Two Worlds

Time flows fast they say, and when it has done so, the trail it leaves behind, like a jet's aerosol in the stratosphere, shows you all the little things, little junctures in your life, where you might have acted differently to have an altogether different fate.And also, where does this jet stop? More importantly, when should it call it a day? What is life's summit?...
That day was promising to be one of the most uneventful, insipid days of my life. I took the most extreme caution not to let my Zodiac suit get anchored to any unwarning protrusion, which would provoke me to jerk and tear it off. I was clumsily led to into the compartment by my people, who themselves profusely cursed the ordeal. I was travelling in a train after a long, long time, and now it seemed to me a casual insult to do so. 'No flights don't mean you travel in a shithole Mr.Kumar ', Mr.Arkwardt snorted as he slid my Safari briefcase under the berth. 'Well you must go to the roots someday;gives you a good feeling', I smirked. I sighed, and opened the book kept beside me. Out on the cover was the picture of a man, in his forties with neatly groomed hair, tortoise-shell frame glasses wearing a more informal look than was used to be received from him. Well, there could have been a mirror on the cover to get the same effect then. I looked at the title of the autobiography and smiled. ' No, not algorithms! ', that I had chosen over 'The Algorithm of My Life'. I flipped over a few pages. Some people around me probably had noticed me by then and were whispering in short 'Oh! Really?' and 'Oh! My god!' s. That page contained a memory, from my graduation days, and my thoughts were drifting fast.. that day..........
'O really? U made it?'
'At your majesty's service!'
She giggled and said, 'Hey stop it! I don't like that', which told me she liked every bit of it .
I gruffened my voice as usual and asked, 'And how's life?'
She shot back, 'Wow! You sounded like him for a moment!'
'Like whom? Michael Douglas?'
'No you idiot. Like Amrit, remember...'
'That despo! Yeah I do! That buddy bungled his career big time when he tried to noose my lady and got noosed instead. Where is that moron now?'
'I think somewhere here in Orissa with Comp. SCience.'
'Perhaps you could ask him something about the parasite algo....'
'Don't kid me yaar. Your stuff is hell arcane, and you are a genius to play around with it...'
'Oh!', I said as if I was bissfully ignorant of it.
'So what about our date?'........
I flipped it close, leaned back and took a deep breath. I hadn't heard from her for years may be more than one and a half decade. But now I was an achiever, and I had lived my dream and relished every pint....
My thoughts were rudely interjected with a busy looking TTE bustling into the scene. Inadvertently, I moved my hand into the pocket, but he seemed to be looking for something else. He looked up the berths and looked down as if looking at the sail of a great ship about to be hit by a storm. He looked towards one end of the aisle and shouted, 'Yes,come!' I braced up expecting the worst company to be reconciled to me. Two people, a man and a woman appeared with a couple of suitcases. Both seemed to make more noise than the entire darned train, silly-sallying about absolutely immaterial aspects. I grunted and looked away. Both thumped on a heap opposite to me and continued their mumble-bumble. I turned my face to give both of the classless fellows a piece of my mind. But then I saw it… that which had tickled my thoughts when I was cracking the hardest of nuts, that whose flame once lit my life and had slowly faded when I had let it go for something else which now seemed to me an epitome of darkness. Though time had done its work and given its dents, I could see it. Sumi sat before me, donning a mere confused look. ‘I am sorry…’, she began. My lips opened and trembled, and my throat produced a sort of laugh, that could well have been at myself. The man’s face lit up. ‘Why, its him? Its…’
‘Kumar, Sanjay Kumar’ ‘Wait!’,she said and that wonderous captivating expression didn’t die out till, ‘Oh yes! Its you! Good heavens, look at you! You look like a judge or something…’, she went on while I sat gaping at the mocking sisters of fate, while my past played itself like an apparition on the backdrop of her austere countenance. ‘Hello, Mr.Amrit…’ ‘Despo!’, she quipped. Amrit looked questioningly to which she said ‘Nothing!’. She mimed her fingers zipping up her lips and added ‘Between old friends! You know Sanju, we could never have afforded the AC- 3 tier thing. Its so damn expensive. But this nutter…’, she said poking Amrit, while he looked mock-innocent as if it wasn’t his fault. And they continued their immaterial but pristinely romantic conversation. I couldn’t help but see the time that had flown, the decisions that I had adhered to, and the wrought results. I owned everything that my mind ever craved for and a languor had set in life. But then a vast ocean seemed to have gulped my magnificent castles while I stood as the marooned prince who had gone on a treasure hunt, abandoning his heart and soul… When that journey ended, we parted as two different entities: one living a modest life, replete with all the trifling pleasures that fills up life’s vessel with immeasurable ecstasy and another who lived the life of a king, but never experienced or comprehended anything more than flickering monitors and ergonomic keyboards…

The Sport

Life is a short sport. We try and infuse sparks of fervour at our choosen moments clinging to hope that it will make this sport more cherishable. But do we ever spare a breath, and look around to see other chivalrous hope-clingers in the fray? Some never choose these as their worthwhile moments, and some just take a while... The adage of having 'no time to stand and stare' applies to no other profession better. I barely had the time to grumble about the nauseating smell that found its way from my neighbour at the local train, nor to thank the jamaal-incarnate slumboy who very hopefully enlightened me to the topsy-turvy lanes of Mumbai. Yet then, a couple of minutes had passed and I had not moved my eyes from the girl who sat right next to me and looked tired yet accustomed to the scenario. Come on dude. Make a move. ' Why can't they make this place more habitable and less like an oven? We reporters didn't come here to get fried', she looked at me and finished, 'did we?' I am very certain of the confidence I would have sported had I had this girl for an interview or a formal meeting. But my stomach wasted no time in coghing up butterflies from nought. Speak up, dumbo. 'Yeah, definitely, er, not I mean. This is terrible.' Bad begun, all undone. I wasn't used to see a lot of girls in salwars at work of late, but then, she could have got me complaining. They look so much prettier in... 'Which camp are you from?' She was looking around my shirt expecting a badge or a hanging card. 'The Hindu. Staff reporter' 'Are you that dumb? Who do you expect here to come? Chief-editor?' Bad move, mate. No ball in your court for sometime. 'Well, so how's NDTV?', I steered the topic a bit looking at the badge neatly stiched across her suit. 'Doesn't suck terribly. So its kinda okay. Hey, i'm Ishita' Your name, dude. Your name. 'Abhishek!', was all that I managed to squirt, but I wasn't sure if she had heard. 'I can't wait for the debate today. The media is already all ga-ga about it. The Stalwart Stallion Vs. The Puissant Princess. Those two veterans are sure to tear each other apart trying to convince the stockholders of their schemes...', her excited voice was drowned in the hushing noise created as people got up. I scrambled for my stationery and saw Ishita signalling her cameraman who was perched at a distance. A very authoriative looking man had strode in. Without giving any time to take in his full appearance, the co-founder and co-owner of Delicare, Sriram Nagpal started off, 'Without wasting any more time, I would like to draw the attention of my very competent board of directors and venerable stockholders to my latest scheme', and a big image flashed up on the screen behind showing a graph, at the flick of his finger. 'Which', the faces had turned towards a lady dressed in a cream coloured slax, who after the interruption gave no time to the onlookers to know that she was Mrs. Neema Nagpal, co-owner of Delicare and went on, 'is the musing of an obsolete dingbat. You see,' and with a flick of her own finger, a massive image flashed up on an adjoining screen and she hollered on, 'raising the prices of our oil corporation shares and distributing the ever-plummeting pharmaceutical shares amongst the shareholders would be the right...' 'thing to do only after every horrible resort has been utilised. I expected better, Neema.' Sriram turned away from a flaring Neema and without pausing for breath continued, 'Share prices need to go down. A poor man can't buy a share if it threatens to drill a hole in his pocket. If people shy away from our shares, we can't bail ourselves out from this messy situation...' 'which is destined to get messier if your cock-and-bull schemes get their way...', and I witnessed this titanic-clash while my fingers tore away through the pages of writing-pad. They seemed to be no less than two seasoned warlords who would settle for nothing less than the other's blood. Their duel was worth the pains I had taken to get there, it seemed. After a searing half-an-hour, the now air-conditioned hall seemed to be brimming with sparks from the battle. Both the Nagpals sat panting on two seats, and a vote was called. I did not feel any need to augment my story with any spice; it was already hot. Sriram's motion was passed witha narrow majority, whilist incorporating some of Neema's suggestions. As the reporters prepared to leave, I walked toward the secretary for my special assignment. 'Sorry, you must leave. This was a deal we had made with the media for allowing...' Wasting no time, I produced an appointment letter that I knew would be shield enough to ward off the wasp. With the most loathsome look imaginable, she pointed at the door at the far end. I glided towards it, going over the questions I had in mind for each Nagpal. In my excitement, I butted in across the ajar door, without knocking and paid the price. I was shocked beyond all creases that the mind can draw as uncrossable limits. I had expected two wolves to be staring down each other's throats and had not ruled out the possibility of security personnel keeping each bound. But there, mr.Nagpal lied on the lap of a transformed Mrs.Nagpal who stroked hios head with all her long burgundy hair over his face. I knew, I had to act. 'I'm sorry. I'll join you later' But before I could retreat, 'No.no please come in! We do mind company now', and Mrs.Nagpal grinned. 'But its alright!' I questioned a very different Sriram about business policies and new schemes but all that I got was, 'Neema does this magic after every meeting', he eyed his gleaming wife naughtily, 'and I just forget everything! You seem young son, what's your name?' I was taken aback, but answered nevertheless, 'Abhishek' 'Abhishek! Duty and occupation is of primary importance, and you seem to be too dilligent to be an alien to this. But life is not about business policies and income deficits and all that twisted crap. Its also not only about scribbling when two bloodthirsty morons scream.' Mrs.Nagpal laughed aloud. 'Its just much more. Well, I ain't a guru at this, but I have realised, it all matters when choose the sportsman who you want to carry the torch with. The rest of it is the same old business which we do one way or the other. So comeon dude. Start looking around. Life is a short sport.' ***********************

'Er,' The name dude, the name. Don't blow this up. 'Ishita! Would you mind coffee sometime today?'...

Trifling philosophies...

Sorrows in life are commonplace and each of its kind is met with significant dread. Yet the greatest sorrow commands a awe that quite undermines its dignity. And this is why... Generalization of sorrow makes it much more endurable. If I flunk an exam, I feel significantly sadder than if I have some company. This stems from the basic attitude of man to seek solace in company. They say 'birds of the same feather flock together' but this context might see it as 'birds charred in the same fire condole each other'. One classic testimony to this fact, and steering to the greatest sorrow I talked about, is our attitude towards death. Its inevitable and come what may, it always arrives to vanquish the life in us in a jiffy. Many believe its inevitability is the cause of the attitude towards it. But this is not so. It is the singularly most tragic event of any life, yet because we have the entire humankind on the same boat, we live life, conveying by no means that it must end by so dreadful a manner...