, cape cod plans, and then some unfulfilled plans, blonde moments, procrastinating champ, erratic pundits, starbucks in hand, financier find, duane reade visits, new york public library, trailers at lowe’s and other youtube snippets, gmailing on 17astuds, crazy good time at kush, bhai-bhabi’s trip, dave and buster’s and me khush, Macy’s confusion, thanksgiving day parade exclusivity, 25 broadway office, client office proximity, statue of liberty, empire state, highline with work folks, trips to DC, NH, MA states, exciting thursday nights, exhausted Fridays, worthless Saturdays and then anxious Sundays, imaginasian, MOMAs and METS, Lincoln tunnel, queer looking pets, bar hopping, yet abstinence, nagin dance, coffee handi, drive on FDR, chipotle, taco bell and finally 24G and 17A . . . .

A piece of poetry is a manifestation

Of the self in a form

Unadulterated by realities

And unrestricted by pretences

Old Stories. .

Are we writers or actors, you and I?
I guess it’s like an opening act
Of every play, we were introduced
But ourselves we crafted each scene
With patience and tact.

Did we crumble the paper each time?
We just inaudibly brainstormed
An embryonic idea, we quietly refused
The ordinary or unexceptional but chose
The one that was majestic and splendid.

Did we follow the plot as directed?
I guess we just played our part
Like the sailors at sea, workers in a factory
Soldiers at war or citizens by a decree
Eternally in sync from the very start.

Were we separated or together?
Writers don’t depart from their story line
But all is not blissful and cheery
Sting is released onto the actor’s life
“Part of life”, they say, “It will be fine.”

Did we bring our panache into the act?
Like natural actors and their flair
Embodiment of the tragic and heroic
Story is there for readers to read
But splendor we bring

- Niral

...to be continued . .

With every shade of orange, white and green in my heart, the Ashoka Wheel in my ideals, the prospect of imminent contribution to my country in my mind, and the respect and love for the Father of our Nation in my very soul, I kneel down humbly in prayer and solemnity on this very day which marks 60 years of success, struggle, endeavour and freedom in our Nation's great history ...

- Niral Parekh, Son of India

At the age of 10, rummaging through the pile of history books, I never thought that the speech that Nehruji delivered at midnight on August 14th, 1947 would get dusted away in the vacuity of my mind. However, since this year marks 60 years of our motherland's awakening I thought to keep a record of it in my blog.
I dedicate this blog in as much to our optimistic patriotics as to our cynical lot. To the optimistic lot who might turn a blind eye to our leaders, freedom fathers and nation-builders just because they were/are more powerful than they are. To the cynics who think parading some ill-gotten information about Nehruji's frivolous extra-marital and external affairs, Gandhiji's stumpy paternal abilities, and our nation's debilitating situation at dinner tables is a matter of personal pride.
As clearly stated in the intention of this speech, hard work still lies ahead and to make India the greatest country in the world will take us, the middle-people, between the optimists and pessimists, a lot to dodge through the idealistic and sarcastic banter.

Speech in the Constituent Assembly of India, on the eve of India's Independence
Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment, we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India and her people and to the still larger cause of humanity.
At the dawn of history, India started on her unending quest, and trackless centuries are filled with her striving and grandeur of her success and failures. Through good and ill fortune alike, she has never lost sight of that quest, forgotten the ideals which gave her strength. We end today a period of misfortunes and India discovers herself again. The achievement we celebrate today is but a step, an opening of opportunity to the greater triumphs and achievements that await us. Are we brave enough and wise enough to grasp this opportunity and accept the challenge of the future?
Freedom and power bring responsibility. The responsibility rests upon this Assembly, a sovereign body representing the sovereign people of India. Before the birth of freedom, we have endured all the pains of labour and our hearts are heavy with the memory of this sorrrow. Some of those pains continue even now. Nevertheless, the past is over and it is the future that beckons us now.
That future is not one of ease or resting but of incessant striving so that we may fulfill the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today. The service of India means, the service of the millions who suffer. It means the ending of poverty and ignorance and poverty and disease and inequality of opportunity. The ambition of the greatest men of our generation has been to wipe every tear from every eye. That may be beyond us, but as long as there are tears and suffering, so long our work will not be over.
And so we have to labour and to work, and to work hard, to give reality to our dreams. Those dreams are for India, but they are also for the world, for all the nations and peoples are too closely knit together today for any one of them to imagine that it can live apart. Peace is said to be indivisible, so is freedom, so is prosperity now, and also is disaster in this one world that can no longer be split into isolated fragments.
To the people of India, whose representatives we are, we make an appeal to join us with faith and confidence in this great adventure. This is no time for petty and destructive criticism, no time for ill-will or blaming others. We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell.
The appointed day has come -the day appointed by destiny- and India stands forth again, after long slumber and struggle, awake, vital, free and independent. The past clings on to us still in some measure and we have to do much before we redeem the pledges we have so often taken. Yet the turning-point is past, and history begins anew for us, the history which we shall live and act and others will write about.
It is a fateful moment for us in India, for all Asia and for the world. A new star rises, the star of freedom in the East, a new hope comes into being, a vision long cherished materializes. May the star never set and that hope never be betrayed!
We rejoice in that freedom, even though clouds surround us, and many of our people are sorrow-stricken and difficult problems encompass us. But freedom brings responsibilities and burdens and we have to face them in the spirit of a free and disciplined people.
On this day our first thoughts go to the architect of this freedom, the Father of our Nation, who, embodying the old spirit of India, held aloft the torch of freedom and lighted up the darkness that surrounded us. We have often been unworthy followers of his and have strayed from his message, but not only we but succeeding generations will remember this message and bear the imprint in their hearts of this great son of India, magnificent in his faith and strength and courage and humility. We shall never allow that torch of freedom to be blown out, however high the wind or stormy the tempest.
Our next thoughts must be of the unknown volunteers and soldiers of freedom who, without praise or reward, have served India even unto death.
We think also of our brothers and sisters who have been cut off from us by political boundaries and who unhappily cannot share at present in the freedom that has come. They are of us and will remain of us whatever may happen, and we shall be sharers in their good [or] ill fortune alike.
The future beckons to us. Whither do we go and what shall be our endeavour? To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.
We have hard work ahead. There is no resting for any one of us till we redeem our pledge in full, till we make all the people of India what destiny intended them to be. We are citizens of a great country on the verge of bold advance, and we have to live up to that high standard. All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness, for no nation can be great whose people are narrow in thought or in action.
To the nations and peoples of the world we send greetings and pledge ourselves to cooperate with them in furthering peace, freedom and democracy.
And to India, our much-loved motherland, the ancient, the eternal and the ever-new, we pay our reverent homage and we bind ourselves afresh to her service.

JAI HIND.
Retrieved from "http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/A_Tryst_with_Destiny"

Anger and Me

Through life’s benevolence, I befriended Anger
A blessed gift from the heavens
Mere mortal was I till I met her,
Power was vested, and responsibility hence

Way worn was I till life needed refinement
A mere philosopher was I seeking nature’s stasis
Anger lived her life, with a smidgen of confinement
But her divine arms sought me a process of catharsis

While the world and our own minds portended
An unhealthy mix of mania and confusion
“Befriending Anger is one thing”, the saint extended,
“But seeking love is a voluptuous allusion”

“Is it not logical?” my inner voice retorted,
“Not a befitting conclusion to this state of bliss?
A sacred nuptial knot that my mind had invented?”
So I broached, a dubious endeavor sealed with a kiss

And then, as the story goes…
I swayed in Anger’s contention
An emotional ride, an ethical convention
A muted war ensued,
A clear reason was needed,
With not an ounce of pretension
A turbulence of the seas,
The lightning of her rage,
A tirade of her emotion
Seeking nothing but devotion

As I walked through the passage of time,
In quest for answers thus far, unrequited,
I tottered; I stumbled, in the puddle of slime,
Unenlightened was I, unkempt and unsolicited

Through Lord’s grace, I started observing
The joy of togetherness, a remedy for solitude
Passion, patience, regulation was up for serving
As I hungrily absorbed the basis of fortitude

And then, the story continues…
With renewed zeal, love, but the same intention
I entered the realm of reasoning and contention
The verbose war, unlike last time
Far too hurt were we to play mime
As love surfaced through the murky waters
Distrust was tucked away in forlorn quarters
And we fought the armies of Pain & Arrogance,
It helped to have Anger by my side, as she lanced
Our allies were Rage and Fury, indomitable
Under control we truly were just unconquerable

So as I stood and stared at the state of regression,
A note shoved in a seed dropped from the sky
Which evoked King Asoka’s pensive recalibration
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to Heaven", a Shakespeare quotation

“Is there a need,” I ruminated, “For a canonical remark?”
My duty henceforth is transcribed onto me
A helping hand, a salubrious candor so stark
“O Anger, please accept my apology to thee”

A soothing voice I shall maintain,
So Anger’s allies and enemies shall never return to her
Anger gave me a new life, a reason to sustain
Which I shall forever remember and how I befriended Anger

1 Year on.
Wow! Cant believe its been 1 year since I started blogging:

Status Check :-

Receieved enlightenment: Check
Life got busy: Check
Regrets that life got busy: Check
Knows that thats the way it is: Check
Spends free time on youtube: Check


Yes, there are million ways to past time now and I wish I could take more time out for blogging. However, my support for blogging is it at its fullest. Long live the bloggers!