Declared-Brought-Dead

Another series of blast. November 26th 2008
Yeah! We would say how could they do it. We will talk about it, today, tomorrow, another week. Sometimes next month.
Then It’s over for us. Silence .Forgotten for ever.

It’s over because talking is all we can do about it and what can we do about it. It’s the nation’s problem. Isnt it?

Such news (the Bombay blasts) rarely charges us up to question the why and who aspect. The media gives us the when and where and how. We love spoon feeding. We are addicted to it.

Parents call up their kids studying out stations, friends call up friends around. We just secure ourselves more coyly into our security blankets. We feel safe. We feel safe and can talk about the catastrophe. Talking again.Blah!
The day it will hit upon us is when someday a familiar name would read something like, sustained gunshots and was declared brought dead at the hospital.
Its then we go quite.Silent.
Then it’s the other kind of silence,another kind of numbness,you feel a stone sinking in the pit of the stomach.
Till declared brought dead, we chatter and talk. After all we can do nothing. It’s a piece of verbose when they refer to us as the future of the nation. After all we love talking.

I mourn the loss of lives in Mumbai,people are being killed as I write this.May their souls rest in peace and may God grant strength to those left behind.

The Indian Flag: My interpretations

Reverence
A sense of reverence fills me when I see the flag atop a building. It is almost comparable to that sense of veneration, that a believer feels when he sees a temple, albeit not that deep and profound. It is personal. The flag gives me the same belongingness as my religion.

Pride
For all the times when I have forced myself out of bed and attended ceremonies in school and college on national holidays, I got gooseflesh, of sheer pride as the flag is hoisted. It is not just the symbolism. It is this one thing that so many Indians would gladly stand up for. I am sure if a popularity poll is done among veritable Indians, pride for the Indian flag would come out second, first being passion for cricket.

Nostalgia
The flag reminds me of the few first flags I made as a child in my craft classes. The best thing being you could never go wrong with the colors. I still remember the crudely filled crayons, the stoked squeezed in between in to make the count 24 and the bulging chakra in the centre. This flag and many others could never fill up my appetite for the happiness of holding my own flag, a minor reflection of the greater creation.
The interpretation is vague. But real and heartfelt. This national symbol gives me a subtle kinship with the land where I was born and bought up and keeps me grounded.

A Martyr

I had penned down this story about six years ago.It was in black and white and now its in bits and bytes.

“Aaj k liye bas itna hi hain;ab kal ana”, this was the evening of the second day.
Next morning, even before the morn’s rays had touched the face of the earth, he was there. The bitterness of life had already made his bones so cold that even at chill of a December eraly morning temperatures, his body wouldn’t have responded.
As the sun woke up the old town of Gwalior, and as the day came out of the misty veil of fog and dust. The painful wait started again.Today was the last day of “bharti” (recruitment) in government job as class for employees, chowkidaars, and sweepers et al.

Hari baba,as known to his little village on the outskirts of Gwalior was also there.Fifty something, mellow eyed, needy yet patient villager, Hari had been coming to the recruitment venue, in Gwalior’s Cantonment area for the past 3 days in need of a job to last his few remaining days among mortals.
Today was the last day of “bharti” here, the vacancies will be now declared after six months. Hariya was sitting flaccidly under the amaltaas tree. The crowd around him was an amalgamation of people from all walks of life, such is the craze for a government job in this country.
A lady in her forties whose son had married her and kicked her out was gossiping fervently about her chances. A pregnant lady, whose husband had been paralyzed was looking wishfully at the kids playing around and there were also a couple of graduates whose parents couldn’t afford to get them fake degrees were also there among others for the pension able job.

Hari was there listening to the tittle-tattle of the crowd.“Money is only thing that works here”, he heard someone say. He was there but his mind had wandered afar. He had moved over disgust and dejection, his thoughts had moved the time when he first heard a similar statement and many times after that.
He had heard it when at a government hospital where his son, diagnosed with malaria was killed due to the organ racket. The boy’s both kidneys were stolen and sold. When he reported the murder of his newly wed daughter by her in laws because of you-know-what, the inspector at the police station laughed and said lets settle the matter under the table and forget it.
His memory wandered to his beloved wife,Lataji, her hardworking rough hands and how they held his when she was on her deathbed. He never did shed a tear on her body, because she had borne a lot and was at a better place.

But today he missed her.
His train of thoughts was broken by the loudspeakers booming out the fateful roll numbers. The day wore off, some prayers were answered some dreams were shattered.
He couldn’t care less now, he had seen it all and now such petty disappoints did not bother him, he sat throughout the exercise as lifeless as a stone.
As the crowd dispersed and night fell on the grounds, A peanut vendor, while packing his wares asked Hari ,out of sheer sympathy “Its over, now go home, Baba!”

That night a pyre was burnt on the cantonment grounds, an honor for only the martyrs of the battlefield. Hari Baba was cremated with such honors. A befitting ceremony for an ordinary life martyr.

Still to go...

This is Ada's (my ami' petite) first contribution to my blog.
I had neatly written a few (too many!) quotes on this work folder,inspiring quotations for bad times!But had myself forgotten the essence of these in bad times (placement week @ college).Yesterday I saw he scribbled the following lines just somewhere near the quotes.
Believe me! nothing bucked me up more than these few simple lines..

Still T3 to give;

Still to be placed;

Still Happy;

Still feeling great,

Still Hoping for the best!!

Thanks ada....love you like always.Your simplicity baffles me!!(-:

Print ads:TIMEX

These are the print ads I created for a college project in Integrated marketing Communication project.The company brief given to us was as follows:
"Timex Group B.V. is an American watch company,The company is planning to launch luxury brand “Marc Ecko” this September. The company would retail its luxury brands through high-end malls and five-star hotels. To position the luxury brand in market they require a marketing campaign."
These were my original contributions to the team project.please comment about how you like them!!

This ad for targeted for the male segement.Here the idea is to symbolize a mean machine with a watch.

This ad,shows the durability of the watch,the mammoth skelton shows the longevity and the watch at the side with the caption (Still ticking!),shows the success of the watch in the worst conditions!

The text reads

My granny used to say marry the guy who gets you diamonds;I am not my Granny!!

"I dont need a guy to buy me diamonds;I know my worth and I know I can give love and joy to many others.

I party,Play ,work,wander in the rain,laugh out aloud.

I mind my ownself,its my time now!

Time to mark my words,time to mark my echo!

This is to touch the independent women of today.

Please comment.thankx :)

A second helping...

I read somewhere, the main reasons behind a persons happiness is not money or fame, its friends. I believe it!
Friends are people who believe in you completely and wholly, they know you can do every possible task. And if in case you falter somewhere; somehow they come forward to make it possible. They are always there for you, and this ALWAYS is like stretched for eternity.

We have had great times together, those memories are not great because of where we were or what were we doing, those are special because we all were together. Some years from now we may not remember what we talked about for hours and hours in the college café, why did we all attack on palla’s samosa and joshi’s coffee, when we could get our own; what made us plan those hundred futile trips, well knowingly that we wont ever make it through any, and why in the gods name, I got up early everyday (almost!)To have the most unappealing breakfast in the mess, but we will remember the important thing, that we were all together in it!
We may have gone real apart, but lets not grow apart! (Cliché’,I know; Even I have heard it somewhere!)
Let’s meet someday, when we will have our own remember-that-time stories, we would laugh on all the moments we fought and cried and not even remember the reason behind it. Lets ask for a second helping for that part of the universe, where we laughed, fought, misunderstood, cried, danced, laughed some more, bitched (guys also do it!!),talked, sang, and most importantly were very happy. Could we have a second helping!!

Who’s going to order??? Will it be a contri? yah hum phir palla ko lootenge!!:)
Adi ka decison,Akki ki calculation,shruti ka ghar jana,joshi ka ghum ho jana ,palla k phone and mera woh continous bak bak karna tum sabse bahut yaad aate hain yaar!

A Broken Heart

A heart broken cries
For the untold love
On which it thrives
Screams, for that one look
One smile
Let it cry, ‘cause a broken
Heart never heals
It is destined only
To cry…..
A broken heart weeps…..
It weeps in the sleepless Nights
Dreams of the moonlight nights
It weeps for the pain it keeps
Let it weep, ’cause a broken
Heart never heals
It is destined only to weep….!!