THE DANCERS ARE BACK !

Yes, you guessed it, another random post. Tonight, though, I’m writing (pen and paper) rather than typing. It’s 11:45 at night, and I’m sitting alone in the living room, with my pen and paper. As I write this, I experiment, can I write like a doctor? Wow, I can. Stairway to Heaven is on, the music system in my living room rocks. Just got introduced to the song, I love the way it starts. I refrain from writing the way the music sounds, not knowing whether I should use “na na” or “ting ting”. Ooh, makes me wonder. Yeah, typing the lyrics makes much more sense. Maybe I should start making some sense now.

Going up and down in the lift has always fascinated me. When I first moved to Tarangan [DD’s residence] in my 5th standard, I was awestruck by the mechanical brilliance of the elevator of my building. It was the first time I’d seen ‘automatic doors’ and I was instantly captivated by it. Not being Newton, to think about reason-behind-falling-apples and what not, I just began using it. The two liftmen became my best buddies.
[LOL. The ow-ow-ow-ow-woah-woah part in the song is so funny! Led is brilliant!]
In all probability, I used the lift more than them. Pressing all fourteen buttons to piss the liftman off, to see him stop at each and every floor was bliss. Ah, those days.
[Wow. The guitar solo. Oh bloody hell. This is bloody brilliant. Wow, eyes closed. Now the song has gained pace, gets DD’s head to rock with the beat.]
Those days, I say with a huge melancholic sigh, have long gone. Today, when I get into the elevator, it’s one formal hello to the other passengers, a “Ram Ram” and a pat on the back to the liftman, and then looking at the thingy [for want of the scientific word] where the current floor through which the lift is travelling is displayed. Everyone does it, I’ve found it bizarre, but I do it too. Filling awkward silent seconds usually involves suddenly finding your shoes or your nails interesting. But in the lift, it’s always staring at the thingy, freakishly. The liftman, strangely, also does it, though the way he stares is different, he stares from the corner of the eye, as if he’s eyeing some beautiful chick.
[OYE IT’S SATURDAY!]
The lift is the only place where you get lots of free time, and you don’t feel guilty about wasting it, since you have nothing else to do. Since the 5th standard itself, whenever I’m alone in the lift, I look in the mirror, and I make my scariest expression. Then I laugh at the sight for the rest of the journey, which makes it a tedious task to straighten my expression as the thingy reads “0”[since I do my silly things usually while getting down from the 9th floor to the ground floor]. On other occasions, when my bully-like expressions become too monotonous, I punch the wooden walls around with the mutant knuckles. When I’m bored of that, and this might cause some amount of denigration, but I don’t care, I DANCE. I have two left feet and two left hands; hence you might argue that calling it “dance” is wrong. I do it to make myself laugh, and I succeed. As thingy reads “1”, I stop, making a straight face.

Ha, cannot believe I made you read all that. Now let’s back on topic REALLY. In my 8th standard, when I was going home after school, a plump kid got in, who was in the 5th standard then (I knew because I had played cricket with him), with his mother. What struck me most about this great man was the fact that he was the ONLY person I saw, who refused to go through the usual ophthalmic duty of staring at the thingy.
Innocence of youth? Not quite.
Kid with extraordinary thoughts and self confidence? Nail. Head. Bang.

The next time I saw the lad was at 8 pm. (when the liftman would be at home, bitching about the weird passengers of ‘his’ elevator.) The fact that he was fascinated by the journeys through this mysterious cuboid was palpable due to the cheeky, and somewhat weird, glint in his eye. For the first time, we spoke to each other. I go, “Kaisa hai?”, and he replies “sahi!!” I look in the mirror, and I madke a semi-weird expression. I turn back, apprehensively. His face is a question mark. I begin to laugh. He laughs too. He makes his own weird expression, looking in the mirror, next. I take the forcible cue, and I start laughing hysterically. Respect.
Next time we met, we exchanged mischievous smiles, and then looked away, so as to prevent the woman present from thinking that we had gone bonkers.
We met ALONE after a long time, and this is one of my crystal clear memories, but we hadn’t forgotten. He said, “main lift mein akela hota hoon tabhi bahot faltugiri karta hoon”. (When I’m alone in the lift, I mess around a lot.) I said I do the same. And in a flash of madness, we began to dance. We danced, like nuts, we looked in the mirror. We both laughed like we’d lost it. It was the first time, may I add, that the watchman sitting near the lift on the ground floor might have had an idea of the lunacy going on in the crazy cuboid, because we got out unable to control ourselves. This went on, EVERY SINGLE OCCASION I met him alone in the lift. In the tenth standard, we saw less of each other, or in other words, I saw less of the world, and if we did run into each other alone in the lift, it was usually when I was abosorbed in my book, being a firm believer of my own principle, “The reading during the last 30 minutes before the exam gets DD 30% of whatever he’s scored.” Even after tenth std, if we met alone, we had a little chat about this and that, but we never mentioned our old lunacy.

Yesterday, I met him again, alone. I looked him straight in the eye, he mirrored my action. We stared at each other for five whole seconds, and then we both began to dance. It was SO funny, I cannot believe I’m laughing even now, as I pen down the incident. He had some new moves, I had some myself, and we danced with frequent “Aha” shouts from the man. There were 4 left feet and 4 legs flapping about madly, in the elevator. We are back baby!!

One might argue here, that this is surely too stupid to be true, and that the DD with his trademark blank expression is not capable of such things. What do I say? Well, the lift brings out another side of DD [who has so many sides, it’s difficult to decipher what-agon he is, taking cognizance {yes, I love the word} of the fact that he cannot count more than decagon.] This is the side only the mirror of the lift gets to see, and of course, the dancer mate.

<< That is me, making one of the expressions I make in front of the mirror. I'm kind of looking like one of those middle eastern tough blokes. I cannot believe I'm pasting that pic in my blog, but it goes with the random spirit of this post, so bleh..

Thus, when you’re alone in the lift next time, make the most of it!
Anyway, I won’t reveal the name of the guy, because it’s our little secret!



The dancers are back, and they’re here to stay!!

DD : MY FEARS.

NOTE : The worst fear will be added some time later. This is a compilation of my other fears.

That photo is me faking it, trying to appear like some brave kid. :P
Right, after a long break, and after deciding to bunk college tomorrow, or today taking cognizance of the fact it is already 3 AM, I decided to pen down something that’s been bothering me for quite a long time now. With my parents sleeping, and my dog finally asleep too, I am now free to write. This, do note, will be an extremely personal post, so people who do not know me personally might as well take a break.

Firstly, this is not some complex topic with double meaning, when I say fears; I mean, bluntly, things I am scared of. You will see my bulky frame, and you’d think, on seeing me, I’m this brave kid who fears nothing. NO I am not. I’m a bloody coward. I have plenty of materialistic fears. “Nothing in life is to be feared, just understood”. Shut up, will you!?

Be aware that I’m not at all proud of what I’m going to write about now. I want to face my fears, but I cannot, I never could till now. I’m just going to start naming them now. You might accuse me of terrible pusillanimity but I wouldn’t care less.

FEAR 1: Lord Vold**ort :
That guy is a bloody genius. He’s never failed to give me the butterflies. My fear for You-Know-Who started right from the first book. I am and always was used to reading novels at night, before I slept. This, mind you, was before I saw the character of the Dark Lord in the movies. It was when I was in the fifth grade, I believe, when we had just shifted and I was just getting used to living in a separate room. It was the part where Harry, Quirrel, and the Dark Lord meet together in front of the Mirror of Erised. I remember reading that part, and on reading “Let me speak to him, face to face” and “he lies, he lies!” I got so terrified I jumped up from my bed, shouted “aaarrghhh” out loud and barged into my parent’s bedroom. My Dad, on hearing me, was already up, and had the quizzical look upon his face. I slept in between them that night! Next day I completed that part, in broad daylight. Chamber of Secrets had no problem, nor did Prisoner of Azkaban. Goblet of Fire made me shiver. Bloody stinking jobless twerp Wormtail, “The Dark Lord shall rise again!” I went “Mumma!!!” I refrained from ejaculating another “aargh” as I was considerable older, grade 7, I believe, by then.
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, will renew your son.” *shiver*
“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, will revive your master.” *brrr-brrr*
“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will, resurrect your foe.” * “aaaargh”*
So much for being in grade 7 and all that tosh. There it came again. Into my parent’s room. Spent the night there. Some time passed. The next night, I opened the manifestation of some of my worst fears, the chapter “The Death Eaters.” That wasn’t what made me clutch my blanket over my head though, it was the thing written on the previous page, “Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was as flat as a snake’s, with slits for nostrils…Lord Vold—ort had risen again.”
“Aaaaarghh”, I went. Jumped off my bed, went to my parent’s bedroom. A prepared Mum looked at me, “Give me the book, I’m throwing it away.” Went back into my room, lied down, went ahead, with part of the blanket over my head, and the bedsheets wrapped around me, sitting like you excrete faeces in an ancient Indian toilet. I looked like one of them hooded Death Eaters, myself.
“Voldem—t raised one of his long white fingers, and put it very close to Harry’s cheek.” BANG. Book slammed shut>>I-pod>>Hey Jude>>Slumber.
This went on for some time, till finally I completed the chapter, and the chapter “Priori Incantatem” with the ipod in my ears for the whole time.
Seeing the movie Goblet of Fire was scary too, with the character of Vol--mort coming right against the camera, I remember distinctly shifted my butt behind in the seat and closing my eyes and trying to shut my ears off too.
Book Five, had some scary parts. Book six was very mysterious. The past of the Dark Lord not only made me fear his power, but also respect his shrewdness.
Book seven was damn scary too, and this part almost made me cry.
“‘Harry Potter’, he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. ‘The boy who lived.’
Voldem—t had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear.
He saw the mouth move, and the flash of green light, and everything was gone.”

HP killed him in some time, and one of my fears, though NOT MY WORST FEAR, was destroyed. That said, reading parts of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named consternates me to this date. All hail, the Dark Lord.

FEAR 2 : MY OWN STRENGTH.


<< My mutant fist! Be scared, be very scared!

I know this sounds bigheaded, but what the heck. This is something I fear, and if any bullies are reading this, buzz off! As you’ve read and seen, I’m a big guy :P This has many advantages. You can intimidate people, you can push yourself through crowds, you can block people effortlessly while playing football, etc. It has its disadvantages too. You tend to break things. I’ve had so many such experiences. I had got into this fight [which was my only big fight] with my neighbour from my old colony, when I was around nine. He was a year younger, and I remember beating him up real bad. I was myself surprised to see the damage I’d caused. I reduced him to tears in no time. It’s something I regret to this day. I remember going back home and crying my eyes off, since the guy was my best friend, then. I decided then, and people don’t really know this, that I’m never going to indulge in a physical brawl of such intensity EVER again. I rarely ever lost it after that. After that, the only relation DD has with physical brawls is when he is on the sidelines, cheering the two fighters, or being the basic cause of the fight and slipping away in the end. That said, I’ve still had one or two bad incidents. Those friendly pushes on the back from me have sometimes led to people falling down, not causing much damage, but still indicating how much damage this mutant can cause. Especially Chinmay Deval, I have to hand it to the guy, he usually bore the brunt of my physical oppression! All of us still love to trouble him once in a while, but that’s nothing serious, he’s just an awesome punching bag. Anyway, all this eventuates in me laughing off those manly punches on the back, the arm etc.

<< That's Chinmay Deval!


The football field is another worry. When DD plays football, it’s 5% skill, 95% strength. I’m usually the guy running around like a headless chicken, and the guy loves to give the ball a nice sweet kick, and a guy who absolutely relishes physical challenges. Playing football in a really physical way gets that blood rushing through the veins real fast. Before any football game I play, I pick those strong people, and being a defender, I stick close to them, ready to give them a legal ‘shoulder push’, which somehow has NOTHING to do with the shoulder, EVER. Usually the sight of this raging bull running towards you at full speed sets people off and they get rid of the ball. Some people stay, and that sucks. I’ve had many incidents on the field. Momentum = Mass x Velocity. When this heavy kid runs at you with that speed, and you don’t move, it’s difficult for the kid to stop. I remember going to play with my cousin’s friends, [my cousin, by the way, has the similar intimidating physique like me, so we love scaring people together when we’re on one team], I was gutted seeing those people, all of whom were atleast 3 years elder to me. My first physical challenge, I crashed against one of the players, and made go down on all fours. My brother who was on my team started shouting “Dive!” but I knew that challenge was bang out of order. I couldn’t stop myself. A guy had the ball, and I wanted it.
That’s not the end of it, I’ve broken SO many things at home. I should’ve made a collection of the things I’ve broken. Vases, photo frames, glasses, and if you search my cupboard, you’ll find a carefully sellotaped laughing Buddha without an arm. Most of it was courtesy my football. This eventuates in excess anxiety. Now, when Mum asks me to open a bottle she can’t open, I start to fret. Those dirty tiny medicine bottles, I know if I excess to much pressure I’ll end up breaking it. The most annoying thing is using my pen drive. I cannot fix it into the port without at least 10 feeble attempts, followed by a frustrated push which fixes it in. Thus my strength, is another thing I deeply fear, though not HALF as much as my worst fear.

FEAR 3 : ACNOWLEDGING PEOPLE.

A usual day for DD contains waking up, getting ready, getting into the lift, saying “hari om”[I don’t know why, but I love saying it] to the liftman, walking out of the building after a brisk “ram ram” to the watchman, walking to school[unless the car is free], mouthing “hello’s” to all the people around me, including car-washers, dog-walkers, morning-walkers, drivers, other watchmen, other schoolmates, the guys from the jents parlour, Suresh the gift shop owner. Finally I reach school. Then DD’s routine is high five-ing all the guys, smiling at the girls, and saying the monotonous ‘good morning’ to the teachers. The break involves even more hello/high five/smile/nod-ing at the various people around, with the eyes spinning making sure no one misses the acknowledgement. Getting back home at 1:30 in the afternoon involves even more nodding-and-smiling, bye-see-you-tomorrow-ing to the mates, and waves to the acquaintances, and also a bit of Namaste-auntie-ing and Hello-uncle-ing, since I go past those women who go to their grocery shops etc, another batch of hari-om-ing and ram-ram-ing to the watchmen, who by the way, are the ones from the second shift. Going to play in the evening involves a LOT of hi-ing to my playmates, and also those invigorating HELLO!’s to the senior citizens sitting and chatting, none of whom I know personally. Taking my dog for a walk at night again involved “jevlat ka?[had your dinner?]”-ing at the watchman, and HATT!!-ing at the stray dogs.
See what I mean? It’s bloody vexatious, if that’s the word I want. Acknowledging people just impedes my normal way of existence. Very often, the only thing I desiderate during my public appearances is wearing a mask so that I don’t have to acknowledge all the people I meet. I was going to write ‘all the people I know’, but I refrained, because half of the people I acknowledge on the streets are perfect strangers, who I’ve pulled into my life by my smiles and other greetings. If DD meets any person’s eyes for more than one second, and the person doesn’t shift his glance elsewhere, something within DD forces him to display his 32, and cajoles DD into greeting the person on further meetings.
Thus, public appearances make me start fretting. This isn’t the only thing. Somehow I feel this guilt if I miss acknowledging one person. Have a look at me in the break, my eyes are constantly moving here and there, making sure I miss no smiles or nods or pats-on-the-backs, with the only assuagement coming from staring at my feet, ensuring that anyone who looks at me thinks I’m ‘unavailable for greetings’. If anyone acknowledges me with a smile or a wave, and I don’t reciprocate, it absolutely kills me. Thus, acknowledging people, my third fear, scares the crap out of me. This is my shortest post yet, but, as I say, what the heck.
Coming up, finally, my WORST fear.

DD's visit to the Royal Jents Parlour.

Okay, this is my first ‘random’ post as such. As Californication soothens those eardrums, I’m suddenly full of blogging energy. If I don’t write now, I’ll surely burst.

Okay, the following are carricatures drawn by yours truly, Dhruv Da Vinci, during the maths period. The pictures are EXACTLY what I feel during my Maths period. Before accusing me of having suicidal tendencies, try bearing one hour of quadritic equations. The picture have NOTHING to do with the post. It is VERY random.


Note: I’m all for the law against homosexuality to be annulled, I find it silly that there’s actually a LAW preventing something that’s natural.
Beware : This post makes NO SENSE whatsoever, so read this only if you’re REALLY jobless.



Today, at 11 am in the morning, I had this random thought of going to the barbers’ and experimenting with my hair. Went off in my green tee and shorts, reached the saloon, where the signboard, “ROYAL JENTS PARLOUR WITH A/C” gleamed into my eyes. With a smirk, I walked in. This parlour, by the way, isn’t one of the fancy ones, I’ll be blunt, I’m a cheap guy, and you won’t get any other place where you get a haircut for Rs 40 walking distance away from my place. Also, these barbers are all bhai types, they’re considerably smaller than me in size, but their lingo etc is really cool. Thus, the jents parlour is my natural choice. Walked in, not having a slight idea as to what adventures were in store for me in that cosy place. Smiled at one of the regular barbers, he gave me the usual “kay re… sutti ahe? College suru zala? ” [what ho, you’ve got holidays? College started?] this, by the way, is a question he’s asked me ATLEAST 9 times, so I replied in the affirmative. I saw that he was busy with a customer, and the other regular barber wasn’t available. So I was basically stuck with this noob who must be 19, judging by his innocent smile and his pink full sleeved shirt. What did I know, how much trouble little Mr. Pink was going to cause then.




I asked the noob whether he could cut my hair such that my long sidelocks stay, like Afzal Khan, and also ensuring I have enough hair on top to experiment. He gave me a “is-that-Latin” look, and I looked at the regular for help, who explained to the noob what I wanted, in them barber terms, which was Latin to me. The customer went out, and the regular told me he was off for Lunch. So it was me and the barber stuck in the saloon. I enquired whether he was new, and he replied in the affirmative. Since I couldn’t find anything else, I closed my eyes, not knowing what else to say to fill the silence. Suddenly, he goes in Marathi [and I translate], “Sooo, do you want it real shorrttt?” His tone scared the shit out of me, it was one of them seductive tones! I told him to keep it short. He went on cutting, but I noticed the ‘gentle strokes’ he made on the skin. I consciously pulled my shorts below my knees. As if that wasn’t enough, the guy started to lean on me. No, you don’t get it. I was sitting, he was LEANING on me. His WHOLE body in contact with the left side of my body. From my shoulder to my knee. My elbow got the worse contact [yuck] and I tucked my elbow in for the rest of the haircut.


As he went on cutting, three guys came in. One of them was being forced by the other two to shave off his beard and his moustache. Since I’m jobless, I’ll type out their interesting conversation. It was in Marathi, and I will type in Marathi, with translation done below. They were these cool punks, 40 year olds, the ‘been-there-done-that types.

“eh lavkar kaap re dadhi hyachi.”
“nahi re ! shanth rah!”
“eh chup re salya. Chikna kar re hyala”
“eh bhain---- halu nakos, kabootarasarkhi vadhli ahe!”
“aaaaarrrrghhhhhhhh”
“oink oink” (<“eh phone bandh kar! Kapuday tyala!”
“badh thev tujhi ----, tujhya mulishi nahi bolat”
“mad------- mulivar jau nakos chu----“
“Bloody hell” (that was me whispering to myself)
“Sidelocks poorna kapuuuuu?” (my slimy barber)
“nahi nahi, hey barobar ahey” (> > me)

Translation [I’m soooo jobless]

“Oye, shave his beard, quick!”
“No man, shut up!”
“Shut up dude *undefined term*”
“your sister *undefined*, don’t move! Your beard is like a pigeon!”
“aaaarrrgghhhhh”
“oink oink”
“Switch off your phone! Let him shave it well!”
“shut your ---. I’m not talking to your girlfriend.”
“You mum *undefined* don’t pick on my girlfriend *undefined*”
“Bloody hell!”
“Should I shave off ALL your sidelocks?”
“No, no, this is just fine.”

Paid the forty rupees, and ran away without looking behind. I got everything in that one hour at the saloon, from homosexual advances to threats to life. After I wore my spectacles, by the way, I found out that the guy being forced to shave was actually the liftman in my bulding.

What a day. Bleh.