My Trysts With Life

The word miracle never carried any significant meaning for me. Miracles were confined to the large white screen, not for the real life according to me. A few friends told me about the small miracles of their lives, but me- the pragmatic disbeliever, saw this as a chance, rather than the so called ""miracle". It all changed today, and I for once can say that I have seen a miracle- if that is what people call it. I was out for my usual evening stroll (read: go and buy milk from the market!!). I went to a shop to buy a few things. While I was waiting, a lady comes up to the shop counter and starts asking about the price of "Basmati Rice"". Her anxious tone catches my attention, something about her voice making me look at her. I see a woman of about 35, returning from her office (not sure- she looked like one). By the looks of her, she belonged to the lower middle class of the society. She questions the shopkeeper again and again...asking for a cheaper pric

This thought came to me, when I heard about my friend, and his "GFs'". They had been dating for the past two  months, and things did not " worked out", so they decided to call it quits. Funnily enough, he's back on the dating regime with another girl, and this time, (like the last) he believes he has found his love. I thought it was the guys who were like this, when I met another of my colleagues, a female (mind you, a beautiful one :). She told me about her past, about her 5 or so "BFs'" and the present ones. Call me old fashioned, but I have some kind of hatred, towards both these terms, viz, "GF and BF". Maybe its the American way of life, that people go through a whole host of relationships, to find that one special one.  Or maybe that's how life is now. Me, well, I think any relationship can be made "that blessed one", with a little bit of commitment, a little adjustment, and a lot less ego. Remember the grea

Cricket Team, Fifth.....Team for Quiz Competition, Third.....Academically, Seventh......Welcome to the world of an Average Student, or the "Averagers" as I call. Let me tell you about a different breed of people, whom everyone knows about, who is around nearly everyone. You know they exist, but like any myth, people don't accept their existence, until they have met one. Welcome to the world of the Averagers...They are basically good people, with an aim of doing something in life. They work hard, the study hard, they give their best shot at everything they are involved in. Looking from an Employer's perspective, they are the best recruits, "the go to people". Problem is, in the end, there is always that someone with the oomph factor...with that extra brain, with that extra talent, with that extra luck, who gets in the way of our hero. What happens then?? The Averager gets depressed, feels down and out. Things seem like hell, and everyone    looks like

“Of Dubai and the Ways” My bags packed, my mother in tears, I boarded the flight to Dubai, for a one year stint in the Dual Country Program of IMT, Ghaziabad. A bit apprehensive about the journey, about the rules (mind you too many) and of course, actually residing there. Dubai, well, is majestic, (as projected). Fast cars, awesome buildings, awesome people, and of course, high living, are typical of Dubai. It’s actually very simple here- spend some AEDs, and you can enjoy life. The Government is cool, once a while a Sheikh overlord gets all overjoyed, and cancels all the loans. Moreover, for the gizmo freaks, there are umpteen discounts (compared to your country), a GITEX (gizmo trade show) that hands out free iPads, air conditioned buses, and even air conditioned bus stops!! For a young man, Dubai has nearly everything, from jobs (yup a bit difficult now), to cars, even blonds. But if you a sentimentalist like me (maybe a mentalist like me), something is amiss. Do

The cook was ready, so was the tent and electrical fellow. The chairs had been arranged, tables and snacks all in place. Guests had started filling in, dressed aptly for the occasion. nope, it was not the setup for a wedding , or a reception...not even a birthday. My cousin's father had passed away( my maternal uncle), and this "great fiesta" was being prepared for his sending off. Indian sending off is itself a big business now, aided and abated by the mindset of our oh-so-very  sophisticated people.  the typical procession starts from the D-day, and commences on the thirteenth day. The days are packed with sarcasm from relatives, about the arrangements, about the food not being good, comparision with other peoples' "parties!!", and then finally, a little bit of tears, a little bit of sorrow. Well the lunch began, with people hoarding themselves up, as if they had not eaten for years. I was serving, and was astonished to see the demands of the people.

"You go get it", "No!!!" , ":Why should I go get it!!", "Go or i'll take my bat"... I looked up, the sound of this scuffle making me look up. I was sitting in the balcony, tired after all those classes, and time pass, that an engineering college makes us do. I was trying to study (see the emphasis on trying!!!), but was actually more interested in the cricket match that was going on between the small kids of our locality.                                                                     As it always happens in our infamous "Gully Cricket" the ball went straight into that "Dreaded" person's house (that old uncle or aunt, who used to shoo away any attempts to get back the ball). The holy bible of the Gully Cricket was called for, and the Clause "Get the Ball" was read. It clearly stated, that the person who had hit the ball, had to go and get it, by hook or by crook. But again, as always, no one wanted to

It was a cold winter night- typical shivery 31st of December, in Lucknow.  We were all watching the all night long comedy shows that welcome the new year, warmly huddled up in our bed. The TV anchor was just making a joke about the cold weather, when the call bell rang. Me, the eternal scapegoat, was made to go and answer the bell, cursing the person who had come at this ungodly hour. I open the door, to be greeted by a mournful wailing, and I see a man holding a small baby boy- (sleeping, unconscious??). His tearful eyes, and that soul stirring look, melt my young(14 year old heart).                             "Bhaiya ji, help me, my son needs a hospital. He is suffering from pneumonia, and needs to be treated immediately. Please give me some money, anything will help. Please, I beg you, save my son."     I stood there, as if frozen in time. Here is a 40 odd year old man, literally on his knees, bowing down to an eight year old, begging for mercy. I rushed inside, tell