When Words form Bonds

As they often say, tweeting killed the blogging star. This need not hold true for some really prolific bloggers I have come across, but this surely holds true for me! Which is why I decided to drop by my own blog (*removes yet another cobweb*) and scribble something. Let me warn you well in advance that this is yet another blogpost on yet another Twitter's user's experiences, albeit a bit specific in its context. So, it's perfectly alright for you to start yawning right away (since I'm hoping that you will still read it).

This year on Twitter has been about two things for me: meeting a lot of my Twitter contacts offline and engaging in conversations on varied topics with them, online as well as offline. And I'll talk about a specific kind of online interaction I've been having, even though conversations tend to lapse into the zone of predictability many a time. I'll talk about my interactions with women on Twitter. Nothing new here, but still worth penning down my thoughts on probably.

No blogpost is complete without its share of quotes that make the author look like a thinking woman's sex symbol. Ok, maybe that is stretching it a bit too far but then, it's #ok. So, on the subject of women, while a lot of writers, artists and the likes have said a lot of things, one of my favourites is by the inimitable Groucho Marx, who said: "A man's only as old as the woman he feels." I feel this holds true for social networks more than anywhere else these days. Such a notion as an age barrier becomes extinct in the blink of an eye, be it same or opposite-sex interaction. But when talking to a woman, online or offline, how many times has a man not asked himself - "how should I temper my interaction with her, with regard to her age and relationship status?". Ok, leave out the exceptions and then think about it. Since the start of this year, I've talked to women of various ages, backgrounds, temperaments etc. And trust me, I have asked myself this question every single time. What a woman wants from a man and vice-versa are the subjects of much broader discussions. What I want to talk about here is that aura of mystery that surrounds so many women I've spoken to on Twitter, and the occasional surprise that comes with it.

Some of them choose to show their real identities (faces and names) here, some of them don't while some straddle the twilight zone. And the third category is what is most intriguing (not to say the other two don't hold any significance - since I'll come to them later). The partial revelation of information is what provokes the senses - the cropped picture of a smiling face, or a backless dress with a tattoo, the swing between the philosophical and the mundane realities of life in their tweets, and so on. It begins with one loaded tweet about that funny thing called 'life', or just a simple flattery about the eyes or the nose ring. They see it, and some way or the other, it tickles their thought process. They want to talk, but from a guarded perimeter. And thus, I (or many men) want to probe further through the route of DMs. Then they let you into their Facebook pages or Gtalk IDs, finally culminating in a phone conversation (since offline interactions are still fewer in number).

On the other hand, the other two categories - the completely anonymous and the completely open - tend to make things much clearer. But, with some skills, there are hidden codes that can be cracked in those instances too. For example, in the case of one girl who once opened up about herself in a Gtalk chat and also accepted my Facebook request. It turned out that she is a college-going girl who goes to college and is gorgeous in every sense of the term. Apart from the fact that she has the mix of a girl-next-door image as well as smartly-cheesy thoughts. But, my first four serious interactions were with those who belong to the third category. And there is something that binds all of them together - they have or they seem to be undergoing a lot of turmoil in their lives. All of them have opened up to me to a great extent, which is why I can say that I see an innocent soul caged in all of them, maybe inadvertently. I have met one of them offline as well, while one of them lives many seas away and has promised to meet me some day...

Hence, it should come as no surprise that a more frequent interaction I'm having these days is with someone who comes from the third category. There is so much I've come to know about her, and there may lie the promise of knowing more, since she has urged me to meet her in more than one conversation. But, interestingly, I've been talking to some a lot who happen to be from the first category - open about their identities and quite confident (this is not intended to belittle those who don't want to share all information publicly). Again, I've met one of them offline as well. She is one with whom you will be equally comfortable playing a game of dumb charades as well as discussing life and its meanings. Almost every photograph of her shows her smiling like a cherubin and makes you want to wish a hug from her. Then, there is one who as beautiful in her looks as well as well as words. She has a way with making words dance to her tunes, and someone who you would want to look up to when you hit a low at times. She takes flirting by vagabonds like me in her stride, never making you feel guilty about it - but not making any exaggerated moves at the same time. And lastly, there is one whose eyes do all the talking, who lives in the same city as me - and observes my words with precision every time. I want to interact with her more, because I see that spark in her like I do in the others.

It could be pointed out that I've ended up indirectly writing a stalkers' guide. But, it has not been my intention to do so in the least. All I have tried to do is be honest about my experiences, while taking care not to disclose the Twitter handles of those whom I've talked about here. I'm sure those who have been discussed here have understood it, and please excuse me ladies if I've said too much! I like each of them for one or maybe a few traits that are unique to them, since it has also reaffirmed my notion about attraction in the virtual space. And that is - if you choose to like a woman with whom your first interaction is online - do not attempt to stand out from the crowd just because you have to. Because, at the end of the day - life goes on amidst the crowd only.

Why Chetan Bhagat is a genius

Chetan Bhagat - the man whom social media loves to hate, with a lot of passion. I may not be the first or the last person composing a blog post to talk about this. But, since his latest book is out, why would I not want to encash the opportunity to talk about the man who has probably learnt to incite hate so effortlessly in the online world? And that is where, his genius lies. And I have two arguments to defend that.

My first explanation is based on social media itself. Twitter - probably the most powerful social network today - thrives a lot on the concept of hashtags, which can stimulate the nervous system of millions without the need to pump a drop of chemicals in the body. One of these hashtags a couple of years ago went by the name of ChetanBlocks - where Mr Bhagat, or CBag, as he is affectionately known to the online world - went about blocking anyone or everyone who showered any kind of reverse compliment on him on Twitter. The hashtag was in vogue for quite some time and has been brought back to life in various avatars since. But this is just one of the instances where he had to take the brickbats, which go to the extent of questioning his IIT credentials. More recent instances included his comments on childbirth and arguments with a technology tycoon. And of course, who can forget the 3 Idiots incident. In all this, what we may or may not have missed is that this was a very sophisticated ploy of going viral on the internet. Ladies and gentlemen, not for a moment am I saying here that the only way to gain someone's attention is to utter garbage all the time. But, take a look at the Twitter conversations around you - locally or globally - isn't it the negative that catches your attention most of the time? From a Poonam Pandey and KRK to a Charlie Sheen and a Sarah Palin. We love to heap scorn on the numerous reality shows on television that are an assault on our senses (and our rightly so). But, the TRP meters of the channels also go in hyperactive mode, mostly northwards. You may say that debate/talk/argument on such issues on social media is the world's way of cleaning up the system. But, look again - how many talking about such entities are actually more interested in reforming rather than finding some entertainment online? Alright, teaching celebrities how to talk may not be a subject of national importance, but pardon me, I was just having fun :)

And this is apart from the fact that an entire Twitter account based on Mr Bhagat's parody has a huge following (since I have met the person concerned in real life, nothing personal against you mate!). In short, there's no publicity like negative publicity - as the likes of KRK, Taslima Nasreen and Poonam Pandey have successfully learnt from Mr Bhagat.

My second argument tends to be more academic. In my professional capacity once, I had attended a talk given by Mr Bhagat once - where he recounted his experience of marketing one of his books as a commodity like rice or sugar at the neighbourhood kirana store. Right, so these are surely not the kind of books which are launched whilst the glitterati swirl the wine in their glasses. These are the kind of books whose success is celebrated by the publisher sending boxes of local candies to people who may contributed to the glory. These are not the kind of books on which you may want to write academic papers, but which originate from places you and I still can't ignore, like office cubicles. This may bring us to an entirely different debate - what defines a book? For safety sake let us assume that it is an aggregation amounting to anything above 5,000 words of one or many people's thoughts - even if it is not able to stand up to a Steinbeck or a Kundera. Why do I say so? Well, there comes social media again - people rarely want to click on link that contains more than 140 characters in a tweet. Or even look at mass media and popular culture - the rise of Twenty20 cricket or Maggi noodles. In such a scenario, when Mr Bhagat manages to catch peoples' attention with his racy reads - by writing a book - is it not something to think about? If people have low attention spans, it also means that they have lower composition spans. Hence, writing anything even above a thousand or two thousand words needs a lot of concentration - something that is hard to come by in the age of instant gratification. As an aside, I may add that those of you familiar with the concept of NaNoWriMo may be able to relate to what I'm talking about.

Hence, I do think that Chetan Bhagat is a genius (in a negative as well as a positive way), because, he has the words, he has the money and most importantly - he has your attention.

(this blogpost may not have been possible unless four people on Twitter - @69fubar, @storyelvis, @oneblackcoffee and @SomeBirdie - had not inspired me with their thoughts. Thank you!)

Help me decide!

Ding ding! May I have your attention please? It's time for me to buy a new gadget (so says the Holy Spender) and I'm in a fix over which one should I go for - MacBook Pro, MacBook Air or one of those sleek tablet thingamijigs (iPad/Samsung Galaxy Tab). So, why don't you - my dearest social media pals - help me decide? My requirements are: movie viewing, music, audio and video streaming, general browsing and the occasional download, some amount of picture editing (not heavy duty design) and of course - social media! So, go to the poll on the right side and vote keeping these things in mind. If not anything else, let this be a social experiment :)

The Beauty of Stupidity

Last night, like most other nights, the chemicals in my brain started acting up again. I lay on the bed, trying to sleep - which was obviously playing a sophisticated version of hide and seek with me. Hence, last night, like most other nights, I went back to my virtual playground, known to 99.79% of the world as Twitter. And there you were - most of my virtually real friends, going about their activities. I sent out a whimper - hey guys, please say something to cheer me up! And there you were - saying a thousand little things to carve an ':)' on my avatar. From blue unicorns to unread books, from baskets of smiles to non-boring people and existent Sundays, the responses were varied and many. And, they worked.

That sounds pretty straightforward, does it not? Well, why I would still want to waste online space over such Twitter moments is simply because I have never given a thought to this fact: there is a beauty to stupidity, a power like no other. Let me point out that that this is in no way intended to demean the cognitive capabilities of my Twitter friends. The reason why I say so is this: none of the tweets intended to cheer me up were trying to sermonise in any way. All that my virtually real friends were trying to do is this: spin their own little magic tricks to make me smile, to make me forget that there were errant chemicals in my brain, or in much simpler words, to make me happy.

And of course, it is not the first time this has happened. And this is obviously not the first blogpost that is trying to talk about the bonds that are formed over social networks. But, it is more about the nature of those bonds. It's like one of those movies with copious amounts of slapstick humour, or an orange lolly, or a baby with its toothless and chocolate-smeared-on-the-cheeks grin. It need not have a meaning to it - but it makes you happy, does it not? It may not make you ponder over the greater truth that is life but it gives you a reason to live, does it not?

Those of you from Twitter who know me (in real or virtual life) and are reading this, surely know I am referring to your handles in this post. Which is why, I am not naming you here. Pardon my use of the word 'stupidity' again, but all I can say is: thank you friends, for the good words last night, like most other nights.

Close Your Eyes

Before I officially start this post, let me tell you that I need a small applause - because I am resuming blogging after seven months! And those of you who have visited my Wordpress blog earlier, will see that all the content from there has been moved to this blog. Again, technically this was my first blog but hey, let the prodigal return, right? So here goes (well)

Humour has many forms - online as well as offline - and the most common of them being <insert a very high falutin word>. (come on, you really didn't expect me to be an analyst now?) But yes, the strangest, or as some would say, darkest thing about humour is its ability to thrive in the gloomiest of situations. The jokes floating around on Twitter at any given point of time are an example of that. There again, the ability of a nondescript entity to establish its presence in a very hilarious fashion. Take the example of the blogpost that became a rage on social media yesterday - Open Letter to a Delhi Boy. Otherwise a post composed in rather appalling English, it went viral through Twitter, and a majority of the people talking about it were not even aware that its author actually has a Twitter account - @Brokenmorning. From barely a hundred, her follower count stands at 400+ at the moment - all in a day. And it was beautifully summed up by the person in question, thus, in this tweet. She had no clue what a trending topic meant! In other words, she was unaware of her 24 hours of fame (positive or negative).

It could have been a coincidence that yesterday itself I was watching a certain Charlie Chaplin movie called A King in New York. One of his lesser known films but a brilliant social satire, it talks of a deposed European monarch who becomes a media sensation - all due to his acting skills captured on a hidden camera (long before the days of sting operations). The king considers selling toothpaste and whisky rather below his dignity at first, but gives in with his dire financial straits. The situation may not have been too similar with the one discussed in the previous paragraph, but one thing is surely common: accidental fame, ladies and gentlemen.

The Afghan girl on the cover of National Geographic may have never had a clue that she would become an icon for photographers, or the individual standing in front of the battle tank at Tiananmen may have never guessed he would become a symbol for resilience. For all that you know, these people may have just been carrying on with their normal lives till someone decided to make them famous.

Let me admit that I was inspired to resume blogging by someone who may have raked up a controversy by mistake with her below average vocabulary. Yes, we are looking for our nano seconds of fame. But as they say, at times, we do need to close our eyes for a while to realise, if this fame is accidental, or shaped like a Gandhi/Anna cap struggling to find its place under the arclights.

And yes, I am not getting paid by anyone after writing all this and indirectly showering attention on random blog writers and insanely famous comedians. 

How to be a Reality Show Contestant

There are reality shows, and there are 'oh really?' shows. Whether it is IPL, India TV or Big Boss, the TRP meters of channels go on mass orgies while we all relish it on our Tata Sky HDs and Samsung LEDs. Also, the participants of the 'oh really?' shows rake in the moolah as well as the er, muaah. Ever wondered what are the qualities that really set these people apart from us mere mortals? Well, here are some parameters that may act critical in putting that reality show contestant tag on someone.

1. Make promises to go nude in public, and make sure it's during a sporting event, preferably the World Cup.  That way, you can also be more talked about in social media rather than tentacled creatures, and also have no slip between the cup (the non-crockery variety) and the lip.

2. Have a mouth that is fouler than thou, and make sure you have the right body dimensions like a certain Ms Bindra to ensure you make the right kind of noises, literally.

3. Have a glowing criminal record, you could be a two-penny thief or a multi-crore scamster, but you should have the ability to go on a hunger strike against honesty, if required.

4. Be a gangster's or a foreign cricketer's girlfriend, and if you are a foreign national yourself, you are assured of a promising career in Bollywood as well.

5. Be a wife beater, and have the ability to act like a perpetual fit for rehab candidate when the camera focuses on you.

6. Be from North India, preferably from Punjab, or more preferably from Chandigarh. Thus, the butter chicken and Scotch whisky in your veins can withstand fire-breathing bald judges.

7. Be an aspiring model (mostly applies for the fairer sex), and have the ability to slap your fellow contestants at will, and have extended cat-fights, if necessary.

8. Be the winner/runners-up of another reality show - guarantees you double fame, doesn't it?

9. Be the relative of a filmstar, and make sure the actor who you are a relative of is now unknown himself/herself as well.

10. Be a lover who's been cheated upon and is ready to take the pants off the ex in public view (if not any of the above, this will definitely grab you some eyeballs).

As new seasons of more reality shows and cricket matches with pom-pom girls, there may be many more additions to the list.

Indian Procrastinators' League

The IPL is back, and so is the enthusiasm, the euphoria, the hysteria...and possibly many other adjectives that I was trying to look up in the dictionary while writing this post. But then, I'm sure coming up with heavy words is just another diversionary tactic that we, er, proud Indians are so good at. In slightly more than 24 hours from now, a 'cricket extravaganza' will kick off with Punjabi mundas cheering for teams originating from land of Marxist machhlis, and so on. In the midst of this, you, me and a lot of others have raised a concern (and quite rightly at that) that Anna Hazare's fast will be headbutted out of the media headlines. Or, if you and me want it to be that way.

Corruption is a byword - a byword for larger things that have encompass our daily lives - that being 'right' is the new 'wrong'. 'It's not right to do things the right way,', 'It doesn't matter what they think'. What is the right and what is wrong? Who are they? These are questions that may be beyond the scope of any blog, book, discussion paper or seminar. The IPL, like the CWG and 2G grafts, was another symbol of 'Shining India' (sic). Players being auctioned off to the highest bidders, as if they are coal mines or storage infrastructure for a telecom service provider. We have scorned at it, we have made fun of it. Yet, we may or may not have noticed a strange irony that lies in this particular phenomenon. The auction - it's not just the players out there, it's happened to each one of us, day by day, week by week, month by month. We have auctioned off our souls - to the traffic sergeant for making the signal-jump look like a clean act, to the municipal inspector for making the 'jugaad' of owning two houses and paying taxes for one a perfect example of our 'smartness'.

Yes, corruption in the country may be like the proverbial chicken and egg - does it thrive because we let it or are we too helpless to do anything about it? But, from a cynic's point of view (which this blog writer may be accused of) - the bias may be towards the former. Isn't there a saying that corruption is like cancer? And cancer survivors know only too well the benefits of early detection and cure.

Many a times, it's been said that 'giving up food is the coolest way to get work done.' Putting the overt sarcasm in this statement aside, if that had been the case, how would the McDonald's and Domino's of the world do business in India? Any and every MNC who sets foot on our soil is baffled, and also happy, at the sheer volume of business that this land offers. And, this is also the land where 'it's difficult to get any work done.'

Anna Hazare's move may or may not be symbolic. But, it's clearly about taking a stand. It's about doing the bizarre to treat the weird. Be it sleazy politicians or cricket administrators, remember - they are a construct of the same 'society' you and me inhabit. Yes, today they may be occupying pedestals so high that we find it difficult to reach out to them. Again, like 'we don't vote', so we don't want to reach out. Like a legend called Michael Jackson once sang: "Some things in life we just don't want to see.....all I want to say is that they don't really care about us." For us, the situation is: "We don't care about us." We are the Indian Procrastinators' League, which even I'm a part of (otherwise this blogpost would not have existed!). Yes, I'm ranting and showing off my angst in so many words. But, in the process of reading this, I'm sure you are being the change you want to see. Yes, I believe that all of us will go beyond words to wipe out the tolerance for evil. Yes, hope is the sturdiest of ropes

What's Not In A Name?

What's in a name? Thus spake the Shakesperean heroine Juliet. Well, if you ask me, what's not in a name? If you simply take a look at the user names of the millions of Twitter users, a plethora of creativity rests right there. Hence, I decided to explore the world of wordplay through mashups of the handles of a few Twitter users who I interact with regularly or irregularly?

1. This Entity was Unnamed so he went to a Field where he did not find any

Name again. So he said:'Lovely! Its Unfair!' (@UnnamedEntity, @NameFieldEmpty & @unfairandlovely)

2. The Rag had no Tag, so she followed the Trail of Saffron, until it turned Scarlet & Hara Bhara (@raggedtag, @saffrontrail & @ScarletOhHara)

3. Until Desdemona found her Othello, she thought of going on a trip. So she called out to her friend: 'Oye Maria! Want to come along? (@Desdemona14 & @OyeMaria)

4. The Khargosh was Gora, until he met the Sherni (@gora_khargosh & @Sherni)

5. What Confuseus Say is profound, K Rahul? (@ConfuseusSay & @RahulK18)

6. She was Wandering like a Nomad on the Hiway (@NomadWanderer & @hiway)

7. She wanted to act like a Dedh Shaani, so she collaborated with Dram-e-Baaz (@DedhShaani & @dram_e_baaz)

8. You Doofus! Don't do Nautanki. The Big Dowg is watching you (@doofus_, @nautanki & @TheBigDowg, though the first person has deactivated his Twitter account)

9. The Kid wanted a Softy. Hence he went Singing to Kyra for a treat (@softykid & @kyrasinging2)

10. The Nazi wanted his Coffee. And he also had a Dua for Jaspreet (@thecoffeenazi & @JaspreetDua)

11. The Witch of Words was looking for an Esc(ape) out of the 12-hour drudgery (@Word_Witch & @EscF12)

12. Neha! Dive Kar!, said the Maniac with the Mitter (@NehaDivekar & @Mittermaniac)

13. Anee! I want another Item on my menu, the one with the Bunee, yes (@Item_  & @AneeBunee)

14. There can't be any Lapses that are Literary. Plus, it's only a Merc we are talking about (@LiteraryLapses & @mercplus)

15. The Nayak is Girinining. And even Gopal can't ask him to Chuck it (@nayakgirin & @chuck_gopal)

16. The Polka Dots have the Punk, with the Phulka (@punkpolkadots & @phulkadots)

17. Dharmesh Jee (G), B good to Shaheen (@dharmeshg & @Shaheenb)

18. Aye Kaveri! Get me some Lime with Ice (@ikaveri & @LimeIce)

19. Fu! Let's go to the Bar and order a Vat 69, said Punkster for the 101th time (69fubar & @punkster101)

20. Probably he's Trippy, but Panic ko usne kab ka Tyag diya (@probablytrippy & @panictyagi - a very sweet couple, ok I added this to clarify that this mashup is just in good humour!)

21. Maan, are you Psycho? No? Then go Nab the Eel with the N (@PsychoMaan & @NabeelN)

22. Ash is Winning, K Gopal? But Saiff is Haute (@ashwinkgopal & @hautesaiff)

23. She's the MD of our company. And her car number plate has 610. But Bee I Noo Y? (@md610 & @beeyaoonoohwhy)

24. Neo! Have you seen Aaragorn? No sir, I only saw this Supra-fast Mario (@NeoAaragorn & @SupraMario)

25. Mujhe Venkat ko dekh kar Ananth ki yaad gayi, said Ramesh to Srivats (@venkatananth & @rameshsrivats)

26. Arrey Takloo! Man I Want a Bitch (@taklooman & @bitchwanti)

27. Tu toh Baavri hogi, but Eshaan Rocks :) (@baavri & @eshaanrocks)

28. The Princess is Defiant. But the Insomniac is Mad (@defiantprincess & @madinsomniac)

29. The Maniac aint Hollow, said Dhruv to Ster up things (@Hollowmaniac & @dhruvster)

30. The Indian is Rofling so much that after acidity O! he wants some Diogene now! (@Roflindian & @diogeneb)

31. Ashok, Krish is Squaring it up with R already, I know (@krishashok & @i_r_squared)

32. Adda ho toh Aantel Nair jaisa, said PB (@aanteladda & @PBNair)

33. I'm Sabbah. So what? I'm Kapur, said Shweta (@imsabbah & @ShwetaKapur)

34. She Suddenly saw Twilight, with the Fairy dancing away (@suddentwilight & @twilightfairy)

35. Oh G, I am the Rojo with the Mojo. So don't call me a Khamba (@gkhamba & @mojorojo)

36. I don't have Efin Time to Live, and that aint a Pun, Vati (@livetimefe & @punvati)

37. To B or not to B, 50 times? (@b50)

38. Mere Karan aur Arora aayenge, inspite of the autocratic Regime of the Kapo (@KaranArora & @Kapo_Regime)

39. She's Crazy about the Shutter, said Nik with the Ster-eo (@ShutterCrazy & @nikster)

40. Kuch Bhi Candi? Nam badalti rehti hai (@Kuch_Bhi and her earlier handle @candinam)

41. San-s Daddy, there can't be a sun Tan-tan on the beach, Noo? (@daddy_san & @tantanoo)

42. So Nel, no Nniums for you? (@nelsonnium)

43. She's the Chick who knows Raap music, said Tany as she told he Tales (@RaapChick & @tanytales)

44. Thea! Long live the Ale! Don't forget to Splurge on the Star though, she said for the 7th time (@Aletheaf & @splurgestar7)

45. Aa! I saw a Kanga-Roo four times! (@aaroo4)

46. This is a Mad uni-Versity! No Gabbar, this is Singh-sesational (@madversity & @GabbbarSingh)

47. Mom! See what an Imp she is! And so are you, Nimue (@ImpsMom & @nimue_)

48. Rafael Nad-al went Mad (@mad_nad)

49. C Priyanka, you have seen the iPhone 19 times. But its still Fresh (@priyankac19 & @iphonefresh)

50. Tharo naam Sunaina hai K? Haan ji, I can take Kriti-cis-M (@sunainak & @Kritism)

51. Roy, you have committed no Cin, said the L-shaped Priya (@RoycinD & @priyal)

52. Arrey Mihir, please play the Bijuriya song, Sulbha told him (@MihirBijur & @SulbhaArora - a couple who met on Twitter and are set to tie the knot soon)

53. Satan! Have you seen Bhagat? No saar, he's giving some Illegal Briefs (@SatanBhagat & @IllegalBriefs - what he was known as a for a while)

54. So it's a Comic Project, but for that you have to Fly! You Fools! (@thecomicproject & @Flyyoufools)

55. What's for Sup-per, MM? (@SupMM)

56. A Traveller was looking for a map, so she went to the Kartographer (@a_traveller & @krtgrphr)

All this was done in good humour only and not to make fun of people in a sarcastic fashion. Also, I may not be following a couple of the users mentioned but their mentions have appeared a lot on my timeline, hence the liberty :)

I met you only once, but it seemed I knew you since ages...

As I sit and write this, strains of the popular song 'Roop Tera Mastana' from the 1960s movie 'Aradhana' waft from the neighbouring computer. I remember you. The man who composed the music for this song - Sachin Dev Burman - may not be so relevant in this context, but it is the man who assisted Sachin 'karta' - his son Rahul aka Pancham - whose name springs to my mind. You were a diehard fan of Pancham. You had the careerspan of Pancham on your fingertips. You simple swore by his music. There was never a dull moment for you when his compositions used to play, or so you told us.

I met you in person only once - part of a huge crowd which had gathered to seek your 'darshan' at the popular Park Street cafe Flurys. It was crowded as usual for a weekend, but you had asked me to arrange for a table. But the moment I mentioned your name to the staff there, they got about arranging for a table. As you came and asked me: 'kemon achish?', it seemed I was talking to the doting uncle who was asking for his nephew. That was the first and last time I met you. And that was more than another evening for me, as I recall it now.

I have been a moody and disobedient child. I find it difficult to take orders. Which is what got me into an argument someone much older than me on Twitter (which is where I 'met' you for the first time). The person told me not to say things online which did not suit her sensibilities. I retorted that no one owns the online forum. Which is where, you stepped in and told me: 'If I told you to stop, would you disobey me?' I don't know how, but I instantly stopped. And the day next, I apologised to the person, which is when you patted my back by saying: 'Yes son, you have grown up'. And that's how, you became a father-figure for me, like so many of my friends on Twitter.

As I sit and write this, fighting back my tears, coming to terms with the fact that I will never be able to hear those words of encouragment from you, I know that you will rebuke me if I break down. Korbo, lorbo, jeetbo - those three words are ringing in my ears. There were these moments as well, when I let my angst out on Twitter and told you how I'm unable to cope with my working hours, and how you told me: 'When my back is against the wall, I demolish it....and don't give up so soon.' Yes, I will follow those words to the core.

You were a Ladies' Man on Twitter. But there was never a moment when one could pointer a finger at you and say you were being cheap. You had that innate ability, that flair to turn the smallest of conversations online into a colourful discussion, without making it an argument that would end up spewing hatred all around.

There are people I know, online and offline, who have known and interacted with you much more than I have. Maybe I don't deserve to write this post at all, because I started following you on Twitter much later than our common friends there. But then, I could not stop myself, as I remember your last words to me just a couple of days before: 'Now you know what Calcutta means to me?'

Yes, now I know what the world and the people around you meant to you. You were, are and will remain the Emperor of our hearts Abhijit Da.

Walking Down The Aisle, Literally

Workplace romance may not be a very new concept exactly. But, there are times when the couples concerned start taking it too literally. In such cases, the events that follow give you some much needed break from the heartburn that you nurse after blowing up that humongous amount of money on flop movie in the nearest multiplex. Consider the example of an airhostess getting married to a pilot as an example. How would the chants of the officiating priest sound? Maybe something like this:

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome aboard Knotical Mile Airways, Flight 42+69. Today we are here to celebrate the happy union of Long Legs with Ray-Ban Eyes. Please follow the instructions carefully as I, Jet Lageshwar, lead you through this happy occasion. We will be covering the distance in approximately ten days, 62 hours. There are NO exits in the aircraft if we encounter turbulence. For the bride, there are special masks called Retail Therapy fitted above the seats, which drop down if the groom starts eyeing the other airhostesses with more precision. The groom would be requested to help the bride wear her mask instead of him giving it futile, mid-air trials. At the back of every seat, there is a booklet on surviving disasters like 125 decibel shouts at 5am - I request the groom to go through it carefully.

We will be providing you with refreshments on board free of cost, but we will expect you to return the favour with at least a kilo of onions and fake gold jewellery. Please feel free to use your mobile phones even when the aircraft is taking off or landing, but make sure your conversation is about the latest car or at least the Scotch whiskey bottle that you gave for dowry at the wedding of your child. Or, if your boy or girl has reached marriageable age but is yet to find a suitable match, feel free to send me the profile at jet.lageshwar@tharkimatrimony.com. I will be happy to help at the best rates on offer in the market.

Here's Jet Lageshwar wishing the couple and everyone else on board a very happy journey.

Not A Mirage

H did not have a clue when the call or chat conversation had ended (like most other things in his life). But he realised well in time that he had overslept and missed breakfast. Since his work hours were not the usual 9-5 routine, his parents normally left for their daily grind by the time he got up. But, today was an exception. On emerging from his room around 12, he noticed a sticky note at the dining table from his mother: ‘Don’t forget to have your lunch, and heat it before you eat.’ Like most mere mortals of his ilk, H did suffer from forgetfulness. But till now, it had been merely occasional and limited to a few bouts here and there. In the last few days and months, the frequency had been going up. And everyone but him had started taking note of it. H had started becoming listless, impatient and losing track of conversations too often. Not that he was particularly known as a great jabberwocky, but his increasingly monosyllabic stance to things in general had taken his parents, if not anyone else, by some alarm (they still did not want to ring it).

But in his subconscious strata of the brain, H knew the real story. All his mental faculties were no focused on the virtual, rather than the real. He had created his own Second Life, and was freely dabbling in it, maybe for the sake of an experiment which had started to overstep its boundaries. His world of social networking was the arena where he felt more confident to interact, and more gullible at the same time, because of the invisible garb of innocence he always wore. And the frequent pangs of happy times spent with his ex-girlfriend were contributing to it in a great amount. Though H had crossed the age of teen angst, the hormones still used to act up once in a while.

As he was figuring his next move, he was looking at the pile of uneaten fruits on the table – his breakfast that could not be. He was thinking of a suitable explanation to give to Mom, who would surely call him to ask about this when he was at work. This did annoy him mildly, but he had learnt to ignore it, ever since she had been promoted as the vice-principal of the school she had been teaching in for the last 15 years.  Her work hours had now become longer than his own, and she was not at an age when the load could be integrated into her system effortlessly. H’s maternal grandmother’s death a few months back was not helping things either. Didun  (as H called his grandma)  was a sort of mental sink for H and his mother. And she seemed to have a solution for everything. For someone who did not have a sneeze throughout her life, the sudden arrival of leukaemia to take her away was more than a rude shock for H and his family. Hence, H now knew that he, more than anyone else, would have to be steady for his mom’s sake.

He decided to nibble on the banana, while he switched on some peppy music on his computer. After all, his daily dose of heady music (apart from his back exercises) could not be missed. Half an hour after he barely managed to finish the banana and was done with his exercises, he stole a glance at the newspaper. “Right, the headlines are in place,” he said to himself. Working on the newsdesk of a paper with no off on weekends was not the kind of things people his age exactly looked forward to it. But it gave him yet another sort of satisfaction which he only he could fathom (excluding the gushing from relatives when they heard the name of the organisation he was working in).

H was wondering whether to call back his so-called love interest or not. But she would already be at work, even though she always made time to talk to him. Even then, he wanted to let things be for a few more hours at least, so the cesspool of thoughts in his as well as her head could clear up a bit.  So, after his bath, he decided to watch a serious-plot Hollywood movie instead. After all, the broadband internet connection and newly-acquired external hard drive had to be put to good use. This may not seem a normal transition for someone who starts the day with peppy music. But so were H and his mood swings. As the movie was starting, H stole a few seconds to check his Twitter timeline. Mihir and Sulbha had posted a picture of themselves from a party last night. The happiness awas oozing on the couple’s faces, which everyone had taken note and was complimenting them on it. He decided to contribute his two pennies too, in spite of the mild jealousy that recently-broken up individuals feel by looking at happy couples at times. He also noticed a sudden increase in his follower count. Had he accidentally spoken about his feelings for his Twitter friend publicly? Or was he just hallucinating? But then, he looked again at the follower count. And surely, this was not a mirage.