last day of 2009!

If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
-Nickelback

The last day of year 09

Its 1300 hours, afternoon as I sit in my office chair, typing away and wondering what I have achieved this year. Did this year go well? Did everything go as expected? What to plan for the coming year? After much thinking I come up with new year resolution”s” for the coming year:

1. Be more frank, get scared but face it.
2. Plan each and every day and make every moment worth something.
3. Give quality time to each and every thing I like doing.
4. Write a book.
5. Spend time on photography.
6. Prepare for further study.
7. Gain more knowledge about my field.
8. Not to be lazy
9. Maintain a diary
10. Learn thoroughly what I have learnt till now.

Hope I am able to do all of them. This is the first time I am making a list and I hope it works out!

Forever....

Monica smiled as she remembered what Suresh was saying a night before. The newspaper lay limply on her lap. He had been telling her how much he loved her and how badly he missed her. He was never so talkative and hardly ever expressed his feelings which made Monica feel strange. There was pain in his voice, as he said “Will you always love me like this?” She was too busy then, shopping and arguing with the shopkeeper. Suresh kept quiet as Monica continued arguing with the shopkeeper, finally to hear “what?” There was silence after which Suresh said “I have to go now.” Monica got very upset at this and banged the mobile saying “go away. I wont talk to you.” The phone went silent. He didn’t call all night. His phone was showing that it was switched off. She checked when he had called. It was 8 pm. Monica picked up the newspaper again which showed the accident of Suresh at 7:50 pm. Tears began to roll down her eyes as she told herself, “forever”.

A Cool Sunday Morning

December is one of the most beautiful months of the year. Specially being in Mumbai you get the relief from intense heat and perspiration. One can relax for a few days and enjoy the cool breeze buzzing through their hair. The nature seems alive with sound, Birds twittering, moths buzzing, flowers blooming and trees going green and red. For some parts of the city, winter is the delight of spring.

This morning though, is different. It’s really cold today and the sun seems to be sleeping cozily in its warm blankets. It remains snuggled in bed to such an extent that you can’t even make out where it sleeps. The sky is a dark and cozy blanket and the day seems to start at its own pace. One can really enjoy the winter season by going out for a walk in the morning. Don’t make it a habit though. Winter is the gift of god to the people to make them rest after a long year.

Out on a walk you feel surprised to find others too! It seems unusual that anyone would wake up so early. You wonder as you tie your shoe laces if you will be the only one to be out. Then you step out and find so many others that you put your eyes on the ground and make your way to the park.

A few aunties are buying milk and groceries. That becomes a silent affair as everyone looses the mood to bargain in this season. The beady eyed ladies seem oblivious to what amount the shopkeeper asks for. They are already dreaming of getting their kids ready and hitting the bed as soon as they are on the bus.

I put my hands in my pockets and tread along the road to the park. The dogs are stretching and preparing to sleep after a long night of howling. Their howls are more audible in the sultry summers than the winters. The clouds move along your side and make their way to the park with you as you wonder whether they are with you today, you smile back as you can see various shapes in them. Don’t kill the kid in you. I tell everyone around but nobody hears this. While people walk looking at the road, I walk looking at the sky, talking to the clouds and asking god how he is today. Not some particular god but the one who surrounds me all the time in his strong grasp. He has no face or skin but I know he is there. He has always been there, from my first memory of my life till the last moment which went by.

The walk would seem monotonous if you keep looking at the paving. Some people prefer this repetition and dizziness or maybe are so used to it that they can’t think of a better option. Why do we get so carried away by our situations? Do they ever remain the same? Do we really need the same perspective all the time?

I walk around looking at everyone, observing what I can. The artist has played with so many things that it’s impossible to observe them all in one go, but then at least one should make the efforts to do so.

“I am but one of his arts, observing his others as I make footsteps on the sands of time. Some would remain some fade, some give way to others.”

Rains in Winter

Picture this; you wake up by curling in more in your blanket. You don’t want the day to start as your droopy eyes look around. Your feet feel cold and there is mist all around. The room is dark and the bed nice and warm. It nudges you to get back into its midst. It can seduce you and pull you in if you don’t use your iron will. You look at the alarm clock and tell yourself that there is still time. As your eyes close, you are dreaming of hot coffee and warm talks near some fire. So perfect! This can only be a dream!

Then finally you wake up when your mom nudges you. You realize that it was a dream after all. Its getting late for office and you trudge along to the basin to start your daily activities. Today doesn’t feel like the day to work! It feels like one should keep sleeping till the New Year! Ah Bliss!

God knows how much energy and will it takes to get out of the house. The cold wind hits your face for a change! It’s not the usual humid sticky sensation, its cold today. Then there it comes. You hold on to your hat as it starts raining! Could things get any worse?

I don’t hate rains. They are beautiful in winter. Like a dream come true. The only thing is that we don’t live in a dream. We can, but we don’t. We live in reality, where there are deadlines to reach and things to finish. I am late for office thanks to my sloppiness. I rush past all the people on the road, when it strikes me.

I look up at the sky and see the beauty that strikes me. The clouds are in different shades of crimson, pink and blues. God must be one mad painter! Mad and terrific, to have painted the sky today! I thank him for the chance to look at his creation and feel the rain drops fall on my face. Was there a touch which was more perfect than that? It’s warm and cold at the same time, like a sensation it spreads all over me as I find myself stopping in my tracks and looking at the sky with my arms out. The people smile as they pass me. Some look with curiosity at what I am staring, some are too busy to bother!

In the train I get the chance to stand near the door. Usually it is to catch some air in the suffocating compartment but today it is more out of instinct. I want to test him more, Want to see more of his miracles. The train catches speed as it dashes along the Vashi bridge. The rain patters hard on the compartment in a struggle with speed to wet everyone in the small compartment. The huge clouds spread all along the horizon and make me wonder if there is a city up there. The dark black clouds seem to be hiding so many secrets; so many mysteries seem to be hidden up there. I remember when I was a kid I had wanted to be up there around the clouds. Someone in the compartment is discussing the rains, they are saying how badly it is raining, How hard it is going to be to reach the office, etc. No one wants to look out. Even the ones standing out like me. They are busy chatting to each other about some irrelevant stuff. I feel the tragedy; while an artist performs the crowd is busy criticizing him and calling him names. They keep teasing him, insulting his art and worrying about trivial matters.

I look with sympathy towards the sky. I thank god for giving me the eyes to see such a beautiful sight. I thank him for everything he has ever done for me. The sun shines out for a split second from the clouds. Did he smile at me?

The locals on harbour line...

I am writing this in the morning so this might not get completed. Please dont read yet.

Hordes of people standing, looking in one direction with total concentration. Some dreading its arrival, others planning what to do next. Then it voices its entry with a triumph slow march, while people barge on it with full intensity. This is not the description of some battle, its description of the local train on the harbour line.

It takes special skill to get on the trains in mumbai. You see so many enstranged bewildered outsiders looking here and there at kurla station at the crowd. The best way to know a outsider in mumbai is the person who is looking everywhere but the road, is out of the line and is walking at slow pace. In mumbai, time is money and money; doesnt come when you waste it.

All the travellers have a common dream, which is to sit in the window seat in the direction of the ongoing train. Getting a seat at the window can be compared to getting a seat next to the king! The lucky person is surrounded by envious stares from everyone around. Specially from those sitting to opposite to him. Its very difficult to digest those stares so they prefer to sleep or read a book or stare outside the window. The grilled window gives a jails impression to the train. Though the one at the window is closest to the outer world.

The train buzzes on at a high speed, slowing and speeding in different period of time. It pauses for a few seconds for the people and goods to scamper around and then goes of at its wild pace. Harbour line doesnt have fast trains because there are not enough tracks for the same. Crossing the vashi bridge forms one of the most interesting expereinces. I remember walking it down once, Staring at the sea from a thin railing from the wide bridge, while the train rushes behind you forms a wonderful experience.

It takes two and the half hours to cross the bridge from mankhurd to vashi on foot and only 10 to 15 minutes by train. This gives you ample idea of what the speed must be like. The drivers call their steering stick the dead man's stick because their are 5 to 8 deaths daily on the tracks. Crossing the tracks is another ennerving experience which takes will of iron as you clutch your life in your hand and your legs, trying to take care of the goods and your life in that run between the trains.

aasmaan

chahat main jaise udd chale, pavan ki chao main,
kahin jo jhuki palake, udd pade kuch armaan nigahon main,
jab aa pahucha woh kshitij, bikhar ke hamari panahon main,
tab badh chale kadam, koi dusre lakshya ki raahon main.

From 06:30 to 07:00 pm....

I work at an architecture firm. The job is from 10 in the morning to 7 in the evening. My fellow lady colleagues leave at 06:30 itself and this gives me enough time to write my blog. A few months back when i started writing this blog, i had thought when would i get the time to write something if i would be so busy with my work and life, but then as the secret itself has given me the chance to write. I prefer this to unnecessary chatting or gossiping. I am not a gossiper, but destiny rewards me with all the secrets of people around me. I can understand how joey must be feeling when he is the keeper of everyone else's secrets and doesnt have the permission to tell anyone else. After all they are all his friends.

Speaking of friends, i feel i make friends very quickly. People might find me to be too open or extra friendly at times which makes many people question my intentions but then thats okay. I really dont care much about what people think or do. I know i am on the right track and know that i would always be.

I am lucky to be in this office. People are friendly and adoptive. They are open to new ideas and atleast show that they are ready to adjust. I feel that in any relation, whether private or personal, it takes time for people to show their true colors. I hope they are bright and colorful and not dull and piercing as some people have at other places.

This is actually becoming a pointless mail. I am sorry for making you waste your valuable time. But then i have decided that i would write everyday. I want to stay in touch with this side of me. The writer in me should never die. He should live forever for he hasnt completed his purpose. One day i will write a book and it will be a best seller. Thats a promise from me to myself. I hope its fulfilled soon!

tanha

kal tha na yakeen
aankhain band kar chal raha tha
yu hi apni tanhai main
kuch khoye pal palat raha tha

dekhe the kuch manzar
koi mast nigahon main
kadam tab badh chale the
apni chaah ki rahon main

raahain kuch mili tumse
kuch milkar bhi bichad gayi
badh chale hum kuch na bole
bas nigahain kuch keh gayi

yakeen hai hume utna
ki tumne woh suna hoga
aakhir tumhare dil ke kagaz par humne
kuch toh likh rakha hoga

Astro-Logical Confusion....

I got into astrology in my 9th grade. It was fascinating because it gave me an insight into the people which were around me. We face so many people in our life, least bothering what might be their sign and how they are. We just take it on our experience, judging by being with them and observing them. Astrology opened my mind to all sorts of people.

Every person is unique. They have their own traits and a way of thinking or reacting. They have their inbuilt beliefs and judgement about different circumstances. For eg. seeing fog on the road, a arian may just jump into it and then understand what he has fallen into. Being an arian myself i would further add that we do jump and might land on our heads but it takes very less time for us to get up, dust our clothes and get on with it! I am not being biased but that is how we are. Biased would be Mr. Ashutosh Gowariker, who for some reasons has put no song for the arian female. I did get sick of the songs by the end of the movie but i still feel that we deserved atleast a song!

A cancer wont like to be on a road with fog on it. They would rather be home! If by chance they do find themselves in there, they will probably tread in a zig zag manner and make their way through it. A sagitarian might not cross it at all and just sit on the side until his mood changes. Then their is no stoping those animals! (After all they have horse power!) If they set their mind to something, they would achieve it no matter what. The piscean might pray to god first. Then pray again, and again. Then finally they would make their way. Strangely this sign usually has god with them. They fall in a pit very few times!

Every sunsign has its own characterstic. Moonsign play an important role too. A human is affected by every small thing around him and thus has a wide range to study upon. Thus i resign from this topic for now.

btw. this is juz a small trial to a bigger version. That will follow wen i am more relaxed!

The Ride....

I sweated as i made my way through the crowd on some unidentified street in Jabalpur. The yellow of the whitewash and the sultry sun scorched the eyes and made me more aware of the heat around. The formal shirt didnt help a lot, though it did help in stopping me from tanning me. I hate to wear shades at such times. Once you remove them you just have two circles around your eyes and the rest of the face is dark. Almost makes you look like a human panda!

The streets were broad and the traffic was steady. A few hand rickshaws and scooters frolicked here and there. Coming straight from Mumbai, this felt as if i had stepped in a place still living its past. You could see the top of all the shops as they flashed their tacky signboards of some dull colors. The only bright ones were of the hotels, which were plenty. No wonder here everyone seemed short and stout. Eating jalebi and kachori's doesnt exactly make you a very thin person. People stood in groups of two or three chatting away and smirking. They didn't think twice about whiling away their time. If you had to walk through such groups it would be as difficult as Teju (http://jaswandi.blogspot.com/)must have felt while walking in thane. People scowl at you as if you are crossing their territory. I could see the dust on the road flying around. It circled around taking people and their dhoti's in its grasp, playing shamelessly. People didn't care. In a town of dhoti's and pyjama's, i felt like an outsider!

Someone told me that internet cafe was at the other side of the town. Actually they meant the place where you have lot of computers. No one knew what a internet cafe is. They knew that there was something called a computer. But cafe, internet and email seemed alien to them. The sun would shift its course by hiding behind the clouds sometimes. Then after hiding it would surprise you by suddenly showing up. I looked around for a hand rickshaw.

Sitting in a hand rickshaw is a unique experience. It doesn't go fast, not to slow. You cant get down from it when it is moving. Another advantage is that you can see everything in detail happening around you. My rickshaw wallah was a old man. He must be in his fifties but the cords on his back and his muscles denied that. I could hear him huffing and puffing to keep his mechanical beast in control as it sped along on slopes. Then he would continue with his huffing while going up the slope. I realised about the slope after i sat in the rickshaw.

The breeze swept through my hair gently and the scene around me showed a plethora of events going around and away from me. Like scenes from a movie. I was suddenly one of the high status people who could take the pleasure ride. I wondered what would happen if the people around ever saw a Lamborghini or Chevrolet passing through. Probably they wont know how to react. Probably they would ignore it with their egoistic ignorance. I finally reached the computer shop which turned out to be the one which sold computers. I could see the owner pleading through his expressions, requesting me to come in and at least look around. I denied him the pleasure.

I took the same rickshaw back, the man seemed happy to be chosen by a seth. I didnt get what i wanted but i was happy for that joy ride itself. The man finally stopped near the place where i had started my journey and i gave him thirty rupees. Thirty Ruppes for a half an hour ride, of sitting comfortably and looking around. I started making my way back to where i was staying. I was lost in my thoughts when the old man came after me. "Babu, bahut bhuk lagi hai, kuch khila doge toh meherbaani hogi..." I looked around and saw a fruit shop and bought him bananas. I wondered when he had last eaten. The sun was again on my head, the roads again dusty and the walls parched yellow. The old man was enjoying his banana's in a corner as i made my way back to my house.

5 years = Rs. 72 only....

My mom has been after me for so many days to throw away the grub i have been collecting for the past 5 years. B.Arch is almost done and the things which were of high priority once, remain shrouded in dust in some dark corner of my bed. They have waited for light ever since they have been thrown there. They have been talking to each other about their fate, discussing what would happen to them. Meanwhile, i go on outside with my sinister plans in the world of light.

I opened my box bed to find my things cheering me with their ever fresh smiles. I looked on as a man on a mission. With lack of feelings, emotions or any respect, i start taking them out and making two heaps of them. The grub wonders what would happen to them. Are they going to be used by someone? Is the wait finally over? Or they would be returning back to their old place. In the country of the dark, everyone knows that they are in transaction, awaiting their final destination with peace. Life goes on well there, they are all together for some time, until i, like some god or a demon, lift them away to a new destination.

It is tough to measure what i am thinking right now. The two heaps are filled with large rolls of sheets having the work i have done for the past 5 years. Many times i have been up all night working on them. I have been insulted for them and praised. I have worried, laughed, envied and even cried over them. I have drawn, sketched, written, draughted and dreamt on those carriers of creation. Today they find importance according to my future need.

I look at the ones who return back as a re-birth. The ones which go to the waste paper man, will be shredded and reused for a different purpose. It is not categorized on if they were good or bad, black or white; not even on what they contained. It is on there use in my bigger schemes. Do they contain any good, or are they just to be disposed. Those which had something good will return, the others will be shredded and will never return to the same place. Nevertheless they will find use in some other context. Nothing finishes, nothing is born.

When the waste paper man came, he weighed the waste pile to be 12kg. I get Rs. 72 for whatever i have gone through in my past 5 years....

A lazy day....

The rain patters the parched ground, mocking all the thoughts of its departure from the city. The buildings are once again drenched and quench their long awaited thirst. The clouds allow very few specks of dust from flying in the air. They are also punishing to the sun, not allowing any rays of light to enter.
The morning is calm as I perch inside my 4th floor heaven and look outside from the window. I pull the blanket more close to my face as my weary eyes cross horizons between dreams and the reality outside. There is a confusion about which is more beautiful. The body still shivers from the wafts of cool breezes which have successfully made their way inside the blanket and send goose bumps over my almost naked body. The sultry night strips you down to your overalls and the cold mornings make you aware of your stripped reality.
I see my father and mother talking to each other over a cup of tea. There smiles make evident their happiness of being with each other. It is subtle and never mentioned but clearly visible. I smile as they notice me. A start with a smile is good for them and me. My sister has already left for college. I now remember mumbling “have a nice day!” as she banged the door and I rejoined my dreams in my sleepy world. I wonder if she ever hears me wishing her. Its not her mistake but mine that I want to return back to my dream world so badly. By the time she turns back to say anything I am fast asleep.
There is no schedule today. No rules to follow, no restrictions. I do what I want, say what I feel and feel about what others say. They say one should have such days sometimes. They refresh you. One day of complete freedom. One day of just thoughts and no actions. A day of action without words. A day for all you want to do without anything clearly defined. Yes, one craves for such days and then you wish it would never end. Another part of your dream, until you get back to the world and dream about it again.

Amritsar-Panther Nursery School

Have you ever been the tenth person in a line getting beat by a big fat teacher? Have you ever found refuge in a cactus tree? That is how life was at Panther Nursery school. I wasn’t exactly a tough kid. Not a bright kid either or at least that is what I thought. In Amritsar, brightness mattered on how well you could defend yourself.

Picture this, you are in a class of some 30 kids in which you are the shortest, slow and having the least strength. This is not on how you look at the situation, for sometimes it happens that you turn out to be someone like me in Amritsar. What do you do? You learn to defend yourself. Not every time can you go to the teacher or your parents. If you go to the teachers, they hardly notice you because you are hardly doing well in your studies. If you go to your parents, it becomes very difficult to explain to them, why you are getting beat while everyone else seems to be having a jolly good time!

The recess used to be the toughest of the times. We were not allowed to go out of the class so whatever energy you had to use could be put to good use on the wooden benches which provided an excellent cover as well as a bad hiding place if you were spotted. If you were spotted then you would be targeted by everyone around. Then the kids would choose the weakest kid and try their skills at showing off how to beat him in the best way possible. It was much easier in Devlali where I was out of my dreamy state and more into the happenings of the class.

I always sat next to the window of the class. Outside were trees having dense foliage presenting various forms of birds and squirrels which seemed to be having a fun time frolicking around. They would be playing with each other, running and stopping and searching. Least bothered of what was going on a few metres away in the school.

It is fun to observe a squirrel. It has a long tail, which seems to stand straight whenever it is looking around and observing. It has very strong observation skills as it can spot nuts and other eatables in a second’s time and then it goes jumping up and down, hopping towards its food. It snatches it from the ground thus conquering it completely. Then holding it in its two front paws at first and then only one of them it desperately makes its way to the tree hole where it hides infinite number of nuts for the whole season. The squirrel’s life is full of fun, always searching, running and full of adventures! How many times I would pray then to god to make me a squirrel in the next life!

I wasn’t exactly unhappy with my life. It was just that the squirrel seemed to be freer than me. I would look on enviously from my classroom bench, wearing an uncomfortable uniform and trying vaguely to listen to what the teacher was trying to say. The teacher’s talks never interested me much. I was more into learning practically from nature. I would so want to run around with the little thing, climbing trees, playing around, always up to something.

I remember once that I and my friend Pankaj Das found a squirrel which was lying injured on the ground. It lay there, squirming in its pain and not able to move much. Its mouth was open and it was gasping for breath. We both, being kids and having no idea of what CPR or other life saving techniques meant were confused and thought that maybe it were thirsty. We tried to give it water but it won’t drink. We thought that it must be shy of us and would drink it later. So we took a box, found some cotton and an empty orange peel which could luckily hold water and kept the squirrel in that box. We kept this box under a tree and planned to come back the next day with lot of nuts and water. We then prayed to god for its safety and went back to our class discussing excitedly what we would get the next day.

I learnt safety and freedom from the squirrel. We kept her in an open box not because she could breathe but because then she could see the sky. We kept cotton because we thought her house inside in the tree must be soft too. The water seemed to be the most precious thing we had then, when our small bottles used to hold precious gulps for us to have after a long day at school. Still the small squirrel taught us a lot.

I never saw it again. The next day I found an empty box, when I went back with other curious spectators. Our feverous discussion had had many ears and I had heard that a kid who used to beat me in class was planning to take the squirrel away with him and was going to poke it in front of others for amusement. I had imagined the terrified eyes of the squirrel as it would run around to save it self while everyone gathered and laughed around. The kid teased me saying that I had made it up and had beat me a little more that day but I smiled to myself as I saw the empty box. Only I and my friend knew the place where the squirrel lay so we were assured that it might have got better and gone away. After that every time I saw a squirrel I would think of that box and thank god for saving its life.

Things don’t happen for good all the time. Sometimes it might seem that everything is going right but there might be a hidden problem in it. At such times you should leave everything to god. God awards innocence by saving the life of the squirrel.

In Mumbai, standing in line is a way of life. I didn’t think the same back then, though now it runs in my blood. We used to stand in line only to get beat by our teachers or to be punished by standing in line in front of the class. When the period would get over and we would go back to our benches our backs used to be white with chalk powder and blue with stick marks. It used to be dreadful to stand in a line and wait for your number to come. You could see the stinging pain in the kids in front of you as the teacher would lash on their hands. The hand would go down in almost the same momentum with which the stick would hit the hand. The cry coming out would be real, not made up; the way kids have today when they have to stand with their hands up in class. Our class monitor was quite a tyrant and would write anyone’s name who would not keep their head down on the bench. We see a familiar scene in the movies these days when the terrorists keep the normal civilians under their line of fire, while the poor victims sit huddled up, hiding from the eyes of those cynics, with their head down and eyes stealthily watching if the terrorist would look at them. The only problem was that in this case the terrorist would write your name on the board and then the boss would come to beat you up with the meanest cane you could imagine.

We would prefer the fat stick. That hurts less as it covers a bigger surface area. The leaner canes were much more lethal and would hurt for a long time later. They would leave blue lines on your hand, each for the 10 times you would get hit. The pain would be immeasurable. It would make you remember god most of the times. You would see red before your eyes every time the stick struck you. What was more terrible was seeing 9 more kids go through the same plight before you. The countdown would go on as the sounds of the sticks and shouts of the culprits would mix with the sniggers and sneers of the rest of the class as they watched the ordeal. Many of us would piss in our pants and the teacher would be shouting more at us then. I was the most frequent pisser. More because I would feel the pain and the injustice of the whole system with every time I would get hit. It would rise more every passing day and finally turned me into a very silent kid who never spoke much or said a lot.

I would never forgive my teachers through my life. They beat me and would insult my mother by complaining against me in front of so many other people. My mother would dread meeting my teachers in a market or a meeting as they would shout and insult her for the way her boy was always untidy, slow and wicked in his ways. I thank god for giving my mother the strength to withstand it all. I wish I could meet those teachers now. I would like to teach them a thing or a two about manners, about giving respect in order to get respect and about humility.

The only refuge in my school was the cactuses which were found at the end of the school play ground. There was a dirt mound having those cactuses and I with my best friend would always go and hide there whenever the games period came. In school time, my classmates would choose the weakest kid around, which would usually be me or my friend and would bang our heads on the bench. They would try out all their skills of self offence and would win if they could beat the shit out of us. I know I should not use such words in my writing as it makes it crude but to make you understand the situation it is very important for you to look at things the way they were. Sugar coating it all would end up in the loss of intensity of the whole matter.

The cactus provided an excellent place to hide and discuss future plans. We would discuss how we could save ourselves, how we could do well in school work and would imagine weird stuff like flying away or digging the hole till the end of the earth. The other kids used to be busy playing football or catch the den on the ground while we kept ourselves busy with such antics.

Once a kid in my class was beating Deepak. He would always choose him and pick on him because he was very silent and would take the hits easily. He would also cry and would let the other person win without much trouble. Something happened to me and I pushed that boy and slapped him. He never expected this and he took up a life long revenge on me. I turned back to sobbing Deepak and told him, “Don’t worry, I will always be there to watch your back!” For that one second I had become the strongest boy on this planet. I was very happy and felt powerful. I was all washed out the next minute when a fist punched me in my back and I fell on the table. After that the kids pointed their antics at me more than my friends because I had tried to resist.

Tipu Sultan was a very famous character than. The epic which used to be shown every weekend on TV would show this warrior riding on his horse back, wearing his turban and having a sword in his hand. Everyone in the class would form groups and play as the tyrant brits who were the enemies and Tipu Sultan and its army as the heroes. We would play at an old fountain which had no water in it so that you could easily climb down in it. For us kids it was huge, having circular steps in between which lead to other levels above. It was royal white and provided a good place for us to play. While playing once a scheme was planned against me in which I was made Tipu Sultan. I rode around on my imaginary horse as some kid pushed me from a higher level and I fell on the ground thus getting a cut on one of my eyebrows. I still got up on my own as everyone else stood laughing and wiped the blood out of my face and went about catching two other kids instead of one. They were all surprised and I triumphed yet again! I still remember Tipu Sultan and still have that scar on my eyebrow.

The Panther nursery school taught me a lot of things. It taught me how to defend myself when everything was against me. It taught me about the higher power; It taught me not to be bad to others and to have patience with the slow and weak. It taught me to shake both my hands vigorously, so that the hands become hot and hurt less when you get hit by the cane. It also taught me a very important thing that nothing is constant as time passes by. I remember saying bye to Deepak Das as he came to school for the last time and took my address. He promised that he would stay in touch. Unfortunately, even my dad got posted in a few days time and I couldn’t send him my new address. I still remember him sometimes and all those talks behind the cactus!

Amritsar

I pause for a moment as i write the title to this blog thinking about the city up north which has so many memories attached to it. If a dash board could be created of every place, a dash board of memories, Amritsar would find its place in the very start of my learning.

The city is abuzz with yellow lights, having narrow lanes filled with people walking up and down in irregular pattern. Now thinking back, it was a place which defined "if u can push through, you can move ahead". A place of constant struggle and making a stand. The convoy would usually stop near the golden temple, which would suddenly sprout out at the end of the many lanes which we entered. We never entered the same lane again and would constantly make our way around the lanes shooing people and making a way for ourselves.

Golden temple was a large place, it had a pond in between and we could see the shining top of the temple or gurudwara. I still wonder why they called it temple and not gurudwara? Was it a temple before? They say that about the Taj Mahal; i muse over the fact that people can say, wonder and fight about everything they have no clue about. That is the rule of the game, whoever is more confident wins! You could see the reflection of the temple in the lake. That was the place where i met the first love of my life: books!

You couldnt actually call them books. They were rather comics. I remember the first time i got my first action comic. I had gone with my dad to the golden temple and after taking the steaming prasad in my hand, we saw a stall having those glossy paperbacks. The thing about the prasad was that you got to have it because it was the tastiest thing in the world. The halwa which they give is 24/7 steaming hot, and they put it directly in your hand. As you stand in the heat you dont know whether to hold it in your hands and howl or put it in your mouth. Mouth would be the worst option as it would cancel the idea of howling too, the only release of heat from your body!

I urged my dad to buy me a comic. My dad looked apprehensively at the muscled hero on the cover fighting a hideous enemy and asked me if i really wanted it. i nodded with excitement, and in some time i had two comics in my hand! I couldnt wait to get back home to read what happens. I kept looking at the caricatures inside the comic as i sat patiently in the vehicle and was waiting when i would reach home.

When i read nagraj for the first time i was lost in his world. He was a snake man, not in thoughts but literally! he had scales over his body and could do amazing things like, store snakes in his body and give out poisonous wasps of smoke which would make even the strongest man on the planet to loose consciousness. The biggest thing about Nagraj was that he was a fighter of crime, he was a hero out of ordinary, enough to make a 6-7 year old go gaga!

I remember my parents buying me and my sister a lot of comics after that. We would desperately wait to pick up and see off guests at the station so that we could get a new stock of comics which i would devour like a monster! Their were other good comics like chacha chowdary and sabu, billu, chacha bhatija, pinki, etc. Pinki was this cute lil girl having a squirrel named kutkut. She was the indian version of Denis the menace and my sister simply adored reading her adventures. I would find it interesting as i really found pinki to be cute and would relate her to my sister.

We stayed in the army cantonment which was out of bounds for civilians. I remember from my very childhood remembering the name of my father and the unit he was posted in even before my abc's. If anyone would ask i would religiously recite "Vijay Pimple" and the unit name. Every station had its own taq sign. It is like an identity by which everything in the station would be known, the taq sign at this station was "Panther". My school was the Panther Nursery school which i remember as two long blocks of classes having a huge playground in front. Then their was the Panther institute and the panther shopping center. Life in the cantt would be fun as i would take my little sister out for walks, I was 6 then and she was 3 or 4. A few years back one of the aunties who had seen us then, met my mom and asked to her surprise how we were! She remembered me holding my sister's hand and taking her out for walks.

Aarti was a sweetheart. She was very small and had a boy cut which made her look really cute! I always remember her in her sweater which had the magical qualtiy of making us look like two fat lambs having soft cheeks which would be always puffed up. I still wonder looking at the photos whether it was the cold or if we were born with attitude! Puffing up is something which aarti still does whenever she gets upset. She had the cutest of the smiles even as a kid and would make me go crazy. I still remember playing with her and teasing her. The best thing about her was that she would tease back! She was one chotu who had really big brains and a longer tongue! No one could speak a word before her. She would mimic people and her big eyes would sparkle every time she would be upto some mischief! That is how she would give herself away.

I remember my mom to be very silent in those days. She would never mix much in our antics or our talks. We were not exactly easy children either. Constantly fighting, always falling or hurting ourselves or always up to some trouble, we must be really driving her up the wall! She still likes to call us the best of the children she could ever have. I wonder sometimes if she secretly adds a "a" after the "e" in the word best!

life: the begining

I have the habit of being nostalgic on every small thing that happens with me. Somehow its my way of comparing, of remembering or maybe just feeling happy that things are getting better. Isnt that the reason most of us think back?

Tango Charlie is a movie, not liked by most people i have met. For some, it is a movie which happened a few years ago, for others a flop. The few who have actually seen it, have found it to be too violent and too tense for their choice. For me it is a movie most cherished till now.

My father is an officer in the Indian Army. Often referred to as PAPA during his stay in Shrinagar, he would never tell his family how the life on the border was. That was always kept a secret. He discouraged me from joining the army saying i was not emotionally right for it and i could serve the country in some other way. After seeing that movie i realized why he said that.

Their is a scene in the movie in which tanisha sharma, the actress, steals the hero's diary and reads it before he can reach her. She gets so affected by his traumatic life that she finds herself asking him the question "how could you be so innocent with so much wrong going around" That scene is my favorite, because i find myself asking the same question to the inner me. Was it all worth it? i wonder. But then it was! It has always been!

Anyone's life can be categorized by the major events which happened with them.I categorize my life according to places i have been to. I feel happy that today once again after seeing that movie i am feeling like writing something about what has happened which i never dared before.

Each place leaves a memory with that person, no matter how big or small he maybe. It has a mental foot print on him which he carries with him throughout his life. Which he cherishes till its end for space, time and distances might change but memories remain fixed and keep getting stronger as you cherish them.

The memory can be distorted, as the movie "memento" puts it....but that is what defines you and your actions....

mumbai nights

People seldom know Mumbai as the city of stars. It is clarified that by stars i mean bollywood stars, which are one of the prominent attractions which attracts every teenager squatting in some village far far away, up or down, dreaming of being the next Shah rukh khan. Stars as such are very difficult to find in this city where population and pollution is at the verge of spilling over. The old mumbaites say that this city used to be cold once. So cold that you had to take blankets to sleep at night. These days even wearing the least possible clothing on the skin can produce emmense quantity of perspiration.

This is just a jist to welcome you to mumbai: A city in constant turmoil, a city of conflict and tolerance, a city which has no memory and a city with its eyes only on the future. There is no place for the past in mumbai. There is just too much to forget, too much to forgive and no time to do so. The city teaches you to move on. Until you are moving here, you are safe.

The locals bring you literally close to people. Really close, so that you can even smell their efforts which they have digested or perspired through the day. I am lucky to be in the first class compartment, for i get a hybrid of this and the deodrants, which are so easily available these days. On the streets of mumbai, everything in the world is sold. You just need to be in the right place at the right time.

At night the scene changes slightly. The knights of the day, who have been fighting tirelessly, begin their journey back to their humble abode. Nothing seems like home after a tiresome day. This fact is made so real and probably that alone makes you forget the other minor things such as how big your apartment is or what other problems are there everyday. As a adult maybe that must be an added thought on your mind. No wonder my parents seem happy once they come back home and so tense when they are outside.

The sun sets on the marine drive before an audience of hundreds of people. It doesnt know the fact that very few people are observing it and understanding it. Instead most backs are turned towards it and people are busy staring at the other beautiful things around. I in my office, i make it a point to see it everyday. Not that i dont have other choices. Its just my way of saying goodbye to another day which god has let me see. The night grows darker as the lights in my office are put on. Busy with my work, it amuses me to observe this subtle change. Its 10 at night when my phone rings. Dad is calling, i know its time to make a move.

Its my fantasy that i want to roam at VT one night till i dont tire myself out. The broad open streets beckon me to walk on them. At night most buildings have lights which highlights all the corners of the building. The british architecture amazes me to think how a generation has passed. As i sit in the taxi, i observe how a vada pav wala washes his stall, A sandwich wala is still busy selling sandwiches to some people who are chatting merrily about the sudden disappearance of the rains this season. The traffic moves on to the station as I make my way from the city of the old to the city of the new. A continuous transfer yet the same mix of people.

The sun smiles as it slants on her eyes
And the rain wets her lovely face
As she intoxiates with her earthy aroma

The breeze spreads her fragnance
to the seven skies as she blushes
For it touches her sof skin

Making it tremble
Dampening with pleasure
The touch, the thought and her smile

She smiles as he looks from above
Their eyes make thunder, at the horizon they meet
Their happiness knows no bounds

For at least in someones eyes they meet
For in someones envy they are together
By their togetherness, their union, they attract

But you may never find them
Never know where and when
They hide with each other in tight embrace

They hide from your regretful unworthy eyes
For when you come between them
they are the earth and the sky.

nikhil

my wishes....

Today my thoughts are weaving a different kind of web on me. I feel like floating away with them to some other planet or nearby galaxy where my thoughts will have some meaning or purpose. So you must be wondering what has happened to me today?!

Today I am in a mood to fly, to dream about the future and to forget the past. I do want to hold on to the good memories though. Also the itsy bitsy wishes I have there in my mind. Wonder what would happen if I forgot them!

To fantasize is my life. I love to dream and I love it more when my dreams come true. It feels so accomplished and so complete when something you have wished for comes true! Its not like your dreams come true all the time. So when they do they are special. I have many dreams, a few of which I would like to share with you. My most recent dream (its more of a wish actually) is to spend the last day of the year on a mountain and see the sunrise from its top. I should be lying on lush green grass, with my entire family and should spend the time looking at the rising sun through the mist and the rainbows. Wonder where such a place is?! I also want to write a book. The topic and story I am still vague about. I can write on a topic, or maybe just like that. But can never plan a story out. Hope I will do it someday.

I know I have to write a book and I know where I want to write it. I loved the house naseerudin shah has in being cyrus. Though he might be a bit cranky and somewhat a eccentric character in that movie, his house is what I really adored. It had this old feeling to it. Up in the mountains, away from everyone and so much close to nature. My dream home! This mountain should be somewhere in shimla. I visited it during one of our study tours. That is one good thing about being in an architectural college. You get to go to lot of fun trips in different parts of the country! I would have loved to go abroad but I am a bit scared of that. Right now my own country will do.

I have another wish of going all around India and photographing the sights. The temples, the forts and even the ones which have been plundered. I hope I get to do that someday! It would be fun going on my own all over India and visiting all these places. Just that it would be very costly. So this idea is on a stand by.

I have this another idea of throwing a big party after 18 years in which I would invite all the people I have ever known. Whether they be friends or foes or even accomplices, they all have an equal hand in shaping my life someway or the other! This party is going to be a costly affair if it ever happens that is. Either too many will turn up or maybe no one. If no one does good for me! I have a ball with the few who do turn up and use the money for my all India trip! One thing into another!

My wish, or more of a desire is to catch a theif who would be carrying a really big bag. In this bag I want to find all the things I have ever lost till today. That would be a thrilling thing to happen but this dream has a very low possibility. Believe me if someone goes into finding the things that I have lost he would literally have to go around the whole country! Then it would be he going on a trip and not me! That would be so bad if I haven’t been on this trip already. I really like doing things before anyone else does it. Unique things you know. Things not known or discovered. This also reminds me that another of my dream is to make something which would be used by everyone all around! It might be a very simple thing but it should be there with everybody. Like maybe scissors or a pencil. Simple but very crucial for everyone!

There are other wild thoughts like I want to bash someone up in a boxing match. I really want to get in the ring and beat the hell out of someone. I also want to drive in a bike race. I want to reach the top of mount Everest and…..the list can go on forever but its time to stop now. I can atleast enjoy recollecting all the different dreams I had today, after a few years time, when I read this again and laugh about it. Then I wont be laughing on the absurdity of the thought but how I accomplished all my dreams. Hope that happens!

First time i maarowed night!

At the very outset i would like to clear what maarowed night means. It is a phrase construed by generations of architects, showing a rich blend of the english and hindi language, like the blend of night and day in an architect's life. Maarna in hindi means to kill and thus the phrase pin points to the very existence of an architect's life: working through the night.

It might be a new thing for many of you out there. Maybe you feel that we architects or rather to be precise students of architecture (now refered to as "stew f arch") dont do things on time and therefore sit through the night to complete the work. But the reality is in as much darkness as is needed for a perfect G.T., which i never did. Yes, isnt it a shocker? I never marowed gt! G.T. means the glass technique which is followed religiously by all the architecture as well as engineering students. It is when you religiously copy someone else's sheet to the exact detail and still have the confidence to present your work next day, swearing on its originality. Not that i was one of the sincere lot, I never maarowed gt for entirely different reasons. I thought to much of myself.

Our batch of college is one of the unique batches to have had hand drafting as well as computer drafting in our curriculum. The system bought a lot of changes in a five years time. Even our thought process changed as plans of drafting the whole thesis panels getting inspired from the likes of annie and other movies which stumble upon the interesting life of an architect; to plans of using photoshop and coreldraw, revit and max and what not! The people who used to loathe computer drafting, saying that it killed creativity finally had to bow down to the coming technology as it almost swept over our thoughts. Finally it was only the war of softwares and how good it looks, then how it really feels and functions. Who the heck bothered about such details anyway?! Well, I did!

It was important to give you the background of the general situation which you might have to corelate in many of my coming topics. Anyway now a brief spot light on my life. I was staying with my granny now. Away from family and bhusawal which was my new home after dad got posted there from secunderabad(which is where i did my 12th). My classmates i relate to as butterflies, fluttering from one piece of peculiar information to another were always interested in knowing where i belonged now. Their parents didnt move that much. They were in the same place for most of their lives. The few who did tell me proudly of how much they had seen around had happily touched the corners of maharastra and considered it as the end of india. After that was the wild country, full of demons spatting paan, giving wicked or sly smiles and being over smart. (Though i didnt eat paan, i was also considered one of them!) They were all commonly christened northerners and kept to that. Such kinds were to be ignored and kinds like me who had mysteriously landed in a dream like mumbai were to be ridiculed or laughed at for our accent(which was quite normal by the way, somehow normal meant something else to them!) In my case, i was a maharastrian, who lived all over india except maharastra and didnt know his accent of marathi right as most of them knew around. The other thing which really bit into them was the uncanny habit of me calling everyone around "bhaiya" which was a bigger insult then any curse given to anyone closely related to their mother or sisters. For most proud maharastrians, marathi is their mother and sister and the whole family. They hold on to their roots tight, many a times denying even the existence of some other culture of tradition to exist, if it threatens their own in anyway. This somewhere is a very endearing quality but i feel not so good when india is open to the 21st global city environment. My granny always says "zaat nahi zaat" which means that "no matter how much you change the caste never leaves its impact on you" I had protested against this a long time back but then soon learnt the truth in it. Anyway that is the discussion on some other day story. we have already sub lined our topic! Man our mind flows like the wind!

So coming back to the first time i did maarow night. We were given assignments which had to be completed in a certain period of time. A design problem would go on for months with one studio every week in which the teacher scrutinized our design or rather the work of ours or days together in a few minutes time. If you were later on the role call you seldom got a chance to explain your design as the teacher would be either to pissed off with everyone else work or after seeing so many designs of your friends being had, you would lose the very will to show or tell anything in your design. The month long ordeal would end with a pre final and a final submission. The prefinal would have the teachers grimacing over our designs, seldom changing them completely so that the person would feel completely lost and depressed and scared of how one would complete their design. In my case i took it as a chalange. The strange part was that the teachers never commented on your predesign. When you showed your progress every week in planning, structuring and progressing they would just nod and let it pass. You might even get an 8 sometimes so that you could puff up and throw your weight around for sometime. It was the prefinal when the lightening struck.

So this was the situation, I had a whole design to complete, and only one night to do so. the whole week after the prefinal had gone into making the changes in the design and as in most of the times, redesigning the whole thing. It all came down to a few hours of struggle. Every minute would make a difference tonight.

I had planned out that i would make 4 sheets full of everything i could put into. Our teachers were smart enough not to accept crap and would make a very big deal if we put anything that would show the level to which our thought process might fall. Everyone tried their best to impress the teachers with good words. The problem was as most of them were struggling with english, i was struggling with marathi!

It was 6 when i started working. I planned that i would keep everything ready by 10 and have a good nights sleep after that. So much for planning! The thing about planning is that sometimes you plan things out and they go vaguely according to it. Then when you later look back you realize that it would never work out anyway! It was impossible! But for me that word didnt exist then. I thought everything was possible. I am the same now and still believe in that, the only difference being that i make plans which are possible now.

I needed music desperately to stay awake. I am a very sleepy fellow that way. At the least sign of work or efforts i would rather go to bed and sleep and let god look into it. In architecture i realized that

himmate mard, toh madat de khuda!

music was my soul. It was set according to my mood. That night it was the radio that was to set the mood. The FM had newly started then and was quite a hep thing. Everyone who was anyone listened to it and specially for people like me it was a dream come true! Usually their used to be English songs at night. I owe the radio for making me listen to many of my favorites which i cherish till today. Their was a competition that night for all the love birds around. You had to give a message to someone you loved through radio, the only thing was that it should be someone you havent told that you love them already! Do those people never think of the consequences? What if that person was seeing someone? What if they said no on your face? What if they hated you? though the first and second possibilty would happen seldom the third one is the one which is most interested and am waiting till day to hear! Perhaps people get very sweet on the radio and never tell what they actually feel!

Picture this, Mr X loves Ms. Y very much from the past 3 years. He hasnt made the guts to go and talk to her and tell her about his feelings. They work in the same firm, and seldom speak to each other. But Mr. X has been looking out for a chance to say the 3 magic words which he cant say on her face or he might get the four letter word so well versed with the present generation. Then one desperate night Mr. X hears this rj on radio and plans, why not propose on radio? Wont that be romantic? So he goes to his wits end and proposes to her by calling her in the middle of the night when she is probably sound asleep in her sweethearts arms. Night 1 o'clock is just not the right time to propose to a girl you dont know anything about. Its not the right time, not the right place and definitely not the right girl! Imagine a gal saying yes to a guy after been woken up at the middle of the night? Its the most horrible scene one can ever imagine. Its like you are on your bed fast asleep, in your sweethearts embrace and suddenly someone put on the lights and you find yourself on stage in front of thousand audience thick crowd! how would that feel?!
Still to my wonder some girls said yes!

You probably noticed that it was 1 by now! which left me with only 5 hours more. The time had just flown by. Lost in the silly things people do in mumbai and the different variety of songs i had forgotton that i was supposed to be deep asleep by now! All the remarks of my parents came back to me. Early to bed and early to rise, started jabbing me and calling me to bed. Suddenly bed seemed like a beautiful piece of feather on which this little tom thumb had to sleep. I gazed dreamily at it for a while as it hypnotized me.

Then suddenly the thoughts of everybody else came back! How much had everyone else finished? Were they fast asleep already? Next one hour passed in calling up friends, and fueling the cooker with more pressure. After one hour of "Itna ho gaya?" the cooker was completely fueled and ready to burst on the paper. The drafting board was shifted to the living room, [M] tv was put on and work began to speed up again. finally it got over by 0530 as i lay back on my chair satisfied with the layout of the sheet and other minute details which had taken the final hour.

Their is a time when you are maarowfying night when your body starts aching and your mind is too heavy. Yours hands tremble and your body just wants to hit the bed and get rest. this is the time you need to work really hard. This is the test of your will, of your drive which is going to pull you through the night. Finally when you gape at the ceiling for a few minutes after a tiresome night having the last fading thought: "is this worth it?" You ponder on it for a few seconds, take a deep breath and get up. Take a cold water bath on your aching body and roll up your sheet and you sleeve saying

"hell yes!"

how i chose architecture

Achitecture...a course that changed my whole perspective of looking at things. 5 years ago as i dragged myself towards my tutions far away in hyderabad i wondered where my life would go after 12th. Everyone around was going for iits and bits (Indian Institute of Technology and Birla Institute of Technology and Sciences) and all i could think of was....nothing! 12th does make you a mumbling troll who doesnt know where the world is going or where he is going except in the case of Thermodynamics or maybe how A C generators work. By the time one can differentiate and intergrate their thoughts, they have their mothers hanging on to their necks saying big things like "what are you going to do with your life?!"

So on such a perfect sunday, i walked towards my tutions thinking about some crap which would make me forget about the hyderabad heat. Lo Behold! There it stood! A one in a million wonder! The house of every dreams envy. Having the name "Arch. Ramesh Rao" etched on it. Finally i had a plan! I wanted to be an ARCHITECT!

Now that the tough part seemed over everything else seemed easy! All i needed to do was to design buildings. I wondered then what was the difference between an architect and an engineer. My parents seemed to be more enthusiastic. They visited a few colleges of architecture around asking people how the curriculum was, how long was the course and how tough was it. I could see from the first time they came back from the ordeal that they werent impressed! I smiled as my mom and dad sat telling me about the characters they had met in the college. Some guy with a pony tail and the other wearing shorts and a sleeveless tee which later turned out to be a girl. They werent very enthusiastic about me joining up after that, not atleast in that particular college. This was the time i realised that i should look into things. I trusted my parents "skills of persuasion" and knew immediately that they would carve into me that i should go into some other course. Here began my struggle to find out what architecture really was.

A little breif about me first, i am an army officers kid having a sister and one set of parents who have been happily married for as long as i remember. My father is a scorpion and mother a cancerian and they have left no stones unturned in nipping me and my sister, now and then about the truths and rights in life. I love them for their keen sense of understanding and for their trust in me to make me learn from my own decisions. My sister a tauras all throughout is the only one who can closely relate to me, was in 8th then, which was a itsy bitsy age for all the turmoil coming up. She could least understand what was going on in her brothers life. What was so much in 12th? Why was it such a big thing? She follows the strict principle : you study, you get marks; if u dont, u get sharks! I truly beleived in that principle too but somehow never got around to following it! To me studies was a insipid thing you do when you are bored with all the other stuff! It wasnt as if i was going out to play some sport or busy drooling over girls like the other guys around me for i had already done that in my former years. It was just that i was more interested in things like drawing and reading and listening to music. Music seemed to fill me wid wonder. It filled my mundane head with fantastic thoughts and seldom encouraged me to sit through nights of maths and problem solving. According to my dad music was the only distraction i had, for everytime he would come out to drink a glass of water he would find his son gawking over some female in a song when he was supposed to be completely engrossed into maths. Maths has always been my worst cousin who i had to relent with for a very long time. One thing was always clear in my mind that i couldnt take anymore of maths so engineering was slowly getting out of question.

Drawing interested me. It made me realise the value of lines and curves. It evoked different feelings in me. It gave me a deep sense in volume and spaces. I wasnt much into drawing buildings then and never thought that i would be. I used to do portraits and objects. Never could i have imagined then that drawing buildings would be the only thing i would be doing in 5 years time. I still have a whole collection of portraits, cut out from magzines and newspapers which i have to draw. I hope that someday i would get the time to draw them. For five years i have been collecting so the collection is huge but the only problem is that it would never relate to the people around. Their is a very thin line which divides an artist and a pervert, same as it does in a mad person and a very intelligent person. Both are two ends of the same puzzle, but both are important to complete it.

I read a lot too! Though i really craved to read some good novels, but then novels were a strict taboo. No novel reading until the vacations after 12th so i resorted to reading other comics like conan the barbarian. I must say that conan the barbarian has an excellent caricature artist, who doesnt only make the character alive in the book but in your heart too! I cannot live without fantasizing and conan gave me the right outsource for that. The fantasy of having a rightful barbouous character who follows his will and wishes and does what he wants. The whole good part about conan the barbarian is that he always wins, which makes you think that maybe someday you will too! Isnt it every human's fantasy to live conan's life?!

Finally, a few things were clear...i was going to do architecture because it involved lot of drawing, With just that thought in my mind i searched in my school lab the best college of architecture in india....Sir J J College of Architecture came up. It seemed they held their own exam as well as the cet (common entrance test) which everyone had to give. I got a new fantasy to dream about....what if i did end up in this college? Wont be wonderful to be in the best college atleast once in life?! Wont it be wonderful to have the best for yourself? I smiled to myself as i dreamt over my maths books!