400 Days of Summer

About romancing the City of Dreams, you say so much and still feel you haven’t said enough. This post means to barely touch the myriad shades that rendered my life in Mumbai. Summer because it was almost always so sultry here– both figuratively & literally.


When I first set foot in Mumbai, I realized there was more to the air of this place. Of course the pollution was more and so was the stench of fish, but I am referring to food for thought. The notion is that air in Mumbai is really the stuff dreams are made of; I wholeheartedly second it.
My 13-month stay in Mumbai has been very very hectic and between adapting to the new place, coping with both work pressure & the insane pace of this place as well as stealing time to let your hair down a bit, I am not sure how close to or further away I stand from my dreams. In the wake however, the city had too much to offer and I had the capacity to absorb, so we fit along well.

I remember how much I disliked Mumbai when I first came here as a tourist, and that’s the whole point. It is not a tourist place and you don’t take a thing back if you are a random rambler. Instead it’s a place to stop, camp and experience.
The fact is, you either absolutely love Mumbai or downright detest it. If you rate it mediocre, you haven’t got a story, good or bad and you desperately need one.

Either ways, you can go on filling pages about Mumbai, and they do it all the time. The idea is that there are so many sides to Mumbai that you can love and enjoy that you can altogether forget about the sultry weather, or the rough monsoons, or the stench of the fish, or the scenes that you remember from Slumdog Millionaire, or the locals or the reckless high-octane life.

No matter where your Mumbai-darshan begins, or how (remember the classic scene from Bollywood flicks using Victoria Terminus to tell it’s Mumbai), there are many threads that criss-cross and make up the fabric of a typical life here:

Mumbai moves at a break-neck speed and there is always a risk of you getting left behind. The pressure such a lifestyle creates is definitely taxing at first and it’s only a bit later you learn how this keeps you spirited on your toes. To me, dealing with this blinding rush was a wake up call from the moss I had gathered during undergraduate days followed by the six months of free food back home. I haven’t worked as hard in the last five years as I did in the first five months of moving here.

The megacity that it is, distances here are excruciatingly long; anywhere to anywhere takes hell of a time. So when you plan to meet up with a friend, you don’t say you are two kms away, you simply say it would take half an hour. Gradually, to keep away from painful commuting and endless waiting on traffic lights, you start limiting yourself to a Hiranandani or a Wadala or Vashi or if you are lucky, like I was, to Bandra!

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call Mumbai a Land of Opportunities(*1), and it has been so hectic here that many a times, the only 30 minutes I got to think about myself were when I was traveling back and forth between my office and place, in the ladies’ compartment of the Mumbai Locals.

Again, at first, the sight of the compartments seething with people can (or will) make you jittery and claustrophobic even before you board them. After the initial resentment and tantrums, you should ideally make peace with them. You are allowed to feel scared of getting in or off at Dadar, or taking a Virar train et al. But if you have even a morsel of art in you, these coaches can be unbelievably amusing. I think I would have seen all kinds of faces, human expressions, and characters from helpful to ruthless in few days time. Traveling at peak hours is bound to distort your idea of ‘personal space’ and you should be prepared for it.

Of people there is such polarity! Bankers, consultants, actors, dabbawallas and fisherwomen are all together in the melting pot that is Mumbai. Old Parsi couples, young Christian dames and just so many women robed in hijabs are a typical sight. Shah Rukh Khan might own a place on the Bandra seafront, but so do many slum dwellers further on Carter Road. There are these BEST buses; the Marathi conductor would harangue you for calling Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) a Victoria Terminus (VT), stop the bus and throw you off (*2). Then there are the uncountable Audis, Mercs and BMWs that smell testosterone and make you swoon. The local folks are really kind and helping though, but if you want to see the bitch inside of anyone, take the 9 AM local to work or the 6-7 pm local back home.

You’ll know that the city never sleeps when you come out of Firangi Paani at 12 midnight and you still see the Linking Road crowded as if it were 9 pm! Even if you walk out of PolyEsther, Gordon House, Colaba at 4 am, you have a hassle free way to get back and you wouldn’t miss your own car too much. And importantly for girls, this place doesn’t have the negative vibes of North India. I have without an ounce of fear returned back from office in wee hours of the day. In stark contrast, I would not dare to step out alone and unarmed, of Sarojini Bhawan after 12 midnight, or of my Jaipur home post 10 pm or after 7 pm if I were in Delhi/ Gurgaon. Not sure if Shiv Sena has any credit there to take!

By the way, women don’t just have it safe here, they are over the top! You can catch a popular species of them in action at a certain Vera Moda or Mango sale on Linking Road (mainly Bandra Chicks) or High Street Phoenix (assorted Mumbai chicks).
Girls: planning to catch up with your boyfriend at Phoenix on Sundays is a no-no; your boy might get too distracted, given the skimpy wardrobe of the uptown dames. Boys can take home the obvious message.

And like in any nice place to be, your lifestyle is dictated by where you live, eat and shop, and maybe how you talk.

Living (important): When you move here, you have lots of tantrums and you want to live life King-size. You start looking for a place in Andheri, to your dismay they are pigeon holes. And you start looking at apartments in and around Bandra, and you realize how shallow your pocket is. But you cannot get Bandra out of your head and you decide you will be okay living a paying guest and also sharing a room. And then you bend backwards, making a series of right compromises till you get lucky and find a nice place in Bandra. With this new found ‘You are here’ signboard, all your miseries fade and your life takes a turn for the better. You start loving your life in Mumbai. Because Bandra is where the action is. And Bandra is where you amongst other things fine dine.

Dining (Very important): Mumbai, especially Bandra is a delight for us foodies, with the variety and the class it offers. No wonder, when you are sitting at Salt Water Café, there is Soha Ali Khan on the next table, or Sri Devi and family on your right and Ekta Kapoor on your left at Café Indigo or Preity Zinta at Pali Village Café, or Mallaika Arora at (our favorite), Moshe’s. And if you feel like being yourself, you just walk into your friendly Eat Around The Corner. Or travel down South to Mondegar’s and the much-romanticized Leopold’s. Alternatively, you go to Taj at Land’s End to learn how much you still have to achieve or Hyatt to plain feel big!

Shoppers Paradise, for fashion is defined here! My mother and sister could spend whole two days only at Linking Road and around shopping stuff. If you are new, just remember, when those shop keepers flying-kiss or cat-call in their weird ways, they don’t mean any harm, they’re just seeking attention. Then there are the likes of Zara and other exclusive outlets and of course, there are so many malls too and you get bored of them soon for the lack of culture. Food to fashion, in general Mumbai is shit expensive. It’s unsustainable without enough money here; how much money is enough money, depends.
And you mind your tongue! I have been humbled many a times in restaurants when I tried saying something to the guy cleaning the floor in Hindi, only to hear him reply in very smooth English. I have understood that English is a rule in Mumbai and that Mumbai accent tells you apart. However, I wonder if the official language of communication in my office was Marathi or Bengali (and not English or Hindi).

And then when you are full of these things above, there are a thousand other things like theatre, gigs and stand-up comedy amongst others that keep you hooked to the city. If you chose to venture out, you could take a two-hour drive on the glassy tarmac to Pune. Or take a weekend off in the hills of Matheran (only remember that Nerul and Neral are two distinct stations). Or go take an evening jog at the promenade. And if you have nothing else on the list, you could just plain go explore a new eat-out.

Having said all that, I aimed to freeze every aspect of the city life in one snapshot for memory; didn’t really knowing how else to put so many things together under one title in a better way.

Last night after the rains, as I ambled along those beautiful Victorian-style tiled roads in Bandra, I could not help get nostalgic, how soon the past 13 months slipped away. And then I looked at all those charming apartments that tease you and make you want to own a place here. I knew I had so much to learn and earn and that a few sunrises later, I would be leaving Mumbai, for good.

The script introduces an Autumn after 400 days of Summer! Not sure if even the Spring of Bangalore would match what the summer of Mumbai had to offer. But I am hopen against hope and wish to make the most of the new place and the new life that awaits me.

So far, so long Mumbai. And thank you for all the fish.

References:
(*1) Courtesy Neerav Verma
(*2) Courtesy Vikesh, Rishabh

MANALI

Taking it to the Limit


Nothing seemed to motivate me enough to write ever since I moved home in January like watching Julie & Julia did.

So when we planned a trip to Manali last weekend, and kept handy the Outlook travellers’ Guide: 52 breaks from Delhi for 52 weekends for road maps and guides, I so wanted to follow this guide, just like Julie followed Julia’s recipes.

Though I have been to some of the 52 listed destinations, when I move to NCR I do plan to explore all the ones I still haven’t.

It’s Kullu-Manali to start with in the all-new ‘You know what I did last weekend’ series.

Jaipur to Manali via Delhi & Chandigarh:

If you are a neat driver and there are no jams, NH 8 can take you from Jaipur to Delhi in as less as 4 hours.

Delhi is separated from Manali by some 570 kms., typically a 12- 14 hour ride. Thankfully that morning, the Sunday sun was relatively less fierce, and packed in a Punto, the fun lied in getting my hands on the Times Crest edition (we in a lesser city like Jaipur get an under nourished newspaper even on Sundays), munching snacks, and taking naps off and on.

It takes just a glimpse of the first knoll to knock the sleep & perpetual hunger (for someone like me) out of your system to set your eyes glued to what lies beyond the windowpanes.

Once you set foot on the Himachal territory, with the meandering NH 21 with its ‘soft curves’ flanked between the rocky range on one side and the gushing River Beas on the other, you would never want to bat an eyelid. Beas sure is moody with its rapidly changing colors and flow from hyper swift - white; lazy sluggish - green to dirty muddy- brown and perhaps every intermediate shade. The Beas flirts with the highway all along, sometimes happy and few meters down, like almost singing in its ears, at others, sulking in the deep vale below.

We drove past Gobind Sagar Lake, the highest man-made lake and the Bilaspur Dam. The stream that had exposed the river bed in some areas, was shallow in some patches, and flushing with water in yet others actually owed its erratic disposition to the darn dam and left at mercy of the water released by the reservoir. Upstream the river was much well fed.

I remember how we asked a guy the directions for Mandi, and he actually started searching for it! May be, may be the awareness quotient will increase once they set up an IIT there. Mandi sure might beat Roorkee on the least number of eat outs, but the lovebirds wouldn’t have to actually search for hideouts to coochy-coo; just go out on the river bank or some hills, and get started. The superb weather of course will be a bonus.

En route Manali, 40 kms from Mandi you would be in total awe of a whooping 3km long tunnel, sure to make you feel like you’re taking the road to the City of Zion. The break from the evening sun seemed never ending.

Either I had a strong stomach or this route was not as steep as the one that takes you to Simla, or both, I did not even once want to throw up. All in all, everything to the left and right of me on the way to Manali was extremely breathtakingly exhilarating and an obvious respite from the sweltering 50 deg. C heat waves smoldering the Rajasthan sands.

The Stay:

Fortunately for us, the hotel we checked in to was nicely ensconced between Old and New Manali, so we could easily have the best of both worlds. Not to forget the wonderful deck in front, overseeing the towering Deodars beyond the Club house road (to Old Manali) and the apple orchards on the sides. And when my sister and brother-in-law took all the time in the world to dress up for the day, I spent a whale of a time in the Tibetan shop under the deck beholding the bronze artifacts. It is in this shop that I learnt to create ‘Om vibrations’ and more sounds with the Tibetan feng-shui bowls used for meditating and chanting.

I was also contemplating getting some property there, but when I learnt that Himachal Pradesh followed J&K (not sure what Thackrey’s have done to Mumbai) suit over laws pertaining to purchase of land. Guess I will have to put all my spare money elsewhere!

Most of the day one of our stay we spent at Van Vihar, dense woods sandwiched between the Beas and the bustling market place which was a nothing but a time waster. The most striking and integral element of the Manali landscape were the handsome Deodar trees that stood stark tall and at perfect 90 degrees from the ground, each one of them without an exception. Every time I saw one of these (and they were always in view), my [perv] mind resounded with only one word: Erect!

A Monastery with a-not- easy- to- remember name, a Manu temple & Hadimba temple [where I witnessed the Bali of a cock (A cock-hen I mean)] were some places they said were tourist attractions, but these didn’t ring a note with me.

In dearth of any place to explore in Manali local, we hitched a ride to Solang Valley, a haven for adventure sports; where we did nothing save watch people consummate their paraglide with crash landing. It was exhilarating to drive along the babbling brooks here and there, but nothing like it if it rains.

Think we made the same mistake that almost every tourist to hill stations does: walk the market place and then call the place boring. It should have been more about what’s outside rather than what was inside of the township called Manali.

The Food:

With quality below average palette priced way above average for someone like me who lives to eat, the plate was a huge disappointment. But of course, there always are cherries, strawberries (read aphrodisiacs), peaches, apricots and almonds to cover up, and I had plenty of these. I also ate Bhuttas after Bhuttas until I got pretty sick of them and could eat no more, and then since my mother was fond of them, I ate some more.

Plus, in my mother’s company, I had become quite a tea-oholic. She is to tea what most smokers are to cigarettes; always insisting the person sitting next to them to share the sip/ puff.

Admittedly, I was also very tempted to buy a bottle of Apple wine as a keeper (yeah yeah, not for myself, I HAVE quit drinking). But in the reign of my mother’s frowns, you obviously can’t think of laying your hands on anything that smells even remotely liquor.

To Rohtang:

Literally, ‘Rohtang’ stands for ‘a pile of corpses’.

The 51km serpentine stretch to Rohtang pass is controlled by the Border Roads Organization and is closed for public use every Tuesday for repair work. So when we embarked upon this jaunt on a Wednesday at 9 a.m., our cab driver told us that over 5,000 cars/cabs had already taken the drive to Rohtang since morn’.

The traveler bus we shared with few others was a 10 seater, with weird people. Like a Bong family, know how Bongs are, bellicose people who can never really fight but are capable of making the maximum noise. And a couple of Haddu couples, lousy men and dominating wives, both of them, making weird orgasmic sounds at the end of every sentence.

The steep ascent to Rohtang is typically characterized by blind curves with vehicles from opposite direction seemingly coming out of nowhere. It was amazing how the driver juggled between steering the bus and shuffling Bollywood tracks so well.

The mountain slopes in many places were covered in scattered jaded slate stones, which shone like nature has painted them a tint of silver. This after landslide image can most loosely be compared to a confused mind.

The fall from the cliff was a few meters at some places, and hey presto!, it turned into a mighty mighty fall the very next second. When I looked down the cliff, I could not see an inch of road between the wheels of our bus and the edge of the precipice, my heart was incessantly chanting no-no-no-no-no for a fear of the fall. The first 34 kms ride to Marhi was smooth, beyond which began the real trial. The next 17kms haul on a pockmarked road taught me what brain-rattling really meant, ‘coz I have never ever taken a bumpier ride than this in my life before.

Shaken and stirred, by the time we reached Rohtang, which looked like just another disappointment in the trip, we all had developed terrible headache and what not. It was sunny again and not cold at all! We so wanted to take pictures of us wearing snow coats and boots, but alas the heat!

Again, no adventure sports for us kids, in remose, a Bachendri Pal took birth in my mind and wearing no more than a thick tee, jeans and snow boots, I hitched a walk up the snow clad ground, to know what lay beyond the edge. The snow was not really hard set, rather thawing in the heat, and every time some of this ice crept into my boots, Holy Shit- Holy Shit- Holy Shit was all I could cry coz in the vast snowy expanse, there wasn’t really much I could do to remove the ice.

Some couples had taken the pain to climb the snowy slopes, away from the commoners to make out. Yeah like all of us have come all the way to Rohtang and have all the time to watch them kiss and hug (and then retch). Sometimes, couples are such silly people, My gawd !

The return from Rohtang left me badly tanned and after that super bumpy ride, I just wanted to drop dead, but when you are overtired, even sleep eludes you. Plus, I had such an overdose of Bollywood songs, my mind was so sodden, another song and my brains would have spill over.

A word of caution for the weak at heart, don’t look down the precipice, it is sure to blow you off your wits.

What I missed:

End of May, the weather was rather dry, and not juicy at all. That was a disappointment, ‘coz like some people, I like it wet (i mean the weather, strictly!)

Nearby destinations like Manikaran (For a bath in the hot water sulphur springs), and some locales in Kullu, we just rushed by.

At Solang, the haven for adventure sports, I wanted to try paraglide or zorbe, but mothers are like that, they can’t see their kids jump off the cliff or roll down the slope in a plastic sphere. We ended up taking a 15-minute very stupid cable car ride (that traverses 300m up and back) that was totally not worth 300 bucks per head.

For those who dote on chinkies, Manali really isn’t a place to be. I spotted only two smart chinkies there, and drearily the crowd was mostly Haddu tourists.

Old Manali is dotted with apple orchards and I did pluck a few little green ones from the border trees, but that desire of breaking into an orchard and stealing those green things remained virgin.

Furthermore, having read O Jerusalem and Exodus wanted me to have a taste of Israel.

There were firangs on Royal Enfield’s and Bullets all over the Old Manali, but from what I had heard, all I wanted to catch a glimpse of was Israelis biking all along, donning the ‘Juley’ tees indicative of their triumphant return from Leh.

Besides, I wanted a taste of Israeli delicacies, those Bruschettas, kochers etc. in the Hippies’ Haven, but my mother was so against experimenting with what she thought was unpalatable food. I do however plan to ride (pillion) a bike sometime and live the Hippy way.




Parting note:

The sun had tanned us bad in the three days we spent there, but Manali bade us adieu with a shower and cloudy skies. Never during our three-day stay in Manali did I find the place so engrossingly beautiful as the day we were leaving. The exit from Manali via Jagatsukh kept me head turned back, for leaving a nice cool holiday spot to be back in the scorching 50 degrees Celcius isn’t a great thought. Yet more adventure lay ahead with me taking a damn important call on the Highway in the backdrop of HMVs revving engines and poor audibility !!!

My eyes fixed on the landscape; I dozed off only when the trees, waterfalls and a few random settlements on the hills started to smudge into a huge continuous silhouette, which later became one with the dark skies behind.

There is always some charm about hills; I did leave Kullu Valley and all its picturesque scenes embedded in my memory, however there are some places that leave you with a promise of coming back, Pragpur in Kangra Valley is one!

That’s another story though, and just for record, Pragpur is a place to explore with a ‘friend’ (not family) who can walk indefatigably!

Epilogue:

The last day, I stole sometime to spend at Tusita Book Store, Old Manali (perhaps the only one in Manali). Browsing through the shelves, I involuntarily drifted towards ‘The Maximum City’. I almost think that it’s going to be an upcoming read with me. It was a sheer coincidence that day ‘coz Mumbai happens to be my next destination and I hope to know a lot about what lies in and around Mumbai.

As for me, guess I have been smitten by wanderlust.

And as a signboard on our way back from the hills read: There’s a lot waiting to be explored!



General Caution:

Never-Never-Never-Never-Never tag on with a couple on a trip.

Blackwords Backwards

Deep down, everyone has a queer bone.
Not ‘that’ queer, and not ‘that’ deep down.

Basically, I am referring to the morsels (often more than that) of lameness, dollops of oddities and soupcons of idiosyncrasies that make us ‘us’.

One such, until recently, latent quirk in me has been surfacing and resurfacing. I would have always done it sub-consciously but am sure I’m quite possessed by this habit of reading backwards.
Like reading the last page of the newspaper first thing in the morning (even before the daily horoscope or headlines, imagine!!!), reading the editorial bottoms up (bottom to top column on the page), reading magazines starting from the last page, picking the clues for a crossword from the lowest and lately the books I have been picking up, by some cosmic interference, happen to be written as discrete stand alone chapters, giving me all the freedom to read them from the last chapter to first.

What runs in the undertone consciously, unconsciously or sub-consciously I think is the fear of not being able to reach the last page, or leaving things unfinished.

As a kid, I had even developed a penchant to sing songs backwards (For instance, Tum paas aaye... was matu sapa yeaa..)Totally weird and I have no reason to cover up for this!
Thankfully, I still walk straight, look straight and am straight (unlike popular opinion) but some things are definitely worth more than a grin.

Not that I’m from the Benjamin Button lineage, but the way Woody Allen pictures how he wants his next life to be is quite a read-
Starting out dead ->collecting your pension and getting to work -> enjoying your retirement -> partying and boozing -> play like a kid sans responsibilities -> get born -> spend the last 9 months in a spa with central heating and room service and then Voila! Finishing off as an Orgasm !!!

Love Aaj-kal

Hardly could I tell his ulterior motives when he used to don his flashy new orange jacket and call upon me fishing for compliments. I never ever would have thought he wanted to impress me.
Was I a fool to not deduce his intentions behind flaunting the bright red Merc he owned?
Was it because I occasionally gave him a peck or hugged him?
All I know is I was flabbergasted when I learnt he claims me to be his girlfriend and also expresses his wish to espouse me (I appreciated his guts though, to confess this to his parents)
But like many stories, this ‘love story’ has a twist too.
Which goes thus:
Our lover boy is a two-and a half-feet- 4 year-old –something.
His love dates back to that fateful morning when he was wailing loud; didn’t want to go to school and I with all my magnanimity picked him up and brought him home to watch Tom & Jerry till it was time for his school cab to pick him.
Next time he came with his red toy car, and his Lilliput orange jacket, and that innocent smile, I was not to be caught unawares; I declined to be a victim to his selfish ‘love’ and told him Cartoon Network has not been broadcast since the night before.
The motor mouth that he is, called me a liar, shoved me behind and rolled on the love seat in our drawing with the remote without giving me another look!
Ever since he’s realized how easy it is for him to get into my house, he just comes, this chit of a boy, hops onto the sofa, and doesn’t give me more than a damn! And I watch him like some Abalaa Naari.


Guys do take their girlfriends for granted after some time, but this one’s learnt it pretty early in his life!

Aye Captain !!

When I learnt about sports inculcating values viz. team spirit, leadership, courage and the likes, I thought these things are best said in only and only textbooks. That was back then when I was not even remotely related to sports.
To claim that I’m a changed person due to basketball or that one can clearly judge the temperament of a person just by seeing him/ her play a team sport, I don’t think would be an exaggeration.

I missed participating in the recently concluded Inter IIT tournament by whiskers. I was gloomy for days together for it was the last chance I had to play as a team (hope not), we looked pretty good as a team, and personally, I take the liberty to state that I had worked hard on my game. I could only bid my team off to Kanpur with all my luck.
It didn’t work though and we lost in the semis.

The real thing goes thus: I went around asking just everyone the reasons behind our loss. There were some who threw all the blame on just everyone and everything around, one sweetheart who accepted her faltering (it was her first time on the court and you cant really blame a novice).

All answers apart, I had a real long chat with Roopali, our captain.
I could only feel proud of playing in her team when she explained how we sank as a team, how it was about our morale and how we could have dealt better. When I probed her about individual performances, it was only accolades she had to give to the team.

Seniors love juniors, but for reasons more than one, Roops is one junior I respect as much as love! People like her have a lot to teach to commoners.
Looking back, I’m simply glad I played basketball, especially for an amazing coach like Jagat Sir, and with simply amazing people like our very own captain, and for all the wonderful people who I am friends with now, thanks to the sport.

“Basketball is a privilege”—Coach Ken Carter.
Rightly said!!
And to our Captain, Love you and hats off to you.

NEURAL NETWORKS

Neural networks:
Its one of the subjects they teach some engineering branches. I haven’t studied that; I am only remotely an engineer.
I’m content learning it’s got something to do with our neurons and the way our nervous system works (and then they deploy it to the electrical world)…
But that’s exactly what I am not arriving at.

I learnt in one of those basic architecture classes (A minuscule percent I remember, of the teeny weeny bit that I learnt of the vestiges we were taught), the Gestalt’s law, which states, “Whole is greater than sum of its parts”. Simply put, one and one sum up to something more than simply 2…
And that’s exactly what I am trying to arrive at!

That WYSIWYG is a flawed prophecy. That our brains are more that just a culture of gray cells. That’s why we don’t just hear, but listen too! And there’s this something that makes our little brains work in the most twisted ways…

Like feeling blue should have no strings attached. There should be no reason to be happy about being sad…Once upon a time I couldn’t tell this difference.

I think I thought I was poetical when I wept and I knew not why! And those sad leave-me-alone days made me happy; I felt human and deep. I think that was being schmaltzy.

Off late, Hyde’s, Barney’s, Cartman’s, Harris’s and the likes have become the ‘IN” people, being detached makes me happy with my self and cynical fits means I’m just fit for this world.
Breaking down is a sin and weakness is abhorred. Until something very logical puts you to tears, that is.

Until last night… when I cried. And I cried differently! ‘Coz to my surprise, once again, I knew not why!

Was I human again…or was I that stupid little self! Nevertheless, I was glad I had some morsels of sentiments left inside me. Those flowery words returned to me and I felt like Shakespeare…

Okay let’s get real. That’s what I told myself when I realized this weird manner my brain had started to function in.
I did a quick let- me- check round late last night and Alas!!! I knew exactly what oozed those saline streams from my tear glands.
Humanity left me only as fast as it had returned to me!! Thankfully so…
I ain’t no poet and if that concerns anyone, I’m just fine… I still love Hyde and Barney and Cartman and Harris too. (And I love to eat)

All I know is if you think you love to cry, don’t; It doesn’t help… tears are just your body’s mechanism to flush your eyes clean and your sentiments are being duped.
If you think, drinking your heart out helps, I warn it doesn’t until you have a wonderful friend sitting across from you and listening to your endless pains.

I think I just understood what Angelina Jolie says through her one of the tattoos:
What nourishes me destroys me.

GAME OVER

That's my final year thesis acknowledgment:

MY FINAL YEAR THESIS HASN’T BEEN JUST A COG IN THE WHEEL OF MY LEARNING PROCESS. THIS SEMESTER AND THE ONES THAT LED TO IT HAVE BEEN THE MOST HAPPENING, MEMORABLE AND LEARNING EXPERIENCES FOR ME. AND AS I LUNGE FORWARD TO CLEAR THIS ULTIMATE HURDLE OF MY UNDERGRADUATE RELAY, I CANNOT NOT EXTEND AN HONEST AND DEEPFELT GRATITUDE TO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN AN INEVITABLE, INSEPARABLE PART OF MY LIFE HERE.
I’D LIKE TO THANK:
MY MOTHER, MY SOURCE OF STRENGTH AND NEHA, THE BEST SISTER IN THE WORLD. WHATEVER I AM OR WILL EVER BECOME, I OWE IT ALL TO YOU, YOUR PERPETUAL LOVE AND FAITH.
LT. COL. A.K. SRIVASTAVA SIR AND SUDHA AUNT FOR ALL THE LOVE AND IMMENSE CARE I HAVE RECEIVED FROM YOU. YOU'VE BEEN MY PARENTS HERE.
PROF. S.Y. KULKARNI, HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT, FOR HIS SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT THROUGHOUT OUR CURRICULUM.
PROF. R. SHANKAR, MY THESIS GUIDE, FOR HIS GUIDANCE AND INPUTS AND FOR SHOWING ME THE WAY.
ROHIT DINKAR: YOU HAVE BEEN A PERENNIAL SOURCE OF MOTIVATION FOR ME. NARUTO, T.T., BILLIARDS, INTERN AND THESIS, I OWE IT ALL TO YOU. I CONFESS, IT’S FROM YOU THAT I HAVE LEARNT THE ART OF LEARNING. THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, DINKY SIR. THANK SIDHHARTA FOR ME :p

STUTI, MY (CO-) GUIDE: THE COPY CAT, THE PERFECT BLEND OF CHARM, INTELLIGENCE, POISE AND PERFECTION; YOU’RE AMAZING TO TALK IT OUT WITH. FEW PEOPLE I LOOK UP TO, AND UNDOUBTEDLY YOU ARE ONE OF THEM. P.S.: KEEP UPDATING ME WITH YOUR LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF ( ). I’M SURE YOU’D LOOK GREAT ON HALLOWEEN.
HARIBANI: THE UNSAID BOND WE SHARE, A LOT OF IT I OWE IT TO YOUR EXTREMELY AFFECTIONATE AND WELCOMING CHARM. NEEDLESS TO SAY, I’M ONE OF THE CONTENDORS FOR THE ‘TOP SLOT’... THOUGH THE FIRST THREE PLACES ARE RESERVED!
THE ENTIRE 2T- BANI FAMILY, ALL THE BACHCHIS SHACHI, SHAFQUAT, SEEP, KRATI FOR THEIR TIMELY HELP AND AFFECTION.

MOST LOVING THANKS TO EACH MEMBER OF MY BASKETBALL TEAM...IF BASKETBALL HAS BEEN MY PASSION; YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN THE FUEL THAT KEPT ME GOING.
ROOPALI, KHYATI, PRATIMA, RIDHIMA, MIRANDA, GURSHEEN, KRATI, AND ARTI: YOU ARE MY FAMILY AND ANYDAY BETTER MODEL MAKERS THAN I CAN EVER BE. I LOVE TO BASK IN YOUR LOVE.
THE MODELS WHO MADE MY MODEL: RASHMI (BY THE WINDOW) AND RAJSHREE (BY THE DOOR): I’M REALLY LUCKY TO HAVE YOU FOR MY FRIENDS. YOU DESERVE THE BEST IN LIFE.

LOKESH BABA & SIMER FOR SO MUCH CARE, ON AND OFF THE COURT; AND THE ENTIRE BASKY GANG FOR THE FUN FILLED GAME AND CHAPOS THAT FOLLOWED.
PRATAP, MY ALTER EGO, KNOWING YOU WAS LIKE KNOWING ME BETTER. THANKS FOR BEING THERE WHEN I NEEDED SOMEONE THE MOST. I HEREBY ADVOCATE YOU ‘NOT A SUMDA’. THOU ART AWESOME AND I’M SO GLAD I CAME TO KNOW YOU.

JAGGI, FOR GIVING ME ZIGNDOG AND THE IMMENSE WEALTH OF KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE I’VE RECEIVED FROM YOU.
SANAT: CAN’T STOP SMILING WITH YOU AROUND. YOU’RE A WONDERFUL, EXTREMELY BRIGHT AND TALENTED BOY. YOU HAVE HEIGHTS TO SCALE.
VIKESH: I’M GLAD YOU SPOTTED ME IN THE CROWD AND MADE ME FEEL SO SPECIAL. YOU BROUGHT ME UP EACH TIME I WAS LOW. I’D WAIT TO WATCH YOU PERFORM ON STAGE! MAKE THE BEST OUT OF THE GENIUS THAT YOU ARE.

ANUNAYA: I’M ADOPTING YOU MY KID. YOUR ‘INNO’-CENCE CHEERS ME UP.
I’M EXTREMELY LUCKY TO HAVE AMAZINGLY CARING FRIENDS AND GUIDES IN
KHUSHAL: YOU'VE ALWAYS ENCOURAGED ME.. I WISH I WAS AS AMAZING A FRIEND TO YOU AS YOU'VE BEEN TO ME
SAGUN: THANX FOR ALWAYS BEING BY MY SIDE, I CAN'T ASK FOR ANYTHING MORE.
ARJUN: I NOW KNOW WHY THEY CALL YOU PAPA. I ALWAYS TRUST YOUR ADVICE AND MORE THAN GLAD TO HAVE U FOR MY FRIEND
ANISH: MY RE-DISCOVERING MYSELF STARTED IN YOU. I OWE IT BIG TIME TO YOU. THANX FOR BEING HONEST IN YOUR OPINIONS AND BOOSTING ME UP AT ALL TIMES.
SHAYAK: WISH YOU ALL THE HAPPINESS IN LIFE
AVLOKITA MA’AM: THE IDEAL LADY, YOU ARE MY ROLE MODEL.
FARRU, IN MY DREAMS I SEE YOU’RE HAPPY SOMEWHERE AND I KNOW ITS TRUE.
ALL MY CLASSMATES FOR BEING A WONDERFUL & TALENTED LOT RIGHT SINCE DAY ONE THAT I KNEW YOU ALL FROM.
NOT TO FORGET
GAUTAM MIDHA: YOU’RE ONE PERSON I REALLY RESPECT. THANKS FOR BEING MY BEST FRIEND AND STANDING BY ME THROUGH MY THICK AND THIN. I HAVE GROWN AS A PERSON UNDER YOUR PATRONAGE; AT LEAST I LIKE TO PUT IT THUS. I WISH I WERE AS SMART AS YOU ARE. NEVERTHELESS, I WILL GET A HARVARD LAW DEGREE SOMEDAY TO BEAT YOU AT ARGUMENTS, UNTIL THEN YOU CAN WIN WITH ALL YOUR RATIONALITY. REMEMBER, ISHWAR IS ALWAYS BY YOUR SIDE, AND WITH THE MID(H)AS TOUCH... YOU HAVE WAY TO GO.

AND MOST OF ALL, THANK YOU, GOD, FOR ALL THAT I HAVE, I TOTALLY TRUST YOU WITH YOUR PLANS SET FOR ME, AND I KNOW THE BEST IS YET TO COME!