Another dent…in five days!
This is second episode of my ACCIDENT series and that too in just five days. However, this post is not written in the bleeding hand. Well, this time no heavy bulk Amby could also save my 5'6" frame from being dented.
A dinner with a former colleague-cum-friend and the subsequent joy ride back home was all that sound good for the pleasant weather evening. Except the climax turned sour. Since my fate is dodging me so often nowadays, am nothing but bewildered at the close shaves am having with HELL J. Par Lagta hai abhi picture baaki hai mere dost!
At the very onset of the ride I cracked the joke with the friend that we must not break the conversation for the simple fact that he is aware am still sitting behind him intact and not "gone with the wind". He too nodded in approval and even narrated me an incident of a friend whose lady companion was on the road and the man was riding high unaware of her being thrown behind.
All going perfect, the laughter-filled conversation, the weather and the speed of the bike. But apni Dilli roads had something else for me in the store. The post-monsoon potholes and cracks could not bear my good sense of humour as at one intersection I had chuckled to the friend: "The short bumpy ride was the missing element of the evening". And he too responded in same measure.
So it was decided to punish me for my dark humour and the transmission must have been active immediately down under the mettled black surface. A kilometer distance from my home, a deep pothole and the last minute effort by the ‘dost’ to skirt it threw me on the road, virtually on my knees. Some screeching halts of other vehicles including a tempo truck an arm’s length away, all happened in a flash and in another flash I was up on my feet, trying to put up a calm face as nothing had happened. I knew my knees were bleeding and my left elbow numb, but the fear on my friend's face pushed all that back. I had to convince him that I was all fine and the situation was under control. In fact, I was thanking all those coming for help with a grin that I was fine and the thick folds of my sari had saved me eventually. Phew!!
The friend was unrelenting and wanted me to see a doc first. Again arguments and counter arguments at the roadside. After much persuasion and pretensions, he somewhat gave in to drop me home and see that I get first aid. But this woman of many shades couldn't even take that call. Telling folks back home meant more of hulla gulla. And it has been a long time since I had stopped sharing grief or pain with my people (To be honest, I had always kept the wounds hidden and still do that). So I excused myself at the main gate of the colony and wished the dear friend goodnight in my last unfailing attempt to pose all well when I couldn't even stand.
So while washing the wounds and bruises and applying ointment at them I messaged the dear friend who was completely smitten by guilt of not safeguarding me that it was his good luck that saved me once again from occupying a berth in Hell. The night went in writhing pain and turns but somehow the smile at a corner of my lower lip could not die in darkness. At 28, am still falling!! When will I learn God??

Amby rules the roost

I initially scribbled this post with a bleeding hand and a sprained shoulder along with recurring shooting pain in my left rib every 30 seconds. But as usual my internet connection ditched me at 2.30 in the night and the piece was resigned to the desktop to be posted at leisure. But a chanced reading next day of a column in LA Times pushed me to get back to the post and pay my rich tributes to the automobile which, though, decorated with the derogatory title of being “a pug-nosed, bug-eyed, stodgy classic fixture on India’s potholed roads” saved my life!
The office cab ferrying me home at 1 am was waiting for the signal to turn green at a west Delhi red light and as usual I was playing sms-sms with a friend, only that things now are different between us. (But thats a separate issue and needs no dwelling in here.) The next moment I was thrown forward to the front seat as a speeding Tata Indica car rammed into our stationary ambassador pushing it to some distance. What all I could recall was that my head tossed and screamingly I fell towards the dashboard of the car from the rear seat with the loose seat belt hitting me straight in the ribs. After getting back to the senses as what had happened I managed to turn back and see who was making an attempt to kill me and the driver. A short height man who was at the wheel of the indica was estimating the damage to his automobile as I and my driver fumingly headed towards him.
The impact of the hit was so bad on the upper half of my frame that I started throwing up. Thankfully there was no blood. The heavily drunk rascal was cribbing about the damage to his Tata model and I felt like kicking him right there where it hurts most to get some sense into him as what he was up to a minute ago. To add to my woes, two bike-borne Surds appeared from some corner and came to the rescue of the Damsel in Distress!! Grrrrr… A chilling stare was of no help to me and I thought of better pushing off to home after noting down the number of the indica, sensing the trouble at that hour. But my driver was adamant to call up his boss and inform him about the accident. Fairly enough two gentlemen eventually came for help and let the matter halt then and there. They even escorted my cab to some distance as well. And before heading for their destination, one of them remarked: Do you know the impact of this hit? THANK YOUR STARS MA’M THAT YOU WERE IN AN AMBY. If it was any other small car, U HAD IT TONIGHT!!
The words were crystallized in time.
My compulsory disorder of seeing everything in images immediately flashed my frame wrangling half in and half out of the smashed windscreen of the car. And till I reached home, my aching nerves were simply thanking the motor and nothing else. And then I thought of documenting the nightmare that moment itself. But unfortunately couldn’t.
So here I take it as a privilege to pay my small thanks to the vehicle which, as an editor of an auto magazine puts it “stands on its own” even after years of ridicule and funny jokes.
The experience reminded me of a statement issued by one of the faculties in my journalism school and who is now a big shot in a News Channel: "We don't die in accidents, rather we live by accidents." Calls for some thought!!

A birthday wish...

Rishton Ka Roop Badalta Hai, Buniyaden Khatam Nahin Hoti
Khwabon Ki Aur UmangoKi, Miyaden Khatam Nahin Hoti
Ek Phool Mein Tera Roop Basa Ek Phool Mein Meri Jawaani Hai
Ek Chehra Teri Nishaani Hai, Ek Chehra meri nishani hai

Tujhko Mujhko Jeevan Amrit, Ab In Haathon Se Peena Hai
Inki Dhadkan Mein Basna Hai, Inki Saanson MeinJeena Hai
Tu Apni Adaen Baksh Inhen Maein Apni Wafaen Deta Hoon
Jo Apne Liye Sochi Thi Kabhi, WohSaari Duaen Deta Hoon

It’s September 4, and my sweet little Princess S turns seven today. I hope am getting the figure right (almost forgetting dates and years nowadays. The first sign of my fading youth!).
Really don’t know whether she actually got the books I got for her and teh senior S finally scribbled something readable in them for her. They say it’s a bad way to gift a book blank. How can I write to her though her tiny frame revolves in my mind and soul with every ticking hour. The simple reason being ... I DON’T EXIST FOR HER. But like G she too holds a special corner. I wonder if she remembers what she called a pigeon when she was 1 or so. Or the way she tried to divert her dad’s attention when she had almost dipped his electronic diary in water very innocently aiming to “clean” the over Rs 20,000 piece???? All this and much more about her makes me nurse my solitude quite often.
On her big day, I make a wish for myself. Hope to see her smiling face once before life puts a fullstop. Amen!

From lakdi ki kaathi to Zara Zara kiss kiss me, ek masoom si story!

Well let me make it clear at the very onset of my blogging, this kid will be a focal point in most of my posts as she is the all and all in my life, the biggest stress buster I can lay my hands at.

A household to which I once belonged to only buzzes with one noisy music channel cracking the idiot box round the clock- 9XM. Hats off to the channel's marketing and publicity team which has made Pappu Can't Dance Saala a lullaby to which majority of the future generation sleeps to, including my little Bheegi Billi! The other day me and S were discussing the nitty-gritty of entertainment media and its intrusion into the domestic sphere. S told me his two naughty nephews too are hooked up to the channel whole day.

If I chase the childhood corridors again, my tomboyish skinny frame danced to only one song—Lakdi ki kaathi kaathi pe ghoda— from the movie Masoom. Mugging it by heart then, it was on my lips like a prayer. The three kids in the video, Urmila Matondkar, Jugal Hansraj and the third girlie whose name am still searching for, were not onscreen shapes but were a part of the friends' circle of the four-year-old me. Though Ma took me n R to the nearest cinema hall to watch the movie, I only remember enjoying the song and rest of the film reel got wasted in sleep and in between fights with R. Whenever the song appeared on Doordarshan, me and my Bluestar TV had a reason to giggle and I was totally chipkoed to the screen. Meeting my three dear pals.

After 24 years, my little G glues to the TV and is the biggest fan of the songs of the movie Race (in case a poll or survey is done). The girl doesn't even wink once so as not to miss a single glimpse of the hot babes who will become her role models tomorrow. Zarra Zarra Touch Me Touch Me.. and the girl is there. She will bring the roof down if there is a power failure or u switch to other channel. My almost retired Pa (not retired from work but from life!) has to bear with seeing the long legs, the noodle straps and the steamy scenes of Bips and Saif (Ufff) to give the little one company. Poor dad. The unrelenting lass wont give in to any of the baits and u end up seeing the chartbuster 30 times a day!

Then followed Pappu and the latest one is Singh is King title track.

Can I get her off all this reminding myself that she is nothing but just 22 months old and what impact the juke box is making on her. That she needs to be told and taught "better" things as part of a ground work on which her future will rest upon and not the in-house training for how to sway and look stunningly hot. Perhaps, she will eventually pick up all the ropes of the world as she will grow and bloom. But what should be my role?

My first visit to A's place cannot be missed to be mentioned here. As I entered the house, the three year old M was watching Ghatotkach on DVD and slowly eating her meal. Ghatotkach and Race! Some more time spending and the little one opened her collection of the written word for Neha Maashi. Guess what? Volumes and volumes of Ramayana (thinner ones though), Krishna etc….. A kept reciting the fables without losing a single breath and I was wondering what the hell is going on. I asked A that M likes no music. A answers: Not really. I went further: Does she watch 9XM? A: No way, the channel is off the hook here. And the conversation flowed..

Now am wondering whether I had been right in letting my baby do whatever she feels good at and be a silent observer to her nautankis (as her Godfather says never try to change the mood of kids) or be A's follower and put the girl on the track of epical bed time stories and day time stories and meal times stories and be merry that I have shunned the outside world to her!! Am yet to take my take on that. If any child psychologist reading, mind giving me help free of cost!