By this morning i was convinced that terrorism or no terrorism i was by now a huge fan of the Afghanistan Cricket team and i hoping and praying they make it to the world cup.

Here is another piece off www.cricinfo.com worth reading

Fifteen months across the world with Afghanistan

Early last year a documentary crew began following Afghanistan - in team buses and through hotels, from Jersey to Dar-es-Salaam - on their quest to qualify for the World Cup. They're still on the trail

Leslie Knott
April 8, 2009


One Briton, a Canadian, a girl from Germany, and 11 Afghanistan cricketers: it's an odd mix, but that is what it took to make Out of the Ashes, a documentary following the Afghanistan team on their quest for World Cup qualification.

"Not only are we going to bring the cup back from Jersey in Division Five," declared Taj Malik, the first coach of the team, in May 2008, "but we are also going to the World Cup." It was a far-fetched statement. Afghanistan have no pitch and only a handful of ramshackle batting cages. There is a bowling machine, but power is intermittent at best in Kabul.

Facilities aside, we weren't in a place to judge the team. We had never seen them play, and two out of the three of us film-makers could barely figure out what a wicket, a six or a four was. The nuances of Duckworth-Lewis were lost on us.

The idea for the documentary came from Tim Albone, who had written a story about the Afghanistan cricket team when working as a journalist in Kabul, and decided to follow them on their qualification quest. Taj agreed, and we couldn't have wished for a better guide into the world of Afghan cricket. With blind faith and our fingers on the record button, we boarded the plane to Jersey. Fifteen months later, much to our surprise, we are still following them and have found ourselves honorary members of the Afghan Cricket Federation.

This group of men, who mainly grew up in refugee camps in Peshawar, pride themselves on their faith. The team is Pashtun, a tribe of Afghans known for their fierce loyalty and honour. The only women they have been in contact with are their wives, mothers and sisters. The thought of two women working - Lucy Martens and myself - without the presence of a male relative was initially shocking. They wanted to know about our families, our relationships and how we led our lives; how we approached love in the west. The concept of dating, or of having more than one love in your life, was alien.



"I have seen people die and I have not shed a tear. But there is something about cricket that gets me here [pointing to his heart]. Cricket is our chance."
Hameed Hassan, Afghanistan fast bowler

When they travelled to Jersey, their luggage was stocked with homemade bread and kilos of nuts and green tea. For Afghanistan's players, having the comforts of home are of the utmost importance when you are on tour. It soon became clear that food was a big problem. Finding halal meals in Jersey was next to impossible and with their limited budget the team was forced to eat Filet-o-fish from McDonald's, every day. After one week in Jersey, they were still eating the hard and slightly mouldy bread that their wives had packed for them. In Division Three of the World Cricket League, in Argentina, the physio managed to track down a halal butcher. Hasti Gul, the fast bowler, spent many of his days off in the hotel kitchen preparing chicken kadhai.
On the pitch in Jersey, their style was unpredictable. They tried to whack every ball for six, and once, the team prematurely stormed the pitch when they were seconds away from a win. The spectators in Jersey, gin and tonics in hand, were sufficiently shocked. Jersey's side, made up of investment bankers and hedge-fund managers, were intrigued: what kind of place did this team come from? The woman serving the lunch couldn't believe that the team would eat with their hands, or that they would pray on the pitch. She asked me if they spoke French. When Geoffrey Boycott handed over the Cup to the Afghans, they erupted into a frenzy of traditional dance.

Taj had said before going to Jersey that they could well be the first Afghans to ever visit the island. A bold statement, and possibly untrue, but I can guarantee that for those from Jersey who watched the last match, Afghanistan's unbridled exuberance will not be forgotten.

After finishing triumphant in Jersey and Tanzania, the team began to get used to being filmed and enjoyed it. Although the question, "How are you feeling? Are you happy?" soon came back to haunt us. After each match they would come off the pitch asking us how we felt, and if we were happy.

After their victory in Division Four in Tanzania, the Afghan Ministry of Haj rewarded each member of the team with a trip to Mecca, the religious pilgrimage that all Muslims must make. As non-Muslims we couldn't go, so the team volunteered to bring a camera with them to document themselves on their holy journey. For some of the team members it was an instrumental turning point in taking their faith more seriously. For Ahmad Shah, now the assistant coach, his western clothes went back into the closet; he now only wears traditional Afghan dress when he is on tour.



Because the team grew up together as children in refugee camps, unity is strong. Unlike other Associate teams, the Afghans have had the questionable luxury of travelling with a faux-extended family. The team bus is a festive place. The microphone is constantly used by a few of the more flamboyant team members, Hasti Gul and Asghar Stanikzai among them. When the Bollywood tunes are cranked up, you can usually find Karim Khan or Shapoor Zadran dancing in the aisle. They entertain the rest of the team by impersonating mullahs, Mr Bean, or just taking the piss out of each other.

The players are all gentlemen. Ahmad Shah, the former left-arm spinner and now assistant coach, makes sure we have been served lunch before he eats. They also have an eye for beauty, and covet flowers, especially roses.

Like most young cricket players, the Afghans idolise the greats. The whole team still reminisce about the time Hasti Gul bowled Mike Gatting out for a duck in India. They are unforgiving on the pitch, sometimes commenting on the weight of opposing players. Rambunctious shouts of "Shabash shabash" (meaning "Come on, come on") have piqued the interest of spectators in every tournament.

Most members of the team were introduced to cricket when they heard the firing of celebratory gunshots in the refugee camps when Pakistan won the World Cup in 1992. The team has overcome war and poverty to get where they are today. Cricket began in a dusty refugee camp with a tennis ball. Most in the team have lost family members to war. When the Afghans almost lost Division Three against the Cayman Islands in Argentina, Hameed Hassan, the fast bowler, came off of the pitch in tears. When I asked him why he was crying, he said, "I have seen people die and I have not shed a tear. But there is something about cricket that gets me here [pointing to his heart]. Cricket is our chance."

The next few days will reveal if they have what it takes to push through and show the world that Afghanistan has not only arrived but is beginning to cement a place on the world stage. It has been an amazing journey that has taken us all by surprise. When we started in Jersey we had no idea how many months we would be following the team for. As Ahmad Shah said a few days ago, "You took a big risk on us for your film… you didn't even know if we would get past Jersey."

Leslie Knott is the producer of Out of the Ashes, and is joined by Tim Albone and Lucy Martens. Click here to watch the trailer

Cricket is not a sport, it’s a passion,

Thanks Dad…

My father the man who introduced me to the game of cricket, died more than three years ago, ironically my last conversation with him over the phone and across continents was amongst other things about cricket, I remember him asking me from his hospital bed, “do you think India will win on the tour of Pakistan” and I replied, yea get well soon so that you can watch Shewag plunder the Pakistani's on their home turf. Unfortunately my father didn’t live long enough to watch the upcoming series, as I often put it in cricket jargon, my dad was run out. (More so coz I believe he died due to extraneous factors just like what happens during a run out.) A Crazy analogy, but its true, my father’s passion for cricket was inherited by me and I am proud of it.

Cricket runs through my blood and controls my actions more than I can imagine, waking up at 4 am just to watch cricket is insane especially after you slept at one am after a long days work, but you still do it. There are days when I don’t even read the newspapers coz I cant read about India losing a match.
My memories of cricket honestly run back to 1985 and not 1983 when India won the World cup, I was just over two and don’t recollect much, I don’t think we even had a television back then, but I have heard a million times how happy my father was and how he bought sweets and distributed it amongst all his patients and staff (my father was a doctor).

1985, India the World Champs were in Australia playing the world series, matches would start at 4 am, and I would wonder why my dad and sometimes even my mother would wake up and sit before the big black and white box (they called a tele) over copious amounts of tea and cigarettes and cheer for the sport. On most occasions I would be up with him, sitting by his side, amazed at the color clothing and white ball (even though we had a black and white TV, my father did remind me that in world series they wore colors, a concept still alien to cricket which was primarily played in whites)

By the end of the tournament India beat Pakistan in the finals, Ravi Shastri was declared the Champions of Champions and was gifted a sliver Audi, the images of the entire cricket team riding on top of the brand new Audi were priceless and are etched in my mind for all times to come. That was my initiation to the sport, and I had passed the test, coz my father rarely ever watched another match without me.

I move on to 1986, the dreaded day when India was again playing Pakistan in the finals of the Australasia cup at Sharjah, my father was chain smoking, he was stressed and so was I, Chetan sharma was bowling the last over and it finally came down to the last ball, one ball and Pakistan needed 6 off it, an improbable but no impossible task, my dad though still tensed was convinced we would win, but Javed Miandad had different plans, Chetan sharma bowled a leg side full toss and Javed hit the infamous six, images of Javed running back to the pavilion, arms raised and running like he had conquered the world were the last images I saw on a tele for the next two years, coz my dad broke the tele with his ashtray and stormed out of the house. I was left teary eyed and broken, but my father was a shattered man. Cricket did have its sorrows too.

1987, the Reliance world cup had started, and it was time to put all aside and concentrate on cricket, my father would spend most of his times at the Club where he would watch cricket with his mates, I was confined to following cricket over the radio, (since Javed’s six we still didn’t have a tele). I think it was the second week of the tournament when my father came home one afternoon and found me glued to the radio, following every ball in the words of the radio commentators who were, now when I look back extremely useless yet funny.

I don’t know what happened to my father, but he was rather upset all afternoon and by the evening we had a brand new 21-inch color television, (a rather expensive luxury back in the days), I was over the moon, I was a 7-year-old boy whose cricketing dreams were just being fulfilled by his father. (It was only years later that my mum told me that he had secured a loan to buy that tele) (that television was though broken in 2003)

Between 1985 and 1988, my love for cricket was fuelled by my father buying my first cricketing gear, bat, pads gloves, ball et al. I don’t know where he got the money, (he was an under paid government servant), but he did. Not only that, but being a government servant, (and among the few perks) we lived on a sprawling estate once run by the British servants, there was a huge field which was duly converted into a cricket field, a pitch was created, and considering that the only time I could play cricket was after school and study sessions and by the time the sun had set, my father even installed lights so that I could play when it was dark.

It was my father who taught my how to hold a bat, I was a natural bowler, who couldn’t bat to save his life, but by 1987 I was plundering batsmen too, who enjoyed his batting and modeled himself on Krishnamachari Srikanth, the maverick mad cap in the Indian team who loved hitting boundaries.

Over the years I made it to the school cricket team, as an all-rounder and then a selfish captain who was sacked by the coach for trying to hit a six when all the team needed were two runs and getting out in the process. But that’s of irrelevance here.
1988- 1991- I don’t remember what happened but I guess India’s loss to England in the semi finals of the Reliance World cup in 1987 put my father off cricket, for three years I don’t think my father watched any cricket and neither did I, and suddenly the sport of choice was football, the 1990 football world cup was followed with the same love.

1989 Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar made his debut against Pakistan and I missed it, coz cricket was no longer a passion, it was shelved.

1991- My father by then had been transferred out of my hometown and I was living with my mum and out of the blue one October morning I rediscovered my love for cricket. That was also the first time I saw Sachin bat, like a dormant giant, like Russia’s invasion of Georgia, my love for cricket found its home. I spoke with my dad over the phone and realized that he too was glued to the tele, even though India lost to Pakistan yet again in the finals, the love for cricket was here to stay.

1992- Cable television was the new big thing; door darshan the Government run channel was deprived of its rights to telecast the 1992 world cup. Father was home and duly cable television was installed and used to watch all the matches. (India lost yet again, but beat Pakistan in the round robin matches,)

1992-1996- Father being a doctor was by 1996 appointed by the BCCI (Board of Cricket control of India) as a medical advisor, which meant free tickets to matches, and my first tryst with a live match was at the Mecca of Indian cricket, the Eden Gardens. The year was 1993 and India was hosting the Hero Cup. India had qualified for the semi finals against South Africa and I was there, awestruck and dumbfounded I found my self in the stadium speechless. Sachin bowled the last over and India snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

The finals were a different ball game, India beat the West Indies and we were the champions. What a moment, Eden Gardens lit up with firecrackers and joy all around. Images that can never be described or forgotten
1996- The World cup was back, and my father had tickets for all the matches to be played in India, I was in my 11th grade and had exams round the corner, duly enough my father wrote out a medical certificate claiming that I was suffering from typhoid and thus had to be excused from school and the exams, and so I found my self traveling across the country watching all the matches of the world cup live. It was fantastic, a month on the road, watching every possible cricketer perform on the biggest stage of all.

Two matches stand out, the India -Pakistan quarter final at Bangalore, Ajay Jadeja launching Waqar younis for six’s and the ball that got Aamir Sohail out. India had set Pakistan a stiff target and Pakistan came out all guns blazing, hitting the Indian bowlers to all parts of the park. Aamir Sohail took a special liking to Venkatesh Prasad, hitting him for consecutive boundaries. It was after one such boundary, Aamir Sohail mockingly pointed his bat towards the boundary, gesticulating to the bowler that no matter where he bowled, the result would be the same. Everyone was livid including the bowler I am sure, Prasad came running in for the next ball and Aamir tried to play the same shot only to realize that the ball had crashed into his off stump. For me that was the high point of the World Cup, in fact the high point of my life, watching the ball of the century live, I can proudly say I was there.

But it all came crashing down a few days later, when India played the then marauding Sri Lankans in the Semi final. On a dirt track, India were outclassed and screwed over more by the pitch and the decision not to bat first on a rank turner after winning the toss, the crowd couldn’t handle it and pandemonium broke loose, bottles were thrown onto the field and stands were burnt down, I stood crying with my father as we watched Vinod Kambli walk back to the pavilion crying inconsolably. The match was abandoned and Sri Lanka was awarded the match and again I was there.
Later that night my father and I were sitting at Calcutta airport crying, a sight I must say.

Life moved on, my father retired and I moved to college, India kept playing and kept loosing more than winning, but we watched and talked about cricket over the phone.

2003 World cup, India made it to the finals, they played brilliantly but came up against the Mighty World Champions Aussies in the finals and were trounced, my father again broke the television which was bought in 1987 and I spent my evening sitting on the streets of pune crying not for the tele but for the fact we were so close yet so far.

2007 ICC 20./20 World cup- My father was long gone by then, but I really wished he was there to watch Sreesanth catch Misbah ul haq to hand India the world cup and a victory over its arch rivals Pakistan that too in the finals. The last time India had won a world cup I was barely 3 and the feeling was unparalleled, I cried out of joy, I jumped, ran on the streets, hugged strangers, even went for the midnight celebrations at India Gate in Delhi. Moments of joy unparalleled and yea I missed my dad.

This morning India beat New Zealand after 41 years, another feather in the cap. Cricket has changed over the years, but my love and passion for the sport grows with every passing minute and I have just my dad to thank for the same.

Of Prejudices and Cricket as a solution to World Peace

It’s strange how prejudices set in, its strange how the politico legal scenarios affect the way you think and perceive things and situations. The word Afghanistan is suddenly synonymous to jehad, terrorism, AL Qaida and Osama bin Laden.

Just the other evening I was, over a few drinks discussing the sudden and amazing rise of the Afghanistan cricket team ( who are recently performing brilliantly in the World Cup qualifiers in South Africa) with a mate and we couldn’t help but joke ( albeit totally unfair and unjust) how the Afghan cricket team would walk onto the playing field with Ak 47s and grenades and maybe some of the them would have bombs strapped across their chests, and threaten the opposition of jehad if they were defeated.
What we overlooked were the struggles of the common non jehadi Afghan, who has grown up in refugee camps devoid all modern amenities, who has spent all his life surrounded by violence perpetrated by the Russians and then the Americans, what we failed to see were the struggles of the common man, the rise against all odds.

Just yesterday I read this interview on www.cricinfo.com of an Afghan cricketer and was left moist eyed and touched. I smoked a cig and even cried, thinking how we, who sit in our comfortable patios and living rooms judge those who have fought all odds and risen to shine. How those cricketers who played with sticks and balls made out of old clothes once worn by them, while we spend hundreds buying balls for our dogs.

I again reiterate that sport and cricket are the only solution to world peace, and in light of the same I have to share that interview will all here.

Raees Ahmadzai
Cloth for balls, shoes for stumps
Against the greatest odds, Afghanistan's team of refugees are rapidly rising to the top of the Associates pile. One man epitomises the story

Will Luke
April 6, 2009 http://content.cricinfo.com/magazine/content/current/story/398424.html

Kacha Gari was a sprawling maelstrom of tents and mud huts and poverty, a camp home to tens of thousands of Afghanistan refugees fleeing the Soviet invaders in the 1980s. Situated in Pakistan's North West Frontier, near Peshawar, some of the camp's population began to migrate back to Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban in 2001.

For one man, among the thousands who were born in Kacha Gari, not even war-destroyed Afghanistan could dampen the excitement or quell the wide-eyed wonder that there existed a world rich of opportunity outside the barbed-wire claustrophobia of refugee camps.

That man, among similar thousands, was Raees Ahmadzai, a middle-order batsman who represents Afghanistan.

We meet in the relative opulence of Senwes Park in Potchefstroom, where his team are taking part in the World Cup Qualifiers for 2011. He is barefoot and beaming, ushering me up to the pavilion and eager to talk. He is casually indifferent about how old he is. "Talking to my mother, she works out my age by seeing who the president was," he said. "Unofficially I'm nearly 25, give or take three years. Or four. I could be 21 or 28." Deep-set wrinkles and a calm demeanour hint at the latter.

That Raees and his side have risen from obscurity is a tale of rare romance for a sport that lately has ingratiated itself with farce and calamity with depressing regularity. The team are frequently termed as fearless, justifiably so after winning three tournaments on the bounce. Given their difficult upbringings, belief is endemic throughout the squad.

"We never saw outside the camp. We just felt that everything else in the world would be the same. But I realised later that I led a very, very simple life. For a long time there was no electricity, computers, phones, facilities or anything. Very hard, very difficult. It was so hot. Sometimes it was nearly 50 degrees [Celsius] and we had no fans or air conditioning. So maybe that's why we are a little bit strong. When we see these kind of facilities, it's just so easy. Playing in these temperatures is easy."

How did a team of mostly Pakistan and Afghan refugees learn the nuances of the sport? Young Pakistanis are weaned on to the game in dusty gullies with "tapeball" cricket, played with a tennis ball wrapped in gaffer tape or similar. These balls fly through the air and off the (usually concrete) surface. Raees, though, didn't have access to any sort of ball.

"We'd make cricket balls out of anything. Cloth from a shirt, wrapping it round and round. And we'd cut trees and lay down bark for a wicket. We'd have two shoes for stumps, and if the ball went through the middle, you'd be out… otherwise the batsman would play all day and no one else would get a chance."

The 1992 World Cup provided him with the spark to play the game, but it was an Englishman, not a Pakistani, who inspired him. "We asked everyone: 'Why are people so happy?'. 'Ah, Pakistan won the World Cup,' they would say. 'What World Cup?' The cricket World Cup.



"I heard the name Alec Stewart - and I immediately thought 'Okay - I want to be like Alec Stewart.' I couldn't understand or pronounce the other names, but Alec Stewart? That was easy. And cricket started for me there"

"In one house, they had a television, a tiny black-and-white TV and there were highlights of the final. And I heard the name Alec Stewart - and I immediately thought 'Okay - I want to be like Alec Stewart.' I couldn't understand or pronounce the other names, but Alec Stewart? That was easy. And cricket started for me there.

"It was a huge, huge camp. Thirty thousand people - can you imagine? Then slowly we began playing with a tennis ball in 1996, and I'm lucky that I became very famous playing tennis-ball cricket. Within five or six months I was playing for a local team against another side outside the refugee camp, a side with local Pakistani players. In 12 overs I made 114 runs out of 167, with 13 sixes. Some of the Peshawar first-class bowlers were playing. And in the refugee camp, I suddenly became famous. I was like Sachin Tendulkar. People came to watch my game, calling 'Raees! Raees!' Karim Sadiq [Karim Khan, wicketkeeper-batsman] was also there, and also famous. And his brother too. And his big brother, Taj Malik [former coach] was also there. And his older brother too."

Operation Enduring Freedom, the American-led invasion to oust the Taliban in response to 9/11, signalled a change in fortune for Raees and many in Kacha Gari. Once Kabul had been taken, Raees saw his opportunity to escape the refugee camp and dream of playing cricket on a full-time basis, albeit travelling to a country still in the midst of a war and leaving his family behind.

"There were a lot of problems. It was like a different world. We adjusted very slowly but there were so many problems. No telephones, the houses were all destroyed or damaged, the roads ruined, and it was still so dangerous. But I got my first trial with the national team," he says, rather flippantly.

Cricket, as he later said, is all he and his team-mates ever think or talk about. "I was lucky to get selected for a grade match back in Peshawar. When I played my debut, against Hong Kong, I was so happy about that. They were a really good side and I was playing my debut against an international team. With my offbreaks, I got Rahul Sharma [the captain] with my second ball, stumped down the leg side. It was rubbish - a wide, but I got the wicket, and I was the first Man-of-the-Match by an Afghanistan player outside of our country."

Statistics and figures are important to these players. They know the game inside-out; they know players' averages and strike-rates and idolise the world's best. Some, like the indefatigable wicketkeeper-batsman Karim, believe they can take on the world. Raees was initially less bullish. "At the start, we didn't believe we were very good cricketers. But when we saw the players in the ECC Trophy, in 2004, we felt we had to work hard and be better technically and, Inshallah, we will play better cricket.

"We play professional cricket. We don't have a job. We only ever talk about cricket, always searching [online, on Cricinfo] about cricket. No one has a job - we can't. No one can pay, we have no sponsor. The only money we get is for our clothes. The ICC pay for the flights. So no one gets a monthly salary and I've never had a job, in fact. None of us have. Thanks to our families, we are so lucky."

Given the Pakistani heritage running through their blood, their style of cricket smacks of the Imran Khan and Wasim Akram eras, though as yet without the refined talent. "Plucky" is the most accurate word at the moment, though even that might be downplaying their ability. Their performance to beat a complacent Bermuda was not achieved out of luck. Bermuda were out-batted, out-fielded and outbowled - though their captain, Irvine Romaine, cheerfully denied that they underestimated their opponents.


Ahmadzai with Shazada Massoud, president of the Afghan Cricket Federation © Leslie Knott

There are rumblings of discontent among Associates that Afghanistan have risen so fast. Their "we're here to win" attitude in Jersey, one journalist told me, was ill received by opponents. But they won.

Others find the team's mostly-Pakistan, not Afghan, players an unfair advantage. Yet all of the side, wherever they may have been born, are committed to their country.

"I am the lucky man," says Raees. "I can do something special for my country. I am very proud of myself; my family and friends are proud of me. We were not involved in the war. We were not involved in the bad things. We bring peace to our country. I sometimes feel like…" He paused for a while, unsure whether he should go on. "I don't know. In fact, yes, I am right - I am an ambassador of my country. I will show my culture to the rest of the world that we are not warrior people. We want a good relationship with the world - that we respect people and we have no problem with anyone.

"It is our mission to give a good name to our country. Like Maradona, he gave a good name to Argentina. We have a lot of support. Our cabinet minister even calls me, saying how we are the heroes of Afghanistan and that he's proud of us. And we were on the news, congratulating us for winning.

"When I go shopping, they ask my name. And they recognise me from television, and always hug me and smile and shout my name. 'Let's go and have tea,' they say. 'Let's have lunch.'"

The answer to whether he believes Afghanistan will reach the World Cup is predictable: "Inshallah". Given all that they have had to overcome so far, you wouldn't bet against it.

Will Luke is assistant editor of Cricinfo
© Cricinfo

Walking into homes, people leaving forever, a life moving on, moments in time stand still, packed boxes, wee treasures for sale, the broken chairs, the rickety beds, the shelves once donned with books, spaces once filled now stand empty, the cat follows my footsteps, I still cant find what I came looking for, but I found a memory, a memory worth writing about.

Its strange when I look back to the two years I have spent here and the period just before. I had friends write out my obituary for joining this place of work, it was scary, but being me ( read psycho) I took the opportunity with both hands. Two years hence things have changed quite a bit, I am jaded and frustrated and cant wait to get out, but the only thing that comes to my mind are the lyrics of hotel California ( “you can check in but you can never leave”). I have a few offers but they are all too sketchy, everyone is too scared to piss the boss off by hiring me.

Leaving her would mean burning my bridges and how? And I am ready to do the same, I believe some bridges need to burnt to successfully move ahead, but with the boss, she stands at the edge of the burnt bridge with an assault rifle and a bazooka and keeps firing till she has got her kil..

I sometimes wonder what would it take to run from here?

Of Taxes and Blunders

March is over and April dawned with realization that I committed the mother of all blunders which has led to my financial ruin.
I hate taxes, I hate them with a passion, with a government that gives me shit I am totally against taxes, a country that wants to use my money to pay for its elections .

So as it stands I forgot to pay my house tax, and now I have to pay double plus 75% fine, which means complete financial ruin for the month of April.

Fuck taxes and fuck this government.

Of Pink dogs and Scotch

Time and again, I believe, you have to do mad things, just to ensure you are alive and maybe even still young, so a few nights back, a bunch of us got drunk and decided to go out and grab a bite.

A beautiful cool night, some metallica playing on the radio, we were waltzing through the streets of Delhi, when the four of us spotted a dog ( read pig), it was the first pink dog we had ever seen, and it was extremely fat, so being psychos, we decided to chase it. The music got louder, the engine was revved and there we were chasing the pink dog, and soon enough there was a loud bang.
We had conquered the pink Dog, we got out of the cars only to find the pink dog looking rather angry and chasing us instead, we escaped unhurt and so did the pink dog.

It was only this morning when I sent my car to the garage and the mechanic called back with the bil,l that I decided never to chase a pink dog ( PIG) after a bottle of scotch.

If only hard work was always equated by the salary you received, some of us in this office would be living in villas and riding BMW’s.

It sucks to work in an organization that hates to pay you and a boss who thinks that we should pay her for employing us.

I hate to say this but, but despite charging the clients my personal fees I never seem to get it, the boss keeps it for herself.

Its even worse when she refuses to even pay for your tea at court and expects you to pay for her as well as her friend’s cups of tea.
It’s a completely shit situation.

I finally did it, I resigned, there is only a point till where one can take shit, and I am tired of swimming in shit,
So now I shall join the millions of unemployed people in this country

What do you do, when the only thing constant in your life is a boss who is bent to screw you over and deprive you of your inherent human rights?

Is it a norm that the bosses need to be rude 24/7 make you work on matters which don’t need working on and after you have completed the work reprimand you for doing something that didn’t need to be done?

Its so shyte that even when you are away, you never really are , this morning i even threw the blackberry away, except that the damn thing didn’t break.

I pretty much made up my mind that I would just disappear this day, turn off the blackberry and vanish, but alas I didn’t, though I still might…

The never-ending battle for a new air conditioner enters its third summer, for two long summers we have fought, cried, jumped, thrown tantrums and done everything possible to get a new ac for the office but it hasn’t worked.

For those who are thinking what’s the big deal? Picture this, the never ending Delhi summer, where temperatures range between 43- 50 deg C, add to that a large room with no windows and ventilation, 20 computers and at least 15 people all breathing and letting out heat and you find your self stuck in a sauna from hell.

Summers have come and summers have gone, people here have all at some point fallen ill, but the ac has never been replaced.
Finally this year things look just a wee bit bright, I have been informed that the boss has finally sanctioned the purchase of a new ac (even though it’s a measly 2 ton,and what we need is at least need a 4 ton ac for this office) but this joy I am sure will be short lived and the reasons are stated as under.

First and foremost the super inefficient admin staff has been asked to collect quotations for the purchase of a new ac, a week shall pass before any quotations shall be received and passed on to the boss, and knowing the boss she shall and will rubbish them straight away citing costs and over priced products. So ten days from now we will be at square one.

Day 11- new quotations shall be summoned for, there will be constant bargain deals stuck with some poor dealer who will finally relent and give a discount of 500 rupees, at least 3-4 days shall pass in the process

Day 14- new quotations shall be handed over to the boss, now the success of the ac instillation shall depend entirely on the boss and her whimsical moods ( which are as unpredictable as the english summer and the incessant rain in Hamilton). This is where the question of timing comes up, the key being the time when the boss is handed over the quotation. For instance if the quotation is handed at 10 am while she is on her way to court then we can consider the never bought ac as history, similarly if the quotation is handed at some point in the evening, when she is tired and sick of all of us, the results will be same. As I mentioned earlier, the timing is CRUCIAL, the window of opportunity needs to be exploited.

Hypothetically lets imagine, that the afore mentioned window of opportunity was exploited and finally the boss does accept the quotation, but that’s just the beginning of the problems galore, the same are pointed out as under

First and foremost, 16 days have lapsed, the heat has just gone over the top, Delhi has begun to boil and people have already started to melt, Secondly, as per the information received from the admin staff, to have successful air conditioning in the office, it is imperative that the entire wiring of the office is replaced.

So here is the problem, Day 16 has come and gone and the admin is still mulling over finding a suitable electrician to replace the wiring.

Day 17 has dawned and finally a consensus has been reached on who the suitable electrician would be (the criteria for selection unfortunately is not the capability of the said electrician but the low cost that the electrician has to offer).

Day 18- the Electrician has been summoned, who cites ill health of a distant cousin and informs the admin that he will only be available after 4 days

Day 22- (Delhi is getting hotter)- the Electrician Mr. X finally shows up, brilliant, people jump with joy, and someone even smokes a cig to celebrate. The electrician after much examination provides a quotation, which would include the complete costs for the replacement of the wiring.

Day 23- (Always keep in mind the window of opportunity)- the said quotation is passed onto the boss, who throws a fit and rejects the quotation for reasons of excessive pricing.

Day 24- Mr. X is informed to cut the costs, he reverts back saying he would and could think about it and get back

Day 26- Mr. X informs the admin that he could cut the price by 2%, and the same is communicated to the boss who says that she wants the new quotation in writing ONLY, the admin head is admonished for approaching the boss with an oral quotation, which Mr. X informs can only be provided in a day or two

Day 28- Mr. X’s new quotation finally arrives, the window of opportunity is not exploited and thus the new quotation is rejected forthwith. Further Mr X is accused of being a over priced thief who wants to exploit a poor NGO through his over the top prices.

Day 29- the search for a new electrician has begun, in the meanwhile Mr. X has informed all the electricians that there is no point doing business with a bunch of measly wankers, so no electrician is found for sometime to come.

Day 30- 45- finally and after much ado an Electrician Mr. Y( who is unearthed from the anals of Old Delhi) is found and convinced to do the job for a price which is acceptable to the boss.

Note on Mr Y- He is 74, his father and his father's father were all electricians,( it is even believed that his grand father, and this is before someone discovered electricity was repairing candles and oil lamps for Bahadur Shah Zafar, the erstwhile Mughal Emperor of Delhi), he owns a wee, run down shop in one of the lanes of old delhi, the last time he undertook a job of this magnitude, he was 45 and expecting his 8th child. In the interim, his children joined his family business ( read wee shop) and left citing father's insanity and senile behavior. Since 2006 Mr Y has successfully replaced 4 tube lights and 5 light bulbs in Jama Masjid and failed at repairing someone's switch board. Mr Y spends most of his days holed up in his shop sitting in front a fan that doesnt work and drinking corpus amounts of tea which is replaced by corpus amounts of alchohol in the evening. On most days Mr Y is found passed out on a mat while wee flies make his body their airport and landing pads. However Mr Y is still sexually active,( you must wonder why this piece of information is necessary- for the answer to the same read on)

Day 46-Cheques are prepared for the purchase of the Ac's

Day 47- the boss refuses to sign them, as she is too busy, one of the members of the admin is pretty much killed as he tried getting those cheques signed while the boss was reading about her self in the newspaper.

Day 48- the cheques are finally signed while the boss is rushing to the airport

Day 50 – the bank calls to inform the cheques have not been en-cashed, as the signatures on the cheques didn’t match the ones on their records.

Day 51- there is a small rebellion in office, as the temperatures touch 44 and 4 people go down with the heat flu.

Day 51- new cheques are prepared and couriered to Bombay

Day 53- the new cheques arrive at Bombay, the boss blows her lid off, saying she won’t sign them again, and she would sue the bank and fire the entire admin staff, a direct result of this outburst is a few phone calls made to the Delhi office where everyone is summoned to the phone and blasted for not meeting non existent deadlines.

Day 53 evening, the boss is finally convinced ( after much begging and pleading) to sign the new cheques ,which she does after blasting her lid off and giving everyone more work than they can handle.

Day 54- the cheques are couriered back to Delhi

Day 55- Cheques are cleared-

Day 56- 60 – the office leaves for its annual retreat, the electrician is sent back as there is no one in office to supervise his work

Day 61 The Ac is purchased, massive celebrations, a coconut is bought and broken (in typical Indian Tradition), and there is a wee puja as well.

Day 62 The Ac's in their new boxes rot at the back of the office as Mr Y has gone back to his village to meet his wife who is expecting his 13th child

Day 63 - 67- riots break out in office, the sense of uprising is paramount, the boss to crush the rebellion burdens everyone with more work and out of office duties, which entail visiting all offices in Delhi which don’t have an ac

Day 68- 71- Mr Y finally arrives and the work starts, people work in candle-lights to ensure that all the wiring is changed

Day 72- it’s all done- the new ac is installed, it works it works it works, cries of joy

Day 74-without any prior warning and coupled with a big bang the new wiring develops a fault, causes a short circuit, and burns half the office down including the new ac. Three people are injured, the fire could have been doused but the fire extinguisher didn't work and the sand used to douse the fire was least effective. The boss throws a fit and blames the staff for rushing the admin and her towards installing a new ac. To teach everyone a lesson, more work is handed out and deadlines are set which cannot be met.

Life has come back a full circle we are all screwed and lo behold the summer is over

The wannabe dope head, thats me, I advocate for legalizing cannabis, a once ardent dope head I gave up the habit a few summers back, sans the occasional joint.

As I sit at my work station this balmy afternoon I cant help but think of the green leaf all rolled and dried ready for a quick wiff.
The inherent yet subdued junkie within jumps with joy, I can smell it in the air, I can feel it in my lungs, I can taste it on my breath.

I am a pot head leashed by the realms of this society, I am a junkie who can’t wait to be unleashed.

I speak...
The perfect solution for world peace is cricket….

Frankly Bombay is a place, which brings back memories, I rather not deal with, but time and again I end up taking unavoidable trips down to the coast town.

The past weekend was no different, on a flight, which refused to land for over an hour and spent the hour circling a hill 10 minutes from the freaking runway which was under some sort of supervision. Dizzy by the time I landed and all set to throw up on the first person around I found my self-swimming in an ocean of humanity.

The heat ,the people, the black and yellow pre historic taxis just add to the chaos they call Bombay.

People don’t live in Bombay, they survive, the exist but they don’t live, it’s an existence skewed beyond redemption, the never ending traffic snarls, the humidity, the 20 tons of untreated human excreta, Bombay hits you like a freight train on a suicide mission.

What strikes you more than the aforementioned is the undying love people still have for the place, its true and unadulterated, frankly I think its living in denial.

But coming back to the issue at hand, (and after having lived there for two years) I just had to take the local train to work, the life line of Bombay. Choosing a Saturday morning, (when the traffic levels are a wee bit under control) I decided to jump on to one from Andheri to CST or VT ( the site of the recent terror strikes in Bombay). The smells the sounds the cool breeze riddled with the odor of dried dead fish was all too nostalgic…

When I landed at Vt, the ground zero for the terror attacks on 26/11 and as I walked slow through the station, taking in all that the great Victorian structure had to offer I couldn’t help but picture in my head the sounds of gun shots, blood, gore, bullets, misery, death, the sounds of the AK 47 ringing loud in my ears, the smell of fresh blood and gun powder was all to overwhelming…

It brings me back to the question I pose to my self all the time, Why? Do we need this, why do we have to resort to this hatred and mayhem, why? Why?

A Terrorist and a never ending trial…

It baffles me , it hurts even more to think that 4 months have passed since 26/11 and the only terrorist caught is now being put through the rigors of the typical Indian trial, an overtly long chargesheet, a trial which shall go on forever, then the appeals and finally the clemency petition which shall lie pending before the president for atleast 7 years.

Do we need this shit then? Do we need to safeguard that killer’s constitutional rights? To start with lets observe that the intrinsic rule of criminal law is to prove someone guilty beyond reasonable doubt?

Some one, any one please stand up and show me the doubt here (if any)? Please show me why would you want to put this bastard on trial when there is enough evidence against him to summarily declare him guilty and then torture him to death.

I am, at the end of the day a civil liberties lawyer, but I am sorry I don’t think people like M Ajmal deserve civil liberties, as a matter of fact I don’t think any terrorist or jehadi deserves one.

The need to be lined up shot, all of them, summarily executed.

Our system, our politics are baffling and extremely hurting.
Please someone end this all….

The Monster Within.

It runs deeper, the erosion has a different meaning now, for almost a year now I have been crying hoarse for a break, for a holiday, where my laptop and blackberry are no where close, where its just me and the mountains.

Its strange how this worked, or rather what came out of the same, its even more strange come to think of what it has turned itself into. The answer is a monster.

A monster that cant stop growling, rumbling, biting and gnawing at everything around.

When the urge for a break first arose, I was just struggling to meet my deadlines and get my head to things, days turned to months, and months to year and this lill monster grew into something big and deep.

As time passed the wee monster dug deeper and deeper, hiding it self into a cave I didn’t know existed, as days turned to nights the monster hid deeper and deeper and before I knew it, I had lost it, thinking all the while that it had left me for good. But lill did I know that it was hiding deep within and eating me slow without me having an inkling of the same.

Now the monster has taken over, and has complete control of me, it commands my actions all day and rules my dreams at nights, there is no peace, there is no sanctity of my existence.
Its madness, its mine and its here to stay

Eddie Speaks-

"And the wind keeps rollin'
And the sky keeps turning grey
And the sun is set
The sun will rise another day"

Thought for the Day-

My Boss’s Dog leads a better life than me and the rest of my colleagues’. Further more the boss’s dog can bite her, which we can only wish for.

February rolled on like a wolf on fire and I woke up to March wondering what lay ahead, will the anger abate, will the frustration vanish?

Answers to questions I don’t have, all I know is that the deadly Delhi summer is here to fuck us. Further more I cant help but miss my days of cycling in the mountains every summer.

Maybe if I get a wee chance ill pick up my mountain bike and leave for Rishikesh, pitch a tent and chill for a weekend

I am really close to killing the bitch who sits near my work station and smells like a skunk had an orgasm

What next? Key words, I wish I knew, anger refuses to abate, slavery, exploitation, a raging angry bull waiting to explode, looking for a fight, looking for a victim, looking to devour on a soul.

Adrenalin is brilliant, you can feel it right down to the tips of your fingers, enhanced senses, high strung, you cant do without it, its your only high, its your only release, the anger shuts out the world, your sepia vision is reduced to red, you dream blood gore and death, you hate people, you hate everything, you hate yourself, you hate the very ground you tread on.

Even alcohol doesn’t help, bottles and more have been downed, and the ensuing hangover doesn’t feel all that bad, it shuts out the pain, it shuts out the anger only to return soon after.

You know your brains are fucked when you start finding Metallica as soft rock… when even Rammstein sounds like a gay ballad, and when System of a Down sounds and feels like a boy band’s orgasm…

Eddie- " Jeremy spoke in class today"

I don’t have too wonder to hard to figure out what it must have been like within a Nazi concentration camp, I have been in one for two years.
The constant screams, the constant angst is finally taking its toll on me, as mentioned earlier, my minds fucked beyond redemption.
Constant evil thoughts plague my existence, maybe I need to get into a fist fight with someone random, maybe that will help, its times like these when I appreciate the whole concept of a fight club, walk in, beat the shit out of some random fuck, get your self reduced to pulp…

I am just scared ill end up in prison soon, I am soo close to assaulting people at work that it’s a wee bit unnerving,

This morning again the boss has been unleashing hell on all for no joy, I wonder what fucked her brains this morning, even now I can see her scream her head off at someone

You know the problem with dictators is that they have a narrow vision of perspective, look what the Jews are doing to the world; just set your eyes on the Gaza strip and you will realize that those once fucked will eventually fuck back

I find myself at crossroads, I find my self so deeply fucked in the head that redemption is no longer an option.

I promise my self every night that I will not unleash angst the following day, but it fucking hell never works.

I can only think of blood gore and murder for everyone here at work, the sight of most of them makes me sick and angsty
Just this afternoon I overate so that the others around would starve and be deprived of their meal.

It’s a crazy place my head, I want to walk into my boss’s chamber and shoot my self,
I want to walk into office and kill everyone

Maybe all I need is a fucking holiday, which I will never get,

The problem with deadlines is that there are times they just cant be met, I am facing a similar predicament, to save my self from sure annihilation, I have been avoiding my boss like plague, but as I write this ( I know I would be better off just working on that darn deadline.. but I cant its just an utter brain dead job), she lurks around looking for prey to feed on, to put it mildly she floats elegantly like a dark cloud of death. Lord save my soul.

Batman Returns

I didn’t have my car on me this morning, a friend was making great use of it, the only other option was my Yamaha R 15, my quasi black super bike, 250 cc of pure unadulterated power.

So there I was sitting at my work station when the boss sent me a mail, informing me of a matter that needed to be argued in the next 45 mins, and I was summoned to the Supreme Court, left with no option I had to literally fly to court, dressed in black from head to toe, donning a black helmet and my black cape ( read advocates gown), I was zooming on the streets of Delhi at near neck break speeds, even touching 120 through traffic, I felt alive, I felt me again.

Though I pity the people who almost got run over but nonetheless a great afternoon, especially since the matter I was rushing to court was adjourned for a month.

February is almost over, the last I remember I was in Geneva struggling to get back, and now I am back at ground zero wondering what happened to the last couple of weeks, a forced break, an alcohol problem and a major plumbing fiasco, all seem like a distant dream.

I am just waking up again, bleary eyed, stubble et al. I am finding it hard to cope with reality.

I came soo close to a complete breakdown, that having to kick-start my system seems like an uphill task, lets hope this passes too…

I do remember the first time I put a smoking pipe to my lips, I was a wee kid going through my dad’s study, my dad by then had quit smoking, and the pipe was a relic of his exuberant past. It tasted different, but it felt good.

Many moons later, and this is after I had been smoking a cigarette for a few years I decided to buy my self a pipe, back then I hardly earned and investing in a pipe was an uphill task. Despite the odds, I ended up buying myself a beautiful walnut wood pipe.

Life was different, smoking a pipe was an art and I am not sure if I ever got it right, but it was an experience unparalleled. Unfortunately, a few years back a flat mate in Glasgow sat on my pipe and thereby rendered it useless.
I never got around to buying one again, there were many a reasons, I never found a walnut wood pipe and I never gave it top priority, cigarettes got me by just fine.

Till this afternoon, when I was walking in Lyon, a chanced upon a shop dealing with the best pipes I had ever seen, and after much deliberation I did end up buying one.

So it feels good to be a pipe smoker again

If being me is not enough, I have forces around me to make sure they add spice to my overtly colorful life.

Just this afternoon, I was sitting in my office at the UN, when I heard screams of my boss, frantic blood curdling screams, I was shocked, images of blood and death were writ large, I ran out only to realize that she had managed to lock herself in the loo.

Despite my assuring her that we would get her out she kept screaming, first in rage and then in anguish, I tried everything, from jimmying the lock to pushing the door, but nothing worked, till finally I had to call the security who carried out a major ( hardly) rescue operation to get the boss out

What an afternoon at the Palais Des Nations

Come to think of it, I am on the verge of completing two years at this job!!! Wow, never thought I’d last a month, forget two years.
Its been a long and tiresome journey, more than anything else, I am more fucked in the head than I have ever been.

Have lost my peace of mind, have maybe even lost my self, but its been a learning experience.

What next? I am not sure, the only thing I do know is that after working here and surviving the two years, I am sure I can work under anyone, even Hitler himself, but then again after this I’d rather start my own practice, than be someone’s slave

You have to be within a system to realize the rot. Even though I cant say much, I must add that I am appalled by the way this system works, everyday I find people protesting outside the UN, till yesterday it was the Palestinians, and today they were joined in by the Sri Lankan Tamils, who have gone on an indefinite hunger strike protesting the killings of over 300 Tamils in the last 24 hours.

I really wish someone here would take cognizance of these mass human rights violations. If not then I am left with no other option but to call for a shut down of this system.

What’s the point of having a system that doesn’t work?

There i was in the middle of nowhere, just me the snow and the wilderness, not a soul in sight, just the zephyr me and my ipod, and i couldnt stop listening to eddie vedder's solo single from the moive- into the wild.
The lyrics were perfect and apt for the moment.

The same are produced below

Oh it's a mystery to me.
We have a greed, with which we have agreed...
and you think you have to want more than you need...
until you have it all, you won't be free.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.

When you want more than you have, you think you need...
and when you think more then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
I think I need to find a bigger place...
cause when you have more than you think, you need more space.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.
Society, crazy indeed...
I hope you're not lonely, without me.

There's those thinkin' more or less, less is more,
but if less is more, how you keepin' score?
It means for every point you make, your level drops.
Kinda like you're startin' from the top...
and you can't do that.

Society, you're a crazy breed.
I hope you're not lonely, without me.
Society, crazy indeed...
I hope you're not lonely, without me
Society, have mercy on me.
I hope you're not angry, if I disagree.
Society, crazy indeed.
I hope you're not lonely...
without me.

Obama the Messiah?

Obama Tee shirts, Obama pizzas, pens, cups, mugs, trousers, clothesline, what next obama condoms?

You never know, with the craze that surrounds the newly elected president of the biggest bully (read America) anything is possible.

The word change rings out and is synonymous with the word Obama, but really will anything change. The cynic within is desperate to shout out NO, but for the sake of all the euphoria and optimism for once I’d rather wait and watch than condemn Obama and his bullies.

But for the while I think we (read the media and the hype generators) should just let the man do his job or at least pretend he is at it, rather than make his every action an act of public importance.

Give me and Obama a break!!!

Fuck Moral Policing, Fuck Jehad

Sitting far away from reality, stuck with this farcical form of fighting human rights violations miles away from home, I cant help but despise the acts of the so called moral police, the hindu right wingers, who will stoop to any level to find themselves a wee space on the national news.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Pub_attack_17_held_Ram_Sena_unapologetic/articleshow/4033150.cms

Attacking women coz they were out drinking in a pub? I am ashamed to be a hindu, I am ashamed to be associated with any religion, I am ashamed to be human.

If its not the terror attacks it’s the moral police, whatever happened to live and let live?
Is this what Allah and Ram had envisaged?

Is this what they call life where one community cant get enough of blowing people to smithereens and the other community cant stop its farcical moral policing, its ok to physically assault women who are out enjoying them selves in a pub but its not ok if the common citizen wants to lead a life as per his/ her wishes.

I spit on religion, I spit on this moral policing and the never ending jehad, I spit on what we humans have reduced our selves to
Fuck you all.

Quote of the day

We are not wrong, it is not our fault, blame the Russians….

The Armenian Govt delegate, when questioned about the Human rights standards in Armenia in 2006-07

NOTES for SELF

Welcome to the real world,

All while people die around you, and violations of rights becomes a norm the upholders of those very rights spend millions of euros and hours fighting over who the next chairperson of a treaty body would be… WHAT SHYTE

Looking at life through the eyes of a tired hub eating her indignations as a pastime activity, the noxiousity of her mind.

More wood for the fires, more fuel for the deranged soul, flashlight riveries caught in the headlights of a truck, eating her shyte as a pastime activity, the toxicity of her existence….

Just another image that said a lot...

Stuck....

The rain refuses to abate, I would rather have it snow, but the relentless downpour confines us to our rooms, there is no outlet, locked and over worked on a Sunday afternoon is the call for the hour

A passing thought for the day-

There is no such thing as a free lunch and more than often you end up paying with your sanity

As this day dawned I wondered why I woke up? Sunday morning and I had to be up by 7, the thoughts of lazing in bed till noon were quickly washed away like a torrent.
She was up, and sharpening her knives, by the time I found my self standing at her door, the knives were sharp enough to cut through metal.
I wonder what it was? Was it the food I cooked for her last night? Something was amiss this morning, sanity was passé.

You can on most occasions sense danger, when faced with, this morning I knew it was real, with less than 24 hours till D day, all hell was slowly but surely breaking lose.

Midnight urge for booze

So here I am and its near midnight, I cant buy booze of a rack here coz the darn swiss don’t sell booze after 9 pm, its fucking worse than delhi, and a lot of other places I have found myself stranded in...

Thankfully there is a (almost) friendly neighborhood bar to quench my thirst at. I must point they don’t serve my poison of choice, the good ol scotch, but they do have unlimited quantities of beer ( yuck)

So its me and a pint of Carlsberg, the good thing – you can smoke in the bar, all those anti tobacco campaigners can go and fuck them selves as I write this. The joys of smoking over a drink are unparallel, its close to an orgasm, its better than life itself. and considering the same why would you waste your time banning smoking in pubs all at our expense? why?

And if I do get cancer, its my life, and all that shyte about second hand smoke, too bad you guys can still fuck your selves

abstract is the mind!!!

The skies are grey and laden, the wind is cold and lonely, the mind it wanders, untouched yet scathed by the unseen.
Nick drake croons in the distance.” Autumn leaves and winter skies….”
This and more tries to reopen the wounds once healed, the scars they crave for your attention.
The lake and its shimmering lights beg to be touched, the fog engulfs your existence.
You are reduced to a slave, a victim of the joys of one’s dreams once unfulfilled.

A walk through the flea market in Geneve

Abstract is the mind, abstract are the thoughts, lost you stand in the middle of nowhere, the sun shines through the clouds, bizarre is this bubble, no one speaks your language, you smell the sweet smell of marijuana, it plays around with your senses, you seek it out, you chase it, you need it to fight the misery.

Treasures from around the world reach out to you, the broken used smoking pipes, the junk jewels once donned by the fortunate few, the caravan selling its wee delights.

The old men, the older women, their ancient robes and their treasures all up for sale.

An anti war procession outside the UN

We live in a bubble, we pay our taxes ( atleast some of us) we work hard ( atleast most of us) to earn our bread ( which is generally stale) and sometimes even the butter ( which I stay away from), we as a race are selfish and self obsessed.
Its always all about us, me, I, our wants, our desires, our miseries, and I aint no different, I am the same shyte that walks this face of this earth.
We all live in denial, the blood that is shed around us affects us for not more than a few minutes and after which we just push it to the back of our minds, trying our best to forget it ever happened.

Why do I state what I state? I don’t know, is it the war in Gaza? Possible, is it the death of those children whose bodies were found cold and bloodied by the bullets and rockets of Israel and the US?

I wish I had an answer to the queries’ posed, but I was affected when I saw the procession of people who stood outside the UN building urging the UN to stop the bloodshed, stop the senseless killing.

It was all too cold and impersonal, the saviors and the upholders of our human rights meanwhile just sat in their plush offices and sipped on their expensive coffee, while hundreds died and suffered in the Gaza and many more stood outside the Palas des Nations screaming their selves hoarse.

Notes to self...

Gaga Yogi to the rescue

In the words of the gaga yogi- nothingness is everywhere, its reddish in color and very heavy.

Heavy yes, I can agree with, I am surrounded with nothingness and it all feels rather heavy to say the least.

This is a strange world, Paulo Cohelo was wrong when he said, if you want something bad the whole universe connives to make sure you get it.

Partially but incorrect assessment of the power of the universe, the problem is when you want something really bad, the world does connives but by the time you do get what you wanted, you just don’t care for it no more.
The United Nations was the epitome of my wants, my desires my needs and my dreams, but being brown doesn’t always help, people less qualified and far less colored beat you to it.

It happened to me, and by the end of it I didn’t care a flying fuck for the UN or its unadulterated beauracracy and discrimination.

So when it finally did happen, I found my self-sitting at the back of my office smoking a cheap cig and wondering why? Why? What did I do to literally deserve this.

All said and done I am in Geneva now, .., and to say the least I am not sure If I am enjoying any bit of it.

All I know is by the time the sun sets on this endeavor, I would have changed for ever and for the worse

If we wonder what happiness entails, then look around and you will find it, just today a friend over chat told me she was happy and content, that made me happy.
Cant ask for more.

Read on a blog

http://finallyseeing.tumblr.com/post/65560624

"YOU GRIEVE AT THE LEVEL YOU LOVED"

Lord Vedder, ALWAYS

I have been asked many a times who is my inspiration, and I have never had an answer, I have never looked for one, I never felt the need for one, logically why would I need to be inspired, I live in a bubble that needs no inspiration.

But nonetheless if there is a driving force if I can call it that, its music, and especially Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam.

From where I stand, my life has revolved around them since the day I heard their first album Ten, it’s been a never ending relationship since, I own and have literally killed all their records by hearing them over and over again for days to come.

I even once formed a band and sang nothing but their covers, trying to copy his style learning and deciphering his lyrics
.
Pearl Jam and Eddie are that source of inspiration which maybe people ask me about

Eddie’s voice like a rumbling train through a valley, clear and commanding has been a source of my existence and maybe even inspiration.

The Room

Its not the room I grew up in, it aint a room with a view, it aint mine, yet I haven’t come across one which throws so much at you,
Its larger than life yet being only this tiny space in the corner of this really old house.

Its walls are cracking, it’s lit by wee lamps strewn around, there is chaos, there is a soul that lives there, and its free.
The music rambles along, it’s a place I wish I could call mine, the pictures on the walls, all come to life, the birds that fly past the fairy lights in sepia,

The blue curtains faded and old shut out the world,

The books old and aging, the musty odor of knowledge engulfs your senses.

There are no words that will justify this room, the room without a view yet free to view the world.

Bring on the Green Dragon

I don’t advocate for drugs, but an existence so skewed it’s hard to go without a few drags of the green dragon.
The numbness that follows is a never-ending abyss of ecstasy, life slows down, gives you enough time to take stock of what’s around.
The anger abates, the lights grow dim, the music feels like a never-ending orgasm.
The conversation is refreshing, the books strewn around, the mess, the cracks on the wall, all seem surreal.
I wonder why I ever let go.

Re learning the civil laws

It was quite strange how I was never inclined towards civil laws, I hated them found them boring and just not worth the effort, but as luck would have it, I find my self involved with some civil matters and I regret never paying any attention towards learing the civil code.

Back in law school all I did was just learnt the relevant portions and managed to clear my exams, the situation was so bad that a few hours before my exam I had no clue there was a whole chapter on orders which I had no knowledge about.
Sigh … now I find myself having to learning the whole darn thing all over again.

The boss is in her elements this day..

like a tsunami she rumbles along..

like a tornado she blows..

like an earthquake she destroys all in her path..

like a knife she cuts, slow, every blow like a surgeons artful stroke..

the associates run for cover, with no where to hide..

The tempest reigns supreme..

the end is neigh...

Give her some weed.

Really I think they should make smoking up mandatory in our office. There is so much existential angst that’s its scary, screams of despair, shouts of angst, files being torn and thrown.

I have tried finding a solution to this mess, but from where I stand now, I think the only thing that might help is some hard core smoking up.

The good ol’ weed shall come to rescue, we all need to be stoned immaculate to survive this.

Picture source- www.cricinfo.com

Produced above is the image of the healing power of cricket, the image of victory

Cricket always seems to be the soothing balm, a great Indian victory today over the Poms was just what the doctor ordered. 26/11 is still on my mind, the freaking media just doesn’t let you forget it. The boss's unrealistic demands get even more unrealistic with every passing minute.

But despite all this, India pulled off a victory I never thought was possible. For four days I just followed the Indian team’s progress through the newspapers coz watching them loosing was far too painful. But over the last 24 hours they did what no team in India has done, chasing down 387 on a final day of a test match in India.

Its fantastic, its unbelievable, its just what the doctor ordered, fuck terrorism, fuck deadlines, fuck everything else, long live the game of the cricket.

P.S- its high time the Poms give back the Kohinoor diamond, bloody thieves

A Failed State

A failed state? Maybe, do I have an answer? I guess not, I come across cases, news reports et al which convince me that we are a failed state to say the least.

Corruption in every sector including the judiciary and the legal system is totally disheartening,

I have been reading a charge sheet for one of my clients who was arrested for reasons made by the state, reasons which were a manifestation of the politics we find ourselves entwined in.

It pains to know that we cant and wont take action against such atrocities and corruption.

The “great India” is a myth, its more like toilet paper I wont wipe my arse with.

I don’t know how many people is it gonna take for a united stand against this rubbish. The corporate’s are busy making money and following the stocks and we human rights lawyers and activists are reduced and termed as the ‘jhola clan’

O come on wake up

One of the statements that really hurt me post the 26/11 attacks on Bombay, was how bad it was that the Taj and the Oberoi were attacked, and the said statement was made by a famous cine artist and all while ignoring those who were killed at the VT station where the common man takes a ride back home.

Will the corporate’s only rise when one of their own is killed or shot? The common middle class man who cant pay 2000 rupees for a meal is not valued by this failed state.

I am not trying to undermine the death of the corporate’s the crème de la crème, all I am saying is give a thought to the common man. The you and the me.

The events of 26/11 left me numbed, distressed and disturbed, it was a tough phase not just for every human but also every Indian who watched terror being unleashed live on their television screens.

It was scary to say the least, by the end of it, I was raging, fuming and hate flowed from every pore, but I restrained from going over board with my emotions and thus took a conscious decision of refraining from writing anything on my blog, instead I channelized my energies to pen an analysis on terror and international law which I shall post here soon enough.

It’s a catch 22 situation, you sit at your workstation, waiting for the boss to get up and leave for court with you, but she just refuses to, the clients have called up three times and the matter is about to start but the boss refuses to leave, she sits there and every request made for any action is responded by contorted facial gesticulation.

I wonder what to do? Anyways she woke up on the wrong side of her bed this morning and any form of communication with her is riddled with danger. She has been snapping at all like a rattle snake that’s been stepped on.

So much more to tell, but so little to write about, the hair is growing yet again, a wee pony returned this morning. I have a new turtle named Gimli ( all while violating the Wildlife Act,) therefore attracting penal consequences, super!!

My house slowly and surely turns into a wee zoo, a wildlife sanctuary, that day aint far when my neighbours shall refer to it as the Mehak’s (read Noah) ark.

Mind continues to wander to the day that never was, its all strange, winter does bring with it a constant nostalgic thought process

Love Thy Neighbour.

Those eyes say it all, disapproving looks, their heads shake each time I pass them, words uttered, its all about me.

I am THE neighbour from hell, a role model from Satan’s backyard, that day aint far when my neighbours will cover the eyes of their kids every time I pass them.
Loud head-banging music pours out of my apartment at all times to come, all while my God fearing neighbours play gospel songs and bhajans, I have roudy drunk friends who sit in the patio and create mayhem from hell.

I almost sport a ponytail, I abuse clients and threaten cops, my friends and me are quasi alcoholics, who raise the bar a wee higher every Saturday night .
I don’t answer their calls, I don’t heed to their requests to turn down the volume at 3 am, I don’t attend their prayer services every Sunday.

I also don’t have a picture of an Indian God at my front door, what I do have instead are empty booze bottles lined up like trophies from a kill.

I am from their perspective the Devil himself, I fight with them over parking, on one occasion we even trashed a car parked near my house, who had allegedly brushed against a friends car.

It aint funny but its fun, when I watch their kids run for cover when they see me approach, maybe this has something to do with the time when I held one of them upside down when he tried teasing my dog.

Their parents don’t mess with me, ( its at times like these when I love my profession or atleast the threat factor that comes with it, more like fuck with me and ill make sure that’s the last time you fuck with anything)

Yea I am a great neighbour.

St Anger!

I wonder what’s wrong? Is it the weather? Is it the flu? I dunno, but all I wanna do is punch someone, hit someone, the anger within is real and pure. It needs to be unleashed, someone needs to be a victim, I need to see blood, I need to feel the pain, I need to hear me knuckles crack, the sound of flesh hitting flesh shall be music to my ears.

I need this to pass, I need some sleep I guess, but I am stuck at work, and I have a hearing coming up in an hour and I so don’t want to be a part of it.

We won we won we won we won we won we won we won we won…..

The sun sets over Delhi, the haze hangs low, orange hues streak the skies, but for me only one thing matters, India’s victory over the cry babies bad loser’s good for nothing cheaters the Australians.
It’s a victory of good over the evil, right over wrong, men over ‘monkeys’ (monkey is not a racist comment ), fighters over cheaters and more.
India have avenged their overtly wrongful defeat at Sydney earlier this year, where the mother fucking aussies cheated their way to a victory.
I love cricket and I respect good cricketers, but the aussies deserve nothing but shyte rubbed across their faces, every one of them.
To be honest all aussies are bastards descendants of criminals and sore losers.
Long live Indian Cricket and I do hope Ponting their captain is fired and Symonds drowns on his next fishing trip.

382 is the magic figure, the number of runs needed by Australia to win the 4th test match, which would enable them to square the 4 match test series and therefore retain the border gavasker trophy.
I spent the whole of last night and early this morning in sheer anticipation of what lies ahead. I don’t have access to live cricket but I am following it very closely on my laptop on the best cricker site in the word www.cricinfo.com.
It’s a tough task on a fifth day pitch but its not impossible, for India its imperitve the aforementioned number stays out of reach of the fucking aussies, who have cheated and brought disrepute to the game all while climbing the ladder of success.
They deserve to lose they deserve to be beaten for what they did at Sydney earlier this year. For India and as a cricket loving Indian there is nothing more important than to avenge that defeat and retain the trophy.
As time stands right now, we have claimed two aussie wickets and were close enough to getting the third had it not been an umpiring error.
I got my hands folded and a constant prayer on my lips.
Lets hope India wins this…

Cant get over the hangover.

Hangovers, ah well they are a work of art, they are a form self-inflicted torture, it’s a direct outcome of a night of debauchery, a night of indulgence.

Its not like I cant hold my drinks, I can to be honest, and over the last few years every time I have neared the point of no return, the point where your head spins like a top and the world resembles a vomit bowl, I have stopped, my body has over the last years shouted and told me to stop and I have obediently given into the needs of my aging body.

But last night was different, there were no signs, I kept drinking till I heard a bang in my head, it was actually my head hitting the floor.

And before I knew it I was gone!!, my head spun and the urge to let it out was overwhelming, I cant remember much, just the fish in the tank looked prettier and the light from the fish tank was too painful to look at.

And like it always happens, the sun rose, bright and beautiful, but my head, lord my head, it felt like a lead ball being pounded by ironsmith

I literally had to drag my sorry arse and my heavy head to work, where I sat popping pills and drinking tea, coffee and juice just to get rid of the hangover, and frankly I have been fighting a loosing battle all day

What have I learnt from this? I don’t know, maybe quit drinking, quit mixing whisky and wine? I don’t know , only time will tell

A quick quip on litigation

The problem with litigation (at the higher levels of the judiciary), atleast from where I stand, is that even the smallest issue snowballs into this out of control monster, which is hard to tame at times.

The sun sets over Delhi and I am back in the office, its been a long but not so fruitful day, was handed a really badly drafted and researched draft to argue this morning, despite my efforts to salvage the case I doubt we will get favourable orders.

At the High Court the constitutional challenges to the penal section penalizing adult consensual gay sex is coming to an end, with today being the penultimate day of arguments. I am glad we are doing rather well with the matter and it shall all be over tomorrow. (at least for now, till the matter is appealed to the Apex Court)

On a happier note, India has done decently well in their final test match at Nagpur against the biggest wankers in the world the Aussies, and Lord Sachin made a century after a long time.

The evening ahead looks as boring as ever; there is some research, some drafting and lots of reading.

It’s well past midnight and the bouts of boredom haven’t subsided or miraculously disappeared, I am still as bored as I was this afternoon.
There is a file that’s begging to be read, a client’s life kinda depends on it, but I am just too bored to even look at it.
There is a lot of editorial work left on the magazine, which I refuse to touch, ( I am already a month late on the up coming issue and yea the boss threw a fit about it this afternoon),
I cant complain of a break or a vacation, I just took one after 11 months last week, it helped I agree I was all charged up till the weekend and now I am a spent force.
I guess there is too much on my plate yet again, am juggling between research for the boss, her clients, her cases, my cases, my clients, the national conference, the magazine and the umpteen papers I write for her every week.
Frankly I am dreading tomorrow, I have two matters in the family court, one in the high court and one in the Supreme Court ( as for the matter I had been waiting for last two days , it has been adjourned for Lord only knows how many years ) ( the last time it came up for hearing was in 2000, when I was still in second year of my law school).

Obama Overdose

And there is no end to the Obama victory, its getting a wee grotesque to say the least.
My fellow Indians cant get enough out of his victory, its crazy how America ( never really an Indian ally) gets a new president and the Indians are behaving like they won a million dollar lottery.
C’mon, look within, look at our politics, rather than spending your life and time cheering Obama, look at our guys a bunch of wankers all of them
Do something about our politics rather than overtly rejoicing about another nations political development.
Moreso I think its more about being cool, I am an Indian I am cool I support Obama. A whole hoard of bull crap
What the fuck get a life you guys

There are days

There are day and then there are days I wonder under which category does today fall in. I guess its just one of ‘those’ days, where I am bored beyond comprehension.
I have a matter pending in the Supreme Court, but its being passed over since yesterday and waiting for it has just driven me mad, borderline psychotic to say the least.
There is some pending research, which is as boring as milking a dead cow, and some drafting which is worse than skinning a cockroach.
Lord Help Me

Obama wins-But lets not go overboard please

Woke up this morning and surprisingly the first thing I checked were the US election results, at 7 20 am IST Obama still needed another 70 seats to walk into the White House.

But by the time I got into work Obama had won, Big news I agree, but a bigger deal I aint sure about.
Yes I am abreast with the world around me and I am more than glad that the tyranny of Bush is over, but why is everyone around me going over board with it.

I wont deny I am happy, a black man who supports the hippies is in the White House but it aint the biggest deal is it now?
My suggestion hold on to your horses, let Obama take the rein and we shall see what the new day has in store for all

Goodbye Iglen

So, here I am, writing my first post on my newest laptop ( it still hasn’t been christened), iglen is history. It lived a dignified life and was a great companion. I will miss cleaning its white body everyday just to make sure it aint stained for all times to come.
I have come a long way from using a Compaq (my first laptop named sweetie ) which was brutally murdered in the backyard after it gave me hell for 2 years, to glen my trusted IBM which was eaten alive by red ants to iglen who walked into the sunset holding its head high after having served me without any glitches.
A new day has dawned and so has the new shiny silver macbook pro and yea I am excited.

Choices

If only, choices were as simple as they seem to be then life would be a walk in the park, its hard sometimes not to end up doing what you really wanna do, the constant struggle between the heart and the mind, the good and the bad.
All these choices, the slippery slope of life, its just way to hard.
Its there you can see it, but its al forbidden. Its just a wee crazy

The week gone by..

So much has happened over the last few days that its hard to put all down on a piece of paper.

To say the least the trip back home was rather refreshing ( albeit stressful, with the boss and clients calling me every hour and finally my drive back to Delhi at 4 in the morning, with a near sick dog by my side)

Back at work, feels like shyte, there are way too many deadlines coming up et al.

But it is more about yesterday that I feel the need to write, Anil Kumble a.k.a Jumbo hung up his boots, Indian cricket just lost its greatest statesmen.

It was indeed a very sad day for me, which I duly spent crying over a smoke and a glass of scotch.

Moreso, Lewis Hamilton became the world champion, despite Massa winning his Home Grand prix all thanks Timo Glock pulling up on the last corner to allow Hamilton to pass and win.

I wonder how much he was paid, but at the end of the day no one deserves to be a champion in this form. From where I look at it, Hamilton is a cheat and a totally undeserving world champion. If the Italian Mafioso is reading this I do hope they kill both Glock and Hamilton.