The Rain Goddess is My Lady!

I was mad. I admit it. I couldn't stand another person singing about the rain. Tweeting, exclaiming or even uttering anything related to the "Hailstorm outside their houses" or the "Sweet droplets falling from the sky." It was mentally excruciating as I sat by the window and stared at the sky. There was a hollowness in my skull, and there was plea in my eyebrows. Yet, I couldn't help but snide, my fists clenched. I knew I was being a jealous boyfriend, but it was justified. It was justified especially given the preferential treatment ever since my birth. And after all the faithfulness I showed, I so deserved it. But my patience was of no consequence. Or so it seemed. Suddenly there was a whirlwind of dust and a singular drop fell on the window sill. It stayed there for a while, looking at me in the eye, as if we were involved in a stare war. As if it wanted to say "Did you really think I would abandon you? Did you really believe you would be the one I would choose to not to love?" I blinked.

And then it all started. It looked as if the wet dust finally rose up from the ground to open its arms and welcome the downpour. As if the small stones and the pollen seeds tried and tried to fly up and touch the clouds, and always fell back, only to try again. And then I ran in slow motion (for the funsies and the effects) towards the door. The chair tried to trip me, the wall tried to shove me, but today was my day. There was a small moment between my opening the door and my running out under the open sky when I paused, took a breath, looked up, and smiled, only wanting to say those three magical words every cloud wants to hear: "Sexy Wet Bitches!"

I stood still for a while, now out in the open, with arms spread. I could make out how, once again, all the neighbors could do was peek from behind their curtained hellholes. How they got amused watching the "Crazy Rain Kid". But, once again, as always, I didn't give a hairy snake's ass. Then I started walking. First, I walked against the storm. It was fun, horribly cold, but fun! My T-Shirt and shorts were almost a part of my skin, and my hair was as much mine as the air's. An occasional bit of mud got entangled in my eyelashes. My slippers had now become so heavy that walking through the puddles seemed tougher than pulling an elephant from your eyelids. But, today, nothing could stop me.

I walked against the storm, I walked along it. I could see a solitary cat hiding under a car, gazing at me with its careful eyes, while the swifty dipping mercury had made it bury it's claws into the road. I went and sat on the grass, then lay down on it. Something in my pocket vibrated, only to make me realize that my phone was now as drenched as me. I did not care. Today, nothing could go wrong. I got up and walked out of the main gate, onto the main road, as the three guards watched me, wondering why I was acting so foolishly and not chosing to sit inside my station all cosy and dry while even the Gods were partying. I started walking in the middle of the road. I could see two headlights piercing through the falling streams of water, but they were far away, far far away. Rain has this certain quality of invoking extreme emotions. You can feel cheerfulness and dreariness, something filling you up, something draining you out, everything at the same time. It was amazing to see the dudes up there at work. I did not mind the guy peeing on the wall next to the pavement as he was being supernaturally pwned, or, put subtly, his stuff was being virtually flushed.

You could see how the rain had affected each and everything around, be it the cargo-rikshaw-puller getting shouted at by his boss for getting the goods soaked, or the guy who had parked his bike on the roadside and lay on top of it smoking a cigarette, or the uncle standing under a single umbrella with his woman as she kept her head on his shoulder, or even the little street kids who were deliberately throwing stones in large puddles only to annoy the tarboozwaala (watermelon vendor) hiding under his shack, and get him wet. Even the DJ kid across the block couldn't help but put the Himesh tracks on a roll once again and come out of his house, despite the screams of his three dragonlike moms. As I listened to the faint sound of a guy crooning awkward lyrics from his famous nose, I wandered back to my earlier thoughts and could only laugh at my notions. How could I let myself believe I was the unwanted one for even a single moment? It was amazing to see how a mere twenty minutes turned everything around.

It was out. It was official. It was the writing on the clouds.

The Rain Goddess is My Lady!

You'll Pay For This Captain Planet!

We're the Planeteers
You can be one too
'Cause saving our planet is the thing to do!

I saw Partner yesterday. For the third time, I think. And it was fun. Seriously. How can people not like such movies. I mean, even the emotional scenes had rhyming lines. Take "Ye Kaun Hai? Ye Uncle John Hai." for example. Brilliance. Partner reminds me, Spiderman has reached his puberty!! (Ta-ta-da-da-da-da-da) Yes, actually, what with all the hair in his armpits and, well, pubic area. And to think Stuart Little beat him to it (Nice work, small guy!). So now he officially is a Spider"Man". Beh. Really need to start monitoring his internet activity.

Okay, coming to more serious matters. Choosing my words wisely, and as written by Sir Anand Bakshi for the 1981 movie Rocky : "Kya yahi pyaar hai?". No, wait. Let's not jump to conclusions sooner than required. The situation is like this: You see, I'm a super-awesome fan of Hrithik Roshan as, I guess, most of you would know. So much so that most of my friends think I'm in "love" (weird finger gestures*). And what I always respond with is "I'm not in love dude. I don't love him. I just idolize him". But lately, as all of us have been seeing lesser and lesser of Hrithik on any (large, small, silver, gold, whatever) screens (WHY GOD? WHY?), I've been finding myself more and more empathic to the lyrics "Dil tere bin kahin lagta nahi, waqt guzarta nahi". And last night when I saw the video of Bumbro on 9XM, the strong longlasting smile was seriously not justified by plain, simple idolization. So, am I in love? Well?

What is love, really?

Hehe. I always wanted to say that out loudly. Somewhy, there is never an opportune moment.

It's election time people. It's the only time in five years when you can stand by your neighbor's window and shout as loud and for as long as you can/want. What are you waiting for? But wait! Do not (under any circumstance) forget:

Looting and polluting is not the way
Hear what Captain Planet has to say!

"The Power is Yours!"

*Weird Finger Gesture:


P.S: Again, NOT GAY!
P.S (2): Nah. Translating Hindi to English is a pain in the ass. Do it y-hor-self!

Aunty

Words can be verbally satisfying too*. Take "aunty" for example. Or "custard"! I mean, what better an insult than "What A Custard!". Or "You Son Of An Aunty!".

Anyways, now that my first year of college is coming to an end, the last few days have had me pondering as to what my Cool-Senior-Handle should be. Now I definitely don't want to be a "Bajaj Sir"(Yeah. Seniors are supposed to be referred to as Sirs or Ma'ams here) or a "Toto Sir" for that matter. (Mental Note: Need to find out how the name "Chunni" came into existence). And my home-nickname is not really something worth sharing. (Mental Note 2: Make fun of the guy who said he either wants a "Talwar Sir" or a "Bobby Sir" (umm??)). "Abu Bakar Sir" sounds good, considering the name gave me the jitters when I was 4. Or maybe "Dr. Abu Bakar Sir". Will add to the respect part. Hmm. Do leave your suggestions.

Coming back to aunties, this other day a singular version really helped me out in staying awake through the horribly boring metro ride from college to home. You see, it's a big pain in the ass when you fall asleep, fail to get off at your station and end up at weird places (Jhilmil?). So this odd day when I was feeling horribly sleepy, all I could think of was to look for a personality interesting enough for me to stay away through the journey. And that's when (ta-ta-da-da) I met the Aunty From Heaven (ta-da!). People who talk on the phone in a volume so loud that it makes you wonder if they even need a phone always amuse you. But when (a) They put the phone on loudspeaker, so that you can hear the person on the other end as well (b) Their conversation turns out to be amazingly, well, "different", there is no better an entertainer! Although I could make no sense out of it, here's and excerpt of the telephone discussion (Names changed for anonymity's sake):

Aunty: Beta, Nisha aur Mini toh ek doosre se baat kar rahi thi
Guy: Toh main kya karoon
Aunty: Toh beta tum Nisha se baat kyun nahi karte
Guy: Mujhe Mini se shaadi nahi karni
Aunty: Toh shaadi matt karo, Nisha se baat toh kar lo. Mini bhi keh rahi hai Nisha roti rehti hai
Guy: Par Akshay toh aa gaya naa
Aunty: Akshay ka koi hak nahi banta
Guy: Akshay Akshay hai mummi
Aunty: Par Nisha ki bhi toh life hai na. Mini ko ab main kya boloon.
Guy: Mini ko nahi Akshay ko bolo.
Aunty: Par Akshay Akshay hai beta.
Guy: Theek hai. Main karta hoon.
Aunty: But kyun?

This was the part I managed to fit on my hand. And the part that actually enthused me to stay up for more. Can anybody please explain to me what any of the above meant?

There was a nice article in today's newspaper by John Abraham, about being Politically Correct. Although it was regarding a completely different issue than the mental process it started inside me. A day back a very close friend told me how being politically correct often makes the important people suffer for the sake of unimportant people. And I could somehow, easily relate to it, being a person who tries to avoid confrontations of any sort, and prefers remaining politically correct than giving people the judgement they deserve. But now I could see how it ends up creating tons of false impressions and pretentious relations, which, eventually, come back drowning my own self. So, I'm trying to be a little "Frankly Correct" from now on. Though I still maintain my stand on over-judgemental people. Dudes, everything is not right or wrong, or good or bad at all times. Grow up.

Oh, BTW, I found a nice book in my collection, something about which I had forgotten immediately after its purchase. It's called "India Unbound" and is about the economic and social transformation of India from after the independence to the current century. Although it primarily focusses on economic growth and criticism of the Nehruvian ideals of socialism, it does give you a view of the country's recent history, unlike our school lessons in history which always ended at 1947. Somewhy, the education ministry never found it appropriate for us to learn about the Sikh Riots, the Gandhi Government, the 1965 war, or the 1991 reforms. Or perhaps, it's still too early to feed us the "facts", which are really opinions.

I got my Learner's License made, by the way. After my first challan, of course. Contrary to what was narrated by my friends, I found the test to be an intelligent one. I mean, I could clearly see why everyone kept telling me "there was ambiguity in the choices". But, really, there was none.

And oh! I almost forgot! My first bike accident! (Mental Five! Whoop.....Tisch!). It was sweet! Gave my jaw quite a shocker.

Go Delhi Daredevils!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

PS: See. Told you I was turning sane. GERROFFME!