Happy Deepawali.. !!

hey distant deepawali celebrator, I am gonna take your ears off and fuck you,

if you burst that loud hydrogen sutli atom bomb again..

my son is of six months old and that loud sound is not safe for his ears..

I will drop him to a safe place and will come back to you.. lets play sutli in ass... bosDike..

* if you are not aware of the game, ask the guys in my neighborhood.*

You exist... you still do...

"mar jaata agar mein tab hi

to teri yaad shaayad jawaan rehti

tujhe chahta nahi hoon mein ab bhi

bas teri ankhe kamzor kardeti"

   

Each line I write is an insult

To all that I think, for all that you are

More I delete less I write

Of time that tells, now pay me

It’s the dark that shines not the light

It wasn't love either, or may be

All that I wish about you

Is the very fact that you exist, you still do

Detonating mind…

The Fortune..

- a tribute to M Murphy.

as it is

Selfish

Freedom

Shobha

legend

isTe

The Silence

The Actual

High Pitch

Palette

I had to.....

No, He is waiting

shut up is what all i say

to your eyes that enter in

even before i know

hmm, its wrong but..

its something that I..

He is waiting i said..

Yea, He is..

I conceal my word

at your care in cover

the knot to this bird

of nature that we alter

I stay silent and I talk

it just be the way it is

not breathing the mock

but a stifle at ease

he needs me I believe

I wanna stay and I leave

like the way I hate what i think

to be a piece for your ink

I smile and I cried

it will not move and it may

like a parking ride

This is wrong, i again say

She is waiting

don't reply the way you don't

the ring that is in,

of her, it shines and it Cut

at you-the outsider within

Yea I am.. But..

can I be true to myself or..

continue to mock to meet the society on what it bothers

I can't ! but what for?

you? me? or others?

Breathing for the life of them

the water is mine, not the tree

and kill what I am

is this what I need from me..

The more she adds the more I lack

with an honest effort to somehow like, I tell

The more I try the more I move back

I don't like her, I Yell

can I be able to tolerate it

Yea.. You will I think

with a frank hope of you should not

The possessiveness of being honest

is what makes me... forget it

No Others, I ought

receivers of an unknown sperm of thought

A crop in this weed

is what all I need

to their 'base' of think, I germ

a futile another eject of sperm

Sharanabasaweshwara maharaj ki.....

A fresh air breathing in the old nostrils, with the ever clean brittle rhythms of broom sticks moving back and forth of the daily dirt, and a shout ‘get up’ disturbing the dusts of my ear.

‘I don’t wanna come, there is nothing that excites me’ – I said

Don’t come, just drop us there, it excites us neither. And as always, The Engineer accepted the driver cap from all my family members to drop them to ‘Sharanabasaveshwara Jaatri’.

My vehicle protested to carve ways in the randomly moving private vehicles and zig zag moving teen age DON’s modified bikes with their above human audible red- grill horns, the group of auto rickshaws with 60-70 kmph speed with their stops in the middle of this heavy traffic inviting the waiting passengers – maarkeet maarkeet!!!! With my grandfather guiding me on my driving on this road where I have traversed some 1000000 times, keep left, drive slow, over take only from right, give hand signal while you turn, hey! There is a speed breaker....

My clean vehicle smirked to get itself parked in the parking lot that looked like a scribbled page of a lad of five. I walked with them as a body guard in jaatri, a thick cloud of dust started resting and forming a multi-layered film on the hefty drizzled sweat of my body engendered from the smiling late evening sun’s boiling temperature of 40 degree Celsius. The ‘ Har ek maal pandraa (15) Rupaye’ kinda stalls that growled with their high intensity customer attention – ‘baRRi baRRi.. jaldi baRRI’, The sugar cane juice stalls with highest possible volume of the songs from the tape recorder with dancing lights embedded, ‘ hadd se bhi zyada tum kisise pyaar nahi karna’, jeeta tha jiskeliye, ‘dheere dheere se mere zindagi mein aana’, kitna haseen chehra kitni pyaari aakhe’. The photo frame stalls that had all kind of photos, katreena framed in wood of 15 Rs, Salman portrayed inside a paper wrapped glass, Shah Rukh could only get some space on the cloth wall supported by a single nail of iron, but a special decorated 3D photo frame gathered most of the customer attention for it showed Goddess Laxmi, Saraswathi, and Ganesh from front, left, right views respectively. The loud screaming men for the sales of their ‘Channabasaweshwara ChuDaa’ engrossed me for their originality. While my eyes moved over these stalls and shops my body stirred into the gusty flood of mob giggling around, voicing their paper horn, teasing the dames who had eyes as dull as dusk bordered by their brown lashes that were lightened by the torrent of dust molecules, the dresses designed by the local tailors with absurd blue jeans with some over shining road silver pearls over the front left and back right pockets to match the shirts that had shades of chrome yellow with a flower embroidery, to wrap the bodies that were as straight as an ideal national highway road, yes with almost negligible speed breakers!.

In this difficult situation, my stomach with its frank hunger ordered my obedient brain for the obvious.

Kaisa bhai, phalli ? – I asked

10 Rs, 100 grams – he said.

Arre bhai, saadaa phalli, 30Rs/Kg milta - I bargained…

Jahaan miltha hein, wahi se le lo phir… - he slapped

I gave him 10 Rs and purchased 100 Gms !!!

My right hand dived inside the pocket in haste, firmed few nuts and threw in air; the capriciously rotating, over an unknown axis, salted nuts formed a queue in air in the direction of my mouth in defiance to the gravity. My lower and upper hungry tooth eagerly waiting for nuts, to come in between them, like a desperate couple wanting to get divorced.

I continued my bodyguard duty standing at the exit of the ‘haRR ek maal, pandRa rupai’ stall waiting for my aunts to come back from their lady shopping. The very dust-comfortable people holding hands of their small kids and shouting at the elder kids not to run and consoling their naughty kids who were protesting for every single item in jaatri, people who made very clear to others that they were uncomfortable and were new to these kinda substandard fests, and those who purchased every single item, those who window shopped the open shops.

My hanker for enjoying the Jaatri was taken away as a charge against my sin of growing up...

I stayed silent for I looked very small in front of all this.

I remember them all.... and they...

NO Priya, this isn’t suiting the occasion, the color is bright as a happy hike mail, the pale green curves of the template cannot be used for all occasions, the background isn’t dark, ok Rachna I will ask Ranjeet to change this accordingly, but how did all that happen???...

Neha was busy scripting the mail of 'Ignore Apply for Leave' and sat bemused by the talks of Rachna and Priya.

Nithesh had the news in his mind and his words stammered while he talked to the candidates over phone losing his usual fluency, zeal and command over language. He remembered his constant hanker for my hinDi ( groundnut chutney) which I promised to get from my next home trip.

Hi all,

We regret to inform you all about the sad demise of our colleague Mr. Shivakumar SD this morning. Please assemble at the B wing at 10 AM for a condolence meeting. May his soul rest in peace.

Regards,
Team HR

People did not care the errors the mail had scripted itself to explain all that I was not – hardworking, smart, professional, and all that. Vinuttha reading this mail in her feminine shock and concern, a quick recall of her feeding lunch, her anger at my last few morsels unattended, my arguments, my take on perception, human mentality, objectivism, wrapped her thoughts before she turned to Sudhanva who ran short of his silence, his face not revealing the paining shock of the loss of the independent candidate in his government, his silence screaming out, of loss, his brain wept analyzing the series of data collected by his thoughts. Vidhya was numb like a kid that just saw her brother left for his boarding school after the summer vacation. She talked to Vinuttha and Sudhanva for a while and called Sanoj for the obvious reason.


Laxmi dropped her big lunch box the moment the news trickled down to her brain, she sat anesthetized, she just didn’t speak. My mime of woow woow woow with my hands held high with end fingers curled to take a shape of cat limbs...reminded her.... her tears smiled in cry for she lost me – the only human being who almost matched her height. Avinash threw his chair and rushed to his stress mitigating habit. He smoked 3 in a row. He voiced nothing nor silenced anything. He along with Badri gathered with Laxmi and Vishalaxmi. They did not discuss and their silence argued. Nitendra joined them. ustad hodaa said Badri in grim voice of distress. His voice revealed his tears. Ravikumar rushed in.Tanveer said bunching all his grief into a sack of one word -- Nouna... ( Shit.. !!!)

Puttu, Kiran, Satish gathered at our bay, there was noise and kiran did not complain. They voiced some usual stuff that people usually talk when one die. – He was a clever, a serious, and all that. Balaji forgot his daily quote and did not care his care. Varun, Jeevan, Anita, Ravin followed him.


Lokesh came at 11 AM carrying Pooja on his bike, shouting at the BMTC bus driver who smooched the break in passionate lust in the middle of fast moving traffic. Lokesh entered office with his usual witty smile. His brain did not respond to the news he heard. He was terribly taken aback, he shouted ‘I just spoke to him yesterday night’ – He couldn’t believe what he heard. He was hurt and his body language showed it all. He blamed everything that he thought was the reason for my death. He left office to run his new wheels straight to my house.

Pooja stood, as a reward to the place below, the exaggerated fragility of her presence against the sky--flaunted the fastidious coolness of the gardens and entrance door from which she came. She had no annotations even in her furtive peace. She spoke no word (an unknown relief from no victim). Project work enveloped her, she paused for a sec, saw the ‘time’ and……. Continued with the work.. Vinya read the mail again and recalled the editing I had once done to her article in GRANTHA, her face advertently forgot her usual smile this time.

Sastry ponderously pronounced a mail on me and Time like Ellsworth M. Toohey. Anu was innocently happy for a moment, for his brain thought that I have resigned and have taken an editorial job, and then the parachute of his creative brain landed in the reality of thick wild forest of life making him feel as the rest and walk towards our bay. While he walked, he looked down to watch his feet crushing a surface that responded, gave way and conceded faint prints to be left behind. Zakir felt the death of an enemy warrior on the other side of war field – a war in which we were invited to fight nothing. And he wasn’t happy. Deepak Alur – a man who has the silent contempt in the shape of his mouth; the planes of his gaunt, hollow cheeks; the cold, pure brilliance of the eyes that had no trace of pity. A face that was the abstraction of strength made visible making every girl feel, a convulsion of anger, of protest, of resistance--and of pleasure, was talking to his calm and strange feeling of loss flavored his words of no sound.

Govind was unavailable for his comments.
And the rest enquired who exactly Shivakumar SD was, and they signed an obituary in return to the person who they got the information from. It read... RIP (Rest in Peace).

And the day ends.

I purchased life and I paid...
as all others even I died..

The new day, the fresh air, the soothing touch of heaven from the rays of young morning sun, the husbands, the mothers, the fathers, the siblings, the boy/girl friends, the care takers, the intellectuals, the night romeos, the physical pleasure, the family tensions, the complexity in the requirements, defeated me and my death...

The people I did not meet and those I did, I don’t regret...
I remember them all.. and they forget..

Zzzz....

At the deepest hour of 4 30 AM, I found myself dead in sleep, saar ready naa? (sir, are you ready?), voiced my phone converting the said analog words of my cab driver to digital first and then analog human audible voice. I attended the call and died again.. My educated brain then forced my uneducated part of it to wake up and get ready. I wrapped myself with green stripe sweater, collared out with a white shirt inside, the traveling bag to look pertinent for the trip, the floaters to add to the sweatered decency. All these were my room mate’s deliberate choice and effort to make me look decent unlike always. Saar ready naa? voice rushed out again from my phone. I carried myself to the inside of the cab and died again, with a blurred ba bye to my friends. Half a KM from Blore Air Port, the conscious inside asked me ‘loafer ticket tandi??’ (Loafer, did u get the ticket??), my hands responded to my conscious and quickly dived in my pocket to get the happy news and made it reach My brain which in turn passed a smiling signal to my lower lip. I tried a coffee to make me come alive again after the formalities of ticket checking, luggage clock, revealing the gate number of the flight. The experience from the point of getting the gate number to boarding the flight was beautifully unknown so I cannot pen that (I mean, I slept off ).

Stepping in, I showed no sign of nervous though those were first ever steps of mine inside a KF Travels, I was shocked to see two lady like structured heavily tarnished with cream colored cream, framed by the sharp cuts of eye brows, eye lashes, tip of the hairs back, and falls of 15-20 blunt cut hair from the heights of their forehead to the upper end of their nose, the color red sprayed over their sheet of cloth and on pieces of their lips; at the entrance of the travels. I had once seen these structures in my childhood days in Durga fests. I risked almost deciding to bow my head and touch their feet for their eternal blessings. Jhor se bolo.... JAI MAATA Di...

I dragged out one side of the seat belt and inserted inside the female part of its other end, till I felt a sign of firm and comfort. I looked out for a probing learn, and then unknowingly started waiting to know who is gonna sit next to me, with a boyish hope of seeing a gal. In this wait of mine, I was unwittingly defeated and conquered by my sleep, I forced my eyes to open to see the plane moving, the first thing that I did was to see who is next to me. There was an area of 2*2 sft, with its belt open, designed for comfort of the passengers, and was the confirmation to my hope that no one is gonna sit next to me. My Sleep started its exultant again, then a lady melodious voice of ‘Sir, how are you’ flowed in my ears making me start fighting with my sleep. The Air hostess started her profession of gratuitously talking to the passengers. There was an ARMY old man sitting on the window seat of the next seat of my row. They both started the tête-à-tête like a flight on fire, ‘I used to do this’, ‘I used to run with those weights’ twisted a male voice and ‘ohhh that’s nice’, ‘ohhh that’s so cute’ , ‘ha ha ha ‘, types whispered the typical lady accent of the Air Hostess. This chat made me sick and my half death started bringing in more assets to surmount my other half life I had.

She said - Sir, are you from Blore? I said - No

She asked - Hyderabad for a business trip? I replied - Yes

She enquired - How long have you been in Blore. I answered - 3 years

She revealed – I am basically from Blore. I Smiled

She then said – My father is in ARMY. I smiled

She continued – kai kui kai kui kai kui….

I said, I m sorry I m very sleepy. She smiled J

I then capitulated completely to my sleep and it was again a beautiful unknown experience.

Ticket Ticket...

Thanks to Mr. Pradeep singh kharola, the then managing director BMTC, who brought in a unique procedure to recruit 640 conductors in the year 2001. `the optical mark scanner (oms),' system was introduced to bring in transparency in the recruitment process and reduce the laborious work that the officials went through while screening the applications, listing the merit chart which were generally done manually. This new system was a totally computerized one and the BMTC had designed the project in such a way that the information provided by the applicants was fed into the computer through a scanner, which subsequently created a database about the list of candidates, their marks and roster.

But how transparent and anti-corrupt is the system?

The conductor of the BMTC (Bangalore Metropolitan Transport Corporation) is a result of struggled, heavily bribed, dreamed process.

How stupid, these aspirants are, to hanker for a post of conductor in Bangalore that offers a salary of just 10-12k pm serving probation period of 1 year that offers a pay of just 6k pm!

He is expected to bribe the officials in order to be made permanent and get a salary hike to make it reach a mark of 12k pm.

He, the conductor, has to bribe the depot ticket checker a total of around 3 thousand Indian rupees per month, in order not to get registered any deliberate foul play cases against him. They call it a membership. One has to first get enrolled and then become a member to be part of this internal bribe payment service. This is not the end of bribe, the sole soul of Indian Economy!

Our conductors are of course not fools. Why would they bribe to join, to be made permanent, just to roam in around the carbon flavored Bangalore city? Of course not, what they get in turn?

He receives a horde of used tickets every morning from the depot in-charge who collects them from the daily bus cleaners, needless to reveal the reason as to why these used tickets are collected.

But don’t hastily conclude your judgment of opinion, as there is still more to come.

You might have noticed in times you receive the ticket with a number equal to that of the change the conductor supposed to pay you back. This is because, when you show him the ticket to get back your money, He takes that ticket back and gives you the change. His taking back of your ticket go unnoticed. In this process of give and take, He earns your ticket fare.

This is still not the end of His earnings.

The bumper lottery is when the passenger traffic is more, this is where exactly, the depot bus allotter’s role comes in, who is generally a 12th pass (may be max a degree holder or may be not) and needless to say from the backward class of the caste system in Indian Community, who allots the route to our conductor in return of the hefty collection from each individual conductor ( 10K per month from each conductor ). By these kinda simple route allotment tactics the allotter earns nearly around 1-2 lakhs per month! Now think of times when you proudly thought, ‘its time for me to settle down, I earn 30 thousand per month’.

The route is generally of the types where laborers commute, they generally commute in a group of 8-15 at once, from one corner to another corner of the city. Considering a ticket fare of 15 , a total of 120 – 225 Rs is the fare. Our conductor offers them a discount of 30-50 Rs with ‘no ticket’ on His side of the offer. This is pure WIN-WIN strategy. MBA graduates learn this in class rooms; our conductors use this on a daily routine.

By all these He earns around 1000 – 2500 Rs per day without tax deductions (needless to say, this is extra to His salary of 12,000 Rs (1-3 Years Exp).

If I were not a Techie...

At a house of 2400 Sft at a distance of 100 Meters from the sea shore, staring at the sleeping sun in the dusk from the balcony of the first floor of my duplex house, sipping the taste of coffee prepared by a girl of beauty with an eye on the skeleton of the book that would turn out from this write of mine, with my laptop and coffee cup exchanging their positions with my hands, I am writing my 'Let It be', a book that would burn my experiences and of course some genuine illusions of my interpreted perceptions into printed letters.

How a girl at my work station defeated all guards of my dreams. How she not only trickled through my dream of beauty but also dribbled the hurdles of my

thoughts on intelligence. I was an audience of third row, of The Play, the colors of green, orange, white played on her and called themselves as dress. The play was repetitively repetitive for 6 big months and none of the play viewers but I, liked it.. The way her brain drenched into the rain of methods for solving complex problems.

She was in a serious relationship with a guy since years;

A week of her absence made me realize that, I not only liked the art of her facial design and sensible muscle inside her skull but also had unknowingly fallen for her. A hazy expectation of, she would read this and I would be able to impress her at least to an extent of making her smile at me whenever our roads to pantry crossed, hit me and I killed my expectation.

And one fine day she was in a brand new dress, though I don’t remember its color, I felt as if someone slapped me hard on my ears and I could hear only the sound of kkuyiiiiiiii

Keeping the story of a girl at the start of the book is a marketing strategy.

But then, the dark won the battle against the dusk which I was a compatriot of. Now, I see a lamp at the tip of the sailing ship in that dark sea.

I am not licensed to hate this dark. I continue writing….

I Smiled....

Registered, I, a seat, on the legendary last bench

Winning after the state’s toughest wrench

Along the smart guy and a brainy dame..

So friendship in no time it came..

Days rolled, months spun..

Needless to say with lots of fun…

Stared her in every tick of the time…

Carefully watching talks of her mime…

The hang outs, attendance in CCD, bunks

We were high scoring traveling monks…

Neither possessive nor malicious, I liked her though

Casual talks, no effort, so…

He said me in the middle of the night…

I proposed a girl in our college he said when…

I realized I was deeply in love with her then…

He was happy and I was quiet…

I knew, it was her, right away..

I stepped aside and gave him way

Wasn’t at ease though routine I showed…

With them again walked the road..

I was happy just to hear her eyes…

thoughts in me when they reached the peak…

I was full of words and I didn’t speak..

The days ending in college I realized when…

I started acting weird then…

For I cannot see her face then after…

I faked the pain with a big laughter…

Thinking, not control myself, I may…

Missed the fare-well, graduation day…

After One Year…

We decided to gather…

I was excited like an indulgent father…

It was great to see her again…

Rare smile, intelligent eyes, sensible brain..

I wondered if I had any pain

I trekked fast ahead of all…

She got herself stuck…

In this middle of the trek

She shouted my name for help, ensured i heard her call

I acted as if I didn’t hear, I don’t know why

May be to make me trek with the crew, I got her imply..

I didn’t see you around on the Graduation Day, she questioned…

A lame reason of ‘I couldn’t wake up’ I gave…

Recalled the college days on our way back on Mysore Road…

She used to love my careless attitude, she cracked the code…

And looked in my eyes; I gave her a smile…

Felt she proposed me for a while…

After one year…

- Las Vegas.. United States…

She confirmed visiting us, this spring break

To meet her Man, my best Pal, my room-mate again…

“ whats wrong, why aren’t you happy seeing me?”

Does she know what’s beneath my glee?

Will she reveal having traveled this long mile?

I gave her my smile…

School Days

MBA Interview

It was my 7th day of joining KPIT, I, as any other new joinie, was just starring at my monitor portraying that I was working. I received a call that revealed my MBA entrance exam results. I was more confused than happy. One for, how could they clear my exams ( I just gave a try, I was not able to find a job), two, I joined just 7 days back and what all procedures I need to follow in order to resign.

With this perplexed mind, I talked to my reporting cap for his approval of my leave.

I bused down to Hyderabad,

I, on 28-Nov-2007 morning, managed to reach the location mentioned in my interview call letter at 6:30 AM sharp, I was rushed to the bus waiting for me.

A gale of thoughts flavored with fear and nervous engulfed me. The co-candidates in the bus were all with a bundle of news papers and magazines, speaking their well prepared speeches to the parents/guardians who accompanied them. The paper that accompanied me was only my call letter. By then, I revealed myself, my chances of getting through. I was no more nervous (we are nervous when we are in fix of winning not when sure of losing).

This made me to take a small relaxed nap of 2 and half hours journey.

The campus: the fellow candidates were all in suits and business formals against my awkward colored shirt, sleeves folded with the outdated stubble. I learnt only then that we need to undergo a ‘speech’ round to enter into final face to face interview. Now I almost decided to leave the campus and enjoy the time in this paid holiday.

We were informed to assemble in our respective auditoriums. ( one auditorium for every 10 candidates).

I walked in the hall numbered 32 to see around 100 yearning people waiting for the candidates to perform so that they can rape them and display their enzymes of knowledge of their brain and three aged men with their trendy curved tummy laminated half by their shirt and remaining by their trousers. They might be the Judges I guessed.

I wasn’t aware of the 40 topics of speech displayed before this call for assemble. I recalled why my bus mates where rehearsing. Now I could see that list displayed in the auditorium. I was about to run away this time. But the fool inside me, made me stay back.

I quickly decided on a topic.

The Start : “Hi, I am Priya, I work for Deccan Herald as an editor” ( I dreamed people slapping their smile out at me when I start), she then gave a statistical survey analysis of Indian economy. The hall applauded their honor. Indian Agriculture, India’s Role in Global Market, Small Scale industries and many more were talked upon by the 7 candidates before me. Now, yes, Now it was my turn. My heart started beating in its highest ever speed, the announcer voiced ‘number 8 please’. By this time I was about to die by heart attack.

I somehow cheated my death and started slowly walking towards the dice. Fellow candidates and few young aged guys smiled their irony at me.

I adjusted the mike to my height. ‘I am Shiva, an Engineering student. I would like to speak on the topic ‘ Bollywood v/s Hollywood’ ( I saw majority of the listeners adjusted their seats to hear me, as the topic sounded odd and so as me), the very topic is wrong in my view. Bollywood and Hollywood are two different works of art and no art can be compared. Priya raised her hand to slap her editorial question at me ( she had questioned which most of the other 6 couldn’t answer) I smelled my downfall and insult. She asked me to give example and elaborate on the phrase that I quoted. Okie, let me take M F Hussian’s art piece, you may shower it with rose of praise and I may shower it with the thorns. This doesn’t mean that the art is good or bad. So as with any film. DDLJ was a massive hit, I was irritated and so as many. This doesn’t mean DDLJ is good or bad. Bolloywood is loved by Indians and Hollywood by some other. But I here would like to light on the differences these two film worlds have rather than comparing.

Bollywood believes in painting emotions in the form of songs, Hero and his lady meet for the first time, bang on, the romantic number edits in, He is sitting on a sea shore and recalls his college group, fun numbered guitar strings in and now the camera closes in to capture the quarter of an inch smile on left side of his lips, back to flash back, how their trip proved fatal for his lady love, a sad tone scripted about her memories tunes in making us feel the pain of the hero.

Hollywood doesn’t believe in these.

Priya raised her hand again, this time she said some Hollywood director ( I wasn’t aware of any Hollywood names) is also planning to have songs in his films so what you say about this, Shiva?, we even have Ram Gopal Verma here who doesn’t believe in songs, so lets not talk on exceptions here. The candidates started clapping, It wasn’t for my reply but for the hatred towards her (she has screwed them with her informative numbered statistics often interpreted as knowledge. It was like Jr. AB was admired in ‘Mein Prem ki Deewani hoon’ not because of his acting but for Hritik’s over acting.).

Hollywood horror flicks have some unusual looking satans with their teeth protruding, vomiting out some green semi solid saliva. People there find it scary and we don’t.

On the contrary, Bollywood satans hardly are seen in the films. A beautiful looking lady dressed in saree colored always white, walks down the room stairs and the background score tones in – Chun… Chun… Chun…. the doll smiles from the kid’s wardrobe.

The leading lady gets up for water, slowly opens her gorgeous eyes --- Dhadaaaar….. the television drop down with a bang. The Door opens with Krr Krr melody.

We find this scary.

This doesn’t mean White Ghosts are technically scary and Desi Devils aren’t.

These two are different works of Art and no art can be compared.

But friends, whatever the discussion may be, the mystery remains intact.

People feel proud to say, they watch only Hollywood flicks. I don’t know why.

‘Super Man’ treated Trendy and ‘Shaktiman’ as childishly foolish.

I have never seen a Hollywood movie (of course except TITANIC).

Thank you, ( I walked down the dice)

UN-SANCTIFYING RELIGION

Desire nothing, peace we attain then.

Do the duties think not of gain.

Who eats the fruit, all does only duty when

To desire not to desire is desire again

Be honest come what may.

No Dignity money brings in.

False is polite, to true, rude they say.

Lose decorum if you don’t win.

Invisible as soul, so is God.

See to Trust and hear to forget.

Though refuting, we submit the nod.

Fooling ourselves what we are aiming at.

All say one and all know this white.

Yet, temple and mosque fight.

My Last Day in KPIT

23-Sep-2007: I stepped in KPIT Peenya Blore office gate, with a bemused mind as where to find the reception. I sat on the Sofa to see her starring at me every alternate 10 Minutes. I was offered coffee which I stylishly rejected. I waited as long as 2 Hrs and then repented saying NO to coffee (Style sometimes doesn’t work).

I was called for the interview which lasted for around 1 and half hour.

I with no emotions stepped out of office as this was not my first rejection in an interview (I was rejected in around 20 companies and 3 companies short listed me and then rejected seeing my academic score J).

Academic score of mine was designed for rejection.

Please have a look into my BE Academic Score table:

Total Number of Theory Exams : 44

Total Lab Exams : 14

Seminar :1

Project :1

Total Maximum Marks : 6675

Total Marks Obtained :3944

Percentage :59.086

Back Logs : 4 ( 3 cleared in next attempt, 1 cleared in third attempt)

The next day (24-Sep-2007) was the First T20 world cup finals ( India v/s Pakistan) I thoroughly enjoyed the match forgetting that I had attended an interview and was rejected ( I was used to it by then J ).

As usual after this hectic night show, I was still in bed at around 10 AM when I got a call that revealed the news of me being short listed for the second round of interview in KPIT.

The interview was scheduled at 12 PM the same day and I was at the Peenya office again at 11 30 AM (needless to say, without bath!)

I was interviewed for the second time and immediately HR round then the offer letter I received.

I was asked ‘Shiva, how early you can join’ I again stylishly said day-after-tomorrow (Thursday) to hear ‘great, see you on Thursday then at 9 30 AM’ (Sometimes Style doesn’t work second time as well).

A drop was added to the KPIT Ocean on 27-Sep-2007

(Engineering marks doesn’t matter. The marks are just as our names. They just convey nothing. )

27-Sep-2007: At sharp 9 30 AM I was sitting on a chair in a training hall that read ‘Basic SDPM training’. Many baffling words like SDPS, continuity, screen, PPPD, etc were thrown in the training which honestly and obviously didn’t enter my stupid mind. And I was stupid for the next day even (training was also on the second day).

I slowly started understanding the work, picked up, started enjoying my consultancy that offered and required both process knowledge, and soft skills to implement the process learnt.

Dhoom, then Quest 08 came in, then Annual day and so on…. This made me both comfortable and normal.

I got my first salary of my Life from KPIT.

I cannot forget this. (It’s said, we cannot forget our first company and first wife!) J

I received Complaints of being extra aggressive.

“How you tell is important than what you tell” – though we have a valid point but the way we express it, matters more. Seniors taught me this...

Seniors: Suresh A U, Shashidarshan V Pai, MGM, Sandeep Banthiya, Jawad Ali, Veena Muralidhara, Praveen Shivappa Shastry, Prashant Patil, Ramesh B, Jaya Prabhu A, Md. Afzal, Nameeta Nayak, Kowshik MS,

I thank them for their selfless suggestions.

I take these learning with me.

Each talk has given me the experience of Responsibility.

Each Day has given me the experience of experience.

Each heated discussion has given me the sense of knowledge.

Those heated arguments, night outs; screen meeting, releases, talks (fights rather) on SCR Impact Analysis, those elucidations in CCB Meeting.

What all and what not.

I simply cherish those moments.

It’s said,

“We stay amicable we forget, we quarrel we remember”.

Thanks for all those wrangles. J

Thanks to PEG to correct every mistake of mine and making me learn from them and grow up.

Special thanks to Dhoom team, Friends, post lunch- cigarette team, Weekend Cricket Team.

Reach me on shivdainak@gmail.com

Shiva....

This Day That Age….

I walk…

to see the road where I played on

The last bench where I used to sit and Yawn…

The tree which was my cricket stump

School Bag where in Books I used to dump..

I see The Road now dressed in Tar…

The tree is Old and not the cricketers are…

I didn’t recognize it and the bag Did…

And the same bench with new yawning Kid…

I walk to see this similarity in the difference

The strange feel painted a Smile on my lip

New memory poured in each time coffee I sip..

Slowly in shining dusk I again walk

With memories sharing my Talk…

I see a granny starring at me in yearn

I walked to her for a curious Learn..

She smiled, softy slapped me and I was quite…

To hear her say ‘idiot you are still of same height’….

I remember the play I played in her Lawn…

I could only smile at the pace time has Gone..

I walk…

I Step ahead Turning this memory Page…

As if rest is young and I am in Old Age…

A Lady, Nomination of Crush whom I once Filed…

Is now walking the road with her Child… J

I hereby Withdraw my memory which is withdrawn

I could only smile at the pace, time has Gone..

I walk

To see my footprints On the sand of time…

to see the school where I hymned my Rhyme…

The College Lab punished where I was for Gum Chewing…

Where I didn’t know even what I wasn’t doing J…

The Room where I had to push my cloths aside to sleep…

The class where my Base I never used to Keep…

The Notice board which screamed our rusticated names…

For our play played in ‘Jumping the Hostel Gate’ Games…

wicked but sounds witty today, the age I walked On..

I could only smile at the pace, time has Gone..

I was silent and she didn't speak...

It was dusk I left Office when..

I realized missing my train then…

I hurried to station in my grimy dress …

I didn’t care as I had None to Impress…

chicks as always are taboo in Bogie I Sit…

tried to get one but this time I Quit…

so dirt of my dress bothered me Less..

Then a Lady ‘excuse me’ Toned in,I said Yes..

Making my debut in talking to a girl while I travel

Seeing her sitting before unwrapped I a Novel…

Not even ‘HI’ as if I was an Indian and She a Greek…

I was silent and she didn’t Speak…

saw her talkative eyes looked of course not at me…

looked when I turn and when she turn at her I see

As she adjusted her top,dress at her Knee…

Not at ease even I was, to her I didn’t Leak…

I was silent and she didn’t Speak…

Time ticked Nine, her Phone Vibrated Then…

at once she inquired The Train reached Blore When…

Bottle at window she kept while still she was on call

Strong Breeze rushed in train, making on ground it Fall…

Smiled her Eyes at me, as if the Bottle joked in this Geek

I was silent and she didn’t Speak…

Couldn’t see the ruthless Breeze troubling her…

I exchanged her seat; that is why Boys are For …

By this time my Hope reached its Peak…

I was silent and she didn’t Speak…