It’s not love it’s infatuation

They say it’s not love it’s infatuation. I never figured out the difference between infatuation and love. I guess if infatuation is from both side we are legalized to call it love. Nevertheless, there is something fishy about this phenomenon that whole world is engulfed in it. Those who made it pretend to be happy and those who couldn’t reveal a new dimension in literature. No I am not going to give my uncalled and unwanted opinion on love. Let the Johars and the Chopras take the onus of explaining the philosophies on it. What do all Indians have in common? All of us at some time or other have experienced that yet-to-be-fulfilled love. Some call it infatuation, some childishness and some just refuse to accept that they ever felt so immaterial of the fact that just a faint remembrance of that takes you to a wonderland where you are with her/him (depending on individual selection).I believe there should be a love in our life which fails to fight the circumstances or in simple words there should be a ADHURA PYAAR in our life.

Just as darkness teaches us the value of light, thirst teaches us the value of water in the same way this incomplete love teaches us the importance of love per se. Not only the love (we call) we share with our girl friends or boyfriends but also with a lady that keeps on running behind us taking a glass of milk or with an old man that scolds us on our extravagance but never fail to deposit money on time. This failed love introduces you with the vanity of life. You don’t become adult when you reach 18 you become adult when that teenager’s dream meet the reality. Yes, owing to our generalized definition there should be an infatuation in our life, a temptation that keeps on surviving in an unknown corner of our heart, an emotion that melts even the hardest of rock when we watch a love story in theatre. There should be a pain which we love to bear when we listen “Pehla nasha, pehla khumaar”. Let there be a dream that will always be a dream. Let there be a wound we never want to cure. Let there be an inspiration that gives base to our(or I should say my) poetries.

A friend of Mine

Be it the ban on smoking at public places or increase in the tax levied, why do all the moves target our elite fraternity of smokers only. To hell with all, no-one can deter me, as for some it may be a hobby and a habit for few others but for me it’s a passion.” Will’s Navy Cut” that’s my brand. I know we are made for each other. After a day’s long schedule that puff of smoke is the one that brings me the solace of mind .I like it with soft-drinks, I love it with hard drinks, it backs me up when I fight against my dispirited loneliness. It accompanies me when I rejoice at a friend’s birthday party. It’s my stress reliever, it’s my pressure builder, a true friend by all means. The smoke of the 74 mm fag seems to defy all the laws of gravity. It fills me with great pride when I realize that I am a part of this promising industry which provides employment to trillions and supports Indian economy with its behemoth revenue. They say “Passive smoking is more dangerous than active smoking”, then why go for passive when the same health conditions are discounted on active one. If all the people quit smoking then average age of a man will increase, resulting in a grave food scarcity. Given all its philanthropy the statutory warning should be re-written as “SMOKING IS JUDICIOUS TO HEALTH”.
This was a lopsided view of world from the spectacles of my friend Ranvijay (name changed). Ranvijay is a 6’ tall stud, who precisely knows what he has to achieve in his life. He is just 27 and a successful project manager in a software firm in Bangalore. He is a bachelor and cynosure in his friends group. He is also seeing a girl residing in his apartment.
Doesn’t that sound like a happy ending story? If yes, then the author has succeeded in setting the first impression he intended to. Is that what Ranvijay really believed in or is that what he was pretending of? Are there some veiled curtains in this debonair’s life? Let’s try and find it out.
Ranvijay is at the last stage of lung cancer. A well reputed medical hospital has refused to diagnose him. His mother can only be seen sobbing subconsciously waiting for his son’s end. His father is looking for some other means of employment after his retirement. The girl Ranvijay loved most has ditched him. On his friends gatherings it is hard to find a distant sign of smile. He is not as much upset with his disease as he is with his loved one’s grief. However, he pretends to obscure the truth of his numbered days with a smiling face. In his playlist, which used to home all latest releases, only one song is audible……

“Main Zindagi ka Sath Nibahata Chala Gaya,Har Fikr ko Dhuein Mein udata Chala Gaya....”

"Prototyping perfection"
Simply ABHI

The Other Side Of Pain

What could be the height of absurdity? Well, it’s that indomitable maestro whose popularity continues to grow at an unprecedented rate. He is notorious for victimizing his students to the pandemic termed as ‘incurable psychological torture’. His favorite pastime is creating paradoxical statements. Erratic behavior seems to have some ancestral relations with him. You may miss his pseudo-important four hour class just because you are late by few minutes with acceptance of awful humility and in the very same lecture you may be even have a graceful invitation after 2 hours. Even after attending 85% of his lectures you may find your name in shortlist while the permanent absentees may have no problem at all. This full time energetic man puts his heart to explain his topic but it’s not different if you get nothing out of it. All his department mates are fed up of his irritating behavior but nobody has guts to utter even a single word. He believes in wearing only two dresses throughout his life. Despite all his brutal assaults, it is his paper leaking skill with subsequent sample answers that makes him so much famous among all.

Some say he is a demon, some say he is a coconut with very tough outer surface and some say he is an unbearable pain. But has anybody ever tried to look inside his head. They just complain that he bores them for long hours but nobody notices that during that hours he speaks continuously even without a brake. Nor does he even sit for a while. They never see what a great risk he takes for his students. He cares more than you for your degree. Nobody is ever failed or detained in his subject. He wants you to be with him for long hours solely because he is sick of his loneliness. He is an unmarried guy and to fight this pain which haunts him throughout his life he has disguised the cover of an angry humiliating beast. He sees his unborn children in his students. He loves you. He cares for you. He fights for you against all odds. What if he is a little strange? What if he is a little irritating? Who cares?

Hats off to this courageous man!

Pigs Might Fly

When optimism is pathetically suppressed, cynicism is bound to prevail. If something just reverses the feelings which spawn in heart while imagining Kareena’ Zero Figure it’s the reminiscence of the department we did belong to. Folks usually do have pleasant nostalgic moments of their alma mater but in this case pleasant has been brutally stepped by die-hard rebellion. Given a chance to change any single aspect of life surely it would be my college branch. Heinousness, at its worst, is what all they have been made up of. While the all other departments have been paving a way for bright future ahead for their students these are the one who are craving to bring every possible assault palpable in their life.

The gang of harassers is lethally attired. Some ask for ultra precise answers, some with MIT level question paper, which even they couldn’t answer well, and some declare a military coup in their so called knowledgeable lecture. Not only permanent faculties but even ad hoc are the limit. Those who couldn’t make it to any software firms in the latter’s Platinum era are creating sophisticated hurdles for the students. Except a few, all are silent atrocious killers.

Annals of their achievements have all red marked entries. Starting with very basic, GT at this age of youth which should be considered as nothing more than a bearable offense this inhuman fraternity shows the portal of reduced sessional along with a terrible paper imminent. In the VI semester when the guys face finally the lifelong haunted question “whether I’ll get a job” those blood-suckers acquaint the former with a draconian paper followed by pre-decided surprise of “60plus out of 100” which tag them unfit for the exhaustive physical examination. When the VII semester result surfaces, the last hope to save their degree, the only thing which will remain with them throughout their career, is too stabbed gruesomely. But it never rains, it pours. The last of unfortunate victim’s college life is blessed with their deadliest act of savagery “a backlog” as a goodbye gift.

Truly, the ugliest creation of god.

Let sleeping dog lie.

Simply ABHI

THE LAST LECTURE OF MY COLLEGE LIFE

Believe it or not the D-day has arrived, the day most awaited, the day most called for. There was something more special about this class than met the eye. Despite the constraint of last class, latecomers succeeded in maintaining their dignity of visiting the class fairly after the scheduled time. Seemingly, all appeared to have diagnosed with an overdose of senti. First time in four years those 50 minutes were not abnormally long, first time eyes could move freely without sticking at watch, first time the consciousness dominated the yawning and first time in four years we were attending the class not for the sake of attendance. For our surprise, the pedantic professor was comfortable in the sentimental zone beyond his technical domain. These fast fifty minutes were successful in turning some eyes wet but laughter of I-don’t-feel-anything kind dudes remained undeterred. Digi-cams and mobiles were vying for there contents. The atmosphere around pretended to have a perfect combination of location and occasion for sorting old mess-ups.

And finally the deliberately delayed time came to an end. Nobody was unsure of the fact that the time following these moments will make complete strangers out of bosom buddies. In spite of this fact, some were fighting desperately against their prejudices. Specialty of these moments is there temporality. Had these moments a little longer they would not be that special. Within few days these faint memories will evaporate forever .And surely the life has other plans for us.

‘The lecture we loved to ditch is ditching us.’

Simply ABHI

SHAALON

Among the freakiest creature accidentally made up by god one of the top ten positions has been acquired by Prof. **Ishhh**.He got a serious virus in the interface which connects his enormous knowledge to the student' mind. What could be his life if TCP/IP were not discovered is still an area of major investigation? Even if a quarter hairs of his beard were on his head he would have made a sensible crap. Fighting against his vocal disorders and Salman' yawning he seems to have an over-enthusiastic spirit. Experiencing a viva with him is a true examination of your laugh control capability. First of all, it is impossible to decipher his questions and even if you dared to touch his questions it will end up in a mess of ultra complicated riddles. He is the one who loves to stretch his arm over external' face and then prompt his question and when as pre-decided victims are unable to answer him he enjoys the superiority of his greater knowledge by staring at external with a smiling face. Disgusted by his irritating monophonic ringtone that never fails to disturb him in any of his class ,he possess a shear quality of sucking classic in flat 30 secs. This enemy of clear language, jumps over his seat with a WOW note and compels other to ridicule the underdog students who are little confused over their network concepts. Surely there is NO OTHER SIDE OF THIS PAIN.

Simply ABHI