Osama, Bermuda Triangle, life on Mars…..huh!!!

The US government has spent more dollars finding Osama than I have White blood corpuscles. That is true Di.

Hey! Di is the only doctor I know these days.

Though mighty is a big word and I use this word only for Chandragupta’s empire but yes, USA stands very near to qualify for that adjective. Still, they could not locate the man who provided them a rise in the water table. This isn’t a joke; we can still hear families crying.

Why some wounds can never be healed?

That man stands with almost nothing in that dry dusty land. When I say nothing, its’ not literal, it is relative to what these super powers have.

Relative, hmm , relativity. Thank you! Mr. Einstein. Not only science, you helped me in many ways.

 Laden has 90 thousand wives, he is 6 ft 3 inches tall, his 59^th child has recently married a Russian and he has rajma-rice in lunch. We know everything, yeah everything about him but not his whereabouts. He is still missing, hiding, teleported…. Ehh, whatever.

So, it seems to be impossible task 1 in the offing.

Bermuda, not the island, I am talking of mysterious Bermuda triangle in the great North Atlantic. The black water has a black history which every never been to sea “sea adventure” writer has quoted at least once in his books. Devil’s triangle has suspended all the laws of physics.

Spectaculars have used their imagination to that extent that if you ask them they can lay eggs. Don’t you believe? Read their theory of magnetism and cyclones. Wow! Amazingly amazing….maybe they should write RACEII. They would do good, really good. Twist and turn, you know what I mean?

Those with less brain and more solar cells use calculators to prove that this is a much less accident prone place and “all the characters and plots in this story are fictitious and any relation with living or non-living will be considered mere co-incidence”. See, those who say I do not see movies with concentrations. Who said it once?

But sadly, Bermuda triangle remains far from main land. All curtains are yet to be raised.

Third chapter, indeed a tougher one. Out of this world.  Jadoo, Jacqueline Fernandez, pardon me if I spelt you wrong but may be you guys know it better.

Did Mars ever had water, or even traces of it? Don’t tell me those marks are an excellent design of your floor furnishing. I would not take that crap. Ok Ok. So what if we send pathfinder, so what if we are still studying the pictures and sample. So what if ever Friday we get 3 alien sci-fi and only ½ SRK love story at theatres.

We still don’t have any such evidences. Oh, have we? None, not a single one. Had we succeeded, Mrs. Jolly and Mr. Mallya would have reached there till now. I am not too sure about the Kingfisher calendar 2011. Does Mars have beaches?

Unanswered, is the common thread between all these three. At least till date. Lots of Science, Geography and Politics. Let’s move on to some sports.

Some sports? What sports? If it is India, it’s got to be cricket, ironically or happily, truth is always truth.

Season 2004-05, visiting Sri Lanka crushed and squeezed our bowlers. Huh, they are squeezed more than my mum squeeze’s lemon. 298 was something to achieve in cricket, if not very difficult. But it was not cricket at all. Dravid send in a soccer player look alike baseball player, ehh ugly. And it was just a joke after that. He deposited the white lather in every fort of Jaipur.

Season 2006-07, thanks to our death bowlers and tiger fielders, lesser thanks to a fine century by Shoaib Malik and his partnership with Abdur Razzak Pakistan notched 295. With others incapable and Dravid snailing, Sachin tried to do that again. He has reduced the margin of loss for us innumerable times over 20 years. Hasn’t he? What if we lose matches as soon as he departs leaving half a run to walk through? This time, the asking rate was thunderous 9.5 and that too for 9-10 overs and Sachin departed. It was all but over till his baseball willow walloped. He grinded, he churned, he thumped, he cruised, he hoisted, he butchered, he thwacked and whatever. I turned all the pages of cricketing shots and I could find none there which he played. I could not find them in baseball learner’s guide as well.

Year 2007, Joginder Sharma and S Sreesanth, whom the girls of my colony will not allow to play with them, were in his out of the blues team. Uthappas bowled, Yuvrajs roared and he came back with the trophy for which even Bangladesh was more in contention.

Year 2010, he promised Dalai Lama that he will not be involved in any violent activity but the world saw a massacre at Dharmashala. He sent those grenades over snow peaks and a couple of new glaciers are routing to Indian plain. 45 runs in a span of 14 balls.

Tonight it was again the same old worrier Sachin moving well. But this time he had in opposition the man with a luck line longer than Amazon, made from pure gold. He waited for the pressure to crop and master to depart and then expanded his cob web. Another trophy, huh.

The game has seen many worriers, even legends like Sachin, Dravid and Ponting but at a point they have returned down. But this man, if he has a not out against his name everyone knows the result and there is no exception to this rule.

I wonder if cricket would have been an individual’s game…. Thank god it’s not.

Yes, he is ugly and has yet to go long way. But why am I telling all this?

Rewind………………………………………..back now.

If someone can catch Osama, if someone can find out the mystery of Bermuda and the traces of water over Mars, it is MSD. The one and only Mehendra Singh Dhoni.

Hey people, make him do the matrix stuff before his stars get displaced. Admitting that he is the most ill skilled player I’ve ever seen, he has a bulldozer in his arms and a sand dune inside his mind.

The Napoleon, the captain courageous is back, not to conquer, not to enhance numbers, just to turn tides when every odds are stacked against him.

Nov. 2024, ……. Sirius galaxy.

MSD from milky way has won the war of comets with a whooping strike rate of 170. Notably his army had only 6 rabbits. Believe it or not!

Me, She and Piparwar………

It was 3rd December, 2007…yes, it was that very day.

The nights at my hostel were not boreal, I did not packed sweaters. Just camouflaged myself in my lone jacket, I left for Piparwar.

Piparwar is a mining area in central Jharkhand where no more that one train goes. To gather groceries for my Final year project, I found this as the easiest way.

When the hell will I learn to utilize tongue and GOOGLE?

My ordeal was to began at 11 PM. I boarded for Gomoh, a jungle, a hub for trains routed through Dhanbad area, just some 20 Km from Dhanbad.

Train to Piparwar was at 5:40 in the morning if on time, I had a bag, more than 6 hours and 7 companion dogs at the platform…. Platform!! Was there any??

It was cold…it really was, I usually tend to parade in my weather unaltered image. But that night, it really was snowy.

I passed that night and as usual did not corralled cold. The train came, and I was through for a new ordeal, I’ve never been in to.

The morning was extremely chilled, the wind was icy. I was out in a green forest lacking chimneys and cars to stabilize the temperature. My body shivered and so did my soul.

Soul!!!

It started getting warmer and I was getting my acumen back by 10 AM. I took out the route map I designed and tried to locate myself. I was around midway.

Why do people talk? And even if they do, why at public places? Ok, even that granted, why consider it a closed bedroom?

A gentleman sitting nearby said “These naxals are filth, rouge and must be beaten out to dust. Don’t you agree? ”

Why the hell shall I?

“May be, I’m not the right person to answer this. They are also human and I cannot comment being rational as such.”

The young girl sitting besides me smiled, “You are smart and sensible, there may be scores of them in this train”


Smart!!! Damn, damn fool I was to go to such a place without knowing anything…literally anything.

At 4 in the evening, it was getting dusky… I reached Piparwar.

No roads, no vehicle, almost no people to ask anything. Luckily I know languages we must know and I can communicate at other’s comfort level, I got the address of guest house I was to stay in. That was the only government place to stay.

No hotels, no lodges….nothing. Perfect 70’s movies………Daakbangla.

But for permission to stay I had to get my residence application approved by the GM, mines. Ehh, I was not having his number. Poor me, electronically handicapped. Can I get any reservation for this?

That 13 Kms was a real crick…Walking over the mine road with a bag over my back was stalwart, but the punch line, I had to walk. It had been some 4 Kms and 30 minutes, the sky was Cimmerian when I saw a man. 30 minutes walk and no man, is it India? Is it?

As he came nearer, I thought asking how much distance I still have to cover. Why people like me think that asking every time will decrease the distance.

But then I am what I am.

To add to my dismal state, he told, “Why the heck on earth are you here? Who send you here? What are you doing here at twilight? Will you be able to see the next aurora?”

My answer to these entire W was a W again, how fool I am. “Why?”

“Why? Are you new to this place? You will be chopped and your head will be sent to the office in a couple of days”

But the best thing of a black out is that you have no alternatives to ponder and worry. I had to move, I any how had to.

30 more minutes, night was at the brink when I saw it. It? Yes it was a leopard which crossed me in a blink. Had it been a little more, I was evaporated.

In a very short period, I had seen death in so many forms but till it touches you it is fascinating. And rethinking about it is more spell bound.

I somehow lived and reached the manager’s house at 8 PM. He was not at home but at least his wife arranged me a room but then I had to walk again to the guest house in that black brawny night.

But the lady allowed me to stay at her house that night. Was not she mum alike?

Was not my mom invisibly toured with me sharing the burden and pumping my blood in that shivering cold?

Were not her blessings blocking the yellow death’s nostrils?

Did not she save me from an unknown naxal place?

Was not it her that I was back and writing this piece?


I may succeed, I may achieve anything and everything but its’ none of my brilliance. It’s her divine power which effectuate everything…….yes everything.

Be it Piparwar, be it Pampas, I know, you are with me………….Let me say, Thank you mom. Its’ only you who could make all this possible.

Mangoes, Cricket and Comics….

It is April yet again. Again, it rained a little last night over here, not notably though.

I am quite grown up. Actually, I am getting older. This is an inevitable and painful disadvantage of being more than your age very early.

As, I am sitting in my 10X13 over my keypad with my NOKIA as the only living being out there, I am alone and aloof yet again. I never liked being alone but was always to be….. Agony never leaves me, typical Indian wives..whooff.

Yesterday was a day which is very rare to me. I wished for weekends, a long one. I was not willing to work despite getting a much above average appraisal. Not very uncommon to me, I was fooling myself. What a cheap and pollution free way to celebrate April fool.

Exactly 2 hours 3 minutes back it ended…yes, I am talking of Friday, the second. It was not good for me by any means. Had any predecessors been? No, rather never.

At times I pray. Yes, I do, despite being an atheist from the core of my élan vital, I pray.

I pray for praises, I pray for fame, I pray for money like anyone else but when I am only me, I pray for salvation. I pray for a couple of hours when I get preserval, when my nerves get smooth, when the atomic particles from the Hiroshima inside me are taken away.

But I get only equal to the amount of sugar one gets from onions.

No, I am not complaining because when you have so many complaints from every he, she or it, you are simply an upside down bowl………not suitable for this set up.

Yes, I have to agree to this bitter truth time and again.

It is April yet again.

Around 17-18 years back, yes I was not a kid at 10 so I need to go to an age of 6-7; I had some 4-5 summers.

Then, summer meant to me Nagraj, Dhruv, Bhokal, Ashwaraj, Hawaldaar Bahadur, Krookbond, Mahanayak Kids, Ram-Rahim, Aakrosh, Vidhwans…yessss, I got a good memory. These are, tense correction, were my life, my comic characters which took me to a different fearless world, where I was a real hero. A perfect knight rider…… (Don’t compare me with the likes of Ishant and Wriddhiman Saha).

But any cannon cannot fire without dynamite, the fuel.

Yes, we had ripe and sweet jackfruits, true we had melons. My father bought lots of cucumber and my mum is a stunning cook. But my dynamite was mangoes. I had a special (eh you can compare it with feminine) attraction for them. Dashahree, Chausaa, Langdaa, Beeju and yes lowest on waste matter Maldah from Malda Town . Every visit to my granny’s place meant only mangoes to me. I was in love with those summers.

Calendars changed, my teeth rusted and I grew older. None of my childhood’s teeth were broken though. Mangoes felt I am piling on them and we parted, yes we did. My true love was transpired as lust. Was it? May be, probably. Or may be I loved them a bit too much. But then that’s how I love. Anyone or anything.

I was 9, and it was……April again.

I played, I played a boy’s game for first time.

What??

I never played children’s games probably. I was an infant and then I transformed only to play numerology and mathematics with bodily grown ones. I was bad at marbles which I played for time less than that I spent collecting them.

Yes, the boy’s game. It was a sensation. It was like an early age salvation to me. I felt like sitting tender with a 58 year old body using an immortal surrogate of 23 to drive a racer care.

The ball, the swing, the pitch, the bails, the bats, the cluttering of stumps……..yes, cricket was a sensation. Cricket was like worship to me. Nothing special, everyone in our country is cricket obsessed.

But for me, it was just like 60 pages of Dhruv’s comics. It was not an individual force for me, I did not wanted to be in the centre always. I just wanted to be a part of it, ever.

They call it a sport and not a game. I call it an art, art of living. And yes, I may not be a Tendulkar or an Akram but I proudly lived something special.

Days passed, all of them, all the three left me. Perhaps I must confess, I left all of them, I had to.

It is April yet again.

I am working now. Actually, I am working lesser now but working for money. I still remember the fragrance of half ripe mangoes. I still try Nagraj’s hairstyle. I still dream of bowling Ponting out.

I know none of them is possible. Rather, nothing is possible for me. I do nothing which can be noticed, neither have done any.

I know my shouting, thinking, curbing will not help me by any means but it is yet 4AM only…I’ve still got 2 long days to pass.

It is April yet again………..I am coming back from my memory lanes.

Good Fr… Saturday, if it can help.

I am waiting for my good Friday, may be I can have rebirth some Easter. 

Mangoes, cricket and comics…………..it is April yet again….