5 Gunmen

Alright, first of all let us decide the names, or do we leave them nameless. Better nameless. Their struggle was of survival, not that it really matters in a desert because when you have sand all around and sun glowing at its best, up above the world so high, like a SMILEY in the sky. In a desert 5 losers had only bottle of kratieschzoff (pronounced as cra-ft—panipa-t—scr-ee-ch—schzoff, consider the italicized letters between words for pronunciation), now if you are done with trying how it is pronounced then we may move on to the story?!

So, yes, kratieschzoff, a desert drink, made with cactus juice to avoid dehydration. You know dehydration right? Just Kidding, I am sure you might know what dehydration is. You know right? Just in case, you don’t…. Then I can’t help, better google it.  Anyways going back to the story, 5 gunmen, a desert, one bottle of kratieschzoff, with the sun looking like a :).

Kratieschzoff bottle was black translucent, with golden shield like label on it. On its neck it had a golden wrapper, which allowed it to look like an alcoholic drink. What, you thought it is something addictive? No its not. Well, it is, to some extent, because it helps avoid dehydration in a desert. But it is nothing wrong, as it could be, you can have it too, and if you do find it share it with me too, I have only heard about it, but never tasted it, drinking a cactus juice would be interesting, won’t it?
So coming back to the story, there were 5 gunmen, weird, ugly, good, bad, policeman and an ordinary ranger. The ranger had the kratieschzoff, by his side tied to his jacket on the right. He just stopped by to drink it, but the weird was sitting nearby, he noticed the kratieschzoff but ranger didn’t notice the weird guy. The weird guy was noticed by the good because he wanted to help the weird guy so he came running for him. You didn’t understand how did the good notice the weird? Well, he was at a distance, with a binocular exploring for someone who needed help, so he found this weird guy and came running. Understood? If not then I can’t help…….. Even google can’t, here. It’s my story after all. So then just accept that good found the weird and hence the kratieschzoff.

And then because good came running, bad did too. After all where there is good there is bad. But bad was being chased by the police so, the police man reached there and everyone found the full bottle of kratieschzoff. Now because everyone was practically running and it was hot, hot as in HOT, really HOT, you got it how? If not then google “heat in thar desert”  “without quotes” and you will know how hot. So everyone was tired, dehydrated, thirsty and there was only one bottle of kratieschzoff, so it was a struggle of survival, and they all had a gun. So what would happen? They all looked at each other, they all pulled out their guns, pointed at each other and suddenly, very confidently, the good put his gun back to his holster and said, “Everyone, you may keep your guns ready, anything wrong and you may shoot”. Everyone was all tensed up. They looked at each other, the good turned around, stopped his gaze at the ranger and said “May I have a sip of your kratieschzoff if you don’t mind?”, bewildered ranger nodded positively. Very confidently the good went up to the ranger, pulled out the kratieschzoff, swallowed almost half a liter capped it back and put it in its holder hanging on his right, said thanks and made his way back.
Moral of the story “if you look confident you can pull off anything”.  Disagree?? Just consider what I did to you!

And you did google kratieschzoff or took it seriously for sometime, didn't you??? See what I did to you. ;)

Losers inside a room

Lifetimes are spent inside cubes. Speeches end with words. Relationships end with loneliness. So strange it is the biggest and most important things end with something so small and meaningless. That day inside a waiting room of a railway station, at 1:15 AM in the midnight, there were 5 people. Everyone of them being a stranger to everyone else. They all had to catch trains. Within next 5-6 hours. Nights are cruel. They are silent, dark and mysterious. On a fairly cleaned railway platform closed stalls of tea and snacks populated, not that they were important. The roof of the platform was a steel made roof, there were pillars, to support it. Exactly third pillar from the beginning of the platform was near to the exit and from the exit the third door, made of aluminum and glass was the waiting room. With white colored muddled walls and black color painted rusted chairs, along with a table in between. Fan was not working, but that was not really a problem. It was an air conditioned waiting room moreover it had been raining, it was slightly cold. That too at 1:15 AM that was 1:20 now, it feels like one is walking within a dream, partially clueless but active enough to not to miss a train.
5 people were there inside the waiting room. They had opened the door because the feel of the fresh air was comforting. Clouds lightened outside, with a roar and it started raining. One man, sitting nearby the doorway was looking outside. The cool breeze he could feel on his face triggered a set of memories and song, he heard in a film. One guy stood up from his chair, stood against the door, resting his shoulder, inclined on the hinge of the door. He was simply enjoying the rainfall, droplets tripping from the metallic roof, seeping in from the pores, moistening the walls and accumulating on the floor. The platform was silent, only sound that could be heard was of the rainfall. With occasional lightening, indigo sky turned into violet and then back again within flashes. The rest of the three people inside, were sleepy, but the comforting environment compelled them to stay awake and enjoy. The fat guy sitting opposite to the table, placed his feet on the table, stretched out his hands, them on his elbow and placed his palms on the backside of his head, this, while he yawned, blinked and observed water seeping in on the roof and droplets slowly making their way inside a dimly lit tube light circuitry. Of course that droplet shorted two electrical signal carrying wires and the tube light sparked. Something wrong happened there and it started flickering. The fat guy smiled, only he could tell what he was thinking. One guy sitting in the corner of the room, probably the last chair in that room, was awake, wide awake. He had a train to catch an hour earlier, which was two hours late. This is common in India. The tube light above him, got turned off, probably for the same reason as before, he didn’t care, it wasn’t hot inside.  But the 5^thguy did, he cursed, he was reading a book and was sitting on a row perpendicular to the 4^thguy’s and on his left on the 5^thseat from him. He was simply trying to kill time, that poor construction, because of which this happened, was hindering his entertainment. The only other tube light in the room was flickering. He kept his book inside a handbag, the only one he was carrying. Forcibly all were listening to the sound of the rain drops. It sounded like musical version of static on TV, irregularly patterned, intervened and consistent. The guy standing at the door, returned to his chair, “It seems, Virag mail would be delayed, further”, he just said in his husky voice, tightening his shoelace, pointing at no one, expecting an answer, the guy sitting in the corner did, “Hmmm, the way it is raining, guess it will”, in his lowest and heaviest possible tone and continued “if it does so will be Kangra Express, they have same route till Agra”. The second guy nodded, slowly placing his shoe back on the floor, which he slightly lifted to tighten and relaxed back on his chair. “Where are you going?” asked the 5^thguy, who was reading, “Chandigarh” replied the second guy, and the 5^thguy carried on
 “Holidays?”
“No… business…. you?”
“I am going to New Delhi, same train, for an interview”
“Hm”
The clouds crackled again, it started raining, heavily, even more. The guy sitting in the corner was looking at the fat guy, who thoughts were now interfered by the conversation and was listening carefully to the rest of them, as everyone else resumed to their lost selves, he too turned his neck back to the tube light, but he had lost his interest in it, so he started looking at others, and noticed the 4^thguy looking at him. He smiled in return and so did he.
“Where are you going, sirjee”, asked the fat guy, in his Seth styled tone.
“Jammu” replied the corner guy, as mysteriously as he could and continued “you?”
“Agra, Agra to Jaipur, your train is my train, too, till then”
Corner guy nodded positively, his expressions were barely noticeable.
“we have a very popular sweet shop there, if you sometime visit Jaipur, do come”, fat guy was fat probably this was the reason, thought the corner guy, he nodded in response and carried on “where are you coming from?”
“Nagpur, went to fetch my wife, she ran away, to her parents’ place, silly women these days”
“So where is she?”
“She didn’t come”
Corner guy did not want to carry on with this conversation. He stopped then and there, the guy sitting near the doorway sniffed, almost laughed. Sethji turned around,
“What’s so funny here?”
“Nothing, that dog there, looking for food near that tea stall, he knows it is closed still looking for something to eat, in the dustbin, around that stall, and he doesn’t want to wet himself, so strange silly actions he is doing”
“So you think I am a dog?” Sethji was serious
“What? I am talking about that, over there” pointing in a direction outside.
“And you say this when I am talking” loudly attracting others attention
“You asked for it” said, the first guy coldly.
Shoelace guy interrupted “Sethji, it’s alright”. Sethji calmed down, returned to his senses turned his back again towards the first guy. Shoelace guy asked the reader, “what kind of job??”
“Journalism, I just completed my degree and looking for jobs”
“Degree in Mass-comm?”
“No, I did BSc, in Zoology”
“What?”
“Seriously”
“Then why this job?”
“Because I didn’t know till now what I had to do”
“And they are accepting it?”
“They needed someone who understood biology and stuff”
“Strange”
“Yeah, people say that”
“I sell instruments, surgical instruments”
“Mm-Hmm”
Reader was no longer interested in Instrument salesman now, the corner guy spoke in between. “When you don’t know what you want to do then how can you be sure that what you are going to do will be the right thing?”
“I can’t study plant life and animal life for the rest of the my life.”
“But then you will report them, anyways you have to do what you are talking”
“I want to be a columnist”
“Then why did you do Zoology?”
“Because I didn’t get admission in medical college”
“Right now you said you want to write for newspapers”
“Then I didn’t know, what I had to do and what I should do”
The guy sitting near the door way laughed “Hah”
Reader got startled “What?”
“You were never sure, you are still not.” said the door guy
“It’s none of your business”, said the reader, “and you think you are, sadist?”
The corner guy interrupted “Easy”,
“What? Even it isn’t your business too!” said the reader.
“Alright” said the corner guy calmly.
“You want me to beat him?”, suddenly Sethji spoke, rather loudly, to the zoologist, instrument salesman interrupted, “Sethji, leave it”, slowly, trembling.
“Hah, salesman is a coward, didn’t you weep poor boy, wanna call Mum…. HaHa”, the door guy shouted
“This guy will have the better of me”, said the zoologist
“Don’t let your frustration play with you, wrong decisions will lead to more wrong decisions in that case” the corner guy said, calmly to avoid a ruckus
“What? Who are you?” said the zoologist, agitated with frustration tripping from his face
“I am a Yoga teacher, relax, let it pass, you will just be fine”, said the yoga teacher, calming down both of them, and consoled both of them made them to relax and sit down. For some time there was silence, the guy sitting on the doorway was looking outside. The clock showed 2:00AM, he was looking outside grinning. It was raining heavily.
“Guruji?” turned the doorway guy and asked the yoga teacher.
“Yes my boy?” he replied.
“How does one become a yoga teacher?”
“Well, you have to connect to your inner self, if you do then you can tell others how to do so, and if you can tell others then you are a yoga teacher?”
“No, I mean, did you join college, and took this as a subject”
“Yes I joined the Living Style, learnt the Style and became an instructor there”
“Oh… so you are a certified swindler”
“Sorry?”
“No, nothing” the doorway guy paused for a moment, “So when did you join this organization living style?”
yoga teacher spoke with a tone filled with maturity and sense, “Well, I joined their foundation course immediately my college ended, clueless I was, looking for hope that gave me, and I decided this knowledge should be passed on to others, for the benefit of us and our mankind and there, my boy, started a journey……”, the doorway guy interrupted, “Yes yes, okay I understand guruji, but did I just hear clueless??”
“Well my boy, I could find myself a job, but you know, I was not sure about that and then I found this and then people were following it blindly so I joined in and came to know…. ”
“That there is no shortage of losers in this world and you joined the people who made a fool out of them Ha Ha, Hey zoologist, this guy was giving you the lessons in life! Who few years ago didn’t even know what he wanted to do and became a white collared conman satisfying his hunt for attention and money in cheapest possible way…..”
“Mind your language you loser” shouted the yoga teacher
“Oh, guruji, what happened to your knowledge of the inner self” said the door guy with an utterly sarcastic tone. Suddenly the electronic announcement machine distracted everybody’s attention, “Passengers your attention please, train no. 12534 Pushpak express, to Lucknow from Mumbai CST is arriving in 15 minutes on platform no. 2”
The Doorway guy packed his bag and stood up to leave for the platform, not without making a comment “Good evening everyone, it was a pleasure meeting you all, please don’t mind….” Zoologist interrupted, “Who the hell are you man, why don’t you simply get lost!”
“I am the biggest loser tonight, Mr. Not-So-Sure-Who-Are-You-Actually. I am a comedian. Good Night”, said the comedian and disappeared in the rainfall.

What is your Worth?

The difference lies in perception. For an ordinary human being, who cannot understand extraordinary work of art, for example, a surrealist drawing that could be worthless. For an extraordinary artist who draws emotions on a portrait an ordinary man’s folly would be worth millions as he would draw them. The question lies in what is, not in who does or how. A standup comedian, putting forth all his anguish and disgust against himself, is worth lots for his producer, but nothing for himself.

Human being is severely conflicted. In hunt for true delight and emotions, and support and, so called, love he might be truly empathizing in terms of great human beings but brutal otherwise. Those who could build value for themselves that value remained a sum total of that provided by outsiders and those who thought are valued by outsiders are mocked by them.

It is so strange that everything is so flip sided, continuously crafting out scenarios for making oneself king of their own selves is done for others to see, and those who are made the kings continue to restrict themselves within the walls of gold and glasses because of an unending angst of being succumbed to the burden of being one.

Perhaps, the greatness and its currency are defined complimentarily by what people give in and by what one pay himself. Everyone is exclusive for others to be curious and inclusive for others to see what he shows off.
Sentiments, quite often make the most complex scenarios simple. A lonely guy sitting on a bench on a bus stop in a rainy evening might be waiting for a bus, or maybe he is reluctant to return to his place. That inherent generation of mystery for those surrounding him, will for generating sympathy and value, of being noticed and staying so, is perhaps an aftermath of being a human.

Whole lives are spent in calculating, building, raising it, of exhaustion and loneliness. This is probably meant to happen. After a while all that continues to exist is a photograph and nothing else, and all of us our worth that photograph, whether it is drawn or filmed and nothing more. Till then this unending process of being and making important will continue, probably in that process, we lost all of our own, we stopped considering that more than anyone, our existence matters most to us and in that simplistic materialistic frenzy it is quite possible that our reality allowed disparaging treatment to ourselves, and asking this question again and again and again, “What is your worth?”

Trying to make sense, Simply!

Sometimes I am simply full of words. After all I am an Indian, trying to make sense, like any other youngster expecting likes on his blog post, statuses and attracting wholesome amount of attention. Students of psychology may call it mania, I rather stay to it. After all so little sources of relief are there actually.

Trying to make sense is another form of creativity, but not always it works. The furious blabber of a beaten kid may make sense in his own defensive format or may be the most formatted speeches may make little sense. Wordplay is an art, which writers, from legendary Shakespeare to someone as clueless as I am, intend to achieve, but ultimately goof up trying to make a statement, a commentary on may be something that might be pinching us somewhere in our subconscious.

The whole problem lies in the programming, we are fond of the Father of our Nation because of what we know, yet the cruel reality might be terribly different, after all most of us are ignorant of the politics. Still we have an opinion, on everything, bird’s eye view they say it. And perhaps from politics to love to life, we have an opinion and so we speak. Simply to show everyone probably that we are sensible, we know a lot and thus we have so much to speak, so much to prove that whatever is discussed it does makes sense yet so little to make sense really.

This, probably, has made its way in our normal conversations. Perhaps that’s why we know when someone says “Hi, what’s up?” he is being rhetorical. Hellos and His, and greetings are so simply, a formality, just a way of telling someone, “Dude, I know who are you and I hold some importance for that”.

We probably continuously talk, simply to push in our importance. We want people to know that we are noticeable. Going on without getting noticed is probably the worst to happen. Perhaps that’s why as we grow old we have too many stories to speak of, of being important at a point of time, and hence we are afraid of that situation, and we know it, it is inevitable. This is hence a dichotomy.

In an unfunny manner someone else is told that someone had loads of fun doing something, even if by chance he/she didn’t, because everything is relative. Someone is no longer happy because someone has achieved something that he desired, but because he/she is happier than someone else, when compared, and that is said, never felt. Or rather forcefully felt, or whatever.

But ultimately, everything, that said, written or communicated, exaggerated or subtle, really makes little sense. We stand here, and then we reach somewhere and nothing truly happens, unless it is a disaster. Because nothing truly happens, we try to convince us that stories are true, ours is one that does exist and it must be gossiped about. Pleasure an outcome of relativity, and at the core of it, we are not really happy. It’s just that we fake it, and keep moving forward, thinking, it’s done, and we are guilty of it. We live in such contrived societies built upon this, because I have a longer car that people may see and admire, and hence talk about it and thus I will be pleased, coiled mentality. And that happens inside, and we don’t really know about it.
Therefore, too much to speak, too little to feel and far too little to make sense. Hence all that is written above is just a part of that mania, expecting likes and appreciation and criticism (that is just another formality to write), hoping that did make sense and got noticed. Or all that simply dwelled in too much romanticism?