My professional life is facing turmoils .. I am not getting long enough calmness to complete 'A Happy Yore' within a week or two to come. The following may hint you about it:

Mercenary

Cuts and bruises, new and open,
Those too rubbed with salt and lemon,
Do not humble a mercenary, but!
When relinquishes, or is driven to shun.

A Happy Yore

The 29th November 2009, it was an attempt for a PSU job that I was in the Jadavpur University Campus, Kolkata. The 2:30 hr written examination for a position of Mechanical Engineer in BHEL went past in a jiffy while filling the mendacious yet alluring bubbles. Several college buddies were there whom I avoided, some could not be avoided and one or two there were not to be avoided. Shashi, my ex-room mate was in the third category, was there interested more in receiving his big brother, Mani bhaiya who had flown from Bnglr to Kolkata that day. He was on his home bound trip and the schedule included a night at Shashi’s place back Haldia for a booze night.

The bubbling job was over by 12:30 pm and when I was pushing through the crowd to be comfortably out of the place, it struck me how much, young engineers long for a government job, secure, glossy, paying, facilitating and more than that less demanding. There is always a sense of competition remaining after these exams end. Most of the people rub shoulders to cling to some public conveyance means to get away from the place and get rid of the post exam horrible feelings. The resources deplete fast and auto walas and taxiwalas make merry those Sundays. But I was not in much hurry. I had my 17:30 Steel Express ticket in my wallet. And I knew that some how I will find butchering time tough for at least a couple of hours or even more later the day.

Anyway, I and Shashi emerged out of the university gate which just faces the Jadavpur bus stand across the road. Just there we were hit by a college junior (she happens to be the girl friend of our common friend Lala), she was desperately waiting for TCS to end her corpulent father’s money days for the past 6 months. We chatted for a while there which did not concern anything which I consider chat-able. It was chiefly decorated by how she was not missing any of the recent movies and how well her still to join anywhere Kolkata college friends keep meeting, et al. All the while I kept looking at her with amazement trying to decipher what makes them talk like that. I kept my inadvertent inquisition in my belly and gestured that I was in great hurry. That reminded Shashi of his brother who was waiting for him at the Howrah Station and we crossed the road.

But that blubber talk gave us vital information about a CTC bus scheduled to leave the bus stand 1o’clock. It’s not only that I and Shashi were seated decently but the promptness with which the bus left the stand, I knew that after Shashi departs, time will kill me. I was sincerely hoping that the bus moves slowly and keeps on getting held at traffic lights and jams. To my despair Sunday Kolkata did not offer any such resistance to the bus and coming boredom. In 35 minutes we were at the station. Shashi inserted himself in one of the queues for local train ticket to Haldia and asked me to locate his brother around the Food Plaza in the station complex. Though the food plaza is not very far from the ticket counter, I took a longer route to arrive there and locating Mani bhaiya wasn’t tough. He was waiting by the front wall beside the entrance of the railway restaurant as if he was Enrique Iglesias. We talked obvious formalities and waited for Shashi to join us. Mean while I knew that one of his friends is expected and we will have lunch.

Shashi took 15 min to come and when I came back after taking four thali coupons Mani bhaiya’s friend was there too. After munching on the lunch brothers were off to Haldia. I bade goodbye to Mani bhaiya’s friend there itself and walked.

My watch was just beyond 15 minutes after 2 o’clock. I had this question loud in my mind, ‘What now?’ I had more than 3 hours to spend and my only resource was my ipod. The chief limitation was my blanket laden backpack. I usually do not sit on a railway platform; I keep roaming here and there to tick the time away. I decided against sitting this time too and moved out of the station to have a smoke. It lasted only 5 min against 30 minutes as it seemed.

No problem! Rafi Saab was going on and I was inching every platform. I was enjoying the melodies, trying to observe each and every detail my ambiance had to offer. There are a lot of thought catching activities going on a platform every possible minute of our stay, rats to dogs, ties to rags, trains to trolleys, pullers to pushers, skirts to burkas, feet niked to bares, smiles to frowns, laughs to cries, anaemia to obesity, footpath to GAP and all patterns of facial hair to name a few. I was happy some where that I was cruising through my waiting time before the ipod went silent. It had run all night and was drained off electrochemical power. It was not 3 yet. Suddenly my bag became heavier like I cannot take it any longer.

Howrah station has two portions, old and new connected by a walk over bridge. South and South East bound trains leave from the new side. My train was also expected on the new side. So I moved towards the new side. I had better chances of getting a seat there as crowd picks up there usually late in the evening and nights. I walked to the wheeler and gave a casual glance around. Asked for book I have long been enquiring about at stalls, failing to recognize my demand the shop owner shifted attention to more potential customers. I kept on looking for something that could interest me sufficiently long in continuation. I pointed out this compilation of quotations, “Dictionary of Quotations” by some Alfred John. Flipping through some pages and after going through the back cover I decided to buy it. “The quotations were from luminaries from various walks of life encapsulating the most profound wisdom, ideas, ideals, dreams, sentiments and truths of man kind arranged alphabetically and subject wise.”, as it said. I was so tired that I did not argue the way I habitually do while bargaining.

I was lucky as I located an elderly couple vacating a pair of seats around the corner and I almost fiercely captured it. Positioned my bag and with a fulfilling glance all around opened my pastime.

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Some notable ones are following;

Let us, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
--------------------- H.W. Longfellow

It is not the ape, nor the tiger in a man that I fear, it is the donkey.
----------------Thomson

The world is governed more by appearances than by realities so that it is fully as necessary to seem to know something as to know it.
------------Daniel Webster

What in me is dark
Illumine, what’s low raise and support;
That to the height of this argument
I may assert eternal providence
And justify the ways of God to Men
----------John Milton

A good man can be stupid and still be good. But a bad man must have brains.
--------Maxim Gorky (My Fav. Author)

If you get simple beauty and naught else,
You get about the best thing God invents.
----------Robert Browning

The goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness.

------------Shakespeare

Why is that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral. It is because we are not the person concerned.
------------Mark twain

A blind man is a poor man, and a blind a poor man is; for the former seeth no man, and the later no man sees.
------------H.W. Longfellow

The best of what little I managed to go through while in full consciousness:

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When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and their shadows deep
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrow of your changing face.
-----------W.B. Yeats

The content seemed very virtuous and entertaining to me and I went through thick and fast. All know that heavy articles demand slow movement through natural means and if denied co-operation cause fatigue and early failure of the resources. I was in dire need of refreshment amidst increasing chaos, both native and produced by the nature of my ambiance. I already had my allergic rhinitis bout right through the day. Right then the broom disturbed the settled dust on the floor raising clouds I don’t fancy breathing in. I already was short of nose wipes and had again to stroll with bag on my back and hand masking my nose.

While entering ‘Comesum’ for a coffee, more for therapeutic relief than refreshment I sneezed every 8-10 steps. After putting my bag down in a corner I took my black sugarless coffee mug in one hand and pulled out my hanky with another with a view to avoid any potential embarrassment with my sneezes on. The coffee seemed to work soon and the frequency went down with only my running nose left to manage. I looked here and there while slowly enjoying the coffee. The place was buzzing with people and I was forming images about them. Some were noticeable some were not but I noticed them all, not out of shear meaning of noticing them but to pass through the two eternal hours. I noticed people talking over phones and there are inestimable ways they do that. From age to holding style, from volume to gender there are various constituents to this analogy of zebra pattern. I minced through my void thoughts and titled my mug perpendicular to have the last viscous drop of coffee when a group of young seemingly professional women entered the café.

They did not seem to be very connected with each other but moved in as a group if there was some unscripted and established agreement. Some of them moved to the counter and the show case to enquire about the offerings, the rest were either stationary or moving discreetly, one or two whispering over phones. I found them decently and fashionably clad with an air of urbane and feminine perfumery. Although I had a sick nose, still the cocktail of the fragrances was detectable. An idea struck me when I saw a very stylish and sophisticated phone in one of those hands.

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Continuing from last post ..... .... ... .. .

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The next moment my left hand plunged into the left pocket of my jeans and pulled out my Sony Ericsson S312, ‘yeh sirf dikhta mahnga hai’ type of phone. I rampaged the keypad, Main Menu >> Connectivity >> Bluetooth >> Turn ON >> Search for Devices.

Eventually the green bar progressed to fetch me some 7-8 names.

Vishal
Gopi
Nokia **
Nazeef Khanum
Virus
…

…

The rest of the names I have forgotten just like we forget the mango pieces after picking a ginger piece from a mixed pickle bottle. I eye picked up the one loquacious name from the list and scanned the space around me as if I had some miraculous capability to recognize any stranger from the name of his/her Bluetooth device itself. The name deemed off any masculine traits and in my belly I had already inferred that she was one from of the fragrant bunch. I had not needed this amount of courage whole my life as in to ping her on Bluetooth. After finger combing my dull dark brown hair and wiping facial oil with one hand and phone in another up my face and mustering sufficient courage I selected the name ‘Nazeef Khanum’ and entered the pass code as ‘123’. And with ‘waiting for Nazeef Khanum to accept’ on my phone screen I started to check faces for the expected facial slide show in people with phones in their hands.

She was the third or fourth face as I remember and had a phone in her hand which had just beeped. She reacted late to her Nokia beep and seemed astonished by the involuntary beep and shake. She may not be in a habit of many incoming text messages, I guessed. She must have seen ‘NimbusNomadic’ waiting to be accepted or rejected asking her to enter a pass code which she had no idea about.

‘Had it been some other creature I would have let the Bluetooth saga pass unnoticed by cancelling the proposal from my side’ I think now. The couple of seconds after which her nerve cells transferred the vibration and sound to her brain and deactivated the then thoughts going on I took to visually confirm the identity and declined to retreat from the stage of my ‘kill boredom’ endeavor.

What Next? I made my presence prominent enough by moving slightly in her direction with my eyes shuttling between my phone screen and her face. This rally was broken when I was noticed within 3 mtr of approach and I gestured with phone in my hand as if she was waiting for me.

“It’s me, and the pass code is 123” pointing to myself waved my palm feebly to her.

At first she could not understand if it was she I was addressing to, then she took half a step backwards in possible self defense or controlling her stature when approached by a stranger. The facial expression she adorned that moment would remind anybody of the baby faces encountering bearded and ugly friends of their fathers. Then out of amazement and with a sense of harsh interrogation she asked, “kya?” .

We were so apart from each other that if we both would have extended hands to each others' the middle fingers had chances of touching. Such was the gap between many possibilities and combination of incidences. I knew the persuasion part was the toughest and needed the best attention and care, appropriately sculpted words with certain fluidity but prompt and calculated pauses. The after-effects of mishandling the situation could have fetched severe results, as roasted as blue and black public beating. My mind and body went fluttering like our tricolor does on our politicians’ cars; though I went on neglecting it just in the same fashion they neglect the flag. Such was her appearance that experiencing the apparent chastity tempted me to the extent of getting dragged to her. My throat felt paralyzed and my tongue uttered the words coming from some unknown depth over riding the throat.

“Please ! Pareshan na hon. I am Ahmad. mera aisa koi irada nahi hai jisse aapko mushkil hogi . main kafi der se is jagah pe apni train ke intezaar mein hun, joki five thirty ko scheduled hai. Abhi bamushkil sarhe teen baje hain aur main already itna bor ho chukka hun ke station ki yeh ghadi sharma jaegi. Kya main aapse thodi der baat kar sakta hun.” I gushed though it.

She was about 5-3, With rich flawless skin in good sub continental fairness and facial features which we don’t get to see every other day in our neighborhoods, her not very long tresses were mono-clutched strong and low, looked sharp and elegant in her gray white wavy striped kurta with little embroidery and small black bead work along the simple non-revealing neck, borders and sides and a regular long necked monte carlo cardigan. It’s an old saying in England that if you want to know about a person look at the shoes. They were not exuberant but smart, shiny and silent. Not many people do justice to their names, yet very few of them are in complete harmony. ‘Nazeef’ in urdu means ‘Nafees’ or ‘Nafasat-wala’, in English I can interpret it as ‘one with exquisite finesse’.

I saw countless expressions, just as many as can be attributed to a subtle face humanly possible in 100 years of once life time, flash after flash. Her face changed all colors fair indian skin can exhibit ranging from red to yellow tone oozing from underneath. She ended up with a frowning frame with touches of anger and amazement.

“Kya?” then after a saliva swallowing pause she asked with prominent rage, “Aapko kaise YEH laga ki hum aapse baat karenge? “

I was taken aback and that interrogation sent jitters to my spine, so I went into complete defense with as innocent face I thought I can make. Then with one backfoot cover drive I gave the possibilities one last chance to flourish.

“main janta tha, kisi ko bhi ajeeb lagega”. Then I swallowed for a similar pause.
“koi baat nahi, maine socha ke shayad aapke paas bhi kuchh waqt ho. Bluetooth to ek bahana tha kisi ko dhoondhne ka. Ab mujhe kya pata tha ke yeh aap niklengi aur baat nahi karengi”.

I again swallowed, made my eyes as round as possible and remained silent looking downwards with an offset from her. Oh God! It worked. Eureka! Even in my wildest of dreams I haven’t yet fancied talking to such a feminine human with such craftsmanship, rather draftsmanship, I am an engineer.

I cannot imagine what might have gone through her mind. Had I been in her place I would never have talked to somebody like me. May be she found the place ‘Comesum’ secured enough to have a little adventure. She made a face with high eyebrows squeezed chin and one-fourth of a smile.

“wellllllllllll” she said like a typical girl with deep doldrums
“I am Nazeef……..Nazeef Khanum”
“And I hope ke tum aur baatein nahi karna chahoge jab main yeh kahungi ke main yahan apne husband ka wait kar rahi hun” She tried to dissuade me once again

ANS : phir to theek hai, who gana hai na ‘ye mulaqat ek bahana hai’ isko change kar dete hain aur kahte hain ‘ye mulaqat ek fasana hai’. [Somewhere I didn’t like that announcement, but let it go]

She laughed ….I died.

NK : kya karte ho? Student ? [Still the monotone was there]

ANS : Ek second! Coffee lengi aap?

NK : No thanks! [She pulled out ½ liter BISLERY bottle which was half full, took an unimaginably small gulp. I gazed then guised “where from do these girls get things we don’t usually find, uniqueness and novelty are two statutory requirements of girls what ever be the age..cloths,..accessories…,pens… and even toothpicks. I mean you always get to see new and different items there.” I reordered my coffee.]

ANS : I am a mechanical engineer with TCE, TATA Consulting …………….

NK : TCS? [People always do that, my company fights stiff recognition competition with group company TCS which is widely known to all]

ANS : No. T C E, TATA Consulting Engineers Ltd., we offer consultancy services to engineering projects.

NK : ok (her interest oozed out with my explanation)

ANS : Aur aap?

NK: I am in HRD with ATLAS Healthcare

ANS: HR walon ko bhi naye logon se baat cheet karne ko ITNA (I stressed on it) waqt lagta hai? Tajjub hai... [Then gave a sly smile]


She smiled to my smile even more slyly.

NK: Are aise bhi koi baat karta hai kya? "main bore ho raha hun, gup karengi?"
[She quoted me with 3 ppm drama, it felt melodramatic to me]

ANS: Waise aap ki gadi ko kitni der hai? kahan jana hai , kahin Jamshedpur to nahi chal rahi hain?

[I dont know how to imitate her "NO" in writing. As if Jamshedpur was some place in Sudan. ]

NK: NO! Actually my husband is arriving in Poorva from Delhi. Main jaldi free ho gayi to socha ke yanhi se saath chale jayenge.

ANS: OK
[I nodded like back benchers do in physics classes]

NK: Kya baat karoge? Ab main jaun?

[She was trying to make me feel like she has already granted me 10 million euros, and will not give me more unless I plead for it. They all do this to good men, and they cannot do this to bad men because they fear them.]

ANS: Ab to main yeh bhi janta hun ke aapko bhi intezaar karna hai. Mohtarma agar aap thodi narmiyat se pesh aayen to kya bura hoga. yeh inteha nahi hogi kya ke do log jinme jaan pehchan ho aur wo log yahan alag alag chup chap bore hon.
[I tried authoritativeness.]

NK: Phir bhi baat kya karoge.
[She was adamant]

ANS: Share some sweet sour experiences, I ll narrate one two from my archives and we will soon see your husband coming and my train whistling. If you feel like having a coffee kindly help your self so that main usme kuchh mila na paun. [I laughed and she joined me for the first time, I gestured her to have her coffee]

She returned with lemon tea.

NK: Humesha aise hi karte ho stations pe? kitne logon ne baat ki hai ab tak..

[I was getting furious, but felt misery more than fury in not returning her a befitting reply. but the feeling vanished very quickly because we dont get such beautiful strangers to have coffee over talks]

ANS: Yeh to achchhi mushkil hai. “ho na ho tum chor ho" yeh sochna ladkiyan kab chhodengi. Chaliye main hi shuru karta hun.

[I started with my family background and how well I managed my mediocre academic profile through out and then ended through how amazing was it to talk to a stranger who shares the name with my new nephew. She nodded in between and asked obvious inquisitions, and I tried my best to keep her intrested and entertained with my face and words.It was 4 O'clock. My nose was feeling better and we had run through our drinks which were ghastly different. I asked her if she would like to roam about the place and she declining she reordered her tea and asked me if I would go encore. I suggested her swap of tastes and she agreed. I gave the scenario a twist by making her promise that she would finish the coffee.]

NK: [coughed] kaise peete ho? Isse bekar coffee maine kabhi nahi pi hai.

ANS: Look you cannot blame a machine if you do not know how to operate it. Main bata hun kaise peete hain. Pahle ek ghoont pani le lijiye.[She followed] Now take a small sip and move it around your mouth well before swallowing it to liven up your taste buds and to get acquainted with the burnt taste. ab thodi thandi hone dijiye aur yeh soch ke pijiye ke yehi coffee hai. You will find it better than your creamy cappuccino.

NK: bakwaas

ANS: You have promised to finish it.

NK: Koshish karungi.

ANS: Ab aapki baari hai.

NK: Fine!
[She sighed ...I winked]

NK: Main Bhopal se hun. Mere husband Jabalpur se hain. He is in Reliance Communications. Apni shaadi 4 mahine pahle huyi.[ She intended to finish everything in four brief sentences]

ANS: Affaired ya arranged?

NK: Yeh main tumko kyun bataun?

ANS: OK! As you wish. Main to flattery bhi nahi kar sakta, jaan ke kya kar lunga.

NK: hmmm. baat to hai. Humare yahan families bahot conservative hain. Scope nahi hai love marriage ka.

ANS: I see! I sense a failed endeavor here.

NK: hushh! nahi main bata rahi hun bas..

ANS: chaliye chhodiye. Hobbies?

NK: aaaaaaaaaa .nahi kuchh khaas nahi..

ANS: phir bhi, kuchh to hoga.

NK: kahan yaar . School mein cartoon banati thi... bahot din huye... ab khana banati hun..

[We both laughed. For the first time I saw in her eyes that she enjoyed it. Even after tasting sugarless bitter coffee. I was elated in my heart upon being called 'yaar'.]

NK: tum kya kya karte ho? I mean hobby wise.




ANS: main to bahot kuchh karta hun aur kuchh bhi fruitful nahi karta.kahne ko purane gaane collect karta hun... gana aata nahi hai..gale ko upar wale ne loch se mahroom rakha hai. thoda bahot likhta hun.. to koi padhta nahi hai..driving karna pasand hai ..kabhi kisi rally ka mein participate nahi kar paya... aur kya . bas aisa hi hai.chhote kaamon ke liye bada hun bade kaamon ke liye chhota hun.

NK: ek baat to hai, bahot baatooni ho.

ANS: sabko yehi shikayat rahi hai.

NK: ek baat hai .. ajeeb hai ke humlog aise baat kar rahe hain .. matlab ek dum ajeeb hai.

ANS: Ji haan kal ko aap to bhool jayengi, main afsos karta rahunga ke 4-5 mahine pahle Bhopal ghoom aana chahiye tha.

[I knew I crossed the limit there by some millimeters but she digested it and turned the topic]

NK: Are sabhi chali gayin lagta hai.

ANS: Except them.
[I eye pointed two girls over a distance out side the cafe]

NK: Maan gaye.. aapki paarkhi nazar...

ANS: aur Nirma super dono Ko...
[I completed it and laughed aloud]

NK: matlab main nahi hoti to inme se koi hota kya. Chance le lo yeh unmarried hain.
[She informed]

ANS: Genuinely Unintrested !
[This is one phrase i always use when people suggest me to go after girls] yeh aur baat hai ki I have got keen obsevation and am always aware of activities around me. [I grinned]

I do not really know when we both finished our drinks. At some point which I do not remember while writing I pointed out to her that she has finished her coffee, and she replied with appreciation for the taste the black coffee left.

NK: No. Seriously. aisa din koi kaise bhool sakta hai. pata nahi mere husband ko jab bataungi to kaise react karenge.

ANS: batana zaroori hai kya ?
[I tested her ]

NK: are nahi yaar! yeh to pata chalega ki aise mein kaise react karte hain.

ANS: hmmm .OK it’s up to you. Panga hua to mujhe dosh mat dijiyega. maine kahan kaha tha baat karne ko.

NK: waah ! tum kah kab rahe the tum to ro rahe the.



ANS: chaliye yeh bhi yaad rahega. aaj ke baad kya hum log kabhi baat karenge, kya kahti hain aap.

NK: pata nahi. koi khaas wajeh to nahi dikhti.

ANS: wajeh ho sakti hai.

NK: yaar tum to mera ghar ujaad doge.

ANS: maine mazaq kiya bhai. Then let us mutually decide that we will not exchange phone numbers or email ids. DONE? Khush?

NK: main kaun sa dene wali thi.

ANS: aap baat mat kijiye aap ki koi chhoti bahen hai to uska number to de dijiye.. yaqeen hai wo kuchh kam nahi hogi aapse.

NK: ladke saare aise hi hote hain, tumne bhi prove kar diya.

ANS: you should work on your humour, it’s an absolute necessity for HR people. I am genuinely unintrested.ladkiyan bhi na ..thodi si taareef huyi nahi ke bas.

NK: chalo chhodo bhi. Train ka waqt ho raha. inhone announcement nahi ki ab tak.

ANS: do minute rukiye main pata karke aata hun? Bag chhod ke jaun?

NK: nahi main ise lekar bhag jaungi.

[ I left my bag with her to make enquiry about Poorva Express and came to know that it was half an hour late and expected around 17:15, I returned to Mrs. N Khanum within a couple of minutes and announced. ]

ANS: hazrat adha ghanta late hain.

[Hearing it she chuckled and I knew more about her with that chuckle. It said a lot more than she wished to tell a stranger. She longed to see him and even 30 minutes of delay sank her heart for a while, very quickly then she switched from our chit chat to an Indian muslim woman waiting for her husband to come. In a couple of seconds she came back to senses and became aware that she was guarding a stranger's bag.]



ANS: Shall we have one more tea and coffee round?

NK: Nahi yaar ab rahne do. [She was in no mood for that]

ANS: Aa hi rahe hain na. Indian Stretchable Time se zyada umeed nahi rakhte , yeh to bhala hai ki sirf aadhe ghante ki baat hai.
[I tried to cheer her up a bit and it brought her a ppm scale smile]

NK: haan kar bhi kya sakte hai. Tumhari train bhi to aane wali hogi.

ANS: abhi waqt hai

NK: maza aaya yaar . naya kuchh experience kiya maine.

ANS: ab aapko kya bataun aap se poochhte waqt meri kya halat thi. Sau saal ka Buddha bhi kam thartharata hoga.

NK: but you looked confident

ANS: who to main hi janta hun. achchha aap bataiye us waqt aap kya soch rahi theen. Sach boliyega

NK: Pahle to laga ke tum paise mangoge ye kahke ke paise khatm ho gaye hain ghar jana hai. Phir laga ke tumhari niyat kharab hai. Scene ban jata is liye maine socha chalo khud hi handle kar leti hun, kafi bheed hai yeh dekh kar dari nahi. Phir dheere dheere samjhi ke , tumhari language mein, koi panga nahi hai.

ANS: wow. Upar wale ne shakl thodi behtar di hoti to shayed shuruati impression different hota. Anyway nimbusnomadic.blogspot mera blog hai, uspe kuchh kuchh likhta hun. Tabiyat hogi to padhiyega.

NK: main aage tumse koi baat nahi karne wali. Tumne hi decide kiya hai.

ANS: I know. Who is telling you to talk to me..just visit the webpage if you feel so. I am doing marketing for my composition. Is my message conveyed clearly?

NK : yes yes . I got it.

ANS: I know you will not remember a letter of the web address. Had I been a salesman instead of an engineer I would have been a very assertive one. Write it down somewhere.

NK: bolo
[she opened her cellphone and waited while looking me. I spelled the web address and she saved it.]

It was 17:10, and I was internally setting myself up to depart.

ANS: Mrs. Khanum, I will treasure this conversation, every minute of it. You don’t know how it has served me as a life saving drug.

NK: hmm.. ja rahe ho.?

ANS: Haan ji, aap kahen to shreeman ji ke aane tak ruk jaun. Bas train daud ke pakadni hogi.

[we both laughed for the last time there, I picked up my bag and mounted it on my back. We left the café together.]

ANS: phir kahin mile to baat karni hai kya?

NK: Bore hote hue mile to sochungi.
[She smiled ... I returned]

I extended my palm to be hit in reciprocation, She did it.

NK: Thanx for your coffee. Bahot gandi thi.

ANS: taste yaad rahega madam!Chalta hun.
ALLAH HAFIZ.

NK: ALLAH HAFIZ

I turned away from her and started to walk. I had barely gone 50 mtr. and it felt that she had followed me to some distance. I turned to see her. She was gone in the crowd, nowhere to be located. I even strained to the place where I left her but she was not there. It was like a child losing a white and round pebble which he had picked from sea side sand. In desperation I waved my hand in her direction to bid adieu to the air there and a hand popped out of the crowd that waved to me.


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I could not recall the whole conversation, the above conversation is as much as I managed to remember in exact frames.

The following text in red is solely and intentionaly written for Mrs.Nazeef Khanum, if this webpage ever faces her.

“This is an apology for featuring and describing you without your approval in my writing. I am completely aware of the chances of mayhem it may create in your life and have chosen my words which looked suitable to me.I thought of changing your name here but the essence seemed vaporizing. If anything deems unfit to you for public reading I would be glad if you bring it to my notice.”

SORRY

I thank you to have such an enchanting chat with me.

---- NimbusNomadic

What Can Be Done To Promote Communal Harmony in India

Before starting to fix or troubleshoot a system, what we need to have is clear understanding or better we call it the feel or need to do this. We need to go to the grass root levels of the cause and effect analysis. And even prior to that we must know where we want to reach. Through this small piece of writing we will try to analyze the communal harmony status of India as well as see its different facets in order to improve upon the present situation.

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What do we understand by these two words, i.e. 'communal harmony'? What most people get from them in connection to India is peaceful coexistence of people having faith in different religions and predominantly between Hindus and people following Islam. Obviously it is one of the major issues when talking of harmony in India, but is not the only one. Our country can be divided into so many communities for different reasons, like on the basis of religion, as we are a country of the largest number of religions coexisting under the same roof and here lies the greatness of our country. All those religions are further categorized into different communities and are called caste. People have also divided themselves for the corner of the country they belong to and the languages they speak. People from one financial status segregate themselves from the weaker sections; here is where the gap is widening these days like never before. If fine tune our search for community divides we may even minimize to working/labor class and executive class or corporate sector community and public sector community. Following the 'major few and not trivial many' rule we should concentrate on the aforementioned major issues.

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Let the communities based on religion be taken first. We have suffered irreparable losses in the years past due to this disharmony cause. What we i.e. the youth of the country can do is to cultivate the basic human values all over again. We need to tell ourselves and to the masses that doing harm or hurting somebody just for the reason that one hails from a different hierarchy or ancestors is so very unjustified. No religion or holy book has ever advocated it. What religion do we follow if we keep on doing things which is so strongly detested by our own religion? There are two options one may have to one's disposal, either follow your own religious teachings honestly and truly and then try to be a good human (well following any religion truly always makes one a better human) or have the values of a good human being and then go for your religion.

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If we succeed in preaching and practicing this much we can surely establish harmony between followers of different religions, as each individual must enjoy the basic right to follow a religion of his/her choice but peacefully in our country.

Each religion is divided into several castes for the reasons which don't sound relevant enough in this modern era. It is seen these days that people are free to work in the domains of their choices and are not bound to follow their fathers and forefathers or what their caste implies for. When the fundamental basis of caste system has not remained relevant for which castes were made, I ask a single question to the readers, why follow it? We should encourage ourselves to be a disbeliever of caste system. Inter-caste marriages should be encouraged. We should feel and propagate the sense to the current generation and future generations that caste system is history and it no longer exists.

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Let us come to the regional divides. So many states and many more spoken languages and scripts, the world is talking of globalization then how come we Indians stick to issues based on small topographical issues? We used to be a bigger India but got divided on these issues, division doesn't strengthen a rope then will it ever strengthen a country? Division always weakens things. A Tamil runs his business in Delhi speaking Punjabi, an Assamese and a Kannad discussing matters in Gujarati in a conference room in Ahmedabad or a Bihari owning a South Indian café in Panjim wooing customers in Konkani et al, it should not be a great fuss. We should explore our whole country and then we will come to know that this country has far too many things to be proud of than selfishly singing the regional songs in our own backyards. At first we are Indians and then we belong to elsewhere, and this must apply to the whole population. This feeling of national integrity should be propagated, our feelings should be reflected through our social actions, and this is how it should always be like. Respecting people and their languages never costs anything.

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My readers may find my approach somewhat offbeat, as this bit of writing is devoid of facts, figures and examples. It really does lack them. But what I advocate is that the issue we have been discussing here has got a different purpose, its our duty to visualize and make others visualize the India we have always dreamt of, a country sans all disparities and difference, a country of love, devotion and harmony. Together we, the Indian youth who certainly have all the flairs needed to turn the dream into reality, come on, make our India!

La-unwaan

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I dont know if it is justified to put the following here,
these are some of my comments to different posts on
http://www.beenish-mycreations.blogspot.com/ .

Mohabbat

Faani kisi shay se mohabbat bhi kya, na karen
Mohabbat se mohabbat ka ek bar to yun aaghaz karen

Intezaar

Fareb nahi ke har dum mein wasf-e-interzaar nahi hota
Na yeh ke lutf-e-intezaar mein intezaar nahi hota

Friendship

Do char nageene rahe zindagi mein chun liye humne
Kuchh asli kho diye aur kuchh naqli rakh liye humne

Khwahishein

bala ki mushkilon mein ek kwahish thi basar karti
socho inke ghayebane mein woh bechari kahan rahti

Saathi

kaifiyat yeh ke jab hon paas takleef hi nahi hoti
aur agar na hon to is alalat ki koi dawa nahi hoti

Ghazab Kiya Tere Waade Pe Aitebaar Kiya

Eitemaad se khali hai yeh rasm wada lene dene ki
Yeh shay hi hai aitebaar ke ewaz kharch hone ki

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Show Up My Love!

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Already been into times kind and rough
All through sans you and feeling much
Wait for your face my paint and brush
Show up my love, I have waited enough

Deny my dreams a hearty laugh
Void of your image to rejoice about
Where every next shadow puts me in doubt
Show up my love, I have waited enough

Seeing through this fog is what is tough
Become my sight and turn me blind
I see you and not else of whatever kind
Show up my love, I have waited enough

I have the faith so I take this bluff
All day all night its you by my side
I have you with me in each stride
Show up my love, I have waited enough.

Hitch

There is this peculiar thing I felt after scribbling a few compositions in this lean blogging phase of mine. When ever I go through them taking some moments off after putting them down, I do not like them as much as I do while writing them. My father says it is natural for some people who keep cooking things long after taking away the heat. I do not know if what he says applies to me.

At the same time however banal or topsy turvy my writings may look to me afterwards, I make it a point in not making any amendments to them, that way the creation may still be losing altitude and the very original idea may die which is just averse to the basic need of writing.

A Late Dream

"It Slipped under and I kept frozen
The best went past before I could know
I was changing and changed my ambiance too
Saw it well when I was good seven,

Seemed as if the very law was broken
Who was moving and what was stationary
It was me who always won and kept merry
It kept slipping while I was twenty one,

The panorama changed and looked bit rusty
The slip felt slow with my added weight
Watching the odyssey by my side was my mate
I was stable and talked with wit in forty,

It felt fast again when I was in shawls
The speed was taking the plasters off the walls
When differed I returned with frowny snarls
Playing again with dolls I was out of rolls,

'The slip stops' was what I was praying
The worst would not pass as I guised."
Would it be the end when I realised ?
I was still there and the time was swaying.

The Conjured Poet ......Ends Here

Finn had never fancied some situation to be like this. He tried to speak, cleared his throat but could muster anything as there was not much for him to say. All he could manage was to give her an affirmative nod in reply.

That night Fin was sitting with May and Tim in their hut around a kerosene lamp. While eating they talked bout how they felt seeing each other when unacquainted. Finn asked Mary about Tim’s disappearance from the port and how do they manage their chorus after that.

They talked for hours together and Finn got stuck when Mary narrated him the way they landed on the island. She saw in his eyes when he heard this with amazed ready to spill eyes. Mary felt much quizzed about this and could not stop before asking him, what in the whole episode of ship wreck made him so troubled.

Finn could not control himself over her inquisition and told her about his son who was on the ship that night among the crew. His son was the ship cook who also went down with the ship. Mary could remember now the cheerful and obedient cook who gave candies and honey from the kitchen store. Being reminded of those days they both wept that night.

The next morning slum people saw Finn in the middle of Mary and Tim holding their hands and walk up the shore. After some days Finn left his painful job and opened a small shop selling shell souvenirs made by the children. Mary and Tim got a guardian in Finn and he got his family back. Mary stopped singing in the bars and Finn never wrote again.

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The Seventh Stone

Passed them over singing every dawn
As they watched her year after year
Mynahs untroubled as she came near
Perched on her favorite seventh stone


Brought them daily spring on her way
Spreading colors and their fumes
Every leaf knew the songs and tunes
And every pebble had seen her gray

First they saw her with her mother
Carrying the flowers in smaller a basket
With peeking over her shoulder a puppet
Losing the mother she saw them bother


She always caught around one farmer’s cart
On the wooden bridge mostly while passing
Once stood robust with the seventh facing
And saw through the son playing his part


The raining morning of the night she died
The broken bridge denied the cart to cross
What gift of monotony in the colors of moss!
Smiled the milestone as everyone cried.

The Conjured Poet .........Contd.

Events slowly caught the usual route as time started flying by. Finn forgot the inn incidence and Mary had countless things to take care of especially concerning Tim. The slum children had eyes hovering around Tim for some time now as his shorts always tinkled with coins when he ran around with them on the beach. Some ambitious and relatively older lads followed him with cruel penchant. Now and then Tim would return empty with marks of struggle. Chiding him Mary asked him to fear not for some time and told him to face the sand laden wind across his face. Then she came up with some of her feminine strategies, of evading the scene by showing up too early and advised the same for his exits. They worked little and Tim’s appearances around tourist ships and boats were diminished to being a tourist himself. He watched those boys dive from a distance with an eye of a spectator watching a ball game being a player himself.

Soon Tim was seen collecting tiny sea shells for her sister’s meticulous job of beading them into cheap saleable shapes. He found selling those articles tougher than taking deep breaths and diving into water for coins. He still fancied standing upon the deck scaffolding and making his sun tanned slender body erect into a splash into water. Now he would topple his own coins and watch them disappear, then dived for them often losing them. Still his sister was very happily contended as they were safer now.

Finn and his situation did not change much. He cursed himself for having nothing to earn his living from but the labor of emptying and filling goods boats with heavy logs, coal, salt and more such stuff. Though he kept scripting his dull vibes, idle waiting for good winds to turn up his way.

One evening he was sitting by a beach rock, his knees curled up against his chest and his hands wrapping them holding a paper in front of his eyes. He had just finished writing something on it and was going through it. Then he looked towards the horizon as if listening to the hiss coming from the sun dipping into water where it met the sea. The same time around Tim and Mary were returning to their shack walking on the wet sand with sea water splashing against their feet from time to time. Both were pretty elated going to feast up their whole basket sold that day.

They crossed Finn casting their dark shadows on him and he casually looked towards them. Even Tim and Mary saw him but failed to recognize him from the distance as it was already turning dark and with their own shadows on his face. Mary saw a paper fluttering in air in his hand and suddenly it struck her. “It was the same place around she caught ‘the rose song’ floating like a litter in air, and is this the person who wrote it?” She thought.

Mary could not help self approaching him. A little more than five yards and she recognized the face from the inn as well as the nerd of the slum. This slowed her down, but she had come too far to return. When Finn saw her coming and grew suspicious that she was coming to him he stood up and Mary ended up standing in front of him. For a moment she gazed at him and then sheepishly asked, “Did you write that rose song?”

Smile

Do it in an affirming nod
Or a ‘thank you’ to the God
And if are to stop a cry
Wear it, and go to pry
Call it fun or even care
Can cure sorrow if you dare
Having it the looks so gay
As if dimness fears its ray
Makes the life come so agile

All you need is to smile.

The Conjured Poet ...Contd.

She was a part of a prosperous and distinguished family once, when her father captained a ship called ‘The Northern Mermaid’. Her younger brother, in a chivalrous profession of coin diving was the only member accompanying her on the beach after ‘the mermaid’ got wrecked on a protruding and invisible in dark rock a couple of miles off the coast. There started the penury of these two siblings. Diving earned the lad some coins and sun tan. The girl’s once nice voice gradually coarsened as she rang up every bar on the beach with some old sea songs, like the one in her father’s narration of ‘The Treasure Island’-

‘ Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest—
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’,

as she tried raising her petite voice among the burly sea faring men yelling over their nauseating drinks. The two lived near the beach in a self erected shack as most of their neighbors did. The slum dwellers had among them Mr. Finn, the poor poet. He was one of the few resources of entertainment for the beach children, they mocked, mimed and when at their worst they even pelted him with sea shells and pebbles for his shabby looks and gaudy talks. The siblings, Mary and Tim being the immediate neighbors to Finn also enjoyed the show.
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There was a change the bars saw after Mary got Finn’s poem. Somewhere she identified herself with the winter rose. She would sing ‘The Adventure of a Winter Rose’ whenever she felt like mixed up between sanguinity and glumness. Her employers did not like the change as the atmosphere created by the song and the desire in the bars had a wide rift between them. She was allowed to sing that ‘the rose song’ in the mornings as then the bars used to be scantly occupied.

Finn passed by that inn one sunny morning and he got held around the entrance to catch something on air. The song caught hold of his attention and imagination like a wandering traveler lost while through some jungle starts following the aroma emanating from a musk deer, unconscious and that moment lets him not think of anything else. The atmosphere inside was heavy with the melancholy of the ‘rose song’. Suddenly it struck him, many thoughts flashed across his mind in a moment. He grew impatient to explore the face behind the voice. Mr. Finn advanced slowly in the direction where the voice came from. His gait became startled when he recognized the face. The somber beauty of Mary’s turned into an image of a girl whom he has always seen mocking him. He went up close and Mary’s violin almost touched him. The song lost its charm as Mary got petrified by the presence of the weirdo. Finn’s eyes had thousands of questions for her in that moment which took ages to pass by for Mary. Next moment he rushed out of the rickety place. He was not able to decide in what form he should react, once he feared wild mock that was always in waiting if he prompts the incidence to anybody, at the same time he felt like burgled. Even after his return to his shack the disturbance deceived the sleep out of him and he strolled out to the beach, half asleep.

Finn returned to the senses when his mind could not camouflage the hoots coming from his back. They were young lads who were laughing over Finn’s unmindful walk into the water unaware of the wetness of his ambience. He glanced back to have a look and his eyes got into tete-a-tete with Mary witnessing all from far in her return. It felt to him as if she was saying ‘you deserve this.’ Actually it was only Finn’s idea to apprehend her sight like that.

Mary too got disturbed with different feelings at different times. The thoughts roaming around her mind after her return were different from her reactions in the bar. She was quizzed over the very thought of the descent of Finn to such a place where his whereabouts were till now unheard of, that too in the morning. His entry, stay and exit, all had different essences of mysteries for her. His vibes expressed though his face came back to her again and again, until she had to attend to Tim’s bruises of the coin diving day.

The Conjured Poet .......Contd.

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The Adventure of A Winter Rose

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Scarlet and crimsons enshrined in green

As felt unusually jostled in the crazy endeavor

A winter rose took up some adventure

And never knew the summer was not serene

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Hugs with the fellow buds felt dry and new

And in the womb petals shook with terror

With leave and twigs blowing in hot air

Even the morning breeze carried no dew

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Bloomed and spilled the colors some day

The sun showed valor and sans any mercy

Found everything dull and not so perky

Even the search for fellows brought dismay

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The days to come were even harsher

As the little flower got bruised all over

Jollity vanished and died the adventure

Dried in youth to wait till winter

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She went through it again and again, for once she would gaze at the paper then would look up to look far, God knows what, probably making some face to identify with the writer. Then she folded it countless times, squeezed in her palm and took her stroll back to where she belonged. The gait was different as if the paper had something contagious passed on to the girl.

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The Conjured Poet .......Contd.

This day which he intentionally created for himself was busy being written on a cool morning on a deserted beach rock. All he could see was vast expanse of bluish-green or greenish-blue water, unsure where it was meeting the sky first, he thought 'far east or far west? No! neither, it should be down south, where it has got slight curve.' He saw morning fishermen starting off and getting lost from the what he could see last and watched the night fishermen slowly emerging from the skyline on the prosodic deluge. He saw kids in their birthday suit playing in and out of water and finely dressed lot dressing up the beach now and then.

He fell asleep on the rock and his paper moved from beneath as the pen he kept on it rolled down the rock and the breeze floated it far, untill somebody started chasing it. Finally the paper was in her hand and she was wondering over the content as she went through it. It started like.....................