A Conceited dream II (story)

"At the stroke of midnight",he said, "while the world sleeps, India will wake to life and freedom."
It's 12 on my watch now. It's the same midnight hour, 68 years from then.

The grand occasion of 69th year of Indian Independence was here already and Smriti hadn't a slightest idea of what to write next. She dropped her pen on the notebook which had a few lines that weren't making any sense, placed it beside her pillow and dozed off to sleep.

His face seemed similar; dark brown sunken eyes under bushy eyebrows on a rather pale countenance. Smriti had her doubts until she saw a rose in the person's left chest pocket of the coat he was wearing.
"Why are you here sir?", she asked.
"It's your dream. How am I supposed to know why I'm here", said the figure in a bold and bossy voice.
"How should I stop my dream?", asked Smriti, getting a little offended with the reply.
"In my times, we used to pinch ourselves",spoke the figure, still viewing Smriti with eyes that seemed grave but manifested themselves as belonging to a great thinker and scholar.
Smriti pinched herself. Nothing happened. She was still there in the room that she had never been to, standing with the first Prime Minister of India, Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru. His figure was a bit hazy but Smriti could easily look into the calmness in his eyes that were struck on her.
"Try closing your eyes", suggested the bossy voice again.
Considering it as a better idea, Smriti closed her eyes and pinched herself again. Her eyes contracted as she felt the pain. Now she could feel a wave of warmth surround her body. It felt comforting. She waited for a few seconds and then opened one of her eyes very slowly as if peeking through an invisible wall and wished to get to her bed without any delay.
But to her dismay, Smriti saw herself at the same place.
Nehru smiled and exclaimed, "bad idea!"

Smriti was getting curious. "What is this place, sir?", she asked.

"Why do you ask when you don't wish to stay here?"

"Tell me how to get back and I'll not ask."

"I just told you. Turns out, its not working!"

"So have I stuck in my own dream?", asked Smriti in a trembling voice.
"Pretty much!" replied Nehru.
Smriti walked to a chair at the entrance of the room that she was in and sat down. They both remained quiet for a while.
"Sir can I tell you something?", smirked Smriti, "but it might offend you."
"Go on",said Nehru, turning towards the only window in the room, opposite to where Smriti now sat.
Smriti gave a wicked smile, chuckled and said, "you have a grand grand son named Rahul and he's a joke. We call him the pappu of India."
The figure didn't do anything. Giving no reaction, he walked to the window and stood there facing his back to Smriti.
Smriti's smile faded, "sorry!", she said, "I shouldn't have told you this!"
The figure was still looking out from the window and showed no interest in what Smriti was babbling about.
"What happened? Why are you not speaking?" cried Smriti.
"You question a lot, little girl", he said with his head still looking away from Smriti and struck out from the window.
"Sorry", mumbled Smriti.
"Not to mention your frequent apologies",came the bold voice.

Smriti saw the figure stand before the window and wondered what was that he was watching so eagerly. She quietly walked to the window and looked ahead. To her surprise, she saw that the outside of the room was moving!
"Are we in a train?" she cried.
"It seems", answered the figure.
"But it didn't seemed like a train until I watched out of the window!" howled Smriti, repeatedly looking inside and out.
"Exactly what I was pondering on when I looked out of this window", exclaimed Nehru, still gazing out. He was still calm as if nothing was weird about the setting.
"Why didn't you tell me then?" asked Smriti eyeing Nehru.
"You seemed more interested in my great grand son at that moment", said Nehru.
Smriti removed her gaze from Nehru and looked out from the window. She could see high stretches of plains till the horizon. The beautiful greens were shining under the night light which felt relieving.
"Any idea of where we are heading to?" asked Smriti, looking at the good old picturesque view that one gets to see from trains.
"Its your dream", smirked Nehru, you'll know."
"Aaargghhh, Sir!" groaned Smriti, "are you always like this?"
Nehru, still looking outside, said, "are you always full of questions?"
"Yes, I am", poised Smriti.
The figure, still looking out, smiled.

This dream was getting tiresome for Smriti. She thought of pinching herself again, this time a little harder, but all in vain. When she opened her eyes she could still see herself beside an already dead man standing in a place she knew nothing of, looking out to nothing but plains under a night sky.

Standing there, looking towards what Smriti considered boring, it occurred to her that she was standing before a man who had been of great importance for her country. She had heard a lot about him. She recalled what she once heard from her parent's discussion and asked, "Okay, sir. Tell me, were you really in love with Lord Mountbatten's wife?"
Nehru took his gaze off from the window and said with a quirky look in his eyes, "don't you think you're a bit too little to ask such questions?"
Smriti felt like a winner; she had finally broken her companion's gaze off the plains. "In 2015, a 15 year old asking this is perfectly normal sir",she said.
Nehru smiled. "And I'm from the time when a person as old as me wouldn't answer what you just asked, especially to a 15 year old", said Nehru and turned his head to gaze on to the view outside.

Irritated with Nehru's answers and conduct, Smriti finally exclaimed, "you know what sir, I don't remember how I got into this dream. I haven't any idea of getting out. You are not answering me. We don't know where we're going.  I don't even know why you are stuck up in my head....
"Hang on hang on, little kid" ,interrupted Nehru, "Look we are stopping somewhere!"
"Good lord!",cried Smriti, "Now what?"
Nehru turned towards the room's door and said, "now we get out of the train, of course!"
Both of them opened the door of the room and suddenly Smriti could hear the bustling engines of the train getting ready to stop. She followed Nehru through a narrow passage and then towards the entry door of the train. Through the door, Smriti could see a stretch of lush green garden with hedges of flowers all around. Though it was dark outside, she could still tell the pretty colors of the lilies, anemones and lavenders growing over a huge stretch. At the centre of the hedges were the usual swings, half painted, half broken, yet strong enough to hold a child's weight.
"This isn't any station" ,she shouted with engines roaring over her head.
"It's a park",said Nehru with a raised voice, which to Smriti seemed didn't need any extra efforts for the speaker to spill. "I remember coming here with Indira when she was young!"
"Hey! But its my dream" ,cried Smriti at the top of her voice, "How could we reach somewhere that I have never known of and is close to you?"
"Maybe this time you let me decide where to reach!" ,said Nehru, watching the garden passionately.
"How did I?" asked Smriti, troubled with what was happening.
Nehru smiled and jumped out of the train. He offered his hands to Smriti and said, "Dare to come with me?"
Smriti looked around. It was still dark. "I don't think so."

"Oh c'mon, what could happen to you? Its just a dream."

"You've got a point here, Sir."
She held his hands and hoped out.

Both of them walked along the park.
"It looks so young!" ,said Nehru. His sunken eyes were now beginning to gleam with excitement.
"Sir, actually it looks old",said Smriti, frankly.
"That explains the years between our times little girl",said Nehru as he went towards a hedge to look at the flowers growing there. Smriti followed. Nehru was now continuously looking at the flowers like the way he was watching out from the window of the train.
Smriti tried with the same plan again and said, "I was told you were a flirt!"
Nehru, still gazing at the flowers, said, "my great grand son is a joke, I loved the Viceroy's wife, I was a flirt. Are 15 year olds of this time stuffed with these in their heads about the first Prime Minister of their nation?"
Smriti smiled and said, "oh well there's much more but these are something quite intriguing about you. I guess I never tried to understand what you might want us to know about you."
Nehru touched a flower and swayed his hands gently on the white petals as if the flower was his pet animal ready to get comforted with his love.
"What do you know about me?",asked Nehru.
"Oh I know about your family Indira, Rajiv, Rahul, Priyanka. And then I know you didn't get along with Patel ji very well and then...."

"That's not comforting. Let's not talk on relations!"

"Okay so apart from that you had a good role in writing the constitution. Some people feel you should have been the foreign minister, you know, because of your role in keeping good terms with both US and USSR."

"That's better!"

'Ha!",exclaimed Smriti with pride." Tell me sir, what did you think of Sardar Patel?"

"Little girl", he looked at her after a long gaze on the flowers. "How would I know? It's your dream. The only way to know about me is to ask historians and read genuine books after you get away from this dream. Maybe then I could come again in your head and tell you what you already know. Remember, I can tell what your head knows already. And mind you, its not enough!"
"Well, that's what an average Indian knows about you sir",said Smriti.
"Then an average Indian should certainly know more", said Nehru, again taking his gaze off Smriti and onto the hedge.
"And what if we conclude you as a bad person after we've known everything that we should know about you?" asked Smriti.

"Conclusions without knowledge is a mark of fool, little girl. For me, it would sure be comforting for that'd mean you've known me well by then."

"And then would you accept the wrongs you did?"

Nehru signed and said," I was bound to make mistakes, as any man who's  thrusted upon so many decisions at a time when the world's tearing and recovering from tragic wars would do."

Nehru moved towards a swing on his right which seemed a little modern to him. "You know girl, why I wanted to come here?"
"Tell me sir", said Smriti, still standing before the hedge.

"Just wanted to see how wonderful this place has become!"
He looked around. His pale face now looked curious as if he wanted to stretch himself as far as he could so as to see the farthest soils of his motherland. He kept quiet for sometime and said, "however, there's one more"
Smriti thought she knew his reason and said, "I guess because you're emotionally attached to this, your days with your daughter having been spent here."
"My days NOT having been spent here as much as my daughter wanted, to be more precise, "signed Nehru.
Suddenly they could hear whistles and roaring of the engines. It was time to go back. But Smriti let the man stand there as she now knew he was seeking redemption.

Nehru turned around towards the hedge to look at Smriti, "l had a fixed time with me to share. Most of it went to nation building and power. It's quite later on when I realized my daughter could get only a little of it."
The whistle blew again. "Are you not coming?", screamed someone from the train.
"Sir we should move now",said Smriti.
Nehru smiled and started to move along with Smriti towards the train.
"Just so you know, I was called as Chacha Nehru by kids of your age," said Nehru, "But watching you, I doubt 15 year olds might be getting an adult status by now!"
Smriti smiled and said, "naah! I'm still a kid"
"Times do change, "he said as they reached the train.

Smriti hoped up first and gave a hand to Nehru. Once on the train, Nehru stood on the gate and looked out.
"You never wished to leave this place, right?",asked Smriti, once the engines had gained their pace.
Nehru was still looking outside and said, "leaving was never in question little girl. Dreaming just might be!"
"Chacha Nehru ji," she said "don't confuse me with your deep sentences please!"
Nehru laughed and swayed his hands on Smriti's head. "I used to dream of such a place when I was as young as you. A free place!" he said, "you're living my dream, kid!"
They both stood there on the gate of the train. Both of them, looking out with nothing to say.

"You know little girl" ,said Nehru, lifting his head to watch the night sky, "though the lands may change and our minds might wander with age but there's one thing that has always ceased to change."
Smriti looked at Nehru. He took a pause and pointed to the stars above them.

"I've started to like this dream," said Smriti after having looked at the splendor of the skies above them, "I hope I remember it when I wake up!"
Nehru checked his watch and cried, "good lord! You should wake up now!"

"Is it necessary?"

"Yes of course! Go to the room where we were in. Go! Fast!"

"Are you not coming with me?"

"No, just let me watch this place for the time I've got is as short as your dream" ,said Nehru. He smiled at Smriti and got one back in return. Finally, he looked outside again.
Smriti gazed at the big figure one last time. He was looking out just as a kid would see his first rain. She smiled and walked to the room.

There sitting on the chair beside the door was a boy of her age.
Looking at Smriti getting into the room, he rose from his chair and bursted, "hey, who are you? And where am I?"
"So he'll get to the next station", thought Smriti. She smiled and said, "How would I know? It's your dream!"

It's the time when anti-nehru (along with anti-gandhian) population is increasing. Nehru did screw up the Kashmir issue and Sino-Indian war was indeed a huge fail for us but we should not forget what this leader meant to Indians at his time. He, along with Gandhi, Patel, Rajaji and many others took the task of nation building at a time of food shortage all over the country, horrible instances of partition and heaps of homeless refugees coming in. It's not easy to build a nation in such horrific circumstances. Before drawing up to conclusions let's know more and see the better side.

Jawaharlal Nehru:
1. Helped write a great constitution: 

Nehru brought together a wide array of mutually antagonist people and together they wrote one of the finest Constitutions in the world.

2. Let India stay as a democracy:
Patel died within 2 years of independence, Gandhi within 6 months. With them out of the way he could have grabbed onto and held onto power more fiercely. He had a long reign of 17 years. Most leaders who stay that long screw up the fundamental nature of the system. That happened in almost all newly independent nations in the world, including our neighbors. (By 1958, Pakistan had its first military dictator, Ayub Khan.)

3. Built a strong image for India abroad:
Nehru built a name for India in the world bodies. This was even well before independence. He managed to have a very cordial relationship with both the superpowers. It is remarkable that even at the height of the cold war in early 1960s, both superpowers agreed on one thing - supporting India.

4 Integrated Goa & Pondicherry well: 
East Timor and Goa were both Portuguese colonies. Indonesia captured East Timor & India captured Goa. Three decades later, East Timor is now split off from Indonesia, while Goa stays firmly a part of India.

5 Hindu code bills:

 A series of landmark legal achievements that brought plenty of new legal rights to Hindus, especially women. 

6 Premier Education institutions:

 Helped setup IITs, IIMs, AIIMS etc. (Source: www.quora.com)

"Democracy is good. I say this because other systems are worse."
- Jawaharlal Nehru (1889-1964)

I was a soldier's son. (A letter to the man who killed me)

To,
The man who killed me,

My Dad was a part of the mission.
Yes.
He was involved in the task which led you to do this. My Abbu went with his unit to clear off your village or more precisely, kill your wives, sons and daughters.

I remember that night.
He used to call me every night, ask about my health, homework, food, fights with Sameer and I happily answered all of it. His strong voice was a rejoice to hear and moreover it gave me strength to not worry about him. But that night was different. His voice felt weak and wobbly. It seemed as if he had cried before calling me. That night, my voice was a strength to him.
It was when he came back home that I realized what made his voice weak that night, when I overheard Abbu and Ammi's conversation.
That night he had killed your family. That night he killed your wife, he killed your son, without pondering over your sentiments of watching your loved one's die. That night, he murdered the only love remaining in you.
Now, you've killed Abbu's son too. I hope you feel satisfied.
That night while you were crying with your wife and son's dead bodies in your arms, Abbu was weeping on the phone with his son on the other side. Today, Abbu is still crying with his hands wrapped around my lifeless body while YOU would be smiling somewhere, taking pride in what you did.

I'm dead.
Your revenge - taken.

When you came in my class, I got frightened. Frightened, as you had a rifle in your hands. In no time, you started shooting. I had closed my eyes while you were shooting my friends, still unaware of the fact that I was a soldier's son and you had come to kill me. When your gun pointed at me and you asked my father's name, I was choking yet I spoke with all the strength left in me.
"MAJOR RAFIQ KHAN"
Your rifle's sound is all I remember then. Maybe the bullet had hit my head.
I was scared at that time. But now I'm proud that my last words were my father's name. When I uttered his name at the top of my voice, it gave me strength to face your fright.

One day when I was strolling along the streets of Peshawar with my friends, a long nicely-built man came to us and told us about your group. He wanted us to come with him and join your group. But we ran. We ran till we reached the safe confinements of the army cantonment. We ran until we couldn't breathe. This was the level of our scare of you!
I remember him telling us about Jannnat. It sounded as a great place but as I sit down to write, I must tell you - it's not the same as he described.
Apparently, it's weird here. Just long stretch of barren land encircled by a white hazy horizon - that's quite it. Or maybe I'm in hell. But what wrong did I do to reach here? Moreover, hell's description was a lot more scarier than how this place is.
There are many peculiar aspects about this place. No boundaries, no religions, everyone looks similar, besides I haven't met God yet. Maybe in the beginning, earth would've been the same as this place. Boundaries......Religions......Wars....these came later with man.

I'm not writing anything to Abbu and Ammi. They're already shocked enough to read anything from me.

I hope you are feeling good right now.
I wish to meet your son over here, as above all we've both been killed by each other's Dads! I want to meet him and talk to him about how Abbu's men killed him. We need to find out what led our Dads to kill us. And don't you worry about him. Once we find out the reasons, we'll stay together. I'll take care of him as beyond everything, I was a soldier's son.

Your victim.

All things Indian

I don't know how to begin this.
So I'm starting it this way.
Two lines done, still no idea.
Lets change the paragraph.

Actually I've got some words, but for the first time I'm scared of framing them into sentences. Scared, that once my mind assembles them into something meaningful - nasty realities and horrifying truths would come out, for which I'm in no senses of pondering about.

CORRUPTION    RAPE    POVERTY    TRADITIONS    DISCRIMINATION    CHILD LABOR    CONSERVATIVE MENTALITIES    MEN(yes, men!).........  INDIA.
The last thing I'd want to write would be a paragraph made of these words.
I still like to live in my outer illusions of being a proud Indian because deep down inside I still feel - MY INDIA, THE STRONGEST!
And you know why OUR INDIA is simply the best out of the bestests?
Because we Indians are accustomed with small things - things that we never realize our love for and how awesome they are! So for some time, let's just stop thinking about all the bad happening around us and dive into the small bits of Indianistic (I doubt that's a word) joys.

# Ever came across a strange boy enacting a bowling action in the middle of a street which was actually scary as you thought a ball would come straight and hit you, but it turned out rather surprising as there wasn't even a ball in his hand?
Me neither.
That's NOT strange, and it's not even an enactment, it's just his daily bowling practice! (Every Indian guy has done this. Period)

# Indian Marriages.
Noise, noise, noise, noise, noise, noise. Noise to the power 'n' where n is the number ofbaratees , food, photographs and the midnight emotions!

#Aren't the most beautiful ladies Indian? Take your mom for instance!

# Superman, Spiderman, Batman........
   Dude, bring the whole justice league in here. We've got one man for them all.
   No, he's not hanuMAN.
   Not even Ranikant.
   Our very own Sabu is enough to crush them with his fist!
   (Okay, Batman can give him a good fight but for me Triumph belongs to those who are Indian! )

# For us, jugaad is staple (and genius too!)

# Beatles, Linkin Park, Enrique, Eminem, One Direction..........
   Yeah they're cool. But when it comes to 'vo kagaz ki kashti' by Jagjit Singh the firangis don't stand a chance to match up, seriously.
Admit it, a single beat of Daler Mehndi's song bucks you up to start changing light bulbs! (do bhangra)

# The great Indian moustache
 Coolest. Thing. Ever.

# Indian moms are the best. I mean how on earth can a single person cook, wash, watch TV, gossip, care, love, scold and stay busy all the time but still look beautiful? (And apni MOM toh mangal pe bhi pahouch chuki hai!)

# Screw one piece and long gowns. True elegance resides in a lady wearing an Indian saari.

# When it comes to choosing between a sundae brownie and rasmalai, it's always the latter one for me.

# Our families aren't composed of uncles and aunts. We have chacha, chachi, tauji, taiji, mama, mami, bua, bhaiya, bhabhi, didi, jijaji and the rest. Moreover, it keeps on growing with every family marriage.
 f(family) = family * no. of marriages

# And then there's Modi!

'Chacha Chaudhary makes you behold the beauty of nobel,
better than the bugs bunny or the donald ducks.
remember to cherish the masala chai moments,
as they're prettier than dinings at starbucks.
So breathe in your bits of Indian-ness,
and let the country love grow,
as *staying badiya* wins over *being awesome*,
and bhai remains on top of a bro.'

    "Sometimes, when chaos burns like wildfires around us,
      we have no other choice but to fall in love with the warmth" - Christopher Poindexter.
I guess, I'm in the above situation, but the warmth makes me happy. There are problems (actually people) that our country's facing but to resolve them we first have to love ourselves, love our people and our country. To start with let's cherish the aforementioned little things.

We are a country of great men and women. One of them was Bhagat Singh. For me, there hasn't been a writer better than him on this planet. No Dan Brown, or Jeffery Archer or Conan Doyle. NO ONE. He's known for his revolutionary actions in addition to which I adore him for what he wrote.
It was a bit hazy for me to decide how to start with this blog, but for the ending, it's the other way round :

 'I emphasize that I am full of ambition and hope and of full charm of life. But I can renounce all at the time of need, and that is the real sacrifice. - Bhagat Singh.

A love story?

You’re either gonna love this one or hate it with all your heart!

There’s nothing in-between.

Nevertheless – my job – to write.

A LOVE STORY ?

To express what I feel about love stories, I’d have to add on some modifications to Brad Pitt’s dialogue from the movie Moneyball –

“There are Good stories and there are Bad stories,

Then there’s fifty feet of crap

And then there’s a love story.”

Any predilections from my side? – No Way!

You know there’s this thing with love stories that makes it so predictable – the plot. A guy meets a girl, flirts, there’s another guy yet he wins her heart and they LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER or one of them dies and the other one lives LONELY EVER AFTER or simply both of them die leaving the audience emotionally screwed up!

BOOORRINNGGGG!!!

Still people STILL I’m writing a love story this time.

Damn.

Why?

I won’t get this thing straight dear reader. You’ve got to go through all the shit below before you unravel why.

It was love at first sight. I was standing before a huge stack of MDH chat masala in the newly opened supermarket when I saw her for the first time. She was going towards the counter with a dairu milk in her hand. Quickly, I turned my trolley and strode on to stand behind her.

How should I talk? How should I talk? was the only question hovering my head when suddenly she turned around and said, “Have you got any change of 500?”

I could now feel my heart thumping loudly in my chest. My mind went blank and without chewing over her words I uttered, “My name’s Varun.”

Damn Varun. She didn’t ask your name, you dumbass  – was what I said to myself after I’d finished saying these awfully witless set of words.

She gave a confused look, shrugged, laughed, and said ,”Okay Varun but I need some change. You have some?”

Now I was staring her, just like the way I gazed at the chocolate truffle cake just a day back for which I hadn’t had any money to buy. Her smile was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and her eyes – sublime!

She shrugged again.

Now I had to come out of my dreamy land or she could’ve apprehended me as a much bigger fool than she thinks of me to be today.

So I quickly took out five 100rupee notes from my wallet and handed them over to her. She took the change, waited for the billing, paid the money and while moving out tuned back and said, “I already know your name. Thanks for the change Varun. By the way I’m your new neighbour. It was nice meeting you.” She smiled and walked away.

I stood still and smiled.

This was our first meeting.

She knew I kept staring her since then, but she never complained, in fact she loved it! She loved it when I first talked to her at the supermarket counter, she loved it when I leaned and smiled at her, she loved it when I ‘tried’ ignoring her as she knew I wasn’t, she loved it when I first asked her for her phone number, she loved it when I called her to meet up, she loved it when I asked her hand from his ‘not so lovely’ father, she loved it when my mother kissed her on her forehead, she loved it ALL.

And while she was loving every bit of it I was oblivious of it all.

All I knew was that I was in love and would do anything, seriously ANYTHING to get to her.  But the only thing standing between me and her was her intelligence! No kidding – to impress a girl with a 120+ IQ is really a tough job for a guy like me. It took me two years to tackle her intellects and make her marry me.

During the wedding, she – sitting beside me – first looked at me, then to herself, then her surroundings, then to her family members and finally uttered, “Well played sir, well played.”  

Damn! I’m so bad at writing love stories.

Nevermind let’s get to the point. What happened here was – a guy meets a girl, flirts, wins her heart, marry and lives happily ever after (well, I hope he does!)

But I won’t finish it this way.

Now what if I tell you that this isn’t a love story altogether? Yes guys this wasn’t one of those romantic love stories.

(Your mind would be blowing up by now. “What exactly am I reading Sonali?”)

Hold on. Hold on.

You know, I love personifying things and this is what I did here.

Varun’s love (which I apparently didn’t name) was actually a personification of something –something known as PASSION.

So the story goes like this-

Varun finds his passion, flirts, wins, marry and lives happily ever after. (Sure he did!)

So guys, some of us already have boyfriends/girlfriends, are committed and trying to make our relationships better. In other words, some of us have already found our ‘passion’, have committed ourselves to it and are working hard to excel in the same, while some of us are still single – haven’t found our passions yet. In fact in this case most of us are single.

And what do singles of our age do? – Flirt.

So as the analogy sinks in – guys, flirt around with different people until you find the right person – flirt around with different fields and areas until you find the right one  - and look him into his eyes – and you know what the best part is? NO NEED OF PROPOSING. You just look him into his eyes and he’ll be standing with open arms ready for you to embrace him.

So all the singles out there, just like the way you think that one day you’ll meet your prince charming or ‘the perfect girl’, believe in stumbling upon your passion some day!

And when you’ve stumbled upon him, don’t lose the opportunity. Take it on your stride just like Varun did with his passion for Cricket, love it with all your heart and your passion will love you back and enjoy every bit of it, work to excel, tackle every bit of the intellects your passion possess, work everyday and every night,  and one day your passion will look at you in your eyes and say “well played sir, well played.”

And now the most important thing. Never Settle For An Arrange Marriage.

Never let your parents decide what your passion must be. You’ve got to go out there, you’ve got to love, you’ve got to win and end up with a Love Marriage.

Eminem married rap, Messi married football, Sachin Tendulkar married Cricket, Amitabh Bachchan married acting, Shakespeare married literature, Saina married badminton, Darwin married Biology, Pythagoras married mathematics, Lata mangeshkar married singing, Steve Jobs married technology, and the list goes on! (Bhagat Singh married our nation and well the rest is history!)  

Now who’s gonna do this for you?

No one.

I’d want you to do one thing – stretch your hands.

Now assuming that you’ve actually stretched them now I’d want you to close/clench your fist.

Which one feels better?

For me, clenched fist feels better than the stretched one as I feel powerful. I start believing in myself when I clench my fist.

I hope you felt the same, reader.

So in this petty yet beautiful world, never stretch your hands as when you’ll outstretch them, all you’ll get will be bristles and rust but when you’ll clench your fists, you’ll find the strength within you to tackle all the odds and eventually the thing you love will appear in your hands.

Feel the power, feel the love, Go For Love Marriage.  

“You remember the day when we met at the supermarket?” she asked.

“Of course I do,”I said sipping coffee while sitting on the dining table of our home.

“I stalked you, intentionally took the chocolate and asked you for the change, “she said

The next thing I did was to stare her eyes again just like the way I did 10 years back.

You see, even your passion approaches you!

“Talent is overrated.

Find your passion and bleed”

A conceited dream (Story)

(I know it’s a little weird, but this time let’s start from the end)

It was now inexorable to escape. The huge white man was looking at him. The man placed his index finger on the trigger of his 303 Lee Enfield rifle and pressed it – Rohan knew he was the target. He closed his eyes and waited for the bullet to penetrate his body.

(That’s how the story ends.

Now, how did I end up piercing a bullet in my story’s protagonist?

Read on to find out.)

14^th August, 2014

11:30 pm.

Rohan was lethargic and feeling drowsy. He glided onto his bed and turned off the lights.

He was now arranging his pillow when suddenly a bright glistering white light sparked in front of him. He panicked – his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

The light gradually took different uncanny shapes and eventually turned into a small little girl who was all white and sparkly. Her face, skin, hair, the flossy skirt she was wearing, legs, sandals – every part of her was white and beaming with radiance.

“I’m here to show you something”, she said, “come, hold my hand.”

Rohan shrugged back.

“Believe in me,” she said with most transcending voice that Rohan had ever heard of.

Now Rohan – mesmerized by the beauty and innocence of the little girl’s voice – found her innocuous and grabbed her hand.

“Close your eyes”, said the girl looking at Rohan’s fearful eyes. Rohan, still bewitched by her charm closed his eyes without any second thoughts.

A second later Rohan could feel some hustle bustle going on around him. His eyes were still closed and his mind still infused with fear of the unknown.

“You can open your eyes now”, came the sweet voice again.

Rohan opened his eyes to see men and women celebrating through dancing and rolling on the ground. They were all looking like happy to go lunatics.

“It’s the time of The Raj. Year 1911. Mohun Bagan, a local football team has just beaten the East Yorkshire Regiment in the finals of IFA, 2-1.”

Rohan was still quiet.

“The people you see rolling on the ground are members of the Muslim Sporting Club, celebrating the victory of their Hindu brethren”, continued the girl, “After this football victory, nationalist sentiments rose and scattered to the masses of West Bengal, terrorist activities increased and ultimately Britishers had to change the capital from Kolkata to Delhi.”

Rohan was still quiet. No longer was he mesmerised by the girl’s beauty as now it didn’t seem important. Never ever in his life had he seen such joyous smiles and excitement as the dancing men possessed and that too for a football victory!

“That’s not just a football win, I guess!” he said glancing at the girl,” there’s something more to it – it’s the sense of being free.”

“HOPE would be the correct word, Rohan”, said the little girl, “ and hope is a strong belief.”

They now headed on to the much quieter part of the road.

“So, you’re trying to imbibe a feeling of nationality in me, right? But let me tell you, those were different times then”, said Rohan, “ people actually had a sense of unity back then. But now times have changed, there’s a whole new scenario now. I guess we’d always need a bunch of outsiders ruling over us to get a sense of togetherness and patriotism in our heads.”

“You’re wrong Rohan”, said the girl, reaching for Rohan’s hands, “let me take you to another place.”

Rohan wasn’t scared now. He took the little girl’s hand and closed his eyes. Deep down inside even he wanted her to prove him wrong.

The next moment he saw himself in a crowded stadium – wresting stadium it was! He was among the spectators who were gradually standing up.

“It’s the CWG-glasgow. Sushil Kumar, the Indian wrester has just won the gold medal match,”said the little girl, standing behind Rohan. She pointed towards the corner where the Indian wrester was standing above the other wresters on the podium- a beaming smile on his face. “It’s time for the National Anthem. Stand straight.”

In no time the tune of Indian National Anthem started to enwrap Rohan’s ears. He went dumbstruck! A tingling wave sweeped his body and on the spur of the moment Pride filled his heart. The very next moment he saw the tricolour going up and now he could feel a lump in his throat.

His sentiments – INTENSE!

Every Indian around him could be seen full of pride and gratification when suddenly Rohan noticed a boy of around 4 or 5 standing exceptionally straight, the tricolour around his body and singing the National Anthem at the top of his voice synchronous with the tune. The boy’s face looked proudest of all the crowd and Rohan couldn’t help but watch the boy and smile.

After the National Anthem was over all of the spectators screamed –

INDIAaaaaaaaaaaa……….INDIAaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

And Rohan was the loudest of the lot!

(Picture this – our tricolour moving up in front of our eyes and the National Anthem in the background – wow! The Feels.)

“Who are you?” asked Rohan eyeing the girl while walking down the lonely street outside the stadium.

“I’m what the people celebrating Mohun Bagan’s victory felt, I’m what the spectators felt when the Indian flag went up in Glasgow for Sushil Kumar’s gold medal win, I was entrenched in Bhagat Singh’s heart when he decided to sow sticks in soil so that they could grow to become rifles, I was there in every individual who went for the Dandi march, I was there in every freedom fighter’s heart, I’m still there in every soldier’s heart, and now I’m here,” the girl said, touching the left side of Rohan’s chest, “ Some people keep me in their heads – they are the corrupt lot of our nation. I am to be kept in hearts, not brains.”

“I meet people who’ve lost me in their hearts. You were one of them, Rohan. But now you’ve accepted me, you’ve felt me and that’s my victory.”

They stopped on a cross road.

“I’ve to go now,”said the girl.

“Hey don’t,”said Rohan.

“Don’t worry Rohan,” said the girl in a reassuring tone, “I’ll always be in your heart. Though you won’t see me again but I can be felt, everyday, any time.

Feel me while looking at the tricolour, feel me when doing your bit for the nation you were born in, feel me when reciting the National Anthem, feel me when remembering the great Sipahis and officers who showed utter bravery and laid down their lives at the borders and a still continue to do so, feel me when remembering the great freedom fighters because of whom we’re a free country now and moreover  feel me when eating a gol-gappa, feel me when applying a jugaad, feel me when adding water to the little bit of left shampoo, feel me when eating the ‘maa ka khana’, feel me while helping your fellow countrymen, feel me whenever you encounter such small bits of wondrous Indianism.

Remember, I’ll reside in every man who works, believes and primarily HOPES for a better India. Because HOPE is a strong belief.”

Rohan was enlightened.

But now he knew it was the end of this haunting yet wonderful dream.

“What am I supposed to do now?” asked Rohan, “Should I pinch myself to get out of this dream?”

“You think of it as a dream?” asked the girl walking away, “hahahaha! Just close your eyes Rohan!”

Rohan saw the girl walking away. The shiny light now faded as she moved along the road and finally disappeared.

Rohan took a deep breath, closed his eyes and said to himself, “okay, time to go back home Rohan.”

The next moment Rohan could hear screams, cries and gunshots. He quickly opened his eyes and he knew where he was – Jallianwala Bagh. The massacre was happening right in front of his eyes. Men and women were jumping into the solitary well to escape the shootings. Bodies covered with blood were all over the ground and cries of the wounded  echoed the whole arena. Rohan had no option but to run. He already knew that the exists were closed and there wasn’t a single way out. Albeit he ran until his body was full of sweat.

Suddenly he saw a white man pointing his gun towards him and that is when Rohan was shot.

(So guys, as the little girl said, always try to treasure the small bits of our wondrous Indianism.

Don’t be just proud of the Indian culture or the Indian Army – as a matter of fact some of us aren’t even proud of these yet – be proud while saying ‘namaste’, be proud while applying the Indian jugaad, be proud to wear the old hawai chappals, GIRLS be proud to wear a sari, GUYS be proud to wear the great Indian moustache look (coolest thing ever)- because that is what makes us INDIANS.

AND NEVER EVER forget what the freedom fighters did as well as the Indian soldiers and the untold Indian Heroes still do for our country. A proud salute to all of them.

And yes! A salute to everything Indian.

JAI HIND.)

Wait, Wait, Wait…..there’s something more…..

Rohan opened his eyes. Surroundings were still blur. He tried lifting his right hand to rub his watery eyes but his hands were still feeling heavy. Sweat was all over his body.

He blinked.

Clearer view.

More blinks – he was in his room.

Alas! Being in the same old room was so reassuring.

It was still dark outside. Suddenly he saw the girl appearing before him from nowhere (he still knew he was imagining things)

“What do you feel now?” she asked

“YOU,”said Rohan. He closed his eyes and slept.