The Criminal Within.....

Human beings are not nice...children, teenagers pot bellied men, old women, villagers...every single one of them....... none of us are nice. We all share a common bond of meanness, frankly we are all savages at heart and there is nothing noble about us.
Civilization is seen as a complex achievement: it is nothing but a fragile working arrangement stitched together. Facades are crucial and ever so often this facade slips and human nature is revealed for what it is... nasty brutish and short sighted.

How long is it going to take people to realize about what they actually are. Mindless brutal killers all of us... Every one of us...
Human beings are engaged in a battle of wills, each human being driven by a Nietzchen will to power. According to Freud this battle begins in childhood; the nurse wants the toddler to take his dump... the kid squats on the pot but resolutely refuses to let the turd drop... its called anal retention..... that's where this all starts... this struggle within....

Have you ever been to a kid’s playground..??? I am sure all of us at some point or the other have heard of or come across instances of what men and boys do to each other in school.... Did you read about the teacher who bit his student’s ear off...? I mean if Mike Tyson could do it then why not him.... or the guy who loved scratching the faces of his girl students, leaving them scarred for life.....sadistic to the core.... now what led him to do what he did and in fact reach a point in his life where he started enjoying it....

I knew this guy back in law school who loved chopping ants and other insects...weird as this may sound but every evening he would take his bath , comb his hair and place himself on his table, while others played soccer or went out to do some constructive bird watching our friend here would reach for his blade....simple gratuitous cruelty... cruelty in its purest form.....

Then there was this other dude... soft spoken...vicious always smiling. Preferred lizards to ants. He would stuff their mouths with chewing tobacco and then watch them do their back flips in the air; the ring master usually had a mesmerized audience......

And how can I not talk about another acquaintance... simple boy ... went to a boarding school was tortured beaten... forced to take cold showers in the month of December and then beaten with belts... but by who.... his own seniors... who are as human as most of us..... why did he go through what he did... and what will be the outcome of all the anger that's built up inside of him... only time will tell.

Look at a larger picture.... what happened in Gujarat... what happened in Nazi ruled Germany... people were killed ,raped mutilated... by whom.. their own neighbors... friends and other human beings.....what led them to do what they did... nothing but a basic fact that somewhere along the line we all are evil and criminal in more ways than we can imagine.

In a famous series of experiments HF Harlow of the Primate Research Centre Madison reared monkeys in conditions of complete isolation and maternal deprivation. The observation that followed was scary... when these monkeys were released in among the ordinary monkeys, instead of breaking into a tango; they sat huddled in a corner, riddled with fear and depression. Some of the monkey mothers became so neurotic that they smashed the infants face into the floor and rubbed it back and forth.

And in one of the most gruesome experiments conducted by the US army, monkeys were trained to run inside a large wheel. Slowing down was punished with an electric shock, once the monkeys were able to run for long periods they were subjected to lethal doses of radiation. The sick and puking monkeys were forced to run till they dropped dead. The army insisted that the above mentioned experiments provided them vital information on the capacities of soldiers to fight after a nuclear attack...... BULL SHIT

Cruelty both physical and mental comes naturally to us. There is a murderer rapist arsonist and interrogating officer in each of us. The human spirit is by nature castrated...why are we so shocked by the images of prisoners in Abu Gharib? We all would have done the same thing had we been there....... think about it…??

The Lebanon Crisis... A Broader Perspective


Another refugee camp… a child stands alone and cries .. the sounds of bursting shells breaks the monotony of this hapless existence... ash.. plumes of smoke... the smell of fresh human blood… hunger...pain… misery… the tears… they are all real... yea this is reality as we face it today… more people would be dead by the time I finish writing this and God only knows how many more will be widowed and orphaned by the time you’ll finish reading this.
The cries of ‘never again’ said aloud at the end of the 2nd World War seem as empty as my pockets… millions have been killed since… Why?... all in the name of greed… land… money… oil.. What is wrong with us… why are we as humans on this self destructive trip…?

Lebanon is burning…Beirut is being bombed… ambulances are being targeted, homes are being burned... and no one is going to do anything to stop this till the greed of the Americans and Israelis are fulfilled. Unfortunately most of my friends believe that the current Israeli action is bonafide and I don’t blame them, but at the same time I cannot subscribe to their point of view. They are just victims of their own ignorance and a biased media, which portrays the Israelis and the Americans as the victims of international violence, but will someone please open their eyes and see the truth behind these barbaric killings.

The recent developments in Lebanon are all an outcome of the ongoing Iran nuclear project which obviously threatens the American interests. Now Hezbollah is an Iran Sponsored organization( and most would refer to it as a terrorist organization… but I would abstain to term it as one just for now) Don’t get me wrong here, I am not an avid supporter of terrorists or their activities, but have you ever wondered what the word terrorism denotes and who brands these people in the middle east as terrorists. For years people in the middle east have been oppressed by the actions of the west and someday some one is going to stand up to this tyranny and this never ending oppression.

Now I do agree that two Israeli soldiers were kidnapped by the Hezbollah and this action cannot be justified or supported, but does that give Israel a right to use disproportionate force against Lebanon? I am sure most would say hell yeah.. bomb those bastards, but even from a legal stand point the force which has been used can be termed as disproportionate. Now under international law the UN Security Council has the sole authority for authorizing the use of force, except in the case of self defense, which in the present case can be used by Israel as a ground for using force without Security Council authorization against Lebanon, but the established opinio juris is that such use of force has to be proportionate, now think logically does the kidnapping of 2 soldiers entail that force of the magnitude which includes the use of missiles against civilian targets, bombing of refugee camps and ambulances and destruction of airports as proportionate ? Doesn’t this then entail that war crimes and crimes against humanity are being committed by Israel and the US? International Humanitarian law is clear on the supreme obligations to protect civilians, but who cares about International law especially when it comes to the Americans.

Ever wondered why countries like the US and Israel have not ratified the Rome charter which would have forced the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court on to them. Well the answer is right in front of you, killing of civilians and bombing ambulances amounts to war crimes and crimes against humanity which the US and the Israelis seem to commit at their own free will( Iraq and Afghanistan are 2 blatant examples) and they definitely don’t want to be tried for it.

Coming back to the larger picture which we seem to be avoiding is the Iran issue, now if through the current events US can prove to the world that the Hezbollah which as everyone knows is supported by Iran is a threat to International peace and security, then the use of force to the extent of the use of nuclear weapons (as considered by the US and its allies in May please refer to the article Nuclear war against Iran availabe at http://www.globalresearch.ca/index.php?context=viewArticle&code=%20CH20060103&articleId=1714 ) against Iran can be justified just like their actions in Iraq and Afghanistan

Did the US find any WMD’s in Iraq? Did they catch Osama in Afghanistan? Hell yeah they did not… but who suffered... the common Iraqi man and the children in Afghanistan. The civil war post US invasion in Iraq is still killing people everyday, it’s not a country any more, it’s a battlefield where children are the targets, and the common men the soldiers. All the sanctions of establishing no fly zones in Afghanistan, I am sure is protecting the US interests but at the same time killing the children of that nation. Medical and food aid cannot be delivered to the far fetched areas inaccessible by road, no one ever thinks about that. It seems like human rights and a right to life can only be bestowed upon the Americans and its allies.

And I am sure the Americans have learnt from their previous mistakes, that it cannot win an out right war in such countries and its far too expensive and the losses are great, thus the only plausible solution to the same is the use of nuclear weapons which might annihilate a nation and kill millions (remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki?) but at the same time serve the US interests in terms of costs and human losses.

I am sure after reading this most including my friends and the right wing conservatives would think I am a pot smoking hippie and I am talking utter rubbish, but what the fuck.. I don’t care, this is my point of view, and I am not going to be a part of this genocide which those who subscribe to the actions of the US and Israel encourage.

PS. Wake up smell the coffee… STOP THIS WAR…. DON’T ENCOURAGE IT… SOMEDAY ITS GONNA STAND UP AND BITE YA IN YA ARSE…

Blood in Beirut...
Pictures courtesy http://www.spiegel.de/fotostrecke/0,5538,15121,00.html

The only children rescued were americans. No one gave thought to the Lebanese children
Bottom line- you gotta be an American to survive.






The only thing living found under that rubble were birds...

Bottomline- you got to be either an American or birds.

Now some Lebanese seriously need to invest in new cars...

Now if someone did that to my home, I would be mighty pissded. Still blame the Lebanese?!?

The lucky few...

The Israeli angel of death...






The new Lebanese countryside... ( an Israeli touch)!

Israeli guns of death...

The sweet smell of death...

Appeal for help from a Palestinian refugee camp in Southern Beirut

How can we as humans overlook the recent developments in Lebanon? To most i am sure the actions of Israel seem justified and the only plausible solution to the on going crisis, but has anyone thought of the suffering these actions entail?

This appeal ( unedited version attached herewith) was sent to me by a fellow human rights activist, read on and picture the trauma the helpless and the poor who seem to be caught in the middle of this catastrophe have to face and go through and then decide for your self is all of this really worth it…

Borj El Barajneh Refugee camp. Beirut Lebanon
Thousands Isolated in a sea of destruction

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN ,

Dear Sirs/Madames,
First I would like to start with the situation here in Beirut. Warhas prevailed everywhere and the destruction has become our dailybread.First and foremost starting with Borj Al Barajneh camp that is stuck in the middle of the fire and bombardment isolated from the surrounding areas leaving the residence suffering the tension ofwar and scarcity of life, since most of the Lebanese people were able to leave their place and houses to other parts of Beirut. Whereas the camp residence have no where to resort to except to stay in the camp.

Al Bourj camp is located in the southern suburb of Beirut surrounded by Hezbolla area where the bombs strike is very intensive day and night .It has three main entrances from the airport road other from Haret Horek and another one from the Borj area. So all the bombingis around it Therefore, the best way to reach the camp is from the airport road which has become very dangerous and targeted at anytime of the day and night with no prior warning which endangers our lives as wellI am the director of the Women's Humanitarian Organization in the camp.

As the war started people rushed to the supermarkets to supply with food but the supermarkets and shops were empty during the first hours. Immediately, the first idea that came up to my mind was how to aid my people in the camp and provide them with prompt assistance as a result of the severe conditions the Palestinians were living before and during the war were lamentable 80% of the mare unemployed or have part time jobs and sometimes seasonal jobs.They earn their livings on day by day basis. So the critica lquestion is how they could manage through this hard situation .

On 15-07-06 ,I visited the camp searching for answers to my question.I found out that people have decided to stay in the camp due to lack of any other place they can resort to due to shortage of moneyand housing .For to leave the camp it will cost them a lot in orderto find a place and hire a car especially that they dont wish to relive the experience of being refugees for the second time .They told me we are already refugees do we need to be refugees again?

Today, 18-07-06 I went again to the camp and god grief I cant really describe that horrific trip .My car was the only moving vehicle Everywhere was in deep silence and destruction. Only 4 km from my house to the camp the first half of the way was manageable but as we approached the camp it seemed to me from the first impression as if haunted by ghosts. No one can enter the area as it is extremely dangerous with the bombed airport on one side and the now totally destroyed Shi suburbs on the other. It was a scene of total devastation with all the buildings and roads totally smashed.I was shocked and overwhelmed. There was the smell of death and destruction everywhere.

The moment I entered the camp I felt I was on an island so isolated from the surrounding .I joined the other NGOs and arranged for an emergency meeting with them for a long term plan to aid the camp.We didnt know where to start from, the needs were so massive and beyond our expectations. Its true that we have had a long experience during the past war but the situation now is different.For now we have no hierarchal structure in the camp or maybe has almost disappeared .

In the past the PLO was in charge and provided people with all the assistance, but now the question is who could carry this burden along with us (NGOs)? Even the NGOs are verytight with funds. All the shelters in the camp are not viable for protection at all .They have not been used since 1987 not even enough medical resources .The women, children and elderly are terrified and trapped after days of sustained brutal bombing of the entire area around our camp. There is no electricity, no fuel for the generators, no medial supplies and we are in urgent need of food and drugs for the children and the elderly.As a result of our meeting all NGOs and activists have agreed upon the following needs:_

Raising health & medical awareness regarding the situationespecially that they are using chemical weapons and bombs andpeople need to be aware how to deal with such a situation.

_Babies and children's food, mainly milk and diapers.

_Emergency medications: ventoline, for asthma, diabetic tablets, medicine for high blood pressure .Dressing materials, cardiacmedicine, antipyretic, antibiotics, and medicine for diaorrhea.
_Candles and matches.
_Drinking water, the camp lacks sources of water (people usually
buy the drinking water)
_Detergent and insecticide.
_First aid workers (run courses)
_Gasoline for electricity generators for the hospitals .
_Fire extinguishers_First aid kits and stretchers.
_Electricity generators to facilitate life and for the work of theNGOs.Our recent statistics show the following:

200 families fled into the camp from the surrounding area(those wholived for a long time ago outside the camp in Hezbollah area )andhave no other place to resort to in Beirut.
1500 children under 6 years .450 elderly with chronic diseases.20,000 living in the camp.
By the end of the meeting we divided ourselves and took upon ourresponsibilities different tasks upon which to clean the sheltersand mobilize ourselves for emergencies hoping to receive the support and funds on time to be able to provide our people with theurgent supplies and provisions needed. I left the camp praying to god to keep this road safe in order to come back again to our
people with the aid and help.
We are facing a humanitarian crisis on an unprecedented scale and we call on the international community to stop Israel's total destruction of Lebanon and the killing of innocent civilians. We are in urgent need of humanitarian assistance and we ask all good
people in the world to help us.
For donations:Women's Humanitarian Organization
Bank of BeirutTarik JdidehSwift code# BABELBBEAccount number:11 401 091280 01For contact:
Women's Humanitarian Organization
DirectorOlfat MahmoudPhone no: 00961 3 019 775(mobile)Tel& fax: 00961 1 840 239e-mail: palwho@gmail.com

Awaiting Justice

Being a human rights lawyer i had to share this, i really hope justice is finally done and most of you reading this will sign up on the petition mentioned below, its high time that we as humans stand up and make sure that justice is not only done but also seen to be done..

Theres a silent protest march at India gate( New Delhi) on 23/07/2006 ie. Sunday at at 4.30 pm for reopening of the Priyadarshini Mattoo case. Please, atleast all those who live in the NCR, can come foward to attend and express solidarity, if only to feel a little human again. Theres also this online petition which you can sign :--www.petitiononline.com/mattoo/petition.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Edf0GuegTUc --- short video on the case

A brief run through

Priyadarshini Mattoo was a 23 year old law student when she was found raped and murdered at her house in New Delhi on January 23, 1996. The evidence pointed to Santosh Kumar Singh, the son of a highly placed Police Officer, but in December 1999, the judge acquitted him, pointing to serious inadequacies in the investigation.
The case is one of several in India that highlight the ineffectivenes of the criminal law system, especially when it comes to high profile perpetrators. These include Jessica Lall, who was murdered in a high-society party in Delhi in April 1999, and the accused (actually, the murderer) was acquitted despite dozens of witnesses.

The Murder

Priyadarshini was a third-year law student at Delhi University, when she was found strangled in her uncle's Vasant Kunj residence. She had been raped, injured 14 times and then strangled with a wire.
Santosh Kumar Singh, her senior in college, had been stalking and harassing her for several years, and appears to have been besotted with her, but Santosh came from an influential family - his father J.P. Singh, was then Inspector General of Police in the Indian state of Pondicherry - in the course of the trial he served as Joint Commissioner of Police in Delhi, where the crime had been committed. In view of these connections, the court handed over investigation of the case to the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI).
In 1995, Priyadarshini had complained that Santosh Singh was harassing and stalking her. She had been provided with a personal security officer at the time. In retaliation, Santosh had lodged a complaint with the university alleging that she was pursuing two degrees simultaneously. However, it turned out that Priyadarshini had passed M.Com in 1991 and the complaint was probably malicious.
On the morning of January 23, Santosh was seen knocking for entrance into Priyadarshini's uncle's house, where she was living, in the Vasant Kunj area of Delhi.
The evidence indicates that Santosh entered her house on the pretext of striking a compromise in their legal complaints. Subsequently he allegedly raped her, strangled her with an electric wire and then battered her face beyond recognition with a motorcycle helmet.

The Judgment

Delivering the judgement, the Additional Sessions Judge. J.P. Thareja said of Santosh, that though he knew that "he is the man who committed the crime," he was forced to acquit him, giving him the benefit of doubt.
In a 450 page judgement the judge came down heavily on the role of Delhi Police; "There has been particular inaction by Delhi Police", he said, while commenting that the accused's father may have used his official position to influence the agencies. "The influence of the father has been there in the matter and there was deliberate inaction".
The helmet was found with a shattered safety glass - however the evidence was so poorly presented that the defence was able to discount it.
He further stated that the rule of law doesn't seem to apply to the children of those who enforce it.
The Delhi police according to the judge, attempted to assist the accused during the investigation and trial. "Lalit Mohan, the Inspector was instrumental in creating false evidence and false defence for the accused. The witnesses of the police including a Sub-Inspector deposed falsely".
The judgement held the CBI responsible for unfair investigation and failure to produce Virender Prasad, Mattoo's household help, which resulted in the obstruction of justice. The police had claimed Prasad had gone missing and was not traceable, yet in the aftermath a journalist could easily find him in his Bihar village.
The judge added that the CBI fabricated the DNA test in the rape case as it was not obtained in accordance with the judicial procedure and could not therefore be admitted in evidence in view of Section 45 of the Indian Evidence Act.
The "state had failed to bring home the charge of rape against the accused", and while indicting Santosh as "the man who committed the crime", the judge was constrained to acquit him, because of "the benefit of doubt".

High Court Appeal

Following a public outcry, the CBI then appealed the district court's verdict in Delhi High Court in April 2000. But there have been no presentation of evidence or hearings in the Delhi High Court well into early 2006.

Meanwhile, according to his lawyer, Santosh Singh got married in 2004, and as of February 2006, was leading a happy family life and practising law in Delhi.

Hair Raising Experience….

I have heard it all… even seen it all... the last few months... have been hairy… infact very hairy… confused ? … maybe even grossed out… well relax… I just decided to grow my hair…26 years of a wasted existence and finally I let those locks grow…
All of this comes at a price though… to start with having a bad hair day for 4 months (I wake up every morning looking like a hairy mushroom)… man... that’s more like a bad hair year... and especially for someone who had the most immaculately spiked hair for the longest time (at one point in my life I was even called ‘pine’) (a startling resemblance to a porcupine)... being me right now... or rather being hairy is a painful experience... To add to that are the names I am referred to… cousin IT... being just one of them, ‘bal ke dukan’ (a shop full of hair)... and the list goes on.

But well so this is how it all started… and it had nothing to do with me... it had everything to do with a Moroccan stylist here in Glasgow… don’t even know why I went to him… but then it was all those references( and I regret having ever taken them seriously)… and after 20 mins of being under his scissors ( felt more like being under a butchers knife) he gave me the worst hair cut of my life… and at the end of it he had the gall to tell me in a thick Moroccan accent… “Butt in My Countree you would looook beautiphul” like hell yeah he forgot I was not in Morocco.

But anyways… this was sometime late last year and that’s when I decided as long as I am going to be in this country... no more hair cuts... ya I know I mean the logical conclusion to the same would have been to have changed the stylist... but hell yeah I was not ready to risk another Moroccan tragedy.

So here I am 7 months from my last hair cut…looking like shit… my ex girlfriend who met me recently after a long time, after seeing the hair (or the excess of it) was ecstatic about her decision of dumping me… to add to that my flat mate is always walking around with a pair of scissors, the threat of him ever catching me sleeping looms large (don’t worry he is straight, or atleast i hope so)… but now the hair bit has become an obsession.. recently I acquired a hair band and started sporting it… very gay I must say… and just the other day I did the unthinkable... I even straightened my hair… my long wavy almost curly hair were straightened… I thought I looked like a lahsa apso dog ….or even better, one of those boy band members…

Now I don’t know how far I am going to take this… it’s a scary place to be in just to think of what’s next... I have a whole range of hair products ranging from conditioners to straighteners… God I must hand it out to women with long hair… they are the ones with the real balls to go through all that pain everyday… (new found respect).
I even spend most of time talking to people about my hair… if I had my way I would write my dissertation on the same subject… so if any of you people reading this have a suggestion ( except for getting a hair cut ) please feel free to leave some in the comments section, and remember this isn’t my fault .. just blame the Moroccan for it...

Bombay no more..

Bombay is a place i have always called home... and this evening it burned... people died.. and many more might by the time the sun rises again. It is depressing as hell to have heard the news about the bomb blasts... when will it stop really.. when will innocent lives be spared for the greedy and selfish needs of those who justify their actions in the name of terrorism.

What ever happened to world peace or has that been reduced to just a utopian concept?
SOME ONE PLEASE STOP THIS KILLING, THIS BLOODSHED... PLEASE....

Summer School... Reductio ad Absurdum- Part 1

William Schabas asks a class of 43 weary eyes, So… class what do you think Japan can bring to the ICC (International Criminal Court)…. deafening silence... I can hear a pen drop at the back of the class... someone even yawns… its loud…and then my hand shoots up…(What was wrong with me??)…42 pairs of red, hung over eyes turn to me… maybe I was the smart one… all those sperms and maybe, just maybe I was the fastest…
Sushi????.... even the great William Schabas laughed… Welcome to the Summer School of 2006…
Now really… can you think of a better way of spending your anyways almost over and ruined summer? Well you didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out... you just attend a summer school somewhere in the ebbs of Europe surrounded by a bunch of equally wasted legal brains( or maybe the lack of them)( Especially when you don’t have to pay a penny from your non existent penniless pocket)

Well...Summer School is all about…. Hmm... lemme think… booze… more booze… a book launch… some more booze… group lunches where you talk about the crisis in Kosovo and Saddam Hussain like they are your areas of expertise and last but not the least shit loads of more booze.

Sunday morning after a night of debauchery there I was at my first day of summer school hung over from hell… trying to make sense of what Judge Sharon Williams( dressed in a bright green tee resembling a turtle) had to say about the jurisprudential fallacies of the ICTY( International Criminal tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia) and really not like I cared a rats arse if someone drafted a statute full of bull shit …not on a Sunday morning for crying out loud

But its reality check time and I was in summer school and I wasn’t here to get all worked up... I was here to sit back and get wasted…. (The only thing I am officially good at now)… and it could be William Schabas or Sharon Williams or even Michael Scharf... no one mattered... it was just the booze… buckets full of to say the least.. Even your coffee at 11 am is spiked… you are served wine along with lunch... and how can they expect all those helpless brilliant individuals (me inclusive) to ever be able to do justice to a class after all that alcohol.

Evenings are spent at a book launch, William Schabas just came out with his new book and you get a signed copy of 700 pages of hard core legal jargon… (You are just happy you saved 98 euros) and obviously you are forced to drink a few more glasses of wine… and maybe they named the course wrong, and in most likelihood ill end up being a wine and beer connoisseur by the end of the summer. (Something any mother would be proud off... don’t you think??)
Now what do you think happens when you unleash a bunch of 43 legal experts on an unsuspecting European city? You probably think wow… maybe they will come up with ideas of how to save the world, rescue Saddam Hussein, indict Blair, or even end the tyranny of Bush…. Naaa… you got it wrong there mate... instead, what you find your self is the same bunch guzzling down pints after pints of Guinness at the nearest pub later that evening..
Suddenly you have a contest going… (the pub owners are ecstatic… (why can’t they have more summer schools)…)…
It’s a knock out contest…the winner ends up finishing 37 pints of Guinness and has to be carried back to his room…and is never seen for another class… (just some of the hazards of summer school).
Brilliant someone even brought a guitar along …so there we were... (now 39.).. (the winner had to be escorted back by 3 people)... sitting at the city centre singing pearl jam covers,( with the author of this blog leading the way..) and trust me when I say this.. there is no better way of inflicting a curfew in a city... half way through ‘Jeremy’... the city centre was empty (not if you include the 39)…
Its 3 am and we are walking back to the village ( Just a European way of terming a bunch of halls put together… surely they have never been to an Indian village…) and no one wants to sleep… but shit.. we got class in 5 hours… … and summer school just kicked in….

To be Contd…..

The Night of the Azzuri's...

Alcohol flowed… and so did some tears… ghosts of 1998 were buried in a single moment of brilliance… Italy won the world cup... and there I was surrounded by a million Azzuris, taking in the pride the pleasure of their country winning the Cup of Joy..

An evening I can never forget, Zinadine Zidane head butting Matterazi almost caused a chaos... every French man around was looking for a corner to hide, the fear of the Italian Mafisio being unleashed on them loomed large, but justice was done and the man that broke my heart on that dreadful evening of 1998 was shown a red card, tears of joy rolled down my eyes, this was the moment I had dreamt off over and over again, the snooty French being knocked out of the world cup, a moment I am gonna use to smile a million times in my head.
The street parties the free booze... I was plastered and so was every Italian around me…this truly was a night of the Azzuri's...

That Moment…

Its that time of the day again, you wait for it to come just the way you wait for your million dollar jackpot and then when it finally does come, you really wish it hadn’t, coz it lasts only a few seconds and before you know it, its gone and all it leaves behind is this painful emptiness and nothing in the world can fill the void. That moment is your break of dawn after a long dark night, its your breath of fresh air, its maybe even you life but its gone before you even know it… never to come again… maybe for the longest time.. and then you wish it hadn’t come at all… coz this time its really gone…

You sit there.. and sip on the moment like wine.. .slow and refreshing...taking in every drop of it, you want more… but its too short.. it lasts only a few seconds… but those seconds are worth every bit of it…

24 hours seem like a lifetime when you wait for that one moment, the moment you countdown from the min it had passed. You love to hate it or maybe even hate to love it… you can never be sure, it’s a vicious circle and you find your self stuck in it like being stuck in quicksand…. There is no way out…

The moments finally come….my worlds come to a standstill… suddenly nothing else seems to matter.. I cant even breathe no more…my hands shake.. my body trembles.. it slowly sinks in…but then.. its gone… that one moment of my life I waited for .. has come and gone…

Do you Really want to be me? Read this…

Now why would you want to be me? Really think about it… even God would wonder about his Blunder of all blunder’s... creating me. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of his bed.. I am sure He is shaking his Holy Head right now.. and hasn’t stop doing the same since the Christmas of 1979…

Over the years I have made my self believe I am an enigma… a work of art... and everything else that goes with being great… but seriously its all crap…all of it… every bit of it.

Well I have spent a considerable part of my life traveling… as a kid I was always accompanied by an elder (like most of us) and it was never an issue... I was a sweet though grumpy kid... to get me to smile was always a sterling effort... and by the time I was eight the world including my folks had given up on me…but then I grew up(damn!!!)… and as luck would have it... I started smiling (it was actually all the alcohol and drugs I consumed) but that came at a huge price (not the drug and alcohol consumption)... a price I am paying till date and probably always will… well… the problem or the price I paid was that I started looking like a terrorist… I don’t know what it was… some said it was the eyes ;dark and evil... others said it was the chin; blunt and ugly... though most concluded that it was the goatee…my trademark evil goatee I am extremely proud off.( it’s better than any of Van Gogh’s work)
The affects of the same never dawned upon me till I started traveling alone… trust me it’s a nightmare… a living nightmare and there are times I just want to lock my self and never step out...

Actually its funny in a twisted way… probably it gives me sadistic pleasure watching people look at me suspiciously anywhere and everywhere I go... its fun and these days I play this game of counting the number of people I managed to scare(on my last trip to Edinburgh I lost count at 4693)… I mean I could be anywhere... on an underground in Glasgow or London or on a bus to Edinburgh... people around me tend to distant themselves… maybe its me.. Maybe it’s my wee blue knapsack…their eyes say it all... the fear is real... I resemble the perfect candidate to carry out Uncle Osama’s devious plans….in people’s eyes I am a walking talking suicide bomber.

It gets worse at airports… recently. At Amsterdam I was categorically asked… Sir... how can you prove to us that you are not linked to a terrorist organization?…WHAT!!??!! The expression on my face was priceless... I mean really how you do you prove that…not like I had a hotline number to Uncle Osama who could vouch for my innocence... and then this other time where among a thousand people who got off a boat from Belfast I was the only one pulled aside and almost strip searched…
Frankly this happens to me even in my own country…once at Bombay airport, my Knapsack and I were randomly searched on four separate occasions, despite me having cleared all the security checks.

All this comes at a price... I have to make sure my bags have nothing that’s going to get me into trouble... I have stopped carrying nail cutters even a toothbrush (trust me it’s been confiscated once) (don’t worry I still brush my teeth twice a day… and now I have one from almost every country I have stepped foot in. Further-still I have stopped running… I killed the athlete in me years back.. a constant fear of what happened to Mr. Meneses in London last year, forced me to commit that cold blooded murder.

And this aint the case only when I am flying... even years back when I was in law school and a poor broke student (nothing much has changed since then) who used to take a second class train back home( 28 hour journey..) once every 6 months I was invariably asked to open my bags by the cops on those dreadfully long train rides..( all they ever found was dirty underwear and torn books). There was even this time back in 2001 when I was pulled off a train at one of the stations and detained for 3 hours coz I resembled a terrorist.. I aint joking… its hell to be... and I am sure hell would be a safer place.(or so I presume)
Now most of you would say... shave that goatee damnit… trust me I have tried all of that… shaved goatee... clean shirt… smart trousers… shiny shoes… nothing works... I still get pulled up… I could be in a Versace for all they care... and I can bet my last bottom dollar I would still be pulled up picked up and profiled...
What scares me the most is what might happen to me when I eventually die... are they going to strip search me at the gates of hell (heaven’s had its gates shut on me for the longest time…) I know it sounds presumptuous... But a letter from God (attached herewith) cleared all my doubts.


18th August 2004

To,
Mehak Sethi
Resident Earth

Dear Son,
FYI*
I regret to inform you, that due to the increase in the number of terrorists being sent to Heaven and the continuous nuclear threats from Bush, we are unable to grant entry to any terrorist or terrorist look-alike till the year 2098. In case you happen to kick the bucket before 31st December 2098**, you might have to make alternative arrangements. Given the current circumstances you are advised to proceed directly to the gates of Hell, where your case might be considered and entry could or would be allowed***.
Wishing you all the best.

Signed
God

*(Statutory Warning I hate these 3 letters put together.. they are always the bearer of bad news… be it God or my ex girlfriend… they have both used it to inform me that either I am being dumped or refused entry into Heaven.. hence pay heed to the warning and abstain from using these 3 letters ever.. otherwise I might have to kill you.)

** Right what’s He thinking…does He want to torture me further by making me want to live till the over ripe(almost rotten) age of 119…just what I need don’t you think?.. I am sure to be better off in Hell.

*** Who ever thought the Man above lacked a sense of humor may please revert to the last line of his letter addressed to me.. He makes hell sound like a night club…( So really if that being the case, what do I need to be granted entry? A hot date or loads of cash.(now, if I die today.. I wouldn’t know where ill go.. coz I have neither..)

So well that’s me… and I hope I have convinced all to re think their plans of ever being me or stepping into my shoes… for the time being.. I got a bus to catch and a game to play….

Wayne’s World…

Burp… Hic… Hic… Burp… leave me alone…really... Do you wanna get kicked in ya balls? Oh well by the way I am Wayne … Wayne Rooney… hell… WHAT..!!! ya haven’t heard of me... ?? Bang!!! Punch!!… Sorry had to do that.... you deserved it…. How could you have not heard of me... I am England’s only Star... a star among a bunch of fags and a Swede (Erikkson).

And hell yeah we got knocked out of the World Cup… and those fags want to blame me... really why... just coz I kicked a Portuguese player in his balls... malifide allegations… I didn’t kick him... I just accidentally happened to walk over them CRUNCH!!! Wasn’t my fault… and then I was shown the red card... blasphemy… the referee better watch out... am gonna unleash the soccer hooligans on to him…

And really at the end of it I am being blamed for the loss… what 'bout fag boy Beckham... poor thing had to wobble off the field when his team and country needed him the most, really he would be better off just wearing a pink dress and sucking on a popsicle…

England’s all about... fish and chips…cup o tea... bad food... worse weather... Mary... f@#&ing Poppins and Wayne Rooney... yes me... the football God himself... when God made football he made me (Maradona was just a joke)… I am everything and more this country could ask for... even the Queen can vouch for that….

Now leave me alone I need to guzzle down another 34 liters of beer…. And then I am off to call Bush… need to nuke Portugal and kill Scolari… coz I am Wayne..hic hic.. Wayne Rooney.

The Drudgeries of a Sunday...

Nothing sunny about my Sundays. Or as a matter of fact any Sundays... I hate Sundays... really!!... and I detest this particular one… the sun aint shining... it rarely ever does in Glasgow ... and I woke up with a hang over... strangely I don’t remember touching alcohol the night before... and then I had to live with the fact that the Argentines... the Brazilians and the English (the Scotts are happy about the last bit) got knocked out of the World cup…why? And my head… argghhh!!! It hurts like hell... the migraine is back… I missed my old friend… kept me great company on long lonely nights back in Law School...

So what am I doing right now… well nothing constructive and I would love to keep it that way… (Don’t even know why I am writing this...). My dissertation isn’t going no where… (At least for now) and I don’t know how I am going to go about it... really the thought of all the impending work makes me wanna curl up and sleep forever..(But just for the record am an insomniac... so sleep is a luxury I can’t afford). And my room... holy wow my room…. The Americans nuked it (really)… I was peacefully lying in bed and listening to ‘Toad and the Wet Sprocket’ when I saw a B- 52 ‘Flying Fortress’ fly by... I wondered why though (it’s not everyday that ya see a mother of all bombers fly by... do ya now?)…. A strange whizzing sound followed and it surely wasn’t the music I had on… and then... an earth shattering BANG…. Silence and smoke for the longest time... I think I even coughed and almost choked… and then the dust cleared…. my wee room resembled the Nagasaki countryside… empty bottles on the floor... an over flowing bin... cig butts everywhere …coffee mugs with ash…. and my books... hell my books… all gone… Bush had just nuked my room…but why me... why my room… I have no links with Al Qaida... Or even Uncle Osama... and hell yeah I had nothing to do with the Iranian nuclear project.
But then no point crying over spilt milk… I guess ill just have to live with the affects of a radiation cloud… maybe that explains the migraine…

Back to boredom… it’s touched a new height... a new extreme... am reading Pete’s blog… a must read for all spending a Sunday like mine... http://users.livejournal.com/_alphafrog_/
The music’s changed to ‘Tell Her’ by Del Amitri… thank you Pete (he mailed me the song… but ain’t that music piracy… Pete my friend you gonna get into trouble for this)… this boredom is gonna kill me... I am all set to explode... just what the world needs a self combusting specimen…like me… it would be a great read in the papers tomorrow though.

The Daily Scotsman
3rd July 2006
ASIAN MAN SELF COMBUSTS, DAMAGES ESTIMATED TO BE IN BILLIONS OF POUNDS

Glasgow: A 26 year old man of Asian origin, self combusted in his room last evening. This is the first such reported incident in Scotland, eyewitness were all blinded by the light that emanated from the room where the above mentioned incident took place. They are all admitted in the Royal Infirmary and are all set to file a damages claim suit against the University of Strathclyde for not equipping their rooms with anti glare screens. The claims are set to be in billions of pounds.
The Hubble telescope which at that particular moment was spying on a secret MI 5 mission in Scotland has been rendered useless; the blinding light from the incident has cracked all its lenses. Damages are estimated to be in billions of dollars.
There are further unconfirmed reports that the astronauts and cosmonauts aboard the ISS (International Space Station) are all returning to earth. Fears of history repeating it self are looming large. On March 23rd 2001 the MIR was rendered useless and de orbited due to a similar incident over Cuba.
Reuters.

Right so... I haven’t self combusted have I now?... hmm… and no such news is going to be flashed in any ‘daily’ tomorrow morning… and really I have to stop writing, am hungry and this mess they call my room needs to be cleaned (Damn Bush…) but frankly I am going to spare you all and leave you’ll till the next time I get nuked or self combust…

Rediscovering Reality...

This long rectangular red box…. 32 windows…and a psycho driver… get the drift? I look out of one of those windows… and man next to me is snoring oblivious to me and the world around him... he seems strangely peaceful... his off white turban is almost on my shoulder and I can smell the fresh mustard fields off him… it’s a wee disconcerting.. but the evening breeze takes my mind off him. The road is as bumpy as they come and my butt’s as sore as it was on the night I was letting go (previous post)... I mean what else do you expect… my once white shirt has a huge red stain on it... the man sitting in front of me apparently spat out the betel leaf he had been chewing for the longest time and I just happened to be in the path of that red river… gross… but really!!... I like the shade… it looks like blood stains... adds character to the whole image For some strange reason it makes me feel more like the people on this bus… it makes me feel real... I had been standing out all day or for the matter of fact the whole week in my immaculate white shirts and suddenly this one stain made me feel more human and more like the villagers around me... my hair wasn’t spiked no more.. my trousers were creased and my shoes looked worn out and yes my shirt looked like the color of the soil. My stubble was a day old and it was at this point I decided to stop shaving (I loved the idea and now I had a reason not to).

I was a week into my month long (official) trip across the Maharashtrian ( a state on the west coast of India) countryside and my bed and bean bag back home seemed like a distant dream... the lill comforts I had always taken for granted were now just a fantasy.. but I was falling in love with this new life. A few months out of law school and the activist in me was on his first real mission and the feeling was exhilarating.

Looking back I don’t think I’d be able to go through that month again, but I carry with me some memories I shall cherish forever…

So there I was… a week into my mission… and already three hours into this bus ride… and I had no clue what lay ahead of me... a new village... a new district... maybe even a new lodge where I would spend my night and lots of big red bed bugs to give me company… sounds like a dream holiday doesn’t it.
My mind wandered 400 miles to the west… to my lill house... to the woman of my dreams... I wondered what she was doing… in my minds eye she was still in her air conditioned plush office and working on some corporate deal and I missed her… it had been a week since I last ate dinner with her and it would be another 23 before that could or would happen. I had already planned ahead… and the thought of her warm embrace and the image of her smiling when I went back home a few days from now made me smile like a senile idiot. I knew she would hate the stubble (which I was sure was going to be a beard by then) but then maybe she might get used to the new look (though I had my serious doubts).

Suddenly my shoulder felt wet… it was my neighbor the same turbaned snoring farmer you might remember... he was drooling in his sleep and my shoulder felt like the perfect place to indulge in this activity. That’s all I needed... it was getting better wasn’t it? but I was still smiling... I was finally getting used to this... used to it all... actually I was reaching a point where I was enjoying it… (even the drool on my shirt)( twisted…), I wasn’t even sure if I would get water for a shower when I got to Akola but like I cared.

I was surrounded by people I can now call real… they were as simple as they come… no malice.. no greed.. simplicity in its purest form… just like this man seated a few rows away having an animated monologue with his( I wasn’t sure of the sex) travelling companion.. a goat( i wasnt on drugs.. it really was a goat).. it was white with 3 brown spots and two lill horns ( I really wanted to know what the conversation was all about… but sadly the dialect was as alien to me as the land I was in) Or like this middle aged woman with a basket of vegetables, something about her…. and I couldn’t place a finger on it… she seemed to have stepped straight out of an artist’s canvas. The lines on her face... the colors she wore... all earthen and beautiful… her simplicity was breath taking.

The view from my little window was picture perfect… the red soil, the yellow mustard fields and the rows of trees all buzzing past me. The sun had gone down and the evening sky had Venus breathing down upon me… it was all breath taking. I was a stranger in my own country... that’s how I felt... the urban city boy( back at 24 I still thought and felt like a boy) out to discover his once rural roots (not really… but I liked the idea… it felt enchanting and made me feel magnanimous).

I had spent the past week battling all sorts of issues…unhygienic food ( though at the end of one month I couldn’t think of eating anything else) bed bugs from Mars…the lack of alcohol... the non availability of the brand of cigs I smoked…and most importantly the alien concept of showers… (really the shower bit didn’t go down too well with me) Can’t forget this one night I spent in this lill township, Jalna… I had traveled 9 hours on a bus journey similar to the one I was on and had checked into this random lodge at 4 in the morning. I was dead beat and all I really wanted was a bed I could call home for a few hours. The man behind the bell( there was no bell) was dreaming of his pet cow and it took me a good 20 mins to wake him up and get that room and bed I badly wanted ,( the rooms were cheap, my office couldn’t afford anything else for me.. and I really had to get used to them).. there were no televisions, just a bed( no bed bugs if I was lucky)( but lady luck has issues with me, so invariably I was feasted upon every night).. and a chair. The wash rooms were nothing to write home about... an old filthy blue bucket… a cracked mirror and a tap with no water. Fit for the Sultan of Brunei. Don’t you think?

So there I was in this random room in the middle of no where... on a decently cool December night (wasn’t sure if I could call 4 30 in the morning anything else). The bed looked inviting and even taking off my shoes that I had had on for 16 hours seemed like an audacious task. Three mins into that room I was already in dream land... eating a juicy steak at Martins’... sipping on some cold vodka lemonade... smoking a classic mild( I know there aint no such thing as a mild cancer… but smoking a mild cig always makes me feel less guilty.. and this was a dream for crying out loud.. I could smoke weed if I wanted to) I loved those dreams... they were at least comfortable... and I am sure I hadn’t gone too far with my steak when this loud banging at the door startled me out of bed... was I dead? whatever happened to my steak… where was my cig…I was dazed to say the least... it was 6 in the morning and there was a raving lunatic at my door... I only had blood on my mind… this intruder’s blood… It was the laundry man, the f *#@ing laundry man… (an alien concept to these parts) who had come to collect the sheets I was sleeping on… had it not been for the fear of spending the next 14 years of my life serving time for a cold blooded murder I really would have done it… so there I was in this alien room in the middle of no where with no sleep.. no steaks... no cigs or vodka and now no sheets to sleep on… I wanted to cry... wanted to run away...I wanted to scream and shout... probably even bring the roof down... or maybe not... and there was no way in hell I was sleeping on that bed with no sheets on it …….
Ouch…am suddenly brought back to reality… don’t know why these bus drivers have to brake so hard... maybe its their sadistic way of waking everyone up (maybe he was related to the laundry man)… its refreshment time… a starry night.. this lill run down eatery with big pots and an open kitchen... I was hungry and the smell of freshly baked naans (Indian bread) was too hard to resist. The cold water from the village tube well washed off all the exhaustion and the naans dipped in sweet milky tea brought me to life... I still missed my dinners with my lady love... but this seemed like a decent substitute.
Now I have a knack of striking a conversation with anyone and everyone no matter where or who I am with... but sitting there alone I felt helpless... the language in this region was as alien to me as the as characters from H.G Wells ‘War of the Worlds’… but its at times like these you discover new ways of getting across to people.. Something as simple as a smile distorted in 36 different forms can get any conversation going. (I recommend it to all).

Suddenly I had new friends… a whole bus full of them to say the least... even that psycho driver( distant cousin of the laundry man) smiled at me… I felt like a lill kid who wasn’t alone no more... language... culture nothing seemed to be a barrier … just a bunch of humans all connecting on a level alien to any urban being.. it was beautiful…

I spent the last 4 hours of my journey lost in the rural settings of this world I never thought existed…their voices... the songs... the occasional snore... the cool breeze and the stars....I could have died peacefully….but I didn’t…
The bus finally pulled into Akola in the dead of the night… not a soul in sight and it was time to say my good byes… not like any one understood what I said... but the message was loud and clear... a simple wave of the hand... and those strangers... those friends were all gone forever.. I saw the bus pull out and I was alone again except for the stray dogs who seemed to love me... a new place ..a new mission... and I was off to find a new bed to call home….

Happiness misconstrued….

Diwali the festival of lights.. lamps..and life…. It would never be the same again…as I stood on the terrace of my office in green park in Delhi.. that cold autumn evening.. I had a feeling that something had changed forever.

Everything around me was different.. I was trying to pick up the pieces of what ever was left… but there wasn’t anything left to salvage.. or was there.. I was trying to make a fresh start… I had no where to go.. just me and this new job…
I have always hated Delhi.. but this time it was different… the sun had gone down… and the city had come to life… the season of festivities was a sunrise away and for once this mad house of a city felt beautiful… I was almost done for the day… and soon I would have to go back to this lill room I was going to call home for a month. I was living alone and there was nothing or no one to go back home to…

It was Diwali and I was alone…and I hated it… but the lights and the ocean of people around me.. all busy trying to be happy was comforting. But really, was everyone happy? I have always believed that happiness is a relative concept… I have been searching for the same for the longest time…I had everything I needed to survive...but was I happy? And then what about those who couldn’t afford the materialistic needs and demands of this festival.? I have always wondered how the poor and the destitute worked around festivals like Diwali… maybe its their simplicity which gets them through it… or maybe they find their happiness in the fortunate others. I never really found an answer to that question but maybe that’s all I wanted to that night. That answer..

Diwali for me as a child was all about lights.. fire crackers … sweets and new clothes… it was a time where the whole family got together and celebrated life.. but as a kid I never thought about the less fortunate ones.. how did they go about this… wasn’t it torture… really.. watching the world around you being happy in their materialistic existence..? these were questions I needed answers for.. this was my new mission.. my new reason to live.
Living life everyday as it comes is tougher than most can imagine, you have to constantly look for reasons to get you through the day, motivation is a huge factor and answers and reasons for survival don’t come by easy. But suddenly I had this new reason….

It was dark by the time I stepped out of office, I was still in my white shirt and grey trousers and I was a wee cold, I wished for a jumper, It was going to be a long cold winter ahead, and I could already feel it. The streets were buzzing with people… the shops were brightly lit up.. selling their lill goodies.. sweets.. dry fruits… gifts… I had never seen Delhi this happy…and for some strange reason that euphoria was rubbing onto me. I must have walked a mile.. my grey bag and me.. when I chanced upon this lill slum. A collection of hutments all built from scraps buzzing with activity. The poorest of poor called it their home… I stood across that lill township, searching for the answer searching for happiness in its unadulterated form… I couldn’t see much.. but I could smell the food they were cooking, the smell of kerosene cooking stoves and lentils.. an odor common to these hutments. I had nothing better to do.. so I found my self this spot and made my self comfortable. A small city within a city.. that’s what I was looking at… But why was I here… What was I looking for? I really didn’t know? Maybe I was searching for happiness in those homes… the glimmer of hope that maybe this festival was not just about material satisfaction and happiness could not be bought with money…maybe ….

The sound of a crying infant.. the constant clatter of utensils.. the melodious voice of a drunk lost in his lill untouchable yet inescapable world… were all music to my ears… yet I couldn’t see the festivities.. I couldn’t find what I was looking for.. maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough?. There I was looking at this world I found myself fortunate not to be a part off within a world of celebrations.. the occasional burst of a distant fire cracker bringing me back to the reality that lay sprawled in front of me. Sitting there on that cold November evening I was losing hope of finding any answer or any happiness, it all looked bleak and I wanted to walk away.. just go back to my wee room and spend my night taking in Delhi in all its stupor…till I saw this dark silhouette collecting some scraps and putting them together, and before I knew it this one man had managed to put together a bonfire… a big beautiful fire.. it was alive… its lill shadows dancing on the faces that it attracted. I could finally see them…all of them... one by one… they all found themselves being drawn towards this fire… a new life had been infused in that hutment.

There were happy faces everywhere… children dancing… and then some one turned up the music.. it was loud and just not my kind… but it seemed to influx an enthusiasm I had never seen before. The old … the young… families… friends… they were all there… together.. a sense of existence in all its harmony loomed large. Diwali the festival of lights was spreading its infectious tentacles over these people... those very people who seemed to own nothing but their pride and their exuberance towards life. They seemed happy.. happy to be alive.. to be able to take in something as simple as the joys of a fire and togetherness, especially when the world around them was spending millions just to burn it all the next night. It was liberating.. a feeling which most including me could not or would not understand…I had seen enough.. I was happy…I was smiling… I had seen happiness in its unadulterated form… I had seen togetherness.. I had seen it all…

Of Bagpipes and Scotch...

Welcome to Scotland… the only things that come to ones mind( mine rather) when you mention the word ‘Scotland’…. Are Bagpipes and Scotch… and maybe even William Wallace... (distorted images of Mel Gibson dressed in a kilt out to get the English).
Maybe the only reason why I love Scotland… the bag pipes and the scotch… every afternoon I am treated to an exhilarating ensemble of men dressed in kilts playing the bag pipes in all their glory outside my window… I can shut my eyes and picture the Scottish highlands and feel the cool breeze against my face... the music is relaxing and liberating. Its something about those kilts and that soul crunching music… actually it might be the scotch… really…there ain't a better feeling in the world.. than sipping on some scotch and hearing men in skirts play a bag full of pipes.

Patsy’s paradise…

The Irish countryside… I fell in love with it the second I got there… the stark emptiness… the trees.. the open fields… words cannot do justice to the images flashing in my wee head…
There I was sitting on the back seat of my friend’s car driving through Belfast.. the land of Bono… IRA… and Guinness… yes I was in Ireland.. and I was off to meet Patsy the Pirate.

Well Patsy wasn’t really a pirate.. but I imagined him as one( my imagination is quite warped).. Now who really was Patsy?.. well Patsy is someone I would love to be in 30 years from now… I had been graciously invited over to his wee den for an evening of music.. tea and weed. A heady mix don’t you think?

As I stood at his door … I really didn’t know what to expect.. I frankly just had weed on my mind… I hadn’t smoked up for the longest time.. and I really needed to free my head.. my thoughts.. I was at the lowest ebb of my fruitless existence(mid life crisis).. and really I all I needed was that liberation.. that unadulterated freedom…

The door opened ever so slowly and lo behold…..he stood in front of me in all his glory.. Patsy… a man I can never forget… dressed in a loose black shirt with his hair combed back… nervously I entered his wee den.. his paradise…and what lay in front of my eyes was nothing short of a pirates den.

His lill chair.. the Persian rug.. a vast array of swords… books I had never imagined existed… and just about everything that Patsy had collected and conquered over the years from traveling across the world.

I sat on this wee chair sipping on some black tea and smoking some weed… I was high..( I almost always am)…but this was different…Pink Floyd playing in the back ground.. the dim red light…. And an unfinished canvas… which as it would have it was the topic of our discussion for the longest time…

Strangely so… it wasn’t the canvas.. I guess it was the weed.. our minds had been freed from the shackles of our mundane existence and was lost in the depth of that unfinished canvas… silver blue streaks across a white background… we all construed it in our own twisted ways.. but it was exhilarating just sitting there and hearing Patsy talk… about anything and everything… his days as a drummer.. his first Beatles concert and even about that unfinished canvas…

The evening was over before I knew it.. but images of Patsy and his paradise still flash through my mind .. that unfinished canvas.. (which I am sure will stay that way for all time to come).. the music.. the old black and white pictures of Patsy in his younger days.. all of it and more…
I might never meet Patsy again… but that evening he liberated me… he maybe even gave me a reason to live … that was Patsy… the pirate.. I can close my eyes and picture him standing on a deck of an old ship out to conquer the world…

Enslaved by Education….

Sometime in May 2006

Am a slave… a victim of my own choices and existence... these books... these notes... these pages... all these inane words... the black and the white...they don’t make sense to me… I keep turning the pages and they keep coming back at me....page after page like plague... my study is my play ground... Where I play with those words… those pages... but I’d rather burn them all... tear them... and throw them out of my window...
My room's a disaster... there are pages strewn all over... books on the floor... ‘post- its’ everywhere... reminding me of this insanity... this pain I am a victim off...at the end of it all I don’t care a fuck if Security Council resolution 1327 or 1368 made any diff.... all I care is that.. These books and pages and everything else around me is driving me mad….. Let’s all ban education arghhhh!!…

Those Ten Minutes…

3rd April 2006

I love these ten minutes... they don't seem to end... maybe its a perception... maybe its not...maybe its just me.... life is too slow anyways.... time stands still... my cup of coffee is still full.. except there is no coffee in it... this room is full of people though I cant see anyone... guess that's my life....its all bout those ten minutes....isn't it?? This song... it keeps playing over and over again...epitomizes my life...I wanna sleep... but there is no bed.... these ten minutes don't seem to end... I wanna break free and step out of these ten minutes....but it seems a distant dream...
I have lived in this hope... for a long time...and it seems like forever now... I don't even know when i started living those ten minutes... and I have no clue when it will end... it’s been a long lonely journey... but I seem to love it more and more... I am getting addicted to it... I guess…though I wouldn't really know... what would I do if I ever stop living those ten minutes...

The Eyes of a Killer...

28th November 2005

The more I have thought bout writing this... the more I have been dissuaded from doing so....there are and were enough unanswered questions…back then and they still exist in all their glory....

Back Ground
I was not born to be a lawyer... I guess no one was...except for Ram Jethmalani and Kapil Sibal... I was born to be a cricketer... (As mentioned in my previous posts)... but when I wasn't even selected in the school team... I gave my whole career option a rethink... and somehow landed in Law School..... it was a loong loong time back now... but the one question that kept coming up again and again... was... dude... will you ever defend a criminal... and I never had an answer and surprisingly I still don't....

Its not like I never thought about it... I did... but my ‘surdi’ brains…never had an answer... finally after years of deliberation... I made a pact to my self...it was more to appease my morals than anything else... I had decided to defend the small time criminals but never the big bad ganstas... or murderers.... but before I knew it... my pact went rolling down a drain and I found my self... facing my first murder trail.

After having spent 4 months in criminal litigation...I realized it was a bad bad world out there... a world I had seen in some C grade Hindi movies... (Truck Driver Suraj, starring Mithun da)... a world that always excited me... a world that always scared me... and before I knew it I stood face to face with it....Most of my clients in the first 4 months were petty thief's.... accused of allegedly stealing.. car stereos... spare parts from trucks... tool kits from bikes... there was nothing moral about defending them... they were poor and all needed money (at least I made my self believe that)... so I had no qualms defending them.... I didn't own a car or a stereo system...a bike or a tool kit... or even a truck...to be scared to be one of their victims... I knew I was making the world an unsafe place by getting all these kids or guys back on the streets..... but I loved my job... and it was a high... it was better than dope... (maybe not).... but it was a high alright....

Then one morning... everything changed....my boss handed me a file... it was blue... looked completely harmless....( I only got the case coz she had issues she needed to deal with( construe that as liberally as possible) but all the same I was excited as hell.. yeah it was a murder case...and my first.. I left the file on my table... and left for court... not thinking bout it all day... I left it for my special evening moment... the day passed me by even before I knew it...evening dawned upon me and so did the impending file... I was excited and scared... it was more like the feeling ya have before going out for a date with a really hot chic... yes that harmless blue file was turning me on...

The sun was setting over Bombay... it was a decently cool November evening...I was sitting alone in my cubicle....listening to U2...waiting for my coffee to boil...and my cig to light... and all the while my gaze fixed on blue file.. and the mystery inside it... I was dying to pick it up... but my coffee had to boil... and I had to be high on nicotine... it was like foreplay...

Sipping my terribly brewed black coffee and smoking my third cig... I finally did pick up the file....it was electric...and then my life changed...(again)....I slowly perused through the file... taking every word in slowly... sipping the words like an exotic French wine...ya it felt great.. till I came across the FIR... this dude had been accused of not one murder but 2 ... and they weren't like ya everyday murders... they were ghastly...they were grotesque...I wanted to throw up... and I almost did after reading it...the taste of French wine had suddenly changed to some shady country liquor... (I actually did throw up....) it was too much for me to fathom that someone could actually do this... some one who was only 15. I was sick as hell....I couldn't handle this... I couldn't do this case... what about my morals... I was in tears...this was beyond me... naaa... I kept telling my self... am handing this file back... am not doing this I am not defending this dude.... but...could I actually just let this go.. what if he had reasons... what if there was a genuine motive behind the murders... what if.... but still. this was too ghastly... what would my mum say... what would the world say... what would all my friends say... all those people who asked again and again... WOULD I DEFEND THE GUILTY????.. but maybe he hadn't done it... maybe he was innocent... maybe it was not him... what if he was framed... too many questions. and as usual no answers...

I was the last to leave office that night... it was dark and I was scared.... I really was... what if someone came out of the dark... and badgered me to death...it was a possibility... and this was freaking me out... this blue file had SCREWED ME OVER... even the train journey back.. was a nightmare... I kept looking over my shoulder... I was freaked out to say the least... the fear was real and cold....what if someone was waiting for me at home to kill me... ya I was paranoid.. at least I didn't have to worry about my kid being killed... I had none... (I swear... I still don't... for all those people who believe that I have a few coz of my promiscuous past)....

That was one of my worst nights I spent in my house... nothing helped... the cheap whisky....the nicotine... retrospectively dope could have helped... but I had none... I couldn't sleep...even Cricket on Espn was no help... arghhhh I was being eaten alive....that blue file... I had to get it off my head.....but.....

A few light years later I was back on a train... the 7:14 from Vashi to V.T.... luckily I was not alone... there were a million others on the train with me... and suddenly they all looked like killers.... I was surrounded by murderers... I had officially gone bonkers my then... I hadn’t shaved... (not like I shaved everyday)... my famous white shirt was as white as ever... (RIN KE SAFEDI)....
I needed a closure... I wanted the case off my back.... I wanted to get to office as soon as possible... but everything was running in slow motion...

My luck was running out... I couldn't get a cab from the train station to office... so I walked it.... then the freaking elevator wasn't working... just not my day I guess... even the coffee tasted like shit from down town Dongri... my interns faced the brunt of my frustration.. even Zubee (my secretary) got hell....

Finally madam walked into office at 11... lazy as hell and lost in her own lill world... I knew what she had on her mind... and it so wasn't that blue file...

I walked up to her even before she could light her navy cut... I was like the lamb before the wolf... I begged her to take case of my arse... but obviously she refused... in fact she had a surprise in store for me... a meeting with the dude in the afternoon... he was in custody and i had to go and meet him... I DIDN'T WANNA MEET HIM... MY HANDS WERE SHAKING... I was gonna meet the guy who had probably done all this shit... I threw a tantrum... I almost got fired... but...I was finally forced to continue...

Lunch was the same....I ate really slow... I ate a lot... I didn't wanna go... but... finally the time came... it was 3 pm... the November sun... was bright as ever... and my state of mind bleak as hell... the long walk to the observation home was a torture.... my white shirt had already lost its color... I was sweating as hell... I had my intern to give me company... but it didn't help... she was hot... but it all didn't matter.... nothing mattered....

3:37 pm... I was sitting in a room... just three chairs a table and a squeaky fan... the silence was deafening... I was dying to smoke... but I couldn't... (it wasn't allowed...) my intern sat fidgeting with the pen... I couldn't stop tapping the table.... and fuck that fan made too much noise.....

3:42 pm... the dude finally walked in... he was around 5 feet 6 inches tall. he wore an old white shirt and blue shorts (the uniform for juvenile offenders)... he was fair.... his hair combed back. I stood up and shook his hands.... and that's when I looked into his eyes... they were cold... there was something about them... it was scary.... he sat across of me... the table and the blue file separating us...

3:53 pm... we started talking.... the usual... hope the cops aren't beating ya... the food is good... and then I popped the question... DID YOU DO IT? there was silence again... it lasted for an eternity...now I really wanted to break that fan... and then he opened his mouth... looked me in the eyes... and said YES!!!!!!! he had done it... committed two cold blooded murders... YES HE HAD DONE IT... he was not innocent... he was guilty... but I couldn't decide that... the court had to do that... but in my mind he was guilty as hell.... I didn't know what to do.... I was only there coz he couldn't afford a lawyer and someone had to provide him with legal aid... his constitutional right... right to legal aid... I was there coz he couldn't get a lawyer..... I was torn.....

Months later... even today I can’t forget those eyes... eyes which showed no remorse for what he had done... maybe he didn't understand any of it... maybe he was too young... I kept telling my self Mehak this is your job... you have to do it... you have to defend him......

My morals had taken a beating... I didn't tell any of my friends... I couldn't... I was a bastard for doing this wasn't I??? maybe all of ya would say the same... but it was my job and someone had to do this..... and I yes I defended him in court...... and yes... months later I got him off... YES DAMN IT I GOT HIM OFF... the evidence was too weak... it was all circumstantial... after four months of trail.... the dude walked out scot free.... he was a murderer and he walked out scot free.. I proved it... I proved that he was innocent... how could I....was I guilty of murder. too... maybe ... I hate my self for what I did... some part of me does... but then that's life.... I sat across a murderer... his eyes... his cold remorseless eyes....and I won the case... but I lost my morals... my ethics... I lost my innocence... I became a bastard.... I became a murderer.....