When I played the hero in a movie

In my childhood days, I was extremely obsessed with bollywood movies. Not only in my dreams, but also with eyes wide awake I used to think about movies.

And I would always be the hero.

Saving and having the heroine was the nirvana of The Great Indian Hero. Even dying used to be an art. But not all of the heroes were good. While Amitabh Bacchan and Dharmendra were irreplaceable, the other scrawny stars had a great replacement. Me.

I used to be a better manager in those days. Because I used to plan it so well and so better than the heroes. When the villain captures your mother, you capture the villain's mother. Simple. When the villain takes away your wife, you simply tell his wife and give her a broom. When the villain throws a grenade, you throw a nuclear bomb. I had once thought about writing up all these novel ideas in a diary and show it to the director. That would have certainly made me the hero. But petty things like homework and all prevent you from devoting time to more productive work.

I used to adore Mithun Chakraborty like a God. He would get hurt and I would make a sound. He would dance and I would follow. I remember I cried a lot and refused to eat my dinner when Mithun's hand was amputated in a movie.

And then time went on... I grew and came to know that there are more important people in a movie than a hero. I read in magazines that now roles were more important. And stars would now play any role as long as it's good. Now even good old villains had a competition from the heroes. And some would lay their lives for a good role -- not necessarily of the hero.

So now the game was in direction. You were the most powerful person if you were an acclaimed director.

So it's the renaissance of my movie-mania. I now want to be a movie director.

Some dreams never end, nah? Some do make us look stupid.

Life's amusing games -- Part 1

When was the last time you remembered a stranger? To say it in other words, we regularly meet strangers in a lot of situations -- while traveling in buses and trains, while standing in a queue, while waiting for someone. How many of them we remember? And still bigger question is -- how long do we remember them? Sometimes an hour, sometimes a day, months, years... And sometimes a lifetime.

What would you say about a stranger you met two years back in a very different setting and then again at some other place. No big deal, right? But I had done something wrong in the first meeting which made me remember him for the next 2 years. I regretted my actions that day. And for the next 2 years. Till November '08.

Because by a quirk of fate, I met the same person at Xpressions 2008!!!

And it started in my mind the small incident that had happened two years ago.

It was a cold November night of 2006. I was sitting at the Bhubaneswar railway station waiting for my train to arrive. The third week of November always rings a bell in an enigineer's mind. Yes, it was CAT time. I had come to take the CAT exam at Bhubaneswar from my college UCE, Burla situated 5 hours away. It was my first CAT and it did leave me dejected and irritated after I screwed it up big time.

So I didn't even look at the person when he said if I could remove my bag so that he can sit. I acted as if I hadn't listened. I was busy cursing myself for leaving some easy questions.

He must have waited for 2-3 minutes before asking me again. I lifted my head up and looked at him. A short heighted dark man in his mid twenties. No luggage in hand. Only a polythene bag containing some food. I don't know why but the first impression I got about him was not positive. The wrinkled shirt he was wearing and the black school shoes he wore looked cheap. As if he was trying to make people believe that he looked decent. There were seats available at other places in the platform also. There was no point in cramming into the small territory I had secured. I had always heard of thugs who first come and sit near you, then make up a story and start a gossip with you and the moment you become complacent and try to steal a nap, you find your luggage stolen.

One peculiar thing I noticed was that he was not looking at me, but looking straight. I grudgingly moved my bag off and let him sit near me.

"I am blind". He said.

So that was it. My predictions were correct. He had begun a nice story. The sob part was about to begin.

I didn't reply. His eyes did look a bit abnormal though. What if I was wrong? No way! these people are experts at anything.

"I am blind"

"Oh really?", I said, sarcastically.

He nodded.

"And how did you get blind?"

He said nothing. Nothing for a minute.

"I am going for a blind school event at Rourkela", he said, changing the topic.

"What will you do there?"

"We have been taught some art. We will display it."

I said nothing.

"We are 10 of us. My friends are sitting at the other end. Hopefully the train will reach early morning tomorrow. Then we will..."

"Please give me a break, mate. I am reading a novel." I said rudely, interrupting him. Man! why was he telling me all this. Why should I care where he was going? I took out Five point Someone from my bag and started reading.

Silence again. For a few minutes more. He took out the food from his polythene bag and started eating.

"Can you help me a bit"

Help. Wow! I am listening man. Spill your guts.

"Can you please escort me to the drinking water?"

Nice plan, thought I. I take him to the drinking water and one of his accomplices helps himself with my luggage. I could not even take the whole of my luggage with me. This man had started to irritate me.

I simply showed him the direction to the drinking water facility.
"Just go straight", I said, pushing him towards the facility.

He started moving slowly away from me.

Thank god! Just don't make him return again.

I started reading my book.

It must have been 10-15 minutes when he came again.

"Can you please help me again?"

I looked at him angrily.

"Can you please read me a chapter of this book?" He said, taking out a crumpled volume of Premchand's stories translated in English from his trouser pocket.

Now this was a bit too much.

"See, is there some problem with you? Why are you coming here again and again. If you can't read the book why are you holding it? Just go and sit wherever your friends are sitting." There was everything in my tone -- anger, frustration, desperation.

He recoiled. An expression of sadness crossed his face for once.

"Sorry sir! My teacher used to read the chapters to me. He's not with us today. That's why I was asking. Sorry again sir?"

And he started retreating with slow steps. He walked with the rustiness of a person who cannot see -- cautiously, avoiding collisions with obstacles.

In a few moments he was lost from my view.

I don't know why but I felt a churning in my stomach. Some strings had been pulled in my heart. I was shaken out of my cynicism.

"Why did I behave like that?", I thought.

He was blind and he tried to relate himself with people like me, who could see the world. But he was not aware that there are people who have shutters over their eyes. He was blind by not his choice, but I had become blind by my choice.

I was filled with guilt. I wanted to meet him again. I wanted to read him a whole book. I wanted to say him sorry.

My train arrived after some time. There started the journey of my guilt which remained with me for two years.

Till Xpressions 2008.

A skill a year, will keep you happy forever

Swarup once told me a great thing. That if we go on learning a new skill every year, we'll have 10 new skills in a decade. Now that's a pretty enlightening thought.

1 new skill in a year -- Not a very big deal! Isn't it?

There was a time when I regretted that my parents never encouraged me in my childhood to engage myself in some hobbies. Many of schoolmates were nice artists and painters. Some were great musicians trained in tabla, guitar, singing etc. Some were too-good dancers. But I was never jealous of them because I knew I could never paint, sing or dance like them.

I also rued that I couldn't swim. And this time I was really jealous. Even small children used to swim in rivers and ponds when I came to visit my village.

But hey! wait a minute!!! Why was I so complaining? That I didn't have painting, dancing, singing or swimming skills was nobody's fault except mine. It's my life and I have to take care of it. Skills don't come on their own into our lives. We have to learn them, practice them and hone them. All it needs is hope and self-belief. And it's never too late to start learning.

2008 is the year I learnt swimming. You can't imagine the joy of a person when he crosses a swimming pool for the first time. That was awesome with a capital A. In 2008 I also started reviving my quizzing interests which had faded somewhere during my software engineering (at Infosys) days. The icing on the cake was digital art and designing. I never knew there existed such an interesting world in Photoshops, flashes and powerpoints. You just need a heart (which you definitely have) and a little sprinkling of creativity to come out with a nice thought, design or video. My heartiest thanks to those people who started to call me creative. No one ever had called me so before. Circa 2008 -- People called me creative !!!

Boy! where were you for so long. You rued, cribbed and cursed for no reason. All you needed was just a start and a yearning for the change.

Life -- I promise you I'll make you better and better. I want to learn guitar, I want to make a movie, I want to do mountaineering, I want to win a B-Plan, I want to learn salsa, I want to do sooooo many more things. 2009 will see some more skills in my kitty.

2009 -- I can't wait for you :-)

My tryst with society -- Part 1

It was the beginning of Winter of '08 for us, but a quite common day for the children in the red light area. That we had come from XIMB to help them and spend some time with them didn't matter to them. All that mattered to them was their school. After all, school was a place where the small children found their alter egos -- children who share the same fate as they share. The fate of being born in a world we have long broken our relations with. A world where dreams are trampled under the shoes of hard reality. The reality that they are not needed.

To set the background, we were 11 people, grouped together to do a project in Organizational Behaviour in the 2nd term of our MBA at XIMB. We had to get into the unreached corners of the society and do something for them. Fate landed us in Malisahi -- the red light area of Bhubaneswar. Sex workers and rag pickers survived in the ignored darkness of alleys long forgotten by the bright world. The only ray of hope there was a small school somewhere in the alleys where children of these people used to study. My journey began with this school. A journey of survival efforts, of realizations. And of faith.

A Beginning...

There come moments in life worth noting down and remembering sitting on a chair in an autumn evening. A few moments scattered here and there which give us hope… which give us our dreams… and which give us someone we care for… A few moments of joy which make it worth reliving again and again…

Life’s so large and so small at the same moment. People come and people go… faces fade but memories remain… and some events do happen again…

I start my journey by writing a few words about things which have a lot of importance in my life…

I share my life, my experiences, my dreams and a few smiles with you…

Just blog it!!!