Selectively Animal

                                                         

Okay, we humans are the most intelligent animals by far the God has created (No, don’t think of  Rahul Gandhi for now). But still, sometimes, I wish I could choose myself to be the animal I want(ed) to! You might think that I am still not over those Harry Potter days when Commissioner Gordon could actually change himself to be a wolf. Wait, did I invite the wrath of Christopher Nolan and J.K. Rowling?

Nevermind, But It was indeed a super power that I seek now. Especially, at that time when a hot lady hugs a street dog. We men are dogs too, most of the time we wander on the streets, we do seek love, care, affection and can do all sort of works for a hot lady by waving our invisible tails. Yes, we do have tails, if you don’t agree, ask a hot lady in your office, or your girlfriend, or your wife. She might be able to get you a tail too. And if you already fit in the criteria [giggles]...  feel your ass may be?

Not that I want to become a dog just to hug and lick the breasts faces but sometimes I want to become a dog to evoke the humanity within you. Like when an asshole throws me off the terrace, I want to cry as the dog that gets enormous amount of love from all over the social media (Even Gupta uncle shared the post preaching the humanity just after posting the photos of awesome Kebabs and Biryani. I love Gupta uncle). I seriously want to be the dog that gets the best medical facilities and most of all thousands of likes on Facebook. MAN, I SO FUCKING LOVE LIKES ON FACEBOOK. Days are not far when Emily, dying of some chronicle disease, could be saved by the likes on Facebook. And Mark Zuckerberg would be termed as the God not only by the failed engineers that become wanna be entrepreneurs but also by the doctors from the not-so-famous-but-pay-fucking-fifty lacs-you-asshole-to-be-an-MBBS colleges like Dy Patil Medical College!

Okay, here I am taking the liberty (Because I am a human and I can imagine like James Cameron), I just don’t want to be a dog, sometimes I want to be the camera-man that pictures Mia Khalifa or Tori black or Sunny Leone....ooooo....oh shove the imagination up my ass... I want to be a cow, seriously, I want to be a cow. Even I want the women around me to be cows, so that they could travel all alone without fear, under the shadow guards of the holier than thou Gau-Rakshaks. And don’t call me a racist just because I pictured myself as a cow, I do want to become a buffalo but not the ones that end up as a beef in some plates but of the mighty squad, The Azam Khan’s buffalo squad. At least my life would be much more precious than the majority of the population in UP. And if someday, my hay doesn’t get me the proper digestion, some CMO could come to feed me by his own hands. Wow life it could be!

I just want to keep switching among the goat before Eid, Chicken during Shravan, Cobra during Maha-Shivratri, Blackbuck...wait.. no wait.. I was flown away by the emotions. No, not the blackbuck (I want to live, not to die. Not on the footpath, not in the jungle onto the tunes of Hum Saath Saath Hain). But yes, I certainly don’t want to be the human that gets hit by a tempo on the streets of Delhi, dies because of the ignorance. And definitely, don't want to be one of those assholes that got passed by but chose to ignore. I wish, that human were a dog, I wish....

How ‘Con’ and ‘Dom’ can change your life!

                           

So, one day, while riding a boat over Ganges, I saw something floating in the river. It was an early morning ride, so finding the anatomy of that particular thing was getting harder for me. Later, I found out that it was a condom! I hope by using the word condom, I am not hurting the sentiments of the fellow Indians or Hindus or Muslims or the Pope or Sakshi Maharaja or the Kashmiri separatists or Mahatama Gandhi or Akbar or Kaamdev or Jesus Christ! Also, if it hurts any one of the readers, you know, you should get your ‘extra’ limb laminated for-ever.

Nevermind, so first thought that came into my mind was, “Who the hell gets sex on Ganges, man? AND HOW? Or is there any mermaid in the river? But mermaids are restricted to the boob-job and blow-job only (At least Disney portrays the mermaids to have the upper limbs with the ‘why-the-fuck-they-have’ fins)?” Okay, leave that perversion scale of mine but still, the Banarasi within almost took the charge and it screamed “I can tolerate anything, be it the tons of poops being discharged in the Ganges, or the cows dancing in the river or the people washing their arm pits in it but being a true Banarasi, I just can’t tolerate it. I JUST CAN’T TOLERATE IT! THIS IS SPARTAAAAA…”

I instantly threw my cigarette butt into the river, asked the boat-guy to take the boat towards that floating condom. Clutched that condom, jumped out of the boat, swam to the banks (Fat guys swim faster, thank you science). And then I was running with that disposed condom in my hand asking every single person,”Is this yours?” “Have you done this?” I was feeling like Sunil Shetty of the movie ‘Border’ screamimng  “MAAAA…. SHAKTIII… SHAKTI…. MAAA…”.

Suddenly I got bumped at the group of youths. They saw me with that condom. Apparently, they were like “Ashleelta faila raha hai ye aadmi!” “Beat this guy’s ass up!” “Kill him”. Eventually, they didn’t get to listen the notion behind the ‘abashed’ act. Blooded, I was walking back, cursing myself and the penis that wore that condom. Few police men dragged their eyes at me, as if I’m a criminal… Wait.. Am I? Oh shit! In India, the stains of lipstick can get you a divorce and the alimony of 400 Cr only if you have six fingers and eight packs. And then, here I was, with the blood stains on my shirt!

P.S. Writing this stuff while my dad is filing a petition to get me out of the cell and of the property will, and I’m going to swallow that condom down the throat so that I can suffocate and die. 

Designated Perverts

The world seems cruel to the most of you but ask the Mechanical Engineers how hard it is to survive with the few inherited curses, with this very tag! Not to put my aftermath over the tag but it is now high time to compel people stop making fun of us, that too, not with the empathy but with the reality. So here I go...

* Most of us opt for the Mechanical Engineering with the lavishing dream of getting placed in the R&D of some huge German giants like BMW, Mercedes, Audi, Ford etc but we end up working in 'Ganpat Rai Engineering Works' in Ghaziabad at the salary lesser than the single EMI of an I Phone. 

* Some of the Mechanical Engineers, in the search of a white collar job, beg at the doors of Infosys or Wipro. Also, they lead a good, happy life. At least, their Check-In's like " Havin fun in the the Dominozzz- with Pinki, Minki and 13 others" tell that! I feel proud of these guys. At least, few of us work in the air-conditioned offices and ruin their careers just for updating the statuses with the ladies.

* There, always would be an HOD, whether in the college or in the company who would be paid only to make the Engineers under to pray for making at least one murder legal. But damn! Most of us find the solace in reading. Reading Savita Bhabhi, to be precise. Fair enough?

* We're always termed as the drunkards. This statement is not true. Blame it on the 'I love you' texts right after or during the booze session. We turn sober the next morning though being blocked by many on WhatsApp and Facebook. Actually, technology is the culprit and speaking the heart out is considered to be too maverick. Sad! 

* Many call us perverts as if the guys from other departments are never afraid of showing their browser's history to the parents. We don't stare at the hot ladies, we just look at them with some extra time investment and compare them with the female engineers around us who could actually give tough competition to Mayawati and say " Some visuals are not appropriate to the eyes, especially the visuals of the ladies who are in my department". Also, how do screaming Piston and Cylinder and using the Fleming's Right Hand Rule in the public turn us into a pervert? 

* Like the guys from other departments, we don't actually fall in love with the faculty members. We firmly, don't believe in homosexuality (Most of the time). But our professors do! They show the fuck by the marks they award us. How sweet!

* And lastly, to all the ladies from other departments, who made fun of the Mechanical Engineers because of the proposals and rejected us, your dads still seek the virgin guys. Do respect us, you might have to spend life with the one in the near future. Amen!

The Fodder!

About Two and a half decades ago, the part where I was born, was in Bihar and now it is in Jharkhand. But because I ‘landed’ a decade before the partition of the state, I became a certified Bihari ! Still, I am trying to find out the agency that gave me the ‘Bihari’ tag.  Nevertheless, I was proud of this very tag till Bihar became the Laloo’s Bihar. Personally, I don’t have any problem with Laloo but because of that ‘Chara Ghotala’ , he made cattle to starve (Yes! I’m an animal lover too) and thus came to the 'hate-list' of mine. And It’s a ‘hate’ list not a hit-list. Re-read the previous sentence and please don’t create a panic situation for me. Even most of the politicians didn’t have that anticipation of fodders. Ohh! Forget other politicians, even Laloo Yadav himself and his cattle ‘army’ would have been unknown of the ‘golden’ cloaked fodders before this scam. Now, the cows, buffaloes in Bihar were so proud that human fraternity was ashamed of the newly grown status of the fodder and deeply drowned status of ‘Basmati’ rice. Even I tried to swap this ‘Basmati’ rice with those fodders in my meals, but I was not that much a ‘cow’!

Amid my childhood, there was my ‘forced’ migration to Uttar Pradesh. At the initial stage, I was considered as a prodigy till it was revealed that I had the education initiated in Bihar. A teacher called me “Hey! You Bihari” and thus I got my name swapped with Bihari. I didn’t feel awkward till it was transformed into ‘ Bihariya’. Apparently it looked like they were throwing fodders on me. I almost cried below 20 hertz of audible frequency and few dogs in the school made their ears stunned!

 Soon I found the relation between Bihar and U.P. It was more the ‘Yadav’ connection. No, I am not elaborating this Yadav term on the basis of some caste-system. Take it as just the resemblance between U.P. and Bihar. It’s somehow better to keep it ‘soft’ or ‘Mulayam’ while using this Yadav terminology when in U.P. With the perennial flow of time, I became the adolescent that could cope up with the Bhojpuri of Bihar and Bhojpuri of Banaras. The state accepted me after this transformation! And the city became my hometown though with several scars on my childhood. But as we all know, because of the higher metabolic rate in the childhood, scars heal to the maximum, thus the scars healed !

The education made me to move to the capital of the country, the NCR region. A brand new life started. The ragging period, the fresher party, the booze session and the new crushes every week! But yet, any tag was not provided. During the orientation, the HOD finally gave me the name as ‘Banarasi Bhaiya’ and soon it was shortened to ‘Bhaiya’ only. It was a lovely tag until a crush of mine called me ‘Bhaiya’. Okay! I must make it clear that I even used to escape that part of the oath which has the lines as ‘All boys and girls are my brothers and sist.....”. The gargantuan effect of this ‘Bhaiya’ tag is this much demonic that I remained single in my entire college life and still the current relationship status has nothing to brag about! The room-mates made my name more refined by prefixing ‘Bihari’ to it and thus I became the ‘Bihari-Bhaiya’. Now, the attached header file name to my tag brought several residues too, as eventually Delhi blamed this ‘Bihari’ tag and somehow end up blaming me for the loots in the region, for the molestation at some metro station. For Delhi,  I was the rikshaw puller, I was the road side vendor, I was the cook for several students, I was the guard at some ATM machines, I was the man power at some DLF on going projects but never a well-educated persona !

I inhaled all those blames till I read a Facebook share on the brutal incident that took place in the capital at the tail of the last year. On that post, it was mentioned that all of the six accused were 'Bihari' and eventually, once again, I was blamed! I couldn't do much rather than commenting on those insane shares being done by the pages of 'Alia Bhatt' or 'Parineeti Chopra', but by sharing some of the photographs through BBC clearly depicting about the five accused and one 'innocent' juvenile. But still that 'Bihari' tag took it all, that too without complaining much. 

Last month, while travelling to the south, an ingenious mind asked me which city I live in ? I replied him back with Delhi. He exclaimed " Ohh! rape capital." Then he self presumed that behind most of the incidents there might be some 'Bhaiya' from U.P. or a 'Bihari' as people from other states are born without genitals to commit such crimes. I just applauded him on his assumptions and remained silent afterwards. All I could see were the 'fodders'... Yes! those 'fodders' from that epic scam of 'Chara Ghotala'! Those 'fodders' were again being thrown on me by that ingenious mind and I was like, yes blame it on a 'Bihari' or more precisely, blame it on ME....

The Souvenir..!

Trust me! Despite of I, every else in my family has never been proud of the 'Engineer' tag,yet I would love to describe myself as an Engineer who's putting nose into this writing thing! And yes! My name is not much important like the majorly dazed population of the country and so do my story! Still, given a chance, here I go for a story (I told you! My story is not important) but you're free to relate the journey with me..

"Aunty! Is this the bus going to Manali?" I asked, "Yes!." the lady replied. I sat beside her and somehow found her a taciturn. Soon the jabber me started,"How much time it takes to reach Manali?" She replied "Am I looking like the conductor of the bus?"
"But aunty I.."
"That's certainly not predictable in this phrase of season, pray for no snow falls."
"You mean that the roads could get blocked?"
"Probability is at the peak and by the way why're you here at this perishable time of the season?"
"Just for some official works aunty."(None of your business and thanks for making my ass scared!)

The ten hours journey from Delhi had had the tired me  and I was more interested in making my heavier eye-lids shut for a 'short' nap.That 'short' nap was almost of 4 hours and the moment I opened my eyes back I found myself alone in the bus standing amid the white snow like it was standing at the entrance of heaven(you can assume it as hell judging upon my 'well-known' character!) . I just pinched only to find myself alive and not to wait for God to appear with the statistics of my life. I instantly took my luggage and step out of the bus. Due to heavy snow fall, the road was blocked. I saw that lady co-passenger and at the speed of light, I was standing there with her!
 "What should we do now aunty?" I asked.
 "Nothing! You can wait only" she replied.
"Wait for what?"
"The rescue forces"
"And what if they don't arrive?"
"Make 'last' phone call to your mother and tell her 'I Love You'!"
I used the F-word for her and moved away out of that pessimism and sat to the  tea stall near-by. There was this, an old lady, the wrinkle lines on her face were much more than the days she had lived! I asked for a tea and something to smoke up. A girl child was sitting just beside her filling some colors to her sketch book.I asked the old lady "Is it a severe enough snowfall to pulverize us?"
"Yes Saab! the heaviest snowfall of the season."
"Life is really tough here!"
"Yes, it is, you can have that blanket saab, cover up yourself, it will take hours to get the clear roads."
"Your grandchild is pretty and seems very serious towards studies."
"Yes saab!"
"Her father must be proud of her!"
 "Certainly not saab! Her father went away with an other woman."
"And what about her mother?"
"Her mother died of 'Scrub Typhus' in 2011."
I felt a sudden blow of coldest waves penetrating deep into my heart.I looked towards the child and offered her biscuits but she didn't respond! "She can neither hear nor speak."Old lady said.
Now it became hard for me to respond to that statement and I, almost felt like numbed.
"Does she study?", I asked.
"In class 3rd but it's hard to make money for her study and the food for two of us. But till my last breath I will be taking care of her studies."
"Two of us! You're just two in the family?"
"Ji saab! My husband died in India-China war in 65"
"She's is busy in filling the colors to her drawing book." I smiled.
"But the colors are not in her destiny."
Suddenly the philanthropist me took the driving seat and offered her a sum of money.She instantly refused.I looked towards the child.She was really pretty.Her grand mother asked her to show me some of her drawings.
I just loved her honest works.I spent hours with the child and her granny sitting over several cups of tea, few sticks of smoke and seriously it felt like minutes!Finally, the conductor blew the whistle and it was signal that the road was clear to proceed.The little prodigy gave me one of her works that I loved the most. I folded the paper and  put it in the bag.I gave the faded smile to the lady and returned back with the water in my eyes( Saline water to be precise).I still can't figure out the reason! Was it because I loved the mettlesome courage or was it the refusal of help?

Today someone asked me about the most precious souvenir I've ever had! I just showed her the drawing of a little tree-house with the faded wax colors on it.In the corner it was written...
".........." ( As I told you, name is not important)
Class-Third !

The Enigmatic Land.... Varanasi

Since childhood, I have been fortunate enough to live and travel into several parts of the country( and proud visit to Nepal when I was just three years old, my only visit to abroad that too without passport and visa) encrypting various cultures, learning several traditions, got fluency in several languages yet if you ask me where my home is! I will proudly say Varanasi( and yes, I don't have shelters in any other city too, so only option). Though I was not born in Varanasi, my gargantuan part of childhood and whole adolescence have been spent in the city only.

When my family was migrating from the countryside of Jharkhand, my dad told me that I would simply fall in love with the city at a very first glance.And, on contrary, it was the exact opposite feeling. At the age of seven, I had imagined the place to be some hill station with little charter and less sound pollution. But when I put my step out of the railway station, it was the dream that shattered first! And there it was written "Welcome to Varanasi".On that very evening, Dad took me too to the famous Dashashwamedh Ghat at bank of holy river Ganges. There it was written" Welcome to the Kashi Nagari". I found myself caught in a paradox, Am I in Varanasi or Kashi? Sensing my dilemma, Dad told me " beta, Benaras is also known as Varanasi, Kashi and Kashi is the oldest name. There are other older names too like Brahma Vardha, Mahasamsana, Surandhana." There was something mystic in the Ghats of Ganges that made my bond with city. The serene Ganges surely described the difference between Varanasi and Kashi And yes I simply fell in love with this incredible city!

Varanasi is a place where time is not a bigger concern for most of the Benarasis. If there is an ongoing repair of a transformer, people can surely delay their office tasks just to watch the repair process and ofcourse, to suggest the electricians some better methods. Even a tea stall is a hub for most of the people where discussions vary from Dr. Manmohan Singh to Barack Obama, Ganga Sewa Samiti to Varanasi Nagar Nigam, Amitabh Bacchan to Shah Rukh Khan with a strong eulogy of BBC.Pay a little time on these places and I can make you sure that you would surely have a smile on your face while returning.

The elder generation and the younger generation have automatically separated the ghats with the consent.The Dashashwamedh Ghat where the elderly people go and the Assi Ghat where the youth element is prominent. Both the places are filled with the 'holy' smoke but the sole difference is, at dashashwamedh, the smoke is due to the 'dhoopbattis' and at Assi, its due to the 'Mahadeva's prasad' in short Marijuana.One could not simply drag a puff of Marijuana without worshiping lord Shiva.Strange enough? Then do wish not to meet an Aghori saint and Naga saint on your visit to Varanasi!

There can be an incident with you when you are doing the conversation with an unknown foreigner and a small kid vendor could appear from no where and could give you a trauma by speaking a fluent English than your's or might you find a foreigner speaking fluent Benarasi Bhojpuri in an authentic accent! Not only English, but the vendors are capable of speaking fluent Tamil, Kannad, Bengali even Korean.Ineffable quality, Isn't It?

I bet, Benarasi Paan is one of the most powerful weapons in Varanasi. If there is a delay in a correction of a telephone line, just offer a Benarasi Paan to the clerk, the next day your phone is out of the dead! The reception of the wedding ceremony is incomplete without a benarasi paan, "Holi Milan Samaroh" is incomplete without a Benarasi Paan, The vote bank is at stake without a Benarasi Paan, and yes, your visit to Benaras is incomplete without a Benarasi Paan!

If you take less than an hour to complete the journey from Cantt to BHU, just feel blessed, I must say there must not be much vehicles or you must not be caught in the herd of the cattle wandering onto the roads.There is saying in Varanasi " if you can drive in this city, you can drive in any part of the world." I happened to be in many places in these recent years and every time I grab a throttle, The saying makes me feel confident from the core.

Whenever I see a 'Lassi' I mentally go back to my city where a glass of 'Lassi' is a 'heavy' breakfast in the summer. Make sure, Whenever you visit Varanasi, do make a visit to 'Vishwanath temple' and grab a bite of 'kachauri' fried in pure desi ghee in  kachauri waali gali' with a 'Malai Lassi' at Ram Nagar.In my adolescence  days, I always used to save my pocket money for 'Malai Puri', the one of its kind cuisine that is available in Varanasi.One bite leads to a short trip to heaven!

There is always a mystic bond that every Benarasi does feel. The bond that always drags me back to nostalgia. The bond that always reminds of the 'Aarti' of 'Ganges'. The bond that always pulls me toward 'Shree Sankat Mochan'.The bond that makes you feel that you can go out of Varanasi but Varanasi can not get out of your heart. And this is the bond because of which I am again coerced for packing my bags!