— Bob Marley 

same tag. different answers. every single year.

sort of a year end ritual. to remind me of the smiles, more than the tears. its strange to realize how easy it is to forget times that made you smile. but not so easy to forget the times that hurt.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before? 

came to south india. watched metallica live.

2. Did you keep your new years resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

i clearly do not remember making any for quite a few years now.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

no.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

i don’t remember.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

july 02. i came to bangalore. i still remember getting out of the airport, answering ghosh’s call and hanging up to hug my ‘pick up’ guy. i realized that i hadn’t felt that sort of happiness in years.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

growing up.

9. What was your biggest failure?

my inability to open up to people who matter.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

yes. three stitches up the chin, chipped/cracked teeth and a fractured jaw.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

mine. though i think i am gradually losing my streak.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

well, it didn’t matter or change a single thing. so i guess there is room for more.

14. Where did most of your money go?

house rent, the bloody bangalore autos, groceries. yawnyawn.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

moving to bangalore.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?

here comes the sun, shrifft and blues for gary.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?

neither. i’m just lonelier.

19. What do you wish you’d done more of?

spent time with my camera. spent time with pyro.

20. What do you wish you’d done less of?

spending time doubting myself. i am too old to change the way i look or think or speak. i might lack a whole lot of traits that prevent me from becoming the most interesting conversationalist on earth or the prettiest mortal anyone’s set eyes on or the smartest kid in the block. but i’m surviving. i guess that makes me pretty okay. i wish i hadn’t spent time trying to achieve what i believed to be perfection. it wouldn’t make people love or hate me more than they already do. but i thought it would. heh. stupid. ain’t i?

21. How will you be spending Christmas?

sleeping. reading clash of kings. smoking weed. watching something with the roomie. definitely not stuff that could inspire a book or a film.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?

yes. head over heels. for the first time since i was 16.

23. How many one night stands?

none. thankfully.

24. What was your favourite TV programme?

house, game of thrones, fawlty towers, 24 (yes. fine. i know i laugh at jack bauer. but still), death note.

26. What was the best book you read?

lullaby, game of thrones, clash of kings (though i have just started to read it), some christies i was introduced to, batman: noel, norwegian wood, the elephant vanishes, haunted and some more. 

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?

paul gilbert. god. i love him. and yellow matter custard. i never thought i could like the beatles being ‘metalicised’ and kelly joe phelps, his bluesy jazzy sounds. and pat metheny. and karn. not because i am his self-proclaimed groupie. not because he’s extremely cute. but because he is a musician. and a damn good one at that.

28. What did you want and get?

i always seem to get what i want. its a bit of a curse. i realize the importance of “be careful of what you wish for. it might just come true” and it scares me.

29. What did you want and not get?

the answer to this one will make me sound like a 16 year old emo kid.

30. What was your favourite film of this year?

i can’t really think of any ‘new release’ i can call a favourite. but some old ones were watched for the first time. of them some became instant favourites.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

spent the night with the room mate. answered calls. went on a nice long drive. i was pretty happy. and it seems so distant now. i turned old. really old.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

just one thing? really?

34. What kept you sane?

fiction

37. Who was the worst new person you met?

none i can think of

38. Who was the best new person you met?

vikrem, nikhil, abhishek, atri, kushagra

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.

things fall apart. and at times, you can do nothing to save them

40. A song that sums up your year.

‘i’m a man of constant sorrow’ ost o brother, where art thou. and contrary to the title, its not a depressing song. at all.

I feel incredibly sorry for all those who are spending a lot of time, energy and emotions thinking about Anna Hazare and the paraphernalia that comes with it.

Anti-corruption? Right.

Let me refresh some memories.

Irom Chanu Sharmila.

How you remember her today: She was invited by Hazare to join his movement.

How she should be remembered?

The girl who fasted in the name of justice. The girl, who fasted to protest against the Malom Massacre and the girl who has been fasting for 10 years to make the Indian government revoke the AFSPA.

Swami Nigamananda Saraswati

How you remember him today: You simply don’t.

How he should be remembered?

The 34 year old who passed away after fasting for a hundred and fifteen days. For a cause that not too many people even bother to enlighten themselves about: illegal mining that is polluting the Ganga and crushing the river bed at Kumbh.

Jabbardan Gadhvi

How you remember him today: You will possibly not even bother reading about why he should be remembered.

How he should be remembered?

The man who gave up his life outside the mamlatdar’s office in Kutch. In an attempt to be heard, the RTI activist committed suicide after his application remain ignored. Yes, it was a matter of rural farmlife politics. But it was also a protest against the hierarchy that allows questions to remain unanswered.

Ten years and lives lost and people rejoiced when Hazare broke his fast roughly a week back.

Quick question:

Who are Arvind Kejriwal and Aruna Roy?

That’s right. Hurry and key it in and Google will return accurate searches.

And you shall all be wiser and your comments about the Lokpal and the like will become more intense.

(I got a call from an ex-boss an hour ago)

Mrs. M, I had started calling you fondly. No reason to it though. M features nowhere in your name.

You wanted to know why I had deviated to Luxury Retail when I “had it” to stick to civic journalism. Told me that I should write about Human Interest issues and of course comment on social and political happenings. You gave me a crisp, well-rehearsed talk about how journalism expects me to be true to myself and since I have had the courage to stand up for my rights over the years, I should reconsider my career decision and needless to say, pay heed to the greens being waved in front of me.

Mrs. M, had the greens come to me without the talk, I would have considered flying all the way back and taking possession of the seat that was being offered to me. But the talk just killed it. Mercilessly.

You know, when I had decided to become a writer, I had decided on it since it was the only way I could earn fast bucks without even putting in an effort. Gradually, when I had decided to become a journalist, I was enamoured by the power that came along with it. When I worked, I realized that at the end of the day, you are paid to watch and write what you are expected to write. Not what you want to.

No surprises here anyway. Especially not to you, Mrs. M.

Our cool, arrogance, smugness is pretty much as real as our convictions. Sadly, this breed actually believes the fact that everything can be believed in if it is made believable.

Remember Shattered Glass? Remember Hayden Christensen, the cool, the suave, the inexplicably successful? And, remember Chloë Sevigny? The not so successful one? I remember recommending it to you after watching it. You smiled and let me know some trade secrets. Of course, I can never really be a threat even if I know all… You loved my nonchalance towards matters that shook nations. Quote: “Since everyone has an opinion already, let’s just observe those”. And there were smiles all around.

Remember the Budhwar Peth incident? Fine, I was merely a volunteer at an NGO for women at that point of time. But I was also a so-called journalist. When I called you (and many other “influential” journalists), you actually refused to take the story further. An fourteen year old was lying writhing in bed, delirious with fever and the only thought on her mind was that she needed to get well, get up and get ready for her men.  She fails to do it, more signs of abuse show up on her existence. How come none of you even wanted to talk about it? “It happens!” Right. Does it now? You think its alright to leave a minor to the mercies of her pimp, to know that she is getting raped repeatedly and do nothing about it!?

Closer home, how come nothing was done about Her? We all knew why she killed herself. We all had proof. If we all are epitomes of justice and its delivery, how come not a single step was taken towards it? How come I was literally forced to step back from both the stories. Sadder still, how come the Budhwar Peth story went into the shredder?

I have never been one of those people who have been much bothered about unravelling the truth. It never has been difficult for me to accept the fact that people lie. And when they lie, they are always ready to lie some more to keep the wheels turning. They are willing to sell some souls, buy some, shed some tears and instigate some to keep the façade in place. And breaking through or even trying to, is an insult. The only two times, I thought I was doing justice to my profession, I was diverted. And with such ease and tact. It was such a disappointment. And a let-down. But thank god it happened. Or else, I would be right there, in the middle of a million more faceless reporters, trying to make a point about what sells instead of letting people know what is happening.

Moreover, what is the point? A few reads, a few awards, status: celebrity achieved, and of course the power to walk through any wall. And of course, more money than you can spend. Appealing. Agreed. But not enough. For me.

There are times when I wish that I could actually leave behind ideals and convictions and air-kiss the ones who will award me with a title that sounds more impressive than “Senior Business Correspondent”.

But then again, there are far more times when I realize how the world works, heave a sigh of relief and thank god for equipping me with the ability to remain nonchalant about front page headlines.

Thank god I do not do any of the things I was asked to do by you an hour ago. Thank god, my fights for justice and rights are limited to stray pups and kittens. Thank god, I still have faith and goodwill and the ability to keep career-induced bitterness away. I am not too great at it. But I’m so much better than most you and I know.

When I moved away from what we see as “Real Journalism”, I knew exactly what I was doing. I could see noses crinkling up when I wrote my first article in a tabloid. I saw horror when the number of articles about completely mindless things became my identity. I sensed disappointment when I decided that this is where I will stay. Even you, who helped with the first tottering steps, were outraged. After all these years, I hear disappointment.

I’m sorry. I can’t chase dreams I don’t believe in. We both know, the path I am walking now is not one that is even remotely related to my dreams. It just funds them. Sure, you were offering me a smoother ride till there, but, after all these years and all the articles and the mindlessness and the luxury and the tabloids and finally the retail, I can’t suddenly dive headlong into society and what defines it. I can’t wake up and start pretending that I feel for causes I care nothing about. I am too involved with the mindlessness. More importantly, I am comfortable here. For fuck’s sake, you crept towards this path too. You mastered the art of the fake smiles and you taught me all about the beauty of “the day job”. Jobs that fund. Jobs that can never become your life. Jobs that leave you with the time to come up with stories.

I’m not walking down the path you’re tempting me to walk down Mrs. M. Sometimes, my memory fails to be dysfunctional. I remember “Jobs and titles are never important. When you do something, make sure it pays you enough and make sure that you don’t believe in it wholeheartedly. Unless you’re writing fiction”

Maybe sometime in the near or distant future, I will let go of all the illusions and run the race that is won by the fattest pays. But till then, I am blissful meeting men in crisp suits, designers who believe that the sun shines out of their ass and things I know jackshit about. The step-ups keep coming like they always have. “Its never what you write,” Mrs. M. “Its how you write it.”

End of rant?

For the time being, possibly. You realize my point. You realize why this is on the blog instead of your inbox and you realize that a post like this will not have a next time. And you realize that I shall slip into the shell which firmly makes people believe that I have no awareness of anything. Apart from literature and comic books that is. Its an easier world to live in. A happier one. A less pretentious one. Most importantly, it is mine.Being aware is alright there. Getting worked up about situations that can’t be altered, is not. I would suggest you forget Hazare and the Lokpal. I suggest you read some Murakami and Palahniuk. You will realize the futility of our argument.

Love.

while leaving the brilliantly orange and white chamber. i felt a small pang in my heart that made me miss mom. and dad. and varun. and ro. and everyone else who had ever accompanied to the doctor. even those whom i have grown to hate. those whom i don’t remember. those, i do not bother remembering.

it was a strange feeling that culminated into a very pathetic sigh as i looked pretty much blankly at all others sitting around in the waiting area. in twos. even threes and fours. no-one seemed to be as lonely as i felt at that instant.

i sighed some more. in that exact pathetic manner. and sniffled and coughed for emphasis.

i dialed the mothership’s number. only to disconnect. and the same pattern was repeated with dad and apin and those one or two other souls i have grown to love dearly ever since i have come to the new city.

and i sighed and sniffled some more.

it didn’t last for long though.

a four day long approved leave.

no calls from office to traumatize the hell out of me.

and a parsi bakery on the opposite footpath.

sure. i had a million things to deal with:

a rapidly dwindling bank account

bipolarity at it’s worst (or almost)

intergalactic wars being fought, lost and messed up in the city of joy

doubts

uncertainties

insecurities

anger

and i could go on.

of course i could go on about poverty and violence and the depleting ozone layer and cruelty and pain and suffering  and the bangalore municipality randomly taking hoardings down.

so chin up, back straight and smile plastered i crossed the street. counted calories. laughed at the poor souls who believe in dieting in my head and dug in.

brilliant sunshine. chocolate-caked smile. i knew that i would go back to being cranky the minute i hit the bed. i knew i would weep and throw tantrums and leave po cranky texts and the like.

but i didn’t care. for a minute, i was back to loving no-one but myself. and fuck! i smiled.

So absolute is the domination that we can safely hold it responsible for the extinction of long copy ads.

Of course, they are bordering extinction. When was the last time you wrote or even read one that made you smile the way the used to? But then again, when we actually do find something that looks even remotely long, we obviously don’t have the time, inclination or the patience to read it.

Who does? With even the eight-word wonders rapidly losing their charm, we are fast selling our hearts, souls and minds to a revolution that is essentially summed up in one word. A syllable also works. It works better actually.

Brr. Or something equally vague. We don’t care. Of course we don’t. We aren’t paid enough to. You aren’t paid enough to. They are obviously not paid enough to. And yet, THEY remain on the higher rungs minting whatever little bit of money advertising allows you to mint.

And thus, we are introduces to a whole breed of copywriters who can obviously clinch deals with smileys.

Brrr +1 and a whole new award winning campaign is produced.

Brrr some more, and yet again, the world is hit by the storm.

And we sit in the sidelines, and flash pathetic excuses for smiles. Ones that border the grimace. And we grind our teeth and sip out drinks and cheer unenthusiastically.

For a breed that doesn’t do funny. Or clever. Or witty. They do the new. And they do make money.

While I rant here. And then turn back to the confinement of 140 characters and tweet some more.

I have called back and texted all the people I was supposed to over the past few months, but somehow never had the time to do it.

I have cooked. Not a very elaborate meal. Not a pack of two-minute noodles either.

I have taken my dog out for a walk.

I have fed all dogs and cats under my wing in M.A Rd.

I have missed people. Abused them in my mind for missing them. Then promptly forgotten about them.

I have cleaned my cupboard and the balcony and the table twice.

Of other things:

I have six thousand words to write in a little more than 12 hours.

I have indeed allowed myself to get royally sodomized.

Again.