Garden of Sunshine

“All flights leaving from Bangalore International Airport have been delayed due to turbulent weather conditions. Passengers boarding the flight to London are requested to bear with us for the delay. The flight would be ready for take-off at 2 p.m.”

Pranav looked at his watch and sighed deeply. 6 hours to go before he left Bangalore - the city he fell in love with since he took the reins of his senses. His heart was still uneasy and his thumping pulse was unnerving him. More than he lamented leaving his city behind, he felt deep restlessness looking into the eyes of Kritika - his fiancée to be. She was sitting by his side, clutching his arms whilst he could only find a denial of approval to leave her behind, in her eyes. He felt at a loss of words to enunciate that he would be gone only for 2 years. It was his dream to study Journalism from the University of the Arts London. But one look at her eyes and he felt a hollowness that would await him in London. She wouldn’t be there.

____________________________________________________________________________________

It was a chilly morning. Pranav had woken up way too early in contrast to his schedule. Kritika knew what the weather could do to Pranav. She too was brought up in the same city. She had rushed him in packing the bags and taking enough pairs of socks for the journey. She knew his feet stunk when they were sweaty. She had bought a pair of mufflers with her because she knew he would ‘obviously’ forget them. And forget them he did.

Pranav felt the grip on his arm loosening. Kritika had fallen asleep on his shoulders. He remembered her once saying that the most comfortable sleep she had was not on her pillow but on his shoulders. He adjusted his shoulders for her comfort and parted the wisp of wet hair gummed to her cheeks. Her teary eyes had given away every bit of resistance that she could muster when she was awake.

Pranav kissed her on her cheek and covered her up with a blanket. What a terrible person he had become, he thought. An overwhelming crease on his forehead loomed over his grim face when he realized the promised he had made to her - that he won’t let her shed a tear for anything in the world. Yet it made him weak, knowing the fact that he was the reason this time. A solemn promise of never leaving her alone. Ever. Nonetheless, he was going away.

Pranav looked at his watch again. 11 AM. He might as well take some rest. He rested his head on top of hers as he adjusted the blanket over her feet. He loved the smell of her hair. It had the power to make him happy whatever depths of melancholy he was in. It was the smell he would associate when he met Kritika for the first time. A whiff of freshness and a feeling of warmth. It was during his college 5 years back.

Pranav recalled himself spending his classes on the last bench, at the same spot every day. Daydreaming was his hobby and scribbling away his thoughts in his notepad was his passion. Not quite the ‘last-bencher’ stuff anyone would expect. But he wandered within a world of his own when the professor preached his sermons without mercy. He liked to remain content.

Kritika, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. She was quite the untamed-force which made up an air of enigma around her. She was inquisitive, competitive and tremendously impatient. She was flamboyance personified. She could give anyone a piece of her mind whenever she liked. And the best part of all, she looked gorgeous in the orange salwar that she frequently wore to the lectures.

Pranav didn’t quite know anything about this until the day he encountered the dashing diva in the college canteen. He was munching on his dosa and chatting away with his friends. The conversations got funnier and as a result, louder. Unexpectedly, there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me. Which year?” It was a girl with inquisitive auburn eyes. Three other girls were beside her too.

“2^nd year. What’s the problem?” Pranav spoke with confidence.

“2^nd year, right? Get the hell out of the canteen now!” shouted the girl. She twitched her eyebrows in the rage. Some boys came and stood beside her.

Sensing trouble, all his friends, including Pranav packed up and left the canteen without a word. The girl seemed furious. “You! Come with me,” she pointed out at Pranav.

Pranav was holding a piece of paper in his hands. She could see that he had scribbled some lines on it. Without a second thought, she snatched the paper from his hand.

She read them aloud, “Risen in the stars, Walked through the garden of sunshine... Meet me at the gates of eternity, I'll be…”

“I'll be…what? You haven’t completed it. So, you are a poet, eh? You've got a big mouth for a poet! Apologize for your behavior back there!”

“I am sorry. Can I have that back? I don’t remember the lines and I’ve got to complete it before I forget the rest of it.” Pranav nervously stared at the ground.

“No you can’t. That’s your lesson for today.”

She folded the paper and kept in her bag. She was just walking away when Pranav called out to her. She couldn’t just walk away from him just like that!

“Excuse me, miss…”

“Kritika”

“Quite a unique name. Umm… I make great coffee. Can I bring some for you tomorrow? I don't want to keep any grudge between us. Plus, I am really… really sorry.”

“Oh! Is it? Kritika taunted him.

But then, she felt a flowing bitterness within her. That’s not how she was. She softened up and said, “I like my coffee cold. See you tomorrow. Junior.”

She walked off swinging her plait behind her. Somewhere at that moment, Pranav noticed a smile on her face. He couldn’t believe how he got the guts to hit it off. Neither did Kritika. But there was definitely a splendid spark. She had been his senior in college. A fact that Pranav always made a point to make fun of Kritika whenever she acted like a kid in front of him. A wide smile adorned Pranav’s face when he acknowledged this fact now, Kritika beside him.

He remembered being drawn towards Kritika by some irresistible force, a charisma and an unyielding desire confess his feelings to her. And he knew in his heart that it was the same mystifying force, which took control of Kritika too when Pranav gave her the red lily and said those magical words. The taming of a tempest was an unbelievable tale that both of their friends seemed hard to swallow, but nonetheless, it had been done. And Kritika, with all her soul, accepted that Pranav was the one. He was the perfect person in the world in front of whom she could remove the mask off her ‘public’ personality and just be herself in all her vulnerabilities.

The first time Pranav took her on a long ride on his father’s bike, he reckoned how she opened the ribbon form her fragrant black hair and let it flow in the air with her arms spread out like an angel’s wings. How his heart leapt with joy when he saw her exulting in the rear mirror! He had never sensed what freedom felt like. This was it.

They glided along the road to the sea shore adjacent and the sun on the horizon. Pranav recalled stopping his bike and taking in the mesmerizing view of wild waves crashing on the shore. Kritika held his hands and closed her eyes. She looked beautiful with the sun beaming on her smiling face. He couldn’t for once decide who looked more stunning, the view in front of him or the girl beside her.

Before he could realize it, she brought her lips enticingly close to his. She had never been this bold before. Pranav held her trembling hands and placed it on his chest. “It’s more to the rhythm of your heartbeats right now,” he spoke. There was silence, the one where they both knew nothing needed to be said to let each other know this was their moment. Only she knew how much restraint on her part it had taken to wait for the right moment. This moment. This was the first time in her life she had known how painful a virtue or a sin patience could become.

____________________________________________________________________________________

“Passengers for flight A-230 bound to London are hereby notified of proceeding to the security check in an hour. Thank you.”

“Baby? Is it time?” He heard a drowsy whisper. Kritika had woken up.

“Still an hour left. Am right beside you.”

“But you’ll leave me behind. What will I do without you? You know you are the only best friend I have.”

“I am still sitting beside you, Kritika. And you are still holding my arms tight. How can I leave you behind like this? I’ll drag you to the plane if you refuse to come with me”

She let go his arm and turned around. “You are still making jokes, no? You don’t understand how I feel, no?”

“Kritika… Kritika… look at me. A smile appeared on his face. She always behaved a bit childish when she was annoyed. With brimming innocence on her face, she would appear as the morning flower which just needed a bit of benevolent sunshine to bloom in all its glory. Pranav knew this. He would deliberately avoid her at first, just to make her a bit cranky. Just for fun. And when she would puff up her cheeks like an angry toddler, it was just the right time for him to wrap his arms around her and make things better. He would give up anything in the world at that precious moment when she cozied herself in his arms and asked him every single time, “How much do you love me?”

There was only one answer. “More than you do.”

“Passengers boarding the flight to London are requested to complete the security check within 20 minutes”

Pranav arose and swung his bags over his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, perhaps to wake up from an unfinished dream and find himself on his bed back at home. Not today.

He turned around, “So you are not going to see me off till the security? Are you still angry with me at a time like...? ”

Kritika hastily turned around before he could complete his sentence. Her eyes were swollen with the unceasing stream of tears that rolled down her cheeks. The anguish was clearly written on her face.

In a steady yet hesitant voice, she murmured, “Please don’t go Pranav. It’s not that I don’t want you to go. I want to make your life bigger, make a great career. But I don’t want you out of my sight. I know I sound like a selfish fool. But I can’t help it! ”

A guard standing in the corner walked up to Pranav and asked him to hurry up for the baggage deposit. Pranav quietly picked up his bags. He felt helpless in not being able to give any plausible reply. With a heavy heart, he grabbed Kritika’s arm and drew her up from her seat.

“Passengers boarding the flight to London are requested to complete the security check within 20 minutes”

The guard grew impatient. Kritika hurriedly wiped away tears from her eyes, distorting the kaajal in a bloating smudge. She knew she was embarrassing him in a public place; she knew it would be uncomfortable for him. She hid her face in her scarf, but her eyes said it all.

“Sir, please proceed to the check-in area. We don’t want you to be late for boarding.” The guard spoke with urgency this time.

Pranav went to the baggage check and waited in the queue. They were hurrying with the checks lest the weather got choppy again. From there, he could see Kritika standing in the visitor’s bay, impatiently waiting to see a last glimpse of him in person before he would disappear for a long time.

“Please move to the security area sir, we’ll be boarding the bus to the plane shortly” the personnel at the baggage spoke. The same security guard urged him to move along quickly to complete the other formalities. Pranav followed the directions with his mind drawn into a limbo, where was lost in a never satisfying contemplation of his decision to leave his love behind.

Suddenly, he looked around. He had moved into an area where he lost sight of Kritika. Guilt and panic caught hold of him. Was she gone? Did he miss a chance of telling her how much he would miss her? He desperately wanted to behold Kritika one last time in his eyes before he took off. Dropping his bags in a corner, he ran towards the visitor’s area in a frenzied fit only to find a familiar face blocking his way.

“Mister! Where do you think you are going?” He caught hold of Pranav’s arm. It was the same security guard who had met Pranav before.

“It’s urgent sir. I have left my belongings with my fiancée. I need just a few minutes.”

“At least you can tell me the truth, sir. Even I got married last week! Is that the same girl? ” He said, pointing her out.

“Yes… Yes!”

“5 minutes. Only 5”

“It’ll be more than enough.”

Pranav ran towards the corner where he had last caught a glimpse of Kritika. His feet fell short of completing the whole run when he saw her standing in the same place. Their eyes crossed. He ran up to her, took her in his arms and kissed her then and there.

After a moment of realization, Kritika wiped off her tears and said, “You kissed me in public?”

Pranav smiled back and said, “I am leaving the country. Aren’t I?”

This time, a subtle yet unpretentious smile adorned her face. Pranav could now go in peace. The guard signaled Pranav to get back. Pranav kissed her forehead. He unfastened his bracelet and tied it round her wrist.

“I’ll be back before you know it, sweetheart.”

Kritika didn’t say a word. She only gave him an envelope.

It was a long walk to the flight. In his heart, he carried a glimmer of hope that he was going to be alright. Most importantly, he was leaving with an assurance, that Kritika would be fine too.

“Please fasten your seatbelt or call us for any assistance” declared the air hostess. 

Pranav looked down from the window as the plane glided into the blue infinite. He was leaving behind a part of his mind and a bigger part of his heart beneath the clouds.

“You may unfasten your seatbelt now” the airhostess politely asked Pranav. He had held the envelope since he took off. He had held back his tears long enough, he realized. 

A part of Kritika, her handwriting, opened all floodgates -

“This is for you, my life:”

On the inside were the words written,

Risen in the stars, 

Walked through the garden of sunshine... 

Meet me at the gates of eternity, 

I'll be waiting with a butterfly in my hands... 

And say, "Fly free if you love me"

He believed it was always meant to be. 

Being together.

It was the same piece of paper, the same string of words. Half of them created by him. And half of it completed by her.

The city of dreams

They call this city - ‘a city of dreams’. Billions of dreams rise up every moment of everyday. Some of them realize into reality while others get squatted mercilessly. But the dreams never stop rising up again in a hope to see the light of the dawn, breaking the shackles of a nightmarish reality the city hides within itself.

I came out of the 8 P.M local after a grueling day in the city. Somehow, I managed to brush past an ocean of men and women who seemed to rise above the tide of the cacophony to jostle and submerge into the ocean again. I was pushed, I was bashed and I was broken in spirit. But somehow, I did not seem to mind that at all. A pity from within caressed my ‘inconvenience’ when I realized that this was the way the city seemed to move forward, the way dreams were being chased relentlessly in pursuit of nothingness.

I looked down, sweat dripping from my brows, my eyes fixated on the railway tracks after the local had disappeared into the smog.

“Where have they come from? Where are they leading to?”

Do the travelers really have a destination? An end to their journey?

Why do they pick themselves up every day and unfold the same story day after day after day?

What has this city given them? Food, shelter, livelihood?

A hand reached out me, derailing my train of thoughts. It was the everyday child soiled in the blanket of the city’s dirt, stretching her hand out to me as if I owed her something.

“Why is she begging of me? No, No! What is she begging of me?”

I’m not a messiah. I didn't own her anything.

“Is she asking me to give her food/money? 

Or a ransom to rescue herself from the spasms of atrocities that were evident on her wrinkled face?”

What was I to do but to simply move on?  I can’t trust every child extending its arm to be valued with my concerns. The city has taught me to be wary enough to snub away such emotions. I give myself a resounding justification of the propaganda that I've always found convenient – not to encourage child beggars.

“Was I wrong this time?” I asked myself.

Nah. Probably not.

I couldn't be bothered on an empty stomach.

Slowly mounting up the stairs into the land of the surface dwellers, manifestations of the city pierced my eyes. A cool breeze swept past me which smelt like the rheumy, nauseating stench from the gutters of the city - home to some, a workplace for some in the city. Out of repugnance, I clasped the railings of the stairs which led me to the exit.

My senses gradually came back to normal. I had to catch a bus to my ‘home’, my destination for the day. On the edge of the road, I looked towards left. And then I looked towards right. And I looked towards left again; I had been taught this in my school. I had to survive while getting across the street. I had to come out alive on the other side of the road to make it to another day.

Is this what the city’s stooped to offer me after all this time? A few seconds of emptiness on the road, every day, as an offer to see my loved ones?

What did the city offer me then? My life? Love? Or an endless hamster-wheel run for me to never stop and wonder who or what put me on the wheel?

On the other side of the road, a few faces appeared resembling the autumn leaves ready to be shaken off in the wind. Ignoring them seemed the best option. The bus stop was a shaded respite for many during the day. During the night, it became home to a few. I took support of a dented pillar and waited for the arduous journey back to the hole from where I crawled out of this morning. Time never seems to pass when you've to wait for the last leg of your transit if you've already pictured a cold shower and hot food.

I took notice of a few girls playing at the other end of the bench. One of them was hitting the other for an arm that the latter had pulled off from the doll of the former. There was no crying, no tears in the eyes of the one who was hitting. Just a 10 year old stern face. She probably knew that no one was bothered about her emotions over a broken doll which had no use whatsoever. Tears rolled out of the girl who had been hit. Her cheeks had reddened and soiled with her tears. May be she wasn't mature enough for the kind of life she was dealing with at the age of 5.

Wait, did I have some money on me for them to buy a new one? I checked my wallet. Green notes only.  Bad luck for them, I didn't have change to spare.

Not my fault.

As I looked to the other way, a thick plume of smoke had started engulfing the area. I choked and coughed, trying to frantically fan away the poisonous smoke form my face. The smell – Carbon monoxide – caused due to incomplete combustion of organic matter. This knowledge came in handy today to decide whether I should bear with more of the revolting smell from the city or not. As the wind changed its direction, I could vaguely see a silhouette of an old lady fanning a burning log of wood. There she was sitting on a red brick, gazing into the fire lifelessly. She was wearing a tattered old yellow sari, which refused to cover her entire body.

My eyes had become watery and pain had become sharper. It had become unbearable.

“Are you mad lady? Why the hell would you burn a log in a public place, in the middle of summer?” I wanted to shout onto her face.

I chose not to. She was boiling water for a handful of rice, probably the only morsel of salvation on this devilishly hot and humid day. I realized the fact that losing control over one’s patience over circumstances governing your life had no meaning in this city. I could have shouted. She could have simply unheeded me. She was probably deaf in the least I could have known.

A lady in her late forties was sitting beside her doing the same thing I had thought in my mind just a while back. She was as lean as the dented pillar itself on which I was leaning. She was carrying a child in her arms. I assumed it was a couple of years old from a brief look at them. The child had woken up from its sleep and started wailing loudly which irritated the mother to no extent.

For the lady with the child, the water had been boiled too long and the smoke made her child weep uncontrollably. For the lady with a foot in the grave, it did not even matter if the water had already spilled and doused the fire.  For both of them - No attention paid, nothing to lose, and no love lost before ending another day.

I asked myself again, what has the city given them? The answer was not a difficult one - Whatever they've managed to snatch.

The bus came hurtling sideways and screeched to a halt. I climbed in after being heckled again. It was irrelevant. It meant no disrespect if people involuntarily violated you. They were the same passengers as was I. I took a seat and looked out of the window. The fiber off the window made a rattling noise as the driver slammed his foot on the pedal. I looked out of the window and saw the same old, dreary bus stand. On its side was a poster – ‘Keep your city clean’. Clean, the city was – of dirt, not of people. I threw a last look at the old lady in the tattered yellow sari. Faint feelings of pity churned up in my heart. She did not have anything to look forward to at the end of the day, not even a soft bed.

The bus crawled forward. I looked on as the lady as ancient as the city itself, rose up from her seat. She tore off the poster from the stand and laid it flat on the pavement. She then proceeded to empty the cooked rice on it and offered it to the baby in her mother’s arms.

I had seen enough for the day. I had picked up plenty from the city.

Now, it made me wonder again… what did the city then finally had to offer?

An answer that simple, doesn't exist. Even if it does, it changes its form and meaning every moment for everyone, everywhere. In reality, it might not suffice anyone’s curiosity after all.

But one thing’s for sure though, the city never lets you lose hope or stop dreaming for another day.

Life's like that...

Life can never be the same when you've had it with the anguish of your mother scolding you for scoring low marks in Chemistry. I was a borderline pass case with an entire day of taunts and references of that classmate who had score 95 in the exam. After the morning debacle, I decided that enough was enough and I would have to do something about it. In the afternoon, I went to my classmates’ house which was in the same locality that I lived in. His name is Binay. We were partners in crime; he had scored miserably in Biology.

I was 12 years old and already taking big life decisions on my own. We condoled each other and gloomily decided to take a walk near the railway track beside our homes. To our surprise, a goods train was already stationed there that day, unlike other days when I went to play on the tracks. I told Binay with all the feelings in my heart that it was the perfect chance for us to get away from all those chiding sessions at home which were planned by our parents for the coming days. So, we decided to leave our town for good and escape the evil that had befallen upon us by our respective teachers. We climbed up the ladder of one of the bogies and sat down on the pile of stones that it contained. 

It was 5 o’clock in the evening and we had high emotions pent up in us. The first thing that we did was throw stones into a nearby pond, cursing the teachers who had got us into such predicaments. When we were exhausted by the time we had used up all of our vocabulary, we sat down and reflected on our day. We exchanged the ‘atrocities’ that our mothers had subjected us to just for scoring less marks than the entire class. We were also furious about the fact that our TV watching privilege had been revoked until further notice. I almost came to a point where I got tears in my eyes when I realized that my father was yet to return from his office and there would be a separate jamming session altogether when he would come to know about my marks. We had even cemented our belief that it was better to leave home than be treated like this.

The time was half past 6 and with all our sentiments shared, we started to feel rather bored. It was because we noticed that the train wasn't moving yet. We decided that we should probably be a rebel and stay put on the train past dusk. Anyways, no one would scold us once we were gone. The sun set soon and it got dark. Mosquitoes abound and we realized that it wasn't going to move. Ever. We condoled each other yet again and walked to our homes, relieved that we hadn't boarded the train because both of us were damn scared. 

Gareebo Ki Suno , Wo tumhari sunega!

Statement 1: Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. The Chinese once spoke some wise words sitting in their smug ‘communist’ native land.

Statement 2: Hindi-Chini (and a few Italians) bhai bhai.

Adding Statement 1 and 2: Let us implement the Food Security Bill and turn God for the poor of our country overnight, says the Congress.

Conclusion: Election time is approaching at warp speed and the only way to save the government's already red bottom, is to be hardcore populist. The nation’s already reeling economy can go to whichever hell it can choose from.

QED.

The Food Security Bill has been passed! At the fag end of its "regime" in India, people have seldom realized the fact that Madamji really cares about a nation which is so insecure about itself. So security in any form would surely be welcomed unhindered. Deprived people would get the benefit of subsidized cereals and pulses, which is.... great.

"Emancipation of the downtrodden - let's do it in a day's job!” Rahul Gandhi exclaimed clutching his mom's sari, which is also...great!

At times when the onion prices are competing with gold prices and the rupee is gaily enjoying a roller-coaster ride, the whopping ` 1.27 lakh crore a year budget in subsidy is apparently what the "doctor ordered" for the nation; UPA-2’s – family doctor - Dr. Manmohan Singh. Apparently, people of the poorer sections will just need to sit back, relax, and wait for the free morsel which will be delivered door-to-door by the storks that the government has appointed for the purpose. These people will no more be disillusioned by the white lies of the government to create/give jobs, a dependable income security or an empathy that they too once held the dignity to command wages for their hard toil, when they had jobs at all.

I imagine this conversation is what might have transpired some months back somewhere in the dignified corridors of a safe-haven called Delhi.

Rahul Baba:  "Mummy, I have an billion dollar idea. No, literally. Why not just give away free food to the poor so that they can feed me whenever I go to their home during the election campaigns like I did earlier? Last time I ate in one of their homes, 4 of their kids just looked at my plate hungrily. I felt bad. And mamma, I promise you I'll take an Odomos cream and Kent water purifier with me this time when I go for a sleepover."

But then his mother asked, "But who will pay for the Odomos and the water-thingy you'll take with you? It's not like I have lakhs of crores of rupees in my account!"

To which, Rahul Baba says, "Mumma, why are the middle class people so stingy that they won’t pay for the poor? They can surely pay for my Odomos."

A light bulb appears over Madamji's head then. "Hmm... beta, I'll pay for the Odomos. Remind me to propose a bill in which the middle class people, who have somehow managed to find jobs and dig their way out of poverty, would pay for the food for the ‘poor’. I dunno how they did it, we never created any jobs for them as far as I remember."

Rahul: "Mamma! You are genius. These people can surely pay up for this scheme. If they can buy onions and daal at ` 100 , petrol for ` 85, and still hope for better education after wringing out money from selling their lands and gold, they can surely think of some 'charity'. 

I tell you mamma, these people always fall for 'schemes'. Hahaha! They are so rich mamma. In our parliament canteen, we only spend ` 1.50 for a bowl of Daal, chapati for ` 1, a plate of rice for ` 2. (http://www.dnaindia.com/india/1865973/report-parliament-canteen-only-place-where-you-can-get-a-hearty-meal-close-to-rs12)

See? And they grumble and complain if we say you can survive for less than ` 32/day. In fact mamma, are we below poverty line right now?"

"Yes we are beta. But you don’t worry. Odomos is of primary concern now. What do you say beta, some 15 thousand crores from the budget will be enough for your Odomos na? The rest we can give away.  Plus we can always brand those who oppose this bill as anti-poor and unpatriotic. Total Win Win!"

"Mamma, Did Manmohan daadu really do well in economics? I bet he would have failed in the oral exam/ viva voce."

Yes he did beta, but why worry? Chiddu uncle is also there na. He said some old scheme by the name of Antyodaya Anna Yojana (AAY), the Below Poverty Line (BPL) and the Above Poverty Line (APL) can be sold to the parliament in a new form. We can call it the ‘Food Security Bill’. Eh? What do you think?"

"Super mamma! But mamma, if they question us about the rising suicide rates of the farmers and the rotting food grains and pulses in government warehouses, hoarding and black-marketing, what will we tell them?"

“Tell whom? The opposition? Ah! I think they would have done the same, they'll understand. “

“No no, the people!”

“You mean Arnab Goswami? “

“NO mamma! The people of our adopted country! “

“Oh you mean Indians. I thought you were talking about our folks back in Italy. Indians are a very busy breed. They'll forget it in a day or two. Leave that. Let’s make the most of our time in power now beta. Ye kursi na milegi dobaara!

Ti amo mamma! (I love you momma!) 

Ti amo figlio! (I love you son!)

And so the Food Security Bill was passed as an overhead to the national debt, opening yet another legal avenue for one more string of phony scams. I wonder why they don’t patent the name of the Bill as “Vote Security Bill”. They can surely earn royalties from every political party for the rest of their lives as pocket money.

Top 5 ways to know you are in Bhubaneswar :

City of Temples - Bhubaneswar is the capital of Odisha (formerly Orissa) and is one of the only 2 planned cities in India. Yeah, that's right Mumbai, we don't drift in the sewage water even if there is a super cyclone every alternate year. A few years ago, I went down to a very famous college deep down the south in their TechFest. When asked to name my college, I said 'ITER', Bhubaneswar, very apprehensive if he knew about my college. The next savvy question which left me flabbergasted was "Dude! By the way..."where's Bhubaneswar?" A swift kick in his jaw would have done the trick but sensible as I am, I thought of writing this article after 3 years.

Top 5 ways to know you are in Bhubaneswar:

1. Arrive and be left at the mercy of the crafty auto-wallahs as soon as you have taken in the first breath. This species of human beings are very adept in picking up their prey at their disposal. Talk in anything but Odia and you are on a one way trip to bankruptcy. But rest assured, these simple people are nothing like their kind in Delhi. They will drop you off at your destination without qualms. It is the only place in the whole world where he'll pack the entire auto with a circus and plead you with a smile with the sorcerous dialogue: "Bhai tike aaga pachha heiki basila (Brother, please adjust by seating either at the edge of the seat or at the back.) You'll find yourself saying "Haan Bhai" invariably.

2. Odisha is famous for its paan too. Take that Banaras! Before moving forward, let me define for you what exactly a “khatti” around here is. The gathering of indolent yet intellectual men around paan shops as hotspots for discussions on world politics to picking apart local politicians can be defined as "khatti" or "adda". It generally occurs in the evening or at any member's discretion during holidays. You'll be surprised to know how 8 hours of discussion can be supported entirely by 1 cup of tea , 4 paans and a 'classic mild'.

3. This, now, is a specialty of Odisha. Apart from all the monuments, temples, rivers, beaches, lakes, forest, natural parks blah blah... Common! We abound in all these. Not important. When I was in Bangalore, I once asked our cook to give me left-over rice when I was hungry. "Le lo bhaiya. Waise bhi kutte ko dene walle thhe", he said without batting an eyelid. Anyways, I took the rice in a bowl and poured in water to the brim with some curd, put in some salt and peeled an onion. And then I ate it. What! You've never heard of anyone eating like that? Rice and water? Neither did my cook. Well, now you do. It's called "Pokhalo". For further details, you know how to google. Right?

4. If you have come in for the first time, beware of the ubiquitous accent of our sweet people. ‘Why' will be spoken as 'Hooaay', 'Was' as 'Waaj' and 'Vegetables as 'Bhejjitabools'. Don't be misled or laugh like a jackass when you hear this. You might be chased around the town by men in brown dhotis with slippers in their hands on Atlas bicycles. Respect and beget respect. They will come out with open arms if you are ask them of any favor - as long as they don’t suspect you of being a Chit Fund agent. If you have an opinion of anything, keep it to yourself. We form enough opinions in our "khattis".

5. The weather of Bhubaneswar is in itself an enigma. Hot in the noon, breezy in the evening. All the seasons make their presence felt with an authority. One of the greenest city in the entire country, it is a landscape bustling with culture and traditions (which can go for a toss if caught by a traffic policeman). Lip-smacking food/snacks in stalls and dhabbas, water in 1 rupee pouches and "moodhi" as a staple diet is the life line of this city.

So the next time you hear or see a word like Bhubaneswar, remember of this article and how your entire life is a lie when someone tells you it is "some place in the east". And in the future if anyone asks you the question, "Dude! By the way..."where's Bhubaneswar?” smack him with a Manorama GK book for me. And then send me a FB friend request.

Tatkal Tantra

Time: 0400 hrs.

Date: 27 May 2013

Venue: Whitefield, Bangalore

A dark figure looms in the distance. Lonely and furtive in his movements, the specter sinisterly shifts lanes and cuts a sharp corner. His face is covered with a hood and so are his intents. He stops, glances at his watch for a brief moment. And then runs.

Ignoring the cognizance of his own identity, he rushes to his destination. He smiles and takes a deep breath. But his nascent mirth soon vanishes. There were others too.

He resigns to his own fate - his inevitable destiny.

And so, our hero – Champak Chauhan, opens up his cheap hoodie ‘Abibas’ he bought from the Brigade Road from his head and joins the line for Tatkal at the Whitefield Railway Station. His face is sweaty and drips of the emotion of a 5 year old whose pacifier has just been snatched. He curses himself for having stopped to relieve himself off the highway which apparently cost him 4 valuable minutes. Carefully enough, he chose not to abuse any of the gods because he had learnt an important lesson in life. Never damn a bridge until you have crossed it.

Still drowsy, he took a massive yawn which scared off a couple of dogs that were sniffing up his legs. Yesterday had been a day of personal triumph for Champak, a red letter day – if you may. After buying his boss, a daily dosage of a large coffee and Mysore Masala Dosa for 38 consecutive days, (his personal best), he finally found courage to put across those vital words in front of him. Yes! He got a holiday for 3 successive days.

He had not seen his family, ‘since time immemorial’, as he would put in his words. He tried hard to remember the name of the college his younger brother got into a year back. 3 of his cousins had got married off to UK, USA and Australia. Of course he remembered the countries’ names but not their spouses’; he pondered over the promised onsite 3 years back. Maybe he should have bought enough idlis with regular dosas for his orangutan of a boss with a gargantuan appetite.

But he still had hope. A dangerous sentiment for a man with receding hairline and a pot-belly without anything to do with booze.

Champak was still lost in his imaginations when he woke up with a kick on his behind and a yelp.
“Hey idiot! Get going, the line’s moving”

Champak scampered back to reality and helplessly cringed his face when he saw the massacre at the counter end of the line. He tried to bring order to the chaos by addressing the people in front of him as his brothers to which he received, with utmost reverence, references of his mother and sisters.

Sore with the commotion, Champak finally battled his way through to the counter’s window. The time was half an hour past 8. Anxiously, Champak handed over the form and the money. The person on the other side spat out a chunk of paan in a bin and asked for his ID. Champak promptly handed over his DL.

“This doesn't look like you. When was this taken?”

“2 years ago” replied Champak

“Common! This isn't you. Do you live here? Let me check that again.”

He adjusted his spectacles and stared hard down Champak’s face. And spat out a bit more paan.

“Son, am leaving you this time. I don't like your haircut. Doesn't match your photo”

Then he looked at the form and entered data into his computer, finding relevant keys on the keyboard at his ease. Champak, meanwhile, was biting his nails as if watching an India – Pakistan final.

“Sorry beta. Waiting 30. You should have come a bit earlier. NEXT!”

Now Champak could safely blame his God. And with teary eyes, himself too, for knowing for certain that his life was a waste and he was a total failure.

Breaking News : The IPL Pandemic

Sitting in my home, squashing mosquitoes in the dark and watching IPL with 2 intermittent power cuts is all I need to kill my time every day. The sense of hollow contribution to a nation’s favorite pastime gives my life a new meaning. It’s not that I have not seen a million sixes and fours in my life earlier on TV, it’s just for taking a side and commenting rubbish on my friends wall in FB against their teams. Who wouldn't love that?

Intriguingly enough, the thing that I’ve been concerned about is the army of mind-numbed people grooving to 'Jumping Japang' that it is breeding every day. I mean, I am OK with the initiative that BCCI has taken up to create at least 10 million cheerleaders in India by the end of this season. But seriously, they could have atleast not shown the hairy orangutan of man dancing on the instructions of its ringmaster (read Farah Khan). From the news in smaller print it was revealed that they had initially hired a real orangutan, Babli, for the act. But, Farah Khan thought it was better to outsource it to some hobo for lesser number of bananas than Babli would have consumed and it would be less embarrassing too.

The soulful and meaningful jingle that it is, it has been compellingly flushed down the veins of the modern day TV channels. And with what results! If Kapil paaji and Sidhu paaji (no pun intended) can move their bodies to this national rejoice, then the youth of this nation can definitely join in unabashed. 'Jumping Japang Jampak Jampak!' This encapsulates the spirit, the enthusiasm, the literacy rate, and the number of people with a high tolerance capacity for bullcrap in India. Even Jaadoo from Koi Mil Gaya has threatened to unsubscribe from the channel, which airs its film 24x7, after his kids went crazy and his powers could not heal them. In events, totally unrelated, the Delhi earthquake shocks were pinpointed to an epicenter other than the Hindu Kush. It all began when Farah Khan naïvely decided to force Mukesh Ambani's son do the 'Jumping Japang' at the Wankhede.

That being said, the IPL is a raging fever among the people in this country. IPL has united the country more than Arvind Kejriwal or Baba Ramdev ever could. If they had paid more attention to the current affairs, they could have nominated Sachin for their party leader and won by a landslide.

Personally, I might be branded as a fan of RCB. I love their attitude, I love the city. An uncertain Gaylestorm against the Pune Warriors made more headlines in India than the Hurricane Sandy or the Boston Blasts in the US. In short, the idea of a whole team is perceived as this one big Jamaican Monster who came from the ship from Captain Jack Sparrow. But as Sidhu says, 'Their batting line up is like an Indian cycle stand. If one falls, all fall.'

Shah Rukh Khan has strategically planned the shooting of his films just on the onset of IPL so that no one dares to make a news of him getting banned from the rest of the stadiums hosting the IPL. Shilpa Shetty and Priety Zinta have obviously fell short of ways of motivating their teams. Their teams have moved on since the days of hugging and dancing became clichés after every match.

Well, Delhi might not have done anything its fans would have loved, but its contribution to the on-field lingo is instrumental. Whether it’s an uprooted stump or a taken catch, the sheer amount of pleasure and pumping-up the players love to get by commemorating the mother and sister of the batsman who just got out, is phenomenal. Incidentally, Gambhir and Kohli were not auctioned by the Delhi because they felt that Delhi Police was already giving them a reputation that no one in the nation could forget. The news headlines across India nowadays reads 'Delhi Gang rapes continue, latest victim: Delhi Daredevils'

Talking about Chennai... Well, I would prefer not to. I may be tried for blasphemy towards the 'divine enlightment' Shri Shri Sir Ravindra Jadeja. He is no ordinary man. He has an uncanny ability to twist the fates of many a puffed-up cricketers around him. His reverend miracle of the CSK vs RCB match will go down inscribed in gold in the annals of IPL history. Too bad he refused the office of the Pope after Pope Benedict XVI resigned. (Some say Shri Shri Jadeja Sir came in his dreams and said - 'Tumse na hoga beta'). The legend lives on.

The stadiums have been jam packed every day, everywhere. This was a cleverly veiled plan for decreasing the number of rape and eve-teasing cases in each of the cities by the ruling parties. Theft and robberies have also gone down the charts because everyone's out there betting on their teams and increasing the economy of the state. Win Win!

But the crowd has still been getting their money's worth. The cheerleaders! This season, I often wondered whether a body like PETA (for animals) exists for these poor souls. Fair ladies, makeup sloshed in sweat, bodies gyrating in the charring heat and uneasy smiles on their faces. They seem to dance on a cue as if Gabbar Singh has held Viru (no pun intended) and said 'Jab tak chhakke padege, tab tak tere paw chelenge'! No wonder why some of them have threatened to quit if Gayle and Pollard play in the same match. Come to think of it, Rohit Sharma is a frightening sadist who only waits for the IPL to torture these lovely ladies and seldom bothers the scoreboard otherwise.

Of course we might argue about excavating new talents from the earlier neglected regions of India in the light of IPL. It has given a reason for young blood to make their career more lucrative and some oldies like Debashish Mohanty and Sanjay Bangar, a reason to sulk and weep in their sofas. Except for the fact that some celebrities of the past are still riding on their aging horses. Gilly and Ponting have been the hitmen of their times, but common, you cannot be like Sachin in this lifetime atleast! You are not old wine in a new bottle, you are yesterday’s left over soup, however good you may have been. It’s time to explore other options what else you can do with your body, down under (no pun intended). And being a sensible human being, I’ll simply refuse to write about India’s favorites – Ashish Nehra, Ajit Agarkar and Lakshmipathy Balaji lest I draw a flak from their fans.

Breaking News : Porn OK Please!

Although I still am writing articles, I think it's time to self publish as well. I am currently posting all my articles on the youth online magazine www.jammag.com of which you can checkout on the website, all by the name of "chirisco".

So I thought, why not reach out to you by myself too, through my own blog. All these articles are edited, yet unabridged. This is the first one that was published in the mag on 12 June'13.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Breaking News : Porn OK Please!

Champak Chauhan (name changed for confidentiality) is a promising lad from the middle strata of the Indian Society. Every day he wakes up at 6 o'clock and after his morning chores, wears a dhoti, smears an orange teeka on his forehead and performs a detailed aarti of the God he believes in, with all his soul - Hanumanji. He believes that ‘Tann ki shakti, mann ki shakti’ comes from unflinching bhakti and not from a chocolaty powder called Bournvita.

Thereafter, he humbly puts on the ID-card of Infosys-Bangalore and hops on to the bus hoping that his Project manager, yet again, considers his plea for an onsite approval which he had been promised 3 years ago. Champak is ‘soft spoken and as docile as a lamb’, according to his last appraisal. He was a bit unhappy the way things were going on of late and was heard saying “In 5 years, even my cubicle hasn’t changed, let alone onsite”. Still, he sailed on. But something inside his mind snapped on April 16th this year.
"Champak started swearing uncontrollably later that evening in his office canteen and even went to the Brahmachari Hanumanji Temple across the street and created a ruckus there. He swung himself up a 'mandir ka ghanta' and thundered to God to punish some wrongdoers“, said his colleague Amit who has known him for the past 5 years. When he got exhausted and calmed down, he was found uttering 'Prawn! Prawn!' under his breath. "We couldn't understand the head or tail of it. What did the poor sea creatures do?” said Amit.
It was then known that Champak had been violently been shaken of the fact that the government had, on that day, tried to pass a petition to block all the ‘porn’ websites in the country.

"Has the government gone nuts? How can I believe ‘Congress ka haath Aam aadmi k saath’ when we men will not be allowed to use our own hands...? I am 27 years old. My B.Tech life ended without finding a girlfriend, even today I have no confidence to talk to these high-maintenance girlfriend materials in the IT industry. My neighbour Cheeku, a class 7 student has made 3 girlfriends just by chatting with them on WhatsApp. My mother has stopped seeing marriage prospects for me after getting many rejections because of the growing a bald spot on my head (even Dr. Batra's medicine is having no effect on it). And they had to think of banning the porn now?” a concerned and violated Champak had to speak out.

Champak rejects the idea that viewing porn may induce young boys to come on the streets naked and chase women to rape them. "Even girls watch porn! All of my B.Tech life, I had been asking my old room-mate, Rituporno DasMujkherjee, as to why he kept exchanging his pen-drive daily with his girlfriend, to which he didn’t respond but always smiled back", Champak reflected on his past days.
The day he wanted to print his Final Year Project, (which was the best project in the entire college, he claims), he borrowed the pen-drive from his roomie's girlfriend and gave it to a cyber-café near his college, to print it.

"When I returned to collect the printed papers, I was shell-shocked to see the pictures of my favorite actresses - Sunny Leone and Priya Rai, among other pages in my thesis. All the girls in my college avoid speaking to me even today - when they are married with 2 kids!”

The plight of Champak is the status quo with any other youngster in India. Hardick Sharma from Uttar Pradesh has even gone to the extent of challenging the Section 69A, which came into effect on October 27, 2009 that has raised the bar for the executive power to block porn websites. It states that the government can still block such websites, but only if they create a "public order" problem -- an unlikely probability. Savita Bhabhi, for instance, can hardly start a riot. "The hypocritical name of the (aforesaid) Section is sending a wrong message to the people in India. It should be amended as soon as possible”, came out the cry of a public servant in the Punjab Municipality.

The resurgent problem is not a new weed in our ancient garden. It seems young boys and girls in our country have been potential targets since a long time. Harandeep Sandhu, a member of the Haryana Khap Panchayat is a renowned social activist in his village. "Pornography poisons the mind of our Indian men. The internet is an evil and somebody should pull the plug out of the socket before it does any more harm, literally. I have personally written a letter and send it through speed post to our Chief Minister Bhupinder Singhji to ask someone to shut down the switch and lock the door from outside maintaining a security perimeter.”

Haryana on a positive swing, has taken some bold decisions to curtail the detested bestiality in their men. "The Haryana Khap Panchayat is absolutely right in stating that the consumption of Chowmein fuels the animalistic rage in young men due to hormonal imbalance”, a member of the Panchayat was noted quoting.
Khap Panchayats had evoked outrage after Sube Singh, a Khap leader, advocated the lowering of age of marriage for girls from 18 years to 16 years on the grounds that young girls are vulnerable to rapes and should be married off earlier. But the Panchayat defends its statement by making this one, "This is a cautious step that our senior and educated leaders have taken to ensure an even better security of women. If a man is under the influence of chowmein and somebody yells from behind that the girl is 16 years or more, then automatically, a self-realization would dawn upon the man that the girl is probably married and should not be pursued and raped. She is somebody else’s property. This has worked out very well in Haryana, though it’s still in its experimental stages.


Banning porn on the internet seems to be the new course of action being contemplated upon after the incident where two ministers were caught red-handed watching porn in the Karnataka Assembly. One of the minister held the portfolio for women and child development. He also said the clip he watched "was of four people molesting a foreigner" and added "I am not a criminal". It can well be taken for granted the discretion of the gentleman that he meant no disrespect to the 'Indian' women in particular and held the dignity of his office in spirit and letter.

Mummy, Ye Idiot Box Kya Hota Hai?

Two guys and a girl walk into a restaurant and sit beside the table that me and my buddy are occupying. It is some inexpensive dhaba that has branded itself 'Karthik Family Reshtoorant' in a deserted place off the highway. The only hustle and noise inside the restaurant is from the howling dog that the owner unleashes on the customers saying 'Nahi kaatega, saar' and a loud TV that has been precariously perched on the stand above my head.

Boy 1: Smita! Kya dekh rahi hai tabse TV mein?

Girl (chirping happily): Bade achhe lagte hai!

Boy 2 (devilishly smiling): Abey! Bade kisko achhe nahi lagte hai?

He got a smack on his head with the handbag that the girl was carrying, when she got the joke.

Watching TV these days is an ordeal! Please don’t crib about all the wonderful shows that are on air these days. Well let me tell you this from a perspective of a boy who has just completed 4 years in oblivion of the world around him. Yeah, a bachelor's degree in some irrelevant stream can do that to you. The only friend that I can think of that helped me make this "leap of faith" is my laptop.

Here's what owning a laptop in a god-forsaken place does to you. You come back to the civilized world and go to a cinema hall. As soon as the first song in a film comes along, you tell the guy beside you "Bhai zara song forward kar de naa". When you watch BBC News with your dad, the thing that is constantly bugging you is, "Err...Papa, iska subtitle nahi hai kya?" But then, you eventually have to resign to the TV when your "stock" is finished.

Our TV is a 15 year old ancient artifact which randomly switches channels on its whims and taunts you back by rejecting its good ol' pal - the remote control. It wakes up with a hazy picture and whines all day with its busted speakers. NO! This is not a result of our domestic violence on the TV. It’s just its way of cribbing about us forcing it to work way past its retirement.

Well, the first thing I come across these days is a man who upholds nationalism, patriotism and sense of duty for the nation. You can guess him it right! Well, maybe not completely right...but I'll give you a hint. Who has the power to control the youth minds in the country and uses only shudh Hindi. No it’s not Narendra Modi this time.

Common! This man holds the Guinness World Record in rounding up all the narcissistic attention seekers, unemployed and the yo-yo youth in our country under a single platform. Which man gives these people their coveted self-esteem by verbally molesting them (well, most of the time for their own stupidity) on national television? Raghu from Roadies, anyone?

I overheard this conversation in the bus the other day.

Boy 1: Yaar! I was in the roadies audition this time. I made to the PI round! Did you go too?

Boy 2: You're kidding me. You weren't on the TV.

Boy 1: Dude! You seriously need to rethink what you want from your life. Hell yeah, I was on the TV. You didn't notice me in the queue for the audition wearing a "Raghu mera baap hai" cap? This was my 8th audition!

Boy 2: NO.

Boy 1: Well, not your fault. You haven't felt that 'Roadies Spirit' in you yet. Otherwise you would have been there as well.

Boy 2: Actually, I have job hours from 11am-8pm every day and I need to support my family. But I watch it when I can.

Boy 1: Oh! Cut the crap dude. Even roadies has money. And babes. Hmm... How can forget that? Hmmm? Hmmm??

Boy 2: I seriously think, the way these 1-on-1 interviews turn up in the end, they should have brought in Kasab, Kalmadi, A Raja and Manmohan Singh too! At least they would have confessed a bit early. Hahaha!

Boy 1: Kalma..., Raja, Manohar? Dude? Who are these oldies? Do they work in your boring office? Huh! You have no sense of humor. By the way, can you tell me who the PM of this country is? Roadies 11 ka pakka interview question hai!

And we still cling to the hope of a better education in the future.

As I turned on the TV, I saw certain obese men and women dressed up like Lady Gaga and trying to perform some skit on the stage. Comedy Circus. It took me 10 minutes to grasp the notion that they were desperately trying to crack jokes and that I wasn't intelligent enough for it. May be the government is organizing comedy shows for the people in mental asylums in Ranchi and jailed politicians in Andaman. 

And lo! There were judges too. One of them was this hideous looking man who laughed like a hyena in labor and beside him was Salman khan's look-alike stuntman.

Oh! Oh! My bad, I just googled the show. It says the Sallu bhau's double is a random chap named Sohail and the other one is not a man. Not even an amusing hyena. It's a woman. Archana Puran Singh. I should get more sleep these days.

And so my mother comes and snatches the remote.

Me: Mum what’s these days on the Sony, the Star Plus channels and the like? Wait, wait... whoa! Who are these burly aunties with Bappi Lahiri complex? Mom! Isn’t this the same woman who tried to murder her husband, burn down her in-laws house and run away with her driver 4 years ago?

Mum: Oh! No beta that is a different soap. This woman is a nice bahu. She only gets tortured by her saas on dowry, bogged by every other member of the house and she is trying to win them over by being nicer in the kitchen.

Me: Oh! Amazing! What is the plot of this serial by the way?

Mum: It’s been over 7 years! Am I supposed to even care?

Me: All they show gives a wrong conception about Indian families. How many people in India have palaces for their homes? And how many women are a walking advertising space for branded jewelers, that too on days without occasions?

Mum: Well, I don’t know. They say that every household can relate to these serials. Plus only people with this kind of wealth can afford to marry and divorce 5 times in a year. Probably with the same woman. Go to hatch murder plots in expensive cars. Wear designer clothes to bed. And have a fruit basket always filled up on their dining tables. In every damn serial. God! Here a kilo of apple costs 100 rupees.

Me: Mom! What kind of a name is this for a soap: 'Punar Vivah - Zindagi Milegi Dobara'? Is it a serial on Marriage Consultants? Seems to be their business tagline.

Mom: Naah! What do you think this soap is based on: 'Ye rishta kya kehlaata hai'? Dementia Patients? Or 'Mrs. Kaushik ki 5 bahuein' is based on? Family Planning?

And my TV did it again! Switched the channel all by itself...

Dad: Oye! Reduce the volume!

Me: What can I do? Ask Arnab Goswamy to cool down!

Dad: Oh! Let him scream. At least some scary tantric or a bloody astrologer isn't.

Me: Hey dad, what's up with these politicians being exposed in scams every day? When charged with proof, they still respond shamelessly by counter questions, not by direct answers.

Dad: In the days of DD1, scamming was damn easy. All you had to do was act innocent and the news would disappear within a few days. Now, these people have a thousand mikes thrust down their throats everyday by the ever increasing news channels. So politicians get frustrated and retort with counter questions instead of answers. Like, "Sir, did you murder the beggar near your house?" is met with "How dare you probe in my personal matters? Was the beggar your relative? Who the hell made you a journalist in the first place? "

Me: And they don't sort out the matter in Parliament?

Dad: Arre! that place has been long shut down. They have given it as a lease to the local Ram-Lila actors for 5 years. Now-a-days, the country is run from the bank lobbies in Switzerland and an Italian Pizza Restaurant near Rajiv Gandhi's house. They levied a new tax yesterday: The POTOX Tax. Money from this tax will be utilized in repairing the broken mikes, tables and fans, buying earplugs for the house speaker and a red carpet for the routine walkouts from the house. It’s just like a BOTOX for the parliament.

Me: Hmm... Dad, which is the channel number for Cartoon Network?

Dad: 43

Me: No Dad! This is the channel for India TV! Which one is...Oh! Hehehe... I get it.

And so after a brief time sorting out which channels to watch, I couldn't end up with any one in my list. But I still decided to give it a last chance. That night I quietly walked into the drawing room after everyone was fast asleep at night. 

Channel 66. Yay! Fashion TV! OMG! Midnight HOT! In 5...4...3...2...1! 

Wait...whaa..??? This can't be happening! Are you kidding me? Asaram Bapu on Aastha Channel! Damn you cable operator! That despicable idiot changed the connection. 

F@#K it! Am going back to my laptop. Forever.