Ashirwad Mhatre

Jan 03 2012

Story

I warned you not to jump into the pyre!

The first man after Adam, John Connors was lost in time while playing hide and seek with his geek friends. His wandering mind and social experiment with attaining Eureka, did not allow him to travel back or further in the case to his time using logic. Bored and impatient, he stumbled upon a few nude men burning wood. He thought he was in Stone Age. The lack of availability of bacon was really frustrating at this point. His anal habit to crack unfunny jokes to a disinterested audience was itching now. He wanted to impart knowledge to these men, and fondly remembered the faces of his best audience – the suicidal lab rats at Skynet.

What you don’t know about John Connors is that he was a failed sous chef at The Tin Factory Gourmet. John was always weak at Math. He always aspired to be a Stand Up comic, but being an armchair critic, he was trapped under an occupational hazard.

But in a different place, at a different time, the rules really did not matter. And being rebellious was not really his thing, it was just a forced character trait written by the scriptwriter. So, getting back to the fire and nude men, or an audience as he saw it, he decided to give stand up comedy a shot. Here is an account of how that went:

(Response stated here is unanimous in nature)

John: You must be wondering how I landed up here…well, blame it on the GPS and the female who directed me here, what was I thinking, women and directions!

Response: Facepalm

John: Oh…kay. I guess you people need to “warm up” to my humour.

Response: Blank stares

John: Ok, let me give you some real juicy gossip from the inside. When I was shooting with Arnie, I found his voice rather strange. I thought that robotic monotone was a master move for the role. But later I realized, that’s how he spoke.

Response: Facepalm

John: Ok, what’s your problem? And why is there no bacon. Why did you start the fire in the first place?

That’s when Billy Joel stood up from the back. John started laughing when this happened. But the eerie silence made him stop. Turns out, Billy wanted to go and piss. What he said later made John piss in his pants first.

Billy Joel: “I’ll be back”

John then had an epiphany which he thought could save himself the embarrassment. He decided to play Phoenix and jumped into the fire. Before his eyes burnt, he looked at everyone enjoying crispy bacon.

Jake Sully had tears in his eyes after looking at the sad demise of his childhood hero. Eywa could not stop it. Aiwa did not broadcast it. Such sadness had taken over. Back in the ship, Jake was updating his log.

Day 964, 11.45 pm.

Times in Pandora are tougher than ever. Guy Kremer has increased his rates. Valet parking as a concept miserably failed. Ewya did not find merit in Supper. Aiwa failed to do business here as well. Simon Cowell has a huge fan base. And Alex Ferguson still has not gotten a valid Visa to enter. John Connor paid a visit though. Then he jumped into the fire. In a moment of madness, Billy Joel wrote a song. I think it’s going to be a rage. Also, I had texted John not to jump into the pyre. But it’s not his fault, Vodafone is still nascent here.

Dec 26 2011

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Observations

Mission Impossible – Ghost Protocol

NOT A MOVIE REVIEW. NOT EVEN THE “HOW IT MADE ME FEEL” NONSENSE.

The hype had attracted fans and MI newbies to the latest addition of the franchise. IMAX was where all the action was supposed to be. Hell, even Tom Cruise landed here for the premiere. What more could one ask for.

Pre-booked smug duds. Lucky souls to get tickets on current. Anil Kapoor bashers. I prefer older men – Tom Cruise lovers. All were cramping themselves in. Pop corn tubs and Pepsi had taken over more than half of the seats.

It was time for the award-winning (I will use crippled children for emotion advertising) National Anthem. I hated the anthem since day one, because this is how messed up advertisers think. It’s a professional bug and I cannot get over it. The only reason I can stand the anthem is because it’s been shot in my school. Although I love my school (Bosco Bosco Bosco, Don Bosco), the ideologies of the management are very similar to that of the advertisers. Make people cringe, fall in love with your nobility, mint money and garner accolades for the same. So the two coming together for a “Noble Cause” was a master move!

Coming back to the Mission Impossible pun at hand. When it comes to rising up for the national anthem, what you witness is an Indian family with erratic mood swings. Here is a list of people you’d often find in cinema halls

The lazy uncle who will make it appear like he’s a paraplegic and he’s being tortured to get up.
The roving eye teenager who will scan the auditorium for a hot girl
The-Anna-Hazare-I-Wanna-Break-My-Fast fat boy/girl who either eats while the anthem is on or is placing an order to a friend outside
The Airtel subscriber who thinks “Har phone call zaroori hota hai”
ALL WOMEN who will tidy their hair and then stand confused as to where should their hands be – behind, on the side, folded arms, Christ lock, etc.
What? One more chance to stuff my pockets with my hands? That guy.
I’m too cool to sing the national anthem people.
The annoying crying kid who doesn’t know what the hell is happening.
The “I was the last to get up” guy
The “I was the first to sit” guy

There are many other losers who will surprise you with their antics. Once I saw a woman holding her husband’s hand behind her daughter’s back. I never understood that emotion. There are many who take pride and sing as well, but they are easily outnumbered.

While the Indian family was up to its regular antics, there was a rather heartwarming sight right next to me. One you don’t see often these days. A couple had come to see the movie with their toddler girl child who could barely talk, let alone walk. Although she raised havoc later by crying her heart out, her father made one of the best gestures, one that all should model. As all stood up for the national anthem, he held her daughter in such a way that it looked like even she was standing. That was a beautiful moment. One that overshadowed all the wrongs that were happening around me. It brought a huge smile on my face. And that touched me more than the “Silent National Anthem” ever will.

The movie was fun. Bird Brad brought his wiz to the table. You will find your money’s worth just for that Burj Khalifa scene. Anil Kapoor did a nice cameo, but he can do without the accent. I just think it’s the Salman Khan effect.

A nation swimming with false national pride needed a ghost protocol to set things straight. It was a Ghost Protocol indeed. And as Ethan Hunt would say, “Mission Accomplished.

Dec 08 2011

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Mood Stories

Two – way Street

A somber feeling – that’s what he called the streets around her apartment. He was never the articulate kind. But he often described inanimate objects through emotions. This was how he saw her world. It always reminded him of the Indian habitat at Britain. He called it Britain. The history books never left him alone.

They had spoken for months on end. She often painted a picture for him. Of her walls. Her ceilings. Her doors. Others windows. Of her world. A lot was said and much more was heard. This was the first picture she had shared with him. All his associations, presumptions, images that she painted, had come true. It all looked pretty. The maple trees, the benches by the promenade, the winters. But deep down, one could sense the hollow nature of the place. How it sucked out the daylight from the sky. How the open spaces encroached the freedom. It was all there. There was no soul. How could she find her own?

She was not liking the pattern in his writing off-late. The same old ironies, the same old broken sentences. She was not liking patterns anywhere. Routine had trapped her in its assembly line. And she was simply ticking along. The urge to break free was long suppressed. Finding a way around it was keeping her busy. A more western approach seemed gratifying now. With grounded coffees, exotic food and evenings often found in books, she was turning the tide. She had taken to literature and architecture. Photography and music. And within this concoction, she also found a way to fit in Psychology. Life had turned on its head, and she was juggling it rather well.

They had spoken for months on end. She tried to make him a part of her world. Her bookshelf against the wall, the yellow lights adoring the ceiling, her doors leading to new rooms, the stories at the neighbouring windows, everything that was making her world. She never spoke of the past or the old world, but always of tomorrows and a life more richer. She clicked for him, trying to give him a peek into her world. The beautiful promenade, the autumn of maple trees, the serenity of the benches and a pleasant life.

He wanted her to hold on to her past. She wanted him to take a walk in her future.

Nov 24 2011

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Observations

MY CITY VS YOUR CITY

The city of dreams came with its share of nightmares

The indomitable spirit came at a price

With which one could buy dreams

And sell aspirations

Where conscience was battered and bruised

And Gandhian philosophy loosely used

Under the guise of opportunity many perished

Retiring to dwindling hope

The what was and what could have been took over

And talk of the town became talk of the town

The architectural romance is now infatuation

The history – just an institution

They say the city never sleeps

Then how could it ever dream

My city had a soul

And I found mine in it

This is not my Bombay

This is your Mumbai now

Nov 15 2011

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Collaboration

Checkmate

The following piece is a collaboration between me and Nachiketa Anand (http://easeleyes.wordpress.com/) (http://behindthatsweetface.wordpress.com/)

Vienna played a setting to the breezy summery dress and the lady donning it. A blue orchid in her hair and a smile that blossomed more, she was walking alongside the café. She was listening to Kevin Rowe’s ‘Singing like a rich man’ on loop. Sitting at the café was a man in his early 30s. His unshaven look and the leather jacket made him look a biker. But he was a poet. A free soul who wanted to turn everything he touched, beautiful.

“The breeze brings in smile

Sometimes wry, sometimes senile

As it injects souls in its way

It drops some venom even in the bay

People flock sharing wide grins

In this convoluted world, there is place even for beautiful sins”

He was staring down that piece of paper and cringing with joy with what he had written. He was never old school in his words, maybe in thought, sometimes. Ironies and parallel lives fascinated him and kept him company for years.

She saw him lost in that piece of paper. And as if she knew, she walked past him, brushing his shoulder.

He felt it. His flesh tingled with strange excitement. His skin goose-pimpled in reciprocation. But he did not flinch. A side glance indicated that she was an extremely attractive woman. A delicate butterfly tattoo on her ankle caught his eye. Her charmed bracket made a delicious crinkling sound as she walked past. A blue orchid stood in stark contrast to her fiery red curls, cascading down her shoulders in a gorgeous mess. He did not dare to look at her. He was afraid she’d be too beautiful. He took a deep breath. An earthy fragrance lingered in the air.

She sat two tables away from him. She stared at him, unwavering. He was a victim to that piece of paper he was so intensely starting at. And then she saw him smile. A smile that radiated such happiness that it hurt. She cringed in disgust. Her petite frame and warm brown eyes shone with quiet vulnerability, making every man want to wrap her in a protective embrace. She hated that. She was a troubled soul who thrived on sorrow. Melancholy inspired her. She was an extremist. She hated greys. She loved black. After all, she was a poet too. Taking a break from Kevin Rowe, she vigorously scribbled on a tissue.

Masked behind every smile, there’s an unsaid pain.

Burning every ounce of desire, just like acid rain.

The soul is hurting, it wants to break free

The more it tries, the harder it’s pulled, in the quick sand of misery.

So don’t smile my friend, a lethal price you’ll pay

Poison arrows will sting you, your happiness it will slay.

Her eyes lit up with a sense of victory as she re-read her piece. It reeked of pain. She loved it. Neatly folding the tissue, she gestured to the waiter. And as he delivered the message to the man two tables away, she made a quick escape. With a spring in her step and a smile on her lips, she hummed ‘Singing like a rich man’. And Vienna was pulsating to the beat.

A man of wry smiles and dry wines, he was rather amused at her attempt to grab attention. This was when he turned old school. Before she could turn around waiting for a reaction, he scribbled a note himself.

“The red curls speak more than required

The heart sinks and the soul stands retired

With spunk found in sorrow

My happiness you may borrow

For all you need is reason to cringe

And it doesn’t sit on a smile’s fringe

So embrace yourself and set yourself free

Then maybe, just maybe you’d impress me”

As soon as she turned around, he kept the letter on her table and waited for her to walk to him. He wasn’t going to walk away. Vienna was serving its purpose. He had found his prey.

And so he thought. From the corner of her eye, she was watching him. Her face broke into a cynical smile.

‘Not so soon, my friend. Not so soon’, she muttered sharply.

For years, she’d been waiting for this moment. It had taken her 8 years to get over a bruised past. The struggle was a long, tiring one. The hurt had receded. The pain had numbed her. Memories had faded. But the scars kept the nightmare alive, even now. Towards the end, she had surrendered to misery. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not now. Not ever.

Forcing her thoughts back to the man in the leather jacket, she started to walk towards him. The universe was finally her aide. And now, she would conspire on getting even. He had no idea what he was up against. A wicked glint danced in her eyes. Her pulse quickened and so did her step.

He could hear the dainty sound her stilettos made as she marched towards him. She was getting closer. His flesh tingled with excitement. He smiled and turned to look at her. He stared at her. Mesmerized. She was as gorgeous as ever. This couldn’t be. Even Vienna couldn’t save him from his worst fears. She read fear in his eyes. A familiar feeling of comfort swept through her as she spoke in a hauntingly calm tone

“Every time you smile, I feel an ache

In sorrow I dwell, in sorrow I wake

Your happiness will vanish

Your dreams it will banish

Misery will trap you, there’s no escape

Sorrow will haunt you, disguised under a cape

I’ve waited for years, for you to come along

Today I’ll tell you where you belong

A victim to darkness, I envision the end

The chase has begun, start running, my friend”

She took another step towards him. Her earthy fragrance filled his senses. She was too close for comfort. He shifted uncomfortably. He could feel her measured breath on his ear. She leaned closer and whispered in his ears ‘I knew you’d come. I just didn’t expect you to take so long’.

He sank his lips into her heart. Romancing them right into the dark corners. She did not kiss him back but did not stop him either. As the melody of his tongue made music inside her soul, tears rolled down her cheeks and met his lips. His hands were in her hair, hers were in his pants. As passion took precedence, the open air café witnessed love-making by the banks as they had never seen before. The people did not cringe, they did not complain. They just wept at the sight of two souls tearing each other apart with their bodies. She cried and found a resonating voice in the eyes she saw. Her pain was felt by all. And this man was hurting her more than she wanted. She was ecstatic. After he was done with her, he paid the bill and left her with a note to read.

It took her two hours to come back to her senses. After sipping on seven glasses of red wine, she finally unfolded the piece of paper.

“You had me in pieces with your first glance

Fate might argue, but it was a happenstance

One where you walked in my den proud

Roaring into my soul, trashing my happy cloud

With my smile thwarted

And your advances darted

The only way to win was to lose

And crash into defeat of my muse

You choked me into the dark

Leaving me naked. Leaving me stark.

As you wanted I have fled