The free mind - and Pimpri!

Sometimes, the mind speaks freely.

A barrage of unrelated thoughts. Complete confusion. But it makes sense. There’s no need to contemplate, there’s no compulsion to decipher, no exigency to analyze. It just makes sense. All I have to do is sit idle and let my mind speak to me.

Different thoughts, different emotions – all at the same time. I don’t letch for enlightenment, I don’t desire intellectual freedom, I just want time to think! Jubilation, joviality, rage, despair, frustration, love, hate etc. all these emotions come freely. I feel like I’m confounded, but, I’m not! I’m thinking more clearly than I’ve done for a long time! It’s never easy to think like that, there’s always something more important, urgent playing on the mind. Always something that solicits more impetus than idleness. So, its rather difficult to bring myself to behave like this, or to think like this! I wish for the license to think freely – which RTO officer to do I have to pay and how much to get that license? [;)]

Pimpri’s done me good. I understand India a lot better than I used to. It’s not what we read about, its not what we think about, its not what we imagine. On the ground, reality struck me hard, struck me across the side of my head. Two things I realized are of utmost importance here, one is money, the other is “contacts”. This side of the world, your intellectual capabilities count as much as your ability to ride a unicycle on a crowded Vallabh Nagar street. Let me not make it sound like Pimpri’s hell on earth, its not, but its close!

Back to the main point – money and contacts. If you have either of the two, you can live comfortably, if you’ve got both, you’re the king! If you have neither, you might as well pack up and take your ass back home cuz you aint surviving here! Let me narrate a story, there was this chick from Mumbai who came to live in Pimpri, she used to prance around the area leaving the hormone-infested jocks with their mouths wide open (sorry for being oh so crude, but it gets the point across). There exist some politically connected guys (ugly, frustrated but moneyed 20 something’s) who’s claim to fame is that they bring their cars and stand around the college in a large group heckling everybody that walks by, getting into fights for no reason at all, smoking, making loud conversations etc (you get the point, you’ve seem them too sometime, somewhere). Well these guys, seem to have their eyes on every new PYT that crosses paths with Pimpri. To this day, not one of them has ever got any attention, but that’s aside from the point. Well as the story goes, this chick used to keep garnering a lot of their attention. One of these cronies decided that she was to be his wife! (ah yes, wife). He attempted to approach her a few times, but nothing ever came of it, still, he was madly in “love”. Time passed, the chick continued to ignore these rowdy behemoths. Now is where the story gets interesting. There comes along this guy from Delhi, nice guy – decent, intelligent etc. The chick’s caught his attention too (like anyone doubted that), but then the difference is, she’s interested too. They meet, they talk, they go out a couple of times. Love is blooming. Until, the ogre finds out. One day there’s a scuffle somewhere around Pimpri, and upon inquiry, I realize that a set of behemoths entered Delhi’s house (hostel room) and beat the living shit out of him, tell him to stay away from ogre’s future wife. And walk away. Nothing more is heard of this, except that Delhi’s got a disfigured face, a broken hand, and several other bruises, apart from the bruised ego!

Delhi decides to fight but then is talked out of it cuz face it, once more, and they’ll just leave ashes! Delhi is distraught. Delhi is from Delhi, knows nobody here, doesn’t have the money to pay the police and get the ogre into trouble, doesn’t know enough people who’ve got the balls to take on the ogre one-to-one. (Oh, the ogre, however large he may be, never fights alone). That’s where the story ends for Delhi.

So, just to test his theory, this guy from Mumbai (all evidence points here) decides to play this trick. He knows this chick is interested in him (time’s passed since Delhi, and Mumbai’s a skirt-chaser), but he’s never really taken an active interest, cuz well, Mumbai’s in love with someone else, but that someone doesn’t live in Pimpri, and wouldn’t know about this trick. Anyway, Mumbai decides to play a game. He, takes the chick out, and just to spite the ogre, Mumbai walks around with the chick, right in front of the ogre and his friends. Now, ogre is fuming. Mumbai’s walked around with her hand-in-hand a few times in front of the ogre. He’s about to burst. Mumbai’s waiting, and waiting. But nothing’s happening. No confrontation, no fight, no beating up, nothing. Mumbai realizes why, his theory’s perfect. Mumbai has for a long time, known a very important person from the Nationalist Congress Party. Mumbai’s well known in the political circuit of Pimpri, Big Don NCP treats Mumbai like a son. Technically, Mumbai has no money, isn’t originally from Pimpri, but suddenly, people are afraid of him. He does as he pleases, and nobody has the guts to do anything about it.

But then, one day, the ogre approaches Mumbai. Suddenly Mumbai becomes aware that if this guy gets physical, Mumbai (who’s rather small build-wise), will perish even before his protectors can come and burn the ogre alive! The ogre approaches, and timidly tells Mumbai “you like this chick don’t you? If you’ve liked her all the time, you should’ve told me, even I liked her, but now that I know you do, I’ll let her go”

Mumbai sniggers. His theory is proven. He’s understood how this place works. Poor Delhi. Mumbai’s no more interested in the chick. He leaves her and goes back to his girl. Everyone’s bewildered, the ogre, the chick, Delhi, everyone. Except Mumbai. He’s just been enlightened!

college sodun jaatana

Yeah, i know that a blog usually has stuff that you write yourself, but this one's by a friend of mine. He's been attempting poetry for a while now, he tried and failed......and finally decided to write in 'marathi' because he believed that would help him write something decent.

It did. He's written this one! It's basically a retrospective poem about college life. I notice that he's as bitter about pimpri as I am. 4 years here has been more than enough. Kept hoping it would end soon, but now that it's ending, im getting reminiscent about the "good old times". Wonder why this happens everytime. Anyway take a look at the poem. Oh BTW, you wont get it unless you understand marathi!



COLLEGE SODUN JAATANA

घरापासून दूरवर आलो मी ह्या पुण्यनगरीत
उत्साह, भिती, थ्रिल, ... भावनांचे मनात झाले भरित

चार वर्षे एकट्याने राहायचे
शिक्षण घेऊन स्वतंत्र व्हायचे
असे ते दिवस फ़ुलायाचे
आयुष्याचे स्वप्न सजवायचे

आई वडीलांचे लक्ष नसणार
केव्हाही झोपणार, उठणार, कसाही वागणार
दिवसभर टवाळ्क्या, मस्ती करणार
वेळ उरलाचं तर लेक्चर attend करणार

चारही वर्षांचा दिनक्रम ठरलेला
प्रत्येक दिवस timepass ने खच्चुन भरलेला
खाणं, पिणं, मौज-मजा
प्रत्येक दिवसाचा मीच राजा

खुप वाट पाहीली परंतु प्रेमप्रकरण झालेच नाही
एखादी जरी आवडली तरी कधी तिला विचारलंच नाही
एखादी सुंदर मुलगी यायची माझ्या स्वप्नी
पण माझा नंबर लागलाच नाही ती व्हायची माझी वहिनी

अधुनमधून परिक्षेचा राहु पत्रिकेत करायचा भ्रमण
अभ्यास करताना वाटायचे कधी सुटणार हे ग्रहण
दिवसभर लेक्चर, प्राक्टिकल, आणि जरनल submission
syllabus पाहून चक्कर येते आणि मास्तर देतो tension
xerox, नोट्स याशिवाय topper चा ठेवायचा मान
एवढं सगळं करुनसुद्धा मार्क मिळाले नाहीत छान
चा दिवस जवळ येतो तसं सुचतं मला अध्यात्म
'यह सब मोह-माया है' म्हणुन येतं मला वैराग्यं

college life चे धुंद दिवस लळा लावून गेले निघुन
पण जाता जाता देऊन गेले सुख दु:ख दोन्ही भरभरुन

सुख त्यांच्या आठवणीचे, दु:ख त्यांच्या जाण्याचे
आता फ़क्त कापत राहायचे अंतर जन्म आणि मरणाचे

कॉलेजमधले मित्र-मैत्रिणी, शिक्षक आणि इतर सोबती
आता यापुढे एकटयानेच चालायचंय, कोणीच नसणार अवतीभवती

चार वर्षांचं हे माझं जग कालचक्रात विरघळून गेलं
काहीच शिल्लक ठेवलं नाही सारं काही हिरावून नेलं

मित्रांची टिंगल, मुलींची छेड, मुक्त जीवन आणि दुनियादारी
आता ह्यातलं काहीच नाही आता फ़क्त - जबाबदारी

कॉलेजमधली चार वर्षं गेली हवेत विरुन
college life ची शेवटची रात्र गेली ह्र्दय चिरुन

माझ्या या कवितेत कदाचित वाटणार नाही तुम्हाला तथ्य
पण जेव्हा कॉलेज सोडुन जाल ना; तेव्हा जाणवेल ह्यातलं सत्य

By Nikhil (YEDA) Nazirkar.

Meatloaf

For quite a while, i've been a really big fan of the rock&roll group - MEATLOAF. I like quite a few of their songs. Apart from the music, which is obviously their USP, the lyrics are really something. Its not a very well known group, they've had quite a following, but kinda faded out of the groove a few years back. The music never looses its touch though. The band itself consists of their lead singer - Marvin Lee Aday (a.k.a. Meatloaf). The music has always had that 80's groove to it. The rock and roll feel. Though, Meatloaf prefers to call it "wagnerian rock" or "progressive rock", its not far from good old vintage rock.

The noteworthy thing is the lyrics like i said before. The lyrics are actually written by a 'Jim Steinman'. Why i speak of this guy is, the lyrics are original and quite impressive. They have that whole "sex, drugs, rock&roll" thing going for them. But what differentiates their music from their other contemporary groups is their affinity towards Harleys for one, and the whole inclination towards dark and gothic lyrics. Quite a few of their songs discuss themes like these. Meat Loaf or the songwriter Steinman seem to be totally taken with bats - which is why all their albums are name Bat out of Hell! Every song has something about Harleys, the sound of a revving Hog especially. Harleys are mentioned in almost every song. Another important thing about their songs is the whole REBELLIOUS streak. Its one of the reasons their songs have always appealed to me. A lot of rebellion and a lot of gothic defeatism is evident in the songs.

I personally suggest everyone reading this blog try out a few of their songs. They should be available on P2P, but considering its not that famous a group, you might have to search around a bit. The older albums - Bat out of Hell I and II have some of my favorite songs, though the latest album isnt bad either. I'll go ahead and list a few of my favorite Meat Loaf songs so as to make it a little easier:

1) Bat out of Hell - rocking, dark!
2) Objects in the rear view mirror - just unbelievable
3) Rock & Roll dreams
4) I would do anything for love
5) Paradise by the dashboard light

& my personal favorite
6) wasted youth (a.k.a - everything louder than everything else)



This blog entry is a whole lot different than the others i've been posting all this while, but i felt it worth to mention Meat Loaf. If there's any other fans that are reading this....Cheers! and if i'm able to create some more meatloaf fans thanks to this...Cheers!

Just try to understand the lyrics of the songs...especially wasted youth. Then you'll know what i've been talking about. Songs like those make me a little happier cuz it helps me understand that other people think the way I do. Steinman is awesome - HAIL! As is Meat Loaf himself - HAIL you too!

An excerpt from the lyrics of wasted youth!

They got a file on me and it's a mile long and they say that they got all of the proof,
that I'm just another case of arrested development and just another wasted youth
They say that I'm in need of some radical discipline, they say I gotta face the truth,
that I'm just another case of arrested development and just another wasted youth

They say I'm wild and I'm reckless
I should be acting my age
I'm an impressionable child in a tumultuous world,
and they say I'm at a difficult stage

But it seems to me to the contrary, of all the crap they're going to put on the page,
that a wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age!
A wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age!


ROCK ON!

http://www.meatloaf.net/

Death in Teheran

Once a rich & mighty Persian walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him the fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran the same evening. The master consented & the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning home, the master himself encountered Death & questioned him "Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?". Death replied "I did not threaten him, I only showed surprise in still finding him here when I planned to meet him tonight in Teheran".

Intense Thoughtlessness

The Explorer or wannabe explorer of the unknown.
The soul of a searcher. The spirit of a non-believer.
Dreams of grandeur, a pursuance of epiphany.
Oh by epiphany i mean (a sudden, intuitive
perception of or insight into the reality or
essential meaning of something).

Through an unfriendly world, i drift;
through the sands of time, i sift.

Explorer, discoverer, inventor, protector,
destroyer, lover, hater. What am I?

A hole in my soul, the empty place;
Dark and revolting, see it on my face.

Existentialism:- To live is to suffer, to
survive is to find meaning in the suffering. If there
is a purpose to life at all, there must be a purpose
in suffering and dying.

Nietzsche:- "He who has a WHY to live,
can bear with almost any HOW".

Learn to bow to your master!
I don't respect authority, false authority.
Never have, never will.
Attitude? Yes I have plenty.
Ego? Uh uh got enough of that too.

Vagabond? More like gypsy or nomad.
Rock and Roll Dreams, we know what those are made of.
Is this gibberish? Then quit reading.

Touche my dear
Love struck? Maybe? Hell no.
Bandit, dacoit, thief? No.
Quit wondering, do you even care?

Love struck? Maybe? Hell no.
Skirt chaser? Yeah, always.
But I always go back to HER.
Who's HER? I don't think you care.

Discount the bling,
I ain't into hip-hop.
I'm not old-fashioned, I just think hip-hop is crap.
Pure vintage rocker, now that, I am!
Elvis impersonator? More like Elvis invoker.

Sports fanatic? Soccer, cricket etc.
Yeah, I'm one of them.
Die-hard Gunner, This time we will win!

Intelligent? Maybe.
Deranged? Maybe not.
Derailed but profound. Hell yeah.

A perquisition for inner freedom, personal value.
Independence, personal and social. I live for that.
Learn to bow to your master! F**k off!
Avaricious? a little, yeah!

Poet? Writer? More like wannabe.
I attempt. Try, Try again;
till someone smacks you in the side of the head!
Businessman? too rapacious for my own good.
Predatory? Hope to be.

Enough about me, lets talk about you.
Hell i don't give a shit.
Lets end it like that!

Glorious Light

To Nupur....

The moon, it shines bright
brighter than all else; tonight.
Everyone looks up, looks around.
The glorious light, is everywhere.

Not I, for I look elsewhere.
I look to you, only, my love.
Your face, brighter than full moon.
The stars twinkling, in the midst of your eyes.
The glorious light, is everywhere.

My desert spring, my oasis;
bring warmth in the cold ice, of my life
make bright, my dark eternity.
I blink, to see you through closed eyes.
The glorious light, is everywhere.

Soar above that which is wrong,
your innocence must not be broken.
To sing, I want, to you;
you make me want to feel, want to belong.

Your spirit completes me; my cloud of happiness,
I lose myself to the light, the light of your soul.
You become a part of me, integral, vital.
Might i see the world through your starry eyes.

Your touch, the mist of winter morning;
your voice, intoxicating but pure.
The taste of your lips, is nectar.
Turn my night into day.
The glorious light, is everywhere.

The Pune Misal pav tour.....by motocycle

The Pune Misal pav tour.....by motocycle

This one's courtesy a friend of mine who goes by the name "kadakpav". Before you wonder why anyone would be called that, id like to take your attention away from that cuz its a story you just wouldnt be able to relate to. The matter of interest being Misal. Personally i've always been a fan of misal. Though i've been living in mumbai most of my life and face it, people from mumbai know little about ancient marathi culinary traditions, i had a few trysts with misal during my time there. Now pune, thats a place which i believe can be heralded as the global misal capital.

Now, if you don't know what misal is, dont bother to read further, cuz i aint gonna be able to explain. A gourmet delight if i may say so myself. I wouldnt call myself a perfect gourmet or gastronome, but lets just say i have a colossal appetite. Ah, i drift into obscurity again. I must pay attention to relevance. Alright, the misal tour. Well, ever since my first few days in Pune, i noticed that every restaurant served misal here. Everywhere i ate it, it was different. I was intrigued. So after a few months of misal hunting, i finally opted to take professional help. Kadakpav, (its awkward, but lets just call him that) is what we call an "assal puneri". What that means, is that he really doesn't know that a world exists outside Pune, but then he does for that matter know everything there is to know about Pune. So, i went to him and said, "kadak, mereko pune ka best misal khaneka hai". At first, he was shocked that i hadn't eaten it yet, but then i told him i was from mumbai. After cursing the ignorance of "us city boys", ( i always believed pune was a city in its own right); he nevertheless agreed to take me to eat good misal. The best misal he said, was decided from person to person, apparently there were several kinds of misal, and different people had affinities to different kinds of misal. I was rather abashed at this point in time but i decided to humor him. He said he would take me to a few misal outlets ( i was later to find out that all these were to be visited on the same day); and that i would later decide for myself what the best misal was.

So it began, Kadak and I, on the greatest journey i had ever undertaken (im not kidding, i really dont get out much). We were to traverse the length and breadth of Pune, and visit the oldest and most famous misal outlets around. This was just after i had read Che Guevara's Motorcycle Diaries, so i felt like drawing parallels. Except that Che and his friend drove a 500cc la pederosa where we drove a rickitty old Bajaj Electric in which the back-seat didnt have a cushion, meaning only that I would end up unable to sit for nearly 4 hours after getting home. Also Che and his friend traversed the entire continent of South America where we were just travelling through tiny, crowded and smelly roads of interior Pune.

Anyhow, it started early. We left in the morning, travelling through roads i never knew vehicles could go through and reached a small dirty shack run by an ill-tempered "kaka" (interesting how all such shacks in Pune are run by ill-tempered kakas). Kadak told me this was the premier misal outlet in Pune and that the owner (kaka) started out as a refugee out of Kolhapur. What i was fed there was nothing short of what old wives would call pickle. 20 minutes and a liter of icy cold water later, i still felt like my mouth had been lit on fire (oh i know what that feels like literally also). We then began our journey towards another shack named Bedekar somewhere on an intersection of a certain Laxmi road. Each road thinner than the next, each intersection about half the width of the road itself. Bedekar apparently was typically puneri, and therefore made sweet misal. Also importantly, it served its misal with "slice" bread. When i inquired, it turned out that original misal always comes with "slice", and that the misal pav that we know of, is just a hybrid. That i believe most of us didnt know. Anyway Bedekar Misal kendra was also run by an ill-tempered kaka who was out buying provisions and hence had left "kaku" in charge. It wasnt a respite, "kaku" had a shorter fuse than the earlier kaka i had encountered and almost slashed at me when i asked for the customary "sample" which is supposed to come free. Well, Bedekar misal was rather sweet, and i ended up feeling like i would end up with diabetes before i finished what was on my plate. We left soon thankfully.

By now i was rather full, but kadak had only gained in enthusiasm. He seemed willing to take me all the way to "karad" where he said one could obtain the best misal in the world (like i said, the world to kadakpav didnt surpass pimpri-chinchwad). But we finally decided that he would take me to a place which served the best hybrid misal. Oh there's 2 types of misal. One would be home-made misal, which these 2 places served, and the other would be hybrid misal, which was changed to suit a range of tastes. Kadak seemed decidedly adamant that anyone who likes hybrid misal isnt really a misal lover. I said i didnt care, so he took me to a place on the famed JM road, which he believed served the best hybrid misal. By this point, I wasnt really able to tell the subtle differences but i was actually starting to enjoy myself. The hybrid misal wasnt much to talk about and i decided that he was actually correct in noting that hybrid misal isnt as good as home-made misal.

Kadak now offered to take me to his favorite misal joint, which he said was in a place called kothrud where the crux of the population is "assal puneri". This, believe me, was a long way off from where we'd started. Anyway we head off into the direction of kothrud. The bike we drove on was caught by a neighborhood “mama” (its funny how everyone around seems to be in some way related to you) or police officer atleast 3 times in the process of getting there. This was basically because, in puneri style, kadakpav believes following traffic rules is stupid. Also, kadak didn’t have the necessary papers for our bike or rather relic. When we finally got there, there was a line in front of the place, a line that extended almost till the end of the road. I was intrigued that people would really be willing to wait in line for a misal outlet. After waiting for nearly 30 minutes, we entered a shack that could fit about 10 people including the cook, manager and waiter (all these roles were played solely by kaka), the misal was pretty much the same thing I’d eaten 3 times already, but kadak seemed to relish every morsel. He ate 3 plates after which kaka said he’d run out and just couldn’t make more. The reaction of the people who’d been waiting in the line behind us was almost comical.

After all this, and a 60 minute bike ride in the chilly pune winter, I was duly dropped home. Kadakpav left me saying “Have a good twilight”. It took me nearly 2 days to decipher what he meant, only to realize that he’d been reading the GRE wordlist and found that twilight was a time just before sun-down (he’d dropped me off at 6 p.m.). In retrospect, I felt a lot better for the journey. An experience that would change my life forever (like I said I don’t get out much). I had just traveled through unknown lands eating unknown food, or rather the same food at different places. I had realized that any bystander on the street can be referred to as one’s relative, that one who follows traffic rules in pune is a retard, and that going on misal tours can leave you bedridden with gastric infections for almost a week.