A random read…

 

A hope is a positive note that always HOPES for something desirable to befall on the man of tomorrow. With such hopes I tried to scaffold my previous outing. My thoughts then stemmed from a philosophy of reading books, books that I found revealing its pages to me every now and then.

This extract here is a matter of surprise to me as well, considering that I read this particular book on & off, most of it during my breaks.  But whenever I did read I found a consistency of juvenile sorts that am actually jealous of.

One of the best things in life which we all lose is the innocence we all have as kids. The zeal to overpower the wrongs despite being minutely developed on the intellectual side. The days when a mere childish spirit belittles every known evil, irrespective of the immature moral intelligence. And of ’course the showcase of mannerisms that are naturally authentic to that innocent age. All these naive traits often become a tale of yesteryears and however unconsciously though, we all love and cherish it in our offspring and every little child that crosses our horizon. The legacy I talk about is the natural state of behaviour that kids reflect and what we unanimously personify as ‘cuteness’.

The subject of my scrutiny is a lady called Charlie Monique Russell. My connection with her is a matter of random encounters of Hi/Hello sorts every once in two days or so. So you can positively ascertain that am either too sharp on my observation or maybe the person in question has something worth discussing on this blog.

 

As a matter of fact I dint bother to ask the lady her age, but my observation gives me a taste of a childlike behaviour for every etiquette portrayed by her. A natural depiction of certain cues that one can only expect from a kid of 4. I believe none of our colleagues may endorse what I see, but this is the power of discretion that I exercise on my blog.

In my opinion I have seen very few people who retain such subconscious adolescence in their behavioural make-up. Anything pretentious in this regard may sound and appear too hackneyed if done on purpose. But this is where Charlie scores on my observation. What I see is not a portrayal of the deceiving sorts. It is rather an act in a natural state that doesn’t require any efforts except behaving the normal chore. And that is what Charlie does. Be it the defensive alibi when she forgets to close the door at the end of the day or talking business during leisure in the canteen. There is always a riddle of emotions, expressions and literature. What I hear are the words from a lady, what I see is a Section co-ordinator, but what I understand is a child fighting from within to make her presence felt. This is a complex idea for me to make people understand and least of all Charlie.

I can still reminisce the composure, the excitement and the mixed feeling she expressed when I told her she is the object of my next blog outing – “Hmm am so confused and nervous” was the same reply on repeated occasions.

Now my intellect questions me, why the hell should one bother if any tom, dick or harry writes about you on his secluded blog. It is not the end of the world if you are someone in the crowd and not a new thing if you are a celebrity either. But this is Charlie and the kid in her that tells me – “Ohh am confused and NERVOUS” you are writing on me. So now I believe you get a blurred picture of what I see in her. All this doesn’t mean that am romantically in awe of her, but as am alone and grounded by several things in my small universe. These are certain things that I notice in people like Charlie and many other, which then I use to divert myself off, of all botheration that challenge my peaceful existence.

I’m not a good judge of character or the intricate programming it carries. But I see people as a literature and faces as a book. What I say here has very less to do about the literature that Charlie has, but rather what I read in the preface of her book – little suspense, varied emotions, comic timing and best of all – promise of a bedtime story...

Though she is keen to read this article on my blog – the thing that I write now will make sense to the Indian in us. The beautiful ‘Ghazal’ (read as – philosophical poems sung in calming melodies) of Jagjit Singh –

“Yeh daulat bhi lelo, yeh shauhrat bhi lelo,
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawaani,
Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,
Woh kaagaz ki kashti woh baarish ka paani…”

The aforementioned Ghazal is what I feel in the delicate cues that I find etched in Charlie’s antics. The fact that we all are grown up, but somewhere keeping the child alive in us would make things so much interesting; interesting for people who like to see a mix of both worlds. The World that was yesterday and the world that is today... The child we were once and the childhood we all want to go back to...

Beware certain legacies are beyond normal human comprehension, and those which are in the reach are seldom celebrated. So I advice Charlie do what you do, coz you are natural and pleasantly original at it... Don’t bother what people write or think about you, it is very subjective... And don’t be nervous in my presence – coz I’ve observed what I wanted to… And am off to my next chapter- a new book, a new literature and a fresh start...

Have you read some books?

Its been quite sometimes now that I wrote something from my hand. What an excuse though, as I am always hunting for topics for my blog, this time I had some in mind but as I mentioned earlier I need the first sentence to occur in my head before I start the flow. So as raw as the first attempt from my travel diary I decided to write the outlines of my next outing.

This time I’ve decided to give a spectacle of some people who comes in my immediate universe. Some friends, some foes, some people whom I’d not like to categorize, but the script of whose character appealed to me.

To begin with let me give you a piece of myself of what I think of myself not in totality, but certain things that I notice about myself. Since the time I’ve had the opportunity to be myself on my own from 17^th September 2006. I’ve learnt a great deal about the individual that resides under my skin. I’m a keen observer not in matters where the opposite sex is involved, but rather everything under the sun. Maybe that is the reason why I have many things to say about things.

This is a fresh start of writing after the previous para ended and this time I’m writing with a new perspective thanks to Youtube I know am very late to catch up on Big Boss Season 2. And there I was wasting my entire night’s sleep on watching the episodes.

It was interesting to see pretentious characters and amidst this conundrum a beautiful thought from a late Pakistani Television series occurred to me. The thought asserts that one of the most interesting books ever available freely is a human face. Living in this century often makes us immune to this facade of life. Personifying a human face makes me assert that they make an interesting read. Under same fabulous lush covers you find some of the most austere literature known to man. And in some rugged and weary face we find a superlative mix of vocabulary. Ever since I learnt this thought, it has been etched in my conscious memory and I find myself reading faces all the time.

This part of my blog is dedicated to the books that I’ve read in recent times. People, whose literature appealed to me, people whose script has affected me in some way. To begin with I’d like to start with Mr. DM, my line manager. Before I venture further, I’d like to be honest that this is not an attempt to cajole or sugar-coat anything that may influence my equation with him. I am a non-calculative person by nature, and would consciously make every effort to refrain from such diabolic underplay.

My first encounter with Mr. DM I remember was when he came looking for me as a new recruit. The closest to what I remember is he told me “You came through Raza. Good Man!” That was the first time probably my expectation didn’t quite honour. When Razabhai suggested me Dilan, i never occurred to me that the person in question would be of an Asian origin. Though my first brush with him wasn’t of revelation sorts, it is the qualities that I observed made him a protagonist of this first chapter.

I’ve been learning the management discipline since my undergraduate studies, but to sum it up; what I learnt by observing him in practise and the dialogue that we have on the professional front, has taught me more than academics did in the last 4 years. This man pertinently breathes communication to get the work done. Many of his techniques which I have made a note off will soon be a part of my practise too.

Ever since I’ve been handed a department to look after, I’ve experienced roaring pangs of frustration. The reasons of which has little to do with my incompetence. And it is in these testing times that he delivered some brilliant piece of communication to my rescue. Lately I assess that my equation with him has changed to that of a mentor and a protégé. Simply coz on more than one occasion I feel my behaviour was wayward and yet he was tolerant enough to accommodate my antiques. In such blunders he gave me some food for thought to improve my professional being.

In summation and on a funny note people may deceive you in appearance, but that is the least form of deceit. Coz mostly the sense derived based on appearances is often an interpretation of our own mocking intellect. It is not that I had sketched the protagonist in some meek light, but as truth is stranger than fiction so is our assessment of a situation.

In good sense I am glad that behind a dark looking cover (don’t mind if you read this) there is indeed a “GOOD MAN”... And after tonight’s conversation I’ll make it a point that I shall strive to create that Wow! factor. Coz not often do we find people winning whose attention makes an intellectual sense...

An answered QUESTION...

Indifferent to my norms, this write-up isn't the sorts where I get the first line at random which then pricks me to write some nonsense. Today I faced an unexpected question from my Line manager and since then it is bothering my conscience. Like I mentioned in my previous outing, the Void that I experience by not being in the creative field has always been a digging truth of my life.

However not so indifferent is my actual take on life and my current profession. What I do for a living is not my obvious choice, but then I'v had very little scope to experiment and slow my pace down - A privilege only open to people with white skin I suppose. When I first started working on my new job, I belonged to that conventional brigade, where one is always up for grabs on anything to prove his mettle. Not that after working for sometimes has had a demotivating effect on me. But Mr. DM's question this evening has made me realise that a thing called SMILE is amiss from the topography of my face. I was thinking of things to set the contours right on my face and with good reason I found some leads.

Surprisingly I feel more than confident now, that though the thing I do may not interest me, but am grateful to God for making me do it with full honesty. I am glad that others appreciate me enough to keep me moving irrespective of the emotional downfall. I'm lucky that people around me had very limited complains to pull me down. I remember Ian's gesture when he said, that you really have an opportunity to prove yourself, by taking up a thing that is not your own and making it your prowess in due time. Though it may sound a routine gimmick, but I believe having taken it with a pinch of salt, I know how it tastes.

No matter how tough the going is, you can sustain and endure until a little thing called HOPE resides within. On a closing note, I'd quote a text from the letter of Andy Dufresne (of the Shawshank Redemption fame) "Remember HOPE is a good thing, perhaps the best of things and no good thing ever dies" So here I'd like to keep the fire alive and why not, that is the only reason I read a lot of books on advertising. It really keeps me connected with what I want in life...

The Persistence of Void...

The dullness of any expression can often be rooted to its ambiguity – ambiguity derived from the absence of any relative sensibility. The concept of the aforesaid thought might sound ambiguous to some of you, but that is the least explanation I have for this thought. The very reason of its vagueness is the relative sense one derives for a thing. Like for me, creativity is one thing that I find a sense of direction in. Anything else despite making conventional sense does feel a perverse course of action to me. Working in retail for me hasn’t been a choking experience though, still to fill in the emptiness that lack of creativity offers in my current occupation, I find my blog as a way to feed my creative hunger.


Having taken a rather complex route to come to terms with the purpose of this write-up, I’d say I wanted to write something on the mocking VOID that everybody has in life, irrespective of time, situation and resources. I’ve had dark circles with an amazing consistency of more than 4 years now. What different phases in life made me maintain this consistency is an interesting story for my future write-ups. But presently I feel that these dark circles are a result of a fruitful activity to me. Often I type things like this which appear on my blog, in the most calming depths of the night. The reason why I inflict this indiscipline in my life is the VOID of a creative opportunity.


Bizarrely all of the articles on my blog were never a work of a well-thought and structured thought. Every of those articles including this has started with just the first sentence psychically occurring to me while travelling in the underground, closing my eyes for slumber, or simply pondering in the loo. The moment the first sentence strikes me, I experience this desperate urgency to churn a flow of words, which seldom makes sense to any of you. Notoriously though, this article too came into existence, when the very first line of this write-up occurred to me in the loo – the time was 3.47 am. Instead of dying the death of lying in the bed, I prefer to stay up and jot whatever thoughts that construe to my intellects.


I undertake this avoidable exercise to fill the creative lapse in life. Call it lapse, absence, vaccum or emptiness... for my creative liberty I choose the word VOID. Void is something that has a notorious legacy attached to it. People who achieve material ambitions or even spiritual excellence, still strive to go beyond despite being at the apex level of their prowess. This is the legacy that I talk about; this is what persistence of void does to all. No matter what level of self-actualisation one has for a particular thing in life, he or she is definitely cornered with the insurgent thought of Void... And often it is an antecedent to an undisciplined trajectory.


For those fortunate beings who successfully handle this ominous truth of life, setting the boundary of contentment is an achievable feat. Unlike me, having a red-brick MBA, with a reasonable job and still getting cornered with Void... results in the evolution of this isolated blog. The very reason that I write these secluded articles is this creative cavity. And this I feel shall only be filled for once when I’d be called a COPYWRITER.



Until then...
This blog is my pet,
till the days I regret...

Takes a favourable turn
Hope this creative fire until then...
continues to burn...

The Beauty of Silence

Very raw from the utmost depths of my nostalgia I managed to recollect a poem from the 3rd grade of schooling in Mumbai. It seldom made half sense to me while being a part of the curriculum during that year. Though Figures of Speech came much later in the schooling syllabus that poem was my first brush with Antithesis. Not many of my contemporaries may remember the poem called “The Town Child and The Country Child”. The poem had two different perspectives, one from the boy who lived in the modern-day city and the other from a rural terrain. Both had distinct and ironic views for sound. It reminds me during those years, poems for us kids were just a mere literary material to study and forget, and rarely did we try to relate it to life. For me, discussing this poem out of the blue for a simple reason is experiencing the very experience of what it says.

The poem beautifully balanced two conflicting ideas towards noise - the love of the town child towards the calming silence of countryside and the attraction for the city noise of the latter. However as philosophical by birth I was, the town child did relate to me in some immature sense, though I never felt that I’d live to ponder on those two facets of noise and here I am. Living in Mumbai comes with all types of cliched stereotypical experiences and one of it, is the never ending commotion of the town side. I remember how living in the typical Mohalla can haunt you with high pitched decibels. One second you can hear, Saas-bahu catfights in loud noise, and on another the pathetically trite sound of some news channels, kids playing in the lane, hawkers honking for daily bread and vehicles struggling to make way through. What a pity for ears especially if one isn’t a selective listener.

Circa 2006, I landed in the city of Liverpool, epoch away in time and distance from the noise of the city, the fast life and of course the deadly combo of soap operas and the Indian media. Never did I enjoy a place and time in life like I did for my year in the University – a cosy dorm-room for perfect solace and the silence that mesmerised me to no end. The first few weeks were numb, for not being familiar with dead silence. My comrades did reflect the horror the absence of commotion brought to them. After all living in Mumbai makes you immune to especially honking and other unwanted sounds, which also speaks about being habituated too.

Though England has its charm in beautiful locales, what I like about this place is the silence that you can experience during nights. Living in still-life is one of the boons here that I admire. Music and sound makes living a lively affair, but there are times to turn off the music, because silence is what one needs to breathe, to uncoil, to return to a state of balance and hear the quiet soliloquy of your own heart. Ever wondered what profound relief a few minutes of silence can bring to oneself, am sure everyone of us have experienced it at some point in life irrespective of the conscious thought.

In my opinion, in silence one can truly nurture emotional intelligence. Not only emotional rather subconscious intelligence. Often if you we assess, unwanted sounds are nothing less than a physical assault, it shrinks some part of our attention span and therefore restrict the experience of processing meaningful information. It is like working with deep concentration on some office project at one point when the sudden sound of a ringtone voicing the latest number makes you think of the actors in the movie, the jarring costumes they wore and the slapstick moves they did to qualify it as a dance of romance – Aaargh!!! See, where did you started as, what were you thinking and where did you land – all simply because of sound.

It is only when we find a morsel of conscious silence, we realise how deviating is the onslaught of the sounds we haven’t chosen to hear. But irrespective of our choice it still manages to divert our thought process. You may find silence in an empty room. There is silence in some places of worship, work of arts, in depths of paintings, in the bark of trees. And most of all within us when we shut eyes and stop thinking of anything that bothers.

And for once I say, choose a place where you think you find peace, close your eyes, shut the world around. Sit or lie comfortably, breathe gently and tune in to that inner-self – have a soliloquy with your heart and REJUVENATE...

The Dissection of Boredom...

To be honest, I think my earlier thought on pain and its descent was something that interested me to write on, however I feel the execution wasn’t a great deal for me to harp on. Just after having published it and reading it a number of times in order to edit and give it a new direction, something else struck me. Guess this is how the minds of a copywriter or rather (to please moi-self) creative people moves ahead.

The feeling that I had while scribbling with the idea of my previous post had me reminiscing a truth about two incidents that happened to me in the span of 24 hours. It all started when I was travelling down the tube and some random poetic lines occurred to me. Coz it was outta emotional malfunction it started as...

“Twice in a span of 24-hoursI was made to meet my failure in the face...”

And the thought carried on generating some more rhythmic overtones, but then I remembered Parul Ma’am’s feedback on how Kindergarten(ish) I’d sound when I try to rhyme. What a constructive feedback – I liked it. Hence I stopped rhyming and ended up with a sad attempt of prose. Not that its her fault, but rather it’s my prerogative not to act like a sadist and inflict pain on those who are to read my blog. Now the point is, I am really bored reading my last article and genuinely it sucked!!! But such is the beauty of great blunders...

Eureka!!! I discovered boredom is worse than pain, any pain I suppose. If you see it’s normal to resort to self-destructive activities just to avoid boredom. Or simply put the other way, the things people do to counteract boredom with the likes of hogging, snorting (you know what...), boozing, and all other illegitimate – ings... So much for the sake of avoiding the common phenomenon called boredom. I remember one of my lectures during the juvenile years of commerce studies, when our professor churned out this mind-numbing lecture which almost had us in splits of our own existence. There I was doused in utter boredom trying to find some comic relief with a destructive scratch on the wooden desk, scribbling – “This is in the memory of those who died out of the boredom of this lecture – May their souls rest in pieces – Amen...” As unoriginally adolescent and obviously hackneyed it may sound, it was my first copy per se in creative writing.

But here comes the catch – Boredom has an innate ability to freeze moments. I know this notion is difficult to assimilate, though such is the effect of boredom. For instance have you ever observed a lot of bored people, in your class, queues or for that matter anywhere you find like souls in distress. A common mass-hysteria is evident when you see almost everyone around you trying to doodle, scratch heads, doze-off or trying to concentrate anything under-the-sun to make them feel anywhere else but there. This is when the victim faces the situation of slow motion or the moment of freeze. I think it would help if I say that when we want time to go as fast as it can, it never does, like for instance awaiting a loved one, where the urge to see them makes every second into minutes and minutes into hours, much in congruence to the theory of relativity.

Now the trick is, once we actually realise how dull and frozen the particular moment is, it slows down time for us .The proverbial time-warp - during which you may get a zillion thoughts and amazingly are able to process information at the speed of some meta-search engines. It may happen to some of us or all of us, at some point of time. But as life takes its course, we tend to overlook such dull moments and miss this rarest opportunity to something unconstructive. With a pleased smile, I’m proud to assert that, in the dullness of my last article, I did see an opportunity to pen something better if not interesting.

Imagine how unblessed is the dawn of today, that we have innumerable options for escapades, there is this infinite tool called the Internet to the rescue, then there is Television rolling 24-hours, not to forget the notorious Indian Media, which will never outrun the repetitive application of the adjective – stereotyped, to keep us off the boredom. But I will strongly resent the sentiment that sometimes Necessity alone is not the mother of invention, it has to be boredom. Sorry more appropriately put forward would be – “Often if not sometimes, discoveries are not a work of accidents alone, but an outcome of boredom as well”. Just wonder what the f*** was Sir Isaac Newton doing sitting under the tree, obviously getting bored when suddenly an apple fell and the gravity of the situation (read as boredom) accidentally made him discover the Law of Gravity.

So my advice folks, next time you come across a still-life world and a point of nothing-doing except being stuck in a rut, don’t bother taking up any conventional vocation such as the TV-remote or grabbing a keyboard & a mouse, rather let the feeling sink in deep down, until its excruciatingly boring, and Bingo! You will actually feel the creative juices flow... and then Eureka!!! You might find something that’ll make a lot of sense. By the way did I made any sense, with all that yap!

The Genealogy of Pain...

I once read a proverb which meant, winning makes you understand a page, but losing might teach you a book. As daunting a thought can be, it never fails to challenge the juvenile optimism in us. Losing may not always cause pain to some, but pain is often an antecedent to failure. Ever wondered why the intensity of joyous moments fades with time, but never does the impact of pain. For it’s easy to reminiscence a sorrow and feel the exact pain like it once did. But ironic is the case of joy, though the memory succeeds to deliver a smile, yet the original joy remains unique to its debut.

My psyche tells me, without any resort to medical reasons, that we are acquainted with pain right from the moment we open eyes in this world. I may not know what medical implications the umbilical separation bestows on the new-born, but I believe it is the antithesis at work. Am sure we all are the happiest beings within the warmth of the womb, never wanting to come through to face everything that life offers. But as I said the antithesis at work, right from the moment when a birth happens, it is the irony of the moment that, the joy of the one within, is killed to deliver the ultimate happiness (of motherhood) to another. Such is the camaraderie of pain, which in my knowing is similar to the law of thermodynamics. I know the idea of thermodynamics may sound obnoxious at this point, but not if I say...

A mother may feel immense pain while letting out, but I believe it ceases when the joy of seeing the baby supersedes, while the joy of being within is deceased when we are cut from the (umbilical) chord, which again brings pain to the new-born, the pain of separation from a peaceful haven and the encounter with a moment, when everything black, white and grey will start to bother. And then there comes a phase which is similar in thermodynamics, the phase of equilibrium, when a mother holds the child and the child feels the warmth of the arm, that moment freezes every pain and joy to the extent that words can’t describe.

But why am I saying all this? The reason being, of all the emotions a man encounters, the two most basic of them often take turns throughout the day - the welcoming happiness and the digging sorrow. It may sound ridiculous if I assert that the two of them almost stands equal from a distinct perception. For if you see, Happiness may look good while it comes to ye and sorrow doesn’t, alike is the thesis of sorrow, it feels good when sorrow bids adieu but ironic is the case of joy. For when joy leaves us it is not a reason to be sad, but often the loss is felt, while when sorrow leaves, the rejoice is a feeling beyond words.

I always ponder on a thought which tells me, the pain that sorrow accompanies is etched in the most conscious part of the memory. One can reminiscence the poignance to fuel the emotional barrel and divert the force towards something constructive. My friend once told me during a work-out in the gym to recollect something emotionally concrete, something of negative sorts. And it did help, not that I became Schwarzenegger after that, but I wish I could have done that throughout my life. But any philosophy is too good to last and feels great when shared. So is the thought of pain that I have... The thought of jotting these words did stem from a moment when I was in pain - an emotional pain... Strange it may sound, but sometimes reflecting on the philosophy alone helps to come off a situation. And I am glad I did....

Lovingly yours...

It is indeed in the make-up of intellectual beings to inspire like minds. For instance, the very idea to jot this article for my blog. I know, it sounds boring for you to read another one after that sad tale of mine. But such are the ways of life,

“Pondering on thoughts I was,
there came Miss Walter with an applause,

Much to my amusement she did suggest,
Something in congruence to Zenny’s behest.

Yes I was ordered by my lady love
Once again to open my treasure trove

The trove in which I wove beautiful words
Words that mesmerised her like song of birds

So here I pen for my lovely girl
her mere presence makes my world swirl

Thoughts of whom makes my soul alive
nothing but an elixir, never fails to revive,

To deliver the magic of my Brown Book again
I hope I may not falter, nor my efforts go in vain.

Call it love, call it pain, call it patience or an art
Whatever that ensues has cometh from my heart...

Its been almost two years since we two had depart
This bond shall prosper even when death do us apart.

Insha Allah – Aameen.

This story here, is that part of my life, which is wonderfully painful, yet one of the best thing of things I have experienced. Shouldering the burden of a long-distance relationship isn’t a piece of cake for feeble souls. Nor that I am the master of this prowess. I would humbly say it is the genius of the sheer intensity of the bond and the joint willingness of two individuals to carry on their belief in each other. Relationships aren’t a hot theme to mince words on, rather from my eyes it is often a critique on a simple abstract of life such as a Wardrobe. Metaphorically partners have been reduced to the likes of attire, which a person may choose to switch at will. At least such is the fate of the relationships I have seen in recent times. I am indeed grateful to Almighty Allah for keeping things alive even after two years despite being separated by a mammoth distance and am thankful to this amazing lady for helping me keep it so.

The aforesaid thought of pain is an attribute of the sinking feeling; a feeling that I may experience due to the lack of family or companionship. Not to mention the obvious shortcoming of my psychological make-up. I hail from an extended-joint family and there hasn’t been a time as lonely as the aftermath of University days. For me it is tough to find a sense of direction even in simple chores of the day, as the void of an active social presence mauls me to no end. Imagine what it is to live life right from your birth amongst an extended-joint-family and suddenly being pushed to another horizon to manage things all alone. Yepp! A sense of Deja Vu prevails, especially if my mom’s not around to scold me to do this to do that. It is about time that I face the truth that I do need a partner who is a guide yet a tourist with me on this tour of life. I know only romantic fools think of someone’s waiting to go home to. But how humane can such thought be, after all I am bound to face such emotions considering am in love with this splendid lady.

The journey so far, to be exact 694 days from the time I first travelled this shores has been a gift to cherish. Not a gift for the pain of separateness and hardships, but for the fruit of patience and prudence that has kept the bond alive. Many lessons in humility has been learnt, for every callous catfights, for every arduous arguments, for every discerning disagreement and for every cordial congruence we shared, for every romantic repertoire we have, for every upbeat understanding we reach, for every magical moment we arrive and so on and on...

Often I am made to realise what a prized catch I have in you, but that is the fundamental difference between two words OWN and POSSESS. For you see, owning brings privilege to the object, while possession is nothing but pride that accompanies the object. So much so that if I be the object then I’d liked to be owned by you and if you be the object then it is my privilege to possess. It reminds me of Ketki’s banter on how you had that spark for me which she is consistently able to see since the last six years of our association. And it is not for her telling that I know what you have for me, but it is for my asking despite knowing the subliminal truth you behold for me. The condition which I go throw is similar to that of a child who is on his way to the ice-cream parlour, but still needs to be reassured time and again that he will surely have the candy once they reach, no matter how concrete and convincing the promise is, still the child needs those assuring words. Apparently that is the dose which Ketki gave me, in her words “Aarif you are very lucky to have her”, little did she know, that is what I wanted to hear. So now you know where the child in me comes from.


Every time we speak I bore you to no length with romantic words that I mince, yet you choose to call everyday to hear the same concoction time and again. Wonder how much persistence love has taught you, how much patience has distance engrained in you. To my luck hope hasn’t run out for both of us. And partly we both are indebted to many of our friends who value our bond, who never fail to appreciate the togetherness we share. And I promise them that if Allah willing, they soon shall see a day, which will be a day of days for me at least, when I seal my bond with you.


Until then the story of this long-distance relationship
shall see days and nights, seasons and reasons,
to mature and teach some sweet and unpleasant lessons.

But my gorgeous lady as I say,
if life has to go this way,

I have no complain,
Coz still then with yours my name will remain.

I am glad that you are with me,
Making every breath a reason to be.

Here I end my praise in words for you
But deep down my heart it shall forever continue...

My experiment with the truth.

What is life in solace, wonder how it takes you for a spin even before you’ve realised that you are in a rut. My experience with this coarse truth has been a modest journey of 8 months. Flying abroad for higher studies in most cases has been a bollywoodishly stereotypical experience, fantasy of which is subconsciously fixated in modern Indian youngsters. Thanks to the plethora of bollywood flicks and the Phekta Kapoor’s K-wonder soap opera that has endlessly portrayed the protagonist taking up higher studies abroad, not to mention the classic MBA for God Sake!

Well after being there and done that, and acquiring sanity upon completion of the whole journey, only one question haunts me, SO WHAT??? Was it worth to travel the distance, invest or rather waste garish amount of money to acquire something which every tom dick and harry has these days. And my self-assessing response has intimidated me to no length. I can rather be euphemistic about it and accept it as part and parcel of trial and error phenomenon but that would again be kidding myself. If there was one thing which I had ever looked forward to in life, it was a career in advertising. I was fortunate enough to get a handle on it for a while, but only did I know then to not let it go.

Best friends are meant to perk up things in life for good, but sometimes their well-wishes often kick you in the ass and seldom does any premonition come to the rescue. In my case the bonhomie of the situation echoed on a flip note. The do-goody advice not only kicked me in the face, but also I was betrayed with the absence of any presentiment. Partly I am supposed to be blamed, coz I was foolish enough not to realise the repercussions before it was too late. Hey Deval you require a special mention in this article, as it was you who was my support system during the BMS dayz. You were the true motivator I could have had on the professional level. I knew I had that creative streak in me (which you always made me notice), but some things are only meant for college days i guess.

I remember your lines you told me on 17th September 2006 @ Mumbai Airport. “Saale agar tune Finance liya toh main tujhe bamboo ghusayega” I wish I would have been deaf for that moment, or else would have overcame the fear of Bamboo. I knew you had great confidence in me as a marketing person, but now I think I would have done better had I taken MBA Finance, sometimes the in-thing that is not your prowess may prove a better option than the thing you do best. At least this shall hold true for me until I find a successful disposition to dispose the aforesaid thought.

The obvious truth that occurred to me after six months of graduating as an MBA Marketing is nothing short of an irony. “IT IS DIFFICULT TO MARKET YOURSELF IF YOU ARE A MARKETING PROFESSIONAL, HOWEVER ITS EASIEIR TO FINANCE THYSELF IF YE BELONG TO FINANCE”. Now my friend I regret not to take up finance as an option, coz if seeing is believing, then am pretty sure most of my Finance batch mates have found some sense of direction on the career front, however with certain iota of patience I would say I can still see myself and other marketing brats still juggling for that big break. Perhaps it is the destiny of the ore to pass through the hottest of the furnace to see the day as the toughest steel. Sometimes I believe the current phase is the proverbial furnace that life has to offer and I can only expect to meet the dawn when i shall see myself as the steel.

By the way no matter how much optimism i may enthuse in this process, it has made me realise that this stage of my life; where i believe am in a rut, is a make or break situation. Either I may get flushed out as a by-product of metallurgy or else come out a winner – the true steel. Am often cornered with thoughts about slumping into depression soon, but people around me has kept me sailing yet. Thank you Dear Ammi, Abba, Chachas, Chachis, Bhaijaans, Bhabhis, Friends and my lovely Zenny for speaking to me day in and day out, keeping me sane and confident and remembering me in your prayers. It is for you people that am still hoping for good things to come and I shall overcome this not-so-bad-days soon Insha Allah. On a positive note I would like to share the obvious philosophy learnt in these 8 months. There may come a time in life when ye may feel nothing’s happening, life has come to a standstill – but that is for sure not the end my friend. Once the wheel starts moving then there is no looking back and trust me a day will come. Until then keep faith, have patience and try harder!!! And for Heaven’s sake don’t get too filmi about studying abroad. Coz that is where the whole problem starts...