My very merry Christmas

I was sifting through my Christmas cards today. A big yellow plastic folder which tumbled down from the top shelf of the cupboard and caught my attention. For years now, this has been a private ritual. I never gift people cards on Christmas; I buy them for myself. Cards that I receive are only appreciated if people don't defile them by scribbling their inane wishes on the beautiful artwork.
Over the past decade, I have built up an appreciable collection of what I think are some of the most beautiful pieces of work I have ever laid my eyes on.
Every year, for about 11 years now, the week preceding Christmas has always been filled with trepidation mixed with a sprinkling of joy and expectation. The new fir, the smell of the fresh green leaves, the holly, the tinsel, the big fake gold embossed bell that shone much too brightly to be real, the puffy Father Christmas and the tiny sprigs of mistletoe; everything topped with the cake from the best bakery in town and the best cards collected from every possible outlet in town. It was almost magical.

I am busy now. Went to college today; worked; drank some coffee; talked to friends; discussed strategies; planned my day tomorrow. I call it "Christmas Shopping" now. I can't fit in my schedule tomorrow. I still haven't bought a card. I have given up on the cake. Its too much trouble anyway.
Just for a moment today, while I picked up the big yellow folder, I imagined what it would mean not to grow up. Then I realized there is no going back.

You the Freshman

We have been inactive. Active again. Then again dormant. Much like the society we live in. We have struggled. We have tried to do our best. And we have failed. Or have we? I really cannot say.

Christmas is around the corner and  cases of euphemised "Fresher initiations" must be on the decline. People are on the verge of ending their first semesters in their respective institutions. Six months in an alien land; Six more months to move on to being seniors.
There is terror around us and we are inclined to blame. It is quite possible, perhaps even logical, for you to dismiss this as mere farce. Why bother now when cases are low? 
Because this is not the end. It will begin all over again. And it will be you, the fresher, who will be the perpetrators this time. You will use the same excuses you thought were unjust; you will discuss with relish the acts of "manliness" you will inflict upon the newcomers. You have already started planning, haven't you? You can't wait for the second semester to end. You first real bout of power. Shelley was wrong I guess. It should have been "If spring comes, can winter be far behind?

Terror at my doorstep

The feeling has changed. From disbelief to disgust. The terror and sorrow that has engulfed me is now replaced with shock and despair. I am amazed at the reaction of people. Sane, educated, enlightened people.

There is a lot of anguish over inaction. People are vexed at how nothing is being done; how everything goes back to square one a month after the massacre. Hence they wish to blow up Pakistan.

Friends of mine who were staunchly against the American policy of putting its own national security above the lives of millions now vociferously demand that we carpet bomb our neighbour. To us, action connotes one word and one word only. Pakistan.

So we are ready to turn a blind eye to the fact that every time there is a terror attack, there is a intricately woven indigenous terror ploy. We are ready to ignore the fact that there are people within our country who wish to kill us. We are ready to brush aside the fact that we don't provide our security personnel with even the bare minimum when it comes to protective gear.
Because we want the terror to end. The youth of India cannot tolerate such anarchy. Hence the time is ripe for a decisive blow. To culminate the problem forever. Raze Pakistan to the ground. Never mind the millions who would lose their lives on both sides of the border. We don't care about civilian casualties, do we? Let those darn Pakis die. Who cares? What good has come of being civilized?

And so protests go on. The government plays to the galleries. Hardens its stand against Pakistan.

And I sympathize with them. With the "youngistanis". With everybody who wants Muslims flushed out of this nation or wipe Pakistan off the face of the earth. I sympathize.

Because its easy. Its easy to project our "Policy of zero- tolerance on terror" when the only thing that we have to do is build up troops along the border and escalate tension. Its easy to give a clarion call to the youth to organize themselves as an army and march onto Pakistan. Its easy to say killing Muslims is the solution.

After all, why would we want to end the deep religious divides in our society? Why would we not want a sectarian society? Why would we wish to stop the ghetto-fication of particular communities? Why would we want to stop people from becoming terrorists? Why would we want to stop the polarization? Those are difficult things to do.

The rot has begun. We cry for a tough anti-terror law and don't give a hoot about the possible persecution of certain sections of the populace. We say they deserve it. So a man who lost 6 of his kin shouldn't feel helpless when his only surviving son is picked up for questioning and tortured. Its all in the name of India.

For a moment now, let us stop kidding ourselves. We don't care about loss of life. If killing a million Pakistanis sufficed, we wouldn't hesitate in lynching them. Very soon we wouldn't care about India as well. We call for a war. And we dress up in khadi and give speeches on the Second day Of October.

Give love a chance.

On Progressiveness

I get a little confused nowadays. Especially when people talk about progressive societies and progressive outlook. The fact that men now are forced to commodify themselves akin to women is a progressive thing. The existence of an all-women radio channel heralds a new era. India is reborn.

Friends of mine are torn between enjoying the twisted humour of Dostana and admonishing it for "lack of sensitivity" towards the "gay community". I haven't watched the film but I hope to enjoy it when I do. Its not just because of the gay angle. I like the fact that homosexuality is treated as just another story angle and dealt with as such; the out and out overtly melodramatic hue that tints everything in Hindi films. I am glad that the film has an "airy", non-sensible tone. We need that. We need to understand that there is no "gay community" and the creation of one would mean the death of the civil society. We need to stop talking of homosexuality as we speak of women's issues, with unease and a lingering desire not to offend anyone and try to be "sensitive" to "their" cause. Well, guess what? There is no "cause" and there is certainly no "their". If I think of homosexuality as just another constituent of my social life, so obvious that it needs no mention, then I need to make fun of it, I need to laugh at it, just as I laugh at other things in the world that are so intrinsic to our society that we never question their place even when we dramatize them for our daily soaps.

A women in the bus forced me to shift today because she couldn't sit between two men. Feminists say that is justified because men are uncivilized neanderthals who grope women. So we accept men groping and then take action instead of addressing the groping. Progressive?

The society is showcasing gender equality by forcing men to use beauty products and dress up to please women. Try to be what they are not. Men do it, women do it. Hence equality. How would it be if neither did it?

I am getting lost in a progressive society.

One week ago

Its strange what a week can do. I was erasing messages from my phone today and stumbled upon a couple I had sent to somebody. A week ago. We weren't the best of friends. We had just begun to know each other. I liked him. We practised for tournaments together. I supported him. I felt bad for him. I tried to console him. He seemed nice. Good. We were friends. Were.

A week in Bangalore changed all that. In close proximity, we drifted apart. He seemed suddenly brash, insecure, defensive, irrational. Everyone thought so. Tried to see his side. Couldn't. Tried to fell sorry for him. Couldn't. He blamed me. He blamed everybody. He was upset. He lost friends. I lost him.

Just for a minute today, I remembered how things could have been. Its not a big loss. I am not sad. Just pensive. I now feel uncomfortable talking to him. I put up a facade. I laugh with my teeth. I speak ill of him now. Behind his back. He probably does that too. We still greet each other.

Just for a minute, I wished nothing had happened. Then I deleted his messages.

Indiaspeak

" Mumbai is for Marathis. India comes later."

Untitled

It was a nice restaurant. A nice evening too. On the table beside mine, there was seated a couple who thought themselves handsome.

Ten minutes into his meal, the guy brings out his cellphone and blares out at the top of his voice,"
I WANNA DEDICATE A SONG FOR MY GIRLFRIEND." The girl acts a little taken aback and then simpers and smiles.
"HER NAME? WELL, LET HER NAME BE 'P'." The girl is reassured.
"MY NAME.....HMM....LET IT BE 'T'. T FOR TABLE."
"LET THE SONG BE THAT ONE FROM ROCK ON...ROCK .....THE SLOW ONE....HAA....."
"WHEN WILL I HEAR THE SONG?"

He brings out his earphones and plugs them into his mobile phone. The girl is happy. Quite a happy moment. He unplugs the earphones. Probably he was told it could be a while.

Just before they finished their romantic dinner, the lights went out. Beautiful candles were lit 5 minutes later but by that time they had finished their meal in the dark. They chose to leave.
They left their earphones though. I am guessing she never heard the song.


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I was walking along Kalighat road on the outskirts of the Kali temple. The place was milling with thousands of people who had come there to purge themselves of all sin; to salvage their lives by ending others. A melee of piety and dirt oozed out of the holy pathways. Potbellied priests and henchmen clashed magnificently with impoverished beggars. Offerings of gold made inside the golden doors while dying women lay outside. Incense sticks, holy perfumes, blood and sweat made for a odour that was both intoxicating and vomit- inducing. Lapierre said it was humbling to see the steadfast faith. I tried to agree.

A couple of beggars were clinging on the corner of my mum's sari. She had tried to shrug them off, albeit unsuccessfully. She tried to pay them off. They left, leaving 4 more hopefuls. It was amazing how 2 rupees was all that was needed to gratify them. An old woman hobbled alongside my mother. All the others had given up any hope of mercy. She evidently hadn't. As my mother seated herself in the car and tried to close the door, the woman advanced her hand and said in failing Hindi, "Ma, humko kuch de do. Gareeb ko dene se kam nehi ho jata."
I wanted to translate that. I just can't.

Walked into the room, he did,

while I wasn't looking.

He crept up behind me

like old white spiders I couldn't see.

He looked at the mirror

where I was trapped.

In the layers of silver sinking,

the face of a laughing boy.

He roughly took hold of me,

And made me face him,

I tried to hide amidst the layers of satin.

He peeled off me the attire,

I should never have had on.

He tried to see if the boy was still there.

Amidst the purple shimmer of his mum's wear.

And all he saw that night was me

And not the boy he wanted to see.

He took in a deep breath and

for a moment did pause,

My father beat me then,

for what I never was.

Kolkata

Its been raining in Kolkata for the past week. And I have conveniently lost my umbrella. I miss my blue umbrella.
I love it when it pours down after nightfall....there are so few people on the otherwise bustling roads; you actually get a feel of the city. I am glad Kolkata still isn't the posh metropolis that Delhi is trying to become. I hope it never does. It ensures that you can walk with your friend for five hours on the rain soaked streets under an overcast sky after a taxing day at college. It lets you walk down Park Street at 9 in the evening in a slight drizzle and not care about it being unsafe. Where you could walk for hours and get lost and not care.
It allows you to talk to people without worrying that someone is stalking you. I have grown up in a small town where cows lined the avenues in neat rows and fields flanked the paved roadways. Where you could walk for hours and hours and not get tired. Where a cycle would be quite enough for transporting you if only your ego would allow it.
Kolkata still retains some vestiges of being a city of real people. It isn't the City Of Joy. It is, for many, the City Of Eternal Sorrow. In a way I am glad Kolkata hasn't become Delhi.

Or I was. Kolkata isn't such a nice place anymore. Not since the blasts in Delhi. People exchanging glances of disgust at the government and roadside "Adda"s have transformed into people walking at night knowing full well that this Puja might well be the last Puja for them.
There is a rumour going around that Kolkata will be the next target. And it will be the Pujas.
I don't feel safe any m0re. Nobody does. Not the mother in Delhi who lost her son only because he had tried to warn the terrorists that they had left their bag behind. Neither the mother here who isn't sure if her headstrong son will come back at the end of the day.
We can no longer trust. Nor can we hope. A friend of mine said yesterday that she was afraid to go shopping because she was afraid she would die.
I am much too little to blame anybody. So its pointless talking about Shivraj Patil or the Police. The only thing I noticed was that as I reached home last night, I couldn't find a single channel which giving uninterrupted coverage about the blast; I saw cricketers instead. ...It seemed we had already moved on.

Its one in the morning. And I am researching stuff for a conference later in the day. The world,as I look out of my window, is dark and quiet, just the way I like it. Of late, blogging has become too much of an imposition and less of a pleasure. Hence I have putting it off.

I have been busy. And strangely,busy with things I like doing. None of them have a direct bearing with my college course but I like doing them anyway. I meet new people, do new things. I hardly find time to go through my favourite blogs nowadays, much less update mine. A year ago, I had nothing else to do. I just read and blogged and listened to music.
I have been reflecting on my past year for the past two whirlwind weeks. I was incredibly thankful for having too many engagements to be solitary.
I just read my favourite blogs for the first time in 7 months. And I loved it. I had lost the connection somewhere. I searched for it. Old friends from unfamiliar blogs who had moved on with their lives, people whom I knew only from what they wrote; I met all of them tonight. They seemed alien. And I type this out, I am slowly becoming aware of the fact that I am listening to "1973" after almost a year. It feels nice.
I have too much to do almost everyday now. But perhaps I let life pass me by. I liked the moment tonight to pick up the pieces and reminiscence. I sure had met new people. But I had forgotten the old ones.In my haste to be in the thick of things, perhaps I didn't realize how good I had it back then. A year ago.

Sarah's Night

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Strike out

There was a Bharat bandh today. A nationwide strike.

On the way back from the local mall yesterday, I decided to take a rickshaw. I was laden with bags and packets stuffed with supplies for the next day when the city of joy would come to a standstill. The mighty metropolis would be forced to kneel down for 24 hours in protest of a couple of policies nobody knew of. The important thing was the protest.

As I seated myself on the rickshaw, I felt a little queasy. The rickshaw wallah seemed a little mad. Cuckoo would be the word. As he pedalled tiringly through the narrow alleys, he scarcely seemed to hear me as I shouted my destination into his ear. He kept muttering to himself. I could only catch snatches of his muffled monologue. He seemed to be repeating the two words, "Ten rupees!"

I was instantly on my guard. The stipulated cost of the commute as fixed by their union was six rupees. He wasn't about to cheat me off the extra four rupees. I clutched with determination onto my two hundred rupees worth french fries and chips.

I tried to take my mind off the muttering menace and tried focusing instead on my itinerary the next day. The trade unions that had called the strike were left affiliated with strong ties with the incumbent government. They controlled most of the city unions, notable amongst them, the rickshaw wallah union. In fact the strike was partly for the benefit of the rickshaw wallahs, claimed the union. To resist the imperialist forces was in the best interest of the impoverished.

The approaching silhouette of my apartment on the horizon shook me out of my reverie. The rickshaw wallah suddenly turned towards me and muttered in his rustic Bengali,"dada,kalke ki shob kichui bondho?"..." Dada,will everything be closed tomorrow?" I replied in the affirmative,a bit surprised. Weren't these the people who actually backed the bandh?

He pedalled on for a few seconds. Then he turned back again." Dada, will schools be closed tomorrow?" There was a sense of desperation palpable in his voice.. I stammered out a "yes", all the while puzzled inside at his quaint questions.

We reached my destination. As I stepped down from the rickshaw, he looked at me and said meekly," Dada, kindly give me ten rupees. I have a girl studying at the local school; she is in class 5 and has just passed her exams. But the school says unless I pay the fees overdue,they're going to rusticate her. I have to arrange for three thousand rupees within the next week. Having asked everybody I knew for a loan, I now have resigned to asking customers I know well for small sums of money. You see, sir, I have been pedalling for the last thirteen years. But I don't know what will happen next. One whole day gone dada. Tomorrow I won't be able to pedal; no income dada, no food, no future. Wanted to meet a few people tomorrow for my girl. Now sir...."

Tears glistened on his sunken cheeks. I clutched at the tattered ten rupee note in my hand, the bag of fries on my other hand. I slowly reached out into my wallet and pulled out a hundred rupee note. The shrivelled face filled with surprise and disbelief. It slowly changed into ecstasy and hope.

I watched him pedal his way out of my neighbourhood. "Maybe dada, I will be able to educate my girl after all. God bless you..."

There was a Bharat bandh today.

The 7th of August

Its the 7Th of August. As I returned from College and switched the T.V. on, I was informed by the frantic looking news anchor, who blared in almost incomprehensible hindi, that tomorrow, the 8Th of August would be doomsday for the world. The unholy combination of the three 8's,the anchor expounded, was potent enough for a catastrophe.
I switched the channel. This time I landed on an English breed. True to its language, the hype here was international. The Beijing Olympic games 2008. Commencing from tomorrow is the greatest show on earth; the Chinese having been a model of fastidious,meticulous,albeit slightly robotic precision. The channel having sent a correspondent all the way to China, seemed to want its investment back fast. The correspondent was foaming at the mouth as he spoke about how the Olympic committee might be goaded into including cricket in 2012.

Fervently praying that they didn't,I surfed all the channels...everyone seemed to be focussing on the impending...all of those enlightened people seemed much too busy in the prospects of the future than the significance of the present. None were interested in today.
The day had been an unusual one. The college seemed to be teeming with young enlightened souls brimming with novel ideas about the commemoration of the day and posters were abound about the gala cultural recital that afternoon as a token of fond and cherished remembrance of the heritage of one of Indian literature's greatest exponents. I was disappointed. Not only was the program under-rehearsed and hopelessly amateur, there seemed to be a genuine lack of spontaneous outpouring of creative energy. The apathy was palpable. The dancers danced cuz they had been directed to; the singers sang the song in a particular drab fashion, never bothering to infuse the song with a breath of life. The dramas enacted were more about showing off personal skills than commemorating the life of a great master. Indeed, the loudest cheers received were for the street goon. And this was supposed to be a cultural event.
Every year, Calcuttans and Bengalis around the globe gather round a certain photograph on this day and apparently pay homage. The streets bustle with people talking of literature and every institution worth its name hosts a multitude of events to celebrate the day.The rest of the world thinks bengalis are fussing. That they have a perennial identity crisis and hence tend to cling to the last vestiges of glory. Indeed, I have seen many a wry smile smack on the faces of some of my most intelligent friends.Maybe all don't. But some sure do!
Perhaps part of it is fuss. Maybe it is ridiculous for the rest of the nation to see people going berserk over something that is not remotely related to cricket. But you know what? I like it. I like it when people remember their heroes, their poets, the people who helped the nation move onward. Even if blended with pompous self importance,even a modicum of hypocrisy,I like that people at least remember his name today, even if for a minute.
Naysayers will say he remains alive only on paper,not in our hearts. But that is better than dying and getting buried anonymous,isn't it?
Calcutta remembers. For the rest,today is the 7th of August. Rabindranath Thakur died today.

Thought

A friend informed me today it was popular belief that Rock music was somehow better and 'higher" than pop.He quoted Paris Hilton to substantiate his claim.

Vote and a little Ghosh

Exhilarating is the word.There is no other I can think of which can describe the events of the last few days.It has been a whirlwind last week and a half,both in my personal life and of course,in the national scene.There has been a little fun,lots of heated discussions,a little more fun at the expense of the nation's future and the discovery of Omar Abdullah.

It does seem eons ago that I walked into the cinema to watch Rituparno Ghosh's latest,"Khela".I was disappointed.There was the trademark Ghosh style,the much-better-than-usual Manisha Koirala and a story which seemed unpredictable for the most part.However,I had gone in with much higher expectations which were not gratified.The little boy was adorable,the quaint manner of narration was sweet,the North Bengal scenery breathtaking and there was a discernable sense of intimacy,closeness which the director managed to weave throughout the film.The subtle underlying pain was most elegantly shown.The ending was beautiful.In any other director's hands,this would be hailed as great cinema.however,Ghosh has dazzled me with his brilliance so many times earlier that the perfect little intimate tale was inadequate.It lacked the genius,the "Oh my god!" moment,the one magic moment of divine brilliance.

Trouble is still brewing in college over my obstinate stand against ragging.I was accused of splintering the unity of the class.People are going mad,which must be a good sign for they don't tell you to shut up if your words aren't having an effect.I am on the verge of being accused of taking away a fundamental right...Things are hotting up.

The fun was of course provided by the sycophancy of the Left at the centre.Delhi seemed quite like a gladiatorial ring.I like it better than T-20.There are all the hourly updates and scores but the spice seems more here.Who wants Shoiab and Dhoni?Give me Mayavati and Sonia Gandhi any day!

And where was Omar Abdullah?Either he speaks very rarely or I have been completely stupid in missing his speeches.I had almost fallen asleep during the trust vote when Omar Abdullah's two-minute speech roused me.He not only spoke forcefully and made himself heard over the din but was coherent and witty.He is indeed a very good orator.He has got that one quality Rahul Gandhi lacks...intelligence.And he makes Somnath babu smile!


Another post about the trust vote in a couple of days....I am waiting for the second act."Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost!"

P.S-Awful quote,I know!Apologies.

Saturday...Today

I usually devote my Saturdays to the pursuit of trivial amusements.It was in accordance with the general scheme then,that last Saturday I let my friend persuade me to watch the new teen-flick in town that everyone is talking about..."Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na".Most people in my college had loved it beyond words and nothing but watching it twice could satiate their appetite.It was then,with a great deal of expectation and a modicum of apprehension that I queued in front of the Cinema.The line had snaked its way into the main avenue which brought a smirk onto the lips of my friend.So many people could hardly be wrong in their judgement.It was an eclectic mix.There were college crowds,obnoxious love birds,middle aged gentlemen,ageing ladies...

It was almost a miracle that tickets weren't as scarce as it seemed.We rushed inside,I didn't even look at the popcorn or the french fry stands!And then the film started.
As I walked out of the hall two and a half hours later,my mind was a jumble of thoughts.People around me gushed about the film;about how great it was,how adorable Imran Khan was,how hot Genelia looked,how sublime Rehman's creations were,how it was the best film they had seen in quite some time.i couldn't agree.Nor could I disagree.

To be fair,"Jaane Tu..." isn't a bad film at all.Of course,a bad film isn't what is expected of the man who penned "Maqbool".The film is breezy,the characters aren't overtly melodramatic and the music is very very good.But somewhere there was a feeling of being let down.
Had the film been in the hands of a lesser director,there would have been no cause for complaint.Indeed,if it hadn't amassed such rave critical reviews,the follies would have been quite passable.But Abbas Tyrewala,the brilliant,imaginative scriptwriter,what sort of a story is this?
Sure,the handling of the sequences speaks volumes of the director's abilities but as the film rolled on,I couldn't help feeling a lot of that ability lay nascent.
The plot was a complete mess.College life and the depiction of a bonding which transgressed the realm of ordinary day to day "friendship"*(little more than a casual acquaintance,considering how often we abuse the term )were all fine but what happens when the film doesn't move forward?The depictions were all upper middle class,of people rolling in money,something which I am sure many aspire too,but how many identify?Comic relief is great again,but what happens when every other dialogue is a tongue-in-cheek attempt at inciting laughter?The whole story refused to move onward and instead there is a barrage of clever one liners from the end of the first half hour.
To be fair,the audience was in splits but does Tyrewala really need to resort to that?It was only Ratna Pathak Shah,the one and only,who could breeze through such a non-role and come off as charming and adorable and indeed she waltzed through her performance.Nasiruddin Shah's role,again was an out and out attempts at unconventional(in Bollywood)humour.In deference to Tyrewala,the comedy was intelligent,a welcome relief from the slapstick that Bollywood regularly dishes out and some of Pathak's lines were memorable,especially when her son's best friend asks her while sobbing,because college had ended,"Auntie,itne din kaha chale gaye?" and the smart Pathak retorts,"Phone pe,beta,phone pe"
Returning to the principal point of complaint,I couldn't help thinking the storyline perfectly absurd.The middle part of the film was absolutely indigestible;the hour spent in establishing Imran and Genelia's respective lovers;the lovers' only task to make the protagonists aware of their growing jealousy.The idea was fine,the flaw lay in the execution.The film became so intolerably boring once the "other partners" were introduced that I could scarcely keep my eyes open.It was all glossy clothes and smart talk and the film refused to move on....time seemed to stand still.The conclusion again,wasn't something I was prepared for.The three conditions to be ordained a rajput scion,the midnight horse chase through Bombay,the airport chase sequence...was it all from a weird fairy tale?I was particularly disappointed with the horse ride at one in the morning through the streets of Bombay...farce!The airport chase sequence was funny though...special mention for Paresh Rawal,good throughout in the role of a (you guessed it!)comic police officer.The ending again,was so tame.Tyrewala had taken an unusual concept,why not attempt an unconventional ending?Friends turned lovers who live happily ever after sounds so old,doesn't it?

This is what I felt on Saturday.Today,however,is another day and strangely the film grows on me.I had readily appreciated the four things that had enabled me to sit through the 3hours....Imran Khan,all vivacious charm,cute smiles,clever lines and intelligent looks,shined through the holes in the script and seemed well endowed in brains if only a little deficient in the brawn's department
(a relief!)Charming and endearing,he carried comedy with great ease and most importantly, was extremely believable.Believability was also the forte of Genelia,still nursing a small Hyderabadi accent in her hindi.Managing to hold her own against Imran and making a place for herself amongst the audience was no mean task.And I am also much pleased to say that she is much improved from her earlier performances in Telegu mainstream films.The chirpy college girl,the typical upper class spoilt brat and the endearingly faithful friend was what she accomplished with amazing grace.A mention also for Prateik Babbar,Smita Patil's son who turns in a jaw-dropping performance as Genelia's brother.His anguish and love and sorrow are all so meticulously and yet so humanely depicted that one cannot but applaud the debutante.
It would be extremely unfair here if I didn't add a whole standing ovation to Rehman's work; fresh and vivacious,the music managed to capture the young spirit perhaps more than the film.The songs were a heady mix of rhythm and melody and I simply,was enthralled.

But as I sit here,at two in the morning,thinking of all that I had seen,I finally realize that it wasn't what I had seen,it was what i felt which mattered more.Sure the film had its share of flaws but what it managed to do was to leave an impression.The first twenty minutes,the best part of the film where Imran and Genelia's beautiful bond is explored keeps coming back to me.And as I listen to "Aditi" on the headphone,I get the feeling that all criticism aside,the film managed to connect,not just with the college crowds but with everyone who ever loved and had a friend to die for.And that might just be Tyrewala's best work,the accomplishment of the most difficult task set to him;He manages to keep the film alive in each one of us and makes us identify with at least somebody.You will find yourself unable to control yourself from clapping at the climax, weird as it was!And every time you listen to a piece of music from the film or snatches of words from "aditi"..you will always,even if for a few seconds,transported into the magical world of Jai and Aditi,when the world was still beautiful and they could love each other without tags or conditions.

"Jaane Tu..." might have been a great film.It isn't.But that is quite beside the point.It isn't what you will remember.What you will remember is how it felt to be Jai and Aditi.

A long time ago,in a city....

I got up today.Dressed for college,cursed the college time table and got out of the house.I spend a regular day,trivial occurrences interwoven with mundane circumstances;pointless conversations concocted with petty tricks,emotions not quite genuine getting lost with mirthless smiles.
It was only on my way back,wallowing in self pity,that I chanced a glance at my watch and realized it to be the 11th of July,or the watch proclaimed,the infamous "7/11".It was on this day,two years ago,that Mumbai was ripped apart by seven horrendous blasts that changed the socio-political scenario of the nation forever.Though I never have lived in Bombay and in general have a very limited idea concerning the outline of the city or its people,than what Bollywood and its closest living relative,the news media affords us to have,I had and still have a considerable number of friends and people I love who reside in "the city of dreams".

I returned home and turned on the television.C.B.I''s magnificent success in an open and shut case after months of mud splashing and shadowy speculation in the media seemed to have caught the nation's imagination,gripped its psyche.People seemed ill-disposed to recall something so profoundly and evidently painful on a day of such revelling glory.A single news channel dared to air a story about a person who has been in a perpetual state of injury induced coma since the black day.Of course he was poor,he had no money to pay for his treatment hereafter and had,in short,no right to live.The channel promptly relegated the piece to the back benches.Not for him, the magnanimity of the nation witnessed in the outpouring of grief or the flooding of relief money.There was no resilient spirit that would help him stand back on his feet again.

"One of the nation's worst human tragedies,with over 200 people killed,The Mumbai massacre ranks internationally as one of the most gruesome acts of crime ever..."screamed one reporter stationed to cover the condolence meetings.I sincerely wish she meant the empathy,absent from her voice.A meeting "to remember the martyrs " culminated with the principal speaker concluding that "the central government was a complete failure and the Samajwadi Party was being opportunistic."He stood beside a lady who had lost her son and husband,both wage labourers,as he waxed eloquent how the government had no moral right to continue.

It is easy for me to don the critical eye.It is even convenient.After all,I was,in no way,affected me,snug as I was in front of the television,both then and now.No Concern of mine emanated from a genuine exigency,just plain curiosity and outrage.But it is indeed depressing that things haven't looked up for those whose lives were truly affected by the blasts.Who lost everything they had or perhaps still have a crippled brother at home,all to a unnamed Jehad,a war they were never a part of.Sadder still,perhaps,is the fact they look up towards us,the society,the people unscathed,rich,Outwardly sympathetic with hope in their eyes.Perhaps they think all the soundbite does mean something.perhaps the next C.M. visit might yield a hospital bed for their father.Or Barkha Dutt's riveting commentary might mean something other than a dozen mikes poking into their faces.
They hope that their tragedy will mean something else than general knowledge question in the years to come;a benchmark for future genocides.They hope that they will somehow get a slice of the amazing spirit of the "city that never stops".Maybe they hope us,people who see them but don't notice to sit up today and think.The sad thing is that it seems they are hoping in vain.

Today

I had planned to take a break from blogging for six months.Life had seemed too engrossing,too mundane,too regular for me to share.I didn't plan to break the vow today.But then something happened.
It is today that I realized how difficult it is to stop people from what they ardently wish to do,even if they themselves had admitted at one point in time,albeit in private,that it does show them in poor light and is WRONG.Perhaps greater trouble are those people who think what they do highlights their talents,veils their imperfections and spruces up their "cool" factor.People who wish to see can be lead onward.People who only think they can see cannot.

There was a concerted effort this year in my college to stop the menace otherwise known as Ragging;euphemised by the wishfully blind who like to call it "orientation"/"interaction.Students chose,in droves,not to undertake the stupid and horrifying "custom" of hazing the "juniors"(rather condescending !)They insisted that they wanted to get to know the students,for a change.
I was buoyed.With so many standing up for something their own petty interests,there was truly hope for betterment.It was truly difficult to comprehend why something so trivial wasn't getting rooted out,especially when so many were against it.All the first year students were greeted with toffees on their second day.A friend of mine messaged his girlfriend that they had decided to become "caring seniors".

The question was answered today.I was taught that just because people know something is wrong,they will never stand by it.They will waver on their pledge;they will instead do what is convenient.Most of the people who had pledged their support found it too difficult to honour their word.The ragging started in earnest today.I was told that if someone wants to rag,its his liberty to do.I was shown proofs of how the first year students were eager to get humiliated by their "seniors" and how I was being the wet blanket.The day drew to a close the same way it had every year.With massaged egos the seniors walked out triumphant;the juniors weren't vanquished either,holding,with pride,onto their solace that they would be the perpetrators of the humiliation the next year.Life went on.
Hindsight is perfect.And thus as the day draws to a close,I can say that I was sadly deceived in the character of man.A friend of mine today quoted Frederich Nietzsche....he said the force behind a man's life is "the will to power".And as I sat there and rued my loss,I suddenly realized that the win had been a hollow one after all.There was no collective desire to weed out ragging.There was simply an urge to look noble.There had been no change of heart.There simply was a change of tactic.
Sociologists say ragging is for those with an insecure persona.It is the perfect way to get your ego boosted...today,however,I saw that it was far more complex.There was a ego massage involved,yes,but far more pivotal was the power which the seniors were bestowed with.Making a guy marry another guy didn't emote as much fun as the reverential stares and the awe effused with fear which their eyes betrayed.They were in charge.

I was wrong.It perhaps cost me a few friends but the lesson is the better learnt for that.No one wants change.Because oppression always facilitates the privileged.The seniors rag because they can;it is "fun" and for a few weeks,the nobody-s get to become somebody-s.The juniors get ragged because it will be their turn next year.That is tradition.We all make pledges to make the world a better place.We all hope and pray and curse the previous generation.It is a pity though,that we don't act.Maybe because its too difficult.

A Tale Of Two Cities

A city rejoiced...a city wept.Thousands of people went berserk with glee while thousands others suffered in mute agony.Two cities.Separated by a few hundred kilometres.And yet,a world apart tonight.
It was about seven thirty in the evening when I switched on the television and was horrified,albeit for a minute,at the gruesome deaths caused due to the serial blasts in Jaipur.The news channels reported in sickening unison and enthusiasm that there had been a stampede in the walled city area and an "unknown" number of people were dead.The macabre images showed pools of blood on the streets,mangled bodies heaped up on the sides and crushed vehicles and debris of shops....a normal evening when something had gone horribly,horribly wrong.

I didn't however,have time to watch the coverage or express anguish,if only to myself...I had finer things to do.I had to cheer on SRK's Knight Riders as they took on a highly fancied side at the Eden Gardens...ironic name!It was "my" city playing against "their" city.And we were baying for blood.The match was touted as the "clash of the titans" and there wasn't a soul in this bustling metropolis who wasn't shouting their heart out.The match,as the commentators said,was a matter of "life and death"!

For the whole 4 hours of the match,I sat glued to the television,not for one moment thinking about catching the news about the victims of the dastardly attack.Saurav's spell or Shoaib's speed was way more important....Kolkata won the duel.We all were elated...The city rejoiced.Kolkata had won..."Our"city had won...We partied,we danced,some of us even drank to the victory.

That didn't bother me...what bothered me,although in hindsight,was my response.I had chanced a glance at the news bar that proclaimed that 50 were dead in the attacks..and I had instantly thought.."Oh well,it isn't a major attack,so few are killed...we'll catch it later".What bothered me was every one's response...The people at Eden,to be fair,were in the dark.But had they known,would it have mattered?After all,most news channels seemed more intent on knowing whether Jaipur would host the next IPL match,keeping in view,the crucial standings on the league table...
What bothered me was my exasperation at seeing every channel covering the attacks and not one praising my Saurav.I was frankly vexed...

But I needn't have worried.India is far too smart to get entwined in emotional matters for too long...withing an hour of the attack,channels broadcasting out of Calcutta had switched over to Eden and the national channels followed suit after another hour.Jaipur was reduced to just a footnote....Celebration attracted much more TRPs than weeping grandmothers lamenting the death of their only grandson.
Bombay in 1993 was different.We were shocked then.we are indifferent now.The fact that people used bombs to kill others and mutilate their own brethren was nauseating to us.Now,the fact that so "few" people were killed amazes us.As one correspondent said,it was another pearl in a string of terrorist strikes...we have grown so thick skinned and insensitive that the loss of human life doesn't bother us anymore...it is more of a statistic."Oh,only 10000 killed in China?That is less than Myanmar,isn't it?"we judge tragedies by the number of casualties.And we excel in forgetting the victims,leaving them on the way,helpless and smartly moving on.

The New India has arrived,ladies and gentlemen.And so have the new Indians.Where one city's devastation is second hand news in another...Where deaths do not qualify for attention over celebrities...where our lives can do without these sombre moments of sorrow.As I had said earlier,one city rejoiced while one wept...and the sad thing is that the nation rejoiced with the city of joy and told Jaipur to weep alone.

Cat

There was a cat today,

lying across the road...

there was a dead cat today,

who had left this mortal abode!

There was a cat today,

run over by a car,

none to look,none to care;

as it lay dead on the busy throughfare.

Someone had to reach office early today,

Someone was getting late on their way,

Someone had spent an extra hour in bed,

And that was why the cat lay dead...

People looked back at it in disgust,

blood splashed all over the clean roadway,

"Darn cat!Has ruined our roads",

was all that we could say!

"Thank God it wasn't a man!",they said,

As if they'd care if it were,

As if it would matter to anyone,

If a man lay dead there!

But thank god there wasn't a rally,

Or a protest march with beautiful candles lit,

Or a big T.V crew who had better things to do,

The dead cat got what was deemed fit!

"THANK GOD" cuz the cat didn't cause a jam,

Thank cuz you could drive over it just fine,

"THANK GOD" the man in the car wan't late for work,

"THANK GOD" he didn't lose a minute of his time!

And the dead cat just lay there,

Befouling our great city's roadway,

Before the moping trucks came

And washed the blood away the next day....

The road gleamed just as brightly as before-

And the cars raced back and forth through night and day,

And all of us waited with bated breath...

We waited for our next prey!

Of Rock music and more

For the past 9 months,I have been witnessing something...a phenomenon...rather a cultural revolution which seems to find its footing in the denizens of the bustling metropolises but is,slowly but surely,finding a toehold amongst the youth of the smaller mofussil towns.I still am untouched by this rapid infection but am in constant danger of contamination...

The disease....or rather,a godsend boon for some..."Rock culture"-the new brand of music that is sweeping an entire generation into its fold.Though I speak of a very tiny cross- sectional demographic of the society,it is nevertheless intriguing because so many of my peers,my juniors and my seniors seem so very addicted to it!

Rock as a genre has never quite flourished in India and the phenomena that I am talking about has got nothing to do with the emergence of authentic Indian rock...on the contrary,the Indian music scene is still dominated by "Indipop" and "Film music"...However,I am awestruck by the burgeoning fan base of people like Kurt Cobain,Jim Morrison,Billie Joe Armstrong;bands like Nirvana,Green day,Foo Fighters....People my age go crazy over songs that are sung thousands of miles away by people who perhaps never heard of Hindustan!

I am not a fan of rock music...it makes my head ache.So you can be rest assured this post is not going to be about how great rock music is ,how Kurt Cobain is "gawd" and how rock music has captured the imagination of the youth the world over.

This post is about my own personal troubles in my own little myopic world where I am much too smug to look out for other people's point of view.

I have a friend who stands out in a crowd due to his rock-devotion.He will strike up a altercation if he feels his rock-idols are getting slighted.I admire him for wearing his heart on his sleeve.

But from this point,let me enumerate my troubles.

Most of my friends who are rock fan(atic)s cannot tolerate any bit of criticism from their peers about their idols...for them,Green Day represents the pinnacle of musical achievement and nothing can ever surpass that.They are extremely touchy about anybody criticising the rock genre...god forbid if you tell them you can't stand the ear-splitting racket.They'll tell you how ignorant you are when it comes to deciphering guitar techniques or obscure lyrics that have got drowned in the electronic cacophony.

Rock claims to be non-conformist...it doesn't bow to the wishes of the conventional society,or so it says!Another point of clash.Most of my friends tend to slight pop music because it caters mainly to the populist tastes of the society.Rock,they say,is different!I sincerely don't find the difference..at the end of the day,both aim at selling the maximum number of records!It might be that rock stars belt out a different theme of music but how it becomes better than other genres is beyond my comprehension.

I used to like rock...soft rock that is!Until rock decided to move over to a heavy metal genre and attracted a worldwide fan base!Now,my friends,who are mad after Cobain don't wish to listen to such whimpers!

The point that I am trying to make is that I despise the arrogance rock fans tend to portray..at least some of them!They behave as if they're gonna change the world and hence the advent of the nonsensical "I am what I am " tag line...Its cool to be a rock fan.It isn't cool to listen to country music.It is cool to say that Cobain,Morrison died to "move on"..it is easy to glorify their suicides;cuz the whole world is doing so!~

I am afraid that in the midst of all the hullabaloo,the soul of rock has been lost.It was said that they'll never cater to popular taste..they'll do what they want,but is that what is happening now?I don't think rock is the best genre in the world...actually I don't care about genre as long as the song is good...So what right do the rock fans have to tell me that I shouldn't speak badly about Cobain?Yes,I might not know anything about marijuana or rock culture,in fact I am afraid I have portrayed my severe lack of knowledge in this post...but again,I wish to remain free...I don't want to be told that rock is the only genuine genre...all others are studio-mixes...rock is one too!Just see the back covers.

My friends say rock music is great cuz its straight from the heart...socially conscious,great lyrics and the songwriters are the singers!Celine is rubbish cuz she can't write..In the same vein,Cobain is rubbish cuz he can't sing!I have a problem with music that is dark,unnecessarily depressing,where human emotions have no value...Where idols are more notorious than "Jack,the ripper"..where genres are decided based on drug usage and where entire generations are blindly led by a desire to conform to a non-conformist trend!

I wish to be left alone with my Celine Dion..and I want to say out loud that she is way better than Cobain...and I want to have the freedom to say that Dido is better than Morrison because she has the courage to live.I do not wish to be scorned when I listen to the Spice Girls instead of Carnival of Rust.I do not wish to be told day in and day out that I am missing something great...

I may not be "man" enough to listen to Nirvana and there might be people who gawk when they hear I like female singers,but I do not care...I choose Britney Spears and I choose Andrea Corr and that is my choice...I choose to stay out of the line!

The Great Hockey Drama

For the past few days all that I can see around me is this great hullabaloo raised by the media and the common public in unison because the Indian Hockey team faltered at the final hurdle..the finals of the qualifying tournament for the Beijing Olympics 2008...The news anchors have been shouting themselves hoarse at the great "ignominy" of not being able to compete in the Olympics.I have been enlightened on the national "shame" and the great damage this "deplorable" loss has caused to the "Indian national pride".

People have been baying for blood....The hockey player's blood that is!I heard one senior journalist say that the golden era of hockey was just a matter of the past....Its time to move on and crown cricket as our national game.The popular mood seems to soundly propound this view too.The S.M.S polls resonated with general indignation at the pathetic performance of our team...especially at a time when the the cricket team has made the nation proud with its "epoch making feats".

Don't get me wrong.I'm no connoisseur of hockey.In fact,I have never ever seen a game of hockey in my life.But I still get the feeling that the mood resonated across the nation reeks of dichotomy and blatant hypocrisy.Its tough being a sportsman in this country if you're not a cricketer...Ishant Sharma gets more news coverage about his atrocious hair than the master Vishwanathan Anand...News people regularly raise a hue and cry about the burgeoning burden of expectations on the shoulders of cricketers;not a word about the apathy meted out to other sports.
We slander the team for losing in the finals...did we ever care when they thrashed other teams en-route to the finals?Did we ever cheer for them?Did the government care?
When India loses a cricket match...we say people are being unreasonable and the team played well nonetheless...we are lectured on how a team can't win every time!But heaven forbid if that same reasoning is applied to hockey.NO NO!They have to keep winning...don't bother to provide sponsorship,proper coaching,a transparent governing body or international exposure!Whenever a bunch of underfed,unnoticed,uncelebrated youngsters go out on the international arena,they have to perform like Dhyan Chand.Never mind that we are looking the other way most of the time!

I am sure the players are themselves downcast about their performance...and surely it is a sign of the downward spiral or the tailspin in which Indian hockey has entwined itself.But should we not have cried foul when the government slashed their funds?Or when a certain Sikh was declared president of the IHF for life?Should we not fret about the complete lack of transparency in the governing body????
We choose to take the easy way out.Blame the players,they are unprivileged and illiterate anyway,take our ire out on them.Glorify cricket,a sport that more than half of the globe has not even heard about!We cheer when the cricket team wins 3 matches against the same opposition,in a game that doesn't matter to 3/4 Th's of the world.We choose to compete in a sport that doesn't even have enough teams to organize a decent tournament.We beat 2 nations in Australia and went gaga over it.Does anyone even care to know how many nations we beat at the qualifying round of the Olympics?

We regularly complain that India performs terribly at international sporting arenas...But it is to be expected.After all,Dhoni's boys get 10 million every time they win against a crappy team...while the allowance we provide to Indians who play in truly International sports wouldn't buy me a bag of chips.And we expect Olympic gold.

In a way I think the sports journalist was right.Maybe cricket should be crowned the national game.We don't deserve better.We don't deserve to succeed in international sports...Making cricket the national passion has a great plus side too...We wouldn't have to worry about Olympic qualification anymore...There simply aren't enough countries~~!!

The 11th commandment

A few weeks back,me and my friends were travelling by the Delhi Metro...we were 3 guys and fortunately all of us had managed to get seats;the train was getting very crowded and I was smug in my seat.Hardcore Kolkatans that we are,it was quite a change,and a refreshing one for me, to see that there were no seats reserved for women.In kolkata,seats are reserved for "ladies" everywhere!!On the bus,on the metro,on trains.............
However,one of my friends took great offence at the fact that "a lady" was standing in front of us while we all sat.He got up to offer his seat...A man rushed over and sat down in a flash.He then forced our other friend to do the same.The same outcome,again!
Now the only seat left for the "lady" to take was mine...there was only a slight hitch-I refused to get up.My pal tried to convince me on grounds of morality and "the right thing to do" with insightful arguments like "Dhrubo,a lady is standing..how can you sit?"...He tried every trick in the book to compel me to get up,but me,prude that I am,never did...the lady got off the train at the next station.

I had almost forgotten about the incident till "Quaint Murmur" aroused my memory...and I must say that though I love my city,I despise situations where people get advantage because of the way they are born.It was about 7 years ago that I realized that chauvinism works both ways and while my psycho-therapist(yes,I am a nut-case!)doesn't think so,the "chauvinist pigs" come in both genders!
All my life I have been puzzled by the visible lack of uniforming in matters of public sphere when it comes to men and women.Men are always expected to give up stuff so that the women can get an easy ride.And what surprises me is the fact that so many women take the advantage,nay,grab it with both hands and behave as if it was their god gifted right.No one ever questions why,on a bus,men have a greater duty to remain standing while women are predisposed to relax.
Maybe I am exuding the perception of being a misogynist and some sort of an "anti-feminist" but that is not the case...I stand up for issues where I think people are getting discriminated against but what about situations where people talk about discrimination to actually discriminate against others?
I am not a feminist.I don't think men should take over the world either.I just am of the opinion that this social compulsion of men having to be "chivalrous" towards women is redundant.Let the era of men offering small bits of favour to women be banished now.Let the world where a condescending attitude of "they need it,helpless souls" ,hid under a garb of nobility,is not tolerated any longer.
I do not dream of a perfect world...I just wish that we live in a world where there was a little less dichotomy...where people are allowed opportunities when they deserve it.

The day I love to hate

I am supposed to study now...but it is very evident that I am not!I am much too euphoric and not because of the reasons an adoloscent guy is usually happy on the night of Valentine.I am happy cuz I have survived another year without falling into the dating quagmire...Does it seem cynical?Well,it is!!

I don't know from where I picked up this unrelenting cynicism about the present concept of dating but then as far and as long as I can remember,it has been this way.I havealways hated books which talk about the next step after people become friends...books which place flings at an emotional scale higher than friendship and bonding.For that simple reason,I find myself at odds with celebrated pieces of literature like "Five Point Someone".But it is not as if I am against love.I am not a misogynist.I am a sucker for "Romance "movies.I even like films like "Shakespeare in love" or saccharine sweet "Notting Hill"....

Contradiction?I used to think so too....

Not anymore though.Its the society which is hypocritical,not me...atleast I think so.Yes,I have got a problem with people hooking up just because its the "in" thing.But I have a greater problem with the society which accepts and actively promotes such kind of behaviour under the garb of tomfoolery like "guys will be guys" and "there is no place for love".

I have a problem with people who rave and rant about the piety of love and the divinity of the affair and then go buy Archies cards to profess their "divine" life.Who are so enamoured with the notion of "Hindi film romance" that they talk of lynching their lives just because someone has decided to move on with their life.I have a problem with a society which behaves with sickening morality when it comes to accepting homosexuality but bends over backwards in order to accomodate Greeting Card Day!A society which bars two men from looking at each other but has no problem with lewdness as long as it is perpetrated by a guy and a girl.

I might not fall in love.Not today.Not tomorrow.Maybe never.But if love exists in the form that I see it all around me...I am glad to be alone.It isn't love that I have a problem with,its what we have made out of it!!

Round the bend

Walking down the road with a friend,
I suddenly come across a bend...
I turn and don't find him there-
Searched for him everywhere,nowhere could I find;
Was he true,did he pretend...
Leaving me stranded on that bend?

We were so happy chatting.
Walking among the leaves cheerfully-
Perhaps life's like this,
The person you want the most
is the one you miss!

Maybe its a big journey,
You walk over and over again...
Be it shine or rain,
smiles or pain-

Every morning a new destiny,
YOU walk the stretch alone,
Yes you'll find friends...
Who'll disappear round the bend!

Smiles and memories,
The good time and the tears,
Yes,you'll share...
But you will leave it with the dust and walk ahead!

Tomorrow is a new day-
A different way!
A new pal to take you away...
To soar,to fly.....to spread yuour wings in the bright blue sky!!

And that is all I learnt,
while I stood stranded on bend...
Waiting for my new best friend!

I should have written long ago...indeed I have been planning to write for the past one month.But there was one thing which always stood in the way.The fact that I am terribly lazy.But not today!The giant has woken from his slumber to bore you people again.
I wanted to respond to Sinjini's tag long long ago but couldn't....
I am not much of a bibliophile but here goes...

Total number of books I own:

I am not really sure since they lie all around me and I never tidy them up but there must be more than twenty of them,I think.

Last book I bought:
Collected Short Stories of Chekhov

I am currently reading:
The Picture Of Dorian Gray(It was a Titash inspiration and I want to read it forever)
Note To Self:Should really get started on some of those course books.

3 books I started reading but never completed:
I am really ashamed for this...
Dostoevsky's Crime And Punishment
Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse
And lastly,a huge chemistry book that my mum had bought for me with the misplaced hope that I would be interested.


One book which I gave to somebody else, but never got back:
I don't generally give away books to such hopeless people so that has never happened.Or maybe it has and I have forgotten everything about it.

Total number of E-books I own:
I am afraid,none.I do read on the net occasionally but I do not like the experience.My eyes water and my neck hurts.Moral:Reading on the net isn't good for elephants.


My most treasured books:

Mrs. Dalloway...Virginia Woolf
The Harry Potter collection(They cost a fortune!)
Pride and Prejudice....Jane Austen
and every book in my home that I haven't read.


Who am I going to tag?
Quaint Murmur...I just hope she doesn't take as much time as me to respond!

PS-Titash...was that interesting?