Happy B’day Moisha :)

First of all wishing you a very happy birthday Moisha Jain. :)

(Maybe this would let the secret out, that it’s your b’day :) )

You are a nautanki for sure. The first thing that pops up in my head is, you knocking on the library window before your evening walks :P, the kind you make your face in the picture. (of course, not in the first one) , while I’d be busy in getting my grades in order. (CGPA :( )

Of course that’s not the only thing. Life for two years (especially the drama that mine had :P) wouldn’t have been easy without you and the other kameena by my side. Miss both of you.Although both these pics were taken at the same time, yet if you see it this way, when we started Xime and when we left it. (And yes, even I did too :D )

Also, since its your b’day I’ll kick him out. Waise bhi dilli me aish maar raha hai Manager banke.

The only reason I’ve kept my Xime notebooks is because of the crazy chit-chats/doodles/etc we had. I even remember fighting over silly things (don’t even remember on what though), and also miss eating chocolates every morning in the class. And yes, even our “gossips”.

Okay, since I would be posting this on a public forum, not letting too much out. (Secrets are still safe: P ).

Wishing you a very happy Birthday, may God bless you Moisha Jain :)


Travelogue: The Chennai Chapter

Technically, this was my third time @ Chennai.  in case you’re not familiar with my accidental trip to chennai, you can read it here :P . But then a city hasn’t been “visited” if you don’t immerse in it. So, on a Monday afternoon while returning back to Bangalore, a 5-hour wait for the next train turned out to be the perfect getaway to explore.

But then a city, whose language I didn’t knew, it was tricky to decide where to head. It was all thanks to the PMIT group (for the uninitiated this is the Put me in Touch Facebook group) which came to my rescue.

And hence the trail began.

Not the one that I boarded, just an illustration :P

Not the one that I boarded, just an illustration :P

From Chennai Central Railway station to the electric train platform across the road and a ride towards Indiranagar  followed next. Met this young fellow, who didn’t understood English, yet tried making me understand in his Tamil about where to get down. Kept on saying, he’ll “solraa” (that he’ll tell perhaps).

A 15-minute walk, an auto towards Besant Nagar beach and a long walk along the beach. There’s something with the beaches that a walk along the horizons, on the sandy shores just makes you lost in it.

besant nagar beach

besant nagar beach

Took some time out to take the gun and shoot some colorful balloons. The lady probably forgot to count and ended up shooting more than 20 rounds. Got a lot of them busted too. :P

Shot a few rounds and couln't resist a selfie in the coulorful background :)

Shot a few rounds and couln’t resist a selfie in the coulorful background :)

What followed was a hasty trip to Murugan Idli, where I had one of the softest idlis ever. But the best part were the chutneys over there. I’m not a big fan of chutneys as such, but surely these were amazing to say the least. Even before the idlis arrived, I had licked half of the chutney. Although the coffee at this place wasn’t that great to my liking, compared to other times, when I’ve tried the filter kaafi.

Murugun Idlis: The chutney's were the best, while the Idli was on the expected lines.

The other end of the beach had many more outlets for food. But as time was short, could only go to one. One of them was Amma’s Athho noodles. The name sounded interesting, so tried the noodles, but it wasn’t that great. More so, cos the weather and food, both were really hot.

Attho's noodles: The guy said, it's a burma dish. Was hot for sure, didn't suited my taste buds though.

Attho’s noodles: The guy said, it’s a burma dish. Was hot for sure, didn’t suited my taste buds though.

A direct bus back to the Central station wasn’t available as I would had hoped. Had to shell out a lot for the auto, but the road towards the station was filled with many of the notable spots that I had heard of. The MGR memorial being one of them and well, it looked great from outside too.

Apart from the heat, there was hardly anything that I didn’t enjoy even in such a short time. Even the auto-guys were really polite and when verified, didn’t charge me that high too.

Hope to visit Chennai again soon, and this time with more planning and for a little more time.

The Broken Window : The scars

The flower-lady was back. The ritual of spreading out her shop on the pavement continued. Carefully placing the basket down from her head and a small broom wrapped around in a polybag and as soon as she could get the dog clear away her area she started cleaning the place.

Settling herself down in the place, she started off arranging the flowers in a particular sequence. Nothing had changed. Nothing appeared to be any different from what it was before. Probably I was in my reverie again when that happened. Or did something actually happen?

I finished my cup of coffee, which didn’t taste the usual, probably because of the milk, or God knows what it was.  I had this urge to go and talk with the lady, not sure why, but I just did.

On the pretext of buying flowers, I went. This was the first time, I actually went there. Of course, she was a regular in my having-a-cup-of-coffee-and–staring-outta-my-window schedule, yet it never occurred to me to go and talk to her. To satiate this sudden urge, I went ahead.

flower garland jasmine

I just handed her a 50 rupee note and took hold of a garland which was arranged in sequential order from the time she had arrived. All I could see were jasmine flower garlands around, wondering for a moment how beautiful they looked. She looked clueless, handing the note in her hand, and staring back at me with an answer. Her faced asked a question but I got lost into thoughts of the scars on her face. I got back from that when she finally asked, “Bhaiyya Change nahi hai ?”  But again, I didn’t have any change.

I showed her my room through the same broken window and told her that I’ll come and get it the next morning. I thought of asking her, how she got those scars in her face, but couldn’t. Way back to the room, the only thing I thought of was those scars.

Only to be reminded of something else from my past, memories which I had always tried to forget.

“Leave Her, please leave her” I shouted as much as I could. Helplessly just hitting him with my little hands. Gathering all the strength I had, lifting whatever I could and throw at him, but only to find that his tall bulky body would resist it all with a hearty laugh.

My cries to the monster fluctuated from being one for being helplessly pleading to him to shouting with rage. But for kid like me, it all looked just like a cry.

I tried brush aside the flashback. The childhood memories were something I didn’t want to recall. Some things are better left forgotten, and this was definitely one of them.

I went inside and lock the door closed.


Read what happens next, in the broken Window in the next post.


In case you haven’t read the previous ones, here you go!! 

Part 2 : The Broken Window: and she stood there 

Part 1:  The Broken Window


An alternate Kick

An alternate “Kick”
By now most of you would have spend either loosen some weight on your wallets or bandwidth in watching the Salman-khan starrer Eid-bonanza titled “Kick”, a remake of telugu blockbuster with the same name starring Ravi Teja.
The storyline runs about a guy with an adrenaline rush who is always in search of a “kick” in everything he does. From how he answers nature’s call to beating up eve-teasers to everything that has the remotest possibility of serving him with a kick.
He meets a girl, impresses her, shocks her father, has a fallout, becomes “robinhood” and the story unfolds like any other. Simply put, this is not something which you would have never seen before. Yes, stunts, dance moves, are good and Jaquiline looks ravishing and gorgeous, while Salman is at his usual self.
There is one big element in the Hindi-kick that wasn’t there in the original, the presence of a main villain. Here we have, Mr. Nawazuddin Siddiqui, our very own Faisal khan from Gangs of wasseypur. He is the kind of villain that in a bollywood fan-fare, you’d hardly come across. The quintessential part of the movie, scenes graced by him, is a treat. He could have very well been the joker of the Dark Knight, or a Rauf Lala of Agneepath, only if his role was a little more.

Nawazuddin in Kick

Shiv (Nawaz’s character) is cunning, shrewed, manipulative business tycoon, who distrusts everyone around him. Tries to be a step ahead of his rivals, dramatic twists are what he loves and being just simply obvious isn’t his style.
He isn’t the muscular macho-villian but a sharp mind with an army of trained thugs who’ll kill for him, money he has plenty and a public image of a good Samaritan that gives him the mask to fool people around. One-liners, eccentricity and an evil laugh, are what make him the devil.
It’s another thing that Salman is called the devil (or rather he himself calls himself), and Shiv (Nawazuddin) has a charitable trust named “angel”, yet a little more work in building this battle between the conflict of “Angel” and “Devil” could have been something good. But then, who wants to do the extra work? Going ahead with the Sallu-fanfare masala entertainer in the holiday season and bringing in the moolah home, is what everyone needs right?
Bollywood requires villains in their scripts, and a change from the heroes hogging all the space of their own. Even the telugu version was much better than this one, made years before.

For the sake of rating, I couldn’t get the required “kick” to give it more than 1.5/5. And even that is mostly because of Nawaz.

The Broken Window : And she stood there…

(Read the First part of The Broken Window here)

The bell rang. But opening the door, made things even worse.

She was standing right there!!! And it all came knocking down, like a flashback.

We never realize the potential of flashbacks, the age old drama technique used on celluloid, but when it strikes for real, its hell.

The moment froze. She stood there, and I did the same. It was as if I choked internally, only I didn’t. Thankfully, she extended a big “Hiii” to make me skip the continuous live stream of flashback in front of my eyes. Stretching my facial tissues only to form a picturesque smile and to move my jaws in typical fasion, I welcomed her inside.

For her, it was as if nothing had happened. And frankly, Nothing had happened.

Everytime, I saw her. Or even her regularly changing DPs in any of the social networks, it only took me back to her thoughts, which was part of the elaborate stalking exercise.

This one time, she was going on about something, and as always I was only trying hard to concentrate on listening on what her little mouth was blabbering. Nodding my head in between, and mixing it up with the “oooh’s and achaa”.

My eyes would wander around her face, making its way from her wobbling eyes to the straight path down her nose only to land on her moving lips. Then struggling to solve the dilemma of choosing one side to wriggle out of her dimples to rest on those flawless cheeks. Completing a full circle, I’ll wander back to her eyes, which would have grown twice the size from when I started the little trip around her face.

Sun bhi rahe ho ya nahi ?”

And a standard “Haan be” would follow the question, with a little guilt of lying and resolve to listen. Meanwhile, controlling my urge of going on another trip.

Her, bleak little voice called me up. Oye, Sun!!, while I stood there beside the door lost in thoughts.

She looked tensed, but I won’t say that this was the first time; I’ll have to become her sobbing pillow. I had tried my best to stay away from her, from her life and problems. But somehow it would happen that we’ll end up in the very same situation. Call it routine, or destiny, I’ll call it the story of my life.

Anyways, it was something related to the guy which she went on and on about, I tried my best to reason, console and whatever I could holding myself on rational grounds. I wouldn’t say it’s tough to do it, but definitely irritating to the core. Khair, once it was all done and maybe after a few days things were back to being normal for her, life was back to being the same. How would I know of that? Well, No news from her side, meant things were fine.

And the usual would follow. Devoting my time to either penning something down on the laptop or being lost in reveries through the broken window, peeping across the street. Reveries were my true companion. They gave me company, and not limiting myself to times when I’m alone but even when I’m in the midst of a crowd. It’s now part of my identity, finding its way out through my thoughts. My broken thoughts, through windows like these. The broken window.

The Broken Window


The window through which children across the streets played football with polythene wrapped like one, the window through which you see countless birds sitting on those tree branches, flying across and the window through which I could see a very different world and Oh, the window through which the flower-woman struggled to sell flowers every day.

Although, there was bheed in front of the flower-woman today. But from what I could notice, it was not to buy flowers from her. I had my doubts on what it was.

My phone rang in the same time. A minutes’ gap to answer the call and when I came back, the woman was not there.


Strange!!! Where did they took her ?


Read what happens next in The Broken Window in the next post. 


Part 1 of The Broken Window Series

The Broken Window

Gulping the cup of coffee, and staring through the broken window towards the street across, I just stood there, numb. In that very moment, it was all blank. I wasn’t thinking, just stood up.

The Broken Window

A car was honking its way out into the narrow street continuously, until the street kids made their way for it. Some even ran after the car to catch some amusement of their own. Bare-footed, torn clothes adorning their malnourished torsos, but a smile flashing across their faces, they ran.  A woman sat along the pavement with jasmine flowers, hardly anyone stopping by. She was young, probably around 22, married. She had a sindoor probably.

Usually at this time, this was how my evening would pass by. A cup of sugarless coffee to give me company, peeping through the window as if I’m scanning the street, as if I was the watchman. Life, even with the monotonous setting, had its charm. The quiet time, spoke with me like it never did before.

A man stopped by to buy the flowers from the woman, probably a garland for the lady sitting in the car parked nearby. He gave her a big note I suppose, she didn’t had chilaer to return perhaps. Neither did she had candies like the shopkeepers now give you in return, and in the process making éclairs as a default currency for chiller in India. She searched under the basket, took out her secret pouch from under her pallu but was probably able to find only some extra cash to return.

The man left without the extra money towards his car and probably the lady who was waiting there.

Meanwhile, my coffee was finished and I got back to my place on the couch. I sat there for a couple of minutes but I was tempted not to. I got the feeling of doing something, something productive, something fun, and something that I always do. Rather used to do. The restlessness grew with every moment and when I couldn’t think of anything else, I just stopped thinking.

It was a lot easier not to think now. Thinking only brought back memories which I just wanted never to resurface again.

And just when I was trying to soothe my nerves, the bell rang. But opening the door, made it even worse.

She was standing there!!! And it all came knocking down, like a flashback.



…. Find out what happens next in my next post of “The Broken Window: and she stood there


Part 2 of the Story The Broken Window: and she stood there…




..it was clear as crystal…

I switched the projector on the phone, pointed towards the wall in front of me, and touched Play. It was dark everywhere, but the picture was clear. I could see the snow falling down. I wanted to touch it, feel it. the picture was so crystal clear.

This new phone which I had been gifted by my dad, was something different and weird. Weird because he had to send it all the way to Bangalore from Jamshedpur. He hadn’t even received my call after I surprisingly called him up in excitement.

Asus incredible phone contest fiction

I went ahead. Even though I felt it to be childish to just go and do this filmsy thing. What was I expecting? That the snow would be real? Huh!! In my dreams… and I just felt it.

OMG!! I just felt it.

I just couldn’t believe my eyes. A video being streamed through my phone on its projector turns it real ? or someone is snowing from above, perhaps a prank. I searched through the room from the other side. It looked dark, like it was before. While it was snowing here, It was still dark there . It was all such a contrast. I was still getting a hang of it all.

Just when the phone in the other side of the room, buzzed.

I just went over to the other side, and the video had to be stopped. And it was all gone. I didn’t realized in rush of the moment that it would go as soon as I went out of the snowy picture.

Anyways, I attended the call, and had to leave the place to visit a friend.

It was all a very peculiar incident and I kept on thinking about revisiting the scenario. Or maybe try out another video? Thoughts kept running through my mind, even when I was outside hanging out with my friends.

Time went on, and I became restless. I went to the washroom, people were there. I kept myself busy by doing what they “do” there. Once everyone was gone, I switched on  the same video and it sprang right in front of me. The snow, falling all over the other side, while I peeked like an ardent spectator from this side. I again tried to touch it. I did, I felt it. The same rush, of finding something new and incredible. Add the excitement of doing it all alone, without having to share it with anyone else. I was finally reaffirmed that it was not my one-time hallucination or sleeplessness that resulted into the scene in the room.

But then..

The door banged open all of a sudden and a man entered. Maybe he saw, what I was doing, what I was witnessing. I quickly stopped the video and stared at him with a completely innocent look. Strange as it might sound, he did the same.

I opened my eyes, to find my friends staring at me. Not with any innocent look, but with worry and fear all over their faces. Before they could say anything, I asked what had happened? And why on earth I am resting on the lap of my friend? It looked all too filmsy to me.

They instead asked me, what happened in the washroom that I took so long and how I became unconscious.

And then it struck me!!!

I was trying to come out after facing that awkward moment with that strange man, and something ht me on my head. I quickly looked for my phone around, not finding the same. I was assured, it was gone.

I never told anyone about the incident, but the thought of that incredible phone, which could make me feel things and totally take me with them, is simply hard to forget.

Later that day, as I called my dad to tell him the bad news about the phone, I was stunned!! He had no knowledge about sending me any phone. Talk about mystery!!!

It’s not that I stopped searching for the phone. Maybe if I could catch hold of that strange man, I could still have it. Maybe, that clarity could come in a phone someday later. The optimistic in me, never stops wishing for the same.

This post was written for Asus #IncredibleZen In search of incredible contest  for Zenfone in association with Indiblogger.