What is the first thing that people notice about you?

It's no secret that I'm a regular on Social Media platforms - from Facebook to Linkedin, from Twitter to Instagram, from Blogspot to Google Plus and Pinterest in between! Did I say, Linkedin? I keep forgetting about it!

Well, then, let it not be a secret that I'm also present on almost all matrimony sites. It might not be a secret, but still giving benefit of doubts. But, the point of concern is, I'm there, just there, but not a regular! No, honestly, I'm not. Seriously, no. I want to be, but I'm not!

It's not because I'm not interested or I'm too busy. I can have as much time I want to, but that shouldn't imply I'm unemployed! I'm paid to stalk people on social media. If not people, brands. My client's competitors.

Coming to the point, I'm not regular on matrimony sites because of the conscious effort that one need to put and look for only a certain type of people - responsible, stable, should not sound funny but should be interesting blah blah.

That pretty much gives away the fact that, give me a specific/certain thing to do - and I lose interest in a blink. Totally. Ask me to wander aimlessly and i will never return! Yes, escapist - that can be said for me!

Now, if you are done with gaining sadistic pleasure by calling me an escapist, the prime reason why I'm not regular on matrimony sites is also because of a weird question that's asked - "What is the first thing that people notice about you?"

Prompt comes my answer: Shouldn't those so called 'People' answer this? How on earth am I suppose to know what 'People' think about me!

But then, not  to make myself sound like a know-it-all or a dimwit or a snob, I answer - May be my height - or the lack of it. OR My weight - because i keep throwing it around - literally - still, I don't lose it!

On giving such answers, I often get remarks like - You are funny!

Believe me, I'm not. But, truth, i think it is!

Stories and Laughter!

14 years back. It was a bright sunny day. I was sitting on the window sill.

Everything looked perfect until the telephone rang. I didn't understand a thing.

Later that day I saw you lying on a weak bed, wearing a white red bordered sari, hair parting smeared with sindur, a bold round laal tip on your forehead.  Like you used to look every evening. Dadu, you and myself sitting on your lap. You looked the same. Just that you were asleep a little too soon. No one tried to wake you up.

That  night, you didn't sleep beside me. You didn't come. You never came.

Now, when i laugh out loud, they say it resemble and sound like your laughter!

If that's true, I will wait a little longer to hear stories from you! 

Cold Noisy Nights! Colder Noisier Days!!

Cold breeze! It's soothing. It brings along a whiff of nostalgia.

It's not cold here in Bombay. 24 Degree Celsius at 2 in the night! It can't be more pleasant.

But it is cold, colder than those January nights when it used to be 3 degree celsius, inside a room. Only a little hole in the window would bring in a shrill thin blow of chilly winds.

Those were cold January nights.Those were cold January noisy nights.

Under 2 blankets, covered from head to toe, feet covered in woolen socks, a scarf tied on the head, ears covered! Still, these sounds crept in, in the middle of the night, under 2 blankets and a scarf.

Whistle of the passing train, a goods train, bapi told me once. It crept in from a distance, blowing whistle at intervals and then while crossing the station, it chugged slowly, but the whistle screamed loud, louder. As if telling the natives the pain of carrying tons of weight. Every night.
It took 2-3 minutes to pass by, the whistle a little mellowed at a distance, slowly but steadily merging into the silence of the dark cold nights.

The silence soon was intervened with rhythmic snores coming from the rooms of the house. Bapi, Chorda, Sejo Kaka, each one had a different rhythm, but maintained their rhythm. Rhythmic rise and fall, in perfect coordination with one another, as if they had planned the pattern at the dinner table! Trying to decipher the rhythm, waiting for a rhythm to rise and another to fall, was a game I indulged in.

Then the watchman came with his whistle, hitting the lathi on concrete road, moving it through the corrugated shutters of the shops, jaagte raho ... all lent a pattern to the soundscape. Everynight meeting of the dogs. At times, they were shooing off a dog from another street, at times a lazy bark, a fun hoof or just a shrill cry in unison, like wolves! A leaking tap in the bathroom, a tip and then a top as it fell into the pool in the bucket kept under it!

Sound of the bell from the nearby temple, and then few more bells. It grew louder and louder...followed by the 'azaan'. These sounds were scary, these cracked the night to the dawn, dawn to the morning, to the moment where Ma would soon knock the door and run down the stairs screaming 'uthe poro', soon followed by the struggle to move out of the blankets, move out of a world which was defined not by vision but by sound!

Those cold nights...warmer than the days today. Those shrill of whistle...softer than the noise that rings in the head today!

Those cold nights. Not as cold as today's.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep!

I'm not a student, faculty or parent of a student studying at Whistling Woods International. I have been to this institute, because this is one among those few places which welcome film enthusiasts just for the love of Cinema. I remember the first time i visited. An educational institute dedicated to Film, Media and Fashion!

In a country where every second youth aspire to be a part of this industry, how many such institutes do we have? Not many, right! So here, I was in an institute that was catering education in the field, which is growing manifold every passing year. Training, grooming students in subjects that many would wish to study but cannot pursue because of a huge void in terms of educational facilities offered in this sector. Great, so this institute is providing educational support to all media aspirants and enthusiasts, alright. But, the next thing that caught my attention was, how many educational institute with an intent to cater formal education dare to have a motto "Do What You Love"? Needless to say, i was floored and that's the spirit, the vibe i thoroughly enjoyed while in this sprawling campus.

8 years old and their achievements as an educational institute surpass many other institutes' promise to deliver a lot more. The way they operate makes it clear that it's not financial or political support that makes an institute flourish. It's the students, their achievements, their love and support for their institute, a bevy of experts as faculty, hands-on experience on equipments students get, internship with acclaimed media houses, international collaboration for student-teacher exchange program and a lot more.

I have been following the news closely and being a regular on social media platforms, i can very surely say, that such relentless support from far and wide, students speaking for their institute, alumni sharing their experiences, cinema enthusiasts standing by, can only be because of what the institute has done over the years - they have touched lives in some way or the other, they have inspired and nurtured many a creative soul, they must have done a lot more, as it keeps reeling in my head.

My wishes and prayers for you because you have inspired me somewhere, in some way. Keep up the spirit, the flag will fly high in days to come. 

One to Live In? or, The One To Die For - Bombay!

Some days remain etched in memory - Today is one such day. I landed in Mumbai on this date, exactly 4 years back - June 20, 2010.

To think about it, I had no plans to come to Mumbai.. Once here, I had no plans to stay in Mumbai for more than a year, if not less... and today, after 4 years, such a thought looks as distant a dream as visiting Mumbai sitting in a distant insignificant small town in Jharkhand, when i was a child.

Mumbai to me was busy broad well-lit roads, Mumbai was people always on the move, Mumbai was people boarding and alighting running trains, Mumbai was tall buildings, Mumbai was Bollywood, Mumbai was flamboyant, Mumbai was mafia, Mumbai was money, Mumbai was Bombay, Mumbai was a sea-laced city, Mumbai was a dream, which had come true.

A hot humid day, I landed in this city, nervous and slowly finding my way out of the airport, boarded an auto, paid more than double (realized a few days later), went looking for an accommodation to stay, met a long lost friend and extremely tired, retired early for the day while still trying to analyse whether taking this plunge into an unknown, bigger than the sky city would do any good! 

Next day I woke up to a soothing continuous sound of water flow, to figure what it was, I got out of bed and opened the curtains to see a dark, black, cloudy sky pouring like on the whole of earth and since times immemorial this was the only place that it was raining for the first time ever.

The rains continued but Life didn't stop. People were hanging from the window rods of the 'BEST' buses, trains brought in thousands with dripping clothes, children splashing in the puddles with floral or transparent rain coats and passers-by with their trousers folded upto the knee and drenched from head to toe, were on the move with a spirit that can't be defined. This rhythm of rain and Life struck a chord in me, which still rings vibrant and throws hues of colours that has kept me dancing to the tune of this city.

Since then, the city has been a place, which i'm still so mesmerised with that i can't call it a 'Home', but so dear that it's just not a city - the madness, zeal, zest, love cannot be bound by just a name!