The west coast! Part 1

“Sir, would you like some beverage?”

“ahh…what options do I have?” I said, lost and sleepy.

Making a ‘dude, really? take a coke and shut the fuck up!’ face, he said, “I have coke and juices, Orange, Apple, Tomato…”

“Tomato” I said, confidently as if I have been waiting to hear that option. He gave me a glass and a can of 100% Pure Organic Tomato juice.

Tomato??? What made me say that? Of all the juices, I chose tomato? I was genuinely exhausted. But to think of it, it was not that bad since the last couple of days had been an adventure totally uncalled for. This flight was taking me back to NYC. I was more than happy. (Thank God he didn’t say potato.)

Few days back


JFK Airport
12:30pm

I entered the booking number but the machine couldn’t find my boarding pass. After 5 tries, I could have smashed the screen. A nearby customer service agent saw that. She hurried up to me and asked for my ticket. I gave her the confirmation number.

“Oops. Sir, you are late for this flight. The check-in counters have been closed”

My heart sank. No, I had to go. This couldn’t have happened.

“I have already checked in. I only have my carry bag, so if you can please give me my boarding pass, I should be good.”

She took out her walkie and had some gibberish conversation with the boarding gate staff. How do they understand each other? It goes like…Crackle!! I have a passenger kldkjavkjlghliruulsahjkfgkjlafklweyht…another crackle….fklngrleghbfhsal dahfag;oarhgoiah aklfdn;ahgor;iuhohgojhg…Crackle!

“Alright sir, I am going to print your boarding pass. But for future reference, you are late. You must report to check-in earlier”.

I want to learn that language so bad! It is pure genius I tell you.

She gave me my boarding pass and I ran to my gate but immediately had to stop. The looooong queue for security check. And security checks in USA are very different from India.

Indian security checks – keep all your stuff in the small tray (wallet, phone, keys etc). Then walk through that age old wooden metal detector doors. An extremely enthusiastic police officer will await your entry (sarcasm intended). With a poker face, he will ask you to raise your hands, he will then hit your ass with that little black thing in his hand that will beep twice. Then he would take your boarding and stamp it so hard as if he can see his wife’s or boss’s face in that boarding pass. “Suck it bitch!” BAMMMMMMM! It is a usual noise at airports actually. BAMM! BAMM! Attention Passengers BAMM! Flight S2 12 BAMM! is rea…BAMM! Please pro BAMM!…..12.

USA security checks – Take out all the liquids from the bags. Take off your belt, shoes, watch, jacket, wallet, keys, coins, phone, laptop, camera, i pod and anything that may possibly contain metal. They all most rip you off. Then walk through the X Ray machine, followed by a person who ask you to stand on a mark. No beeps, no touching. Then you may go and wait for your bag.

As I was about to take the bag, an officer pounced on it.

“Sir, I am afraid you bag has certain prohibitted or unsafe items that must be immediately identified and removed. I will request you to come with me to that table. Please do not attempt to touch me or the bag while I am in contact with the bag. Once it is clear, I will put it back in the X ray machine. If it comes out clean, then I will hand it over to you. Do you think there is any item present in the bag that might be dangerous to other passengers in any manner?” I felt like being sarcastic but then luck was not really in my favor. I chose to keep shut. I just shook my head in an obvious no.

If underwears, socks and t-shirts may kill people or if a camera can shoot bullets, then yes, I had shitload of stuff that may be dangerous. It basically depends on how skilled the person is or how much of dedication he has to kill. My bag provided plenty of killing tools to a person who really wanted to kill. Choking by socks, using underwear elastic to lodge poisonous darts into people’s neck could be some possible ways.

He took my bag to the table and checked it thoroughly. What followed was unbelievable. He took out my shaving foam, shower gel and shampoo.

“I am sorry sir. 4oz  is the maximum allowed size for liquids and gels in the cabin baggage. I am afraid you cannot take these with you in the plane. What do you want me to do with these?”

How about you take a shower right now? I am sorry. He was actually very polite and was just doing his job. But I was out of patience as well as I was about miss the flight if he did not hurry up. I knew the answer to his question by experience.

“Discard them”

“Ok sir. With your permission, I will arrange for those items to be disposed off immediately. Please come along and claim your bag.”

He removed those items and then put my bag back in the scanner which came out clean. I ran to my gate and handed my boarding pass. As I began to proceed to the plane, the  lady standing at the gate, stopped me.

“I am sorry sir. You cannot take that bag in cabin. It is bigger than the allowed dimensions. I will gatecheck it. When you reach LA, you will get it back” she snatched my bag, wrapped a tag around it, and stuck a similar tag on my boarding pass which had hand written words, LAX.

All the of the above things happened within a span of 30seconds or may be less. Before I could react what happened, my bag was gone and I just had my boarding pass in my hand. She sure has some awesome measurement experience. I saw a man taking my bag towards the aircraft. I ran for it.

“Excuse me, I need to take things out from that bag.” I shouted.

“Sure sir, feel free” he stopped. He was a smiling, young kind of guy who definitely was recently hired.

I opened my bag n took out my passport folder, ipod and headphones. Something told me, I was not going to see that bag again, soon. So I found it wise to hold on to my essentials.

Sitting at my seat, the realization hit me, it was a six and half hour flight.

LA Airport

The last bag just crossed me, the belt was shut down and everyone around left me standing there, alone, living my nightmare. My bag was lost.

“Excuse me, I can’t seem to find my baggage which I was told I would get at LA. It was gatechecked at JFK”

“Sir, can I have the tag number?”
.
.
.
.
“Sorry sir, I can’t find that tag on the system”

“So does that mean you guys have no clue where my bag is?”

“There is a possibility that the crew didn’t scan it. So the bag might be somewhere at LA airport but is not entered in the system.”

That sounded perfect. And it is LA airport we are talking about, one of the busiest in the world. If a flight goes missing here, they might not be able to find it, sure they would find my bag.

“Well, then can you please find it? I have to have it. It has my camera and other important stuff”

“Sir, give me 15-20mins, I will get it traced personally”

I walk around the airport, anxiously waiting for the time to pass but the world suddenly was moving so slow.

9,448,223,396 years later

“Any updates?”

“No sir. I am sorry we cannot find the bag. Can I have your boarding pass again?”

I gave it him. I was scared what if he burns it and laughs at me “You shall not pass!”

“Are you flying to San Jose after this?”

“Ahh, yes I am. My flight leaves at 05:50”

“That’s my answer for you sir. Your baggage has been through checked. You will find it in San Jose”

“Are you sure? Because the tag says to claim it in LA”

“I am absolutely sure sir. Please proceed for your departure. Have a safe flight”

“Thank you” I left the counter, half believing what he just said. Something inside me told me, I would not find the bag in San Jose.

San Jose airport

And went the last bag. Yes, my bag did not reach San Jose. I was not even close to being surprised. That was a small propeller aircraft with not more than 30 passengers.

I walked into the Delta Airways office.

“I am sorry sir. Let me check it for you.”

She was very prompt. She immediately called up LA airport and then sent some instructions on her computer simultaneously.

Overhearing the conversation, I realized, they found the bag. Phew! Half relief. They found the bag shortly after I left the counter.

“Why did you guys not board it in the aircraft when you knew the passenger was going to San Jose on that flight and he did come looking for the bag?” said the lady at the desk. She seemed genuinely annoyed.

“I am very sorry sir. I have retards sitting there in LA. They found your bag, they knew you are flying here. But they still did not load it. They are planning to send it by the next flight.”

That was some relief to hear about. At least my bag was not lost.

“And when is next flight?”

“Tomorrow 10am”

“Ok, I am here for an assignment, I have my camera in that bag, my clothes, everything. There is no way I can do my assignment tomorrow without that bag. I am a photographer and I have been hired to cover an event. Without my camera, what am I gonna do tomorrow?”

I made up the story. The truth was, I just needed my clothes and stuff. The camera I was going to shoot on the next day was rented already. But then, that was the only viable option that could pressurize them to get my bag as soon as possible. Also, I so wanted to click pictures with my camera.

“I am very very sorry sir. I will try my best if they can tag it and send it by the next flight, whatever airline that is. I would say, you please head to your hotel. I will give you call. And if possible I will get it delivered to your hotel. If not, you may have to come and pick it up”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that”

I stormed out of the office. The next challenge was to get to the hotel. Unlike LA, this airport was like Lucknow. Small and deserted.

I walked out and on the other end, were the shuttle service cars. I walked to one of them.

“Sunnyvale?”

“Yes, please sit” replied the guy in hindi, opening the car door for me.

That was such a relief. Though it didn’t do anything but the very thought that I have someone who speaks my language was a relief.

He dropped me at the hotel and left me his number for any traveling needs anytime. Typical Indian I must say.

09:40pm


“Hello sir, I am speaking from Delta Airlines regarding your baggage. I am afraid I don’t have a good news”

“And that would be?” I said, annoyed at the dramatics, half expecting her to say “somebody accidentally opened the baggage cabin mid-air so all the bags flew off. Did your bag fall in your hotel? If it did not, I am afraid we lost your bag”

“We could not arrange for your bag to be shipped tonight. It will surely be coming tomorrow morning. I deeply regret the inconvenience caused”

“Thank you”

Something started to grow across my body. A strange sensation. My clothes felt like they were made of steel. And full of dirt. I wanted to take a shower and change to fresh clothes. The feeling slowly settled in, that I didn’t have my brush, clothes, my slippers, anything.

It had been an amazingly long day for me.

Flashback
July 13
I woke up at 8am to catch up breakfast. We reached the location, few miles away from the hotel, around noon. And we began shooting some left over interior scenes from day 1. Followed by a lot of stuff till late evening. Then I had to light up a bonfire scene (my favorite stuff). The lighting up itself took 3hours.

By the time it was dark, we were ready. That scene took the longest to shoot. We wrapped at 1am. (Now July 14. I know it is obvious but you would realize why I am emphasizing it).

The plan was to drive back to NY at night. Even though, everyone was tired, and sleepy, this had to be done. I decided to be Camille’s navigator who was driving the equipment van, which was a commercial vehicle. That meant, we could not take the expressways adding another hour and a half to the journey time.

Our phone and laptop batteries were dying. Which meant, no GPS and no communication channel. Camille’s phone had fallen in the lake, so it wasn’t much helpful anyways (also, iPhones suck!).

This by itself is another blog entry. So I would not give away much details here. A lot of detours, asking around, guesswork, breaks and screaming, we finally made to NY by 05:00am. Dead tired and extremely sleepy, I reached my apartment by 06:00am.

I opened my laptop to find my ticket to San Jose. Wow! I found out the flight was 01:10pm. To reach JFK at 12:10, I needed to be out of my house by 10 which meant I had to get up by 9am. Oh perfect. It was already 7am by the time I arranged everything. I had a lot of pending stuff to do since I was away from any internet and mobile phone connectivity for last 3days.

I tried to sleep. But by the time time I actually fell asleep, my alarm went out. I ran to my bathroom with a severe  headache.

I reached Penn Station from where I had to take a train to Jamaica to get to JFK. I couldn’t find the entry for the platforms. I went roundabout the station 3 times (as if expecting that each time I go around the CIRCULAR penn station, it would be different). I missed the train I was supposed to catch in order to reach on time. In my desperate attempt to exit the station, I took the elevator going down (why? I don’t know. I specifically remembered walking down to the station, so the world was definitely upstairs.) I was in a state of trance.

As I reached down, Bang! The entrance to the trains. I realized I passed those escalators 3times but never noticed they actually lead to the trains to Long Island, what I was looking for.

I had to wait for 20mins for next train.

Back to reality

In flight I could hardly sleep, I wasted my time talking to the guy sitting next to me or watching stuff on the stupid entertainment system. Luckily, I had eaten at LA airport so I was not hungry at all. I had actually gobbled a veggie burger at Ruby’s diner (which was so delicious, I highly recommend it to all) along with fries and a thick, super awesome chocolate shake. I got to eat after 24hours, so I almost licked the plate clean. The last meal was the lunch at shoot. (Yeah I know. it sounds fucked up. Yes, it indeed was!) To add to my misery, I gained 3hours of time while traveling to LA, making my day longer.

I must buy toothbrush, soap and a t-shirt at least. The idea suddenly struck me. I ran out of the hotel, my fellow cameraman, Aaron, following me. He was staying with me and was to shoot the same event with me.

We reached Walgreens, which was nearby. The clock said 10:01pm. I tried to walk inside. The doors were locked. The customer service representative gestured “we are closed”. I missed it by 1min.

I looked around. Everything was closed. Except for a food store.

I understood, it was not going to be a pleasant night. It was already 36hours without any sleep for me and the adventure had just begun. I walked to the food mart.

To be continued…

Just another day with Abhishek!

This happened in my second year of graduation (2006) when Abhishek lived in Navi Mumbai to pursue Fashion Communication from NIFT. He used to stay in Kharghar.

Abhishek had moved to a new apartment and I was visiting it for the first time. He also had new roommates. Meeting him was something I always looked forward to. Though I did have certain obstacles in doing something that simple and straight forward as it may seem. A crying girlfriend and irregular schedules of both of us were the primary ones. I don’t want to describe the former factor in much detail here. But I am sure all the guys know how girlfriends react when you decide to visit your friend for a day or two who stays close enough to reach by local but still far enough to not be able to meet often. They find it extremely competitive to their position. And add the line “I would be back monday morning” to kill the last few remains of peace in your life. “So you will stay at his place the ENITRE weekend?”…anyways not the point of this post (though would love to cover it soon in another post).

I reach his apartment and the first person I meet is Mahesh followed by Abhishek Palit. “Cool guys” I thought. As we reached his room, he introduced me to Vishwajit aka Vishu. Lean and dark wheatish guy with very sharp features.

“Hi…Vishu” he extended his hand.

“Himanshu” I smiled back.

“Ahh…Himanshu…you know even I have a friend named Himanshu”

“ahmm…that’s interesting….” I replied unsure of what to say next.

Abhishek got lost in doing something while Vishu continued

“Do you play guitar?”

“Nope I don’t” I humbly replied still smiling.

“My friend Himanshu, he is an amazing guitar player”

“Do you sketch or paint?”

“Ahh…no..I don’t sketch” the smile reduced a little.

“My friend Himanshu is brilliant at sketching and painting”

“Do you dance?”

“No I don’t dance” I still tried to act neutral though it was getting a bit annoying now.

“My friend Himanshu has won so many awards for his dancing”

“Do you play football?” (I am stressing hard to remember the name and football is closest I can remember…may be something else but it was a sport)

“I am not a football player”

“My friend Himanshu…”

“is a state level football player” i finished his sentence…

“yes…how did you know that?”

“Not that hard to guess you see”

“And you know what? my friend Himanshu…”

“ENOUGH!” came snarled Abhishek. It seemed he was listening to all the conversation.

“Does your friend Himanshu know photography?”

“No…”

“My friend Himanshu is a very good photographer”

“Does your friend Himanshu know Photoshop?”

“No…”

“My friend Himanshu is expert in Photoshop and all of the designing software” (Today, Abhishek n other NIFTians have turned out to be such AWESOME graphic designers…now when I think of it, that statement doesn’t sound so strong…I am a graphic designer but Abhishek is the ‘master’ in Abobe Master Collection CS5 😀 )

“Does your friend Himanshu know video editing?”

“No…he doesn’t”

“My friend Himanshu does and he is frigging good at it”

“Does your friend Himanshu know web designing n programming?”

“he is an artist..he doesn’t do..”

“MY friend Himanshu was the best at programming in school and he could design flash web pages when most of us didn’t know how to open word. Also, he is very good with computers and gadgets. And there are a thousand more things he can do well…I can keep counting.”

He was serious. Very serious. Pissed off by what had happened. I nudged him to let it be but he continued

“The point here is, every person has got some talent or the other. Everyone is unique. STOP this FUCKING COMPARISON…else I am telling you…it won’t be good….”

Hell he was loud.

Vishu kept quiet. I had never seen Abhishek get so serious about something like this. In fact, he is a person whom I am scared of the most. Because he has this super annoying habit of picking on everything I say and I have to admit, he always manages to find stuff to make fun of me making my life miserable. One chuckle is enough to boil my blood twice in a second. However, if anybody else even tries to pick on me, he can’t tolerate it.

I was so amazed to have witnessed this kind of a conversation. I never thought Abhishek would be so proud of me for all those things he counted.

The environment cooled down soon. Everyone resumed normal conversations. Even Abhishek and Vishu were then talking normally as if nothing had happened. Though Vishu didn’t behave like that ever again. That incident left a deep mark in my memory.

Today when I think of that, I feel so awesome and lucky to have a friend like him. Just a random memory!

New Delhi to New York – Part 3

Continued from here

The recent setback really affected my life. I was miserable. I would dream about that interview. I could not think of anything else. Worst part was coping with people. Well, extremely curious people.

“So when are you going to NY?”
“Newww Yorrrkkkkkk”
“Did you get your VISA?”
“When are you going?”
“Packing done?”
“When is your last day at work?”
“Partyyyyyy”
“What date you leaving for NY?”
“Which airline?”
“Yo Mr. NRI!!”
WHEN ARE YOU GOING? WHEN? WHEN? WHEN??
This question became my nightmare. Everyone, literally everyone who met me, had just one thing to ask me. Whatever had happened to stuff like “Hey, how are you?”. I just felt like either everyone was too happy for me and couldn’t wait for me to go to NY or I was just a pain in the ass and nobody could bear my presence anymore. Nonetheless, I had to go to work everyday and answer this question with a great amount of patience and smile while my insides burnt with the constant rubbing in of the fact that my VISA got rejected.
I have always used internet to find answers to my questions and obviously I spent hours finding more about visa interviews and 214(b) rejections. Must say, I did find some important facts. Stuff that I guess I was completely unaware of. The condition 214(b) is a temporary rejection and reapplication is immediately possible. Feeling extremely relieved about this, I paid my visa fees once again. Such rejections are usually a result of the visa officer’s personal apprehension about certain facts in an application and it is possible that another consulate officer might approve it. However, this was not such a strong point since they are similarly trained and follow the same guidelines.
Not to mention, the endless VISA application form was to be done once again. If you do it nonstop and with extreme care, you will take at least 2hours to complete it. Best part is the section where they ask you certain ‘national security’ related questions like “Are you a member of a terrorist organisation?” Hell yeah, surprised? “Do you, currently or plan to, fund such organisations?” that’s why I earn! earning for family and oneself is so mainstream. “Will you indulge in prostitution while in USA?” Who knows? and more of such questions.
A number of my myths also got clarified. Like “Dress like a job interview”. What I came across was that it is best to dress like your profession closest to look your age. If you are going for F1 visa interview, look like a student. If you are going for H1 visa, look a working professional. Doing the opposite usually adversely affects the process. I was a live example.
I got my next appointment on July 26th, a month after my first rejection. This was the strangest month. Instead of preparing for going to NY (like the last month) I was thinking more about what if I DON’T go to NY. Slowly and steadily I was moving to a state of indifference from devastation. I had begun finding opportunities in Mumbai and was already preparing to move there. By the time the date for interview approached. I was so out of the NY thing that I didn’t really care what would happen in the interview. I was, genuinely, prepared for a second rejection. I was sure there would be no third application. I was done with the whole concept. 
My mom was kind of happy with this. She was not only scared of the distance but was also worried about sending her son to such a out and out bold and in a way, unsafe place. Dad has this habit of keeping his calm and being neutral about the situation. I guess he always knows that soon things would change so commenting immaturely is not a great idea. I used to have very elaborate discussions with Abhishek and Chaitra about the whole situation and I must say, they were the people who helped me think logically most of the times. Not to forget my tingu sis, Shambhavi, who would be my emotional relief. It was for these guys that I was able to put up with a bunch of pointless people who constantly rubbed in to my misery. I am also glad that I was living with such amazing kids. Safal, Akshat, Rishabh, Akash n Laksh made sure I was comfortable and cheerful all the time. They took great care of everything when I had completely lost sense. 
July 26, 2011 7:00AM

Time to choose my clothes again. I picked up my blue jeans, black shirt and converse shoes – one of my favorite attires. Had charged my iPod last night and phone. I had no plans to sit like an idiot in the train looking at other people because I had nothing to do.  
I reached the embassy with music blaring in my headphones. I was already aware of all the formalities. I kept my electronic devices at the desk and proceeded inside to get a second staple on my passport.
Once again I made it to through the poker faced lady with spectacles, digitally signed my application with my  fingerprints and sat in the waiting area. Nothing was different this time. The same crazy punjabi crowd and same, in fact more, rush. I also noticed the people behind the counter were same. I also found the shyaam sundari (Afro American lady) who had rejected my visa last time. Her face had not changed. Equally pissed off.
The only thing different was my attitude. I didn’t not care anymore. I found it pointless to feel so strongly about something that it starts to delusion you. I was calm, composed and did not have the slightest of nervousness this time. It was just a formality that I was there. 
The token system was not working fine. So the employees were manually guiding people to windows. Suddenly the lady called out my number and pointed me to go the same window. NEVER! I didn’t want to go to the same lady. I preferred to walk out without the interview. I kept sitting quietly. Another gentleman got up and and went to that counter. Now I got up. She pointed me to the first counter on the left. I happily walked towards it feeling so relieved to have skipped that b….
The guy at the counter was an american, considerably good looking, in his early 30s smiling ear to ear. 
“Good morning sir, how are you doing today?”
He was so ridiculously happy. As if his coffee smelled like marijuana or his wife told him today that she was pregnant with twins or the embassy just doubled his salary. No matter what the reason was, he was so fresh and happy in his light lemon shirt and rimless spectacles that I looked like a homeless hungry beggar in front of him (owing to my last month’s misery). 
“I am doing great. What about you? Seems like having a busy day”
“Haha no sir, this is kind of usual for us. Not a problem. Can I have your passport?”
“Sure”
“What is your latest qualification?”
“Master of film and television production. I now wish to specialize as a cinematographer”
He immediately began typing and referring to my passport. Shit!
After a few seconds.
“What is the program you are planning to attend?”
“One Year Cinematography”
“You intend to be a reporter or get into news ?”
“No, I am interested towards fiction and entertainment programming. Films, television…working as a the cinematographer or director of photography”
“Why did you choose this college and course? Did you find out similar courses in India?”
“I attended the open house, have a couple of friends studying there and it has quite a name across the world. This is the only course that would teach me formats like HD, RED and 35mm in a span of 1 year. So far, there are no courses in India that offer such intensive programs”
“What does your father do for a living?”
“My father works for the Govt. of India”
“Where do your parents stay currently?”
“Lucknow, it is the capital of Uttar pradesh, about 500kms SE from New Delhi”
“Himanshu, this is a very expensive program, how do you intend to pay for it?”
“My parents have savings and my mother has a business of her own. Those should be enough to take care of  my expenses for this program”

“What kind of business?”
“She runs a beauty parlor and boutique”
“What is your plan after the program?”
“I would want to come back and work here. I believe there is a great scope for work for a cinematographer in my own country. This course would give me practical knowledge to immediately begin working”
“Well, I guess that would be all. Thanks Himanshu. All the best. God bless you.”
I waited. He continued smiling waiting for me to leave the counter. I was waiting for him to give me back my passport. But he kept it in a green basket on his left, which had a number of other passports.
I moved away. Slowly walking towards the exit, which was much closer to this counter, I realized “They approved it! They approved my VISA. They held my passport back.”
Oh my God! What did just happen? I could have hugged the security guard. I so wanted to dance my way out. Walking normally suddenly became so difficulty. I head dhol playing around me. So wanted to break into steps of bhangra and I am sure the Punjabi there would have joined me without even bothering what place they were at.
It was a feeling I am still not sure I can describe here. I am not even attempting. I was on cloud 9.
My gut feeling told me to turn around, go the that woman again and mouth the words “FUCK YOU!” with appropriate gesture. On second thoughts, I realized they still had my passport. Never mind. 
I picked up my iPod and phone and immediately called home. My parents, half expecting me to say something else, couldn’t believe it. Mom was happy and sad while dad sounded genuinely relieved and happy. 
On my way back, the thought slowly settled in. And more than happiness it was now panic. Hell I was going to NY now and I was far from being prepared. All this while, I was so mentally prepared against it that I had just not thought what if it actually got approved. I had neither looked for my tickets nor any apartment. I had not even packed to leave Noida. I could see the coming days being  crazy. 
The next day, I recieved a SMS by 4pm that my passport was ready and I could pick it up from Nehru place before 5. I was shooting a project for Amity. Reaching Nehru Place in one hour was not a big deal from Sector 125. But it turned out it was. I got stuck in a bad traffic jam.
I reached the VFS center at 04:55PM. As I entered, the security guard closed the door behind me. Phew!
As soon as I got my passport, I flipped open the visa page to see if they actually gave me a visa or were just fooling around.
THERE ACTUALLY WAS A VISA!
I read the details. Everything was spelled correctly. I checked the validity.
July 26, 2011 to July 25, 2016 – I was amazed. So first, deny the VISA. Then on the second attempt of the same application, give a 5year VISA for a 10month course. American logic I tell you!
I had my passport in my hand, with VISA. There was no more catch in this NY thing. I was indeed now going to NY. 
“Bring on the questions bitches! Yes I am going to NY” 
I was glad that this adventure had finally come to an end. I spent the next two hours on phone telling Abhishek, Shambhavi, Chaitra and others about this new development. 
However, a fear in my head had now begun growing….it was time.

New Delhi to New York – Part 2


This is a completely true incident with no dramatization or elements of fiction.
continued from here.
Oblivious to what route my auto was taking, I was still inside the embassy giving that interview again and again. I didn’t have to go to work. I was glad about that fact. I just needed to reach my flat, fall on the bed and sleep in the hope that when I would wake up, this would all be a dream. At least, I would have some mores strength to deal with this shit. 
I was also glad to think about the fact that the house would be empty all to myself. No questions, no disturbance. It was summer break so everyone had gone home. Only me and Safal were around. He was doing his internship. Thinking all this, my hands automatically reached my pockets. Whenever I am travelling, I have this strange habit of looking for and counting all the things I had when I had left home. And I was searching for my key to the house…still searching…how long does it take to realize you don’t have it with just two pockets? 
Hell yeah, I did not have my key. Bravo! I never took it. So much for not bringing any metal objects to the embassy. I know I sound like a paranoid.
“Never mind, I will call Safal and check if he had my key since he left later than me and in all probability, he must have noticed that my key is still where I always keep it.” I thought while I….oh wait!
I DON’T HAVE MY PHONE!
I reached race course. I paid the auto driver and ran towards the metro station to find a public phone (I was so happy to have my wallet at least). The entire race course metro station or the surrounding was devoid of any public phones. I thought for a while and decided to go to Rajiv Chowk since I knew there were a number of public phones there. 
Not to mention how my train ride was. Same stuff echoing in my head. Still under the shock of what just happened. I reached Rajiv Chowk and right as I exited the train, I saw two pay phones. 
First one…dead!
Second one…dead!
I turned around and saw three more on the other side of the platform.
Dead…dead…DEAD!!!
I crossed the bridge. I saw six reliance pay phones.
DEAD…DEAD…DEAD…DEAD…DEAD…DEAD! BANG!!
People had started to notice me now. A guy, dressed in formals with a huge folder, is picking up and banging every pay phone. Doesn’t he have a mobile?
I got out of the station since I remembered a sure shot public phone in front of the Palika market. I always gave my friends that spot when we all met at CP.
Reached the pay phone, out of breath. There were two phones, both occupied. I was relieved to know at least they were functional. Unless, the two guys were making fun of me and were just acting. One of them left and I grabbed the phone.
I began dialing 999988… I knew it ended with 37…999988xx37….Okay, so I did not remember his number. Or to be precise, I did not remember TWO digits of his number. 99 combinations…not bad! Since I had nothing to do that day, why not spend it figuring out the two digits. I gave random tries.
65…nope….38….nope….79….nope….I was going by my gut feeling of what sounded right. I said each combination loudly in my head and then dialed. No luck.
“Let me call akshat…no he is in Bhopal…I don’t remember his bhopal no…as if I remember the delhi number…laksh…nope…rishabh…nope…akaash…nope….nandu uncle….saumitra….sankalp….anant….shruti…. so I don’t remember any of these numbers by heart…oh yes, let me call GD…she will have safal’s number….and I remembered her number too”
I dialed. 
“The vodafone number you are trying to reach is not available at the moment. Please try again, later” sang the irritatingly pleasant extremely excited announcer as if her prime objective of being born on this earth was to say this message to me when I DID NOT NEED IT.
Vodafone people are the biggest sadists I have ever seen. Their phone announcements, no matter what, all sound so chirpy and joyful. Seems the announcer is stoned. She doesn’t care if it is matter of life and death. She is just f***ing happy that the call cannot be completed. That reminds me, BSNL, on that front plainly says “your call cannot be completed” which more sounds like “eeny meeny miny mick…catch the customer by the d***…if he calls….don’t give a shitt….eeny meeny miny mick”. Yeah, they don’t tell you if the number is busy, switch off, out of reach etc. They just say they can’t complete the call. Do hell you with you.
I dialed again and again and again and kept on getting that happy little bitch jingling “The vodafone number….”
I remembered my dad’s number but he wouldn’t have been able to help. I remembered Kukki bhaiya’s number. But he was in London. Chaitra, Snehal, Eva…I remembered all the mumbai numbers. No point. They wouldn’t even know Safal.
Think…Think…Think….Abhishek! yes! There were good chances he would have safal’s number. Or at least I could go to his place till Safal returns in the evening. 
I picked up the phone….844….ok…844….844…..Goddamn….844…..
FUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK! I didn’t even remember his number. My best friend…best is an understatement….he is everything to me. So me, who once used to flaunt my ability to remember numbers, be it phone or account or credit card, couldn’t even remember ONE phone number to save my life. I had become like the rest of the world. Dependent on the phone to keep all the numbers. I hated myself at that moment.
The only choice now left with me was to go to work or to go to Noida and wait around my house till Safal returns. The former one did not make sense. Every damn person would ask me the same question. And I was sure if I lost it in that situation, ASCO would have lost a couple of editing machines or its most precious DSR 450 camera to my anger. Not a good idea. I decided against it. Waiting for Safal made sense. I could go to the mall, watch a movie maybe, eat and spend the rest of the day like that.
But to be honest. I did’t want to do that. I wanted to be home. No film, no mall was making any sense to me at that point. 
I was walking around the shop thinking. Cyber cafe! If I could find a cyber cafe, I could easily contact Safal. He was always online on fb. Or I could even check his number from my online phonebook. I got another surge of energy. I began walking around the Connaught Place area looking for a cyber cafe.
After, what seemed like, 45mins or so. I was back the same point where I began (CP is a circle). Couldn’t find a cyber cafe that was open. 
It seemed like humanity had failed somewhere in evolving. There was a time when every locality would have millions of PCOs with cyber cafes. But thanks to the broadband, laptops, wireless internet cards, GPRS, 3G, smartphones etc. people have taken internet n phone so much for granted. I too was part of that until this day.
I bought a bottle of water and finished it full in one go. It was noon. Harrowed and disappointed in life, I slowly moved back to the Rajiv Chowk metro station with no plan.
Beep! Beep! I tried again. Beep! Arrrrgggggghhhhh. My card was out of balance. I joined the queue at the recharge counter. 
“Rajiv Chowk station is a mad house. People…people and more people everywhere. Running, talking, laughing, in groups, lovers, loners…all kinds of people. And in these millions of humans, I could not see one face, ONE DAMN FACE…ONE DAMN HUMAN who would recognize me..who would help me. None. When you are expecting the least, crazy people you don’t want to talk to will catch you at such public spots and will inquire about where you were going? With whom? As if you cared if they knew or not. Usually when I am moving around in CP, a number of ASCO (my college) kids run into me. Not today. Obviously not today.”
I wanted to scream out loud….cry and break all the glass around me.
I recharged and walked towards the station entry. Took out my card…
“Himanshu bhaiya”
I stopped more like froze. My card had not touched the console. I didn’t see the face of this person. But the voice seemed like that of an angel. Someone who knew me. And Himanshu bhaiya meant 99% an ASCO kid whose chances of knowing Safal were fairly high.
Surbhi Singal. I had recently met her at an exhibition she had organised. She worked for Anu Malhotra and had just passed her grads at ASCO. Oh my God! Finally! But I must compose myself.
“Hey..Hi…how are you?”
“I am fine. What are you doing here?”
“I had my VISA interview. Just returning home. What about you?”
“My office is right here”
She smiled. I smiled back. She gestured to leave and began walking away.
YOU ARE SUCH AN EXTRAORDINARY MORON HIMANSHU! Screamed a voice in my head.
“Surbhi” I shouted.
“Yup” she turned, smiling. 
“Actually I needed a little help. Are you in a hurry?”
“No, absolutely not bhaiya. Tell me”
“I had my visa interview so I didn’t not bring my phone and I need to call my roommate Safal. I don’t have the key to my house. Do you have his number?”
“Nope. I don’t think I have his number. Sudhanshu might have. Lemme check with him”
She called up Sudhanshu. Something told me, Sud won’t have Safal’s number. He didn’t have it.
“Does your phone have GPRS? I can check online and get his number.”
“Yup. Here….” she gave me her phone and gestured to walk. I began walking with her towards her office.
I tried opening the Nokia Ovi site to check my contacts but it wasn’t opening. Before I could go to facebook, she said
“Bhaiya…come to my office with me. There’s internet, phone and everything there. You can easily find the number”
“I guess I will have to do that” I followed her. Suddenly it struck me. Abhishek Fatwani was Surbhi’s friend and I had seen him talk to Safal on phone. He must have Safal’s number. 
“Surbhi, can you ask Fatwani? He will have Safal’s number!”
“I don’t think Abhi will have his number but I can surely ask” She dialed Abhishek’s number and asked him if he had. 
“99..99…88…” she began noting the number on her other phone. HE HAD THE NUMBER!! Phew!!
“68..37”….Oh my GODDDD! I had dialed 65…so close. We reached her office which was actually very close. She gave me her phone to dial Safal’s number.
I told him my situation very briefly and fixed up to meet him at the Hauz Khas metro station where he would give me his key. We fixed a time and spot.
I thanked Surbhi. She offered me to stay for while and relax. She even gave me water. I really appreciated the water. But I had to leave…like ASAP.
So another half an hour metro ride back to where I was sometime back. I walked to the decided spot and waited. The interview, of course, playing over and over again in my head. After waiting for 20mins, I saw my kiddo hopping and coming towards me. I couldn’t help but smile.
I hugged him so tight. Safal is always ready for a hug. Be it anywhere, anytime. You can just hug him for no reason and he would reciprocate. This time, he gave me immense strength.
“Kya hua chhote? Itne pareshaan kyon ho?” (What happened bro? Why are you so worried)
“VISA reject kar diya…..yahan kuch khaane ko hai aas paas?” (They rejected my VISA. Is there some good place to eat?)
“There is Narulas…one more restaurant that side..you can eat anywhere..i have had lunch.”
We went to the Narulas and ordered a thali (a full platter). I told him the story about the interview and whatever followed it.
“Don’t worry chhote. It will all be fine. Just go home and rest. You will find a solution to this prob. Did you tell your parents about it? You can use my phone.”
“nope. will do it when i reach home.”
“I gotta go chhote. Continue eating. Relax and go home” he hugged me, gave a little kiss of my forehead, gave me the key and left.
I ate like a sloth. The thali seemed so tasteless. I bought a huge ice cream and walked very slowly to the metro station. The 30mins ride again to Rajiv Chowk and the 40min ride to Noida Gold Course. Then the pointless painful walk to my flat. My brain had tripped by now. Probably a safety mechanism to save from insanity.
By the time I opened my door. I felt nothing. I dragged myself to my bed, fell and waited for sleep. Nothing. Kept staring at the fan….
Motionless….emotionless….i just continued looking at it.
continued here

New Delhi to New York – Part 1



This is a completely true incident with no dramatization or elements of fiction.



June 21, 2011



The handout for my VISA application stated very clearly that I must not bring any electronic devices with me. So there I keep my iPod and phone. Further it said, dress like you are going for a job interview. My blue shirt and black formal trouser. I have never quite enjoyed wearing formals. I think it is more to do with the psychology than any physical discomfort caused by the attire. Somewhere, deep inside my head, there is a simple equation Formal = Slavery. One should be free to choose his attire. Of course, the purpose decides how one would be dressed and I guess that much can be left on an individual to decide.

The entry time for the VISA Interview was 9:00AM. I left my house (Noida) by 07:45 taking enough buffer time for metro delays, traffic and other unfortunate events that love to surprise me when I need them the least.  However, miraculously I was in front of the building at 08:30.

It is very simple to identify USA Consulate even if you can’t or don’t read the boards. The only embassy with a hoard  of people (at least 100) sitting outside on the sidewalk while only 20 candidates in the actual queue to enter the consulate for the interview, is the US of A.

Then I noticed. They had a counter to submit any electronic devices. I did not let that affect my thought process. Little did I know I would think about it…very soon!

The first checkpoint is where they check all your documents, arrange them in a specific order and give you the token. The lady was stapling all the documents to the back of the PASSPORT! Yes, they actually staple your passport cover. After all the effort that goes in keeping the passport safe and clean, you do feel a pinch when you hear the CRUNCH! of the stapler on your passport. Right in front of me was a Punjabi lady who had designer passport cover (to the best of my memory it was Louis Vuitton, no idea if fake or real). Wish I could have recorded her expression seeing her passport being stapled like that. She gave a nasty look to the lady at the counter.

Moving ahead, the second point is a window where a poker faced woman with specs (Indian) asks you very obvious questions from your application to verify all the information is complete and eligible for next round. I cleared it and this gave me a great confidence.

The next window is where they take your fingerprints to digitally sign your application.

The last stage takes time. And this waiting drives you crazy. Even though you have been rehearsing everything from last so many days, at this point, your anxiety reaches the peak. A little more and you would definitely require medical attention. Specially to look at people walking away from the consular windows WITH their passports in their hand and a sad, about to cry face. At the same time, you do see certain super happy humans and it gives you courage. The whole game gets too much to think of.

The handout also said that one must not speak to the consular unless asked for and one must only give the information asked for. Telling more than what is required or not giving sufficient information may lead to delays or even denial of the VISA application. This point kept on lingering in my head.

I was completely lost in all the Punjabi murmur around me when  my number flashed on the window right in front of me. I am still getting the creeps while writing this. I walked to the counter. Probably the longest walk ever. On the other side of the glass sat an African-American lady in her 50s and she did not look happy. As if her coffee smelled like her own piss or she had real bad trouble this morning, thanks to last night’s feast of masala Indian food or she had caught her husband cheating on her for an Indian guy or the consulate told her she would be sent to her native place or may be she just hated the color blue.

“Hi how are you doing? Can I have your passport?” she said like she wanted to dip it in her coffee mug and chew.

I pushed it across from the little slit.

“What kind of VISA are you seeking?”

“F1” I answered.

“What is your latest qualification?”

“Masters in Film and Television Production”

She began typing something.

“And why do you want to go to New York Film Academy?”

“To study cinematography”

More typing.

“But you already studied film making. What’s the difference?”

“I want to specialize as director of photography and learn about cameras and…”

“It is film making end of the day. Aren’t there any good courses in India? Bollywood is a big industry. You can learn so much here.”

She continued typing.

“There aren’t any good cinematography courses here…”

“I am sorry but I cannot grant you this VISA. You need to get more settled in your field. You have just graduated. You VISA application is denied. Here is your passport and some information about this denial”

She handed back my passport and a small booklet saying 214(b).

“Next” she shouted. Another number flashed on the screen and a young girl behind me said “Excuse me”.

WHAT THE…..IT WAS OVER!

I left the counter…blank, unclear of what just happened, unable to gulp it down. I had prepared every document, ran around the whole city in that summer heat getting everything sorted. My admission was approved at NYFA. Everything was ready. But all seemed in vain now. No VISA meant nothing.

It waited for a month anticipating this interview and it took only 5mins to blow it off. I simply had no clue how to react to that. I had almost believed that I would be in USA by September. Now it all seemed like a joke. Just that nobody was laughing. Gathering myself, I began walking out of the consulate.

What would they do if I break the glass and grab the neck of that woman? She won’t make it alive out of my grip I swear. (What would they do? Well, now when I think of it, I was at the embassy of United States of America. Nobody would have ever been able to prove that I was born. Everything about me would have ceased to exist.) In all probability, she must stay somewhere close. She would walk out of the consulate in the evening. How about I catch her then? Never in my life had I felt such rage for anyone. I looked at her one last time. She didn’t look back. Obviously she was busy screwing up the happiness of that girl who didn’t seem happy either. I continued walking wondering what next? I was having a real tough time, for the first time in my life, accepting things.

I didn’t realize when I was already at the sidewalk, outside the embassy. The last 5mins were playing in my head again and again and again. If only I would have said this, if only I would have answered like that. What would I tell everyone? How embarrassing it would be to face everyone. Why embarrassing? It is not my fault. But I could hear some voices laughing and mocking me.

I signaled an auto.

“Central Secretariat metro station?”

“Nahi ji, Race course chhod denge. Chaliye” (No, I would go to Race Course station).

I didn’t really care at that point. I sat in. However, my day, had just begun. It was just 10:30.

Continued here

Sound of my thoughts…

Paid the auto driver and bid adieu to my fellow travelers from the studio. Standing at botanical garden metro station a sudden urge to walk home overcame me. Still giving it a second thought I began crossing the road. However, the road was full of indecisive drivers tonight (actually, its usual with me). Striding left and right trying to save myself from a speeding half blind indigo, I was finally on the other side. A row of rickshaw pullers was waiting for any potential passengers. As I crossed them, they began getting down gesturing me to sit. I, however, thought I would catch the next one and then the next one and soon I had left the rickshaw pullers way back. I gave them a look back and all of them climbed back their rickshaws somewhere cursing for their disappointment.

So, I was determined to walk back home. There was a surreal peace around me. Didn’t feel like taking out my headphones and just killing it. BHAR HOSPITAL was glowing brightly. It is actually Bhardwaj Hospital but all of their letters never seem to work. Once it even used to glow as BHARDWA HOSPITAL. Reminded me of the times when at night we would come here to pick something very basic that a chemist would usually have like injection for tetanus or even water at times but they would coldly deny the very existence of any such thing. How convenient!

Walked a little more. Head heavily clouded with thoughts. Unable to think of one thing I begin randomly taking down each thought one by one and therefore the next paragraph would be seriously random. Reader’s discretion solicited.

Cell beeped. Think of colors. I don’t think I would be able to. However the person requesting it is one of the few I can trust so I honestly explained my state. Cell beeped. Support granted. Read the message again. Think of a color. Replied ‘White’. However, no reply now. Much appreciated. Red car stopped by me. A very homely looking couple asked me “NH24?”. “Take right from the next circle and left from the main road. Head straight and you would eventually merge NH24” i replied. They moved ahead slowly thanking me with a smile which of course I reciprocated. Whom should I ask the way? Shit! I know the way. I know more than one way. Not a good idea. Leaves you with a question mark. Questions? too many. Half of them uninvited and remaining invented by me. Answers? Oh yes! all have answers. Trouble is the acceptance. Acceptance accomplished. Time. I know the answers, I know the time they will be with me. But time isn’t moving. Hell it is not. Every day has 24 hours out of which 18 I am awake and conscious. Of each second passing by. Want to experience unconsciousness.

Unpleasantness? Problems? Issues? None. Its all smooth. Is that the point? No I guess not. It the silence before the plunge. The moments one must be feeling before bungee jumping. Each second moving like an hour. The road is wet. Street lights are on. A young man is walking ahead of me, earphones in his ears and grooving to something upbeat. He too is thinking a thousand things. His walk and his constant effort to keep his head in the music, on the road and nowhere else is the evidence. People I am angry with and people who are angry with me. They bother me sometimes. I am indifferent mostly. Again not a good sign. Complexities? Layers of truth? No control. Not by choice. Wish Ctrl+Z was in real life. No regrets. Still. That’ how it is. Trust is so costly. Belief is so difficult. I even have blind beliefs. Trying my honest best to channelize my thoughts, streamline my energy and concentrate. Chopping out unnecessary parts of my life. They are just cobwebs as of now. Memories unresolved. Images undeveloped. Incidents. Accidents. Life beyond.

Cell beeped. Where are you? Atta?. Another pillar of my life. Denial is again possible. The light from the street lamps is making beautiful patterns. Wonder if I have to light this kind of a scene, will I be able to achieve this? Rustle of my jacket, my footsteps, breath…sounds of my own thoughts. Some are so loud, they are finding their way out from my lips. The sound perspective. Why do i ignite hopes which I know have very less probability? But I am just being fair. A little extra. Everyone craves for it. Few lucky ones get it. God has a plan for sure. As somebody says. Wish I could have a copy of it. Faith. Faith. Some more of it. Helps. But why do people ask me? Will I pay them when I will earn? Curiosity. Human Behavior.

I have already crossed tea point. Last I was here with Vasundhara and Sankalp before they were going to IIT Kharagpur. That was a nice day. Probably today I just wanted to delay my reaching home. The air I am breathing in, all alone, is giving me a kick. The dampness and coolness. The questions? The futile statements. Love for sure isn’t the only emotion you can survive on. People love you. You love people. But you may still not want to talk to them. You may still not want to share things with them. Maybe because you love them. You are scared of being judged. You know them. You know what they will think and say. This prejudice kills the point of a conversation. You escape. I can’t stand  absence of an objective. And around, I can’t see people with a plan. May be everyone is not supposed to have one. Why am I a control freak? Why can’t I just let things go as they are. I always want to interfere. Want them to bypass me even if I might not change anything. I always want a choice. I may not practice it. But I want it. Makes me feel free.

I think the aural perspective helps. I don’t need headphones. There’s pep in my step. Well, as of now, that’s it. A man just passed by me. Drunk. Sloshed. Stinking. He’ll just puke. Glad I won’t be around. I am nearly reaching home. Thought process is on. Can’t find the right expression to write here everything. Moreover, don’t want to write everything. It questions the spontaneity of the moment. I am now in complete conversation with myself. Hope no one talks to me when I enter my home.

I rang the bell. Entered my room…..wore the mask.

“Hey, wasssup”…

UPSRTC sucks!!

I woke my whole family up in the morning at 6. I got ready and reached the bus stand on time.

However, something didn’t seem usual. There was no sign of a Volvo to Varanasi. One was marked for Allahabad which ideally should have departed at 7. Further inquiry revealed a devastating scenario that instantly ripped off all my happiness.

THE BUS SERVICE WAS ON A STRIKE! Mind it. Specifically the Volvo service to Varanasi and Allahabad.

Reason? SOMEBODY had abused the driver in the morning. Anurag are you reading this one? I tried my best but could neither find the abused or the abuser. I wanted to see them if not anything else. How amazing is that? Cancel a bus service because of an abuse. Of what I know of bus staff, they just love to remind each other of the immense love of their sisters and mothers at every instant, required or not. Wonder what kind of an abuse actually managed to upset that dude? And no son of their mother from the UPSRTC department had the guts to come and solve dam’n problem. I left the bus stand by 9 realizing nothing good is coming my way.

Bottom line – My shoot plans never saw the daylight. I am sitting at home now writing this blog. Will look for a similar setting to carry out my shoot in Lucknow somewhere.

Haldi!

This one is a short one but KILLER!!
Hunger had finally crossed all limits. I and Akshat looked at each other. I could see the poor kid starving. I decided I would cook some dal fry and rice for both of us. Delighted by the plan, he offered me company while I prepared our dinner. Engrossed in conversation, I washed the dal, put it in pressure cooker, poured water and opened the masala dubba for haldi (turmeric) when out of nowhere I heard a scream
“Naaaaaahhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii” he sprang towards me.
I was shocked. I just stopped saving myself from spilling all the haldi. As it is, it wasn’t enough and I knew there was no point in buying more since we were leaving for vacations that night.
“Aap dal mein haldi kyon daal rahe ho? Chhhiiiiiiii!! Haldi ka taste kitna bura hota hai! Imagine puri dal haldi ki tarah taste karegi! Kya bhaiya? Koi dal mein haldi daalta hai kya? Maana ki aap khana banaate ho aur experiments bhi karte ho but yeh kuch zyada ho gaya. Please haldi valdi mat daalo. I want my dal just like the usual yellow dal!”
Ok! Apart from being totally taken aback and spellbound, I was outraged at the dramatization of the whole point.
Controlling my emotions (yes, a plethora of them were boiling inside me at this point) I humbly asked “Tumhe kya lagta hai ki tumhari ‘usual’ dal YELLOW kaise hoti hai?”
“Arey dal to yellow hoti hi hai, usme kya hai. Haldi thode na daalni padti hai…kya bhaiya?” pat came his reply looking superbly confident and offended by my question.
Well, I had the following options at my bay at that moment to deal with the situation –
1. (The most obvious one) Use an appropriate tool like the lid of the cooker, frying pan or even the long serving spoon for that matter and give one tight CLANK! Issue resolved!
2. Cook food only for myself, and keep him starving while I ate in front of him.
3. Cook exactly as he suggested. (Since I had to eat as well, I decided against this one).
4. Throw him out of the house! (Yeh thoda zyada ho jata, I agree).
5. Ignore him and continue cooking for the greater common good (however, this wasn’t so easy).
I asked him to immediately call his mother and talk.
“Mummy…achha ek baat batao, kahin dal mein haldi padti hai?…..kya?…achha!…oh..ok…nahi..kuch nahi hua….”
I snatched the phone from him.
“Aunty yeh kitne saal ka hai?”
“19! kyon?”
“Abhi tak yeh kya khata tha? ” (Felt like adding ‘doodh roti?’ but didn’t mean to be rude)
“Arey beta kuch nahi aata use, tum hi sikha do kuch!”
I disconnected the call and gave him the phone. Quietly he left the kitchen. I must add here, Akshat looked so innocent and cute that my anger just went puff! I love you my bro! It happens don’t worry!
To everyone who has been gobbling food ignoring what is in that food, please wake up!

Yes! I did it again!

Read this before reading the following post (if you have not already read it).

It was some day in August 2008. I was working in AnimationXpress as Design Head for their upcoming event AFF. Chaitra, Vidhi and I decided to go to Pop Tates for dinner after a really hectic day. Reaching there, we found a queue waiting and we were no. 6 or something. We were asked to wait for 15 mins. I and Chaitra resumed our conversation (we were in some very animated discussion, can’t remember the subject as of now) while Vidhi moved away to buy a fag. Right next to where we were standing was a chaat vendor surrounded by a gang of ladies loudly chattering while crunching pani puri. I always loved pani puri you see.

After something like 5mins or so I turned to find Vidhi gulping down pani puri. While talking to Chaitra I swiftly moved towards her and grabbed the puri she was about to gobble.

Akele akele kha rahi hai motu? (Having it all alone, fato!)” I said opening my mouth wide.

 Just as the superbly awesome crunchy mouth watering pani puri was halfway through my mouth I noticed a lady staring at me with immense disgust and hatred. Her eyes told me she was hitting me left right and center in her mind at that moment. A punch on the right cheek, one in the eye, one in the tummy, elbow on my back and that one final kick. BAM!

Next came the sudden hard hitting realization. THAT WAS NOT VIDHI! I saw Vidhi right behind that lady, at a distance, smoking and looking at me with Don’t-tell-me-you-did-that look.

I froze! Time had just stopped. The chatter faded. Everybody was quiet, fully concentrating on what just happened. I wasn’t able to decide if I should eat it or put it back at her plate. To my horror, I saw Chaitra on my left witnessing what just happened.

Itna hi mann tha pani puri khaane ka to mujhe bol deta, main khila deti, logon ki plate se mat chheen Himanshu”  she barked (yes! Bitch was what came to my mind at that moment!). Exactly what I was looking for, support of a friend. I could feel the blood circulation on my face. It was getting hot.

The lady smiled realizing what just happened and said “Eat it. Its ok. It happens.” I still didn’t gulp it. Was holding right there halfway in my mouth. “Arey kha lo, koi baat nahi, I will take another one” she insisted. I pushed that pani puri inside my mouth with all my strength (Trust me, it took a lot of it) and then I chewed and chewed. It was not tasting how it should. Referring to an episode of FRIENDS,  like Phoebe’s shoes, every crunch was sounding in my ears “Not mine Not mine” and if I would try to chew faster I would hear “Not not mine not not mine”. I swallowed!

I apologized to her. Smiling even more widely she said, “Its perfectly alright. It happens. Don’t worry, carry on”. I offered to pay but she completely refused.

“Guys, you can come in!” called the restaurant guy. I could have kissed him! I so needed that escape.  Embarrassed like never before I began walking towards the restaurant. I could hear giggles, laughs and comments from my back. No way I had done that to my self!

Vidhi and Chaitra had transformed into dementors sucking on to this dark incident and rubbing it in again and again. They had just swallowed all the happiness, hope and light from me. Everyone in that restaurant who laughed, I thought was just told about that incident by the waiter. Even the order looked like it wasn’t what I had ordered.

Kha le Himanshu, yeh tera hi hai!” giggled Chaitra and Vidhi raising a toast to yet another milestone in idiocy just erected by me.

For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t help but think of that incident again and again. I hated Vidhi for wearing that Black top of hers and tying her hair in her typical high jooda style. That was what had confused me since that lady was like the body double of Vidhi planted to fool me. It took me days to completely overcome this one.

Even though its been quite long now, the memories are still as fresh in my mind as the smell of pani puri.

Mom’s are amazing…

I am writing after a long time. Been wanting to write so many things all this while but never got the time to do so. However, today I decided I must write.

I am a student of communication. Still studying Film Production which is indeed, a very sensitive form of mass communication. However, today even I failed to sort out a very small task which otherwise could’ve been done very smoothly. 
I got to know that Sankalp, my tiny 50gms bro is coming back from Lucknow. Overwhelmed by ideas of what all I can ask him to get from my home, I decided to get my black jacket (more of an over coat) and a half sleeve plain white t-shirt which I had forgotten to get with me this time. Mom happily agreed to send the items. Sankalp met my dad at a mid point and took the packet. On his way back home, my dad called me and demanded an explanation for asking for pointless clothes. I was utterly confused as why would a jacket be pointless in winters. But what he told me really made me realize the whole exercise has indeed become pointless. 
I asked my mom to give my black jacket (for all my readers, I have only one jacket in my entire house which is Black). She however decided to work this whole situation out of her gut feelings. She packed the following items and sent them across :
1. Black COAT – which apart from being out of fashion is so big for me now (losing kg of weight has its disadvantages). I had intentionally left it at home.
2. A half suede jacket – Me and my dad have identical jackets of this kind. This time, while coming from home, I picked dad’s jacket which fits me better than mine (read 1. for the reason of this). Now I will have two of same jackets out of which one I can’t wear.
3. A green jacket- which I had left at home because of its damaged inner lining. However, she failed to see the tear. It being over sized is not so much of problem as of now.
4. Two full sleeve t-shirts – which I never mentioned in the phone call. God knows what is coming my way now.
5. A pack of chikki and gajak – highly appreciated items but again not a part of the brief. 
As for why that undisputed black jacket never made its way to the packet, the reason is plain and simple – “I thought it’s dad’s jacket, why would you wear it?”. This took me to a flashback
Dad – “Son, you keep this jacket!”
Me – “But dad, its your favourite jacket? Why are you giving it to me?”
Dad – “I travel in air-conditioned car. I don’t need it. You have to travel outdoors, go on shoots in winters. It makes more sense for you. It one of the best jackets that can protect you in worst of colds.”
Me – ” Thank you so much dad!”
Now, to think of it, Mom was nowhere around when I and dad were exchanging these emotions. Can’t blame her now.
So, a poor chap is carrying a packet for me all the way from Lucknow not realizing that most of it is not of much use. 
Important point to note here is my dad called me and scolded me for asking for such useless clothes on his WAY BACK after delivering the packet to Sankalp. Interesting to think is, he knew the packet is useless before delivering it to Sankalp. He could’ve called and confirmed before giving it away. But dads are dads after all. 🙂
I will, however, not let this go all waste. Will try and get everything altered to fit.
When I got to know all this, it was too late. Upset I began chatting with Shruti. She told me another story. Please read 🙂

mum ne meko bola k unhone mere saare winter cloths naina k ghar rakhwa diye hain
i went all the way to meerut to get ALL my winter cloths from naina’s place

ok

what i get there???
3 jackets…..
nd that is it
3 jackets
2 new
and one old which i wr at home
no sweaters
no inners
nothing

hmmmm
are our mom’s competing by any chance?
if they are…its not a very good game to play with their kids

do i have only 3 jackets 4 warm cloths????
i cant agree more

hahaha
hahahahahaha
welcome to the club

i mean wat am i supposed to wr all winter long???

did u talk to ur mom
?

10:44pm

just 3 jakets
no
im too mad to do that
its soooooo damn cold hr
nd its going to b a lot worse
urrrrrggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Thus, I thought I can share this with the world. Awaiting Sankalp’s visit to my flat with my packet. 🙂