How I Stopped Thinking...

Fade in. A 30-something aspiring (read failing) writer types away on his laptop as he hears the sound of drums and firecrackers outside. Grumbling under his breath, he gets up and closes the window, peeking out to see what’s happening, as he does. A marriage party, kids and adults alike, dancing to the sound of bawdy film songs as they make their way to the marriage hall. He comes back to his desk and sits quietly on his chair. Suddenly he has the urge to overthink everything in his life and he decides to give in to this urge. He knows its not the best habit, but he can’t help it. He reaches for his cigarette pack, only to find it empty. ‘Story of my life’, he thinks to himself. Now he can’t even romanticise this overthinking with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Then so be it. Being a 30-something man in today’s world is not an easy task. The amount of information, about people around you, that is bombarded in your face every minute makes it a very difficult time. On

(How the heart never listens!) DISCLAIMER: This post is not in any way related to the movie of the same name. Also, pardon the weirdly spaced out lines, not my fault. As if Life wasn't difficult enough... Life is complete with problems and challenges every day. But it's a new kind of difficult when you suddenly realize that you are falling in love or the percentage of your brain mass which was allotted to your “crush” is now demanding a bigger quota. You know right then that this is so not what you want but you don't have control! The funniest part about falling in love with someone is that all of a sudden the small divide between your bastard heart and your poor brain turns into a full blown Civil War with all the powerful ones going the heart’s way while the brain has nothing left except pull the “thinking card”. The brain becomes the veritable Tony Stark seeing his close allies, the five senses, side with the heart's Captain America (*cough**Hydr

I loved my hometown, with all its flaws and imperfections which made you bitch about it, it still was the place where I spent 21 years of my life. So, when the time came for me to leave it and go to a new place, I was a bit skeptic, more so when I heard it was Kolkata…. The year was 2012, exactly four years ago when I had to choose between Kolkata & Pune. Like every guy who dreams of that “happening life” cliche, I had almost chosen Pune. But 2012 was also a year which taught me a lot of things, that too right in the first quarter, before the financial closing even happened. My mother's year long battle with cancer ended on 25th March, 2012 & cancer won. I had also got a confirmation for my Pune stint till then, but I decided to choose Kolkata, maybe it was my way of staying close to my father or some way of making a decision where I won, I don't know. The fact was, I chose to join Praxis Business School in Kolkata, and today, 4 years down the line, I can say tha

“Have you ever loved anyone?” she asked me. And, to be honest, I didn’t know what to say. It was an old place, one which was handed down from generations. The manager of the bar, Mile, was an old friend & so he didn’t mind me hanging around there. I used to tell him that I used to hang around his bar looking for inspiration. I used to tell him that the hordes of people who come down to his place, each with their own stories and sorrows and joys made me feel great. But he knew, as did I, deep in my heart, that I was there only because of the alcohol. But, was that the only reason? I wonder I met her in the bar itself. She was a journalist, who had started with a local newspaper. When she saw me she couldn’t believe her luck. You see, I am a bit of a local celebrity. I am a writer and my books are fairly popular, in their own, pulp fiction sort of way. So, naturally, she was excited to interview me; while I, on the other hand, despised such interviews. But I thought wha

Tchaikovsky was playing in the room when we entered. I don’t remember which of his compositions it was, but it sounded vaguely familiar. The room itself didn’t scream “classical music fan”, but the record collection near the sink said otherwise. His name was Maxwell Steinberg and someone had killed him, again. December 1992 As a young cop, who had just joined the force, and whose only source of knowledge about cops were the movies he had seen, I was as green as they come. First week in, I learnt that real cops do not work like the ones in the movies. There were no “errant cops” who break all laws to uphold the justice system nor were there fast paced, flying car chases through narrow lanes of the city. Car chases usually happened on the fast lanes or freeways and almost always ended with the miscreant getting caught. But one day everything changed for me & to a large extent for our entire precinct. I was in the precinct that day when the call came through.