The Rearview Mirror

The final week of a year always changes us into a philosopher, just like doing a countdown of all the hit movies or songs that had released over the year, we do a recollection of all the moments that are imprinted on our minds. I was asked by a friend of mine how the year had gone by. As I look at the rearview mirror to see the things that have gone by, I realize that it has been a year of total transformation with me no longer walking the streets with the tag of a "student". The student that was within me last year has grown on to be a working man who is plagued by fears of meeting weekly targets and preparing reports instead of semester exams and campus interviews. I no more miss my college life, nor do I wish to spend a day amidst my friends in the college canteen, all that is in the past. I now yearn to grow in the path that I have chosen to tread upon. I yearn to meet new people, write more posts, make new friends, and live more experiences, and grow on to meet my ambitions.

The year 2010 has taught me to deal with change, it has taught me to be more responsible in the job that I do, be it blogging or carrying out my office chores. It has taught me to let go, and it has taught me to welcome new people in my life with open arms. It has taught me that there are good days at work, and then there are the bad days. All that matters is to learn from our mistakes, be it in personal lives or in our professional lives. I have learnt to share, I now share my fetish for blogging with friends whom I urge to blog. My blog, of which I feel like a CEO who invests time and energy in it has paid me back for all my efforts by gifting me with more readers who drop by to read it from all corners of the world. The internet is proof enough that if you got talent, then it could play a perfect portal for you to share your works with the world.

Much like a bus driver who rides along to his destination with passengers of various kinds, I too have been blessed with passengers (read friends/influences) of various kinds who have accompanied me in this year-long journey. The journey was filled with fun, fear and a bit of philosophy to overcome the fear. They taught me to dance, they taught me to laugh, they taught me to sing, but most important of all they taught me to live. There were a few who had gotten down when their stop had come, and there are a few who have stayed on. But their presence and support has always been overwhelming whenever the bus had broken down or when I encountered speed breakers en route to my destination. The bus keeps rolling, and there are many more passengers to pick up on the road and many more places to see.

Wish you all a wonderful year ahead.

In Search of Santa

As kids we have asked many questions for which we have never gotten a proper answer. Some of our questions were scoffed at and never answered, and for some we got make-believe answers which back then made sense to our docile minds that were still "Work In Progress".

When an elder relative passed away we were told "She did not leave us, she is in heaven talking to God and discussing about some big plans for you". We were at that age not molded in a way to digest the right answers, the answers given to us were what we liked to hear as kids, and sometimes the answers we got, fabricated into our minds and formed a perception that could not be erased, which unknowingly had gotten embedded in our psyche.

I recollect an instance when as a kid I had asked an older cousin of mine that question which we all may have thought out loud in our early years.

"Does Santa exist?" I asked my cousin as we were walking down the street.

"He used to in the old days... but now he is too tired, and he has retired" he said.

"Why?" I furthered my curiosity.

"Because times have changed and people have gone bad, we are fighting with each other, cheating each other so Santa feels we do not deserve his visits and his gifts" he said.

That answer has since then on stuck with me through my childhood years. As I grew up my perception of Santa had changed, he was just a guy out-of-work with a pillow tucked under his chest that made him look the part, and the trademark robe and fake white beard completing his character,  as he roamed the malls "spreading" Christmas cheer and gifting gullible little kids chocolate, making them believe that he was Santa was for real.

But then, in the kind of world we live in we need a Santa Claus. You open the early morning papers sipping your hot cup of tea, and all you read are the news of soaring onion prices reading about which would leave you in tears, so forget about buying and skinning one. We are plagued with news of rampant corruption, WikiLeaks, rapes and murders, mud slinging between political parties, and celebrities belittling each other on talk shows that seem artificial and made for the snooty.

We switch on the T.V and we feel things are no different. We get the news but with soundbytes from loud news anchors who are on a war with rival news channels to get TRP. By the time we hit the bed we realize that we are surrounded by shallow people who are in a race to grab the headlines through shallow ways.We close our eyes thinking aloud "Where'd all the good people go?"

Ironically, we are surrounded with controversies in a holy month that marks the birth of God's son, but inspite of all these controversies we keep our spirits high by spreading warmth and joy through ways which make us believe that maybe there are a few good people around us. We are in search of Santa.

Nothing can makes us feel that Christmas is around the corner like a game of  Secret Santa, a Christmas tradition where members of a group or a community are randomly assigned a person to whom they anonymously give a gift. It was a tradition I had scoffed at initially when I came to know that it would be celebrated at my work place. 

"So are you gifting anything to your Secret Santa" someone asked.

"Why would I gift something to somebody whom I don't even know too well?" I said with a cynicism in my tone.

"You are such a grinch" another one retorded.

"Call me what you want, but I really don't get this game, I am too busy to get a gift for some random person whom I don't even know that well. And besides, I don't believe in Santa either" I reaffirmed my stance.

"Its the month of God, how self-centered can you get?" 

"I got too much of work, and I am too busy to even entertain thoughts of shopping for some Tom, Dick or Harry"

It was that reply that I had got from my cousin as an 8-year old that had unknowingly settled down in the recesses of my mind. Over the years the ugliness of the world with all its hypocrisy, harshness, corruption, and partiality had only strengthened my belief that nothing good would ever come out of helping a random stranger. What is the point of smiling at a stranger when all you are going to get back is a stare that would question your sanity and decency? My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I looked around to see a guy, someone whom I haven't known too well except for his name, greet me with a warm smile on his face. 

"Hey man" he said as he extended his hand to shake mine.

"I am your secret Santa dude, I wish you a merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year" he said as he gifted me a neatly wrapped box with his wishes written on it.

The next few minutes was a blur, it was a mixture of amazement and embarrassment as I felt all my theories of Santa's existence slowly crumbling as I shook his hand, and embraced him in an awkward hug.

"I..... jeez .....why man? I am just... I don't know what to say.... I feel so embarrassed... I mean you did not have to do this man..." I said ashamedly trying to force words out of my mouth.

"I just wanted to man, I always took this seriously whenever it was played. I hope you like my gift" he said.

"I am just too touched by the gesture.... Thanks man" I said with an overwhelming feeling running through my veins.

He gave me a warm smile that radiated a genuine joy in his face. "I'll see you around man" he said.

"Yeah... uhhh... bye" I said wishing that somebody gave me a shovel so that I could dig a hole and bury myself in it out of guilt.

As I got back to my seat I realized that Santa was not just a fictional character, a jolly good fellow residing in Northpole. Santa was not just restricted to be revered by Christians, Santa was a character to be looked upto by every man and woman. Santa was Human. He epitomized that primitive feeling of sharing which today is lost under the dark clouds of corruption and thievery. We all are in search of Santa, we all dream of meeting him and shaking his hands and to get a taste of his bear hug and his benevolent heart, because he represents that forgotten ilk of people who believe in the joy of giving and ask nothing for it in return. I realized that I had just found my Santa.

We do not have to travel to the Northpole in search of him, all we have to do is to look within ourselves. For we all have a Santa residing within us. It could be you, or it could be the person sitting next to you. All we got to do is to bring a smile to a stranger's face by gifting them with something whose value cannot be measured - Joy.

Wishing you a merry Christmas, and a very happy new year.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Confessions of a Serial Blogger

Dear Doctor,

It all started a year back as a hobby, I just did it for fun. It started out as once a month, or at the max maybe two. But as months went by the urge started to increase, December is yet to end and this is already my seventh time in this month. I feel I have gotten addicted to it, it all started with that first one, we all remember our first time. I remember mine, after which I intended to continue this only as a hobby. But things changed as the frequency slowly but steadily increased. And before I knew it, I was doing it more than ever. It was then I realized, I had become a blogaholic.

I visited random websites and numerous blog profiles as I read studied their posts. From aping their design to their profile pictures, I had done a research on everything like a thorough professional killer who was profiling his target. I needed a reason to expand so I divulged in writing memoirs and short stories and things which affected me in some way. But I realized that I was not getting recognized, so I started spreading the word. I made new friends on Facebook where I sent friend requests to men and women who shared the same interests as I: Blogging!. I joined Indiblogger hoping that this would be a perfect platform that would help me get noticed. And it did.

And then a strange thing happened, I saw random people commenting on my blog. It was as if I were suffering from itches. The more I blogged, the more greater were the chances of people commenting on it, and more were the chances of my blog address being spread all over the blogosphere. It was much like the more I scratched at my itches, the more it spread. I consulted my fellow blogger friends who said that I had been showing the symptoms of Comment Moderation Syndrome (CMS), and also suggested that I needed to consult a doctor for the itches.

The Comment Moderation Syndrome (CMS)

Every nascent blogger when starting his/her blogging career undergoes this nauseating (for the lack of a better word) feeling when right after publishing their post they would check their blog page every now and again to see if anyone had commented on it. You know you are struck with the CMS when:


1. The first site you check every morning is your own blog page.

2. You go to every random blogger's site and post a comment that says "Hey! that was a wonderful post. I could almost connect to it. Beautifully written. Do check my posts at ishityounot.blogger.com" 

Although you actually mean 

"You call that a post? I can write better than you. Check me out at ishityounot.blogger.com and be jealous of my awesomeness."

3. And when somebody does comment on your page, you reply by typing out a lengthy "Thank You" speech to them for having commented on it and invite them to come over and read more of your posts. You play the generous host where you are kissing their butt in the virtual world.


4. You introduce yourself as a writer to all the people you meet hoping that they will raise their eyebrows and say "Ah! a writer?", although you are hardly four posts old. That is more like "I-hit-a-six-the-other-day-while-playing-with-a-bunch-of 12-year-olds-so-I-consider-myself-as-a-cricketer"


I have been through the above mentioned phase, and if you noticed my comments section of my blogs you would see that I would have tried to reply to all the comments in the same way that a best selling author would reply to e-mails from his readers. Although I hardly get more than a couple of comments. 


Now, returning to the itches. I always wanted to know where my itches were originating from. I am using the itches as a metaphor for the readers. So in a way, I am trying to figure out from the places where my comments originated. So to keep track of my itches readers I had Feedjit installed on my blog page which would keep a track of the location where my itches... ummmm... sorry readers are situated. As you can see, it is located on the right hand corner of my blog page, and it is now showing the place from where you are reading this blog. I hope you are not reading this from the loo Good Doctor.


There is a saying that blogging is for the fat and the ugly and the socially inept. Well that is not true, and it is not a saying. Even good looking and charming people blog, take me for instance. Ok, that was a bad joke. I may be deemed as socially inept, but my blog has made me feel that I am virtually virile. And if not for my blog, I feel I would have no virtual identity.

It is always every individual's dream to read their name published in the papers for what they are good at. But for a blogger it helps in two ways, 

a) People other than the blogger now would Google search the blogger's name
b) It helps increase the traffic of the blogger

But with great fame comes great responsibility, or in my case with little bit of fame came a little bit of responsibility. Thanks to the theatre group Stray Factory's novel venture in converting blogs into plays there was an alarming increase in the rise of traffic in my site once one of my posts got selected. And with the increase in readers, there came an urge to increase the posts all the while improving the content.

Yet this fetish for blogging coupled with the hunger for fame and pursuit of more readers has made me socially stunted.


1. I now live every day expecting that something blog-worthy would come out of it. I get so involved with finding a topic to blog that I forget to live the moment.


2. I remain indoors on weekends canceling out any potential plans with family and friends sitting in front of the computer with my blogger window open as I peer into the screen with my mouth agape and confusion written large over my face on what to blog.


3. And when I am struck by a concept to blog about, I find it necessary enough to write it down on a piece of paper or save it as a text message in my mobile. That is one of the reasons why I never use my brains while I am in the bathroom, thus denying myself with an Archimedes style "Eureka" moment in which, if and when I am struck with an idea for a post I jump out of my shower and run around the house shouting "Eureka! Eureka". 


The world deserves better sights and sounds than watching me running around stark naked shouting "Eureka! Eureka!".

A Blogger and his many Faces

  
A blogger is the virtual version of a Superhero. If Gotham City has a Batman, then we are VirtuoCity's BlogMan. We may not wear our underwears over our pants, we may not be blessed with the Batmobile, or we may not be as gifted as Spiderman to shoot webbings from our wrists. We possess none of those superpowers or hi-tech gadgets. 


Our superpower is the gift to communicate what we feel by weaving it into words, sarcasm and wit is our secondary weapon, and our hi-tech gadget is not a James Bond style laser-watch but an ordinary word processor. Blogger dot com and Wordpress are our playgrounds where we unite and express ourselves and the world around us in our own way. 

The blogger community has many faces. We are activists blogging for a cause, we are movie reviewers suggesting you what to watch and what to trash, we are poets whose poems you can use and pass off as your own to impress your girlfriend, we are storytellers who keep you hooked till you scroll down to the end, we are political satirists who educate and entertain at the same time, we are philosophers finding and expressing joy in every moment that we are gifted with, we are chefs who give you recipes that can lead you to your man's heart through his stomach.We are superheroes with gifts, it is upto us on how to use it.

There are two kinds of bloggers, those who never talk but blog and those who talk a lot and still blog. There may be some of us who may seem demure in person, and you may wish that they often speak a lot, but haven't you heard the saying that "Still waters run deep"? We run deep, and it is in the virtual world that we let our words flow and possibly drown you to death. And there are the second kind, it is not enough that they talk a lot in the offline mode, they even want to have their say in the online mode. It is in the virtual world where they have no fear of being cut short when they are in the midst of making their point. They seldom use the delete or the backspace key, they hate going back on their word.

The Blogger's Wall

Our greatest gift could also be our greatest curse. During the blogging life of every blogger a time may come when he hits the wall after which his blogging spree would come to a halt. He may become lethargic enough to sit in front of his computer and he would lose the will to exercise his brains to come up with content to write. The comments on his post would dry up which would further demoralize him to not write. He would plan to abandon the blog which he once looked after as his own baby by feeding it with posts. But to break the wall and overcome the Blogger's block is one of the toughest period for a blogger when he searches for a motivation to write.


But right now doctor, like the serial killer Jack the Ripper I am suffering from an insanity that involves serial blogging. And the only cure to my insanity is that I get to hit the wall.


Yours Insanely,
Raag the Blogger

The American - A Gritty Thriller

Father Benedetto: [speaking to Jack] You cannot deny the existence of hell. You live in it. It is a place without love.

This quote from one of the character's in the movie pretty much sums up the curse that is bestowed on Jack/Edward (George Clooney) owing to the nature of his work. George Clooney is The American, an expert gun handler/gun assembler for the most deadliest of missions. Suave, cold and calculating Jack is disciplined at what he does. He has trained himself to never get attached to the people or places that he encounters in his life, for in his line of work that amounts to a fatal flaw. As the shocking opening scene unfolds we realize that Jack lives by his code of emotional detachment. He is the thorough professional- observant, meticulous and with rigid work ethics. He has a way with machines, as he skillfully assembles gun parts and fixes automobiles. When a failed attempt is made at his life, he turns to the one man he answers to: Pavel, who commands him to lie low in a small picturesque village in Italy where he is assigned a job of meeting a woman named Mathilde, and to help her assemble a gun for her mission. "Don't talk to anyone, and above all don't make any friends" Pavel instructs him, underlining the fact that a man in a profession as his is expected to be bereft of any form of attachments.

He moves in to the sparsely populated Castel Del Monte, a small village situated between the mountains. He meets an inquisitive priest as a photographer, yet he never seems attached to the locale as you never see him take photos of the people or the scenic landscape, following Pavel's instructions. Jack/Edward in search of carnal desires (expect a  graphic sex scene which may leave some uncomfortable) frequents a brothel where he falls for Clara, he befriends her and as expected falls in love with her. With killers on the lookout The American has to decide fast if he should live a life by his rules and walk away from Clara, or should he find a way out to start life afresh with her. The American is directed by an Anton Corbijn, a Dutchman known for his still photography. It is no wonder that the serene village in Italy is captured with such finesse that each frame seems as perfect as a picture postcard. Based on the novel "A Very Private Gentleman" the film shows the George Clooney as the gentleman who measures every word he speaks.

"The American" could be this year's most misunderstood movie, what with George Clooney fans having assumed this to be as racy as a Jason Bourne flick by watching the trailer. They would be thoroughly disappointed if they expect him to deliver some cool and funny lines and kill the bad guys with the panache of a James Bond. There is minimal of action, and even minimal dialogues spoken in the movie. The story unfolds at a lethargic pace with edge-of-the-seat action thrown here and there. The movie focuses on George Clooney the very private assassin who keeps to himself, as he tours the village and meticulously plans and assembles the gun required for Mathilde's mission.

George Clooney pulls of the role of a killer as naturally as that of a brand ambassador for the Omega brand of watches. With not much dialogues to work with, Clooney expresses through his eyes. He expresses the ruthlessness of an assassin and the warmth of a love-struck man all with a blink. The director is in complete control of the movie, never do we see the story losing focus. Every frame is filmed with a purpose thanks to the tight screenplay. It may be unfair to brand "The American" as a bore, George Clooney who may have brought in people owing to his brand would have left many disappointed since they may have expected chase scenes, buildings blown up, and lines exuding coolness of the uber-cool assassin. But if you are one of those people who love to watch a good tightly scripted cerebral thriller which never goes overboard, then you ought to fix a date with The American.

Image Courtesy: http://impawards.com/

Keep Walking

Silence is the most underrated of all emotions. It sometimes conveys feelings which a spoken word cannot. Silly as it may sound, even a silent environment communicates thoughts to us with a clarity that cannot be found in oral and written communication. Communication may not necessarily be between two people. If you tuned your ears a little bit, you could feel your surroundings communicate to you. I don't mean the walls saying "Hello, how are you?", I just mean that a calm and quiet environment clears your mind and makes you think better, it gives you a clarity which the hustle and bustle of a crowded environment does not. We, in our everyday lives are surrounded by noises, both external and internal. We commute in crowded buses, trains, and traffic engulfed with issues of our own, that more often than not we end up overlooking the little doses of happiness that comes with the smallest of things. We are so busy on our search for the bigger things in life that we end up ignoring those little moments of happiness and satisfaction which we encounter.

I have lived two decades of my life in a small town. I have grown up in that small town where I have made quite a few friends during my school years. There were places where I used to hang out with my friends where I spent my evenings indulging in the shenanigans and gossip that only adolescents do. As I walk past our old haunts on my way to work I seldom get the time to reminisce about the good times I had. It takes me two hours to commute from work and another two hours back home, so needless to say I am always in a hurry with an irritation written large over my face and my mind clouded with thoughts on how bad my day at work would be.When asked why I don't move to the city by friends and colleagues, I give a rehearsed emotionless response much like a schoolboy reciting the multiplication tables - "I have been there all my life, I will move to the city maybe when the time comes". Deep within I loathe the facilities that the city dwellers enjoy. Pizza delivery in less than thirty minutes, less frequent power cuts, a mall in every corner, the facility of having tickets booked for a movie delivered right at your doorstep, good schools and hospitals, a service center for every electrical appliance and gadget just a stone's throw away from home, supermarkets where you get everything you want. Who would not want to move into the city that offered such privileges? I always made myself believe that I was giving the right answer, but sometimes the right answers are there in front of us. All we need to do is to walk the distance to find it.

I return home from a tough day at work wherein I rub shoulders, figuratively, with passengers in crowded trains and buses. The noise, the chaos, the lethargic pace at which the buses and trains move, and the urge to reach home early does me no good as I end up cursing everyone in my breath. By the time I reach home, all I want to do is to slouch on my couch and watch some sitcoms and then curl up in bed dreading another long day of travel and misery. But sometimes all our plans go for a toss when we are asked to get off our couch and do a chore much to our disliking. That may have been an event we may not have planned for, but it is in the unplanned events that we end up finding what we were all the while looking for.

It had been a long time since I had walked the streets at night. My everyday routine included home->work->home, while the weekends were mostly spent catching up on lost sleep. So when I stepped out of the door with the Incredible Sulk on my face that would be a trending topic on twitter only next to #pontingface, little did I realize that the sulk on my face would be replaced with a look of content when I walked back in. I walked the first few meters muttering under my breath for the gross injustice that was meted out to a "working class hero" like me. I may not ask for a bottle of cold beer after a hard day's work, but I do need a little bit of T.V time to watch sitcoms that were laced with pre-recorded  laughter, and reruns of yesteryear's cricket matches to make me feel better. As I walked past the secluded streets that night, I could feel the cool air hit my face and erase the smug look that it had been wearing. The streets seemed completely inhabited with people, there were the occasional walkers who were returning back home after a tiring day, the shutter of the last few shops that were opened was being bought down.

It was a moonlit sky that seemed to complement the silence of the night. Slowly all my complaints against my small little town seemed to have vanished. I finally had some time to reminisce the good old times I had spent while growing up, as I walked past my old haunts at a leisurely pace. I realized that while I was busy living my life in a hurry complaining about everything that I had, I had failed to acknowledge everything that I had been blessed with. I live in a neighborhood that may not have a Pizza Corner or a McDonald's, where potholes may be more in number than speed breakers, where power-cuts are as frequent planes flying in and out of Heathrow. Yet it was a walk on a silent and moonlit night that made me realize that Home is where the Heart is.

Image Source: http://www.thelatestnews.in/ponting-upset-with-selection-panel-over-johnsons-omission/49371.html

How I Met Your Mother and Made Some F.R.I.E.N.D.S

How I met your mother...

....and made some F.R.I.E.N.D.S

We live life at a frenetic pace. We got no excuses for slowing down in life. We drive fast, we think fast, we are on a race to achieve money, status and respect from our peers and the community we live in. Yet, there comes a certain point of time in our day when we feel complete whenever we are amidst a certain bunch of people. We learn to let our hair down, we wish time would slow down, and all the worries on targets to achieve or exams to prepare for take a back seat. We are in a college canteen, or we are in our office pantry chatting over the new movie that got released, or a new gizmo that someone has bought, or the good looking members of both the sexes who walk the halls of our colleges/workplace, or the Facebook status update of the last evening. We laugh out loud like no one is watching, we poke fun at each other at the drop of a hat, we argue over which one of our friends will pay for aloo-chat with their money. 

The Indian television palate consists of washed up, one-time, failed celebrities backbiting over each other, scheming in-laws, uncles and aunts, planning to make life hell for the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes of a bahu who seems like she could never hurt a mouse , and attention seeking school/college dropout teenagers who act crazy on music channels (which ironically show less of music and more of retarded "reality shows") just to be labeled as "so cool" by the MTV generation. In this age of reality television where "being real" just means to act like a snob, wear garish outfits, have a cool "wazzap" accent, and be pally with your contestants to their face and bitch about them behind their back, you end up wondering "Is this how all people are? are we like them too?". But thankfully, normalcy is restored when we are with our friends who do not act like the attention grabbing "Yo Generation" people from MTV and Channel V. We are real people with real problems and real goals to achieve.

Shakespeare may have said "All the world is a stage.....", but had he been living in this era he may have added "... and all our lives are based on sitcoms". 

While sitting around the coffee table with my friends I cannot help but wonder that somewhere deep within, we are the inspiration for the characters that are from the sitcoms. All our lives somewhere down the line are based on the experiences of these characters. There are a few Ted Mosbys and Ross Gellers we all know, there are a few of us who are on the search for "The One" just like Ted Mosby. For all I know, even I could be a Ted Mosby! I could relate with the insecure feeling that Ted Mosby gets when he sees his two best friends get married. A feeling of dying all alone, that feeling of loneliness when you dine out with friends who are now married and you being the only single guy left (a privilege, yet a curse). A feeling that we may have to trust a matrimonial site to hook us up with a man/woman we might end up spending the rest of our lives with, yet we have a hopeless romantic within us who dreams of meeting "The One" through a chance encounter at a bookstore or through a cosmic intervention. We all know friends who are ladies' men like Joey and Barney Stinson. We know some of our best friends who met as friends and are now bonded in matrimony like Chandler & Monica/Marshall & Lily.

We may not have the Hollywood looks, well not all of us. We may not have the clean shaven acne-free face like the guys on TV. We may not have friends who wear suits all the time. We may not have a theme music that goes "I'll be there for you..". We may not know gorgeous looking women who have hourglass figures, and we may not have LEGEN... wait for it... DARY punch lines like the funnymen. We are the everyday Average Joes and the Average Janes. We do not live in the glorious city of New York, we live in the not-so-glorious yet Singara Chennai (or the not-so-glorious yet the endearing city where you live). We do not order beers at a McLaren's Pub nor can we afford to order muffins and a latte at a Central Perk. We order samosa and vada and chai and wait for someone in the gang to pay the bill. 

Yet, for that half hour that we spend with our friends, our canteens turn into a Central Perk and our friends turn into the people we see on sitcoms. The Joeys and the Barneys promise the socially awkward ones like Ted and Ross to hook them up with the pretty girls they know, the Rachels and Robins indulge in girl talk and mockery of men and the discussion on the designer wear that they are planning to buy. The geeky Ted Mosbys and Ross Gellers would try to correct the grammar or enlighten the gang with a fact which would not be of anybody's interest. The sarcastic Chandler would poke fun at the rest of the gang on every opportunity that he gets. For that brief moment we get to be as cool as the guys we see on sitcoms, and the best part is that we do not even realize it! More than playing the guys we see on TV, we realize it is THEY who play US. Like every season that has a memorable episode or a memorable incident that we fanboys fondly reminisce, so does every group of friends that have their own shenanigans thinking of which would bring a smile to the face. 

All the world's a stage, 

And all men and women merely players,

Unbeknownst to ourselves we all play a role that we are so good at, that of a F.R.I.E.N.D.

Image Source:
http://janeheller.mlblogs.com/archives/2009/04/
http://watch-howimetyourmother.net/ 

The Quest

I am on a quest, on a quest unknown

They ask what I am searching for

A question that makes me wonder

For I have lost nothing, then what am I searching for?

What I am searching for has no shape,

It has no color, it cannot be measured and it cannot be bought.

I seem lost as I travel without a route map

There seem to be no milestones to read, there seem to be no footprints that lead.

There are only crossroads.

I meet people who accompany me who are on a quest of their own.

"How will I know that I have found what I want?" I ask them

"You will know when the time comes" they whispered in my ear.

I met travelers in whom I confided my deepest fears, my unrealistic dreams, my ambitious hopes.

I met travelers with whom I fell in love, whose hands I held,

hoping they never part ways when there comes a fork or a bend.

I met travelers who taught me to rise after a fall,

who taught me that getting hurt is not the end of all.

We met with nothing to show for, yet we parted with our hands full, and our hearts complete.

It was when we parted, that I realized I had finally found what I had been searching for.

"Do what you love to do" they said. "You will find what you are searching for", I was told.

I found what I was searching for.

I found recognition, I found my fifteen seconds of fame.

I realized that the people around me now knew my name.

"Cherish every moment, love with no reservations" they advised.

I found what I was searching for. 

I received memories to treasure, I forged bonds stronger than steel

I was blessed with love that would last me a lifetime.

"Keep walking, keep living. It is a long road with more people to meet, and lots more to discover" they said.

I still keep walking, I still keep living.

Now, I need no milestones, I need no maps, I need no footprints.

I meet new people and I make new friends, the road I travel will never end.

Every experience is new, and there are so many more to meet,

I finally realize that my quest will always remain incomplete.

The Solitary Viewer

Chapter A

It was a Friday, God's sign to all of mankind to forget your worries and plan for a weekend. I was following God's command. I was browsing the site of a multiplex for any good movie that was being released over the weekend.

"Aha!" I said with a childlike excitement as if I had been gifted a PlayStation-3. I had found the perfect movie to watch. I did the needful as I was taken to the online transaction page when I heard a familiar voice from behind.

"Money transaction online! Wah bhai wah! What are you buying?" my colleague asked.

"Booking a movie ticket dude!" I said trying hard to contain my excitement.

"Nice! Planning for a weekend date already? With whom? Anybody from our office?" he asked with a wink.

"No, I was booking just a ticket for myself" I said.

"Just for yourself? Are you going for some aisi-waisi movie?" he asked.

"No way! I prefer watching such movies at home... I mean I don't watch such movies" I tried to clarify.

"Oh, so you are.... really watching a movie at a multiplex.... all... by... yourself?" he said slowly trying to make me feel as if multiplexes only allow couples to watch movies. 

By the time he had completed the sentence I could feel that he was rubbing the fact in that only lame people watch movies alone at the cinema.

Chapter Two

I was dining at the office pantry with my colleagues when...

"Hey heard about The Social Network getting released today? We should all go for it" Zulu said.

"Yeah, I heard it is a movie on Facebook. Its made by some Finch guy who made Benjamin's Buttons and some movie about fighting" Juliet said trimming her nails.

"Its David Fincher, and its The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. And the movie about fighting is known as "Fight Club" a cult classic of our times." I said with a mock nonchalance expecting an applause any minute from everyone dining in the pantry.

But all I got were blank stares from my colleagues.

"Anyway, I am going for The Social Network this weekend. You can read my review at my blog pretty soon" I said as if the whole world would plan to watch the movie only after reading my review. 

"Ooh who are you going with?" Juliet asked.

"I am going alone" I said mentally reminding myself that it was not a crime that I was committing.

"That is so sad, awwww!" Juliet said sympathetically rubbing my arm.

"Dude, is all okay?" Charlie asked with a genuine concern. "I mean why alone for a movie?"

"But why not alone for a movie?" I exclaimed.

Chapter Tres

"Are you a serial killer?" Vishal asked

"Not that I know of..." I said.

"Are you a married man who wants to get away from his fat nagging wife and pain-in-the-ass kids?" he probed.

"No, but that was some really bad sense of humor there" I quipped.

"The only person with a bad sense of humor in this room is YOU! How can you watch a movie all by yourself? That is... Lame!" he said smoking his cigarette with a sophistication that one would relate with Nobel laureates and holders of Ph.D. "Don't you have an ash tray in this dump which you call your room Anuraag?" he said searching for one. "Oh wait a minute... you don't, because your whole room could give an ash tray an inferiority complex. How is that for a sense of humor!?" he said, with a wicked grin and a wink to Kumar.

"Why do you guys have to judge me because I go for movies alone? Why does society have to judge single movie goers like that? We haven't committed any crime! We just want to watch the magic of cinema unfold on the big screen like everyone else. We want to laugh, we want to cry, we want to whistle and we want to clap. But we prefer doing it all by ourselves. We have emotions too you know. Is it a crime?! Is it a crime to ask from the society to not judge us because we spend a weekend at a movie theatre all by ourselves? From the usher, to the guy serving the overpriced popcorn, to the guy making out with his girl in the corner seat... I could feel their eyes looking at me with sympathy as if I am suffering from some disease and have got only two weeks to live" I said, gasping for breath.

"First of all - Bravo! Erin Brokovich for a stirring speech. You are a crusader for the army of lonely movie goers like Joan of Arc. I wish I had your speech taped it so that I could send it to some acting school, and second "The Society of Single Movie Goers Association" would love to make you their president after they hear that speech you just gave." Kumar said with a mock applause.

"Hey its not like I haven't tried asking people out for a movie. I went to a movie recently with someone you know." I tried to explain myself.

"Explain no further if it were a guy. Because it is as good as going alone for a movie." Vishal said.

"It was a girl"

"We are all ears!" They said in unison.

Chapter IV

Kids, you ever heard the famous saying "Never miss the beginning of a movie in a cinema hall because there is no rewind button"?. It may not be a famous saying, but it is true that it has happened to us all. We all have missed the beginning of a movie in our cinema going experience and we have always blamed the other person for it. I blamed her too when I missed the first fifteen minutes.

"She must have had a reason" Kumar said.

"She blamed the traffic" I said coldly.

One of the most breathtaking part of going to the movies is to see the lights go dim as the hall is engulfed by darkness. As the operator says "Let there be light... and sound" the giant screen before us lights up with the movie trailers, as the audience falls silent. It keeps the audience guessing on what the forthcoming attractions are. These are the little moments which we always cherish while going for a cinema. We may come out of the cinema hall loving a movie or absolutely hating it. But we cannot ignore that exhilarating feeling of the lights dimming slowly as darkness falls in the movie hall. She had made me miss the trailers of new movies, and a chance to boo at Harry Potter when his trailer was shown. She had deprived me of that exhilarating feeling when the lights had dimmed. And that in my book is akin to butchering a sheep.

"It is not that big a deal as you are making it out to be" Vishal said.

"You must have made the poor girl feel like she had killed someone" Kumar said.

"Why do you have to sympathize with the girl? You guys don't even know her!" I asked.

"Did you at least have the courtesy to buy her something during intermission?" Vishal asked.

"She did not want anything, so I did not buy her any" I said.

Strike One !

 

"That is what they say! You have to buy them even if they insist not to. Has anybody not forwarded you the mail of what women say and what they actually mean? Do a Google search and you could even find it on the internet!"

"She did not need any because she had put on weight" I said in my defense.

"Don't tell me you used that as a reason to not buy her even a soft drink. Please! please! please!" Vishal begged.

"I just said that she looked like she had put on weight. I was just being her friend with an honest opinion."

Strike Two !

"My dim witted friend, if you really were trying to be her friend you should have told that she looked wonderful and not fat! They can hear anything in the world. But they cannot hear you tell them that they have put on weight." Kumar enlightened me.

"Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood. Only theorems, maps, philosophy and rules for monopoly are written to be understood. Women are not any of those. Its no wonder you go to movies alone. I would be surprised that she even talks to you these days." Vishal presented his philosophy.

"I find it amusing that you are even allowed to talk to other people" Kumar joked.

"So where did you guys go after the movie?"

"We went straight home"

"I like that! Her place or yours?" Vishal asked.

"She went to her place, and I went to mine" I replied solemnly.

Strike Three and Out! 

"You guys did not go anywhere? Not even for a cup of coffee?" 

"Nope" I replied.

"Why did you even invite her to watch a movie then in the first place?" Kumar asked.

"Hey, I did not know that there are certain "Do's and Dont's" to be followed while watching a movie with someone. Why should there be guidlines to be followed by two friends in watching a two hour movie? Where would all the fun be then?" I asked

Chapter Paanch

"With whom will you argue about movies? Could you imagine anyone watching a movie like Avatar all by themselves? Movies are made to be enjoyed with friends and family and the neigbour's daughter. Especially movies that are larger than life! You will look like a complete nerd if you went to watch a movie like that all alone." Vishal tried to justify.

"There are some movies which appeal to a certain audience and that can be better understood when viewed alone, and I am not talking about porno. I watch movies so that I can review about them in my blog."

"Take a movie like "Inception", as mind-bending as it was would you have felt great for having watched it all by yourself? Picture this: you are in a packed theatre, watching a thrilling story unfold in front of you. It has got surreal visual effects, pulsating action sequences and a chase scene that would make the audience go "Ooh" and "Aah!". But there you are, in that packed audience alone in a crowd with no one to share your feelings with. You got no one to share your excitement with, you got no one to whom you can say "Wow did you see that!?". The only "person" with whom you share your feelings is a flat screen monitor and a bunch of keys that convert words into emotions which you want to display. People read what you felt about the movie. People whom you probably don't even know. And the only way you know that they felt the same way is by their comments. And you don't get more than two or three for every post that you write." Kumar argued

"You need to live a little, take a risk, ask a friend out! Its a big world, learn to share your popcorn!. So what if you end up not liking the movie. You atleast would have had the comfort of knowing that you were sitting next to a person who does not pity you for being alone in a crowded hall. A friend to whom you can say "Wow! what a scene!" It does not matter if you were with a guy or a girl. All that matters is some experiences are ought to be felt with the people you know."

Epilogue

I logged on to the site of the multiplex as I browsed for a movie that I could watch over the weekend. I browsed through the movies that were being played. I clicked a movie whose poster had a pretty looking girl leaning over a guy. It took me to the next page.

Seats it was neatly titled on top of the page.

I hovered the mouse pointer over the number of seats.

I clicked "2".

I took out my mobile and punched the number of a familiar friend.

"Hey, what are you doing this Saturday?"

Image Source: Getty Images