Tale of a special being

You think your life is as blemished as mine?

For once, I can’t be proved wrong. There’s no way in this world that you can challenge me when it comes to having a grotesque life. You may have faced many adversities. You may be an orphan or may have been a laborer. You may be a doctor whose emotions have been frozen by spending days and nights in a hospital or an engineer who faces stiff competition before he even thinks of putting one step forward. The fact-of-the-matter is you think of me as a disgusting, insignificant, vile and downright dirty pest. One thing you oafs don’t realize is how I might be your last hope when apocalypse would finally engulf us all. It’s because of you nincompoops that I know that I have the maximum probability of being alive even after human extinction.

If you still can’t realize who I am, it’s just an illustration of the underlying issue. I am a cockroach, you idiot! The girls would probably go “eww” right now. Yeah, I know we don’t have the Tom Cruise looks but it doesn’t mean we get treated like this. I have stood in front of the glistening marble tiles and discerned if there’s anything wrong with me. But there isn’t! If you’d care to talk to a caring Biologist who has had the fancy experience of dissecting one of my brothers, he would tell you how your pitiable six pack abs are no match for our sinewy structures. The long, aerodynamic and richly colored canopy probably hinders you from researching any further. The extended sense of smell has a knack of finding food within seconds. So while you curse your mum for hiding away your favorite chocolate, we would have already gorged on it. Not only do you need to learn from our gastronomical adventures but in a more important sense, wooing the fairer sex. Men pursuing them are one of the most distressed things I’ve seen in my life. Poor things have to dance on the whimsical plans of the ladies. Whereas, we just use the invincible weapon and she-roach has no chance of escaping the trap. The weapon is called pheromones, my dear friend.

In the early days of my life, to simply put, I was innocent. Hatred, anger, frustration, vengeance. These words were not known to me. But as I grew and saw families tumbling or more literally being squished, washed, battered and choked to death by heartless beasts, a more resilient and bold being within me started to evolve. In fact the training which I then underwent at the Roach Grounds is only a match to the Jihad training which Al-Qaeda talks of with their chests ballooned out. I became part of a greater enterprise and started organized roacharism (I walked across terrorism in the newspaper and the word swept a wave of inspiration, great enough to start a daring venture). Since I am an Indian cockroach and we all share the same love for plagiarism, I started the Roacharist movement. Soon the word spread out and I had some friends who shared the same sentiments. Sentiments led to initiating actions. We filed in a charter and applied for permissibility from the High Roach Commission. We presented the main objectives of our Movement:

· To indulge in unlawful and illegitimate activities including infesting of the drainage system, taking control over the kitchen and the washrooms eventually leading to total dominance of the house.

· Being part of random acts of random roaming within the house causing the female occupants to regularly swoon at our sight and hence distress their male counterparts.

· To be all in all proud of the Roacharist Movement and aid any roach in need.

I must say the movement has been a quite a breakthrough. We have successfully raided the kitchen many times. Hearing the sweet music of screaming ladies in the morning has come as a welcome gift. Blocked the poo drains and made the humans pay for their legalized crime dearly. But today is a special day for Roacharists. For we are going to go where no roach has gone before. Attempt what my ancestors could only dream of. The Place which is a regular visitor to our dreams. The mission today is Braving the Cold. We will have to face temperatures that might freeze us all but its something that we must dare to attempt. This will definitely pave the way for our legacy.

Braving the Cold is about breach of an appliance. Due to faulty wire, it sometimes loses electricity during the night and with the little help from the miss who forgets to shut the door close, we will be able to make our move and enter the realm of limitless possibilities. If all goes as planned, we will start by 23:00 hours tonight.

We waited in utmost patience for the time to arrive. Standing steady and head held high, we waited for the time to make a move. A huge army waited for the signal, all huddled up into immaculate lines. With their two hairs pointing upwards full of energy and spirit.

“Go!Go!Go!”, came the call and the army started to pour out of the burrows making the long journey through the plains towards the destination of our dreams. Inching closer and closer, we moved in capriciously through the dark of the night. Reaching the tall daunting structure, we puffed and started climbing on the smooth surface testing our vacuum feet capabilities to the maximum. Some slipped away but most of us held their ground and made their way inside. The atmosphere made us jittery for temperatures that low were definitely unhealthy but our olfactory cells pressed in us renewed vigor. I felt a dizziness getting hold of me for I was drowning in the intoxicating smells of countless dishes. We had made it! We had reached the insides of a fridge.

My brothers could not believe what they saw! Food.And it was everywhere. Some of us went for the leftover pizza. Some couldn’t resist the tempting brownie all decked up on the side. Then there was the chicken to dip into. Rolling across the lemon was something I wished to do since my childhood days. It was all so good to be true. Too good infact. Suddenly, a thud was heard and then we all looked back in horror towards the towering figure which stood there rubbing his eyes. It was Mr.Sharma. Even though he had never screamed on the sight of a roach, this was too much for him to fathom. He let out a big scream, which was loud enough to wake up his wife. “Code 31! Code 31!” I shouted out loud. Then I ran out of the zone leaving out a trail of scent which meant trouble! Code 31 meant human danger and we all could see him right there.

Braving the cold had lost steam. I did manage to escape Mr. Sharma’s leather sandals which he mercilessly used to kill twenty two of my daunting men. Even though we were squashed, we have embellished human history. To give you a taste of this impact, Madonna, the pop singer, went out in the public so impressed by this incident and said, "I am a survivor. I am like a cockroach, you just can't get rid of me."

Every one of us has some kind of inhibitions. Those small absurd things that makes you or me a unique identity. I am going to share one of those today. Something I managed to shed over the weekend. The special people. People who are not blessed with things we so carelessly take for granted. Who has the time to ponder over such trivial issues anyway? When we were adolescents, it was about getting maximum stars from the teacher. By high school it was about winning competitions and being the head boy. With entrance exams, it was getting to the topmost rung of the ladder even before the struggle would make an inception.

I searched for the meaning of life. The Holy Google showed me this:

the experience of being alive; the course of human events and activities; "he could no longer cope with the complexities of life"

Hmm, well isn’t that a bit ironical. I’ll tell you how. The only statement that could have been used as an assertion to existence of life actually talks about ending it.

Yes! That’s what life is. An endless endeavor.

Here we are drowned in the seas of emotions. Getting a job or an Ivy League college or whether we make the “CAT” meow.

That’s what clouds are minds. Well my clouds poured their heart out when I went to Samarth the other day. It’s a residential care centre for mentally challenged. Let’s go back to my inhibition. It was how I didn’t want to hurt these kids with my actions and come out as cold and rude because I have so much respect for them. I want to help them but I thought I’d cringe at seeing them. So there I went in, just like a gladiator who enters the coliseum, and stands there waiting with utmost patience thinking he might get devoured any moment soon. Only difference is I did not have a sword or wore heavy armor but was armed with coca cola bottles, pastries, drawing colors to have the best Independence Day celebrations of my life.

As we entered, we hid the stuff in the cupboard and then started drawing with them. I shirked at first, but I had to be strong. There was somebody crying, it seemed like he wanted to cry for some reason or the other. He was like I m crying for the people in Ahmadabad and I was a bit taken aback.Anyway, we went back out. I was told to sit with Seema to help her draw. She would color a bit and then hold it up to show me if she was doing well. I would nod and grin like a wondrous fool. She saw people’s arm getting painted and suddenly drawing was not sport enough. She perched forward and through the sheet away and made a run for the painting area. By then somebody had broken a crayon and another one was laughing hysterically and showing off the tri-color that had embellished her arm. That smile on their faces. Priceless.

Colors and music. Languages of the world. What a wonderful infusion that knows no bounds and needs no comprehension.

As you can guess, we played the music for them. The hyperactive Seema was at it again. She was like I m a “ ganda bacha”. Everybody else was her brother and she would drag them, sometimes with abnormal amount of force, to a dance. Soon people were joining in. Somebody would flail their arms. There was this small girl. All she wanted to do was jump up as high as she could. So I’d hold her arms and up she went. She was quite young too. The reminiscent of my childhood seem to float back. Counting all the stars I had got………….Soon we poured in the colas and served out the pastries. Everyone ate their share. No stealing, No throwing around, No messing around. They didn’t know the usual etiquettes which we are inborn with but they didn’t do any of that. I was baffled. They’d just come inside the room and if you’d ask them if they want a cola they would take it and go back. Not that we had caught them playing and running away with the bottles in the first place but it was just “shock and awe”. Here were people who were free to play any amount of tricks on us but there were no tantrums to be seen, no traces of disrespect .All they gave was a smile. An honest delicate smile that genuinely felt like a thank you. Out of Samarth there is a selfish cruel world. A devil’s den. A coliseum. Where any moment can be your last.

My inhibition was crumbling. I danced with Seema and was soon pushing people onto the dance floor. The local favorites took turns to play on the stereo. Music filling up the small enclosure. As it spread, it caught hold of them, tight in its clutches, and made them jive. There was a new entrant to Samarth who was not bedazzled by the music’s mystique. She would cry out in a burst at any random instant. While I was lost in my thoughts, this guy tucked on my shirt and said “phell”. I couldn’t understand and my friend was quick to aid me, “He wants your phone.” The guy soon had the phone close to his ears listening to “hum hain is pal yahan” and gave out a beaming smile back at me.By now, I was seema’s brother too and she was giving all of us tight hugs.

Soon people gathered around this guy who didn’t participate in anything .Everybody was coaxing him to sing a song. Every song came to a sudden end. Every shout was shushed. After a long time, he finally broke into some famous actor quotes. Claps ensued. Even the new entrant laughed in her own way and everybody looked in astonishment at her. I was sitting at some distance on a chair looking at him. My bulb glowed. This was his JEE exam. This was his CAT. My eyes gave way to a tear. Inhibition came to a clattering end. There were no jobs for the taking, No salaries to be earned, No professors to please. Just a simple sentence that made him a star.

As soon as that happened, rain began to pelt down. I was still in my own maze. People who care for them. Life’s a bitch.

Soon we packed up our stuff and made a run out for our vehicles. Everybody waved bye. Everyone.

My heart was filled with happiness. The joy of making them smile for few hours is going to be etched in my heart for a long time.

Money Talks

I lay atop Dhaniram’s cold chest. It wasn’t moving and the beating of his heart had stopped. Lying flat on the checkered network of sewn bamboo sticks of the premier quality was MLA sahib, Dhaniram Gupta. Suited in the same kingly attire he wore while he was shot dead by the local mafia, his life had come to a rather subtle end. An end which people were very surprised to witness even though the inevitability of it all can hardly be questioned. For Dhaniram was in constant communication with the gang leaders and the “high-ups” in the government. He was the Middle Man but this time he had taken too much time, something the mafia couldn’t afford. Along with Dhaniram, my life came to a close. It had been a long life and I remember each and every moment of it. As people started piling up coarse wood on top of his body..

Out into the world! I travelled through the streets witnessing the society of homo sapiens, a splendid spectacle of generations. Years of evolution, technology and sheer intelligence brought me to play a role in the lives of a large number of people rather too significantly. The significance that took me sometime to completely comprehend. I was happy, like a toddler is when he speaks his first words or when a bird first learns to fly. The sheer excitement of what future promises. I settled into my first home stashed with my other friends. The house had long walls with paintings decked on them, people with effluent tastes and a Chihuahua who seemed to own it all. I had a special place to myself where only the adults of the family would be allowed. That was when I realized I happened to occupy a unique place in their lives.

Then I was woken up from my cozy bed and taken along with the lady. The chauffeur driven car stopped at a red light and in a jiffy appeared this little girl wearing a torn cloth blackened by the exhaust of the passing-by cars. Her face was hidden beneath the grays and the pearl like tears that fell unconsciously from her eyes. The lady drowned in sympathy for this ‘human’ and handed me over. I was shattered. I felt so useless, like a cover of an ice cream cup, so nonchalantly strewn away. I looked up at the girl with a snare but her expressions had taken a drastic change. The tears had vanished and a mighty grin took its place. She jumped up in the air and held me high. Then she continued to gaze at me with wonder. I was perplexed for I could never imagine myself being an object capable of inciting so much curiosity. I thought everybody knew how I looked like. She then held me close to her heart. I could hear it beating very fast. Running fast along with her, she took me far away from the madding crowd. Deep into the smelly lanes of sewerage laden shacks and entered one of them. She sat on one of the protruding stone and continued to look at me with amazement. She pulled me in close and touched me with her rough lips which hadn’t been cleansed for a long time. I felt out of place , really disturbed to be in this hole but the love with which this poor girl seemed to bestow me was nothing I had seen in my fancy house. Her warmth was overpowering.

Alas! The love was short-lived for my excited owner made the mistake of spreading the news of my presence. Soon the innocent girl was made to forcefully part from her life’s major accomplishment. There I went into a rollercoaster ride of the bullies, the workers to the middle class families to shopkeepers and to the rich brats. To the good and the ugly of society. Travelled through facets of the ugly structure that the humans had formed. My journey continued at the panwaala’s shop. The panwaala, took me in his hands which had been darkened by the gooey liquid that smeared it, the aroma of the herbs and tobacco that forms the basis of the delicacy which sells in millions every day, tucked me deep in his pocket. I could hardly manage to get some sleep in this olfactory explosion. But soon I changed hands and it was going to be for the better. For I was told I was going to be part of a pompous occasion. I once again felt that sense of significance. That feeling which satisfied my hunger for flattery. Taken inside a large shed and kept on the table for scrutiny, I began to wonder if I had been fooled. For here I saw large men laughing hard and pouring their tall glasses with a golden liquid. I had never seen it before but I was convinced it was the peculiar liquid that was responsible for their giggly extravaganza.

They started to push me into a line. I retaliated. They weren’t bothered to see me slipping away. One of the guys pulled me back, held me up and looked at me intently. “Arey, yeh toh asli hai” and all of them broke into a fit of laughter. That was enough to give me a seizure. I was terrified and fell back unconscious. The break of dawn woke me up. I couldn’t believe what had happened to me. I had been tied down by a thread! It was horrifying for I couldn’t move an inch. Then somebody pulled me out and I came down from the darkness out into a massive crowd. I saw people held back by a rope cheering their hearts out. “Dhaniram ki Jai! Dhaniram ki Jai!” everybody shouted. Soon I saw myself on top of Dhaniram, the leader of the region who had taken out a procession to address their issues. What problems were actually resolved remains a mystery. Bang! Bang! Dhaniram fell back onto the horse carriage he was travelling on and the deafening cheers were transformed into a shocking silence. Their leader had been shot…..

Dhaniram’s son came forward and lit up his pyre. Dhaniram always wanted to be covered with his richly possessions and so was his wish fulfilled. I am a hundred rupee note whose charred remains would mix with the ashes of a powerful leader….

But only in the sweet freedom in the realm of dreams can men be truly happy

How many times have you woken up in the morning with a big grin on your face only to realize after some time that it was JUST a dream? When you struggle to come to terms to the fact that such a clear picture was all just a figment of imagination. You say to yourself, “was it really a dream?” Sometimes we even end up convincing ourselves of it happening some time back in our lives because we want it to happen howsoever unrealistic it might be. But the question I ask You, my friends, does that make us truly happy?

Good morning judges and my dear friends, I am Gagandeep Singh Bhatia and I’ll be speaking against the motion, “But only in the sweet freedom in the realm of dreams can men be truly happy.”

I’ll admit to the fact that no human being on this whole wide planet is glad with their lives. The human mind is witness to countless events everyday and it maps them so precisely that with just a small pause we can recall them. Without the feelings of nostalgia or retrospection I think we would be quite lost. That is why every night when we close our eyes, we travel through to this meticulous land knitted by our mind whose thread is made of our desires, our aims , our expectations and our inhibitions. We might see ourselves falling into a deep pit or flying high with the albatross, it’s our mind and it’s our soul. No one can negotiate their dreams. No government or legislature can curtail them. It’s just that sense of independence.

Freedom, oh so sweet freedom, the power to act without any imposed constraints.. The power to act or perform as our will imposes on us. The exuberant feeling of unchained liberty. Freedom might differ in its definition for different people. For an average man it might be just about being safe and for a rich man, it would mean much more for freedom would culminate various luxuries of life without which he might not really feel “free”.

Even though freedom in reality might be subjective in nature, it’s the liberty in the realm of dreams that really makes us common. You could be a rickshaw puller or an investment banker, the fact of the matter is you realize that you have to go back to your respective lives once you’re out of the cozy boundaries of your dreams. For that instinctive moment, you might be fooled into a feeling of happiness but it’s a just façade. A face which can only last that long.

Jack Kerouac, the famous writer of the Beat Generation, said, ““Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.”

The Beat Generation was considered to be the bohemian hedonists who celebrated non conformity and spontaneous creativity inspiring rejection of mainstream values of society. They transformed a whole era of hippies for whom realm of dreams was enough to be content. We might be here today debating whether today’s motion is indeed true or not. My opponents’ arguments might still be strong but my friends, an entire by gone era of sixties realized that it was not to be. AN ENTIRE GENERATION.

All of them did come to terms to the fact that being even partially happy in reality was a better proposition then living in your own sweet free world. The same generation did give birth to a new league. A league of entrepreneurs, executives, economists, politicians, marketers etc

Close encounters of the winter kind

Hello, peopl….yawn…..

Yeah it’s that time of the season again when you can make out every tick of the tick tock clock, when the lizards and the roaches have buried themselves deep into the cool sand and slept away the cold, when your warm feet under the quilt feel like heaven, when the pot (yes that one) feels too damn cold to take a crap and when the wakeup call by your mom seems the most annoying sentence you’ll hear all day even at 1 pm in the afternoon.

Yes, it’s the winters. Thanks to us humans and global warming winters are a short spectacle these days. Even then they make sure their presence is felt. The winters come strong with cold breeze and foggy mornings. The golgappe walla who had people lining up for the curd topped over the chat and the chana and the lip smacking chutney tikki, today, rubs his hands over and over again serving to a few foodies who dare to brave the cold for the delightful snack. Even though the Soup walla is seen scampering around delivering soup to people buried up in their swanky cars.

The worst thing that can happen to you is if you have to drive a two-wheeler in the winter cold. Trying to cover yourself with clothes is a futile effort for the wind knows its ways. Most of the times it’ll squeeze in through one of the rolled up ends of your t-shirt and your hapless skin will bear the full brunt of the icy wind.

How’s the winters treating you all though? Anybody with better luck? Well it depend’s on the fact as to whether one likes to sleep or not and if your low on sleep like me, then you’re in a bit of a situation. I’m running out of ideas and hiding under my quilt all day so HELP!

P.S. If you’re bored on Christmas or the New Year’s, Let me know.