7:30 Sharp

The two minute noodle take 10 minutes time .The instant coffee takes too many instants and the 30 min pizza hardly arrives in 60 min .And apparently time is money .I can only wonder what our economy would be if we learnt to be on time
Being "ontime" is a buzz word in media and corporate world which i used to encounter on daily basis .Againi i wonder if the guys compling dictionery should reconsider the meaning of this word
I was invited to a friend's wedding recently .The invitation requires my gracious presence 7:30 Pm sharp .so not to scare any body .i decided to go for a haircut and promptly reached the saloon by 6:30.The stylist was efficient i was done and ready by 7 pm.As i left the saloon , i noticed some one i knew getting an elaborate facial done Guess who?The bride ,Her presence at the reception hall was not to be felt until 9 pm
It's simply how we manage to be late with such consistency .It's an art we mastered and are transferring to the future generations
Being five minute is not a crime but consider this .we 're a billion indians .if each of us is late by just 5 minutes ,we are late as a country by 5 billion minutes ,I'll spare you the math but that's roughly 9512 years .Just imagine all we could do in so much time .

HISTORIC TRIUMPH OVER SOUTH AFRICA

I can't resist myself to write about the historic triumph that indians had achieved over south africa in Twenty20 world cup ,.Indians have a crucial match yesterday but the same moron feeling stucked in us that they can't win as mindblowing ecstatic form those south africans showed throughout the tournament.
So as usual we came to office without any preplanned notion that we have to watch the match , My roomate who was a movie as well as cricket freak was surprisingly very pessimistic that india can any how will make it to semifinals. After spending some 7-9 hours in office as a robotic life we infact i came back to home hoping that indians will bat first , and was eagerly waiting for the call from kuldeep my office(Droll), as lat as his call came i was half boozed , and after hearing the score , the only pinch of enthuasiam went off like a ash flew in a storm of socking news
Dada as usual make me believe that movie is the right option than to watch cricket, so hoping that some miracle could lead the indians to semifinals we started for movie , then suddenly again my droll friend called me up after an hour , we surprised , bewildered!!!!! Is this is the same team whom we thought can't win a single match in group eight now leading his way proudly to the semifinals as group topper ,we ran our bike to his house so that we can have a glimspe of this victory , but as soon as we reached there again southafricans were recovering and mood in our room was fluctuating like any thing , any how we were consoling each other that still only few overs to go , and our ecstasy found no limit as soon as india suprressed southafricans,,South africans worldcup jinx became india's luck we can say so.
But no body can deny the fact that indians have produced during this match,Really it seems that the CHAK DE INDIA was about to go on the field , HIP HIP HURREY Kudo's to indian team , A grand cheers to all indian cricket fans

MY 1st MEETING

When I first met Anandan I was struck with amazement at the whole world that he presented before me. He spoke of things I had never heard of; of dreams he had and willingly shared. He told me everything about himself and more. He tried to connect in a way I truly admire. I still remember that day as clearly as this moment. The time spent was probably a few hours but those hours presented a whole new world to me. Where I wondered and questioned myself and my true feelings for people I knew. It struck a strange cord when I tried to imagine things the way he did.
And that was when I asked myself why we stooped to adjust, to accept what we got without questioning the reason and without retaliating when we got what we did not deserve. I don’t claim to be chaste but neither do I claim to be a prostitute who chooses to be what she is. I say this because I do know people who are forced into the act at a young age, some who are fascinated and take it up voluntarily and others because they feel it’s the easy way out. A lot of value is laid on love and when I saw pretty woman for the first time I was intrigued. Because so many times we brush off so many people because of the life they lead or because of what they do. We set standards and try hard to reach there but do we really know what goes on behind that extremely beautiful, serene face of theirs.
Do I know for sure if what u feel is happiness and if your happiness is not going to be my unhappiness?
Do I seek pleasure in your pleasure or do I seek my own and cause you pain?
These are questions I ask myself time and time again. Do I live with you not knowing its you I live with or that pale shallow ghost of yours that your eyes betray?
Do I gain by giving you your will and accept it or do I let you know that it doesn’t work that way… It pains when u hold me too tight. But that pain is my pleasure. Do you know that? And knowing that can u accept it?
I had been through a phase in my life when I felt I made a wrong choice but i trusted that at the end of that experience I would find myself. And I did! I found what I was made of what I wanted from life at this instant. Rather I was living in the “now”… I meet people and I listen to them and sometimes I speak to them. With a few of them, I converse and those conversations I treasure…

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Parents are often called incarnations of God, creators and nourishers of life, embodiments of impartiality and love, etc- and for good reason too (Anybody who can bear babies' tantrums and unpredictable bowels deserves every word of praise the English language offers). Much is said about parents' virtues and their shortcomings. In general, parents are shown as being extremely loyal to their children in that a mother is supposed to dote as much on her rapist son as on her respected and upright son.But in this process of beatifying parents, are we denying them sentiments natural to common judgement?
In other words, are we justified in calling parents totally impartial? If you ask a parent with more than one child whether they hold one of their children in higher regard, you'd need Jonty's reflexes to duck under the flying vases. Their reply, ipso facto a no, is hardly ever objective. True, parents rebuke an erring child, but if all attempts fail, they are supposed to digest their faults with a bucket of salt and continue showering love on them.Undeniably, some people in the world are better than others.
A smart person is better than a fool. An intelligent person is better than a complete dud.But if parents have two children- one bright, smart, and talented, and the other, an unskilled and naive moron, they refuse to acknowledge child 1's superiority. Acknowledging this is not tantamount to buying him an extra ice-cream, so parents needn't fight to bog down a silent realisation.When we grow into mature adults with well-defined interests and whims, isn't it possible that our manner doesn't appeal to our parents.
If my father is allowed to bitch about a random reckless 24-year old, why can't he inveigh freely against his reckless 24-year old son (assuming that the son becomes reckless after his parents' parvarish and sanskaar, so that Ekta's characters don't say hamari parvarish mein hi koi kami rahi hogi)? Though responsibility might bind parents during their child's childhood, what stops them from dislking a 20-year old adult? Is it the pressure of society that inhibits them from making their displeasure public, or is it that parents are endowed with a you-shall-never-hate your-child gene?I'd love to get lie-detector tests done on parents and see how much of what I've is true. (At least some Hindi movies show parents disliking their children. Baghban was one; and haven't we heard meri kokh pe laalat hai some 3 dozen times?)

Varanasi- A Collection of Random Thoughts

My grandfather tells me of the age when three rupees was all it took to buy a month’s food. When I go home during vacations, I tell him people here need just a few more. Varanasi, in many ways, reminds me of my grandmother’s tales of villages and rivers, of subsistence and happiness, and of a life of undiluted peace and calm.
When the Sensex yo-yos, so does the pulse of the entire nation. Men are accustomed to having their heart, instead of food, in their mouth. Varanasi, though, remains calm. Men still squat on the road with their kulhar of tea and two samosas. FIIs can sell out all they want to, the Federal Bank can double its rates, Earth may be stripped from the list of planets, the Al-Qaeda may blow the country away if they like, Varanasi may be declared part of Pakistan- nothing will perturb the devotees of Baba Vishwanath who bathe in Ganga Mayya. (People do a lot more than just bathe in it. But the holy river’s supposed to give you relief from all kinds of pressure.)

Varanasi is a misfit in the popular image of North India- business-minded, profit oriented, selfish. While people come here to soak up some ancient mysticism, they also learn to love the city for the way it is- dirty, congested, pot-holed; all-in-all, an urban nightmare. They say the spiritual enlightenment one obtains here overrides petty concerns like lashing cow-tails, traffic, floods, etc. I haven’t reached that stage yet. I still positively detest Varanasi for its refusal to change- for its people’s reluctance to change- fearing possibly that the new wave will undermine their existence. They’re scared of the day when priests will preach online, when Ustad’s shehnaai will make way for Metallica, when sub-ways will replace samosas, and when Café Coffee Day will overtake chai-stalls.
The tourism department doesn’t mind this. Why should they spend to clean the shit foreigners love to smell? I’ll tell them why. I’ve met a number of people who’ve toured Varanasi once. They said they’ll never go there again. Cluttered dwellings, dusty roads, and crowded marketplaces look ‘natural’ and ‘real’ on TV. But when you’ve to eat a samosa at the pavement of that very market, the reality hits you. The revenues from tourism might be enough for the state to keep bulldozers away. Makeovers cost a neat packet, and UP isn’t the richest or the most thinly populated state in the country. Devotees will visit the temple even if they have to tunnel through mountains of dung and filth. But I am not a devotee. I am a resident of this unholy city, and I don’t want to tunnel through mountains to get to a vegetarian restaurant or to buy a bloody magazine.
There’s something here that strikes you at once as charming and naïve. Vendors don’t mind if you say you’re broke and will pay them later. It might be for a cup of tea; it might be for an entire meal. I am not talking about big restaurants, where professional etiquette goes hand-in-hand with customer mistrust. I am referring to the petty tea stalls for whose owners the money from a single meal goes a long way. Call this blind trust, call it stupidity, call it what you like. But it does shatter the myth that man has become a profit-making machine. If ever a motion is initiated to revamp the city, I’ll be its most vociferous supporter. But some things are better left alone.