Begging for wine!

The bed of roses has become one of thorns;
a thousand memories prick and mock me in my loneliness,
but i lie tied to the lonely bed by the chain of my mind's voice.

oh somebody! ease my shame and pain,
oh somebody, anybody..just give me a chalice of wine!

Vakil Sahib ke Bike ki 498A Complaint

19.04.2012

To:          

The Deputy Commissioner of Police

Crimes against Bikes Cell                                     

Nanakpura,

New Delhi

Sub:     Complaint against Mr. Advocating Dreams, Advocate, Delhi

 

Sir,

            I, Poor bike, am making the present complaint against my ‘owner’, Mr. Advocating Dreams, who has tortured and harassed me and treated me with extreme cruelty during my stay with him in Delhi. I was brought up in Bimaroo State where my parents, who bought me after my birth from a showroom, treated me with great love and affection. I am a highly qualified bike and I can navigate all the roads of Bimaroo State’s capital even with my headlights off. I would want to be modest but I add that I am also extremely good looking so that you may appreciate the true extent of my owner's apathy towards me. The atrocities & cruelties meted out to me are detailed below:

My unending plight started when I was taken by my present owner around June, 2011 from my parents. He professed his undying love for me when he came to see me at my parents’ house in the Bimaroo State’s capital and held himself out as a highly qualified advocate practicing in Delhi. I was young and I naively believed in his promises. My parents’ were extremely tearful while agreeing to part ways with me but relented to transfer me while hoping for a better future for me in Delhi.

However, my owner shamelessly started showing his true colours when he bluntly refused to take me to Delhi until I was taken for maintenance by my parents at an authorized showroom and also demanded that my parents should bear my transportation cost to Delhi. My parents expressed their financial inability but conceded to take me for maintenance to a local mechanic. My owner was adamant and even refused to have dinner at my parents’ house in front of a dozen guests to protest against non-compliance of his nefarious demands. I was ashamed and disgusted but kept quite. For the sake of family, my father ultimately consented to have me sent for maintenance at an authorized showroom and even took up the expenses for my transportation. The said expenses amounted to Rs. 12,345/- and I have the bills to support my claim. In addition to the above, my father's brother who loved me, gave a new seat cover for my use and enjoyment and handed it to my owner for safekeeping but the same has been misappropriated by my owner and has not been returned to me despite repeated demands.

I reached Delhi on 08.08.2011 and have since then been subjected to severe mental and physical agony. Considering my owner's educational qualifications, I had anticipated that he would be a sensitive and caring man but within the first few days of my arrival in Delhi only, my dreams were completely shattered. I was left languishing in the Delhi Railway Station's warehouse for two full days and my owner didn't even bother to take me. Stray dogs came and urinated on me and the attendants in the warehouse pushed me around with force and abused me for being a burden on them. I had never in my life been treated this way but I bore it all without demur hoping that it was a momentary phase. When I was ultimately taken from the warehouse after two days by my owner, I was told by my owner that he preferred sleep over me and told me 'Tu koi hoor pari thode hi hai jo tujhe doli aur phool leke receive karne au station par. Aukaat mein reh tu saali!'. I had hoped to discharge my duties as his companion with great dedication and therefore I was heartbroken at my owner's disgust towards his to-be companion.

 In August, 2011 upon seeing the various beautifully clothed bikes in Delhi, I too requested my owner to let me wear the new seat cover that my uncle had given me. My owner got really infuriated at this request of mine rebuked me for being 'greedy' and 'selfish'. He even abused my parents my not giving him enough dowry and shouted, 'Purchase ke abhi kuch din hue nahi ki sasural lootne pe tul gayi hai. Saali, gawaar! Teri transfer koi slum mein hone chahiye thi. Tu usi type ki hai ’. I was shocked and traumatized to hear such filthy language from my owner who was otherwise a highly qualified man. However, the said seat cover has not been returned till date despite repeated requests.

My owner had professed that he was doing litigation in Delhi and that it was a very prestigious work but as things turned out, I realised that he was earning a pittance and was soon to be adjudged an insolvent. He however, had an enormous ego and refused to acknowledge his state of affairs. He told me bluntly, 'Tujhe pata hai gawaar, kyu tujhpe main advocate ka prestigious sticker nahi lagata? Kyunki tujhpe baidhne mein mujhe sharam aati hai! Gawaar kahin ki! chal ja tu apne maike wapas aur basa le ghar kisi gawaar bhikaari ka! Teri aukaat nahi hai mere saath rehne ki!' 

My owner is also given to gallivanting and socializing with friends but seldom takes me anywhere except to dingy parking lots of courts in Delhi. Whenever he goes for such social events, he would go on autos even if he has to pay through his nose for the same. I asked him as to what was there in the autos that I did not have and he answered, 'Jyada chapar chapar ki to battery kaat ke beech dunga! Auto ko dekh to..kitni sexy aur hot lagti hai..tu to gao ki bailgaadi hai! tere baap se bol naya disk break lagaye..tab le chalunga..nahi to apni naak nahi katwani mujhe society mein.' I was mentally and physically tormented with his high handedness and harsh behaviour to coerce me to convince my father to meet his vexatious demands. My owner told me that if I failed to fulfill their demands he would make my life hell and miserable.

My owner is also a drunkard and frequently endangers my and his life by drinking and driving on the roads. In October, 2011, I was really running low on fuel and informed him repeatedly through the dial on my handle but he conveniently ignored me. On 30.10.2011 when he was returning from his friends place late at night after drinking heavily, my petrol ran out on the way. He got really furious and kicked me repeatedly. He said, 'Tu kitna petrol khaati hai haramzaadi! Tu khoon choosne waali dayan hai samjhi..tujhe joote maar maar ke bhagaunga apne bhikari baap ke ghar'. I was hurt very badly but he abandoned me on the road and went home without me that night on an auto. 

I have been taken through the freezing winters of Delhi without any maintenance till date. I used to cough and wheeze and have starting problems but my owner was least bothered. He continued to satisfy his carnal pleasures by racing me at full throttle on the roads of Delhi. He is a monster who is consumed by his unnatural and relentless physical urges and has no love or affection towards me.

            On the night of 06.02.2012 I got punctured on the road by a sharp nail. I did not want to let my owner down and even while I was in pain, I kept my wheel rotating and thereby assured that my owner reached his flat for the night. However, when he saw me with a deflated tyre in the morning, he abused me in public and kicked and attacked me repeatedly. He announced in public, 'Tujhe to main ab sada kar marunga haramzaadi. Mera khoon choosne pe tuli hai tu! Ab jab tak tere ghar wale disk break nahi dete tujhe yahin sadaunga' He has never taken me to a mechanic after that and I have been in this sick and vegetative state below his flat for almost two months now. I am very sick and in mortal danger of rusting. I do not know anybody here in Delhi who can help me out of my desperate situation.

            That despite my best efforts to save my relationship the accused person is all out to threaten and intimidate me and cause me and my family harm. My owner is an extremely influential and powerful person and has no regard for the law of the land. I fear that he may also escape to another country or state of India. I therefore request you to take appropriate action against my owner for committing grievous acts of cruelty and misappropriating my Stridhan (seat cover) which was entrusted to him and has not been returned despite repeated requests.

Thanking you,

Yours faithfully,

Poor Bike

A three step journey I took months to complete.

I did something a few days back which I had least expected myself to do when I had joined the law firm after being placed from college. I walked up to my senior, who sits a few steps away from me, and told him something to the effect that I was quitting. My senior stopped typing on his laptop, took a rather deep breath, looked at me and asked calmly, "But why?"

Do you marry a girl because you hate all other girls or because you love her? Unlike many of my colleagues at the firm, I had no reason to hate the firm. I was in love with the idea of practicing in courts and I had to realise the object of my desire. Is that not a reason enough? It most certainly was the only reason for me.


The day i resigned, i officially removed the price tag from my dreams. My dreams, my love, are no more up for sale. I had pawned my dreams to take up the post during a fleeting moment when i was consumed by greed and peer pressure as i was passing out into the 'real' world from the cocooned environment of college. But the day i resigned, I reclaimed what was once my own when i was an idealistic prick in college-my dreams, my hope.

The words that may be used if I succeed in practice after taking this significant pay cut etc. may probably be visionary, shrewd etc.; and if i lose out, the word may be a much simpler and uncharitable one - 'loser'! However, the one word that shall never be used to describe my decision would be 'cowardice'.

The true price to redeem and realise your dreams is courage. It took me a long time to muster the required courage for i have no experience or reasons to back up this claim. I have only hope. I have only dreams. I have only love for what I want to do.

The views of an emotionally challenged on feminism and females..

I am emotionally challenged. I have never had a girlfriend so my views on females and feminism are entirely perceptive with little or no proof that can be corroborated by my senses!


Sorry to startle you, but I believe that the true sign of a truly modern liberated female is when(or if) she scratches her breast in public! I beg your pardon for such an un-dogmatic or rather un-pedagogic description of modern liberal feminism. Feminism, I'm told, has come a long way from the days of bra-burning and today females are very comfortable (if not cruel) with the display of their sexuality while leaving guys, especially like me, thirsting for anything more than mere a mere glimpse. I agree, my very very dear female readers, that chucking your bra is a definitive step in your struggle for equality for surely your body is equally worthy of a bare/'dabanng' display as the male body. After all, merely because a 'bare' display of your body perks up the sexuality of the opposite sex is no reason for you to wear uncomfortable inner clothing.

I'm sorry if I'm propagating my bench mark of modern liberal feminism but I would like to selfishly come back to my definition of feminism. Breast scratching in public is a phenomenon which you would 'usually' observe in middle-aged women with an anatomy which would not be described as 'conventionally beautiful' by the so-called patriarchal psyche. The question which comes to our mind is, what would prevent a conventionally beautiful woman/girl from scratching her breast in public? If I may re-phrase my question, what would give the courage to a woman/girl to scratch her breast in public while caring two hoots about the opposite sex with the gift of sight? Is it fair that while a male can scratch his disgusting hairy chest at any time of the day with gay abandon, a woman on the other hand is 'expected' to withdraw to private places to scratch her breast?

I am tempted to close the debate with the above sentences to win a few brownie points with my female audience but anonymity has its advantages and one of them is that one's dispassionate opinion on issues is not polluted by the desire to gain appreciation from the opposite sex. Here are a few uncomfortable questions my female audience, however dear that they may be to me, would rather not reckon with. Why would you wear uncomfortable clothing if its uncomfortable? Is is not a desire to gain appreciation from the opposite sex or an attempt to upstage your fellow females? If not, is it not at the very least, an attempt to comply, like a coward, with the 'conventions' of society?

Cowardice my dear friends, male and female, is not an excuse to dilute the soundness of my theory(that scratching ones breast in public is the true and unabashed display of modern liberal feminism) of which I am convinced, especially when placed in contradistinction with the arguments for not scratching ones breast in public. So, my female friends, scratch away to glory! Meanwhile my male friends, you are allowed, if not 'expected', to enjoy the sight. :)

P.S.: This post was written while i was quite drunk, please excuse me if this blog post does not comply with the idealistic and 'puritanical' posts of past by me.

On loneliness..

Its a Sunday today. I have interacted with two faces since morning (not that my week days are any different. I just see a few more plastic smiles and cement faces in office). Firstly, my bai who worked and went away silently and secondly, my newspaper boy who made me pay his monthly bill. In addition, Delhi seems to be headed on a definite and irreversible path to summer from this week on. Other than this, nothing remarkable happened today.

Before you write me off as a lonely, grumbling candidate for the loser-of-the-week award, please sample how my Sundays used to be while at Law School an year back. I shall also compare my Sundays with certain practicing advocates I'm acquainted with and prove to you, my discerning reader, how a law firm and certain legal departments in reputed companies or banks are propped up on the servile, routine or rather half-lives that their employees/associates spent at office and beyond.(Okay, no prizes for guessing that I may soon leave my job for taking up litigation!)

While in college, the word often used by me to describe a Sunday on the next Monday when guys sometimes asked what I did over the weekend was, 'Bakarchodi'. Of course, the incredible word might encompass a large variety of activities within its fold. A typical Sunday could ideally begin anywhere between 10am to 3pm depending on how much you drank on Saturday. Thereafter, you indulge in stimulating conversations with firstly with your roommates and then with others over the holy drink-Chai. Depending on whether the other guy is interested in talking to me, the conversation may range from girls, porn, college politics and professors to how politics influenced the allotment of a moot to a certain somebody in college. The evenings may usually be spent at movie theaters, rating girls(and the movie also). Of course, the way girls are rated by a guy may have no bearing on the girlfriend(s) he might fall for eventually. I have seen absolutely choosy and merciless raters end up with the most atrocious girls. Forgive me for deviating from my beloved Sundays..

Having given you a glimpse of my Sundays of time past, I shall now entice myself and you, my dear reader, with the possibility of how my Sundays could be, if i took up practice. Since, i have no first hand idea of practice forgive me if my surmises, half-guesses and hearsay information are a little off the mark. The day may usually start from anywhere between 5am to 9am with a bundle of files which may have to be read by the end of the day either because you have to plead them on the next day or because you have to brief your cocky senior. This is the payment which you make for the entertainment which may soon begin. Clients soon start poring in with unparalleled gossip material; often better than college gossip and always better than your routine office gossip. Clients may range from wives complaining about their husbands who cheated on them, an employee grumbling about his boss you might also know personally, to petty cat-fights which blossomed into juicy family disputes. Evenings may usually be spent, fervently discussing with office folks, the prospects of a show down between your senior and a certain unfavourable judge.

The future looks challenging and enticing and the past is a source of satisfaction and nostalgia. It is only the present which seems to have slipped into a vegetative state for me. I have no intention of stirring you, me dear readers, to rebellion against your respective organisations but I can only hope that you are not in the same boat because if you are in the same boat as me, look up at the flag fluttering on the mast, on which you'll see written large enough for the world to see-'Suckers'!

The Elephant in the Room

I score poorly on all standard indicators of measuring an individual's interest in the work he's doing;

"Do you wake up in the morning thinking about what you gonna do that day?"--No

"Do you loouuve your work?"-- No

"Do you get up after a day's work feeling satisfied that it was a day well spent?"--No

In view of the above, any career-counselor worth its salt would have asked the obvious question-"why haven't you quit yet?"

The question has haunted me night and day and i must admit the question often presents itself like an elephant in my office cubicle every time i sit and type a bunch of mistakes on my computer for my senior to vet and later castigate me over. The more I think over the question, the better I am able to empathise with people who often find it difficult to talk about how they feel about the proverbial elephant in the room. Yes, it is somewhat cowardly to write a blog, of all things, about it but I guess its better than basic and lonely ideation. (btw it also serves a very selfish need to sort things out in my mind)

The above question is a rather simplistic way of putting things and as a matter of fact, it has a number of undertones, sub-questions and hidden complexities. For example, some questions which may immediately follow any satisfactory answer to first question may be a) 'What do you plan to do after this?'  b)'How much are you earning now?' b) 'Do you like your bosses?' c) 'Howz the work, as such?' etc. etc. The questions fall like whips on any fledgling ambitions one might have of taking the big leap and  more often than not, crush to death any such 'deviant' thoughts.

Tonight, I have resolved one thing for certain. I shall talk about the elephant.- the way I feel about the work, the way i feel about my life and the way its headed, and the way i feel about my prospects in the profession. It is important to feel and having said that it is even more important to feel about things that matter to you as an individual. I feel because I am no machine. I feel because I am human first and an employee second. I feel because I am alive. 

And now I write because I feel and not necessarily because i think..

Prologue

Mine was an arranged marriage. My marriage to the law firm, i am currently working at in Delhi, was arranged by the ubiquitous marriage broker- the placement cell of my college. When my marriage was decided upon after a telephonic interview and a subsequent 'muh-dikhai' by way of an internship, i was thrilled like any fresh law graduate at the prospects. My marriage was grand with accolades and best-wishes from the near and dear ones. Its now been 7 months since i got married. The honeymoon is definitely over and what assures me of its passage is the stark mundanity of daily life.

Lest my discerning readers dismiss my writings at the very outset as a bitchy commentary on my employer or rather my senior, i wish to assure them that i have no such intentions. Most certainly, my blog would have got more hits that way but i have refrained from the momentary rush of popularity for the more calming pursuit of self-discovery [please bear with me as i embark upon my grand ideations :)].

To empty by burdensome bag of mundanity and then to rummage through its contents is what i intend to do. These writings may appear disjoint and disconnected but i have treasured these moments as priceless memorabilia in my chest treasure-chest called memory. These disjoint, disconnected and random events are my life and i one day hope to open my treasure chest to look with contentment at these days and events and smile with satisfaction at a life spent. These writings may probably end up as a cry in the wilderness called the 'world wide web' but since my intentions are clear, it shall be most reassuring for me to even hear a single voice in the wilderness; so what, if it happens to be my own.

I now write from behind the impregnable walls of anonymity. The walls protect the clear outlines of my ideations and feelings from being blurred or contaminated by the invasion of my personal attributes. Since traits and attributes, by their very nature, are subjective and often perceived with a biased or judgmental eye, it is probably best that the things that i say are not burdened with my past and certain pre-conceived notions about me. Writing with impunity on a clean slate is certainly a thrilling experience which i now hope to indulge to my fill....