I am...

I am a writer in my own right; I write notes about every figment of emotion that excites my ego. I observe random nooks and crannies of people, behaviour and society at large; I form my own views about them much to a critic’s delight. I build my own reserve of clichés that I identify in untouched cues of human behaviour and I am steadfast to avoid them in the way I do things. I gauge tomorrow’s outcome in today’s light, probably that’s why am limited to rational set of thinking. I weave silent soliloquies with Almighty and that’s how I indoctrinate my own private spiritual being. I was a kid that walked the bylanes of the old-fashioned Mohalla, and I am the adult who mapped the urban streets of London. I am a boy next-door who sleeps in a middleclass neighbourhood and the one who wakes up to a niche candyfloss society. I am a seasoned mind that propounds old-age philosophies and I am a youthful body that disguise itself in contemporary fashion.

I mince words that mean a thousand emotions to myself and I hit backspace to save others of my literal confusion. I am a grown man of 26 years, who happens to be the youngest of siblings, yet expected to deliver machismo like sensibility underneath that pampered upbringing. I am a man sunken deep down the darkest depths of love and I claim to know every speckle that the grain of hate offers. I am a living legend surrounded with impossible constraints, yet I dwell in the subconscious immaturity of a fool’s paradise. I dig with fingers towards the interiors of my flesh, only to find my own troubled blood clotted almost vain in veins.

I am a thought that germinates in a fraction of a second and I am an idea that takes ages to die. I am memorabilia of unvoiced mannerisms and I am an emancipation of your habitual negligence. I design landscapes of inimitable finesse and I paint them with my own emotional baggage. I am a drop of sweat of a humble fatigue and I am that warm gush of breath heaved in unabashed vanity.

I am everything that I can write for a humble escape… I am a perpetual exaggeration of my vocabulary’s content. I am Aarif Khilji, the man of words, engrained with emotions… empowered by observation… And until the next sentence clicks…

The Old Wallet, a Letter and a Bygone Dream...

With that screeching of the wooden gate and the stumbling exposé of my wardrobe, beneath the atypical bachelor heap of crushed garments, I happened to lay my hands on that old wallet of mine. The dusky old leathery smell and that overdosed fold, reminiscent of many a things, mostly memoirs. A spectacle of yesteryears which I had treasured in my life away from home. Borrowing a thread on a secluded piece of modern day papyrus I found some words, those promises and a bunch of expectations inscribed in her handwriting, it was her letter resting in my wallet.

Sensing a quicksand of pathos ahead, I still dared to read the first para. The occasion was my departure to london. It was Zenny writing to me the night before I fly, expressing the pangs of butterflies she’d felt because I didn’t meet her that evening. The start of the letter was mirroring a complain much similar to that of a soldier’s wife. Jolting me with both hands for traveling one more time away from her, once again leaving the void of my absence for her to fill.

Sharing eight sublime years definitely subjects any twosomes to those innumerable squabbles. Habitual incidence of such quarrels is another reason why it starts to feel a normal chore. And because of this normalcy I was oblivious to the very backdrop of her penning me those words. Sinking in emotions I reckoned my demons of insecurities during that trip and the reason why she wrote me that letter. Those weren’t just words, but an assurance to rest my fears about her. Fears that she has changed or will, fear that she’d exchange me for a different life. Knew nothing about stars or sorcery then, but I knew it was coming.

Hmm! reading a few lines enlightened me about the debut of that letter, I remember reading it while onboard the flight next day. Like every other time she had come to see me off and thats when she handed the scroll. Huhhhh! why doesn’t life offer a rewind, just to live those beautiful pages whence desired. I was made to believe that everything is alright, nothing can move that four lettered emotion in between us. The one that starts with an ‘L’ and ends in ‘E’ and the one that seals the bond with wedding vows...

Love today is defined with dynamic precision, which is why despite having an ear for philosophy I tend to alienate myself of any gyan thrown at random. Everyone seems to be a self-professed master with the philosophy of life and having dealt with issues such as love like they’ve been there, done that. The truth is no one can come close to what I feel and how I feel. Especially after reading those words which promised a lifetime of togetherness and then surviving in the reality that is today.

And it took just a few lines of that letter to add salt to my otherwise open wounds. Where did all that love fly Zenny? and why am I left to weep dry the ocean of salt contained in my eyes. For all the time that I’ve lived in these eight years, there wasn’t a single dawn that dusked without an exchange on the phone. And now I live days without being called, wonder if it at all qualifies to be living anymore. Haven’t spoken to Mom or Dad for the fear of passing my pain to them, its not for them to bear and know that I am in pain.

And now that I am left because she thinks her decision is right, it reminds of a piece of scroll @ Costa Coffee, whilst analyzing her priorities. I was at ‘the top’ on that list, and so it remains etched... Yes I was a priority on that list and on that very paper... confined in ink. Indeed anything scribbled on a paper is just ink and not an actual truth of life and so is the irony. Just like the words, those promises and the expectations in that letter that I found, inside that old wallet. And it will still lay in my wardrobe reminding me of a time we were together like a bygone dream...

How he died...

Ever since I left Indian shores, I was always of the view that I aint gonna talk like stereotypes. No matter what amount of time I spent abroad, my affinity towards motherland will remain unshaken. However though the litmus test brought in negative shades and that just happened in 3 years.

I was part of this system for 23 long years, and boy it wasn’t a ride of an idealist sort. Always heard about the rampage of corruption that prevails in India. But after experiencing a few years of honest and clean administration abroad all this ends up with an itchy feeling every time I encounter the desi system.

Everything that needs to be done, finds itself juggling between a number of desks until it sees fruition. And not to mention the unwilling instance to depart with money under the guise of chai-pani. Not so impressive is the tale with a Mumbai Police official outside UAE Consulate. Had been there to attest my prestigious Bachelor’s Degree after 5 years. The first impression then was an out of the world experience. I was greeted by the Police officer at the gates, with all the warmth and kindness that I did not expect to find. Just like you’d anticipate from the receptionist of a Multinational. So there I was walking in awe of the hospitality extended and mind you, those weren’t polite words alone, but procedural information extended in addition for my convenience.

I had a change of heart and thought towards Mumbai Police and felt some things do change and of all did their ways. But once a wise man said... People might have many faces, you will encounter the real one while you are shown the door. As proverbial it may get, I faced the same polite and altruist officer on my way out. This time I was greeted with “Sir is the work done? can we have some chai-pani...” and unabashedly he pointed me to a newspaper on the desk... asked me to leave a sum of my liking inside. The point was not that he asked for something unusual, but the deception of service and the resultant expectation.

Taken aback was I and with an intent to register the protest, I did say “India kabhi to badlega” sounding like an idealist. All this said and exchanged only to realise that the juvenile idealist in me hasn’t moved a thing in him. What I got back was his witty repartee “tum kya akele India badloge...” Sensing that he was right in some alternate sense, I still mustered the courage and snarled, “Kahin na kahin se toh shuruat karni padegi...”. Despite knowing that I’d bite dust, I still gave in the dialogue.

I thought I’d done enough to silence him, but then I was probed whether I was from Delhi... And my nay affirmed him that I was an old horse Mumbaikar... somehow the conversation lasted two more minutes. And I left with an ugly feeling, since I had to return the next time to collect the document.

All the way home, it was a war between the cynic and the idealist in me. What concluded in the end were some constructs based on the observation, experience and a partly dead hope.

1. India is too big a nation to expect and accept change.
2. Though there is hope from this generation and the next, but there are a substantial predecessor still alive and not wanting to part with their way of life.
3. People are forced to be corrupt because the salary they draw doesn’t suffice in this inflation. Hence to make ends meet, bribery will prevail.
4. I once proposed that the British left two things in India while leaving, one was English, the other was Cricket, but now I know the Red-Tapism and Bureaucracy quantifiably qualify.
5. Lastly for every hopeful believer and idealist there are two steadfast on the dark side. Not at all a promising situation.

So no matter what and how much you despise, certain things are there to stay until the next five decades or so.

Incidentally when I approached the office the next time, I still found the same officer smiling at me and making another uncanny move coated with hospitality less expectations. I was determined to remain the idealist, went straight in, did the work and was about to leave. Unexpectedly though, I had a change of heart, my hand dived in the pocket, pulled out a Rs. 50 note and met his. All this for no reason and yet for a reason. What moved me was not the absence of greed the second time, but the genuine humility with which I thought he recognized me.

And then I came home... thought of life abroad minus this babugiri, corruption and God knows what. Took me sometimes to come to term with the fact that, I’d like life much simpler and easier the next time I face such chores. And to me the answer meant hopping into a flight leaving for another destination, but India.

With that a hope crushed... a thought discontinued... In the end the NRI survived and the idealist in me was DEAD...

I walked...

I walked through the day... learnt to fight dismay...

If this is what life wants... I better gulp my qualms...

Every grain of lament... that I collect in your name...

will surely add up somewhere... within me it'll remain...

There will come a time... you'll witness a subdued climb...

Of a journey you cherished... slowly fading in thin air...

Perhaps then it may dawn... mine was an act of care...

I know you know not now... to remember those vows...

And then...

You point me to a mirror... that speaks loud & clear...

Showing me where I stand... stealing away my chance...

Things shown to me you had... I wish you too see that...

Roads you chose for me... weigh with common ink on thee...

When emotions go numb, and love voices despair...

A damage I sense so grave, it seems beyond repair...

For all that I may reason... I face a closed door...

Still afloat with hopes... to catch a glimpse of shore...

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...