There is an old saying that says that the eyes are the windows to the soul. A man might be able to deceive his intentions by his body language, but the eyes hide nothing.  I was reading Khaled Hossenis novel, " The kite runner," where the protagnist, Amir a kindred soul interprets the not so noble intention of Assef, a half German half Pashtun by his eyes. "The eyes were intense blue, souless eyes," he said. Later on Assef turns out to be a sadist of the worst kind. killing people for fun.

This particular bit about the eyes got me thinking, when was the last time I encountered something similar. I agree with Hosseni, eyes are the window to the soul. If you look deep into the eye you can delve into the psychology of the human being. The last time I looked into the eyes of my friend, they were the eyes of a killer. As I looked deep into his eyes. I could feel the hatred in them. Hatred smouldering, waiting to explode at the slightest provocation. He was a major in the Indian army and had a number of killings to his name. But he sensed that I knew something about him, something he wanted to keep under wraps. He fidgeted, saying that I remained the same old Amit of yore. I couldn't help smirking. 

Now I may add that we shared a special kind of relationship while we were at school. He was much better than me academically which honestly isn't saying much as I perennially flunked at school. Changing subjects as the seasons changed. So one year it was chemistry and the next year it was maths. We were kindof  friends, but then one day something happened due to which our friendship snapped. He went his way and I went mine. But I understood him and he knew.

Untill we met that day. He was smart and dapper with his moustache and gelled hair. Then he looked at me and said..............

Winter beckoning. The summer is past, the rains have come and gone, flooding the nullah's and the roads to its hearts content. It is that time of the year, when the sun is sharp, and sky is blue as blue can be. The heat and the moisture in the air combine to make life unbearable under the sun.  Out in the sun,  the shade is calm and cool. Cool as the earth, cool as a pitcherfull of water, the musky smell of earth freshly drenched with summer rains.

The wheels  have been set into motion for a harsh winter. The migratory birds would be flying soon, far into distant lands. The trees would cast away its gaiety, wrapping itself in a sombre shroud, and everything would be in grey. The skies would turn the color gray. The mist would be deep and grey and cold, awfully cold. The kind that would send the bones and the teeth clattering. 

The leaves would curl up, dreaming about the comming of spring. The birds would gather its nest around is bosom; ruing the cold. The sun would wrap itself in a cloud of mist, playing truant like a spoilt child. Meanwhile the winter winds would gather force, brooking no resitance, sweeping across the snow clad mountains and finally rushing down the plains spreading its tentacles in every nook and corner of the earth.  The revellers engrossed as they are, would hardly notice the leaves curling up. 

I can feel it in my blood the comming of revelry and the impending calm that will follow.  Maybe this feeling of exhilaration, and the beating of drums in my head is a figment of my imagination. But  I certainly welcome the changing of the season. 

Amit Khanna

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There are somethings in life that bring out the child in everybody. Those wonderful years when you were young and restless come back to you in bits and pieces. Of course you never remember the event in entirity, only little parts can be remembered. The rain drops hitting the skin feels the same, it was the same ages ago when I was in Chittaranjan. The musky smell of fresh rain felt similar, reminding me of childhood. The crows cawed away on the topmost branch of the jamun tree. Everything felt so familiar.

The clouds rumbled, dark, menacing, brooding in the distance. I remember that day years ago, sitting under a mango tree looking morosely at the gay shades of yellow and red painted on the School gate. The squirrel were busy scurrying here and there without a worry in the world. A gentle breeze blew from the north, carrying the flavour of the plains and valleys far away. That was years ago.

The rains felt the same in Lucknow. I can remember the violent thunderstorms that used to precede the rains. The clouds would rush in from all direction, colliding against each other creatin a huge ruckus. The lights would flash, cutting across the sky follwed by a deafening roar. The doors and windows had to barricaded to prevent the wind from rushing in. This was never enough the wind always found a way to rush in, bringing along huge amount of fine coarse dust. The kind of  dust that would choke the life out of you. The only way out would be to find refuge in the bathroom as the moistness would nullify the dust and the grime.

The rain came in little spurts and was instantly soaked by the parched earth. Little puffs of dust rose wherever the rain drops landed. The first rain should always be avoided since it collects all kinds of toxins on its way. But who cares, specially when it felt so nice on the skin. The market was buzzing with activity, the vendors were busy trying to keep the shamiana from falling. The  prices were being reduced all around as there were no takers. As I walked past the cremation ground, I could see people in groups standing next to the funeral pyre. The flames lept towards the sky angrily, lashing against the rain. Little images like these have a way of pulling up threads from the past. I remember it was raining when Didma died. The cancer had wasted her and she was just skin and bones when she died. I remember sitting in a little hutment alongside Dadu who had a faraway look in his eyes. The rain just pelted away.

I love the rainy season because it brings forth all kind of memories, some of them are sweet and some are bitter. It is a therapy for the soul, a balm for all the battering taken over the years.

There were so many coins lying around that something had to finally give. There were coin's everywhere, in the bathroom, below the mattress, some had found their way below the sink. I dare say some had already found a place in my house owners pocket as well. The coins ruled the roost. The only place they were not to be found was inside my wallet.
So I brought this little earthenware, and filled its belly with loose change. The smaller denomination's went in first, demonstrating their reluctance by making little clanking sounds. The heavier coins made a dull mettalic sound, philosophical to the end. Little by little, I filled the vessell till it started bursting at the seams.

I didn't realise the amount of loose change that changes hands until then. The coins kept comming in, little coins, heavy coins. Coins that were newly minted, and made shrill tinkling noises as they fell to the floor.There were runaway coins that rolled in all directions, searching for a place to hide and there were the old ones as well, which just fell flat on the ground with a thud unwilling to take chance.  

I needed a place for my little pot of gold, unfortunately no place was good enough. I needed a place away from the prying eyes. Far away from the heat and the grime of Delhi's dust bowl. Somewhere I could call a shrine, afterall this was a matter of faith. There I would burn a few incense sticks, throw in a few flowers and worship it daily and nightly. After several days of tossing and turning I finally found such a place.       

There is this little coner in the conerest part of the house. The place is a little damp, the cobwebs  have crept in, casting their net in order to  snare little winged creatures. This  is where  I keep my  pot  of gold. From time to time, I pick up the little pot and give it a gentle wiggle. The sound of the coins jingling inside is soothing to the ears. The dull heaviness of the earthenware is a balm to the weary soul.

I am sure that no force on earth could move me to break this little earthernware. I don't even want to  know how much I have collected. Maybe hundred or two hundred bucks but the solace and comfort that it provides is priceless.
 

I hate to admit, but it seems that I am slowly but surely turning into a bummer. Now I dont think that there is any such word in the english dictionary, so let me  make things easier for all and sundry. A bummer is a person who loves a derrire any time of the day. Many of you women would classify me along with the normal pervert, a social psycopath. But that is altogether an another matter which will be dealt by the author in due time.

There are several varieties of the subject in question. There is the scrawny ass, the owner of which is normally a mean, bitchy and your normal ball crusher. Then there is miss tight ass. The know all. Then there are the big ones, and the very big ones. The big ones are normally friendly and happy with themselves and the world. Then  there are asses that sway, this surely is a come hither signal. A little tease gauranteed to put you on overdrive.Some of them twin peaks have a mind of their own and that is why you wear low waisted jeans at your own peril. At first opportunity they are into the open, thumbing their nose at authority.  

Speaking about low waist jeans you cant sit in them, if you wear one and if you are a conscious cat you will spend the rest of the day pulling and tugging your jeans in the sincere hope that the family jewels are not exposed. The guys will have a field day of course, I have been there so I know. Just for the sake of fun tell them not to be so restless and fidgety. I gaurantee that you will get an ambigious answer. But it will stop the fidgeting for sure.

The sociological impact is immense. Tau says that gurgaon is no longer safe for children below the age of 12. Now what happened was that tau stopped behind a motorist. A girl came from nowhere and mounted the pillion and the twin peaks burst out from her capris. Tau was flabbergasted but he couldnt keep his eyes away from the spectacle. We went off course, yes. But sometimes the road less travelled is the road to ecstasy. So the sociological impact is immense and throw in the economic loss plus the octane burnt and the heartaches and the sum is a major catastrophe waiting to happen.

Since today is international womens day, I had to write something special. The property valuation part will be done some other day..

The more I travel the more I get to know myself. If given an opportunity I would readily exchange my unearthly work hours with a life of a nomad.Of course that is not possible, taking into consideration my financial status which is nothing to crow about. Maybe later, when I have some money in the bank I will take a year off and go train spotting. 

Anyways the train journey was taxing to the body, which is nothing out of the ordinary because the Indian railways is not desinged, keeping the travellers interest paramount. But the sights were a succour to the tired eyes. The green pastures were smooth as silk, cut into patches of irregular shapes. The gust of wind sent a ripple through the mass of green silk, it was a beautiful sight to see.  The scare crow stood swaying in the wind its arms outstretched as if welcoming the winged creatures into its embrace.  The farmers in their white turbans crouched low, busy with their sickles removing the unwanted vegetation.  

The flora and the fauna showed a diversity that had to be seen to be believed. The grass invariably grew along the track as if  they had forged a special bond with Indian railways. The blades were sharp as scissors. I bet you could have cut an apple in half with it. There were patches of green which were intermingled with blotches of yellow. The  pumpkin looked so appetizing that you felt like taking some home so that mother would cook something hot and filling. And you could have taken  the silk patches of green to your backyard so that you could have slept on the silken bedspread soaking in the lazy sunday sun. 

The rivers were swollen and angry, the water was the color of earth, dark earthy brown. So seductive that you would have gladly taken a plunge into the cool and refreshing                          sea of brown and red. The nullah had the dark stagnant water, which supported various kind of insects and vegetation. The water was foul smelling maybe it contained some kind of industrial waste.     

The walls were splashed with various kinds of adverts, with hashmi davakhana taking the cake. There were close contenders like edwards davakhana and shafi davakhana but there was no beating the original macoy. Hashmi davak khana ruled the roost and it gauranteed to cure all kinds of ailments and dammit it was established in the year 1929. The extent of  the advertisement must have created some kind of record because you could see it eveywhere. Spread over 700 kilometres, it was painted on the walls, the buildings had it spray painted on it in white. Somewhere the lines blurred, but the spirit of hashmi's davakhana reigned everywhere. Wonder how it was done. Maybe the wonder boys pulled the chain wherever they wanted to paint an advert. That would have been the cost effective way. But taking into consideration the the traveller who is a harried lot, the chances of that happening would have been zero. Maybe hashmi payed the local painter to get the work done. The walls had numbers on them spray painted in white. The numbers have gone into my head. I wonder what does the number 301 spray painted in white on a wall next to the railway track signify. Must be some kind of secret code. 

There were some trees that came right from horror flicks. The tree were old, and grew on the slimy greyish walls, The roots were gnarled, and took their sustenance from the blackish stagnated water that flowed underneath. I wonder what kind of living thing could take its sustenance from water that was so foul.

The weather was quite pleasant, and that made the journey more tolerable. Maybe it had rained in these parts that is why the wind carried the smell of the drying grass mingled with the wet earth. As the day drew to a close the womenfolk got busy with their cooking. The smoke hung around with the trees maybe they were pals. Maybe they were socializing at the end of the day. The bluish white haze hung around with the trees before drifting away with the white swans. The sun had set and the cloud above turned a reddish orange in stark contrast to the darkish blue sky. The trees brooded in silence. The meadows were dark and quiet, mysterious like  a distant dream.

The night poured in, darkness reigned. There was no electricity in sight. Occasionally you could see a fire burning in the night, maybe somebody was cooking the last meal of the day. The family would have been huddled next to the fire. The pot would boil over with its ingredients spilling over  making disgruntled hisses as it came in contact with the fire. Meanwhile Sheru the dog sidled over looking at the congregation expectantly.

Sometimes a train rattled along on the next track. Of course you could make nothing of the occupants in the other train even though you tried hard. The bogies created a ruckus creating a shock wave that made the train bob and weave. Soon it was gone. Gone to another place, scattering its passengers along the length and breadth of India.   

The train rushed towards the station and then it paused. After that it woke up in fits and starts, finally wheezing into the station 30 minutes late. The train always takes a breather near alamnagar. Maybe it is tired after running all day long. 

To tell you honestly there is no fun in dragging your weary ass day in and day out to the office, I mean whats the fun in being the perfect employee. Of course you would have one unhappy boss at the end of the day, but honestly bosses are human and they understand, most of the times. There are two ways you can get yourself a holiday. The normal way is to play safe and inform your boss a few days in advance, that way you would be on the right side of the boss. The other way is to play truant and take a day off without informing anybody. Now that is a dangerous thing to do so you better be ready with a good excuse the next day.

I think the right to take a day off should be included in our constitution, I mean we exercise it so often so why not go the entire distance and include it in the citizens charter. Since I am a honest and lawabiding citizen of the country, I exercise this right quite often. Of course I have to burn the midnight oil for my follies, becuase nothing comes free. But honeslty sweet are the pains of labour. Some of the excuses are as follows.

1) I lost my key and the land lord wouldnt let me break the lock. And since I was dressed   in bermudas and hawai chappal there was no way I could go to office,clad as I was. The mobile was inside the room and hence I couldnt inform anybody about my absence, and there was no way I could ever remember those nine digit telephone numbers.

2)Had a fight with the landlord and the landlord banished me from his house, I had to make alternative arrangements since I was given only one hour to vacate the property. Poor me.

3)My room mate met with a serious accident and I had to take care of him as he had nobody to take care of him.

4)I finally went down with viral fever. It helps if you had a minor headache the previous day. Do inform your boss about these minor developments, helps to lend credibility to your lies.

5)You have an examination to appear. Just to take care of any emergencies i have enrolled in every damned course on planet earth. Drama classes, guitar classes, german language classes, creative writing classes, ca, icwa, b level, etc etc.

6)You have this important document to collect and it is a matter of life and death for you.

7) You have a boil that hurts when you sit and more importantly when you shit, you need to get it taken care of it quick and hence a day off please.

8)I took a cab to office but the cab drivers were drunk and they dumped me in the middle of the highway sans my purse. I had to walk my way back home. I was too traumatised to go to the office. The boss never understood the trauma i had to go through and I almost had to work overtime. Got saved by an another lie.  

Actually a good lie is one that has some elements of truth in it. You build on this element of truth and if you are good at it you can build castles around it. It is easy all you need is a basic understanding of psychology and what makes your boss tick.

If my boss is reading this, I  am sure she would understand. 

The best part of working at @#$ is that you get free rides home. After slogging throughout the day, eight hours of gravity defying and soul breaking work the only compensation you get is the ride back home. Ok, I do get the salary and bonuses and stuff but that comes only twelve times in a year. So you can understand that it is too less and too far in between. Maybe there is a truth behind the saying that the best is reserved for the last and that is why you get desserts after a humdrum meal.

Anyways by the time our day is done the streets have emptied and there is no damned living thing in sight. The cars are nicely perched on kerbs waiting for tommorow. The street bulbs bathe the surrounding in a sea of sullen yellow, some of the light falls on the monstrous duplexes by the side of the road. The duplexes are inscruitable to the naked eye, they look on poker faced as if playing a game of chess. Maybe it is my imagination but did the tree on the other side of the road just creep towards us. The roads get narrower as the trees converge on the road barricading us against the buildings. The dogs run along us barking furiously , maybe all that they want is teeny weeny bite. But the beast is much stronger, driven by several horses and all they can do is howl piteously at the retreating tail lights.

Meanwhile the girls have gone nutty , maybe it is effect of the atmosphere or something. Ro who is a normal girl during the day has absolutely gone nutty and even  A has fallen under the curse. I try in vain to get a straight answer but my efforts are in vain. Maybe they are having a blast, you never know with these girls. So I keep shut and play along. The moon is shining but Ro is certain it is the sun. A is uncertain whether we are on our way home or to our place of work. Meanwhile Ro  has fished out a bottle of water from a polythene bag which could have easily contained an elephant. Of course you couldnt comment on these little idiosyncracies. So you just let them pass.

The driver floors the pedal, but you cant beat the road as much you try. The road always remains ahead.

Its been ages since i wrote anything. I mean my blog must have atrophied, shrivelled into one of those little bits of inconsequential information. So lets put matters right and blow some damned life into the blasted thing. Of course it would be of no consequence as usual. Let men of greater intellect dvelve into serious things in life. I of course walk my own path. The path that leads to nowhere.
Nowhere is a nice place. There is nothing to be done there and there are no signposts. It is just a journey to infinitum. You walk all your life and still reach nowhere. That is what i usually do. The journey to nowhere is interesting because you dont have to worry about the path you have to take. YOu can deviate all you want. There are no strict rules and regulations to follow. So if you want pee at authority then this is the path that will set you free and your bladder of course.
Now to walk this path you have to be free. This isnt for those who are tied down because of obligations, debts, girlfriends, and other signposts that you just cant ignore. So guys if you have such obligatios then sorry this path aint for you. 
Now while on this journey to the nowhere you might come across something consequential that might divert you from your moksha. Ignore it if you can but if it something of consequence then you got to go. Otherwise keep on walking by the trees. The little winding lanes will ultimately lead you nowhere. It might lead you anywhere but then you will realize that you are still nowhere. Anywhere and nowhere are cousins, they look alike think alike and live at some place which could be anywhere or it could be nowhere. Anyways you wouldnt know becuause you are still nowhere. 
It is more like piddling against the wind. You aim somewhere and it lands somewhere. Now somewhere could be anywhere but it is definately not nowhere. So it does get confusing at times but that is the fun when you aim to go nowhere. 
Enough this bullshit. I guess i started somewhere but it seems i got lost somewhere and right now i can see that i am not anywhere.

'Hey! The hoops look good on you where do you buy them', I couldn’t help asking her. The hoops danced mischievously, brown hoops the size of bangles. She even wore bangles of the same color. She nodded her head and asked,' why do you want to know'. Just asking, maybe I got a girlfriend hidden away somewhere'. She got several hoops. On Mondays she wears blue colored ones which have a little blue pendant. Then there are silver ones and of course the brown ones. The brown ones are the best because they go well with her brown eyes and brown hair. The brown hair courtesy L’Oreal', I guess.

There is this guy who plays the air guitar real well. He closes his eyes all of sudden and he is in his private world. He picks up the imaginative guitar and starts strumming a tune. His brows knot up in deep concentration. I poke him in the ribs because everybody is watching. He wakes up from his soiree and looks around him in detachment. He has the look of a guy who has suddenly attained nirvana.

If you think that cats have no brains then check this particular orange hued one with low centre of gravity and stretched out like one of those Russian stretch limousines. The cat pawed the milk, spilling it on the floor. It wasn’t an accident; it was rather deliberate well planned move. The milk was too hot. This cat wasn’t stupid because he repeated the act again. 

The mattress fell over the balcony and landed on the neighbor’s terrace. This is kind of weird because the last time I saw the mattress it was lying on the ground. It was pegged down to the surface by cat poop. But how the fuck did it rise to the occasion and land on the neighbors tank. The neighbor is mad of course and I fear retribution. 

The kids are a menace. They yell and holler all day long. The door is pushed, rattled and kicked. I let rip a scream and the kids run away only to return back. Its like one of those horror flicks where the masked killer keeps comming back. The cricket ball keeps comming back in the vicinity of my specs. I think the aim is deliberate. I duck the flying bullets and let rip a dire threat. Fearing disembowelment they scatter to the safety of their homes.