I am no Angel... but grateful for who I am

I am no angel

I am no saint

In fact I’m miles away from it

Don’t judge me by what you see

Or what you may perceive me to be

Cause if you peel away the layers you see

You’ll find the real me 

An ordinary soul

A simple but confused mind

Cause I am nothing special

In fact I am bit of a bore

I’m not perfect 

Just perfectly imperfect 

Of mistakes I’ve made my share

And of them I am not ashamed to say

Regretted the ones I’ve made

But I’ve learned to live with them

Learned to learn from them

Avoid having them on repeat

Underneath it all I’m just an ordinary man

There’s nothing special, a fool

In fact a bit damaged and bruised

A bit mental, a bit temperamental 

A lot crazy, cause Crazy is what crazy do

A child at heart not willing to grow up

But forced to grow 

And circumstance is to be blamed

But never truly giving up

A stubborn fool

I’ve loved and I’ve lost

But I hope to love again

I’ve been hurt and I’ve been in pain

And I’ve been the cause of both too

A lost and lonely soul

And though I may try and smile

But my smile may just a frown

I am just a simple man

Asking to be loved for who I am

I am only human like everyone else

And like everyone else 

I have my wants and desires

That which stem of the flesh

And though I may try to be coy and shy

But I know my wants and desires

Sometimes ashamed of it

Other times conflicted about it

But nonetheless wanting it, craving it

But then it’s love that I want

And it often a pit full for this overthinker

I am grateful for everyone in my life

The ones who have come and gone

And the ones who have stayed

For the ones who have left an impression 

A handprint, a picture etched 

On the walls of my mind for all eternity

The ones I cannot do without

The ones who I care for

The ones who I’ve love & will forever love

Family, friends, colleagues, lovers, partners, spouse and offsprings and pets

People who I will hold dear to me

Forever and always and beyond

Life may not be kind

Showing me an oasis 

Only for it to turn out a mirage

But then if life has thrown lemons

It’s also shown me how to make lemonade 

Or have a glass of tequila and toast life

For every sadness it shown me kindness

For every sorrows it has shown me

How to overcome

For every loss it has taught me to overcome

For every pain it has applied a cooling balm

It has helped me heal from every hurt

And though it may scar

It has showed me how to survive

So to conclude this random rambling 

This Rodmaness 

I am no angel

But I am grateful to be me!

The Baking Adventure (or Misadventure)

With Christmas just around the corner, this boy loves getting into the Christmas spirit, even if it wasn’t even Advent yet. So all caught up in the pre-festive spirit and bitten by the  do-it-yourself bug, this boy decided to try something new. After long hours of pondering and strainous thinking (ok ok not that much of pondering, maybe just a couple of minutes), baking cookies it was!

So the first order was to  decide if there was the most important equipment in place, an Oven. So the Internet was scoured and questions to friends and colleagues asked, and in the end an OTG was secured and delivered and demonstrated and the boy was was all raring to bake. 

The next step was finding an easy to follow recipe, cause this boy is no cook. But the boy was willing and eager to learn. So once again the Internet was searched and countless pages visited and YouTube videos viewed, till this boy came to a recipe he was confident and comfortable he could follow.

The enthusiasm was burning bright and the josh was high. It was time to put together the core ingredients. So the ingredients and other equipment’s were sourced. But not before a detour of his bike being towed (ok Activa) for being parked in the wrong spot. But not even this setback could throw a monkey wrench (or a monkey, or a spanner) in his enthusiasm. So trying to put aside the exertion of the morning (after all the weekend long run followed by a gym workout can be tiring), and sourcing the ingredients and trekking to the RTO to pay the fine, can take its toll, even on the best. But in the end it was time to bake.

Putting all the things in order (and in the process driving his mother nuts) he began to prepare his dough. The unsalted butter didn’t melt causing him to fret a little cause he couldn’t beat it with the sugar to a light fluff (as mentioned in the recipe). So in his haste he added the milk and vanilla essence and began to hope against hope that the required consistency would be reached.  So he furiously continued to beat it.

All this while he tried to keep his mum at bay, but now he needed her. He got her to put together the dry ingredients, giving her instructions on what he needed to be done (a head chef moment, though I am not sure if that applies to the boy). So once done it was time to prepare the dough. The wet mixture was added to the dry one, little by little. This mixture was stirred with a spatula and then by hand till it was made in dough. The boy got a bit panicky as it was no where close to what he had observed in the videos he had seen.

Now that the dough was ready it was time for it to rest, and with it it was time for him to rest too. So the dough was wrapped in cling wrap and placed in the fridge to rest. After letting it rest for an hour (or almost an hour) it was time to remove it from the fridge and preheat the oven.

Following the steps shown during the demo, the boy ser the temperature and timer for the oven, and proceeded to to roll out the cookie and cut the cookies out of it with a cookie cutter. As the dough was still soft and the boy wasn’t an expert at rolling anything, not even rolling his eyes, dough stuck to the rolling pin no matter how much flour he added. But somehow he tried his best to do his best and cut out the cookies, to varying degrees of success.

With the oven heated and the first batch ready to go, the tray was put in the oven. He stood there staring at cookies baking, wondering if they would get brown. His mum joined him in the staring competition with the oven, trying to get the whiff of the dough baking. 

As the buzz going off the first batch was ready. He removed it from the oven, with a sense of pride as this was the first thing he ever managed to bake. But then this feeling was short lived as the first batch slightly soft and crumbly. He tasted it, and though it tasted nice it had a bitter after taste.

Not to be disheartened by the first attempt, he went about preparing the second batch, and there lay the second mistake. Varying the time and temperature he hoped this batch would bake well. Alas this batch got a bit burnt.

With every batch he struggled a bit , with every batch he got more weary has it the cookies weren’t baking the way he wanted them to, the way they should. 

When the final batch was done he breathed a sigh of relief, as it was late and he tired and fatigued. He tried to figure out what he did wrong and worried if he would ever try baking again. But then he knew he could never give up and never give up. He would learn from his adventure and try avoiding the mistakes he had made. But he would bake again, he could now that he had an oven there was no backing down, giving up, whether it was an adventure or a misadventure.

Sunday with the RuNCouragers!!!

After Saturday’s long run cum hill training (i.e. killing yourself at BNP at the hands of Dylooo and Pankti... on the plus side... the weather was good for a change), some baking adventures (or misadventures, as the cookie taste, but then that’s fodder for a different write up), and very little time to rest and recover (to add to it, 3 hours of ballroom), didn’t quite think I had it in me, or in my system to squeeze any more mileage for the day!

But then there were some special reasons to go. Firstly, it’s been a while since I have run in Thane (I think pacing Neha Gharat for the Thane Pinkathon was the last). Then RuNCouragers ne hume bhuliya main chala aya (dang I am getting good with Hindi, or am I). Lastly Admin hain to jana padenga (vow I am on fire, or what?)

So here was I, waking up at the usual ungodly hours on a weekend, when the rest of the world is fast to sleep (unless they are runners, then they would be wide awake to catch their weekend long runs), meeting up with my fellow admins and heading to Thane, to the start point, to meet a very cheery and enthusiastic and noble bunch of runners that form the RuNCouragers, who had meticulously planned the run and had everything put in place.

So after greeting and meeting many runners (some of whom I hadn’t seen in ages, some who I was meeting for the first time) and a quick warm up and briefing, not to forget the singing of the National Anthem, off we went. Though I had initially planned to take it easy (after all the body was still in its recovery mode from the exertions of the previous day... don’t ask me what... I’ve already mentioned it) but then the weather was kind and the route challenging, and when life challenges you rise to the challenge to the best of your ability, rather than cowering in front it. The road beckoned and the volunteers cheered you on enthusiastically. So even though the initial pace was easy, for the first couple of kilometres, thanks to a chit chat running with Prabhu, the legs did what the legs wanted to do, so finally upped the pace.

So with a gentle breeze on my face off I went. There were volunteers at every turn, supporting you, guiding you, cheering on, especially my buddy Shilpa Rao who kept cheering even while she drove from one water point to another. So I ran up gentle slopes, for once not cursing them but glad they were there, cause it made the route more dynamic rather than one dimensional, passing fellow runners on their long runs (I assume) and walkers on their morning walks, at the Upvan lake you had some race being conducted, and you passed children who were practising some form of martial art (have very little knowledge in it). Though one wrong turn took me down a different  route, in the end it didn’t matter as I managed to complete the distance.

Reaching the end point it was time to enjoy some much needed post run refreshments of idlis and chutney and chaas, courtesy of our wonderful host. It was then time to do what we runners do best, apart from running, chat, socialise and click pictures and selfies. But not before a leisure walk in the park to cool down, exploring the beauty of the well manicure lawns.

It was then time for the customary group pic; what training run is complete without a group pic? Not before thanking the wonderful RuNCouragers for being such a gracious host, for all the arrangements, the wonderful support and meticulous planning.

In the end it was a Sunday morning well spent, for some important mileage, though on weary feet. Got to meet and be introduced to many noble running souls. So glad I was able to make it and have a wonderful Sunday run.

P.S. Thank you the awesome team of RunCouragers SN sir, Sachin, Murali, Vasu, Neha M, Hansa C, Rupesh P, Amit G, Payal C, Manish, Jatinder and Vaibhav (for capturing some amazing pics), Shilpa, Ved, Santosh M, Hitender, Ajay K, Hrishikesh, Rakesh D, Santosh S, Sunil Talwar, Vilas H, Arvind S and Sandeep P (sincerely apologise if I missed out anyone).

..when your Left can’t get it Right!!!

Dancing can be fun. Learning new dance forms, and brand new sequences can be quite exciting, going a long way to increase your dance vocabulary, your dance repertoire. But too much of dancing can leave you in one mass of sweat, can leave you confused. After all too much of a good thing ain’t always a good thing. And if you are a character who can’t dance for hours at a stretch, not because you don’t have the stamina or stomach for it (if the stomach can be used here), but because you are learning, and all the learning can leave you with a cognitive overload (there I go and use ID jargons).

So as you go from one dance form to the next you struggle to pick steps, things that are not quite rocket science (or maybe it is). As if dancing to the beat/count wasn’t confusing, you end up being perplexed and lost, trying to keep up. So your right is figuring what is right and your left simply can’t get it right. So you struggle to keep up with the class, finding yourself a step behind (like finally managing to figure out last weeks sequence this week) and off beat and time, not to mention you struggle to find a rhythm and rhythm ain’t going to get you.

But you soldier on and try to keep your chin up and not let your shoulder sag. Conversely your confidence continues to take a beating when you struggle to get it right. So you look exasperated at your partner, ending up apologising for your inability to lead her correctly, and muddling up your leads or even stamping her poor foot or banging into the next dancer. She’ll either try to calm you down and help you get it right, or she may just go and lead herself (instead you leading her), thus causing your poor confidence to take a beating.

So you end up looking like a poor lost puppy trying to make sense, like a deer caught in the headlight, who’s brains has turned to mulch, has frozen. Your hands and legs don’t seem to coordinate, move in the way they ought to. So you end being intimidated by every partner, especially if she’s a stunner who has mastered the steps that you’re struggling to figure out (forget learning).

But then you have to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. Remember the very reason you took up the challenge. Relax, you don’t have two left feet, literally and figuratively. You may take time to learn, but learn you will. You have your friends and partners to help you with it, and when in doubt ask for help, cause help will be given to those who need it the most (damn I can use this Harry Potter line in any situation) and of course the instructors are more than happy to help. So fikaar not and remember this is meant to let you unwind and relax and learn something new. It may take you time, you may seem exasperated, flustered, but you will eventually get it. So don’t you worry too much. And should you forget what you have learned before, you will figure it, that’s what revisions are for.

So in end, even if your left can’t get it right, you’ll learn, eventually. So relax and enjoy the process, cause in the end all will be well. And hey dancing is well and truly fun.

Innocence Lost

“Children’s Day”, the one day we reminisce on our childhood, going back in time and reliving those memories, celebrating the children we were. We end up changing our DPs and sharing our childhood pics on all possible social media platforms. I too am one such specimen, changing my profile pic, sharing my childhood pic, joining many others who did the same on the day, and all through the week.

But there are those who’s childhood is filled with pain and sorrow, who don’t have any memories of their childhood that they can cherish, who’s childhood have been far from pleasant, for whom reminiscing on the past is nothing but reliving the pain they have been through. And there those who have been robbed of their childhood, thanks to the cruel ways of humanity. 

They are the ones from broken homes, with parents who spent more time fighting with each other than spending it with their kids,  giving the attention they need, they seeker, they craved for. Children who spent their childhood deprived of the love and care they deserved. Children born in poverty, children forced to take up the responsibilities of families on their tender shoulders. 

Children who suffer from various sickness and ailments, who spend more time in hospitals and clinics, than they spend around friends and family, people and places around whom they need to be. Children who’s health do not permit them to live life as they would deem as normal. Their health clipping their wings and keeping them grounded, taking away their dreams and curtailing their lives.

There are children who have been tortured and abused, mentally, physically and sexually, left damaged and broken. They are victims of cruel, evil, lustful nature of humanity. They are abused by the very ones who should have been protecting, the ones under who’s care they should have felt sheltered and protected, but have left them violated, defiled, damaged and broken. The lust of others have left them shattered and confused, what wrong did they do to deserve this, why is this happening to them, especially when no one believes them. Thus leaving their lives shattered, the very fabric of their lives ripped apart.

All this affecting them for the worse, leaving them confused, shattering their confidence, breaking them down, making the susceptible to further abuse and bullying, and if they aren’t able to cope, their lives ends up being a living hell.

So if we believe the children are our future then we need to protect and keep them safe from cruel and evil world. They need to be nurtured and taken care of and be helped and guided, to help them make something of themselves. We need to be examples for them, make them feel safe and sound and not the ones who turn upon them. 

“I believe the children are our are future

Teach them well and let them lead the way

Show them all the beauty they possess inside

Give them a sense of pride to make it easier

Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be”

The Misadventures of the Falling Pants

The suits pressed and ready, and you’re raring to go. You’re sure that you’re going to make heads turn, after all the suit’s magenta, you really can’t go wrong when you buy/wear something from Zara (no, no, this isn’t a promotion). So you sure are going to stand out in a sea of black, blue and greys (hopefully not like a sore thumb).

Your suits packed and folded cause there’s a ballroom session to attend, well make that two sessions. So after two hours of Latin ballroom, you’re left with a sweaty and puzzled self, especially when you do two dance forms in two hours (escaping doing the third), which couldn’t be more different from each other. 

So you eagerly rush to the washroom to get ready. The small space and the lack of fan or a mirror do you no favour. There’s no latch on the door, so you’ve to change as quickly as possible, as there’s a single washroom for both sex. You need to towel your sweaty self down in record down, lest a poor unfortunate auntie/lady/ person should stumble upon your semi-naked self, leaving you red in the face (this coming from boy who’s Instagram feed is filled with more than half pics of him flaunting his non-existent body, according to my friends).

You quickly try to get dress and realise that all the quickness has caused you sweat more, the one thing you hoped to avoid. You dab yourself with your towel and you put on your pant. But then something doesn’t quite feel right. Your pant is a bit too loose. But then you have a belt and hopefully all should should hold up, literally. Damn you weight loss you were supposed to help look better not skinnier. And why didn’t you try the pant once before you sent it out for ironing. And then you try to buckle your belt (hoping it ain’t going to be a loose ride). But then there aren’t sufficient holes to hold up the pant on your waist, and keeps falling just below it (and thankfully not off it).

There’s nothing much you can do now other than go down, put on your shoes, take your coat and bag and leave, praying desperately that the pants holds. So you keep pulling your pants up, every time it threatens to go too far south, like a child clutching at their loose garment ( flitting for someone who’s a big kiddo).

You manage to reach the hall unscathed, without any untoward incident. Your pant is safely on your waist only (where it’s hanging for its dear life and on a Hail Mary) and not lying anywhere else. You tuck in your shirt, wear your coat and check yourself if you’re presentable. But one thing you can’t help is pulling that pant up.

Now instead of being seated in one place, the dancing keedas takes over you and you find yourself on the dance floor, tucking your shirt and constantly pulling up that pants, shamelessly not bothering if people are watching. Somehow you really don’t bother about it too much and continue to dance (cause you’ve already warmed up and you’re a ball of energy, jumping around like a jack-in-the-box, like a big kiddo (which is what people who know you, think you are) one that will never grow up).

The weather gods aren’t too kind to you. The weather is hot and humid, and there’s no way you can rid yourself of your coat without exposing your drooping pants. And to add to it you’re dripping, your shirt literally soaking in sweat which is dripping into your pant. Much to your horror, dismay, embarrassment, a patch is formed around your waist and crotch. So it seems you’ve peed in your pants without you actually peeing in your pants ( as if you don’t have control over your bowel movements).

So you’re left red-faced, redder than your magenta suit. You wouldn’t know where the suit would end and you began. Well ok your skin tone doesn’t really allow you to go red or seem red or show red. Now you have all the more reason of keeping that coat on no matter how hot and humid the night may get. You avoid making eye contact lest you come across any awkward, sniggering glances. But no matter what, you continue to dance, like a pacca pavwala.

So by the end of the night you are all dripping wet, as opposed to soaking wet. You try to hide your lower half should your awkward embarrassment be captured on camera. You finally get home and you try to change as quick as possible, muttering a silent thanks for making it through the night, through the misadventures of the falling pants.

It’s OK to not be OK

It’s ok to no be ok

To be what the world doesn’t want you to be

To not conform to the norms

That society sets upon you

That it dictates

It ok to be yourself

A little broken 

A little damaged

A little bruised

It’s ok to not be ok

To ride life like a roller coaster 

One moment you’re up

And the next you’re down

To ride through the highs and lows

It’s ok that you feel low sometimes

Cause you can’t always stay high

Unless you’re smoking a joint

In that case you’re going to be high

But don’t be scared when you’re low

Ride it out, fight it out

Cause what goes down

Will always bounce back up

So it’s ok to have highs and lows

It’s ok to seek out help

To reach out there 

And grab that hand that reaches you back

It’s ok to admit that you’re not ok

Cause when you admit 

You set yourself free

And let someone in

To help you get out

Seeking help want make you small

Or even less brave or valiant

But seeking help will help you get out

Of the vicious cycle you find yourself in

It ok to fall in love

To risk it all on the one

To let your heart love and be loved

To wear it on your sleeve

To let that one capture your mind

Take conquer your heart and occupy it

It’s ok to want to love and be loved

It may work, it may end

You cannot always have a happy ever after

Your heart may break

But you pick up broken pieces

And you move on

It’s ok to never give up on it

It ok to put your happiness first sometime 

Or for that matter any times

Cause when you’re happy

Others around you will be happy

And you don’t have to make them happy

It’s ok to not seek out their happiness 

Or put their happiness before yours

It’s ok to find what makes you happy and do it

It’s ok to have desires, wants and needs

It’s ok to seek them out and fulfil it

To be bit dirty and grimy 

And not always be a goody-two-shoes

It’s ok to cry sometimes

To let it all out what you’re feeling within

You don’t have to wail out loud

Or beat your chest and tear off your hair

You can do it in your own private space

Where there’s no one to see

Or under the shower or in the rains

Where your tears mixes with streams of water

And gets hidden from yourself and the world

It doesn’t make you less of person if you cry

It’s a way of letting out what you feel

Instead of letting it fester within

It’s ok to be scared sometimes

Cause we can’t always be brave 

Cause the future is unknown 

And you never know what is to come

And if you fear the unknown

Then it’s ok to be scared and wanted to be protected 

Form that what you don’t know

It’s ok be scared

So it’s ok to not be ok

It’s ok to admit that you need help

That you need a friend

It’s ok to wanting to be in love

To putting it all on the line 

It’s ok to want to be happy

To fulfil your desires, wants and needs

It’s ok to cry, to be scared and alone

It doesn’t make you less of a man

It’s ok to not be ok!

On the wings of a Marigold Petal

He sat there on that rock crying, tears streaming down his cheeks that was stained from the tears he had already cried. Where was he? How did he get here? How did he find himself in such a predicament? So many questions swimming through his head. And how would he even have answer if he didn’t know what go him here. But most importantly he was just a child.

He sat there by the ground from where he managed to dig himself out. All he could recollect this neighbouring uncle telling him to wait in his house till his mother came. He remembered the uncle giving him something to drink after which he started feeling dizzy. He remembered the uncle making him touch him in a way that made him feel awkward, a way that he didn’t like. He then Madeline  touch him and do things against his will and that he didn’t want to do and were painful. He remembered crying and screaming for his mumma. He remembered the uncle putting his hand across his mouth and then all went blank.

When he woke he found himself in the ground. He managed to dig himself out, and tried to find his way back home. But everything was different and unknown and scary. He was scared and cold and didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how he could get back. He didn’t know how long it had been. So he sat there crying, wanting to go home, and away from this strange and scary place, and to his protective arms of his mother. But how could he get away from here?

All of sudden he noticed an orange marigold petal shinning on the ground. He couldn’t help himself and want to pick it up. So he did just that. And just as the first one had appeared, another one appeared, and then the next. Soon there was whole line of marigold petals on the ground, laid like a pathway, leading him from this place, like a carpet, beckoning him to follow it and see where it would go. 

So he followed that carpet of marigold, as it lead him out of the forest and on to the streets, past busy highways and down roads and streets. He didn’t know how much he had walked  cause he didn’t feel tired at all, he just followed it where it lead him. No one seemed to notice him or the carpet of marigold.

So he followed it, till low and behold it lead him home, to a table where there was just a picture of him and a solitary marigold flower, who’s petals was the one that brought him home. Next to the picture sat his mother, sobbing, her cheeks stained from the tears she had cried, just like he had done for her.

He was so happy to see her. At the very moment he wanted to run and hug her, tell her that he had found his way home, cause he knew he was the reason for her tears. He wanted to wipe away her tears and kiss her tight, he promised he would do as she told him and never take anything from anyone, or go with anyone. But as much as he tried she was out of his reach. He couldn’t understand what had happened to him.

Just then there was a huge commotion outside. The neighbouring uncle was being taken away in chain. His mother seeing him, ran to him and began hitting him, pleading with him to tell her where he had taken her son, but the uncle seemed unfazed by her actions, only giving her a cold blank stare. He didn’t utter a single word despite of all her pleading, totally ignoring her beating and intreating as they dragged him from there.

During all this he wanted to tell his mother he was here with her, he hadn’t gone anywhere. He wanted to hold her tight and wipe her tears, but somehow he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t understand why. So he sat there by her side.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. She sat in trance like situation, not crying and speaking, not eating, not doing any thing. She finally let out a wail when they brought what looked like him. But then how was this possible when he was here by her side. He was all the more puzzled and couldn’t understand what was happening. They laid, what looked like him on the ground while all those around were crying bitterly.

When they finally dressed what looked like him and carried him away his mother cried bitterly and refused to let it go. But they managed loosen her grip and took him away. He couldn’t understand what was happening and why was it happening to him. He cried as bitterly as his mother did, from the cold and helplessness and from the pain of separation that he began to feel.

Just then a bright light appeared. It seemed to beckon him to come towards it. But he didn’t want to go and leave his mother all alone, but the light kept calling to him, pulling him towards it. And so he finally gave up, kissed his mother one last time and finally walked into the light as those marigold petals once again lit up his way.

An Idea... for this Christmas

With Diwali done and dusted, well almost done and and dusted, and Christmas just around the corner. Ok so Christmas may be well over a month away, the there’s nothing stopping you from getting all Christmassy. But then that’s not the point (or we are digressing, or my mind is wandering from the point). The point is that this Christmas let’s do things a bit differently.

This Christmas, let’s buy presents from local businesses, from self-employed individuals. Let’s gift beautiful, elegant, handcrafted, handmade, customised articles, rather than buying mass manufactured articles created by corporations. Lets buy articles and decorations made by the local aganwadis and associations, who’s proceeds go to the needy. Let’s do our bit to support local artisans, encourage local talents, let’s buy locally.

Let’s buy homemade goodies, sweets and cakes, from the neighbouring auntie who sells her Christmassy delicacies come Christmas time. Let’s buy cakes, buns, chocolates, cookies and other Christmas delicacies from the local bakers, from a friend who bakes. Come Christmas Day, patronise the little cafe that’s just around the corner.

Gather the children, the youth, your friends, age no bar, religion no bar, and go carol singing. Spread a little Christmas cheer to those need it the most. The sick, the home bound, the alone and the lonely. Share the joy and spirit of the season, cause after all it’s in giving that we receive, in sharing that what we have, gets doubled.

You’ve spent a lot on races (if you’re a Runnaholic), running for one cause or another, never truly understanding for what exactly are you running for, or are these causes truly being benefitted. Now is your time to actually make a difference, bring about a change. If possible, donate platelets or blood (getting over any fear or doubt you have), do your bit and save a life. You may never know who’s life you’re saving but you sure are going to feel good to know you’ve done something good, something selfless, you’ve saved a life without knowing who’s life you’re saving.

This way you ensure that Christmas is not contained just to a few , to just ourselves, but it is shared with all, bringing joy and Christmas cheer to those who need it the most, the way it is meant to be. Let’s make sure the money we spend goes to individual people and not multinational corporations. This way more local people will have a better Christmas. Let’s support real people, people who need Christmas joy. Let’s do something different, something good, not just for ourselves but for all.

Running Scared

He stirred groggily from his bed and instinctively reached for the alarm that had been annoying. He was tempted to hit the snooze button but woke up nonetheless, after a fight with himself. As he rose from his slumber he mumbled under his breath, cursing himself for having to wake at such an ungodly hour, when the whole world was nicely tucked up in their beds. Why oh why did he have to sign up for another Full Marathon when he had made promise to himself, never again?  But then promises were meant to be broken, and the pull of doing another full can be irresistible, and blame it on peer pressure. Well whatever the reason may be, he had gone back on his promise and signed up for yet another full marathon and now it was time to train. So he woke up trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

He grudgingly brushed his teeth, drank his coffee black, prepared his hydration, and applied Vaseline in places unmentionable  otherwise there would be great burning from all the chafing, ek runner ka dard only ek runner samajenga, he thought to himself, letting a smile break on his face. He got dressed and put on his running gear. He completed his warm up and patiently waited for his Garmin to catch the GPS. And when it did, he put on his music and off he went.

Initially started slowly and then building pace. It was the weekend long run, so it was endurance over speed. He maintained a steady pace desperately fighting sleep and the temptation of speeding up and getting the run done with. Finally he gave into temptation and picked up his pace.

As ran down deserted, unlit streets, where the streets had no name nor did they have their street lights on, he ran quickly but with caution, lest he trip on a speed breaker or a pothole or a sleeping dog. He could never fathom the need for switching off street lights considering it was still pitch dark outside, and there were times when they remained on evening in the morning light. Something’s you can never understand. He tried to not to think too much about it and continue with his run.

There was not a single soul on the road, a few stray rats, peered from their comfy abode to see which fool had taken to street at this dreadful hour. A few stray dogs stirred from their slumber and gave pace, I mean chase, forcing him to up his pace, or else it would be his flesh and their teeth.

Somehow he managed to get away from them, like he and many runners have always done. But in the bargain he tripped on a speed breaker and had a nasty tumble (with the speed breaker doing its job and breaking his speed). He picked himself up and dusted himself off and checked for any injuries. Beside some minor bruises he seemed fine. So he took off and continued with his run.

A few minutes later, he felt a dull pain. At first he decided to ignore it, after all he lived by the notion no pain no gain (however, inappropriate it may have been at time), but then pain got worse as he continued to run. He had to stop, almost wincing in pain. He couldn’t go any further. So he tried to see if he could find a way to get back. 

Unfortunately there was not a soul on the street, not even a single car had passed by. He hobbled for a bit trying to muster all the strength he could, praying for any form of divine intervention. Low and behold he spotted a headlight coming his way. Was this the light at the end of the tunnel, or just the oncoming train that would knock him over, pass him by. He could make out a silhouette of a driver wearing a cap, which he felt was odd thing to do, but then it was not the time for bordering about men with caps.

To his great relief it began to slow down, coming to a halt right in front of him. He could hear the hallelujah ring out, his prayers were answered! Ok his prayers at the moment were answered. He quickly got into the back seat and thanked the driver profusely for coming to his aid. He tried to dust himself off as the car slowly began to move on. 

He explained his predicament to his saviour. But he felt there was something odd, something not quite right. He tried to ignore it blaming it on the tricks his mind was playing on him. The car was moving at almost snail pace (if snails had one), which he found very odd. Was there something wrong with the vehicle? He asked this a couple of times but got no response.

When he finally peered at the seat, he got the fright of his life. There was no one there, the cap was placed on the headrest of the seat which created the illusion of a driver. Who was driving the car? He thought to himself. The car seemed to be steering itself. To his utter dismay, the car began to catch speed. He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. He began to panic. He could feel his heart beat against his chest, threatening to burst out, tearing his chest open like the creature from alien. He tried to scream, to bang against the glass but nothing seemed to work. 

Today was not his day, or was it his last day. This was not the way he wanted to go. He wanted to go up in a blaze of glory and not blaze and be gory. He began to say his prayers, feeling his heart in his mouth, any moment he would just vomit it out. 

The car began to slow down, coming to a halt near a petrol pump. He felt his prayers were answered, he was saved, or was he? He once again tried the doors. To his delight it opened. He forgot his pain and began to run from there, making a dash for it, as fast as his feet could take him, screaming “bhoot, bhoot!” as he passed by a bemused attendant. He needed get as far and fast as possible from that car.

The attendant looked at him with bemusement. He asked the man who was huffing and puffing behind the car, who the man was? He replied that he didn’t know who he was, he had run out of petrol and had been pushing the car all this way, after briefly loosing the car when it began to go down a slope.

Hirkani

I don’t often watch regional cinema (which I should do), let only watching hindi cinema, and the regional language movies  that I’ve watched have been way better than their Hindi counterparts (or should I say copies, or is it remakes?)

Finally watched my second Marathi movie in the theatre (not that I haven’t seen one before, in fact have grown up watching them on DD  on Saturday (yeah that’s how ancient I am))! Being a total pavwala there’s always a concern of not understanding dialogues or catching onto them (especially when you’re a tube light), and you fear that you’ll pester your company to the point of frustration, trying to fathom what is being said, what exactly is happening. But then they had subtitles, so yeah!!!!

The familiarity with the story, I’ve heard it, learned about in school (further evidence that I’m quiet ancient), have been to the fort twice and each time stared at the bhurg with great fascination (cause by then I was aware of the legend behind it), and finally for the company, made me want to watch the film, a Marathi film!

Firstly I am no critic, so this isn’t my attempt at a movie review, it’s just my observation. The movie is well intentioned and brave attempt to take a familiar lore from history, highlighting the the courage and strength a mother can have when it comes to her child. Moreover I was curious how they would convert a short story into a full length movie.

The film does meander to get to the actual story, the actual event (like me actually getting to the crux of this write up), which only starts post interval. Time is spent trying to establish characters and in lengthy songs and indulging in a bit of overacting, which ended up hampering the pace of the movie. It could do with a bit tighter editing (and in my opinion, a better heroine). The story was always there, and would always be fascinating, it was hampered by the detours it took and some mediocre acting. 

The actual event doesn’t get too much of screen time (which was the whole point of the film). The event could done with a better background score, sound effect (if asking for vfx in a Marathi film is a bit too much) to create an atmosphere that wrought with tension, anticipation, fear, you experiencing the descent with her. Alas that was not to be and director chose to play more on the emotion, which didn’t translate well considering her predicament. Moreover the actress struggled to convey the emotion that was expected of her and thus was not able to create an edge of the seat atmosphere. Not once could you empathise with her or feel her anguish, even though you wanted it and story did called for it, but a mediocre acting didn’t deliver it.

But that said, the movie is head over heel than most of the current Hindi movies. It may not have elaborately created sets, exotic locals, people going around in designer wear, flaunting their toned physique at the drop of a hat. The setting was authentic, shot at Raigad itself, and felt real and not made up. There was a plausible story, which kept you invested (despite the film’s shortcomings) and then it didn’t feel overblown, or over the top. Yes there was some masala added but that was needed to add a little weight to the story. With a run time of 1 hour 35 minutes, the movie isn’t too long, and it isn’t taxing, what was taxing were people checking their cells or using their torch light to find their seats, their way, during the film.

What was fascinating was that the movie became a family event with parents, grandparents, couples, children, grandchildren, young and old alike, mother-in-laws who huffed and puffed their way up to the seat. For a moment I felt like the only non-Marathi Manoos there. But all said and done it was definitely an experience to have.

In the end the movie is well intentioned and about a folklore we are familiar with, without being over dramatic. It could have definitely be made much better with a much tighter editing, at least a better background score and production value and a more able actress to carry the movie on her shoulder. All in all a brave and commendable effort that’s definitely a watch.