Single Servings…

I learnt this phrase from the movie Fight Club. Like almost everything about the story this too was a succinct manner of describing a singular event or “one-timer”. Just yesterday it got me thinking over it. Being on a study leave gives a lot of free time to ponder. Without getting into the irony of the situation, I’ll jump right onto it, let’s just say that my study leaves leave a lot to be desired at the time of the finale!

I was waiting outside my library with a couple of friends for another team of mates to join us for tea. In totality we are around a group of 8. So, around 4 of us were waiting for the remaining so that we’d take our chai break together. I was waiting and I just got thinking about this gregarious behaviour. Out of the 7 others I knew only 1 before coming to this library. And my study leave was just 2 months old! I was wondering how this fealty, sort of, would end! We’re having lunch together, we time our breaks in such a way that we all need a break around the same time, the works. Brotherhood, friendship or just plain old one timers.

Friendship. Should we be so charitable with everyone we meet that we elevate them to this high a pedestal? Isn’t it calling someone a friend in just a few weeks time a sort of sacrilege to the very essence of the word “friend”? Isn’t it friendship, in all its grammatical variances, supposed to mean a bond deeper than any? Isn’t this the very reason why the narrator calls such people as “Single Servings”?

Of course it was a bit different, after all, what I’m talking about didn’t only last a day or an hour. This togetherness with the other 7 of my library mates has lasted for more than two months. But what after this gets over? Would we call each other and plan an outing? Or a movie? Or just call to say a Hi which, let me be really honest, is the most difficult to do. Where would our comradeship be once we don’t see each other every single day for a stretch of at least 10 hours! Would we survive the incoherence of the mundane everyday and still be what we slyly call being in touch? Would we be able to face any of them after, say, a year or so and not have a nagging guilty feeling at the back of our mind condescending us about the lack of initiative? Maybe not. But that’d only be because we’d be busy telling off the guilt that he, or she, didn’t call either.

For all its worth that’s a very valid point of view but it’s sort of a vicious circle and we can’t just keep slipping the puck can we?

So, to come back to the uncomfortable question, are these people friends in the true sense or are they just single servers? Do they qualify to be given the immense responsibility of being included in your innermost harem? These questions have no answers and the only reason for that is that we’ve been very easygoing with labelling our acquaintances, our class mates, our twitter followers or our seniors in school the label of a “Friend”.

No, all your class mates are NOT your friends.

No, all your facebook friends are NOT your friends. Not more than half, at least.

I’ve got 257 friends on facebook and I know how many and I am in regular correspondence with. Not more than, maybe, 30 of them. This small clique is my group of friends in the truest sense of the word. In the raw, original, potent and radical sense of the word. I know what all my friends are up to. I know when they’re out of town. I know when they’re planning a movie.

In a Utopian world this would be a fair and down right acceptable definition of the word “Friend”. Now, unfortunately we do NOT live in a Utopian lie. The word friend has undergone tremendous transformation. In the days of yore you had few friends but those people knew of every sin and saintly behaviour; knew of every skeleton in your closet. Nowadays we not only not trust our friends, we also doubt them in all their capacities.

Now, we have a separate “friend list” for every activity or place. We’ve got our “good friends”, then we’ve got “ok ok friends” or a “just a hi and bye friend”. Also, we’ve got definitions like “cranky friends”, “crap in your pants friends” or just a “society friend”.

For God’s sake now we’ve even got “friends with benefits”!!!

So, from my high handed approach to the subject in the start of my essay i’ll castigate myself and take a leap of faith. I’ll say that by not including them into our lives’ various lists not only we’d do a great disservice to these single servers but we’d also be culpable of being a misanthrope! We’re not, by any stretch of imagination, going to try and fit in a Utopian concept into the real world notwithstanding its utter beauty of acceptability and radical design.

Instead, what we CAN do is give due justice to these friends. Respect them and adore them. Making friends are easy in today’s quick fix society; keeping them is quite a task. I made a few friends this summer amidst the cruel heat.

I intend to keep them. I might categorise them as my “library mates” (I hope you know who you are) to start with and then up them to my clique of real friends!

I’ve done this exact thing before, I hope those guys reading this know who I talk about, and I am sure I can do it again!

Her…

The sky was the bluest blue
With tiny white flecks,
While you and me were a story
Written under distress.

I could see your tears slip out.
I could see your forehead crease.
I wish I could take the pain away
And forever the pain we could leave.

Instead, I willed myself to inch
My hands closer to yours
And sighed with relief when you held
It warmly like before.

Your eyes still shining, your
Forehead wrinkled no more,
You look at me with hope.
And within them I was lured.

Within those brown eyes I could
See us again young and lively.
Into that world I saw us, again,
Growing up so naively.

I pushed the past behind and
Saw you smile that smile for me;
The one you smiled when I first
Met you behind that old banyan tree.

I brushed your hair aside and buried
Myself into your embrace.
Reminiscent of the times like yonder
When you had taken my place.

It was weird, now when I think, that
I assumed myself to be the saviour.
Being the Man for my dame was
Not only a forced behaviour.

Within that tight embrace you
Told me all you ever felt;
Your fears, your dreams and your hopes
Of moving ahead. Step by step.

Your tresses flung, your eyes moist,
Your face tear streaked.
Your passion building itself into frenzy.
My own too it seemed had peaked.

The world disappeared as we
Danced together.
The world burnt in a thousand flames
As we loved each other.

The flames leapt high and scorched
The Sun in a thousand flares.
The heat destroyed its gaseous
Bubble beyond heavenly repair.

And then time stood still until
Anew we learnt to breath.
Another well spent space with you
Had taught my heart to bleed.

Siddiqui F.
(14.05.2012)

Those Tony Loners!

The beads of sweat dance upon my brow as
I labour under the
Baking Sun.
They drip and plop upon
The leathery
Canvas
And run down below it.
I’m sure there was enough to
Paint a picture.

To paint a picture of me
Trudging along at snails pace
While the world zoomed
Ahead!
This was the harshest day
I’d ever lived and to know its
Another half a day yet to come!!!

Another plopped and
Burst into steam.
The heat killing my
Sweat with vengeance.

As I work harder,
My knuckles going white
And I clutch my tool
And strive it deeper into
Its crevice.

I see my peers leave
Me and walk away to the greener
World.
Not a glance.
Not a nod.
It kills to know
That I too would’ve
Left without a word.

Without a reminiscent
Glaced look as I’d
Race them to secure
The best-est pastures.

Out of hatred
For my fellow men
I screech a plethora of abuses.
I torment their dead
Mothers under my breath
And curse their basterdy.
Another imaginary brother
I kill as I drive my foot down
The floor for the millionth
Time in minutes.

My rustic primitive
Impulse gears higher
As it engaged a nobler
Cog and I push my brethren
Onto the pavement.

He was fair, I know,
Deep within
But the urge to be ahead
Was never satiated, was it?

How often do we swear
Our faces with innocence
And walk naked waist down
In the world of
People?

How often has the wont
Of us humans lost to
Our Lord up high?

Haven’t we arm twisted
Him too?

So what farce, what humour
Will prevent me from
Drubbing my equals
The moment I have my way?

And this one here was no
Equal though he walked
The same like me.

This day shall end and
I shall rise,
Like the mantis whose dead
Mate is its prize!

Siddiqui F.
(08.05.2012)

Forgiveness be thy bane!

The princely cat, from across the
Room, asked the filthy rat how
He felt.
The filthy rat gave a distressed
Sigh and squealed its reply
By glaring at the purring pest.

He looked her straight
In the eye. He looked straight
And hard.
The cat returned a lazy look
And continued licking her
Lard.

The rat, tired of its inactivity,
Shook the cage and squealed
Louder which irked the cat.
“Listen you tweep you knew
Greed was your bane, then why
This drama, you stinking rat?”

“Go lick some more and
Live in your bubble. Don’t
Bother with Bedouins like me.
Its best for you to keep ‘your’
Evil at bay. Go keep away and
Let me be.”

The cat, angry as it were, gnashed
Its teeth. The unflinching urchin
Had hurt its ego and would be set right!
“Its funny to see you fight for something
You can’t have”, danced and clapped
The rat with delight.

“I’m way better than you, a stealthy
Pincher though I am. At least
To my clan I’m more than a toy”,
Furthered the victim.
“Its my job to kill vermins like
You, you devilish deceiver, you
Prankster, you faithless phantom”.

“Ha! Spit all you can. My slimy tail
Is what you run behind.
You follow this stinking rat through
Shit holes, drains, vomit, piss or
Grime.

“Bah! Go home and speak to
Your princely shadow and see
How it mocks you too,
And then have a go at my tail
Once again going through all
The rotten goo”.

“I know what you’re doing you
Creepy, disgusting buck toothed
Fool. I’ve seen much like you. I’m the
Veteran who’s seen you stoop.
Now I’ll laugh with myself and bring
Mirth to my friends that another
High handed rat has met its
Doom!

“You’ll wish your doom were the same
Like your cousins who die under
The garbage van.
Guts squashed, skull broken and
Tongue pulled out. A smile stretched
Across the face where the tires
Ran.

“Ouch! That’d hurt I’m sure. But, tell me my
Feline princess, do you think that’d
Hurt more than being
Drowned in hot water to be
Skinned alive?
I really think my guts’ rape would be
Fun compared to your children’s
Final ride!”

The cat was stung. It looked down at
Its paw and walked towards the rat.
No gnashing, no spitting; just
The calmest cat.

“That hurt, Jerry!”, said the feline
Beauty.
“I know! I shouldn’t've said that.
I’m truly sorry!”

“Here. Just go away and never
Return”, said the cat as it lifted
The latch and walked away.
The rat ran and jumped out
The window and across the
Open Quay.

A loud crunch and the rat lay
Lifeless across the tarmac, a
Gross hue of red and white!
“I deserve this, I know”, he said
And died with a peaceful
Smile!

Siddiqui F.
(09.05.2012)

Blip…Blip…Blip…

Everyday is a tiny morose reminder to where our world is going. Yeah, of course, there are the good things like a lot more charity, a lot more education, a lot more “awareness” and blah blah. Well there are the good things and then there are the “REAL” things. Real things that are so subtle that we need to look real hard for them. Like I already mentioned in a couple of posts, Truth is an ugly naked monster. No one wants to look at it. And what happens when you’re not looking at it? Its attack takes you by surprise.

The End.

It’s too late to correct our wrongs, I would feel. But that is probably the overtly pessimistic and nihilistic side of me speaking. The other, less exuberant and mellow, side speaks softly about so much not done. It speaks about the vast continent of goodness still left, waiting to be distributed to counter the evil. Every time I see a little truth and realism being ignored I walk a little bit ahead to find some patience waiting for its turn to do its magic. Every time I see a little selfishness playing around I see that forgiveness is just behind it; running at full strength, still a little behind, but catching up…swiftly!

There is still a little good in the world. I hope. If i’m wrong then we surely are doomed. There is still a little integrity and honesty somewhere within our soul. If i’m wrong then we’re never going to make it back to being human beings.

I sat for my Constitution of India paper today for my LLB and was stunned to find the strength of my belief waver. My peers were cheating!

Now, normally this doesn’t affect me in a way that I keep harping upon it even after 4-5 hours of witnessing the abysmally dishonest behaviour of the so called future of my country. Not when I was in class 8 or something. Not when I was sitting for a test in school.

This was beyond graduation. This was beyond excuse.

Everyone of us was at least 23. The irony of the situation was laughing in my face. We’re making a big deal about a degree and then refuse to study for it! Why? I have my Final C.A and LLB and even then I could give 7 complete days to this paper. And I study from a proper textbook! Not from paper solutions and not from an author who caters only to students who realise they want to get a law degree a night before the exam.

I’m not saying i’m doing someone a favour. Oh yeah wait a minute. Actually I am doing a favour to some one! To my self isn’t it? That is the least one can do, right? I don’t understand how long can we keep lying to our self. I don’t understand the reason of the satisfaction we feel when we wake up each morning, look in the mirror and see ourselves!

Who are we looking for? You look in the mirror and you see a cheater who was asking for a 2 mark question from the unknown person sitting besides him/her! I know its worth only 2 marks. To me, its worth hard work and integrity! But are you liking what you see in the mirror? Are you sure you earned that degree that you flaunt?

Yeah I know i get a lot of flak about ignoring the real time situation of ANY scenario. The best reply I get is something like this:

ME: But what is the use of getting a law degree if you copy?
THEM: A degree! Duh!

This is funny in such a dark way!

I swear studying from a standard book 9-10 days worth of studies was more than enough to be able to tackle the paper. That was what it was worth! Now 4 times that is the total time you need to take out Sem II with aplomb!

But Nooooooo. We want the easier way out.
Ok take easier way out. Study from Past papers.
Noooooooo we want easiest way out.
Well I don’t know about that.
We know! We’ll copy. Yay!

If this wasn’t the end of it wait for the cream. The goddammed examiner (I hope he was just a shitty useless student who copied his way through college) was letting them do it! The good old professor-student relationship has been lost forever. Its the end of an era now. The only kind of relationship I see is the illicit ones where the student is sleeping with the teacher. I don’t believe in that too but i have my doubts now.

It hurts! When a person you’re brought up to respect because he has a title of your teacher, your master, your leader! Age doesn’t matter then, does it? The Chinese and the Japanese are way too good at this. Their definition of discipline is radical and amazing. At least it was.

Help Yourself!

I’ve got another couple of papers due. I’m making my move soon if it happens again.

I’ll sock him in the face and push the heel of my boots in his jaw and make him say sorry!

I wish!

You wonder what does the caption mean? Its the sound that a radar makes when it senses an unknown object in its path. That unknown object is our heart speaking to us… And we’re ignoring it. Being true to your self is the only thing I ask for! No drama. No crap!

Just you and your ideals!

Siddiqui F.
(05.05.2012)

The Long Road

Walk alone…

The Sun glanced slyly from behind the cloud as
I walked along the broken and unapologetic road.
I hid behind skeletons of structures,
Forgiven by the mighty winds, to cheat its harshness.

The peeking lantern went down but I stayed
Hidden in my solitude.
Away from the light, away from prying eyes and away
From those I loved.

The dying light reminded me of my mother’s last whisper.
In Death or a tertiary road, whichever I chose, her
Whispered plea answered will be my
Mark of conquest.

My father lay waiting for me to come back to where he
Thought, Hoped, I belonged.
He’s hoping I make it to the end. Not necessarily as a
Winner.

Just make it.

His wishes wouldn’t issue forth from that day on.
He feared that I would be forced to choose the
Worse from his fork on his road.

Its late. The dying goodbye of the Sun’s erstwhile
Mighty glow lost to the heavy darkness.
Its late, the hour of my choosing.
My decision to move was worthless,
I feel.
Its nearing the end of its usefulness.
But this is a journey I have to make.

My lovely woman tells me that I’ll come home a
Winner.
If I come, I say under my breath.

She thinks of me as those conquistadors
From the stories of old.
She tells me with tears in her eyes this.

Does she believe it herself?

Or are those yearnings meant to placate her
And not me?
She is naive. She is innocent,
Believing much too easily.

She puts forth too much by truisms and folk tales.
Her mother taught her so.

The good versus the bad!
The soul versus the conscience.

The good wins. The evil languishes in pain while
The good walks away with a high head.

But not always alive, isn’t it?

Ha! My poor innamorata, please believe me
When I say a goodbye. Believe this
Phantom who has nothing worthwhile to
Give you as he goes over to the dark side.

You will return, she says.

In the glory of life, I question,
Or in death’s ruddy haze?

Siddiqui F
(19.04.2012)

A trip to Gorakhpur

This post has been lying in my drafts since at least four months and pending since the past eight. This is not a travelogue. Or, rather its not just a travelogue. It’s an essay of a place I visited after almost seven long years. So I was looking for an apt time when I could sit back with total calm and write about it with all the tiny details that would justify the effect it had on me. But after some months I realised it was folly on my part to expect such a sabbatical wherein I could write an essay to my liking. So here I am sitting in an auditorium waiting for the speaker to arrive and enlighten me with the Concept of Costing and Finance. And this is the time that destiny has chosen for me.

Just like how sudden and surprisingly my visit to Gorakhpur was.

Readers might be forced to think that Gorakhpur would be where my roots lie for me to speak about it with so much affection. Truly speaking my roots lie not 150 km away from Gorakhpur at a place called Jalalpur in the District of Faizabad. But after 7 years this was the closest I was to it. And anyways UP was my home state if nothing!

I hadn’t visited my home state since the past 7 years until I stepped in the hot, dusty and dry city of Gorakhpur. It might be a cliché to say it but the very first gust of the dusty air hit home. If I hadn’t experienced this coming home feeling even I’d have difficulty accepting it. I’d think well its just the author being an author. Or, it might just be something that you got to write when you talk about your native.

A huge statue of Maharana Pratap outside the station!

But for the people who fly back to Bombay even after a mere week of any other darn city in the world will know exactly what I’m talking about! That’s how I realised that Bombay really does smell really different. An elucidation in the form of, “Wow! I’m finally home”, is pretty much an accurate description of the reaction as the whiff of Bombay air hits you.

Well, Gorakhpur did that to me too. The quaint city with carts and temples welcomed me with a musty rainy smell that probably came from the very fresh horse manure! The little things that I noted reminded me about my own town. Things like the upturned rear view mirrors on bikes; the ubiquitous roasted groundnut sellers; the distinct smell of puri’s being fried in mustard oil!

 Yes! Mustard oil!

 Here, out in Bombay, people identify bhaiyas with mustard oil. Any new migrant will be seen with his head dunked in mustard oil. Its the way things are done there. People wrinkle their nose in disgust as he passes by. They call it kadva tel. Maybe because of its smell. It does have a distinct smell but I don’t think its so pungent as its made out to be.

Or maybe I’m just used to it!

I’ve used mustard, groundnut and sunflower oil for my cooked food and I prefer my mustard. But even I’m not comfortable with the thought of it on my head

The very fabric of the town; the unintelligent, but distinct, babel; the dhoti clad old men; the women behind colourful veils selling bangles and, of course, the loud proclamation of trade or profession from the registration numbers of cars and bikes, were all like a prod telling me, asking me in a pleasant tone, “Do you remember this all?”. Remembrances was all that I had; cocooned somewhere in my head waiting to be unraveled into a rhythm of beauty. The more I saw the more I realised with a tiny smile playing along that Yes I did remember this…from somewhere in the past! It hit me with nostalgia. It hit me hard. Every twist and turn I saw something that reminded me of the by-lanes I played in every day for a month every year till I was in class 10 or so!

The stupid mirror is there...doing NOTHING!!!

The same kind of graffiti splashed across the walls; the same form of hoardings and ads which clearly showed with an apparent displeasure that it had to leave its “small town” description to “semi-urban”; the same kind of trinket sellers; the same omnipresent demand of coaching classes catering for civil services…

The list is endless. There probably was more. But I must’ve missed them!

A funny thing about the two towns I’m talking about. Actually I can safely throw the net over the entire state and call it a state wide phenomenon. The bikers there have this weird habit of over turning their rear view mirrors and, thereby, ruining and totally decimating their utility. It was funny a first few…100 times but then I started getting worked up! Everywhere I see it’s the same.

Apart from the bath from the past I went to Nepal for some time. My first international trip and I literally walked to it! Apart from the armed guards everyone for the first 200 meters was Indian! Beyond that I’m sure I’d find some Nepalis.

Siddiqui F.

PS: Readers might think that the horse manure smell line was a joke. But trust me on this one. It really has an earthly musty smell! I like.