Fast Local

Whenever I think of writing anything about Mumbai I feel bounded by the idea of comparing it with Delhi. Usually, that is what people do. But I, somewhat, do not belong the same category. My friends know this well that I like both the cities equally and I hate them too … wait… No, I never hate them, just because they both have flavors of their own. Recently I revisited the “commercial capital” and fell in love with it one more time, possibly much more than ever as the duration of this trip was longer. After 48 days of close observation and grasping the essence of the city I was done with one more memoir of a wonderful stay in the ‘city that never sleeps’.

Talking of Mumbai, many things have been said before, have been written before and even been filmed about the city. I have nothing new to coin. The same early morning rush towards the offices, the same crowded local trains completing their to-and-fro trips mindlessly like a programmed machine, the same staple food – wada pao – being served at every nook and corner, the same helpless buildings which make their presence felt only after they die of their old age, the same city where there is ‘queue’ for everything, be it auto-rickshaws, buses or ticket counters, which actually reminds you that you are not the first one, there are many more like you!

I respect that very feel of this city. In fact, films like Wake Up Sid! And Dhobhi Ghat have already portrayed the city in so many ways that someone who has never been to the city would get the feel of it just by watching these movies. At least, I find them true depictions of the image of Mumbai city.

And on this trip I tried to capture the same feeling through 'videography' – a totally new way of looking at things. I have never done videography before. (am not using the word 'film-making' as I don’t see myself quite ‘there’ as yet) Being my first experience it is quite unplanned and can be termed as a fluke or experimental. This was actually an attempt to create a video diary of the trip and while doing so, I wanted to get familiar with the whole procedure of video-making. More or less, you can call it an experiment. I hope you’ll like it.

The video is named Fast Local. Before you watch it, please make a note that it is a total amateur video, the camera quality was not an option and I need fair and honest comments on the attempt. Thank you.

To watch the video click HERE

Video Credits:
Video by : Dishant Bhatia
Music : Mumbai Spirit

If you think you liked even a single frame of this, feel free to comment/appreciate the author and encourage him to conduct more such experiments by mailing him on panwadi.tales@gmail.com. Any Suggestions, ideas, advises and blessings are welcome. Critique too... :)      

Taste of Freedom

  

It’s been a week since we celebrated India’s 66^th Birthday. Yeay!!! Congrats to all of us! This year I was not occupied with other things and thus decided to dedicate the entire day to television programs which were to be telecasted on the occasion of THEE National Holiday. [Which means this post is been written by an unemployed young boy, who is free-thinking and has a “concerned” attitude towards his nation. And who just confessed that he spent the 15^th of August lying on his bed with a remote in his hand, doing nothing. And believe me, this same person is one among the future of this nation… after all he is one of the ‘young brigade’.]

At midnight I listened to the speech by our first Prime Minister – don’t know why but I do get goosebumps whenever I hear it. Early morning next day, I woke up to see the official ceremony at Red Fort on t.v.. After that, I was in a dilemma as I searched for something ‘soulful’ to do or watch. Some (actually many) channels had become ‘normal’ after a while and had started focusing on the ‘political tamasha’. Yes. I just did that. I called it a tamasha… literally a drama or a play, political from head to toe and I am talking about all the political parties, carefully leaving NO signs whatsoever of supporting any one of them because alongside doing ‘nothing’ and watching TV, I realized that somewhere India was still divided! Thus, I didn't want to be victim of someone’s fury by offending the politician that he/she would ‘follow’. I had two options at that very moment – either I could participate in this political tamasha believing that the ‘future’ of this country depends on it or I could look at the ‘past’ - history.

Well, I chose the latter.

And as I did, I found three ‘soul-touching’ features. Each of them is one of the best creations I have ever seen or heard, riveting and strong enough to leave a invoke anyone's patriotism.

Woh 7 din – While all news anchors, dressed in desi attire (which is probably exclusively made for this day) were busy reciting the same “Breaking News” over and over again, NDTV India showed something different. This program revealed what and how things were happening just a week before the historic day. How all the provinces were made to unite before the big day. This is something which was not known to me and came as a surprise. Indeed, independence wasn't easy. Watch the program series, link below –

Clip from 'Woh 7 Din', Source:NDTV

http://www.ndtv.com/video/list/shows/woh-7-din

Tamas – The most awaited TV series and best-rated by my parents already, I had to watch it. The episode started off with this phrase –

Clip from Tamas Source:YouTube

And I was bowled over. Some info about the serial for those who belong to my generation and the younger ones – the serial is based on the novel Tamas written by Bhishm Sahani, brother of Balraj Sahani (of the “O meri Johra-zabi..” fame) and also, the one who plays the character of Sardar Harnam Singh. This was first launched in 1986. A Youtube video of the serial showcases the author in the starting of the series. The author himself states that the reason behind the creation of the series is, “reminding people of their past, so that we do not repeat our mistakes”. Now that’s Twenty years back and it was the time just after the emergency. Now, twenty years since, reading the phrase for the first time and looking at the present scenario, I still find it unquestionably apt. Its a pity we haven’t changed. People still fight with each other over matters of caste, religion, and the most weird and latest trend – political parties slinging mud at each other! (Sigh!) The series is made remarkably well and is more riveting and convincing than any of today’s soap operas. How could I even be comparing? This one has reality in every frame and allowed you to connect yourself with it somehow. Moreover, the casting was the finest of the lot – Om Puri, Deepa Mehta and even Amrish Puri! Bravo! Hats off to its creators – Bhishm Sahani & Govind Nahlani. I hope people understand what the series is telling them! After all this is something which is not Googled, this is made by someone who has seen it himself! For those who have not seen – Its on air, daily at 9PM on History!

Husna – This one struck me hard last year as well. One of the songs featured in Coke Studio @Mtv Season 2. Composed by Hitesh Sonik, written and sung by my favorite Piyush Mishra. In the introduction, Hitesh said that the song was actually a poem written by Piyush ji around sixteen years back. The plot is set up in the post-partition era where the protagonist is putting up some questions in front of another character – a lady named Husna who now lives in Pakistan after partition – asking about her experiences and the atmosphere of the newly formed Pakistan. The mood, character, music and intense nature of the song give a different kind of high. The description of festivals and the mention of similarities in the cultures portrays the pain of partition very well. Again, this could only have been done by someone who has sported or witnessed the pain very closely. Hats off to Piyush ji for his awesome creation. Listen to the song here (link below) - 

Clip of Husna. Source: CokeStudio India @Mtv

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zTFzMPWGLs

[The author thinks he has done his duty by sharing all of this with you, sitting on his bed, laptop in his lap, unlimited internet, proper electricity and freedom to post anything, anytime with as many people as possible reading. Hoping that people who crave for their rights will someday also think about the duties they are supposed to perform. Moreover, he is glad to be born in late 80’s, which kept him away from all the struggle and made him so oblivious and unmoved by the happenings of the ‘real’ world that he finds his freedom in just ‘liking’, ‘posting’, ‘sharing’ or ‘commenting’ on the matters which are too serious to be dealt on Facebook. He is glad to be the part of the generation which is the ‘so-called’ future of the nation, who looks into Google to know their past despite the presence of the real story-tellers.]

Although, it’s been checked twice, still if you find the author supporting any political party or person apart from artistes… please ignore and forgive him as this is his first ever attempt of writing on a not-so-very-political-matter. The sole purpose of this post is to appreciate those who ‘thought’ for us! If you support this cause, mail us at panwadi.tales@gmail.com

Being 'De-activated'...

[Text and Sketches by D.B.]

Que 01: “Are you sure you want to deactivate your account?”

Ans: “Yes.”

Que 02: “These friends will miss you. Would you like to send them a message before you deactivate your account?”

Ans: “Enough!!!! Arghhhh…. I am not dying!!!!”

Well, that was me talking to my FB account a year ago. Yes… you guessed it right… it was the ‘I-deactivated-my-account’ stage of my life. One year… quite wonderful! First of all I would like to declare that I MADE IT!!! Yeay!! This is for those who think that one cannot live without FB – Well, c’mon! I just did! Before you start making any presumptions, let me clear that no one challenged me to do that. And I won’t even say that I did it because of ‘personal reasons’ coz that would be too lame! I’ve got reasons which actually helped me keeping myself ‘free’ for real important things in life, like eating, sleeping.. etc. But eventually I realized that there are drawbacks of it too, for instance, you cannot react to your friend who tells you the latest joke from the “Trolled” series… Well… all the mathematics is been done below!

So, after being in ‘social-networking-solitary-confinement’ for one year, I bring to you the five-points that helped me live my life while ‘Being Deactivated…’

[DISCLAIMER: I do not have any personal grudges with Mark Zuckerberg and his product. Neither do I promote the ‘Deactivate your account’ function of FB.]

[WARNING: Deactivating your FB account can cause serious complications in your personal and professional life. It doesn’t make you ‘Cool’]

You Get Life!

Picture this! You are on for a morning walk (with your DSLR). You saw fresh dew on leaves. You capture that with your ‘instrument’. You come home. ‘Upload done’. By the next morning you’ll be flooded with hundreds of likes and thousands of comments! Many of them don’t even matter to you and most of the people who liked the pic do not even belong to you directly or in worst cases have never met you!

Now, imagine yourself without an FB account and picture the scene again! You go for the walk – WITHOUT the DSLR because you know that your account is not there! You end up gazing the dew and capturing them with your ‘natural’ lenses and return back home! Story ends!

Now only YOU ‘Liked’ it and am sure you’ll love that.

And those who just felt that they used to do this, stop sharing your ‘photography’ talent with amateurs on FB, instead move on to some ‘real’ photography websites looking for good photographers.

You get social – well, with your family!

How many times you missed that call from Dad? Or How many times you just forgot to respond to your Mum when she was calling you for the dinner? And why? Coz you were busy making someone on the ‘chat’ happy…? Right? This IS social networking, I agree but what about the ‘family time’ that you used to have with your family?

Well, if this is sounding a bit ‘lecture’ types then, when was the last time you met your ‘chat-wali’ friend, the same for whom you kept your mom waiting? You might have been chatting daily but then is that doing any good to your relationship rather than making your English worse than ever and letting you use :) instead of getting a smile on your face? Think about it…

Know ‘MY’ location

No. This is not the name of any function on FB (actually, I don’t know, maybe by the time I post this on Blog, its there) But, this is what you offer to your friends for free.. “ABC is at Bus stop feeling waiting”, “XYZ is at Panwala feeling red”, etc. etc. I mean… Why? Why do you want people to know where the hell you are and even if you want to share with someone in particular, god dam it, call him/her! Why to put it on your Wall???

It is addictive... I guess!

Let’s start the cycle. You start your laptop with some purpose, most probably, some important work in mind. You open your browser window and you start doing your work, say, checking your mail. You think again and before entering your email id you ‘feel-like’ signing into your FB account. Now its working on the other Tab. You turn to the first tab and check your mail. Suddenly you realize that when you signed into FB there were 10 notifications. You leave the mail tab.

The FB-Cycle

You open up the notifications, check them one by one. Like the pictures of your friends, comment on the other ones. Then you get like from someone on the comment you just made, and then the person on whose profile you commented replies back. You like his comment and suddenly someone likes your profile pic, you check all the likes you got till date and finds that the person you wanted to like the pic didn’t like it yet. You wait for it for a while and then you “poke” that person and that person knowing that you seek something never replies or sends a message but pokes you back! And finally you start waiting for the pokes also… 

And the cycle moves on! The email Tab… well you forget about that!

Brings back your fundamental Rights and Duties!

I don’t know how many of you would agree with me on this one but being deactivated from FB made me realize and thus follow my fundamental rights and duties. The duties which I was supposed to do myself, in person, but started taking help from this ‘extremely intelligent’ piece of technology. For instance, birthday wishes, attending family functions and ceremonies, extending my regards to someone or even proposing a girl!!! (Well, the last one’s been added to raise the TRP only)

Just ask yourself – how would you like if someone sends you a gift or a greeting and you come to know that its been already shared with thousands of people? I mean, FB does that openly! Your best friend shares a pic telling you that you are his/her best friend and if you see to its bottom right, its written that its already been shared some 2344…. Times! I mean where is the innovation in emotions nowadays? If you really think that person is worth knowing that fact then tell him/her in person! Same happens on Mother’s day, Father’s day, Puppy’s day and on all those days!

DIY dude! Do It Yourself… Bring back the ‘real’ compassion and love…

The story would have ended if it was all about leaving FB… but no! In the course of one year I also realized why you need it.

It keeps you updated about everything! Be it educational, professional, commercial, political, or anything, it keeps you up-to-date! It is to ‘connect’ with people of course and you can just stay connected and get updates of friends you never met in last decade. It helps you promote things; ask me and my fellow authors, we are promoting PT! (Wink) It helps your business progress! In times of adversities, of course, these websites turn out to be a great help! It is a great platform for sharing important stuff, especially when websites around the world are connected to it. At last, it helps you resolve distances, it brings people closer and speaking technically – it IS a very good medium to store your memories as it provides lots of ‘cloud’ space.

Deactivating from FB didn’t take the Author any closer to the ‘Cool’ tag. The fact is even if you deactivate there are very few who would appreciate that and it will not be termed as ‘Cool’ rather they’ll call that strange! Returning to FB proves that it is not ‘leave-able’ but the Author would advise you to use the technology in a way that your Life still remains ‘livable’.

How do you like this? Tell us back on panwadi.tales@gmail.com or LIKE US on FB. Hey! We have our own page!!! (Now that’s serious!) FB PAGE - https://www.facebook.com/PanwadiTales

    

More than Words : Avaak

"Love is the expression of one's values, the greatest reward you can earn for the moral qualities you have achieved in your character and person, the emotional price paid by one man for the joy he receives from the virtues of another." - Atlas Shrugged

The one true form of art that can lead on to a catastrophe of revelations; the one true gesture that makes one do the most regretful actions they shall ever- is the need to – Express. 

Yes, well… Lady Positive is in the Dark Room my friends! And yes, I shall drown you with me!!! 

Love is truly a game. It is that insufferable need for us humans to fall into the arms of anything and everything that makes us “feel alive”. Yeah well sometimes jumping into a pot full of hot oil can fry the bit-Jesus out of your alive-ass. Just because it looks like love, it may not be so. Like those times when we fake a fever to get out of going to school.

It’s amazing how the overwhelm of winning a game gets to any relationship from the very beginning. Who called first? Was it you texted her? Or she who tried to make the first conversation, who calls and at what time of the day, who has a bigger phone bill? Who sent whom the first friend request? Who has liked whose images? 

Bereft of subtlety and lacking the very privacy of relationships, “this guy I met”, “this girl whom I’m seeing these days” becomes the coffee table discussion among friends. The commoditization of a person begins. We express…prophesize…gossip…and bitch.

But love is not something to be expressed. Not because it can’t be or doesn’t need to be, but because when you truly and completely love someone, the precise moment when you are to express it, all sense in you escapes. The only things that come to your mind are the bare minimum words to sustain a feeling so immense that words run scared. In fact, I learnt from a very dear friend recently… how immense under-expressed love can be.  

Love expressed is so much sweeter to the ears than love unexpressed. However, nothing can substitute the pang of affection you feel for someone who did something for you while you were looking the other way. 

Something that you came across days, maybe months or even years later from a stranger or a distant friend; something you know you will always be indebted to them for but you were far too eager to “hear” it rather than “see” what the person did for you. Love is something that is the hardest to explain. And yet, we long for more and more of the verbal expression, choking the other for words.

I also at this point, with no offense to feminists like me, would like to point out how the two sexes are two ends of the spectrum when it comes to “talking”. To most of my guy friends, merely “talking” or yapping isn’t expression. It runs much deeper. 

Picking you up from your workplace and dropping you home, getting your phone recharged when you’re busy running around in local trains, waiting for your call when you are away travelling, talking to your friends and getting to know them, finding comfort among your people, making you a part of their friends’ circle… 

...making sure they are the last person who’s voice you hear before you fall asleep and the first person who hears your groggy voice in the morning, waiting for you to calm down when you’re unreasonably cranky and touchy, and running to you for solace…these count for more than words. 

I am still astonished how very few of us women enjoy silent conversations. Why so? How can one not notice any of these? And if we do… how the hell can we still demand for words of expression instead of actions. 

“You never tell me enough”?!! Do they need to?  Okay, maybe yes… when it really matters. When nothing can substitute the feeling of hearing those words but excessive expression and repetition is like cheap advertisement that relies only on nagging the audience into memorizing the words.

Love and hate are far too heavy and strong to be expressed fully. This takes me to Gregory David Robert’s ‘Shantaram’, “Fear drives a man’s mouth dry, and hate strangles him. That’s why hate has no real literature: real fear and real hate have no words.” (Ch. 18, Pg. 414). 

I would parallel it to Love. Real love has no real literature too. It’s probably the denial or deprivation of that love that makes for good literature- like real tragedy… not reveling in it. Reveling in it is intrinsic. Like music.

PT Turns ONE!!!!

Happy Buddday!!!

It all started with an idea of sharing the thoughts and ‘smaller pleasures of life’ with all the like-minded people around. The idea was conceived in November 2011, when four pals discussed it for the first time. It took five months for PT to develop and acquire the name. The idea became visible in April 2012 and within weeks, PT got its own identity. Today, PT turns One and we. The Authors are damn proud of it and glad to see the family – its readers and those who like it. It is still growing and we know there is a very long way to go.

Looking back, though the first entry was posted on 11^th of April, we still cannot call it the ‘birthday’ as, I remember, the preparations started earlier. Also, as we look up in are Archives section, we see the very first entries written in April. Thus, its not a day that we are going to celebrate, instead we are celebrating the month.

As, it turns one, we look back and see the success stories of PT. The Five TOP entries of PT. These were liked by so many and PT grew a bit every time a post was clicked…

1. Half of Halves & Ace of Spades - 

http://panwaditales.blogspot.in/2013/03/half-of-halves-and-ace-of-spades.html

2. Jaan Pehchan - 

http://panwaditales.blogspot.in/2012/04/jaan-pehchaan.html

3. Farewell - 

http://panwaditales.blogspot.in/2012/05/its-been-quite-long-time-thati-penned.html

4. Waiting in C.P. - 

http://panwaditales.blogspot.in/2012/05/waiting-in-c.html

5. India is walking stark naked - 

http://panwaditales.blogspot.in/2012/12/india-is-walking-stark-naked.html

Wishing PT a bright future and unlimited number of Posts... 

and of course, long life to the Authors... :)

And Now I see the Face of God

Photography:  Devadeep Gupta

Author: Anusha N.

"And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride. This god, this one word: 'I.'" | Anthem- Ayn Rand

I sometimes wonder what is it exactly that makes the spiritual. Like the journey to the temple. Did it really just start with the first step I took into its compound barefoot? Or did it start when the thought of worship was first seeded in my mind… or is it just the act of folding hands in prayer in front of god?

I have found God in the face of men. I have found God inside me. Every man who has a belief has a God. Every belief counts. It is like a higher collective conscience. Where every man is an end in himself. If you think you are contributing to a greater cause which is undefined, I counter that dream. Can you really work wholeheartedly for a purpose that isn’t your own? Can you vouch for anything with conviction because of hear-say? You are here to fulfill yourself. And it is in the self-satisfaction of some religious or spiritual or emotional or metaphysical part of you that you feel like a higher power surrounds you. How you turn out may or may not be related to that stone that you pray in front of. But for those who believe, it is so for them.

So what is “I”.

There was a girl I once knew. We were both really young. Like the age when pebbles and raindrops are our secret friends and we talk to an imaginary class with a chalk and a stick in our hand? Ribbons and frocks? That young! I met her in a place where we were all equals. And with each day that went by we discovered newer things about each other we hated. They knew her for her predecessors but I didn’t know them neither did I know her. I was the insufferable know it all. An out-of-towner, so I was as much of a misfit in this place as the place was a misfit on me. We were like an odd-pair of socks – black in one foot and white in another. Just never a match.

I envied her for her family. They seemed too happy to be true. I envied her voice. Much louder than mine. I envied her lunch. Much grander than mine. I envied her bag, her clothes, her sport and her smile. Much prettier, fancier, fashionable and cooler than mine. So was that how it would always be? But that is the age when we think of ourselves to be what we possess. Where we feel where we come from is all that we are. When I neither knew what was I nor who was She.

But all this while that I envied her possessions and her fame; she silently wished she was me. Because she knew at that age that this would not last and that day, what would last was I, myself and me.

Then we welcomed adolescence. By this time we had managed to co-exist. She had a fair share of drama. Boys falling around her left, right and centre. Sometimes she’d reject them even before they could speak. Sometimes she’d reject them the first time they’d meet. As I tagged along on her fun filled teenage I envied her every bit. And deep down I knew she loved my library, my books and my petty little tantrums. She’d smile at me and take to my nerdy whims. And she’d rather spend the PT class playing ping-pong in a hall. When the whole bunch of ‘Them’ was busy playing in the sun; she’d always meant for me to see. That they all had fun… but she had hers with me.  

And then we were adults and we parted our ways. Trying to see what really was I and Me. I went and searched the earth, the soil and stones. She went her way down science, logic and streams. We let time mould us and somewhere in this Apart; is when the whole “I” in me and the “She” in her came together. Like a patchwork of dreams and a board full of post-its, our memories just pinned up on the timeline of our past. We left.

And somewhere in all this time apart, I saw when we came back… it wasn’t the same Her. She was lost slowly like specks of sand from a fist. She had gone through the shredder on her own as had I. But this time, it was nothing I envied, nothing I could perceive.

She’d been a mother to a family that refused to grow up; a child to elders who refused to exist. She’d been a lover to lovers who didn’t know love, a faithful friend to friends who would never yield. She’d fought battles that weren’t her own only to realize. There was no such fight when enemies patronize. She’d been a pillow to sleep on for so many maniacs. When she had barely slept for herself in years. She’d patiently suffered for those who couldn’t for themselves. She’d listened and heard and battered and bruised. She’d never demanded of those who were incapable to provide because they were just that - incapable. She’d never expected from those born to disappoint – because they were that - disappointing. She showed me her wounds one by one with a sardonic humor. 

She’d told me that these weren’t badges from battles she’d won. She’d only meant it as lessons she’d learnt. She’d say she wants to shield me. But I wondered how could she- She hadn’t even seen what they’d done to her. She hadn’t known what she was to me. To her this was never her journey so far. Because all she’d done unknowingly was play hundreds of roles at people’s demands compensating for those who lacked the decency to play their own. 

What am “I” she said, she didn’t know. No belief. No faith. No expectation. No oars. Am I the same “I” you envied all that while? When I knew I envied you…because at least you knew there is “I” in you. They let you be and reveal the true you. But I, I am solitary and that is what is me. I don’t know how else to be anymore. Because all the while I should have spent in finding me... they and I never let me.

And she said “they gave me wings to fly. But all they forgot was that “I” too need a sky.”

She said something that she could never take back. Because the truth is we all exist for ourselves. Peace is not borrowed, like faith or belief or love or happiness or sorrow or pain. God can’t be borrowed. It has to be yours. It has to be born. I can’t just be. Every “I” that plays at least ten of our million dutiful roles with a little more conviction would relieve so many souls trapped like her to just be; in their due time to be “I”.

You aren’t the “I” you want everyone else to praise. Your identity is not that which is in my eyes or his. Because if my eyes envy you today tomorrow they could say pity. If my eyes love you today, tomorrow it may just be sympathy. You aren’t the “you” I see. You are the “I” you see. Even when you think the ones who loved you do not anymore. Are you even sure you know yourself well enough for them to?

If all you search for in the eyes of strangers is love and praise, you will never be satisfied, because the “I” in you knows better than that. 

“I am. I will, whether you like it or not, exist. I shall not apologize for my abilities, neither for success, nor for my dreams. Not one of those is what you owe to others. ‘I’ am the one you owe to satisfy. Because without a satisfied you, you will never fully be one of the ten “I” you Have to be.”

God is within you and me. I search for “I”. There is no bigger religion and no bigger God.

Half of Halves and an Ace of Spades

Photographs: Devadeep Gupta 

Author: Anusha N.

“I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”-  J. R. R. Tolkien, the Fellowship of the Ring.

There was once a Half of Halves- a man half understood. A man for whom no one stayed through his weak. A man few could see become all he wished to be; The Half that longed to be admired- to be wanted, to be needed or just to be seen. As anything more than that Half which finished the incomplete; as the Half that completed the queen bee. The Half that finished the unfinished halves. A Quarter that many longed for, but a Half of Halves just was he.

There was once an Ace of Spades. A woman of many shades. A girl who found her way into the hearts of men. Sometimes with little effort, sometimes with none. And even when she laughed, or wept or slept. It moved the pawns deep into their chests. She was like the deck of cards that always won. Either because of the deal or because of her veil. They’d either lie their cards all down so she could walk on their trumps. Or they’d let her bluff and let her win. She was like that queen of chess, who had many a pawns a bishop and a king. An army to defend her as she sat in her tower. An army to die, to kill for her, while she looked deep in her mirror.

She longed to be finished, to be as complete and then one day she met the Half of Halves. She knew that she had found what she lacked. She knew she too had that which he wished. A beauty, a charm and an innocent smile- a surreal dream which only she could provide. And so they walked hand in hand. Through the Poppies, and the Ivy and the Sunflower fields. Sometimes she’d drag him through minefields just for the thrill. And despite his defenses he’d always give in. And sometimes he’d carry her through and pull her out of the craters she’d always fall in. They walked and walked, never really seeing where the road leads. Never wanting an end, never wanting the road to bend. They walked till they hit a village carnival. And the Ace of Spades felt like a scene from a dream.

The Ace of Spades had been in her tower all her life, so she’d never realized. That the world outside had so many shiny lights. The Half of Halves felt her pull away, but just for a while. He let her go so she could see her clowns, her genies and her trippy lights. And he smiled as she laughed, and laughed as she blew bubbles that popped. He walked two steps behind her all the while. Not too close to steal her thunder. But neither too far to let her go unwatched. He knew the eyes that were on her galore. And yet he knew deep inside, it was the Ace of Spade they all saw… not the girl that this Half of Halves had fallen for.

They walked from one carnival to the next, just company for the duller parts and so much life at each stop. Till the day a man, an aimless wanderer took her hand… and showed her prettier lights. He showed her camel rides, elephant trumpets and a coveted throne. He whispered to her, as she pulled away from the Half of Halves, half a mile half a second… he told her of how many princesses and queens who’d wanted that seat.

His stories of battles, and trades and adventures were something the Half of Halves never had told her of. He’d rather been busy guarding her, while she’d dance with the gypsies. But he’d never really shown her that he too could fight and kill. So she said to Half- I thank you my friend. If not for you… I’d never have left the tower where I’d forever been. You’ve brought me to my King of Hearts and with him now I shall proceed.

But she never really dug deep enough to see the Half of Halves for what he was. Never deep enough to see that he wasn’t a mere Half. He was more than the Half that she could see, much more than the Quarter she had unlocked, and an Eighth she’d ever revealed. Not just the man who made her the woman she was. She never realized that the Half of Halves was a man who could complete any heck of a woman whom he’d chose to be. With just as much grit, passion and poise, The Half of Halves took it in his stride.

He waved her goodbye and carried on… but now he was just too lost. All this while, he’d never seen the side of him that she’d made him see. All this while he’d never enjoyed for adventures that were his own, they’d always been his queen’s. So when he stepped out of the Castle of the King of Hearts he turned around just once towards the porch. He saw her wave an innocent goodbye with a childlike smile, unaware of what she was letting go. And for what? A King of Hearts? A man, a chameleon, a trader of shady delights? A man one could trade for a broken barrel and two hollow dimes. A man who was that trader in every carnival. That trader who’d poach on unaware girls. A man that the Half of Halves had always feared for his allure. But the Half of Halves wasn’t half as cunning as the King of Hearts. And he’d never put a foot out of line with his Ace of Spades. So he left her putting up a happy face. He hoped that they’d meet again.

So they did as he walked head down. Aimlessly wondering, he hit another bend and another Carnival it shall be. And as he wandered aimlessly, his eyes wandered- for whom, he could not see. From one carnival to the next to a village he’d never seen. Where he’d heard tales of traders stop for pleasures and sins. He had no choice for he was too tired. And there he saw her- like a showcase doll. Wrapped around like a precious shrug, on a throne next to her King of Hearts. He asked around as to who the King had been. A woman next to him said, he is the one- the provider of Sins. His job was to show pleasures to men and women alike. A spell so toxic that no modest men could cast off. So he waited and waited on the sidelines. Till one day the King of Hearts threw his ashen Ace aside. While she lay there too weak to speak or to cry. He just put his hand out again and said… Come, you’ve seen enough.

But she hadn’t seen enough as it seemed, as she would later tell him. With each trippy light of a different color, she’d leave his hand. And with each new taste she’d forge his guard and let men in who weren’t worth a penny, a pebble or a speck.  And yet he’d watch with just as much passion as pain, with just as much anguish yet try to be sane. He’d watch till he’d seen enough and then turn the other way. Even then The Half of Halves stood his guard, whether she liked it or not. He’d stay because that’s what he’d always promised to himself. He wasn’t that Half of a Half – a man who walked off unfulfilled. He was that Half who stood his post in whichever way she demanded.

But one fine day he said he had let her see enough. That the Ace was worth more than the Ones and Two put together. That they’d never cherish her as he did. Because he was that Half of Halves that did indeed her complete. But the Ace in all her childish charm, forgot to realize one true fact. He didn’t say “I complete you” which was the truth… he’d said “you complete me” which rang a bell. So the Ace said Ah, Well! If I complete you… then you are Just a Half. A Half of Halves, that’s not as complete as I thought of you to be. I’m sorry but you’ve been a faithful friend, but I have my journeys which you can’t bend. I have adventures that scare you and give you nightmares. I like the lights but you cast a shadow too long.

The Half of Halves was never just a Half. He was twice of what you saw. Tomes more to write about, Stories that she could not explore. The Ace of Spades never really foresaw. That the day the Half was complete again… he wouldn’t need as elusive a trump like the Ace of Spades. Because in every deck of cards there is an Ace of each Color. But there is only one Half of Halves who wins the game. He is that hand that holds his cards close enough and long enough. Till his hand is filled with cards of his choice. And then while she shall still be an Ace that all kings and pawns would kill for. He’d become the Winning Knight.

Do you know why Knights fight with an unrevealing armor? Because they only want the world to see the Half that they wish to reveal. And the one who goes beyond that armor. That is the light that fills the Half of Halves and makes him complete.

“Hindustan ko lunch kha jayega!”

[Text and sketches by D.B.]

The credit for the title goes to Mr. XYZ who was sitting next to me at the Reception of the ABC office. The identity of the individual has been changed as per his request as he fears strict action against him for being offensive to such a high – level office. And the identity of the office has been changed for the sake of ‘smooth’ working and bright future of this blog and long life of the authors as the office mentioned above really belongs to a verrrry high – level.

Actually, we were waiting for the receptionist at the office reception who had gone for lunch (1-2 PM) and it was already 2:30 when he said, “Duniya mein log lunch khaate hain… par Hindustan ko ek din lunch hi kha jayega”. For that particular moment it was the most distressed statement that I had ever heard in 24 years of my career. It was enough to define the anguish of the person as a citizen of this country and I got as numb as if I was asked why India lost to Pakistan in cricket? I mean, you can never find a come-back to such things. The only thing I could do is to write about the ‘lunching’ habits of India in order to appreciate the country for being dedicated to at least one thing i.e. Lunch Time. Also I wanted to appreciate the person for actually ‘thinking’ about the country.

Bhayi ek baat toh maan ni padhegi… India is known for its variety of foods and the ways to prepare it. Thus we do not have any right to book the people for eating lunch! But we have another trait – ‘Evolving’! We evolved the ‘lunch break’ into something which is so complicated that even if we try we can’t define it within the lunch time! Figuring out what actually a ‘lunch break’ means for us, I found few funniest facts about the Indian Lunching tradition. Digest them well!

Rituals

This is the second most interesting thing to look out for (first being the tiffin itself). Lunch is treated as a time of celebration in our country. It is never too early to start a lunch. We literally get ‘ready’ for it! For example, people start moving towards washrooms – very normal. Some have special cloth (and time) for cleaning the table before the lunch while others just start looking at the clock at least 15 minutes prior to the actual lunch time.

Once it has started, the whole country comes to halt. Nothing works during the lunch time. Sometimes I feel that Indian government might have got the idea of ‘cease fire’ from the concept of lunch time only. Talking about government how can we forget our dedicated government officials? First of all you won’t find any on their respective windows. Even if you get hold of someone, ask the receptionist and you’ll be replied with a most helpless face and a tagline, “Abhi toh lunch time hai na… Abhi toh nahin ho sakta!” And why not, the delight of gulping that one bite after the tedious work pressure is incomparable to anything and is priceless.

But what we actually love is the ‘post-lunch’ phase. Your lunch might finish in 15 minutes but the story actually starts after that. It is just the way we love having rayeta after the main meal. Yumm! What we do in this phase - Chai, gossip, cigarette, a small-walk, chatting on phone, deserts, playing cricket and dedicated to the winter season - moong-phali and dhoop mein baithna! O ho! Mazaa hi aagaya! Some even have the ability to take a nap in that period – remember the ‘power-nap’ of Viru Sahastra Buddhey from 3-Idiots? This is the phase which unintentionally increases the time written on all notices from 2:00 to 2:30. All this started from the schools-life. That is when we learned the habit of reaching the class ‘five’ minutes late knowing that the teacher would be late herself. Wonder why don’t they have bells or alarms in offices ‘trinnnning’ and telling people that its 2:00 already?      

Waiting in anticipation

Have you ever been to a government office at the time of lunch? [Na… I am asking to the public, not the Babus or the working class] I have been to many and that is when I love to see how people wait for the officials to be seated on their office seats officially. Even the beggars would lose to them in terms of facial expressions. On the other hand, as it is a ‘public’ office, the cabin is also made up of glass. Some people who are waiting sometimes start gazing the tiffin instead of the official. Chain se khane bhi mat dena?    

Punctuality

No one can beat us in that. We are already damn punctual in everything else and now Lunch Time! The only time we realize that we are late is when the Boss reaches his cabin on time. All, from the Head to the Peon, everyone takes it verrrry lightly ji. The only office I have seen which has the minimum time for lunch i.e. 15 minutes is the Indian Railways Ticket Counters. It is ‘written’ in red-paint on all the windows on every counter but how well it is observed is the big question! If you have lesser minutes dedicated to act of eating, please dial 911 for help!

We Indians have another remarkable habit of finding faults within ourselves and looking for perfection in others. Thus following the Indian tradition I would like to mention what I observed while comparing our work culture with the countries in west. Here it is - the western countries have only two things which keep them ahead of us –

1.       They know Angrezi by birth, and

2.       They eat fast food

Chai piyo... Mast jiyo!

The author has tried to bring out the sweet realities of Indian lunch time (as if you didn’t know) but still the author feels proud to be a lunch – freak himself, in fact, half of the above mentioned incidences are the one-hand experiences he had during his training period. The author himself loves to have a cup of tea after lunch with Aloo Bhujiya – for table booking please contact panwadi.tales@gmail.com