Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head..

Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain. But for some of us, who have, I think it brings even more sadness. I’ve danced in the rain. I’ve taken long walks by the seaside giggling with my soul mate eating butta (corn on the cob) even canoodling under the dull grey sky looking at an earthworm go by.

I’ve enjoyed Zeus’s temper tantrums.

I’ve enjoyed looking out the frosted windows of an Air-conditioned bus, gleefully shivering inside, holding hands and making private jokes. I’ve enjoyed driving in the rain watching my windshield wipers dance their orchestrated "whoop-whoop-whoop" rhythm, to match the heartbeats inside . I can list a million reasons why I love it when it rains. It rained today, in Bombay.

I love walking in the rain, 'cause then no one knows I'm crying.

Boys & Their Toys… (Part 1)

I was 8 in 1988 so I remember most of my toys for that decade. I had so much great stuff I didn't keep or destroyed by not looking after it. I distinctly remember my prized possessions from the era. My castle “Grey-Skull” complete with trap-door and secret entrance (which for some reason Skeletor could never find) My dinky cars that I crashed in insane imaginary “Need for Speed” contests. My little crawling turtle that my Dad tells me today, he skimped and saved to buy to pander to my bawling needy behaviour. My very first Atari gaming console followed by the unbelievable (for its time) graphics enriched Nintendo in all its 8-bit glory.

These are just some of the toys that bring a smile to my face even today as I reminiscence about them. I’m all of 26 and a half today but some things never change. I developed a love for technology and electronics at a very young age; an expensive pastime none-the-less, but an immensely pleasurable one. To my little 8 year ol’ brain, these gadgets were almost like magic and I wanted to know what makes them “tick.”

I found toasters fascinating (especially the ones with the automatic dials for toast control) I was greatly amused by the giant cuckoo-clock that adorned the walls of my small hall. I remember standing at my neighbor’s house on Hill Road staring at a funny doorbell of sorts that would quirt water at you through its pee-pee every time you pulled a string; of course, owning something like that today would start a whole verbal spar on the metaphor of homosexuality, but that’s what I love about being a child – pull string, get sprayed = lots of glee time.

I remember getting my first car; there is no thrill in comparison. The euphoria that follows he first gear shifts is unparalleled and I’m certain, a universal emotion. I’ve owned and enjoyed a lot of toys throughout my life and although my Mom had bet that I would outgrow them, I was sure that bleeping bleeps would always amuse me for life. Today, I enjoy “toys” with the same kind of enthusiasm; sure, they’ve become more expensive, more fancy and have enough processing power to launch a nuke – however, they still does serve their most important purpose. The shiny surface that is uncovered when you unfold the plastic brings the same joy to my face as did the opening of the secret entrance of castle Grey-Skull.

Sure, it’s questionable whether I’ve grown up or not but well, that’s a whole new blog…

Beete Lamhe..

Beethoven once said that Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. I would like to add that it is also a painful reminder of the past that we refuse to let go. Music has this therapeutic quality to it. It can uplift your mood or walk you to mellow street.

Dard mein bhi yeh lab muskura jaate hai
Beete lamhein humein jab bhi yaad aate hai

Even today when I hear music with lyrics that bleed within my old wounds, it evokes pain, suffering and extreme sadness. I can go from a super duper hue to a depressing blue. The good times feel terrible, the moments that I own the copyright to, feel pirated.

Teri aagosh mein din the mere kate
Teri baaahon mein thi mere raatien kati

What is it about music that does this? And why? I don't know why people listen to sad songs when they are already at an all time low? I don't understand why people listen to sad songs at all. I tried not listening to songs that connected my painful past to me;I tried evading every sonata, every melody, every rhythm, every lyric and I was foolish enough to think that it would be the end.

Aake mere panaho mein shaam-o-seher
Kanch ki trah woh tut jana tera

I thought that music cleanses the understanding; inspires it, and lifts it into a realm which it would not reach if it were left to itself; I was so wrong, so terribly wrong....

Dard mein bhi yeh lab muskura jaate hai
Beete lamhein humein jab bhi yaad aate hai

Life in a Metro

I just watched an excellent film with the same name.

METRO charters a new path because it tells interesting multiple stories that run concurrently. Also, the characters are, in some way, linked with each other. It showcases various slices of life of regular folk in this big city that gives us all so much. It caresses human emotions like greed, lust, sex, ambition, struggle and love amongst people who are running the rat race in Mumbai. I quite liked the film.

But, here is the thing; I was born and brought up in this city and I love it for all that it is worth. Sure, it has the minuses but then what city hasn’t? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being biased. I’ve lived in New York and yes, I love it perhaps a tad more than I love my own city, but I would never live there or let my kids grow up and call my friends by their first names; call me old fashioned, but its just something that I’ve got used to. To be honest, I will always feel like a second class citizen in America and I don’t blame the Americans – we are after all, the outsiders.

Coming back to Mumbai, a lot of characters I’ve met and known in my personal life are not from here; much like the characters in the film. Now that I introspect, I realize that I don’t really identify with any of them. None of those feature on my friends list.

This may sound a tad haughty and perhaps even unsettling but I really haven’t met a single “outsider” that I’ve managed to get along with, not saying that there aren’t any, just not one that I’ve found.

They call Mumbai the city of dreams and often people just pack bag and baggage and head here hoping to build a high rise dream. Also after SRK came here and achieved superstardom, I’ve noticed that every second tinsel town struggler claims to be from Delhi; doesn’t matter if they can’t spot it from a map in their tiny homes in small town Bihar or not.

They when they fail, they come up with silly excuses. Its not a magic city people – know your limits.

I don’t referee based on location and I have nothing against Biharis or outsiders who settle down here; what enrages me is the fact that they crib that the reason people like “me” make it is because we are from here, have lots of contacts, money and plenty of advantages.

I disagree.

The reason “we” make it is because we arm ourselves with a good education, excellent communication skills that we combine with honest hard work. Also we don't use the SC/ST excuses at the drop of a hat, complete with Bihari twangs from “Delly” thrown in for good measure.

Perhaps I will never understand what it means to be an outsider; maybe it’s just an immature superiority complex – but life in “any” metro depends on how you see it, what you make of it and how you live it.

As Sharman Joshi says in the film, “Yeh Race Hain, Koi Morning Walk Nahin…”

Some Night..

It all began with a simple phone call. I asked a friend if he would like to have dinner.I think I'm slightly impulsive, sometimes; those that know me will argue that I'm almost NEVER rational.

So, the three of us were off to destination unknown because on some days I like doing strange things with no logical explanation attached. After unanimously agreeing on a Subway, I randomly decided to change plans and have a Steak instead. I feel rather manly when I eat steak somehow. I think its the whole "Man brings Meat" stone age theory.

So, we decided to venture to town to our favorite eatery, "Cafe Mogambo" where we have tried every combination of Steak possible. The secret to a juicy steak is something people have been arguing about since the early days of backyard grills. Some people will tell you to sear the meat at high temperatures on both sides, then turn down the heat and let it finish cooking. Others will say that searing has no real effect. We've tried it all - well done, medium rare, medium well done... you get the gist?

But tonight was no ordinary night and I decided (since I was behind the wheel obviously) to try a new route. Amazingly, half way through, I decided to follow a random car and see where it would lead us. We would eat at the restaurant nearby. Most people would deem my behavior questionable but again for those who know me, know I just don't care two hoots and always give in to temptation, madness and a good challenge.

Anyway, we finally ended up at Churchagte and ate at a lousy restaurant called "Starters and More" and honestly, I wish I had ordered the "more."The night wasn't done yet; I decided to figure out yet another road to the first ever "Indian House of Horrors." My friend had fallen asleep but I braved on. Its another story that I took the wrong road but well, like they say its not the destination thats important, its the journey...

Sleeping with the Enemy

I received a nasty SMS this week; one that proclaimed "Goodbye" in a tone loud enough to wake the deceased. It was a nasty SMS that did not even warrant a reply.

I call it nasty simply because I feel that the people who hurt you the most are the ones you love or care about. We empower our loved ones with secrets about our weaknesses and throw open old wounds for them to see. Soon, they choose an arsenal of jagged words extremely carefully and attack those very wounds that go deep. In short, they hit where it hurts.

I had promised myself that I would not respond to self-indulgent behavior but my boiling blood always seems to get the better of me. The enemy appeals to the juvenile in me, tempting me onto the battlefield. I have sworn to NEVER entertain immaturity and its friendly neighborhood “misgiving”. But I'm under attack from Operation "Assume, Presume and Fire" and I have to figure out whether to retaliate or run for cover where I will be out of range.

I've been through this war in the past and I have run out of ammunition, energy and inclination to go through the mental and physical trauma again but my enemy refuses to let me out of sight, finds me, rears its ugly head and spits it venomous spew right in my face and I am forced to retaliate for fear my own life and sanity. It’s a survival instinct.

Often, things are not what they seem and there have been times when I have not even believed my own eyes because of my blind trust in the enemies’ friendly gestures. I've always been fooled and betrayed and now I walk around with a knife protruding from my lower back. I do not wish to justify my survival strategy. Honestly, I don't care. But sometimes the enemy manages to shake and annihilate the very fighting spirit that they armour me with in the first place.

It's like the US training Osama. Big Mistake! But whose loss is it really?

Perhaps it is my destiny to be hurt by the enemy or maybe I'm just smart enough to win a battle, because I always loose the war.

Saket Chaudhary

I had ventured on to Blogger.com awhile back, eager to join the blogging communities of the world. This was long before my house began its unrelenting renovation and long before the inquisitive neighbors asking if I was getting married finally. *sigh*

Today, I managed to log on to the internet from atop a pile of POP (Plaster of Paris for the uninitiated) thanks to a Wireless router that I invested in during my student years in America.I'd like to think I get online with my laptop and do serious writing but all I really do is chat up hot chicks that I loose interest in, the moment they seem to like me. This night was no different; so here I was trying to "write" and I met a "friend" online, 'Saket Chaudhary.'

Now, when I say friend, I don't mean the backslapping, grown up sneaking-and-watching-adult-films-with kind, but the kind you know and call friend like you call every grown- up, Uncle or Aunty in our country. To cut a long story short, we've met through the Internet and have a mutual passion for film and life. He is the director of the film "Pyaar Ke Side Effects" and I'm still pondering about the "Struggling Ke side Effects."

He also writes a blog. I've glanced through his blog before (http://saket74.blogspot.com/) and I quickly read through his homo erotic post of 300. Today, I went through his whole blog and I must say that I was VERY impressed; enough to inspire me to write my own. I meet a lot of people in my line of work; some that quote Scorsese and others who can't even pronounce it - the truth is, it’s a world filled with bullshitters.

This guy is not one of them. I've pitched some of my film ideas to him a year back; he discarded all of them saying that I had spunk and a quirky weirdness but no commercial sense. I don’t take criticism too well, I guess. I watched his film and honestly thought it was an ordinary American sitcom stretched into 2 hours. My friends loved the film; I thought it was strictly OK.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself on the steps down from Surburbia, Bandra, that he had rejected some excellent ideas of mine, ideas that I thought would make great films, far better than what he had made. His film didn't speak volumes of creativity to me; I've grown up watching American television and it was no Big Deal. I scoffed arrogantly to myself.

I think its been a year or more now. A lot has changed.

Today, I read his blog. I was "blown-away."

Today, I think that he’s a far better writer than he is a director.

Today, I realize that it takes a lot to get a film made and he did the best given the resources.

Today, one massive break-up and lots of introspection later , I understand pain, in literature, in film and in life.

Today, I think some of my ideas back then were weird, really really weird...