OVERNIGHT STAY AT CHANDIGARH

“Of all the things that tax a man’s patience, there’s nothing to compare with a stuck zipper.” —anonymous.
Unlike many people’s opinions, I am very much human and harbor my own little fears. The last thing I shall talk of is the night spent at Chandigarh.
At 4o’ clock Saturday afternoon I was at “Neelam”, (movie theatre) Sector 17 Chandigarh, straining my sensory organs real hard while watching “Fashion”. I had never expected to find such atrocious screen and sound systems at a theatre located in one of the most posh areas of Chandigarh. Now, those of you who have seen “Fashion” are aware of the deprecating comments made in this movie on this (erstwhile) “beautiful” city and I very much concurred having been made to sit on one of those torturous wooden chairs which that theatre sported.
However, the movie was well-made and the fact that so many models had been stacked up in a two and a half hour movie was a treat for the eyes, whatever be the screen quality.
Once out of “Neelam”, we had no more complaints against sector 17. Our roving eyes found no rest for the rest of the evening. What Calcutta lacks is a decent “SQUARE” like the one in sector 17. It has a large number of showrooms and food courts as well as serves as a perfect evening hangout for one and all. We stuffed ourselves with pizzas n sundaes, rare delicacies for residents of Kurukshetra. (The last time I had asked for pizza in Kurukshetra I had been offered sliced “pyaaz” by the waiter…with a smug smile of course). At another shop, booze was being sold off at reduced prices. What more incentive would anyone have needed to let the “Gandhis” fly out of their wallet? But…
(Now in life there’s always a But and of course the other butt too). My friend Kamal (whom I had mentioned in the Amritsar trip) was the cause and effect of both the “buts”.
Kamal out of a morale breakdown (or should I say awakening), at the end of the movie “Fashion” was so petrified by “Kangna ranawats” state that he resolved to abstain from alcohol for the rest of his remaining days and with all his heart n might(read butt), prevent us from doing so too.
I got my left ear pierced. Kamal joyously went for the right. I didn’t even try to ‘butt’ him out of it. After all the holes had been created and filled, Kamal gave me a huge smile. He had never looked so gay indeed. (Pun most definitely intended)
BUT my joys didn’t last long for I had to share the room for the night with Kamal (and yes, his butt too…)
(Now----Earlier in the day…)
The gorgeous psycho-analyst returned today to once again stir up all those unfelt emotions and let alien sensations run all over my body along untraveled paths. She was to take our psyche-stability tests today. It was to be a written one. She had a sore throat and she said it hurts when she spoke. I offered her a strepsil. She reluctantly accepted but nonetheless gave back a hearty smile for which my classmates could’ve even resorted to killing.
We were then divided into groups and had to perform a small skit. I wrote the script. All went well. My group performed decently. She commented “Badal you write well…”.
It would’ve all been perfect but for… (There’s always a But…to understand what had happened read the quotation in the 1st line).

WORLDWIDE DEPRESSION STRIKES CHANDIGARH

(I had no intention whatsoever to get back to posting on this blog again…but finally succumbed to the wishes of someone who wanted me to write and to whom I can’t say no)


It had been more than three weeks since I last attended class. I had gone home for ‘Durga Puja’ and my mind had naturally drifted its course from Chandigarh to Kolkata. Awestruck by the aura of the female deity and mesmerised by Bengali beauties, it was a splendid stay and kept my mind off Chandigarh. But again the words of my dear friend ‘blaise’ reverberated in my ears—‘good things don’t last long’. The call of college exams and Mamta Banerjee’s Blitzkrieg finally drove me out of Bengal too.

It was again a gruelling 3day exam routine on returning back to Kurukshetra and by Saturday evening I was in no mood to attend class in Chandigarh on Sunday again. However…

Incentive is essential in life to get some work done. And so with the hope of spending a few hours with my lady “loves”, I decided to attend class. My companions were engaged in a heated discussion on the way to Chandigarh on the global crisis, fluctuation of the ‘sensex’ and the depression hovering over Indian markets. Like every other occasion it finally ended Rang de Basanti style with an affirmation to knock off the finance minister. God bless Chidambaram…

The depression finally struck me too…
It took some time for the news to sink in. It was official now. No more revelling in the beauty of those lovely cascading curls, no more hopes of getting my fingers entwined…She had changed her batch…

Things could’ve brightened up if at least the psycho-analyst showed up and dealt with my so-called “depression”. But here we were facing some guy from some god forsaken bank from somewhere in north-India giving us some consolation about the stability of Indian banks in this hopeless worldwide crisis.

By the time I stepped out of class, I empathised with the likes of Chidambaram, Tata and Naresh Goyal.
How would Vijay Mallya be facing the first major crisis in his life?
I got myself a chilled kingfisher beer for the way back and understood how.
I tried to figure out what Paulo Coelho was trying to say about omens in his “confessions of a pilgrim”.
As of now all seems ominous…

NO EXCURSION TO CHANDIGARH..............

It was an occasion of choice for me. The most disturbing part about choices are that one craves for them if he has none and is in dilemma of which one to choose when he gets them. I had our mechanical engineering department fest in which I had been selected to present a managerial paper…basically a speech on “India shining…?? ”. I did not know which was of greater magnitude, the lure of getting a golden chance to perform or the desire to get entwined in the maze of those cascading-tendril curls…

There is a line that separates coincidence from faith…

None of the Greek goddesses had turned up last week. I knew for certain the psycho-analyst, i.e. the pretty young lady teacher with the beautifully carved angelic hands was not scheduled to be there this week also. Now, would it be a really fortunate coincidence if the damsel with the lovely black flowing hair, like last weekend, did not turn up this weekend too…
I cursed myself every moment after I assured the authorities I shall be free over the weekend to deliver the speech. The Casanova inside me writhed in pain and the blood gushed out from the heart at unfathomable pace and ran havoc across my body…but I had made my decision; no Chandigarh this weekend.

The speech went well; the only hitch being a squabble with the judge over some “questionable” content which was forgotten over beer later in the evening. Those who had attended class in Chandigarh doused my fears; I didn’t miss out on the damsel today as she didn’t turn up for class. A recurrence of Coincidence; a victory of Faith.

THE SAD PART OF IT ALL…
There does seem probability that “my girl” has changed her batch due to inappropriate timings…My “friend” Blaise (I should call him a fukd up black-tongue soothsayer) had rightly implored me not to “get too carried away” since “good things do not last long”.

What’s to be with my blog now?

What’s to be with me…?

There is a line that separates coincidence from faith…

I think I had been stretching the line too far…

MY EXCURSIONS TO CHANDIGARH--Day 4

A Day of Disappointments

I stopped at Chandigarh on my way back from Amritsar. (Refer to the “amritsar trip” post on the blog.) However the lady luck was not to continue. Neither the pretty damsel with the wonderfully cascading tendril-curls turned up nor the sophisticated lady with her enchanting aura. It was a two hour class with our DI teacher who also sports long hair, an emulation of the earlier Dhoni. As he dealt with fractions my mind still wondered in the hinterlands of Amritsar and my body ached for sleep.

What followed swept me off my seat.
Yet another sardarji walks in to take the English class for the day. At first I thought I was hallucinating, an after effect of Amritsar, Jalandhar and Ludhiana. But I slapped myself awake and yes, it was a sardarji indeed. He talked of reading and comprehension while I wondered at the large scale effect caused by the sardar community; the Prime Minister running the country being a pertinent example!

I strived hard to keep awake and was highly grateful when the ordeal ended.
Back to Kurukshetra…
Hostel sweet hostel…

AMRITSAR TRIP

“Ser kar duniya ki gafir
Zindgani gar bhi kahan
Zindgani gar bhi rahi
To naujavani phir kahaan”

And with a heart to explore unvisited horizons, four jobless mechanical engineers packed their bags for amritsar. How we cooked up cash despite our unfavourable bank accounts is altogether a different story best untold. I, the protagonist, stand corrected in my erstwhile notions of pre-planned travel. From time to time I religiously applied Adam Smith’s thesis of devising the best solutions for the group and each individual member but was sacrilegiously waved aside by yawns and grunts typical of engineers.

We left our hostel around dinner time in order to take an overnight bus to Amritsar from Pipli, putting aside my idea of taking a direct evening express train. The dinner was to be at Parakeet, the highway restaurant of Kurukshetra from where we were to catch a bus. Now, it is a fairly accepted notion that once you step out of the boundaries of kurukshetra, it’s a treat for the eyes and the soul. Parakeet is the revered paradise for thirsty throats but because of yashank’s apprehension of being drunk on journey, we remained sober. This setback was somewhat made up by dinner and the view of two pairs of gorgeous legs underneath an adjacent table.

Yashank’s Chandni Chowk Tommy Hilfiger chappals died out on the walk to the bus stand. We stood laughing at his plight until an hour passed by when we started getting restless waiting for a bus. Kamal and Yashank avoided my dirty glances and stressed on the truth of the info that it was a high frequency bus route. An experience of a lifetime was to follow. After a few minutes I found myself leaping on to the back of an open truck with the others. However fun it may appear in movies, I assure you it takes a few minutes before you make friends with inertia. The next half an hour to ambala was a blast. We lied down, squatted at times and then stood tight braving the mighty winds and hurled curses at the top of our voices.

Now at ambala, we stood on the highway looking for a transport to amritsar. Murphy barked in my mind, “If something can go wrong, it will”. Kamal unsuccessfully tried to pacify me by leading us towards the railway station in hope of getting a late night train which I contested by saying there were none, as I had seen the schedules before. Again I was waved aside. As we rested our butts alongside a garbage bin at ambala station, kamal and abhishek euphorically ran on the platform towards me waving 4 general class tickets. They claimed to have broken the queue and purchased 4 tickets for the darbhanga-amritsar train. Now, like most Indians, I view with scepticism anything and everything related to bihar and a train originating from that noble state couldn’t be expected to follow IST standards. Still, we waited.

At 12 midnight a female Haryanvi voice pierced through our ears. “Amritsar se aane wali gaadi darbhanga tak jayegi…”. My lips mimed, “from amritsar to darbangha”. A series of engineering college adjectives were attributed to kamal and abhishek and we dragged our selves back to the bus-stand. Kamal treated me with a classic which helped me keep my eyes open and my lips from assaulting him. Now none of us are particularly fond of snakes. Neither was abhishek. His heart skipped a beat when he was about to step upon a snake; yes, a snake on the highway. As he ran back to us, I stood agape, the classic stuck onto my lips making it the longest drag I had ever taken.
Pacing up and down the highway, a glass of tea and the relished classic in my hands, I spotted a bus on its way to jalandhar and we ran for it. Our good times had got going. We managed some sleep until the sardarji conductor implored us to get off at jalandhar. Now, my bladders desperately prayed for a leak but before those prayers were answered we had to hop on to a bus for amritsar lest we miss it and go through the ordeal of waiting again.

I had never witnessed such a scene in my life before. A bus full of sardars. Pagdees everywhere-Red, blue, yellow, green, white, black, orange and what not! My laughter had to be controlled lest my bladder gave way. The bus finally stopped for a few minutes when I relieved myself. The rest of the journey was relished. The view through the glass windows of the sunrise across the lush green fields of Punjab was brightening for the soul. I realised how colourful and warm the fields were unlike those of haryana. My ipod filled my head with the tunes of “Tujhe dekha to ye jana sanam” and I was lost in my thoughts which hovered over those homely fields.

Once in amritsar we freshened up at hotel “hilroz” and laughed off the events of the previous night. We caught a sardarji auto-rickshaw to the Golden Temple. It was one of the most serene and austere places one could visit. We tied holy scarves around our heads and bowed down in reverence. Cameras clicked and the mind registered. I met a sardarji who was cleaning the floors in compunction for his misdeeds of the past. I concurred with his views on the necessity of a righteous life in order to reach God and in turn he directed us towards the bathing “kund” to take holy dips and wash away our sins. The dips were awesome fun with large fishes tickling at our feet. (The sardarji had assured us they wouldn’t harm being “fishes at the house of god”). All of us wanted to take back some “gold” literally but held back ourselves in the fear of God. We ate at the “langar” where all and sundry are offered free food. It was then we realised that none of us had ever seen a sardarji begging. They never felt the need to!

The temperatures soared in amritsar with innumerable sizzling punjabi beauties around and the sun glaring down upon us angrily punishing us for leching. Jalianwala bagh brought back memories of that tragic incident of Indian history and we spent some time in contemplation. A sardarji auto-rickshaw took us back to the hotel where we fell fast asleep.

Our next destination in the evening was “The Wagah Border”. I suggested taking a private cab. Again I was waved aside. We must have aged by a year till the auto-rickshaw ride had taken us to the border. We didn’t get front seats to watch the parade and stood at the back shouldering and elbowing our way all the time. The atmosphere at the border was electrifying. Smartly dressed soldiers stood at attention and patriotic songs filled the air. Few yards across stood the gate to Pakistan. The air was mixed with the slogans of Hindustan and Pakistan “zindabaad”. Birds soared in the sky trespassing from one nation to another; we stood confined behind barbed wires.

We all revelled in our “Indian-ness” on the way back in the auto-rickshaw and had build up good camaraderie with the autowala who was two years younger to us. He took us to the “praaon da dhaba”, one of the best of amritsar. We tore into amritsari kulchas and drank off the thick lassis filled up to the brim in giant steel glasses.
The autowala then drove us back to the Golden Temple to enjoy the mesmerizing view of the temple lit in coloured lights. As before, the beauty of the place didn’t fail to captivate us.

It was time to bid adieu to yashank and abhishek who took a bus to delhi while kamal and I went back to the hotel to catch a night’s sleep. The idea of sleeping with kamal haunted me and I let myself not fall asleep until I had ensured he had snored off.

We got up early to catch a bus back to chandigarh. The bus stopped at the jalandhar bus stand around 5 in the morning. As I was getting off the bus to freshen-up my sleepy eyes met those of an angel, so beautiful in her simplicity and definitely Punjabi. She enquired of me whether the bus was on its way to chandigarh. I let the sweetness in her voice settle and strived hard to find mine. I whispered, “Yeah, anywhere you’re going”.

The rest, they say, is history.

MY EXCURSIONS TO CHANDIGARH Day 3

A Day of Constraints
It took sometime to keep myself from ogling at the pretty damsel with her hair innocuously flowing down in a cascade of soft tendril-curls upon her shoulders. She was dressed in red and black today. It was impossible for me to not stare. Those of you who have ever had a pair of discerning roving eyes will shake their heads in agreement. However, very virtuously (read disheartened) I programmed my mind to entangle itself in class 10 equations. With these hardly taking a few seconds for my ‘engineering mind’, every now and then it engulfed into poetry…’the unruffled beauty of hers…an idyll for my sleep drenched eyes…’
It didn’t take much time for the other blokes of the vicinity to decipher my stares. We shared competitive complacent looks. Common constraints. Sigmund Freud was so right with his, ’What’s on a mans’ mind’.

Inflation down by a few points, the plight of Tibetan refugees and chiranjivi striding into politics…my mind instinctively traversing unrestrainedly all over the country. What is it with the mind and travel anyway? At least it doesn’t pay to travel by this mode. I had no other option anyway. The weekly trips to Chandigarh aint turning my wallets any greener.
The way back was all heated up. My friends were hard leching at the Chandigarh beauties who defied all weather constraints to venture out in the afternoon sun. The sun however seemed to avenge our stares glaring down with all might he could muster, making us all the more sweaty. I empathized with my friends. The driver sidled towards the left as some VVIP cars raced by with cadres of black cat security. “Power comes with constraints”, I ruminated. My eyes returned to “Black Friday” by Hussain Zaidi which lay open on my lap to tell me of the atrocities of that shrewd cabal of terrorists responsible for the Bombay serial blasts in 1992.
Their deeds sickened me to the core and my eyes battled hard to keep their lids open. I let my thoughts wander. My half closed eyes scanned the lush green fields contiguous to the highway. The nokia phone in the backseat sang “tujhe dekha to ye jana sanam”. Green, red and black, me…colour the most essential ingredient of life.
Did some one say constraints?

MY EXCURSIONS TO CHANDIGARH

A Day of Miracles
Of all the battles I have fought in life, the one I have loathed the most and still loathe is that with sleep. Three gruelling days of internal exams and the next morning I wake up early to flock to Chandigarh. Yesterday I survived an accident when a car hit me in the market place where I went after my exams got over. No, I wasn’t drunk. I was sleep deprived. I couldn’t be drunk. Not that I didn’t want to…loose motions…do I say more?
Incentive matters a lot in life; today’s being, watching Rock On!! after class. The drive to Chandigarh wasn’t that dismal. My face flushed against the wind as we zapped through at 120km/hr, imbibing freshness. There is some mystery behind the morning hours. The coolness of the air and warmth of the waxing heat of the sun miraculously partner to give one a heavenly rejuvenated feel.

Now people, miracles do happen. The problem is unless it happens with you; you won’t accept it as a miracle.

We had taken our seats as usual and awaited some mentor to charge in and shower upon us supposedly invaluable techniques to crack one of the toughest examinations of India. (Don’t ever assume we were excited). This was when our unassuming eyes caught hold of a young beautiful lady who swiftly walked in, a fashionable purse dangling down her well-crafted smooth shoulder. (I think my neighbour sighed a bit too loud). Assuming her to take a seat next to the other pretty damsel on the first row, our assumptions met with stark contradictions. (Now you would raise fingers as to why this pretty damsel wasn’t talked about in previous posts. Let that be a secret. For further reference she will be referred to as the pretty damsel with lovely black flowing hair…)
Resting her purse on the table she introduced herself as the psycho-analyst. Yes, she was our new teacher.
What is with the mind, females and poetry? I tried hard to keep pace with my mind which had already ventured into unexplored realms of words and emotions…’ We dream of hope. We dream of change. Of fire, of love… And then it happens — the dream becomes true…’. Our eyes reciprocated the motions of her demonstrating exquisitely carved angelic hands and our ears floated in the breeze of the soft, cool esoteric words she purred from those immaculately pink colored lips. She said something about taking our psychometric tests. I wondered how obvious the results of those tests would be in her presence.
Now, I firmly believe that opportunity brings out the best in a man. It was the last escapade for the dying casanova inside me. We started our conversation as the class enviously stared on. She told the class (read me) she had been studying psychology for the last seven years, a mathematical absurdity I retorted, “You look too young for your age…” My mind deracinated itself from its “engineered” owner, as she took it into the world of psychology and philosophy. Her carefree yet caring unaffected persona dawned upon me as a guiding force for my unsheathed mind foraying into unidentified terrain. She longed for questions to be answered; my thoughts yearned to be given voice to while jealousy flared across the benches amongst my classmates. They took revenge by pointing to the ticking away clock.
Love has its detractors. It was time for group presentations.

You see now, miracles do happen. What followed was nonetheless one too.
In a few minutes time I was sitting next to the pretty damsel with lovely black flowing hair down wonderfully as I sincerely explained to her what was to be said about our common topic ‘Bollywood’. Yes, we were in the same group. In the last few days it had been only the inflation curves which had been steeply rising upwards. Today my heart followed course leaping higher and higher.
Conclusion-Bollywood rocks!

The miracles to follow were rocking! Rock on indeed rocked us all. Chandigarh theatres and farhan akhtar’s female fan following seemed to work wonders for us. Our joys knew no bound. We swayed to his tunes; we swayed to our hearts’ songs. A treat for the eyes; treat for the soul.

A day of miracles, indeed. What say?

My excursions to Chandigarh-day 1

A Day of Challenges
I can’t remember the last time I had woken up so early on a Saturday morning. The alarm clock mockingly shrieked imploring me to awaken lest I be late for my first class. My intestines weren’t supportive either. I strained myself to let go of all the parathas eaten the night before but my bowels just wouldn’t obey. It was going to be a tough day indeed.
On the way to Chandigarh, it felt good as the bus paced along the smooth roads; like “butter on bread”, the guy sitting next to me lamely exclaimed. I had had no breakfast and the sight of the roadside dhabas only fuelled my hunger. The cool winds blowing down from the mountains and the rising sun cast a balmy effect on me. I relished the window side seat and enjoyed the sceneries of the passing landscapes.
Once into Chandigarh my eyes failed to blink. After the barrenness of Kurukshetra, coming across the greenery of Chandigarh was a gift to our sore eyes. Our eyes furtively scanned the distances to manage glimpses of the impeccably pretty and stylish lady population of Chandigarh.
I counted thirty odd damsels and my hunger was greatly overcome. I also counted ninety sardars. (Horrifying statistics…)
The faculty at the class welcomed us with the same fervour a butcher harbours for his animals. The manager licked her lips avariciously as she pocketed wads and wads of notes we handed over to her as tuition fee. We were given an outline of what was to be taught and what effort was expected of us. I helplessly looked towards heaven for some courage; I was blessed with the vision of a sword hanging over my head.
On the way back I didn’t look out of the window. I closed my eyes to let the gravity of the situation seep in.
Alas! I fell asleep.

hello world!

I had read somewhere that there’s a thin line between chivalry and ignorance. However, I have most valiantly, joined the “Rat Race” to grab the CAT and tie a bell round it in November 2009.
For this noble act, some of my cronies and I will be going for weekend classes to Chandigarh. I have always had a fetish for travelling and I hope this shall stand as some incentive to attend classes religiously.

I believe life is analogous to a journey, through which we come across a plethora of people and emotions. It were these feelings that inspired the idea of opening my own blog to share with you my travelogues and invite discussions on a philosophical level on the various insights I shall be laying down before you.

I will try to my level best to be regular with my posts and replies, defying laziness which is so very characteristic of the engineering community.