Rain rain... don't come so often

It rained hard last night. Very. And when I woke up I woke up with a heavy head. And the strong morning tea didn’t cancel that. Rains have never been an object of admiration for me. I have never been able to quite understand the so-oft-described romanticism involved in it. For me rain is trouble. The city in which I live seems to share my feelings. Rains here are like the mother-in-laws who when return after you were succumbing to domestic violence (and thought that now maybe you’re enemy will be otherwise engaged while you may savour some peace), are welcomed with open arms but after few days have passed, you know that you’ve had enough of this shit and living with them thenceforth is impossible. I know this is the saddest and remotest analogy ever, but well, it’ll have to do.

But then, I guess, I am not to judge. The neighbourhood I live in is seldom water-clogged. And all my troubles end if I decide to sit back home and relax. I can even look out my window and take in the smell of wet earth beneath and feel blessed. But life and luck don’t treat everybody the same. I have a relation who has a relation who is well beyond his prime and is roughing it against the weather. The rainwater has invaded his bedroom and he is having to negotiate green little slimy snakes with a walking stick.

All this is fun to here now. But future for me may not remain so bright after all. I just had a ruckus with my promoter about whether or not he should do something about all the water that is clogging in front of my apartment. “You’re on the 3rd floor sir. And you shan’t have anything to do with water there. The rest is not included in the contract.” –blunt and sharp was his reply.

It is night and the rains have started again.

Not My Land

The nights and the days,
They are the same;
The music you hear, the same stale band.
But this is not where you stayed,
This is a void you do not understand.
What led you here?

Where you come from,
The stars were different,
The sun gave a darker tan;
The bedouin do not for long linger,
On this dust and this sand.
What led you from there?
To this faraway mundane land.

What led you?
When you had such makings of a distinct brand.

Who am I?
I am your friendly neighbourhood IT consultant.
I am common and I am at large.
I am a late riser. I am most often late to work.
I throng the busy streets at morning and at night.
I am not rich enough to buy a car (I can buy one but maintaining it is an issue). And I am too proud to travel by normal public transport. So I have a peculiar form of transport named after me – the shuttle. Anything from HM ambassadors to Tata Indicas to Honda civics to ambulances, government vehicles to private 4-wheelers ferry me from home to work.
I go to the Sigree and Oh!Calcutta for together-dinners and I drink the lemon masala tea at roadside kiosks.
I don’t vote (because I feel it’s useless) and I don’t donate blood (because I am afraid that I may need all of it someday?).
I am bugged by investment bankers and house loan providers; I am bugged by promotions from my own mobile subscriptions.
I work long hours and I also am distracted enough so that nothing substantial comes of it. I change jobs frequently but I hate it.
If I am single I hate it, if not I hate it even more.
I judge my friends and family, my colleagues and my manager.
I can’t ever own a Ferrari, so I buy a perfume of the same brand.
I have almost no power over things that influence me, over people who hurt me, but I can’t give up scheming because my ideas (good or evil) make me God.

I have learnt that I will never learn to be content.

Urban Desi. 7:30pm. Germany leading 1-0 at half time. Four friends high on vodka, beer and the likes. Smart ambience. Talking soccer and rot. Friend 1 has to go back to his MBA in Trivandrum the day after. Friend 2 has lost 10 kilos in one-sided-love. Friend 3 knows all about that shit and gives some uncanny advices as to how better on the ongoing depression.
Friend 4 is a scientist now, and a government paid one at that. The dignity of it may have still not settled with him as he tries to look fine with glasses and sport tees.

A weekend to remember! One for the tops!

How exactly does it fill when you try to make a point, that you think is proper and just, and someone shuts you up, and does so in a very demeaning way. Let alone the feeling, what are you going to do about it? Nothing, for the time being. You do not have the means or the methods with which you can fend him off.

You bottle up your frustration. You wait. Every story that has a beginning ............... has an end.