Introverts, Extroverts, and blah blah blah..

In the OB class in first semester of MBA, we were asked to fill in a long questionnaire and then do some calculations and so that we could find out what our personality type as per MBTI was. Such conversations ensued -.

“You must be something like an extrovert, right?”

“No. It says I am introvert. ISTJ as such.”

“Wow. But you talk with everyone you come across. How can you be an introvert?”

“-_-”

“-_-”

By the way, I was “diagnosed” as an INTP. I had known that for quite some time but had never given much thought to it. But suddenly I was being told that I was not good enough to be a leader as that probably required periodic war-cries which only extroverts can muster. Not even a month in MBA, it was a bit disconcerting.

So, I landed to do MBA in Gurgaon somewhere in June last year. Amongst the first things I observed here was the size of groups in which people were hanging out in. They were huge. Absolutely huge. It seemed that everyone except me had been in touch with each other even before the college had started via WhatsApp, Facebook and other means of social gratification. Imagine a group of 25 people walking around the campus post-dinner. There was just so much networking in the campus that it actually didn’t feel like a mere group of 25 but felt like a horde out on a conquest. And in that sense, I felt incredibly inadequate. I was kinda fat, my hairline had been thinning and it was not only that I was a bit older than my batchmates but I looked older than them as well. I felt like such a misfit.

In my defense, I did try to fit in. Attended random birthday parties, tried to stay relevant in a group of 25 by cracking lame jokes to which no one paid any kind of attention, went to booze parties where I was not sure why I was there and so on. And then that fateful OB class happened, I remembered that I am an introvert and realized that the label so conveniently suited me. It gave me security and it gave me answers. And the latter was much more important.

“Why didn’t you go to that party in which the whole class is going and there will be a lot of drinking and dancing and ‘networking’?”

“Ugh. Because introverts don’t go to parties. Remember, parties mein chutiye naachte hain.”

Labeling. FTW.

   

It had started to go well.

With those labels as crutches, I had returned to the last bench of the class – the proxy for my comfort zone. Away from the parties, away from random attempts of social validation, my next couple of months went away being the same non-descript, anonymous guy in the class and in the batch. I was happy sticking to the last bench and spoke as little as possible. It was not as if I had no friends. I did but in a manner which probably only a B-schooler can understand, we were misfits huddled together trying to pander to every stereotype you might have seen ascribed to introverts.

 (If I can digress a bit, the MBA is somewhat of a dichotomy in the sense that the kind of students it admits - at least in India – are different from what it expects them to be. There are presentations in every course, you are expected to be an effective if not enchanting speaker and the possibility to land plum jobs depends heavily on your ability to be assertive in group discussion of around 10 people and then in an interview. Still it admits a lot of nerds because basically the admission test tests your ability to be good at Maths and English. In any case, back to the original rant…)

After a month or two, something happened. As it always does in stories of self-discovery.

But actually, nothing happened. So, this isn’t a story of self-discovery after all.

I just became more comfortable with people. Or became comfortable with the concept of having people around myself. I guess this concept is called “familiarity” and surprisingly, as much as many Quora answers would want you to believe, it happens with introverts too. And then they start behaving like extroverts. You find a circle and in its own esotericism you laugh at jokes and you laugh at the people telling those jokes; some stories are told and some are shared; some crushes are discussed, some are dissed and some are dismissed. You don’t care if you’re extrovert or not because life is too ambiguous for that.  

(To be fair, some kind of mellowing happens with the extremely social too. The group sizes of 20 eventually whittled down to 4-5 or even 2 if the girl and the boy took a special liking for each other.)

Still, thinking about it brings some questions. If it really is a question of having increasing familiarity, spreading the envelope so to say, then at what point do you stop being an introvert and at what point you start being an extrovert? What if you start liking so many people that given sufficient time, you start being comfortable with all of them. After all, to like lots and lots of people, one doesn’t need to be an extrovert. Not being cynic enough is often sufficient. It is often told of extroverts that for them the world is a stage. What if as an introvert, you become familiar with the stage itself. Do you stop being an introvert?

The past year has been good to me. Because of many reasons, I became used to speaking in front of a lot of people. Possibly, I am not shy of crowds anymore.

But when it comes to people as individuals, it still is a chore. A bloody chore.  You break down a crowd into its ingredients and it is as if each one of it starts asking a question where earlier there was only one. All of them looking at you is fine enough but looking back in their eyes as they cross one-by-one down a street is impossible. Probably they are looking at you but you don’t know that as you are too shy to look at them. It is as if you discover that, the crowds be damned, shyness, often painfully and sometimes liberatingly stays.

And now, for whatsoever it is worth, I am not sure how much of an introvert I am. Or an extrovert for that matter. It actually is weird to think of myself as an extrovert. I really want to be cool enough to be associated with all the tropes being an introvert carries with itself. Tropes, which MBTI endows upon you. Some of them are cool, some of them are cold but most of them are just confusing.  But just like horoscopes, you pick and choose the ones you think you best relate with and then live with it. If you are introvert, then you are "well-read" and form "deep" relationships even if the only reading you have done recently has been dating & relationship tips on Quora. Being insufferable in general is acceptable because you are waiting for those to come up with whom you will form “deep relationships”. As I said, "Labels - For The Win".  It’s just so easy that it is almost convenient.  

I wish it was as black and white. 

 

Sometimes one is introvert enough to cry at a song and not tell anyone about it, still extrovert enough to sometimes go to a few parties and still wonder how can people be such; Introvert enough to not go home on Diwali as that will mean 3 days of alone time and extrovert enough to sometimes, just sometimes feel bad that only 12 people wished Happy Diwali on personal chat; Introvert enough to not tell all these travails to anyone whatsoever but extrovert enough to trust internet strangers to get this. Introvert enough to know when one needs to be an introvert, extrovert enough to know when one needs to stop being an introvert.

There have been times in the past year when I used to wake up from a 4-hour sleep to find 312 WhatsApp messages from 9 different contacts, many of those directed at me because of the certain official responsibilities I used to have. Often, I had wondered that when eventually these messages will stop coming in, and nobody will feel as much need of me, will I feel good at being left alone or feel bad at being left out? I will have the answer soon enough. But all I know is that like most of the things we tend to worry about, it too will be inconsequential. 

And that will be for the best.

The Dabang.

पहली क्लास थी बारहवीं की.

अभी 2 दिन पहले ही हम छोटे से शहर रांची से दिल्ली आये थे. अब ऐसा भी कोई छोटा शहर नहीं था रांची. पर कहते हैं न कि हर सेर का सवा सेर होता है. और फिर ये तो दिल्ली थी. बचपन से सुनते आ रहे थे कहावतों में. “अब दिल्ली दूर नहीं”, “बड़ा दिल्ली का सुलतान समझ रखे हो?”. पर बस इतना बड़ा शहर था कि घर से स्कूल आने में करीब पौने दो घंटे लगते थे. हमारे घर के तरफ इतनी दूर किसी का ऑफिस होता था तो वो आना जाना ट्रेन से करते थे. वो भी हफ्ते में बस एक बार आना होता था और एक बार जाना.

एक भैया के साथ रहने दिल्ली आये थे. एक सहमे से लड़के के लिए जिसके आँखे थोड़ी चुंधिया सी रही थी, उसके वाबस्ता feminist के लिए जो term उपयुक्त होगा बस वो इस्तेमाल कर लीजिये हमारे भैयाजी के लिए. हम यहाँ मिमिया रहे थे और वो बस हमें छुट्टा सांड समझ बैठे थे. पहले दिन स्कूल जाने के हमारे instructions कुछ ऐसे थे.

“बेटा, ये 764 नंबर की बस सीधा तुम्हे स्कूल ले जाएगी. बस स्टॉप पूछ कर उतर जाना. वहां से बस 800-900m पर तुम्हारा स्कूल है. किसी से भी पूछ लेना. वो बता देगा.”

अगर हमें पहले से पता न होता तो अब तक पर हमें पक्का यकीन हो जाता कि वो सरकारी मुलाज़िम हैं.

“बस पॉकेट में कुछ पैसे रखना हमेशा. कहीं भुतलाओ तो चट से ऑटो पकड़ कर सीधा घर. वैसे भी ये दिल्ली है. लड़कों के लिए ज्यादा घबराने की ज़रुरत नहीं होती है.”

हम सब समझ गए थे.

कहते हैं कि “Boarding life makes a man out of a child”. हम तो यहाँ पर खासे साल बोर्डिंग में बिता कर आये थे. उस हिसाब से काफी man up हो जाना चाहिए था हमें. पर अब ये महानगर क्या जाने क्या करने वाला था. बड़ा शहर शायद यूँ कह लीजिये puts man in Haraaman. कुछ दिनों में सीख लिया था कि प्राइवेट बसों में सफ़र करना DTC से कहीं ज्यादा फायदेमंद है. उसमे २ रुपये की  टिकट ले कर कहीं भी जा सकते थे जब तक पकडे न जाओ. और जो पकडे गए तो भोली शकल बना कर बाकी के पैसे दे दो. DTC में तो सीधा 100 का fine होता था. और भी कुछ कुछ ट्रिक्स थे. खैर पर अभी पहली क्लास की तरफ वापस चलते हैं. ये भूमिका चावला के होंठों से भी बड़ी भूमिका बाँधने का मेरा कोई इरादा नहीं था वैसे.

पहली क्लास physics की थी. जिस जंतु (या जीव) ने दरवाज़े से एंट्री मारी थी उसने कतई मेरी बचपन की यादें ताज़ा कर दी थी. उनको देख कर मुझे अलिफ़ लैला में आने वाले जादूगर की याद आ गयी थी. मोटे, लम्बे और यूँ बिलकुल फ्रेंच बकरदाढ़ी की extension के माफिक झूलती हुई सी.

“म्हारा नाम A M Malik सें.”

घर्भवती अल्पविराम (Pregnant Pause) वातावरण में छा गया था.

थोड़ी देर में उन्हें यकीन हो गया था कि हमें रत्ती भर भी फरक नहीं पड़ता कि उनका नाम A M Malik है या A M Naukar.

“मैं तुम्हे Physics पढ़ाऊंगा. और बाकी ये है कि मैं All India Kendriya Vidyalaya Teacher Association का General Secretary भी हूँ.”

घर्भवती अल्पविराम नंबर 2. ये थोडा ज्यादा गर्भवती था.

पर हम तो बच्चे थे. मन के सच्चे थे. ये adult बातें हमारी समझ में कहाँ आने वालीं थी. तो ऐसा हुआ कि आखरी लाइन का न तो हमें मतलब समझ आया और न ही महत्व. आ जाना चाहिए था.

“यो की तुम सबने पहले ये बताओ कि दसवीं में तुम सबने कितने कितने नंबर प्राप्त किये? अच्छा रुको. ये म्हारे पास लिस्ट है.”

“ये सुमित दास कौन है? भाई खड़े हो जाओ. तो आपने सबसे ज्यादा नंबर प्राप्त किये?”

कैसी सी क्लास है. मेरे से ज्यादा नंबर भी नहीं लाया कोई. ये सोचते सोचते आपका ये नाचीज़ खड़ा हो गया.

“देखो ऐसा है हमारे सोनेपत में 60% लाने वाले बच्चे भी all-rounder होते हैं. ये अच्छे नंबर प्राप्त करके घणा खुश होने की कोई ज़रुरत ना है. म्हारी क्लास में सभी बच्चे बराबर हैं.”

जी, पल भर में ये आपका ये नाचीज़, नाचीज़ बन गया था. 

मुझे ज्यादा बातें याद नहीं है सर जी के बारे में. असल में वो GOD particle की तरह थे. मतलब exist तो करते थे पर ज्यादा उनके बारे में पता बस चुनिन्दा लोगों को ही था.  और जैसे आज God particle की पूछ है वैसे ही उनकी थी. और हमारे यहाँ चाहे भगवान हो या राजनेता, पूछ उसकी ही होती है जिससे सबकी फटती है. और बिलकुल God की तरह उन्हें इस बात से घंटा कोई फरक नहीं पड़ता था की किस किस की उनसे फटती है. प्रिंसिपल साहब भी उनके सामने चूहे बन जाते थे. स्कूल के दरबार में तो वो ऊपर थे, पर वो जो “बड़ा दरबार” था उसमे तो प्रिंसिपल एक अदने से employee ही थे.

वो आते थे, वो जाते थे. बाकी सब उनके नाम की बीन बजाते थे.

कह कुछ भी लूं, पर सर जी ने हमें बहुत कुछ सिखाया था. मसलन ऐसे पेपर में कैसे पास होते हैं जिसमे पास होने लायक आताजाता न हो. यही एक चीज़ आगे इंजीनियरिंग में हमारी इतनी काम आई जितनी अदनी physics, chemistry, mathematics अकेली कभी ना आ सकती थी. जैसे कि अगर पेपर में 8 सवाल आयें जिसमे से 5 करने हो तो exactly 5 सवाल attempt करके वो ही आते हैं जो अव्वल दर्जे के घिस्सू हो या फिर वो जो निरे बेवक़ूफ़ होते हैं. ये जो choice होती है वो कमज़ोर बच्चों के लिए होती है ताकि वो पास हो जाएँ. अब जब ये पास करवाने के लिए ही है तो जो लिखा नहीं पर intended है वो भी तो समझिये. 5 सवाल मतलब फुल मार्क्स 70. 8 सवाल मतलब फुल मार्क्स 112. अब बताइए, पास मार्क्स यानी कि 29 किसमें लाना ज्यादा आसान है?

या फिर इस सवाल को ले लिजिये.

वो सवाल जो objective किस्म के होते हैं. मसलन true-false वाले. वो ना आयें तो बस ऐसा करना होता है कि एक जगह true लिखिए और 2 पन्नों के बाद false लिखिए. A,B,C,D वालों के साथ भी यही करना होता था. कहीं न कहीं तो ठीक होगा ही.

(Disclaimer- ये हमें मलिक सर ने सिखाया नहीं था, पर फिर भी सिखाया ही था.)

जैसा हमने पहले कहा सर जी को किसी बात से फरक नहीं पड़ता था. सिलेबस ख़तम करवाने से तो बिलकुल भी नहीं. कॉलेज के उल्टा स्कूल में सिलेबस ख़तम करवाने की फ़िक्र टीचर से ज्यादा बच्चों को होती है. वैसे भी स्कूल की क्लास में कॉलेज की क्लास से ज्यादा front-benchers होते हैं.  तो हरेक पेपर से पहले एक सिलेबस ख़तम होने की क्लास होती थी.  

तो ऐसी ही एक क्लास हो रही थी जिसमे सिलेबस ख़तम करवाने की जद्दोजहद ज़ारी थी. जो पढ़ाया जा रहा था उसपे बिलकुल भी ध्यान न देकर उस प्रयास में हम भी अपना पूरा योगदान कर रहे थे. ध्यान देने लगते तो सिलेबस पूरा नहीं हो पाता.

“This ray come from this side. This convex lens is. This ray from the other side. इसके साथ भी same ही होगा. When the ray pass from both side, mutual induction happen and they converge.”

कोई ध्यान दे नहीं रहा था उनकी बातों पर. वो अपनी बकवास किये जा रहे थे और हम अपनी कि तभी एक आवाज़ आई.

“सर”

ये वो था जो नहीं चाहता था कि सिलेबस कम्पलीट हो पाए. कहीं किसी दिमाग में तांडव होने लगा था.

“’Mutual induction? समझ नहीं आया.”

“बेटा, तुमने दसवीं में कितने नंबर प्राप्त किये?”

“सर 78%. पर वो बिहार बो ..”

“How you got admission? यो कि such low marks. अच्छा sit down. कोई बात नहीं कम नंबर आये तो. अब आ ही गए हो तो पढ़ लो.”

पिछले 5 मिनटों में उस को ना तो lens समझ आया था न mutual induction और अब न ही ये explanation. बेचारा नासमझ. इतना कि फिर से कोशिश कर बैठा.

“सर, ये focal length की equation कैसे derive की जाती है? पिछली बार पेपर में आया था.”

सर जी ने ऐसा look दिया मानों ज़िन्नातों वाली ईईहाहाहा ईईहाहाहा वाली हंसने वाले हैं. पर वो ज़ब्त कर गए और प्यार से बोले, “बेटा सारी बातें मैं बता दूंगा तो अपने पैरों पर खड़े होना कब सीखोगे? खैर. ये दोनों side की lens equation लिख कर add कर लेना. मिल जाएगी focal length की equation.”

उसकी नासमझी की सारी हदें पार हो गयीं थी. अब वो क्या बोले वो भी समझ नहीं आ रहा था उसे.

जिन्होंने physics न पढ़ा हो या जिन्हें याद न हो, उन्हें बता दूं कि अगर आप convex lens के दोनों side के equations add करते हैं तो 0 = 0 prove होता है.

हमारे सर जी exams के paper खुद चेक नहीं करते थे. जैसे कि अपने introductory speech में उन्होंने बताया था कि वो बच्चों में भेद-भाव नहीं करते. सब उनके लिए बराबर हैं. तो फिर वो किसी को कम और किसी को ज्यादा नंबर देने का बीड़ा कैसे उठाते? तो ये नाहक काम उन्होंने कुछ बच्चों के जिम्मे छोड़ रखा था. ये एक ऐसा top secret था जो सबको पता था. तो एक बार ऐसा हुआ कि ये जो privileged बच्चे होते थे उनमें से एक की कुछ बच्चों ने स्कूल के बाहर धुलाई कर दी क्यूंकि उसने पिछले पेपर में कुछ को कम नंबर दिए था. तो किसी ने उसके substitute के तौर पर सर जी को मेरा नाम सुझा दिया. लो बेट्टा, सांप-छंछूदर सी हालत हो गयी.  डरते सहमते हम सर जी तक पहुंचे.

सर जी देखते ही चीखे, “तू यहाँ के कर रहा है भाई? यहाँ बच्चों को आना allow नहीं है.”

“सर वो पेपर चेक करने आपने ही बुलाया था.”

“तो तुझे किसने बुलाया? पहले तो ये बता कि तुझे बारहवीं में आने किसने दिया? पास कैसे हो गया तू? जब देखो तब तो तू क्लास के बाहर ऊदबिलाव की भांति देखता रहता है.”

मैंने अपने चेहरे पर जो expression आ रहा था जो कि हंसी, ख़ुशी और राहत की खिचड़ी थी उसे किसी तरह दबाया और उल्टे पांव वापस हो लिया. असली का उदबिलाव भी इतना सरपट नहीं भागता होगा. ये भी नहीं बोलने की ज़हमत उठायी कि वो मुझे किसी और से कनफुजिया रहे हैं.

ये 2nd pre-board के पेपर के टाइम की बात थी. 3rd preboard आते आते सारे बच्चों ने स्कूल आना बंद कर दिया था. Board के पेपर के लिए study leave मिली हुई थी जिसमे हमने करीब करीब study को leave ही कर दिया था. क्यूंकि IITJEE में अभी टाइम था और हम सारे बिहारी यहाँ board का पेपर पास करने तो आये नहीं थे. कम से कम उस उम्र में हम तो यही सोचते थे.

3rd pre-board के बाद एक दिन स्कूल जाना हुआ तो पता चला कि  मलिक सर को पेपर चेक करवाने के लिए कोई मिल नहीं रहा. तो हमारी मैडम जी ने उनको मेरा नाम सुझा दिया. हम उनके पास फिर से डरते सहमते पहुंचे. पर इस बार उन्होंने हमें कुछ नहीं कहा. शायद वो मुझे भी भूल गए थे और उसे भी जिसे मुझे पिछली बार वो समझ बैठे थे. वैसे उन्हें हमसे काम था इस बार. और वो किसी teacher association के general secretary बिना किसी राजनीति का ज्ञान रखे तो बन नहीं गए होंगे. कुछ instructions दिए उन्होंने जो कि सामान्यतः नेताओं के instructions जैसे ही थे जिनका सार इंग्लिश में कहें तो यूँ था कि  “Cover my shit”. पर हम भी कम थोड़े न थे. सब कुछ समझने के बाद, बिलकुल “Who will Police the Police” वाले लहजे में कहा, “और सर मेरी कॉपी कौन चेक करेगा?”

उन्होंने थोडा सोचा. ये सवाल उनसे शायद किसी ने आज तक नहीं पूछा था. फिर बोले, “रै पूरी क्लास के पेपर चेक करने हैं. तू ना आवे है क्लास में? बस बेटे, खुद को पूरे नंबर न दे दियो. बाकी सारा चलता है.”

पेपर चेक करने बैठा और सारे answers जो repeat कर रखे थे वो काट दिए थे. जिन्होंने objective questions के एक से ज्यादा answers लिख रखे थे उनके सारे answers काट दिए. Science के पेपर को literature की मानिंद चेक किया और जब final marks की लिस्ट बनायी तो पता चला कि highest marks मैंने दिए थे 44 . 70 में से. आज हमारे आगे के दांत सलामत हैं, हमारी उंगलियाँ धनुष के आकार की नहीं हैं और हम लंगड़ा कर नहीं चलते. इसकी शायद एक ही वज़ह है कि board exam से 6 हफ्ते पहले होने वाले 3rd mock पेपर के नंबरों से न तो किसी को और न किसी के बाप को कोई भी फर्क पड़ता था.

हमारा chemistry का final viva कतई eventful रहा था जिसका ज़िक्र मैंने इस पिछली कहानी में किया था. हमारा physics के viva में कोई ऐसा हो-हंगामा नहीं हुआ था. वो क्या था न, हमारे सर जी दबंग थे. कुछ ज्यादा ही. Practical हो रहा था. सब के सामने ही External एक एक कर बच्चों का viva भी ले रही थी कि सर ने एंट्री मारी. External को जा कर साफ़ साफ़ बोला,

“मैडम सब बच्चे नूं अच्छे अच्छे नंबर लगने चाहिए.”

मैडम थोड़ी अवाक् रह गयी थी.

“क्यूँ सर? ऐसा कैसे हो सकता है? कुछ बच्चे अच्छे होते हैं पढने में कुछ उतने अच्छे नहीं होते. सबको एक से नंबर दे दिए तो उनमें अंतर क्या रह जायेगा?”

“मैडम बच्चे कोई अच्छे –खराब ना होते हैं. सारे बच्चे एक से होते हैं. सारे बच्चे भगवान् का रूप होते हैं. समझे ना?”

GAME. SET. MATCH.

Viva ख़तम होने के बाद  सर ने मुझे अलग रूम में बुलाया. मेरे सामने एक लिस्ट रखी जिसमे सारे क्लास के बच्चों के नाम थे. फिर बोला, “देख ये लिस्ट है. इसमें तू अपने और जो जो बच्चे पेपर चेक किया करते थे physics के उनके 30-30 नंबर लगा दे viva के.”

GAME. SET. MATCH. CHAMPIONSHIP.

P.S :- जब board का रिजल्ट आया था तो मैंने चेक किया था. बस जी उनके physics viva में 30 नंबर आये थे जिनके मैंने अपने हाथों से लगाये थे. न कम न ज्यादा. 

The Secret....

The majority thinks that it is the majority who do not want to do the class. So the majority decide not to attend the classes. But it is actually the minority who convinces the majority that it is the majority who does not want to attend the classes since the majority have already conceded for the absence from classes, the majority should also follow the majority. But the majority who wants to attend the classes is told by the minority that since the majority do not want to attend the classes, they should not break the majority by attending the classes. The problem is that majority is major in numbers , but is always found in fragments and doesn’t ever get to know what the majority thinks. So the minority manages to convince the majority that the majority is not going to attend the classes because that is the will of the majority and if majority goes otherwise, it will break up the unity of the majority and then the majority will turn into a minority . So, the class is not held coz the majority thinks that the majority does not want to attend the classes, and in the end, the minority manages to prevent the class from being held. By the time the bluff is called , the class is well over and if they get time majority might have a serious thought of renaming themselves “herds” , but just then another class is to take place and minority again springs up.....

That is how we bunk our classes, and more. Confusing , but sadly, true. 

Random Ruminations

I don’t want to die,

But there are some wrongs to be mended,

To give some remedies for lies,

So will have to die.

I don’t want to live,

But there are some “hows” and “whys” to find,

Lot of masks to be perceived,

Lots of hearts to be broken,

Lots of emotions to be weaved,

Lots of faces to sieve,

So I will have to live.

I don’t want to have any friend,

But it amazes me that how it rhymes with

Both “mend” and “end”

I want to keep being amazed,

Have one end sharp of the blade,

Have a cut when I take a wrong bend,

So I will have to have friends .

I do not want to look inside,

Lest there is a big void,

Emptiness within,

Full of nothing ,

But deceit and sin.

But the outside is big and wide,

Inside is empty and  narrow,

It gives me space to cower in my own burrow.

Outside asks questions ,

Inside some more,

But inside gives answers,

Sometimes  maleficent, sometimes vulgar,

And sometimes snide.

But answers still,

So I have to look inside.

Spitting this yarn ,

Gives me the question “Why?”

Maybe  I don’t want to die.

Maybe I want to live ,

Tell the tale

And grieve.

Maybe I want a friend .

For my woes,

Surely an ear he will lend.

But a talking mouth will not follow therafter,

Filled with a curse and laughter.

It will help me look inside,

Though the space is less, it will help me soar and glide.

And for a moment of shut eyes,

I will be at the top.

At the top,

From where everything looks so small,

Friends and foes,

Life and its woes

And that will be the end of all

Once and for all. 

Bade Ball Hain Tere

Paanchod Besharma strutted out of his house.( Chod is pronounced as chor, not what you are pronouncing it now as, you pervert ) His wife SEE SEE has once again refused to comply to his rather sodomic wishes. He had been left feeling like a nympho and subsequently had started to devise ways to turn a necrophilist if not allowed to be sodomic. He was so dumb.

He turned his steps towards Girl-Boy road . He had in past been a regular there  to satisfy his carnal needs and used to go to his favourite Peela Peeli Dickshit.  But she has grown old now. Just like his wife SEE SEE. Not that he was still young- but he did not see it that way.  He was so dumb. He believed that till he had life in his bones and boneless’es, he could get up and stand. But Peela Peeli had grown old for his needs. She knew that and she had become a wimp . Actually P.B. thought so, as he reckoned that a woman pimp is called a wimp. Actually it was he who was a wimp. But, he did not know that. He was so dumb.

But it was all going to change. No, he was still going to remain dumb enough to not know that he was dumb, but Peela Peeli had promised to ensure him to a new bombshell- a new entrant , she claimed to have descended from the bloodline of Anarkali herself. She was called DATTU.

After 4 hours,

         Peela Peeli was right. He had already gone lattu on DATTU. With SEESEE he felt as if he was to due to retire  from any moment now. But with DATTU it was ,like he had got an extension of five years. She made him feel powerful. He felt like singing, "I got the power” one moment , the other  he felt shouting like Dr Jackal from Shaktiman-“ POWER”. He could have advertised for Titanic-K2 capsules that night.  Interestingly she did not even allow him to touch in these 4 hours. But he knew, that there will be time for deliberation , discussion and fornication. And for that he wanted to come back. DATTU had invited him the day after.  She knew that P.B and his wife SEESEE belonged to a very rich family.

3 days later,

P.B.  was standing in front of the mirror dyeing his hair black. SEESEE wondered aloud that what was the need to prove “Buddhi Ghodi Laal Lagam " right in these days. Besharma just smiled annoyingly to him. (Yes, this was a feat he had mastered, unlike others. But the reality was that last night , during one of those moments, DATTU whispered to him in one of those manner, “ Bade ball hain tere.”  But the dumb person he was, he could not understand the difference between Ball and Baal. Hence the dyeing . But he had not accounted for SEESEE who in night painted his hair white instead.  Then again that night DATTU told him in one of those moments, “Bade ball hain tere”. He fell in love with his white hair and has been dyeing it white ever since. He was so dumb.

2 months later,

It was P.B’s marriage anniversary yesterday. But he could not go to meet DATTU that day. Not even on the pretext of having to go to see the sick daughter of the local mafia don, as he himself arrived at the ceremony with his daughter in tow –hale and healthy. But as it turned out, DATTU got very angry and told P.B , “ It is time you decide between me and her.” And after some deliberation and discussion in which the only involved party was Besharma himself, he decided to marry DATTU and send SEESEE to an old age home.

But one major hurdle was Peela Peeli Dickshit. She wnted a good compensation as DATTU was one of her main attraction.  She asked for an unconfirmed sum of Rs 1 crore which P.B paid by selling SEESEE’s jewellery and some other assets she owned.

5 days later,

On the pretext of being sent to a beauty parlour, SEESEE was sent to an old age home in a far flung place the address of which was known to nobody. Both P.B and DATTU changed their religion to Islam to remarry. So, P.B. became Pravesh Badhazmi  and DATTU remained DATTU. You see, unlike SEESEE, no one knew about DATTU. She was anonymous , unknown creature. So there was no need to change her name. Also DATTU, as one can see is a religiously bastardized name- can be used in any religion. So, DATTU officially became the owner of the assets of P.B. and his first wife SEESEE. As one can see, she clearly was not dumb.

9 months later,

No, DATTU did not give birth to a child. P.B was not as young as he liked to believe. But instead his children with SEESEE -he was young once, as much you would like to believe the contrary- started to protest against his marriage to DATTU. They went downtown with slogans like “ Yellow Yellow , Dirty Fellow” in an obvious reference to Peela Peeli and “ Hua Hua, P.B chooha”.Now one might ask that why did they take 9  months to wake up and realise?? But like their father, they were also sooooo very dumb.


(If everything above seemed Greek to you, click here)

Ek Katora Khoon

There was a wallpaper in the hall. It had a small picture of Amitabh Bachhan in one corner. And almost the rest of the wallpaper had a picture of a man with the words scrolled over, “Amitabh Bachhan is alive today because of me.”  Apparently the blood given to AB during his recent stomach infection was his. Guess they could not find the person who gave blood to AB when he was hurt during  Coolie. Then there would have been a picture of that man and the caption, “Abhishek Bachhan is alive today because of me.”  I began wondering where my blood will go.  A poster in front of me said that my blood might save the life of 4 different people. Below that something was written in Greek. Actually it was English only, but medical science (allopathy) which had its origin in Greece , is still so infatuated with the language of its mother place, that anything related to it sounds like Greek , even if it is English. So I went to the first person who could understand Greek i.e. the doctor and she told me that my blood will go to a man, a woman, a child and a dog. DOG??? She shrugged and said that the dog can be excluded if he does not belong to the family. But if otherwise, be prepared for the dog kind’s ultimate reply to Dharam Paaji , “ Look who is drinking whose blood now?????”    Okkk , I made up that last bit, Dharam Paaji .  You can rest peacefully - Gabbar is long dead and dogs do not reply.  

                          There were reasons I did not want to write this post. One, I had decided that I would henceforth not write any personal post, as my personal life is as boring as watching dry paint get wet and peel off during rains, and therefore so will be my blog. Secondly this post has the ability to make my only reader -my friend Nivesh baulk off of the idea of visiting my blog anytime soon. But this is for “The Bigger Cause”. Just like blogging about tigers will somehow help to increase their numbers, blogging about blood donation will also help the cause. How?? I don’t know. And I doubt anybody knows either. But still.....

                               So, I went to donate my blood. It was under a campaign titled in a very cheesy manner called, “Hum tumhein khoon denge,Tum humein DCE do.”  DCE happens to be our college which has been converted into a university in an even more cheesy fashion. So , a lot of things have been going around. Politics, playing with politics –both inside and outside, playing politics-both inside and outside, trying to get oneself made PC, trying to get a friend made PC, trying to get an enemy stopped from being made PC and shedding blood , tears and swaet, obviously among other things. For the uninitiated, PC stands for placement coordinator. Strangely, it also stands for Political coordinator.  Politics and blood always go hand in hand. But the good thing has been that this time blood has been ours and not others , and it has not been wasted even if the movement comes to a standstill.

                                                                                So, where will my blood go?  I sincerely wish and pray that my blood is never needed by anybody. Not that I am infected by HIV AIDS or the likes. It will be nice if I get  a picture with Sachin with myself being projected as the star. But that will mean that I will have to wish that Sachin gets through a tragedy grave enough to require blood.  That cannot happen. Wouldn’t it be nice if my blood comes back to me when I  need that?  Like a bank, where you deposit money when you do not need that and take it away when you are in need. But in a bank, you lend money to the bank, whereas in a blood bank, you donate  blood. Guess, therein lies the difference.

                    Inside there was another poster which said that only 5%of all eligible Indians donate  blood. Sordid fact , for sure. But what is the eligibility? Any person who weighs more than 45 Kg and has not suffered from diseases like typhoid or jaundice in the last 3 months can donate. That makes around  70-75% of Indians eligible to donate. But only 5% do so.  Another chart inside told me of the things I ought to do after having donated. I should not carry heavy weights for the next 24 hours.  Now, that makes around  40% of Indians who sustain their families through daily labour-intensive jobs ineligible to donate. That chart also advised me to take a lot of liquid food within the next 24 hours. Now around 55-60% of Indians cannot afford any sort of liquid food other than water. And about 65%of Indians do not have access to clean drinking water. Wonder how much does the eligibility of such people count. One of my friend there collapsed after giving blood because he had not had any solid food since morning. So, I guess that must be criteria as well. Now, I assume that around 40% of Indians are not quite acquainted with the idea of “Breakfast” and they have their first meal of the day as lunch at noon at around 12-1 pm. And the blood bank opens till 4 in evening.  Now, I do not remember set theory, terms like union and intersection etc.  I also am not trying to prove anything, nor am I trying to make a statement. I am just trying to look at things a little differently. Now each one of those people- one who is a labourer, one who does not have access to clean drinking water and cannot have the luxury having breakfast , might need blood in their  life at one stage or other, without being eligible per se.  That is why blood bank is not strictly a bank, more a trust , with each one of Indian who has got the luxury in monetary terms, has the luxury in terms of time, has the luxury in terms of health, has the luxury to be strictly eligible , as one of it trustee. And that is why everyone should donate. Also they give you a pack of Tropicana juice of your choice. Guess, that should be reason enough.

             Also, I will have to break the news to my mother. Donating blood is still a taboo in majority of middle-class households. She will create a scene at home and send me its commentary on phone. Some of my friends also face the same problem. But, mothers are like that only. She will understand.

THe MaD ADs

Last week we had cultural fest in our college DCE called “engifest”. In this there was an event called “Ad Lampoons” in which one had to make an advertisement. Me and my friend group participated. I promised quite a few of my friends that I will post the ads we made for the competition. I hoped that at least this might result in some blog traffic. But I forgot that I am no ad maker and have the imagination of a goldfish and more importantly I forgot to ask somebody to record them. So there you go ...But I do not quite have the memory of the goldfish and I can tell you the concept and execution from my memory. After all if we can have ads on radio, I can as well come here to tell you to buy this and that.

The competition had a qualifying round , in which , we had to make an ad on any product we fancy. What we did is described below in as graphic a manner as I can manage.

There is a elderly person- played by my friend Lovlesh – sitting on floor with a mobile phone in his hand trying to crack it open in as earnest in a manner possible. 

Enters a young man played by another friend Vishwadeep. (I have kept the conversations in the language they were made in.) 

“Are Uncle ji, ye kya kar riye ho?”

“Wo kuch dhoondh riya tha.”

“Par mobile ko kyun tod rahe ho? Mobile ke andar ghus baithi hai kya?”

“Haan”

“Abe kya bewakoofi bhari baatein kar riye ho. Kya hai wo?

“Wo kal main ek cheez khayi thi. Badi acchi thi . Chip kahe ja rahe the use. Aaj subah padha ki mobile mein bhi Chip hoye hai. So use nikal riya hoon . Uncle to main hoon hi, ye chip nikal aave to Uncle Chip ban jaye . Fir maje mein khaoonga.”

At this point a character played by me jumped in and started bellowing while kicking out the Uncle and his mobile. “Uncle Chipps, No confusion, great combination.”

Well, however big a groaner this ad might have been , we got selected. Well it was more to do with the fact that the majority of the organisers were our friends. Anyway.....

In the second round, we were asked to design an ad for MRF if they venture into Soap/Shampoo business.

We had around 15-20 mins to conceptualize, practice and enact the ad. So here it is,

There were more characters in it which I will introduce as and when they appear. There was a narrator, which was played by me. So the scene opens thus....

Narrator(n)-

Aaiye aapko dikhate hain MRF shampoo ke tarah tarah ke upyog.

Enter two people –one Jhandu played by Lovlesh, and another Kamina played by Vishwadeep. Kamina applies the shampoo on his hair and Jhandu who looked pure dumbass figures that since it is from MRF, it must be for use on tyres. So,

N- 

Ek ne lagaya baal par aur doosre ne lagaya car ke tyre par.

Enters my friend Abhishek who plays a girl called Haseena . Both approach her on their bikes.

N

-Aur ye hai haseena

Ek hai jhandu, doosra Kameena.

When they approach her, both apply brakes, Jhandu’s bike skids off as it became extra smooth due to use of MRF shampoo. Kameena takes off with Haseena on his bike.

N-

Jhandu ka nikla paseena ,

haseena ko le gaya kameena.

MRF Shampoo, Kuch Bhi Smooth Kare.

So that was it. We won the first prize. But that was more to do with the fact that the organisers were our friends and the number of other participants was probably not more than 3, some of whom were there with crap like Main bahut pareshan tha, meri height bahut kam thi. and so on.

I was the scriptwriter, dialogue writer, director, music director, lyricist for the play. (I paid everyone of these 500 each to claim the credits. And anyway, they do not blog.Hehe.)

P.S- The links given are of orkut profiles.

Image courtesy www.ugc.dhingana.com

Why I have never had a girlfriend

Yesterday I was strolling around the campus with my friend when he got a message from his girlfriend. It went thus,

Santa went to his girlfriend's father to ask for marriage between her and him.
Her father was a Sardar and he replied with a lot of pride," Oye, tu meri beti se shaadi karega. Tujhe pata hai, jitni teri monthly salary hai, itne mein to uska toilet paper bhi nahi aayega. Tu shaadi karega??"

Santa replied calmly," Je inni ta*ti kardi hai wo, fir to rahne hi do."

My friend asked me what to reply to this. I advised to reply," Tera baap sardaar hai kya?"


Well, he followed suit. A couple of hours later, there were two more additions to my kind of people in the world i.e. singles.


That is why................

Rann & the other one

Ram Gopal Verma knows two ways of making movies. One is how to make a movie and other is that he does not know how to make a movie. The last time he was RGV was when he made Bhoot . I did not like Sarkar ; it was less likeable than the Godfather. And it was definitely far inferior than the book. Godfather the book was more about relationships, the aura , the undercurrent and human nature and its vagaries. Sarkar was more about Amitabh, the expressionless Abhishek , the mercurial Kay Kay and above all RGV, the middle name for which he presume was G for GOD not GOPAL. The actors became bigger than the characters and the movie for me ended up in sketches which were devoid of colours and life. Post that repeatedly our Darling RGV, tried to Phoonk away all his credentials for some entirely Agyaat reasons in his own RGV ki AAG. But when RGV decides to be RGV, few forces in world can join Company. Rann reminds you of all RGV is capable of . But when I entered the theatre , there were all of18 people inside it. Yes, I counted them. It reminded me of another aspect of RGV which he is capable of. He can scare people off theatres even without his darawane attempts. He will do well to remind himself that to keep his antics like GO and Shiva - to mention a few others - to himself , so that a genuine effort like Rann can generate viewership. Yes, Rann is good. And there are several reasons for that. One being his desperation to save a sinking ship. RGV that is. It is not in class of Company or Satya, but then a lot of movies we have been calling good were not there either. At least it is far better than classics like Darna mana hai and its sequel Aahat-Part2. (read:Darna jaroori hai.)

Moving on , I really do not remember the last time two ,movies as different as RGV and Vishal Bhardwaj released on the same day , and I walked out with the same heady feeling for the two. Ishqiya is like one of the dialogues in it,”Ishq mein sab bewajah hota hai.” A lot of things in Ishqiya is bewajah (illogical) , but still the movie is like Ishq- titillating, steamy, spicy, raunchy. To use another reference from the movie –the Ishq I am talking about is not like one feels for a Pari. But the type one nurtures for a Tawayaf. And for that very reason it falters . Like an elusive lover it occasionally and finally frustrates you. A sense of emptiness adds to that feeling of “What could have been”. Even though the film carries an unmistakeable watermark of Vishal Bhardwaj, the hands of a inexperienced director show up although a promising pair one must say.

Talking about watermark, let me return to Runn. The Film has got a distinct , almost opaque watermark of Sarkar. RGV could have easily named this movie Rannkar. Except for the fact that Kay Kay was better than Sudeep and Ritesh is far better than –ankhiyon se only goli mare- Abhishek Abhishek. And yes, did Sudeep put drugs in his cigarette and smoke? Please somebody take away cigarettes from the dude man. Cigarette chadhti hai us ko. Was not cigarette smoking banned on screen? On second thoughts, government should give out video of Jai smoking with every packet of cigarettes. More people will quit than they would if it was banned altogether. And talking of bans, why can’t Neetu Chandra be banned from Indian films? She is getting more irritating than when I get shut in room with friends watching stupid English sitcoms which are “Chandra-ishly” irritating specially so when they guffaw out loudly now and then and yours truly is left wondering what the big deal is.

Another reason I liked Rann was because how it surprised me. I had never expected this from RGV of AAg fame. And no I am not talking about the script. It is as predictable as Ekta Kapoor; I was able to guess almost every next scene. But still the movie retained its raciness for almost the entire length even for someone with a prejudiced mind like me. Now , that is an achievement and that is why it was a surprise. Another surprise was Mohnish Behl. Now do you remember him? Then you might remember when he did act as well as in Rann. May be before he jumped on the Rajshri bandwagon. Did he do any movies earlier? I really don’t remember , so please if anyone does, let me know. He just about manages to avoid being in your face, avoid being hysterical, in short just manages to avoid being Rajshri-ish. Another actor who is a surprise was Rajpal Yadav, but for entirely opposite reasons. In the performance of these two actors lies the maverick RGV. He can make Behl act as he has never ever had , and can make Rajpal Yadav a cringing force he has never been . All for the cause, but he comes a bit hard on senses. As for rest , Amitabh when he acts poorly is news and he has not done that since Lal Badhshah. He was passable even in Hum Kaun Hain. Apart from him , the movie has got a cast which is bigger than the one in even Kahani Ghar Ghar ki.And the best thing is that only Neetu Chandra is worse than Parvati Maiya. About the others, Gul Panag was gul for most of the movies, and anyway they all looked like cinematic version of Mayawati.

The talk of lady characters bring me back to Ishqiya. But first tell me that is there anyone, who writes dialogues better than Vishal Bhardwaj. and better than Guljar to weave songs around those dialogues? Of course we are presently discounting the dialogue writer of movie “Gunda” otherwise he will win hands down. You can’t ignore a person who gave gems like, “Main hoon Bulla , rakhta hoon sab kuch khulla” and “Mera naam hai Ibu Hatela, maan meri chudail ki beti, baap mera shaitan ka chela, khaega kela?” and “mera naam hai pote, jo apne baap ke bhi nahi hote.” But we will talk about that jab maine apne maathe se gunda nahi dekhne ka kalank dho diya hoga. I am getting senti here, so lets get back to the point.

I wanted to write a post on Runn , but see what I am talking about. Some movies are like that. Like Gunda, Like Ishqiya. One can’t help when one is so fresh in mind. Ishqyia has its rough edges, but they seem to be carved in perfection. Has there ever been a bigger tharki than Arshad ? Has anybody been ever able to portray that swift transition from rouge to suave better than Naseer? And will not talk about Vidya. It will sour the memories. They are best left untouched, unshared. But the movie trudges slowly, and its twists do not appear like twists. But still it has got a fleeting spark within itself, right from the disclaimer, which says that the characters are imaginary to a large extent. . But the spark is the problem, coz it is too intermittent, more so under the air of huge expectations I carried with myself into the theatre.

For me this week the seasoned player trumped the debutante by a thin margin, but I suspect if Runn will do well. RGV has created such a market which is keener on not buying his product because of his antics which he translated into movies. Here is the proof. Abhishek Chaubey comes with no such baggage. That is an advantage, more so , if you happen to be from Vishal Bhardwaj stable .