It was an evening quite like today. The scent of the wet earth still lingered in the air. Yesterday, rain was the devil. It had in it's power to destroy what was going to be the most memorable day in the life of this bride But today, the rain humbly withdrew from the limelight. Today's star was going to be this girl, sitting pretty with her hand in his', still counting her heartbeats. In those heart beats she was counting time till when she would finally becomes his', when she can  would finally drop carelessly into his arms.

That night, was her night. I was lost somewhere in the grand crowd of eager faces, each of whom smiled for her happiness and comfort. I did too. It was an evening like today. The musty breeze seemed to be my only companion. I had come wishing for her happiness, but in that crowd, I had found myself to be terribly lonely. It was only the bride's face which was familiar. Rest were unpleasantly strange. My imaginations were running amok. Someday, in near, yet distant future, I shall also adorn a pedestal much like her's. To a sprawling acreage of lush greens, I shall also be the shimmering queen.

But for that day, I was lonely. In the unending multitude of heartbreakingly unfamiliar faces, I only had the naughty breeze for company, which also devoted attention to tickling the ribs of small bright lanterns suspended from each tree in the magically illuminated garden. That naughty, musty breeze might have remained my only companion had fate not been in a playful and yielding mood.

Tired searching for a soul warming cup of coffee from the mad array of exotic delicacies competing for attention, I could finally locate a near empty table which seemed friendly enough to accommodate me. I did notice a lone male figure occupying the seat across my own, but that his features would be breathtakingly gorgeous, I had not expected. Had I even meekly expected, I would have stayed away. A dreamy romantic and a hapless single are a lethal combination for a girl who suddenly finds herself in such a titillating zone. Boredom also plays its role in necessitating a leap of heart in thinking "now begin the bright times".

Was I crazy when I shared the first smile? I promise, I did not do it knowingly. His beaming, spotless face evoked a smile in my heart, which promptly ran to my lips. He smiled back. Effortlessly. No, eagerly. This, because, as I later realized, he was my male counterpart at feeling lonely in the deluge of people. Like me, he knew no one else. Like me, he had no company. Like me, may be he too needed someone like me. Yes!

The conversation began with pleasantries. It moved onto polite inquiries.  Name. Occupation. Weather. Food. Ambiance. The bride. The groom. The match. Back to occupation. And then, inevitably, life. Why I said inevitably? Because a part of me told me it would. He had small eyes, hidden behind rimless glasses, which became smaller when he smiled. He never stopped smiling. Consequently, my once sombre face too, did not stop smiling. Worries about reaching home early dissipated into the cold air as I concentrated on how dapper his black suit over a black shirt looked. Did I say dapper? Casually graceful would be more like it.

I am not a shy talker. I must've been talking a lot. I might have said something which made him remark- "You know, sometimes, its just fair that we count our blessings. Those lines of worry which crease your face will disappear in a nano second then." I did not know why he said this, but that is when I kind of came back to senses. What seemed titillating till now was seeming genuinely nice and warm. There was something about his happy countenance; he made me want to smile. It sounds mad, but it also made me want to show my sadness, for he seemed like someone who could still make me smile. There was an enormous amount of positivity radiating from him. What most soothed a nervous girl's heart most was that he was not being kind to me. He prized my chance company as much as I did his'. And this I know, because he was not interested to even look up when bride and groom readied themselves to command attention from each pair of eyes as they exchange the garlands of sacred flowers. He would have much rather continued the conversation, but I did not want to miss one of my favorite rituals from a traditional Hindu wedding.

I stood there, watching them lovingly garland each other. I loved the clandestine glances stolen. I loved the delirious applause filling my ears. I loved seeing her turn red as he claimed her hand back into his. I loved all this, and yet, I wanted to get back to that one conversation which I knew would ease me through the dreariness awaiting with open arms at home. Somewhere, in the middle of that celebratory commotion, I was commanded to head to the gate. My car awaited me. It was late. And I am a girl. A nervous tingle on my spine saw me running to the gate after saying a quick and polite bye. Nervous. I did not think of it earlier, but how many people had seen me laugh and joke and talk with this virtually strange guy in this crowded, yet lonesome place?

On my way back home, I felt silly for feeling all that I did. Sweet silly. I felt grossly silly for not knowing why I did not exchange numbers with him. We had clicked decently well, it would not even have been awkward. No regrets, facebook is the great savior of today. All I need to know about anyone to permanently invite him into my life is his name. I knew his'.

At night, a night like today, with chill pricking at my bare arms, as I sat with facebook friend finder open in front of me, I decided against 'finding' him. He was the perfect stranger. Straight out of books and poems I had read and fantasized about. He will only remain the perfect stranger if I abandon my pursuit. Meeting new people, good people, people who survive only as fond memory, is a dreamy concept in retrospect. I like the dreaminess of it  I closed that chapter there. Now I only revisit the pages when the blur in my memory turns inviting.

PS-Few days back, he 'added' me. I cursed facebook for interfering with my dreams from the past. Did I add him too? Well, I still am a nervous romantic and a hapless single. Should I?

"Death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time".

Don't read much into it. I just wanted to start with something catchy. And this line more than fitted the bill. Two days of lecturing an unfortunate score of eager debaters on filibustering, and here I am, doing precisely that. However, this filibustering conveys what I dedicatedly follow in life. Each moment we grow, each step we take ahead, we are inevitably heading towards a dead end. Where we arrive, when we arrive, is irrelevant. How we travel is what is important. I like to travel savoring each experience as unique, and not having too many of one kind so as to keep them special. One recent experience which has raced to the top of my favorite moments from college life transpired on 11th and 12th February this year. To relate a little about that is why I hold the quill in my hand today. (Yes yes, I am tapping away on the keyboard, but, you know, this is called setting the mood)

Just so you know, I am not late in writing about an event that occurred almost 10 days ago. Yes, blogs are a lot about prompt display of thoughts, but I intended only to write when the memories in my mind had crystallized. Now, they have.

The Delhi Technological University, on 11th and 12th February, as reported earlier on Nascent Emissions, hosted a two day, multicommittee MUN, called the Deltech MUN'12. As a first, they simulated a double delegation, non MUN committee under the same event, namely, the G20 Summit. Amid an Executive Board with tonnes of experience, and participating delegates with mad and enviable MUN resumes, I felt a little lost. The amazing hospitality of the organizers did put me at ease, but it was not till I met Sakshi Aggarwal, the hastily deputed, charming Director of G20 that I could finally locate my comfort zone. In her, I rightly saw an amazing support for the two days I was supposed to spend at DTU.

The first few moments were spent in anxiety. 'Will we have a good participation' was the only persistent thought on our minds- mine, Sakshi's and Vrinda's, Vrinda being our sweet rapporteur. Little by little, beginning with a warm up session, things get into motion. Rest is indescribable in words. I am not a regular MUN person, only about attending one or two in a year. I resolved last year to never attend- participate or chair- a similar conference ever in life. And I am only glad that that turned out to be a hollow resolve.

We, as a committee, debated two very contemporary, dynamic, sensitive, pertinent, but dry topics over the two day session. Thanks to my well read committee member, the debate was anything but dry. I can safely mention now that Canada, China, UK and USA were my favorites to be the winners at the end of two days. A demure but determined Indian delegation made a strong case for itself by the end of second day, and ensured a High Commendation for itself. As countries, I might forget them, but as individuals, I promise, if you are reading this, I will always remember and recognize you if at all we meet again in future.

Amrita and Anmol- They were my favorites. Clean favorites. Charming and composed, both of them formed an effective pair to keep up with the pace of debating in the committee. (The Laurel and Hardy)
Priyakanksha and Hisham- They were the smartest and most confident speakers in my committee, whose confidence dripped from their faces. They were clearly more experienced than myself, but the respect with which they treated me was overwhelming and precious. (Rangeen Jodi- Runner's Up)
Kirithiga and Pranav- An adorable duo, where Pranav dominated with his eloquent speeches but Kirithiga matched up with her grace and composure, and a very amiable personality. (Rangeen Jodi- Winners)
Bhavya and Akshay- As I said, demure, composed and focused. Whenever my committee went crazy shouting and being uselessly animated, they were the only sources of solace I resigned my attention to. (Hope of Diplomacy)
Anup and Prashant- The youngest bravehearts of my committee, willing to take over those whom I was scared of debating with. These were two precocious school students who effortlessly contested, paralleled and even dominated the other committee members at times. Got into trouble, but got out of it soon enough. (The U-Turners)
Saumya and Siddharth- They were the next best on our list, just missing out on the awards. A little late to pick up, but their NSIT connect ensured they get enough attention from me!

The exemplary deliberations, debating and negotiations were accompanied by a lot of fun moments in the council. Discovering an unnamed rose under my placard was one of them. Breaking into long lectures about reading habits, concept of diplomacy, nuances of public speaking, and a little gyan on life in general was another. I had my tiffs only with the IP, but they too, were so fantastic at what they did that retrospectively, I remember them with a lot of respect. Exhausted after chasing consensus on two lengthy Declarations, a little photo session, preceded by a melodious rendition of Maeri by Pradit was only what was needed as the perfectly sumptuous icing on an already delicious cake.

I could never end this post without mentioning some more names.
Saad and Akhil- Prior to meeting them, I never realized that conference staff could be so diligent, endearing and eager to help. They displayed hospitality at its best. Water, coffee, projector, charger, chits, pens, stationary- I think we harassed them in every possible way. The only thing they gave us in return was a heart warming smile at the end of it all.
Soham- He is a school junior I am proud of. Had it not been for him, I would have suffered because of my over punctual self. Thanking him in few words is simply not possible. I can only say that the warmth, concern and respect  he loaded me with I shall never forget.
Shobhit- The sheer awesomeness he displayed at handling an event of this scale is something I could write essays upon. For now, I'd just mention that there could not have been a more perfect Sec Gen for Deltech MUN. Being invited by him was humbling and pleasing at the same time.

The best frames from then.

 

 

 

What is the time of the year that as a college student you most look forward to? Definitely not the exams and assessments. It is, indubitably, the time your whole college is drowned under a spirit of celebration- your annual college festival which is not just a time to have fun, but also to work your asses off and proudly show off your college to the whole world out there.

I'll add one more thing to the above generalization. Not just for the incumbent college students, but also for the nascent alumni, the most looked forward to occasion is not the Convocation or the Reunions, but again, the college festival. I say this from personal experience. Reunions are good in their place, but they do not recreate the fervor and frolic associated with college life. Festivals certainly do. With a bunch of old friends, heading down to your own college with a cup full of memories in your hand and a sparkle of expectations in your eyes is an exercise many of us would like to undertake to revel once again in that relaxed, carefree air. My lips widen in a huge smile as I recall to mind that a similar trip I shall be undertaking towards to my college just about a fortnight hence. It is that time of the year again. It is MONTAGE time again!

Splashed all across my twitter timeline and facebook wall are updates and more updates about this year's edition of Jesus and Mary College's Annual Festival- Montage'12. It is heartwarming to see juniors take the oars in their hands and row towards the D-Day with such skill and innovation. With each successive edition, we at JMC have gone a notch higher in terms of the quality and enthusiasm with which we decorate the fest. More spunk has consistently been added. More shimmer sprinkled. More care observed in organization. More efficiency achieved. More events conducted. More participants attracted. More fame gained. And if I am to go by the words of the college president, Kanika Chaturvedi, this year, Montage promises to be nothing less than EPIC. Dear Kanika, make it an advanced version of epic. I know it lies in you and your team to do that!

The team. Aah. Now they are an enviable lot. A bunch of young, smart girls, who put the most passionate sections of their heart and the most creative sections of their brain into making certain that the fest is pulled off with uncomplicated meticulousness and stylish grace. One of the many new things they have tried this year is reaching out to people via an interesting blog. Oh, they have made some awesome teaser videos too, but since I am a blogging person, I am glad that my lonely, nightime occupation is being taken seriously by some cute damsels. They are churning out some cool posts with a candour and lightheartedness I wish God blessed all of us with. The feel you get while reading all those posts just makes the air around the road leading to the fest all the more energized. The countdown has begun.

Hit the fb page, or the Montage official website, but what I will strongly recommend is that stop by Montage's official blog by clicking here. Take a moment. We want you to laugh with us. We can be pompous about ourselves, because all the awesomeness JMC lends to us is prone to spilling out now and then. But with this blog, the creative scribes of JMC are out there to make you feel at home even before you step into our campus.

Its here. Montage '12. So, are you ready?

 

 

PS- If you are one of my male friends reading it, FINE, I know I have to make sure I take you along. I will. I promise. But don't you dare pester me to introduce you to femme fatales from my college. Please.

My short sabbatical to an internet free zone was spent with my nose poking deep into the pages of Down The Road- A collection of short stories by various authors about life on campus, edited by Ahmed Faiyaz and Rohini Kejriwal. What I felt about the book shall come later, but I must share with the readers that I was often found by concerned family members sometimes sharing a ridiculously personal smile, at others a worried pensive stare with the pages of the book. It was not merely because the book was handsomely engrossing. It was certainly because the book shared stories which seemed personal. 


Life on campus is a rigmarole for most of us. It, invariably, occupies a very special place in the chest where we preserve our precious memories. Growing up, finding ourselves, making friends, understanding love, learning, unlearning, failing, trying, enjoying, crying- you look back at college and you find yourself enveloped by a dozen emotions you once lived through, the ones which have played an important part in shaping you as you know yourself today. Quite obviously, I had my hoped pinned high on Down The Road, especially because I am fresh out of DU, and still not quite over the feel of campus life.

The book lived up to its name. Quite effortlessly, it took me down the memory lane. It is a fresh and pleasant collection of short stories by young authors from diverse background and with diverse writing styles. It tells simple tales of incidents we've lived through in school or college. Most of the stories which appealed to me dealt with love and friendship- the discovery, the innocence, the misunderstandings, the whole experience in fact. The book is divided into five sections with 28 stories by 16 authors. The individual authors have explored many different facets of campus life including elections, politics, ragging, teachers, passions, lessons, crushes, placements inter alia.A thumbs up to the editors for selection of stories included in this anthology. Some of the stories will make you smile as you remember the hazy face of that first crush, some others might touch you where you are most sensitive and feel some pain or regret. Narrated with an almost personal tenderness, many of these stories make you reflect on those trivialities which seem to acquire meaning only in retrospect.

What I did not enjoy was the last section of the book, with two essays about campus fiction and campus based movies. I was riding high on the nostalgic atmosphere which the stories created around me, and quite honestly, I did not feel like forcing myself through those passages which seemed a little dry after the wonderful and touching stories. I would give the book 3 on 5 stars. It is worth a read, in fact a few stories are worth reading many times over. Some warmth and some nostalgia you are sure to feel while you involuntarily find yourself living your college days.

My favorite five from the stories published in this anthology-

1. Smells Like Home by Aashish Mehotra
About the reluctant return to his homeland of an NRI student, who experiences comfort in the company of a girl whose presence he takes for granted.
2. Bellow Yellow by Chinmayi Bali
A commendable, mature and intense story about the darker tendencies which inhabit a student's being. Well narrated, delicately handled.
3. The Music Room by Ira Trivedi
The forbidden love story of a bright young student and a docile, out of place music teacher.
4. The Cafe With No Name by Sneh Thakur
A gently narrated tale of the brewing relationship between a student of limited means and a concerned and doting Parsi owner of the roadside cafe. Heartwarming.
5. Remember Me? by Ahmed Faiyaz
This one because it made me revisit Ruheen and Aditya's love story, one I had gotten quite attached to while reading Another Chance.

Delhi is a city for the romantics! Whether the Victorian air which greets you as you enter its heart in Connaught Place or the priceless remnants of Mughal and Sultanate architecture which grant it the haunting, old world feel- Delhi will offer you numerous picturesque backgrounds to write your story against. All it needs is the explorer in you, which wants to indulge in its deep set history, and usurp those facets- tangible and intangible- of Delhi life, which grant it its distinct charm. I am, veritably, in love with Delhi! And why not- this is the city which makes me the incorrigible romantic that I am, by giving me such moments which become fond, indelible beauties on the canvass of my memories.

A pity it is, that despite having spent my whole life here, I have primarily explored the city through books and internet. Growing up constraints. But independence brought with it the coveted opportunity of actually going out and understanding and appreciating the city in all its hues. So then, whether it was the monuments, the food, the culture, or the people- I reached out to all that I knew made Delhi special. And this time, the smells, the touches, the emotions, the tastes, the smiles, the textures, the colors- they were all exclusively mine to savour.

Past year was especially brilliant for me, as far as exploring Delhi is concerned. It was a little slow too, because I thought I had discovered my favorites in the city. Janpath, Dargah of Nizam-ud-din Auliya, North Campus alleys, SDA Market Coffee shops, Lotus Temple, Taj CCD, inter alia, top my list of favorite Delhi hang outs. But a decisive winner made its way to the top of this list in October this year. With my best friend in Delhi, and a cooperative weather to make me smile, I thought I might not get a better chance of visiting this one place in Central Delhi I had always wanted to explore. Agrasen Ki Baoli. For those of us who are in love with Mayank Austen Soofi's Delhi diaries, we cannot not know about this place. But visiting it in person is an altogether different experience. And this I discovered on the 19th of October, 2011- what I also like to remember as my favorite Delhi moment from this year.

We reached there early morning. Me and this extremely special friend of mine. Situated a little further up on a small detour off the Hailey road (near Kasturba Gandhi Marg)- one which you are most likely to miss- Agrasen Ki Baoli is not an easy to find monument for first timers. But a cooperative autowallah, content to receive 30 bucks for a 25 rupees worth of journey from Rajiv Chowk, helped us locate it in no time. An unmistakable mustiness greeted us as we stared down the 104 steps of this Baoli. As we later learned from each other, my friend and I resolved almost in our first glimpse down the steps to be back here, back whenever we felt like escaping the pace of life, back whenever we thought serenity would not come so cheap to us at any other place.

Baoli-literally a stepwell. Stepwells were constructed by ancient and medieval rulers as respite zones from scorching heat of Indian summers. There are some more in Delhi, but this one is known to be the most charming. As you will figure out when you visit, the plaque outside its entrance declares it as 'Ugrasen Ki Baoli', but common nomenclature replaces the 'U' with an 'A' to alter the eponymous ruler's identity who is credited to have built this stepwell. At its sides are built some mysteriously inviting niches and chambers, and a staired passageway which leads you to the very top of the reservoir which has now dried up completely. Its popularity and maintenance are both poor. Not many people frequent the place, and in the close to three hours we spent there, it was mostly college students who came, descended to the base of the stairs, and then left as quickly as they came.

We sat around for a long time. It was just very peaceful. Seemed like the perfect place to think, to slow down, and to have a heart-to-heart conversation. When you climb down to a sufficiently low level, you can see just the CP skyline merging with the ancient stones of the Baoli. Nothing else of the concrete world is visible. You feel like you are in two different eras at the same time. Your ambitions want to see you ascend to the top of those tall buildings, your emotions want to restrain you to the tranquility this musty, stagnant well has to offer. Ennui can sometimes be pleasing. And satisfying.

My reverie was broken by the thoughtful look on the face of my friend. Something told me that what I am about to share with this really special friend of mine now is going to be entrenched in my memory forever. I was not wrong. He is a friend I like to call my own; but complications and complacency had both crept in to portend a ruin for perhaps the most special relationship I have nurtured over the past few years. May be it was the feel of being in a time warp, may be it was the calming lull of the surroundings- something enabled me to confess my fears and sadness to him from behind a blur of tears. Some intimate thoughts were then shared. Some dreams, some responsibilities reminded. We went home with a better understanding of each other. We went home a little happier.

A friend, some tears, some words. Delhi's old world beauty in the background. Does one need more to live that cherished, loved, special moment?

The kind of happiness an impromptu re-union can give you, its quite unique. We leave our academic abodes- schools and colleges- with loud promises keeping in touch, being integrally involved in each others lives, and always being there, with due emotional emphasis. But by now, all of us have been through and known, that even the most genuine of such commitments are often not able to stand the test of circumstances. We move on. We carry few faces firmly forward with us, but leave a lot many more behind. Often, the people we leave behind are the ones with whom we perhaps shared more intimate association while still in their obvious company. There remains a guilt, but there remains a helplessness.

And this is where the concept of reunions catches steam from. Reunions sound ultra grand- sound like a homecoming of sort; but the more they are planned and ranted on about, the more they fall flat on expectations. When invited to reconnect with people whom you shared your pens, pencils, notes, and your very heart with in one era, you can sometimes feel awkward by the pace with which things and people have moved on. You yourself, of course, being no exception. But when reunions are random and unplanned and impromptu and fixed over sleepy calls at the break of dawn, suddenly the excitement associated with them increases manifold. And then, who land up in your company are friends, who really want to be there with you enough to jump out from bed half dizzy and head towards an old hang out without a second thought. Despite it being a Sunday, they shift, alter, delay or cancel plans to experience that coveted tryst with memories.

And yes, though my ramblings might seem exaggerated at points, they do total justice to each emotion I felt during the course of the day. I studied in Laxman Public School, an institution which remains irreplaceable to my existence and to which I will proudly remain associated till even one known face exists in its precincts. What made one of my routine trips to the school even more special today was the coming together of the best of my friends, after an eon, with all the ease of the good old days. Teachers, building, classrooms- everything/everyone was greeted with the familiar mischief, familiar loudness, and familiar warmth. The day was great, and was made better with the lightness of everyone’s demeanour.

We saw a few changes. We don’t know for good or bad. We ended up criticizing them. Alterations, good/bad, associated with things which have a sentimental value are not always welcome. Traditions are sometimes best left untouched. We also found ourselves a little grown up. We began by indulging in the usual fun-banter about teachers, but ended up apologizing to a few for our unpleasant acts committed while we were too young  and adamant to realize it.

After a great time, albeit reluctantly, we parted ways. This time too, loud promises were made of keeping in touch, being involved, and being available. I am not thinking about that. I am just happy that today was. 

Thank you all, friends and teachers, for making LPS such an awesome experience for me. We might not always be in touch, but our common roots are enough to ensure that we remain connected at some level, always. 

Anjali ma'am. Not just a teacher, but a friend and mentor for life. She stood by me when I felt lonely and dark, and made me learn things which cannot be found in any text books.

With Tyagi Sir and Tyagi Ma'am-the best Chemistry teachers ever! I owe all my boards marks to their strict and disciplined, yet fun teaching.

The 12-A2 gang, collecting outside the school gate. From left to right- Piyush, Nishtha, Tarun, Myself and Mayank

Seema ma'am- junior school math teacher. She was the only one who could make me do math. Later, I only deteriorated.

They are known as "Radio Ke Virus". For me, they were my daily addictions en route to college. I have been listening to them since I don't know when. So, some five years back, when the year 2006 was about to close, I got an opportunity to interview the two of them, for a very special edition of Times Of India-NIE. I could choose anyone- writers, politicians, socialites, artists- but the fifteen year old girl in me preferred to make arrangements for an interview with the masters of mad talk- Anant and Saurabh. While TOI promised to facilitate conversations with the management of Radio Mirchi for this particular interview, what I distinctly remember is the wonderful treatment, and insanely prompt replies I got from both- Anant-Saurabh, and the people I had to go through in order to reach them.

This interview, edited, was published in TOI-NIE edition dated 8th February, 2007. I found it again while rummaging through some old mails, precisely in the hope of re-igniting some lost nostalgia. Now that I read it again, a lot of it does not seem all that hilarious as it did when I was small. My teachers were proud I pulled this through. For me, the achievement was that an interview with these two adorable-crazy-awesome chatterboxes was the closest I have ever gotten to anyone I have ever claimed being a fan of. And till date, they both are the most amazing RJs I miss listening to, given my habit of sleeping late, getting up later. The are the craziest partners on air, but also gave me my daily doze of local updates, along with unconventional, humorous, and sometimes serious opinions. Recently, when they won an award for their programme on Human Trafficking at an international forum, I felt a personal pride, and promised myself to search for this interview again. Forgot. Here it is now! I did this as a fifteen year old, and from the perspective of a school student. Most questions hence are about school life.
(Their full names- Saurabh Bhramar and Anant Jha)

A pic I received from Radio Mirchi 6 years back to be published along with the interview

They are hilarious, they are famous, they are the cool dudes of the city & they come with a statutory warning- “Kuchh bhi karna, par in ko mat sun-na.” No peanuts for guessing, they are ANANT and SAURABH, the RJs whose voice acts as the morning alarm for most of the ardent radio listeners of Delhi. The Dilliwalas are absolutely in love with their antics, which help start their day on a bright note. While the listeners almost guffaw in response to the hilarious conversation between the two of them, Saumya Kulshrestha, a student of LPS, thought of taking a very serious interview of the two of them. The interview follows.....

GENERAL INTERVIEW

Q:1) We as school students would like to know that how important is school life in shaping a person’s future?

A:1)We believe that school life is very important in determining one’s future as you get to know the subjects that you hate and wouldn’t want to work in any of those fields. The things which a student learns between classes and in their interaction with other students is more useful than what they learn from the textbooks.

Q:2) Tell us what aspect of school life charmed you the most?

A:2)Summer and winter vacations. All companies should also follow the same routine.

Q:3) Was RJ-ing  always a dream or you stumbled upon it?

A:3)Totally stumbled upon it. If somebody could pay us to talk, it couldn’t be that bad.

Q:4) Radio or rather FM is an important mode of dissemination of substance based information. How far do you agree with the statement?

A:4)We totally agree with the statement although we can’t agree on what it means. Wasn’t “dissemination” a biological term???

Q:5) You usually play new songs on your show. If you were to present a show fully dedicated to old classics, what kind of songs would come out of your song box?

A:5)We would love to play songs by Britney Knowles, Beyonce Spears, Shakira Bano, Materazzi and Mohd. Barfi. We love their songs.

Q:6) We & all your listeners are complete fan of your antics. Tell us are you as hilarious in your real life too? How do your kith and kins react to your funny comments spoken out on a citywide forum?

A:6)We are very serious people and take everything in life very seriously, if people don’t take us seriously then there is something wrong with them. Our kith and kin (body parts???) think that we work in a call centre.

Q:7) Is witty conversation between you premeditated or spontaneous?

A:7)We meditate before we speak so I guess it is premeditated and since we don’t know what we are saying, all of it is spontaneous.

Q:8) If you were given a chance to direct a movie tomorrow, what would be the subject & who would be the leading people of the movie?

A:8)It would be a film based on wildlife in the film industry narrated from the perspective of a couch. According to our cinematic adviser, Guru Rai Bahadur Mahesh Butt sahib it would be Angelina Jolie as the couch, and the man with animal instincts, Shoaib Akhtar as the wildlife.

Q:9) A VJ or a television anchor gets a lot of importance because they are recognized by the general public by their face. Do you feel being an RJ somewhere deprives you of that fame & glamour?

A:9)No. we have the perfect faces for radio. Not doing television has been a conscious choice but eventually when we stop talking we will be doing silent films.

RAPID FIRE- one sentence answers please (as brief as possible)

Q:1) Your take on these technical terms from various subjects, probably taught to you also in school.

a)      Catenation (Chemistry): When the entire nation is run over & governed by cats it is known as cat-e-nation.

b)      Disaster Management (Geography): People who make disasters happen on a large scale.

c)     Polynomial (Maths): A polynomial is an equation that has more than two variables and lots of answers.

d)      Capital Punishment (Civics): When a student is given the arduous task of learning the name of every country’s capital in the world it is known as capital punishment.

e)      Oxidation (Chemistry): When humans start dating oxen!!!

Q:2) What if not an RJ?  

Ladies tailor at Lajpat Nagar.

Q:3) Three words that define an RJ.

Licensed to talk.

Q:4) Indian bolly stars who have the maximum potential to be an RJ(except Preity Zinta & Vidya Balan).

Tusshar Kapoor in Golmaal and Rani Mukherjee in Black.

Q:5) Best thing about each other.

We love dating each other’s girlfriends and spending their money.

Anant and Saurabh- with their award at the New York Festival

PS- Sincere thanks to Kriti Arora and Sonam Sharma for all their help with this. 

Almost like a personal loss...

Ghalib-e-khasta ke bagair, kaunse kaam band hain

Roiye zaar zaar kya, kijiye haaye haaye kyun.....

I did resolve to positively control my urge of wanting to record my responses on things which affect me on a day to day basis till my UPSC Mains exams concluded. For this, I had nearly cut myself off from the world, categorically from the things which I knew would affect me. All it took was a phone conversation with one of my friends informing me of the demise of Jagjit Singh to have this resolve momentarily forgotten. While I did stay aloof from the world, Jagjit Ji's voice kept reverberating in my room, and within the walls of my head, to help create the calmness which I desire to continuously remain committed towards my dream. That voice resonates still, but it sounds a tad hollow.

They say, melodies closest to us are the saddest in nature. It is something I firmly believe to be true. The saddest of my thoughts have found expression in verses of Ghalib, Zafar, Firaaq Gorakhpuri, Faakir, and Nida Fazli whose poetry had been conveyed to me via the enchanting voice of Jagjit Ji. This habit of addressing him as  'Jagjit Ji' I acquired in school, where, for me and my friend, Pari, Jagjit Ji had a hallowed status. I've spend many a music lessons in school humming away numerous ghazals and nazms of his'. In fact, this difference between a ghazal and a nazm was communicated to me by the maestro, Jagjit Ji himself in a TV programme. Most of the times, I felt intimately attached to the melodies rendered immortal in his voice for I found an inner feeling or a personal experience being whispered again in my ears in Jagjit Ji's magical voice. That is what his ghazals can do to you. They can lend an aura of romance, or be your confidante in mourning, in loss, in sadness.

I owe many memories to him. 

"Us mod se shuru karein, phir yeh zindagi,

Har sheh jahaan haseen thi, hum tum the ajnabee"

This was my first solo stage performance. I was about fourteen years old, attired in a pink suit, standing on stage and singing away this ghazal to glory. It fetched me the first ever "Best Singer Award", which I went on to win for the remaining four years of my cultural life in school.

"Tu apne dil ki jawaan dhadkano ko, gin ke bata,

Meri tarah tera dil, beqarar hai ki nahi,

Daba daba sa sahi, dil mein pyaar hai ki nahi"

Whenever asked instantly to sing, I  can think of nothing but this composition. It is a song I would sing for my beloved sometime.. It is a song I call my own.

"Teri khushbu mein base khat main jalata kaise..."

Each time I heard this song, I knew my heart sank. Jagjit Ji's voice carries an unmistakable tone of pain, which is effortlessly contagious for all the listeners, me being no exception.

"Dil hi toh hai, na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyun,

Royenge hum hazaar baar, koi humein sataaye kyun"

I knew I had grown up when I understood the meaning of these lines enough to draft a blog on them. An iconic composition- it is perhaps the only thing we as audience remember of Mirza Ghalib, a show that once aired on Doordarshan.

"Duniya jise kehte hain, jaadoo ka khilauna hai,

Mil jaaye toh mitti hai, kho jaaye toh sona hai"

The meaning of equanimity I could never comprehend. But a lesson or two in life I definitely learnt the first time I heard this ghazal some 7 years back. It has since not been off my play list.

"Baat niklegi toh phir, door talak jaayegi..."

The surge or emotions I felt whenever I heard this one I can not even attempt to describe. This is one of those compositions I have always wanted to sing, but have refrained from doing so for not wanting to spoil its sacred perfection. Even now, I can cry with comfort while listening to this. Is it not bits of my own life this nazm describes?

And lastly

"Yeh daulat bhi lelo, yeh shauhrat bhi lelo, 

Bhale chheen lo, mujhse meri jawaani,

Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,

Woh kaagaz ki kashti, toh baarish ka paani"

A duet with his humsafar, Chitra Singh, this song is the most intrinsic and irreplaceable part of all farewells conducted at my school. While singing this one, I could see very clearly the teary beads, hitherto controlled, trickling down the cheeks of each batch as it prepared to crossover from school into the next stage of life. When it came to my turn of sitting back and soaking in the memories while listening to this song, I acted the perfect coward and left the gathering as this song was being performed. I did not just want to listen to it. Like every other year, I wanted to sing it. Away from the gathering, that is exactly what I did.

This is list expectedly endless. And it should be. Ghazals would not have been an ordinary music lover's delight had Jagjit Ji not played the catalytic role in popularizing it. For me, he even helped being a source of faith. Fancily terming myself an agnostic, I could never keep away from the spell of "Jai madhav madam murari" or "Sabse oonchi prem sagai" when Jagjit Ji's voice accessorized them. Today, I think of I know by heart most of the songs he lent his voice to. However, I hope to death I have not discovered his entire treasure trove of music. The elation I felt whenever I heard any of his classics for the first time, and played it over and over again to know each and every harkat with which he made the song beautiful, I want to experience again. 

No new ghazals are will lend me that coveted elation. No new ghazals are going to come our way.

"Hazaaron khwaahishein aesi, ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,

Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle."

The melody resonates. I wonder why it feels hollow.

Jagjit Singh, Chitra Singh and Vivek Singh- Their son who died in a car accident at a a tender age.

 

It all began with this photograph. Madhuri Dixit in a Marylin Monroe avataar. I first saw this photograph some years back. I was amused for a while, and then fell in love with it. Today morning, I came across it again. It lent me warmth, and a familiar smile. And then some sadness. Splashed across all newspapers is the dismal news of passing away of the most iconic photographer Bollywood has ever been testimony to, someone, who will be forever hard to find a parallel of. Gautam Rajadhyaksha. A name which is reverential for upcoming photographers; a person, the shock of whose sudden demise was more than palpable as I opened my twitter account to check random updates. 

I am not much of a follower of photography. However, a die hard fan of Bollywood I incorrigibly am. Along with many others, Madhuri Dixit has been among my top childhood obsessions; someone like whom I wanted to dance, and smile, and even act. Collecting photographs of favorite Hindi Cinema stars was a charming occupation while we were still kids. This picture, and another one carrying a fresh from sleep, yawning Salman Khan, are fond favorites, both iconic, both clicked by the master himself- Gautam Rajadhyaksha. 

I googled him, his photography, and arrived at some unmissable photographs. Gone are those days when we would endeavor to neatly cut out favorite pictures from newspapers and magazines, and daintily paste them in happy scrapbooks, along with footnotes murmuring of our playtime obsessions for years after. Now we just log onto Google, click on images, and have the whole universe of images unfold right before our eyes. I did the same, and found some portraits which I would want to paste here, as memories of a man I did not know, but whose art has has more than mesmerized my eyes. A small ode to a great artist.

Simplicity at its best. Is there any other instance we remember of seeing the sisters share a melodious laughter with such a candid ease?

The sensuous beauty, Rekha, reminiscent of some ancient queen, some Indian Goddess.

Smita Patil- her beauty and grace has over powered me for ages. I bet this is one of the photographer's personal favorites.

Hailed as one of his best works. Shows the master batsmen conquering the world; the ball being symbolic of just the same.

Salman, as he looked in his nascent days. At that time, I have fantasized about him.

I am good with nostalgia. Really good. I can feel nostalgic about almost everything I have had an association with. For the past three years, I created an illusion around me. An illusion of having grown up. Growing up with an ability of tear-free moving on. So far, the illusion did not seem treacherous. The numerous farewells conducted in the college- in music society, the Economics Department, WSDC, and the big-grand-college farewell itself- none of them could lead to even an allusion of moisture in my eyes. It was so different from the school farewell, where I shed an epic amount of tears, right from the beginning, till the very end, and may be later as well. But now, as I graduated out of college, it seemed like the most natural course of things- not even for a second was I in denial. Everyone graduates, some with smile, some with copious tears, some with fondness, some with grudges- I think I was largely impassive. And that was because the emotions had not yet knocked on my door.

"I'll miss you"- this one sentence, when spoken at the end of a seven minute conversation, by a diminutive figure with benign eyes and a humble disposition, a person who epitomized respect, diligence and everything astute during college life, a lecturer who made you want to study, can make even the most somnolent feelings of loss which thus far you had been suppressing away to an obscure corner of your heart come alive. Dr. Ela Trivedi- this name was reverential in college. It still is. And after a rigorous lecture in International Trade to the nascent third year students, as she stepped out of Room 308 yesterday when I visited college, I could realize, with force that too, what will never come back to me after embarking on a journey beyond college. She meant well, inquired meaningfully, did not show any hurry- in short, she sent my way every emotion which did not reek of the slightest formality and which made me realize the strength of my association with this grand institution called Jesus and Mary College- its grandeur more palpable now when I look back as a spectator, not a part.

As she walked away, a faint tear did try to force its way out of my eyes. I wanted to just walk over to the fabled 308 balcony- where naps were taken, fests planned, books read, notes completed, rains enjoyed, gossip sessions held, secrets confided, sadness shared, photo-sessions undertaken- and spend a quiet moment with myself. May be I once again wanted to look down at the parking lot and guess by looking at the assortment of cars which teachers would definitely be inside college. May be I just wanted to stare at the JMC gate and imagine my friends approaching the building, their hand waving fondly at me. Or may be I wanted to just look at the sky and seek an answer to "Where now, what now?"

Yes, my heart did feel heavy, but it felt alive too. I was on a well deserved leave out of the plush corporate ambiance of Gurgaon offices, and breathing in the odours of familiar corridors of JMC. These were the corridors to which we were expelled when we forgot to carry a Sydsaeter and Hammond or an Allen Webster to class, and these were the corridors from which we shouted out desperately to get that one extra attendance when our lecturers did actually expel us. Now the same corridors were brimming with faces, both familiar and unknown. Around ten of these faces came forward to give me the extra-special hugs, typical to the kind of bonding which develops amid JMCites. Two of these faces held my hand and dragged me to the quiter corners of the college to ask, share, discuss everything that came to their mind. I don't know for how long they will, but right now, my juniors do miss me. They wanted to tell me so much, ask me so much- and all I could do was to apologize for the dearth of time. In this one day respite I got from buying and selling currencies(my current occupation), I had to live at least a thousand more moments which office life heartlessly deprives me of. It does, of course, more than compensate by giving me fun moments of a different kind; but the charms of the carefree yet responsible college life do inveigle me as of now.

Remembering the highs, consciously forgetting the lows, I write from this room which sequesters me from the travails of the life being led and the uncertain future to follow. I am, right now, allowed the luxury if being engulfed by memories which make me smile into nothingness. And as I do so, I remember faces
My professors-irrespective of the way we opined in college, they were not just the best professors, but sometimes, more than just professors. Friends do tag along, but these are the real treasures we leave behind.
My mentors- Nivya Nair and Swati Iyer- two seniors who lent me that knowledge of music which I never had the luxury of understanding..and they helped a lost kid find some comfort, some solace.
My juniors- they just made me feel like the most special person in college. The respect and the love I got, and I still get, leaves me indebted.
My friends- few,  but prized.
My best friends- fewer, but mine for life.

PS- And the book-shop wale uncle. I don't think anyone in the college can function without his kindness. I owe him so much, monetarily. Hopefully, my first salary will lessen the debts. Only the monetary debts. The near filial benevolence he showed, how can I ever pay back for that?

"Humne zindagi mein paisa toh nahi kamaya, lekin izzat bahut kamayi hai"


Sounds filmi. Doesn't it? This, was a pet line of the autowallah who dropped me home today, all the way from Lajpat Nagar. And, at the end of a journey costing more than a hundred and fifty rupees on the meter, when he refused to take a paisa from me, I was forced to believe each part of his life's story, narrated lovingly to me, with exquisite detailing- at times making me stop and wonder if everything he said was actually true.


He was a happy man. A very happy man. Driving auto was a pass-time for him. What he actually did was sing sufi bhajans of Sai Baba, professionally.. I have his card, which I received with a smile in return for a forced payment of half the actual amount on the meter. This is the second time an autowallah has refused to take money from me, though both stories belong to extremely different contexts. His', like many of his ilk, was a life of struggle. But, if I go by his version of things, he had emerged more than successful. More curiously, it was not success that intoxicated him, it was devotion to Baba. He was a man, who no doubt still met with troubles, but the image of Baba in his heart took care of all. The story was the same (forgive my nonchalance)- his father expired while he was still young and the onus of running his family fell on him. This drove him towards his current occupation, but the love for Baba kept enticing him. And today, when his whole family is settled- his first sister married in UK, his second sister an air hostess with Jet Airways, his younger brother an aspiring IPS ("I'll do everything to make him one"- he said with a father's tenderness and concern), and his two little daughters secure under a father who, under the evil shadow of skewed sex ratios prevalent in our nation since forever, takes pride in not having any sons, takes pride in having daughters who "at least ask me for water when I reach home fatigued. Didi, its only daughters, sons don't do this."


Yes, he called me didi, and it was refreshing to hear him talk. He was cautious. When I looked too much into the mobile screen for texting my friends, he immediately withdrew from talking. The disappointment in his features, so clearly visible via the rear view mirror, ached my heart. I have not done this for the closest of people, but for him, I abandoned my cell phone, and heard him through. And I do not regret it one bit. He spoke little of his family, a lot of Baba, and how singing for him made him feel like the most fortunate of people alive. It all started at a phone call, perhaps to invite him and his mandali for an evening of Sai bhajans. After inquiring a little more, tho Sufi chord struck. He sings Sai, and I sing Bulleh Shah and Khusrau- both of us have immense and inspiring respect for each others devotion. To call me a novice and him a veteran- both would be understatements.


My mother would scold me if I ever, even inaudibly hummed while travelling in an auto. May be she found it embarrassing; but sometimes, the weather would be so inviting, that I would be led on, beguiled to sing. Today, as the fickle weather played its cards, and transformed the day from a scorching morning into a pleasant, rain washed evening, I was once again forced to hum a sufiyana song, which I usually sing for my little angel, my cousin. Only this time, I had familiar and agreeable company. The autowallah did not join me to sing, but when I stopped humming, gave me a few tips for polishing my singing, which left me both, astonished and thankful.


There is a lot which still comes to mind, and not all of it I can record here. I do distinctly remember him shedding a few tears, given their due time to flow out, and then suppressed and forgotten behind a striking, yet a calm smile. He disclosed philosophies with which he lived his life, and there was an unmistakable truthfulness in them. In today's time and age, where Delhi autowallah are infamous for all their notorious behaviour, people like Deepak Chaddha (oh thats his name, I have his card, remember?), help re-instill faith in the goodness of human existence. Things even out. Even when I met the most annoying autowallah, I endeavored to keep my cool, and be as nice as possible, for fighting, calling names, never helps. Because of the remarkable man I met today, all of the previous ill memories of autowallahs I would hate to travel with except under situations of extreme duress were wiped away effortlessly. I never talk to autowallahs, I am scared of them. Today, when I did talk to one, I felt I met a really noble soul. Not being judgmental about people helps, doesn't it?


My only regret, I wish we spoke more Sufi. Right before I got down, he quoted one couplet, one of the most common ones- "Laali mere laal ki, jit dekhoon ut laal/ Laali dekhan main gayi, te main bhi ho gayi laal." I do not remember the context he uttered it in, but I was convinced this was going to be the line that'll ring in my heart when I sat down to pen my journal at night. Not quite. What remains in my heart is the line below, which he uttered along with his exceptionally simple and humble smile.


"Aadmi bada paise se nahi banta, vyavhaar se banta hai. Main aapke liye baba se dua karoonga."