Mango Season

I am now battling summers. Mark my word summers, just not any ordinary summers but the heat of Indo Gangetic plains. Lucknow now; five years back it was Allahabad, where I was studying. Many Delhiites would swear by winters in Delhi and summers too. And when they describe the seasons in Delhi they do it with some arrogance in it, as if it was the worst place at that moment to live in. Actually by this they mean no disrespect to the place but an ego attached with it describing themselves to be battling against all odds, describing their struggle with faces twisted to the last stretching point according to Hooke’s law of elasticity, from where it can never return to it’s original shape.

For those who don’t remember their physics lessons well, Hooke's law states that
F = - kx
where
x is the displacement of the end of the spring from its equilibrium position;
F is the restoring force exerted by the material; and
k is the force constant (or spring constant).

That is the spirit of that place, and a person who has lived in that city starts speaking about the challenges he faces and difficulties he surmounts on a day to day basis, thereby glorifying it’s dwellers.
In Lucknow summers have arrived and people speak of coming sessions of siesta. Sorry I am not talking about unemployed (read unemployable) youngsters, but I am talking about working (read tortured and forced against their wishes), guys. It is the love of merry making that hangs, and this aroma of merry making and infinite joy doesn’t leave the Indo Gangetic plains ever. In monsoon they want to get wet, though they are wet somewhere within their pants always (read the rising population figures of this region). In summers they want to resume another season of mango reaping (read raping). And winter comes and then resumes the love making. Love making exists twelve months, whether they are sweating like pigs or are shivering like a squirrel in winter, which too without any precautionary services government is spending on through dispensers in public toilets.
But there is a calm which soothes the nerves. I have come to know that Maslow was wrong in his assessment of a pyramid. Here in these backyards of an emergent India, self actualization seeps in long before the need of basics arise. Contentment is what impresses any person who has ran across distances, six days a week to keep a steady flow of green bills in his awarded bank accounts. I have done that for five long years, to which when I look back I can only identify months with the organizations I was in and the professional happenings that surrounded me either elating or depressing me for months.
I am learning here and learning that human at the end of the day can also seek happiness just lying on a charpow under a mango tree, sometimes just waiting for the mango season to arrive.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

Here I Stand With Nothing in My Hand

My heart needs a little blabbering. I want to talk about the changes in my life. It can be about anything, right from a busy schedule which I was keeping some days ago, to a marriage in which I was the groom. But somewhere my words were lost, or may be I had become too verbose in front of mortals. I was at loss of words, and so the print inside my mind was getting dull day by day. How to pour it out? How to bring new thoughts?

I have started seeing hope even when I see pain everyday. Cruel inflictions and occurrence of most abhorrent nature, but I am still believing that something good will come out of it.

I saw a bitch giving birth to three puppies, less than the average size with which they would have been born. But I waited for them being healthy soon; I knew that some one will feed them. I could see the imminent death of that female with pale body and weak hind legs, but I was hopeful that the kids will be taken care of. She died and the litter was too weak to survive. Some days later I found them playing on the road and people feeding them and running after them to save them from being crushed under speeding vehicles. And when the white one amongst them got a leg crushed and bruised, it got a dressing of engine oil from a diesel generator vendor. The children are rolling and tumbling and playing. I am confused where is the pain to write about when there hope floating all over.

How to pour it out? How to bring new thoughts?

Where is that dark depressing inspiration gone?

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

Lost Light

Yesterday was not a dark night, because at least it had the street light with all it’s yellowness around reflected by the cemented lane laid down some months back in front of the rented apartment that I live in.
It’s an advantage to be on a height if you are an observer and so I have it for myself. Like a cat purged on at a height I rested myself on the iron grill of my balcony and gasped for some air, after torturing myself with weights which I bought from somewhere, the place which I can not trace back now.
I could see the happiness on the face of some boys in their early teens playing in the lane, which obviously is safe as it ends within 50 meters at a gate of a school which I suppose to be haunted. And so were their macho games going on with everything ranging from pulling each other to running backwards. Every muscle movement is a show of strength in those early years when a man discovers his anatomy for the first time.
And with those boys I could see a little girl, may be less than a third of their age working hard to be a part of the group. I call her “little manga” as she always reminds of that funny but lovable Japanese style of cartoon sketching, or whatever you call it. In all these one and a half years that I have lived in this locality I have seen her journey from her father’s safe arms to running around in oversized slippers. And surely she recognizes me with a helmet over my face and never forgets to pass a smile; once I smiled at her without one and got a cold stare back from her. That is the fun of being an employed guy with late sittings in the office, where people only see you the time you are leaving, and the time when you come back with a roaring engine underneath you. She knows the working face of mine; the one which I leave with and I come back with, “a helmeted face”.
And suddenly my human knowledge of counting raised a red flag. There were three guys, in early teens and this little manga, with her elder brother who was doing anything and everything to please these young chaps who might have been a little more then double his age, to get an acceptance and be the fourth musketeer. I could see societies in making at the same place and humans repeating their tribal history generation after generation; though once they started in a cave and now they were repeating it under a lamp post. What went missing in the circle of friends was a young girl who once used to run around on a bicycle like a tom boy, and had the guts to challenge the guys in a game of cricket. The team was perfect and the circle was complete with all the likeminded people making a story to remember once they grow. And she was the most vocal and energetic of the lot. I could sense long back that she was unaware of herself yet though her presence always made the boys to behave. A battle with a shuttlecock would be a lost one if the racket instead of baton would have to be passed on, but as the manager of the team used to arrive the scenario would change with many a helping hands moved forward to pass their swords to the uncrowned princess of “Neverland”.
And that night she was just absent, nowhere to be seen amongst those whom she ruled, and they did not seem to mind it too.
It takes a change of posture sometimes to notice more than what is in the sight. Suddenly a cigarette got lit, and I started killing myself minute by minute. Moments ago I had gone back inside and groped for a matchbox in the dark. I keep the necessary things to myself and the rule makes it clear that the cigarette pack was in my pocket. With every breath of toxic fume the matchbox became redundant in my hand and so to make it useful I started tossing it in the air.
There was no electricity yet. And I did not mind it. As always I never mind most of the shortcomings in my life, and most of the shortcomings in me. The continuous movement of the matchbox had already become a habit and one had no need to focus on the movement. This happens often on a keyboard of a PC, or even a guitar while changing a chord.
The boys had started resting gasping for breath, and one of them ordered the Little Manga’s “Bhai!” to bring them water. And they broke into discussions of all kinds as per their limited understanding of the world, of science, of sports and what not. Who were they trying to impress, with their berserk philosophies and inflated statistics of world affairs?
And then I caught one glance, staring at the balcony above it. The first floor had a very familiar face looking down trading glances with one of the three musketeers. This was a start of realization and it had started to another generation as many years back it had dawned on me and may be all others who caught me in my involuntary act of stealing the view of what was around.
I immediately went back not to come back that night. Sometimes I think that the surroundings should be made free from external pressures and the mind be made open to judge for itself. And I look back to those lost years when the sweet charm of not knowing oneself and the other day waking with all the knowledge of the world seems somewhat empowering.
I don’t want to stand again in my balcony because I want them to have all the time. I am the facilitator of a beginning. I wish I had one for myself.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

Marriage Invitation

Following is a sample letter to all straight forward and honest people who want to let their friends and acquaintance know that they are getting married and why.

Hi All,

As you all know that Armageddon is very near, as what the evangelists always preach I have made up my mind not to die a virgin.

After a long search from amongst the options available in my work place and other haunting places of mine I discovered that there is nothing like a free lunch, and everything comes with strings attached. (Or may be I was not wearing and AXE deodorant, or for that matter a deodorant of Wild stone).

I even could not muster enough courage to pay a visit to shady alleys of cities that I stayed where I knew sub standard women (in looks) would think me to be a handsome hunk. I would like you to believe that the fear was of God and not the lathi yielding policemen lurking in the corners of all those places trying to make instant money by catching a new comer imagining him to be an IPO in a stock market, where actually it was all about a lathi. And again that whole idea of spending all you energy in one hour, when you can do it for the whole night is very illusive. Though after some time you might discover that you are not even good for some seconds. When I started to earn, readily did I realize that money was hard to earn and it came after getting fucked in the ass by an ass that you call boss, parting with your hard earned money is also not very appealing.

Then it was not just a question of sex, it was more than that; it was about having good and quality sex. So you have to be in love with the person and vice versa. I wish the word vice versa would not have been in the dictionary, because that is where I always failed.

People who are reading this mail of mine and have thoughts crossing and cutting them deep within that why this man was so love lost when he was a lovely person, and if they also share their gender with me the I would like to apologize to all the gay friends of mine that I deprived them the opportunity of savoring my meaty body, and I would also like to apologize to all the nymphomaniacs who after reading this mail of mine would be thinking where was this asshole tharki guy and how could we not discover this jewel while he was always around.

With heavy heart I would like to accept that my parents at last came to my rescue and said that, “boy we have a poor little girl who does not know the real you and just because her father wants her to marry you is ready to love you all her life or at least pretend to the same”. So all you gay guys and nymphomaniac treasures of society please feel free to come on the auspicious occasion of me entering into manhood, and falling in love with a girl who I know would hate me in a very short span of time.

Will see you there.

Yours truly,

XYZ

Note: Actually I had drafted this mail for a colleague of mine to send to his friends. At the last moment he backed out, so I thought I should share it with you.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

A Magnet called Delhi

Night of March 15, 2009, I took off from Lucknow Airport. A delay of an hour in the flight was I did not worry about because I had already completed the first half of the journey, and surely the difficult one, and that was reaching Lucknow Airport. Sometimes in these awkward situations you start making comparisons, and one should. The development of human civilizations and it’s zeal to compare and improve has made people thrive. I knew even if I landed in Delhi I will get a transport, auto, taxi, or whatever. Ways and means is the soul of Delhi. But I hate it. I hate it for it’s vastness, it’s cold insensibility towards an individual’s existence. I know that Delhi exists, but it doesn’t know the same of me.
And then a pull in my stomach made me realize that I was up in the air. May be in 5 minutes I would have been out of Lucknow skies, and as I don’t know the route can’t even say where I was after it. For me outside the window there was darkness and at the moment there were just two poles; one from where I had taken off and the other where I was heading to.
I don’t belong to Lucknow, and I have never lived there. I got acquainted with the work culture and ethics of the city only after my parents planned to shift to the place after my father retired. This only happened less than a year back. Time is floating in that city. Professionalism float far below the speedy layers of corruption, and every individual suffers from a bug of self vigilantism. There is a belief across that if I am paid I should make sure that I should not work more than the person on the same salary. Might not sound sane, but it is true. Honesty, I don’t know if it exists, though people have a lot of time to care for everyone around, though the spirit in which this religious duty is performed in unclear. May be they just want to make sure what’s happening in other’s life or are bored to death so it’s better to do something, or may be they are sincere in extending a helping hand to the other people. No doubt there are honorable exceptions to the entire episode and they do their level best to make you believe that they are too good to be true.
It has been a little less than 5 years that I have been living in Delhi. The sheer size of this place which looks like unending hell of scorching heat and loneliness is too much for a man of social character. But it is a place of opportunities. Years back I arrived at the railway station with a bag and a resolve that I will start again after quitting a career which I was confused about. It took me a painful time to justify myself, but yes change came. And once I started I did not start, I took off. Delhi was nothing less than an adventure, and the journey from a bus to an auto and then to my owned vehicle. Owning a vehicle was never Delhi style for me. I did not take a loan, but it was cash down. Imagine, cash down in Delhi, and yes people were surprised. Who doesn’t take a loan?
Delhi has its shortcomings and you have to develop a taste for it. It’s like a cigarette, slowly and steadily when you will force it upon you then it will reward you. And once you are addicted it will be hard to bid a good bye. And even when you would not go back to it, the sweet memories of that childhood passion to find an open road and an unsuspecting locality for a fearless drag would make you smile. There is a magic which Delhi creates and a personality which Delhi carves for you. A free, unbounded feeling starts encircling you which gives you a confidence of being able to do anything, with it’s lighted streets you have all the right to roam around unhindered. The absence of moon is never felt by a biker, and then there are dark patches around where accidentally you would bump into sex starved couples fondling their private parts in open parks. Many a times an unsuspecting car parked by the side of road springs a surprise when you think this is the best place to open your zip and let your bladder have the relief. I once did the same and as soon as the warm fluid splashed on the dry leaves by the side of the road, a girl taken by surprise raised her head from the front seat of a parked car to see what the noise was all about. I pretended not to notice her at all, with all that I could do to convey to her; “sorry lady I don’t know you are giving a blow job inside that car”.
And then there are eating joints everywhere, for everyone, and every pocket. Everyone is hungry, and everyone is health conscious, even the aunties who waddle instead of walking. Delhi sleeps late, and still people are there in places working. Delhi is all about comfort and indiscipline and yes it takes pride in it, for traffic rules are only applicable if a man with white uniform or khaki uniform is visible. But yet Delhi has time for yoga which you can see in all the allotted parks of localities, filled with people who don’t want to move a centimeter and plan to loose all there weight. Delhi is about survival, for every man and also every dog while crossing the road. And yet there are people who feed the other without a penny. Stray dogs can be fat if it’s mother gave birth to it outside a restaurant, and beggars can earn more than a struggling executive. Some struggle to make ends meet and some struggle with their end. Decent looking girls whom you could fell in love for their simplicity can turn up to be hookers; and hookers who show themselves on honking of car horns turn out to be transvestites. I know a hooker whom you can fuck and pay when you have money. That is the magnet of Delhi, but without a north or south.
There are no rights and no wrongs in Delhi. These are just perceptions. Delhi salutes success and leaves you to yourself to draw the line. There are no morals in Delhi; they are your personal choices.
Life in this place might be equal to eating shit sitting on the road, but Delhi is all about savoring it to the last. And people do enjoy, drenching in rains that pour out of nowhere and can be seemed enjoying sweat traveling down their torso while sitting in a crowded bus.
And that day I was just in the air, and it reminded me of all the bus rides and heated exchanges with the auto drivers. My bumpy but yet successful ride on the money front just flashed in front of my eyes. My struggle might not be an inspiration at all, but is a story in itself. I remembered the man who interviewed me for a role in his venture in the very first month of my arrival in Delhi, and his words echoed, “Abbas you never sold yourself, so you never had a girlfriend, you are not a seller”. And I ended up selling people and portfolios; I sold dreams, careers and concepts. In some hours I could see Delhi from above, shining lights all around, as it will never sleep. The plane floated in the skies for 15 minutes and that time made me realize that I loved this place. I had started loving it for no reason at all, or may be it made me feel free from all the clutches of relations, and expectations. Delhi’s air might be filled with smell of burnt sulphur, or may be lead, or spewed out carbon, from those millions of vehicles running on fossil fuel, but it reminds you of that closed room which I used to fill with cigarette smoke in my hostel. How morally repugnant it might look for a girl to raise her leg to make space for a man with the intention of having fun just for one night. With each jolt they might burn in the realms of hell. But that moment is heaven. I call that lust, Delhi. After all I could pay that plane’s fair from my pocket because Delhi gave me the means to. Delhi is Sex.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

To be or not to be

My workplace is at the other end of this world. If you want to eat something you would have to search a long way. Tea is fine but that too is available at one place. This guy has a van which he parks I don’t know what time, and takes off, the time of which again is unknown to me. The mystery is if this van actually has an engine in it. For him it is a lucrative business and also an occupying one, He has actually 5 companies to serve, out of which 3 are 24x7 BPOs.
In the morning I have my tea there, and I don’t miss the faces and aspirations of young callers who are happy to have whatever they get at the end of the month, which can provide for their planning of consumerism. Newly formed couples, adore the small area littered with makeshift fast food joint, and in their eyes I never fail to see a twinkle passed to each and every passer by, declaring a sense of belonging to everyone in their way. And you see there loners, resting on a wooden plank balanced on a pile of brick or concrete. The loners occupy themselves by inviting those others who are of the same kind, though of an opposite sex.
And once or twice I measure the lone bodies to sooth some lost instinct inside me. May be this is admiration or pure lust. No comments, till the time harm does not come in way of any one. No heart is broken and no promises made. And their dark nail polish and their shiny nose rings, and sometimes a piece of skin laid bare, make the atmosphere uneasy, and they know it, and they want it. Hungry for everything and still not out to compromise their chastity. And the volume of the other gender rises as the sweat trickles down their forehead due to the heat of anything that might happen before making love.
And I sit there and watch them smiling and often unknowingly shaking my head at the sight of the entire circus which happens in a social jungle distempering the acts with bright social colours of dressing and appearance. I don’t disapprove because who am I; for what I think might just be a perspective. But may be one day they will understand that it is more than chemistry.
You know, I have a strong conviction that it is more about economics.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi

Why?

Why can’t I speak? Because I am feeling sleepy.
And why can’t I write? Because my system has also gone to sleep.
Thanks Microsoft for this stupid facility provided to save power.

Abbas Jalis Rizvi