My first job is now my former job

And my first job comes to an abrupt end. A beautiful chapter comes to a fugly end. I'm gonna miss that place like, dunno what to say, gonna miss it to so much. For past year and a half, I had no aim other than becoming a better sub-editor. Tried my best to give headlines with a zing, sometimes succeeded too. The Economist stylebook was my Bible. Used to read it, re-read and then re-read it again. I wanted to be flawless, perfect. Used to go through the book of idioms, phrases and allusions so affectionately as if it was a collection of the love letters from my girlfriend.

I have no girlfriend. For the past year and a half, work was my only love. Just how much I loved working! Used to come to work even on my weekly offs, voluntarily. Past year during monsoon, used to end up getting drenched almost every other day while coming to office but still worked full shift, cheerfully, shivering under the fan, only because I absolutely loved my work. Didn't take any casual leave, ever. And until my road accident five months ago, took just two sick leaves altogether, that too when I was sick as a dog.

Talking of accident, that too happened because I chose work over family. My cousin was getting married in my hometown. I hadn't been to home for one and a half years. I had asked for leave, once. Didn't ask twice because there was severe shortage of people in my department. I got my flight tickets cancelled and chose to stay back, for sake of work. And it's during this period that I met with an road accident, while returning from work :-|

I didn't mind being underpaid and overworked (Rs 13,500 a month in a city like Bangalore, give me a break!). Just because I loved my work. But sooner or later, every lover in a one-sided love one day wakes up to reality. Even after increment, my salary is less than that of freshers! Whoa, can't take it, dude.

However, one bitter episode can't make me bitter. Nothing can, in fact. I had loads of fun working here. No other newspaper office, I presume, has such a work atmosphere where employees have so much fun. I'm attached to this job, to 'my' computer, to my colleagues, to my 'Press' pass, to that office. Maybe that's why I turned down all those job offers that came my way during my tenure with the company.

It was my first job. First job, man! Do you realise how special it is! To me it is as special as my first love, first zero in physics, first bike and first accident (minor). I absolutely loved my work. I loved the people I worked with. Feels sad to leave.

But know what? A job that you love but doesn't pay well is like being attracted to a shemale: it seems nice, but fails you at the most crucial spot. Likewise, a job that pays well but doesn't excite you is like an ugly lady you'd date just because she's rich. I choose neither. That is why I, yesterday, walked out of my under-paying job. And that is why I, just a week ago, turned down the job offer from the world's biggest news agency — established in 1799, mind you — even though it was offering me more than twice of what I was getting from my then-current job. (No disrespect intended to the company whose offer I turned down. Utmost disrespect intended to the decision makers of the company I quit.)

I have quit the company. Of course, they will get a new sub-editor, who will sit on 'my' system, will replace me. But know what? I am irreplaceable. I cannot be replaced. No one else can be like Hemant Gairola.

Before ending, I want to tell my friends in reporting department that whenever I got to edit a byline story of any of you, I always strived to edit it as nicely as possible, make it look as good as I could. However, there must have been times when my editing might have disappointed you. I apologise for that. My friends on desk (well, there's hardly anyone left on desk now), I'm gonna miss you all a lot. Missing you already :( Love you guys a lot. I'll give you all free front-row passes of my concerts when I become rock star.

Ah, dunno how to end this piece I'm writing. As a sub-editor I've always taken pride in keeping text as short as possible. But it's alrite. I've left my first job (actually I haven't left, didn't want to leave, the job has left me), I'm a bit senti and need to tell all of it. But it's ok. You guys must be having stories to file, to edit and finish pages on time. All the very best to all of you. Lots of love...

:(
:(
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“Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life.”
— Confucius

I meditate, she becomes Dalai Lama

It's a dream I saw around a couple of weeks ago, when I was in Goa. In the dream, I was in Balco (the township in Chhattisgarh where I lived for the first 17 years of my life), in our bungalow quarter that has a big lawn. And what do I see on the lawn of the quarter with whom we share our left boundary wall? The girl whom I love was doing Tai Chi there!

She was standing with her feet shoulder-width apart. Slowwwly stretching to her left. Verrryyy slowly. Then stretching to her right in the same slowww manner. I noticed it when I was going out of my house — in the dream — for some work. I return after a couple of hours and she was still there, doing Tai Chi! I didn't go and speak to her, fearing  her "I'm busy". Don't know if she even noticed me.

There must have been more to this dream but I remembered only this much when I woke up. Ok, went to my meditation camp then. (I had gone to Goa to attend a spiritual camp.) After returning that evening, I told my friend — had gone to Goa with a school-time friend — about the dream. First he gave me a blank look. Then, in all seriousness, he said, "It's been just a few days that you started these meditations and she's now doing Tai Chi in your dreams. Looks like if you keep meditating then after a month she'll come in your dreams as Dalai Lama!"

Hahaha... That insightful observation left both of us in splits. I found it funny that's why thought should mention it here on my blog. I wonder how Sigmund Freud would have interpreted this dream, she doing Tai Chi for two hours! Hahaha... But she looked beautiful, as always. And just loved that nonchalant look on her face when she was doing, well, Tai Chi!

"Last night I dreamed I ate a 10-pound marshmallow. When I woke up, the pillow was gone." — Tommy Cooper

Bathroom-water cooking (Don't try this at home)

Issued in public interest

Before monsoon turns Bangalore's roads into rivulets and people start considering buying rubber boats to commute, summers tend to get quite merciless. In summers, water supply in Bangalore becomes like Indian Railways' tatkal tickets: everyone wants, only a lucky few get.

In many localities, people hit the road to stage protest, demanding water. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Indeed. As I did once. No, I didn't go down the road screaming "Dhikkara, dhikkara". When my apartment ran out of water during lunch time, I got water from bathroom to cook.

From the perspective of someone who has been there, done that, I'll advise you not to cook food with water taken from the bucket in your bathroom. No matter what. You wouldn't want to learn the lesson the hard way. 

I was making khichdi on that eventful day. Opened tap in the kitchen for water to boil rice. Damn! Wanted water, got only air. What to do? Vegetables were cut and I was hungry. Heck, I'll have my lunch, I thought and took a mug of water from the bucket in my bathroom and poured in my pressure cooker. Used my bathroom mug, by the way. Put the cooker on gas. My lunch will be ready!

Yeah, baby! The problem solver has done it again. Cometh the hour, cometh the man! Started feeling smug for being so awesome at crisis management. Was busy adorning myself with adjectives such as resourceful, creative and what not when the cooker's whistle interrupted my narcissist thought process.

There was my khichdi. It's aroma wafted as I opened the lid, further heightening my sense of triumph. And, it tasted good! 

Ok. Later that night this headache started troubling me. What crap, I thought. Couldn't even fall asleep for so long. Ok. Woke up abruptly about 8.30 am and went to, well, from where I had taken the water for cooking—my bathroom. And then began the three-hour long, intermittent process of puking, so awful that its vivid description may make you puke. All the effort, the emotions that I had put in making this khichdi went down the drain. Literally.

Revenge

There is one person who rejoiced exceedingly upon learning of my kitchen misadventure. It's alright. He is the first victim of my bathroom-water cooking—my friend whom I had invited for lunch a couple of months ago. Then too the tap was running dry and I had to cook with bathroom water. He made some fuss but then ate it.

Later that day when I was in office, I got a call from him. "Kutte, kameene, tujhe keede padein," he had said along with other expletives, his voice booming in toilet. 

He is jubilant upon learning that I have now suffered the same trauma that I had caused him. His faith in God's justice is renewed. As for me, I never attempted cooking like that again. For the rest of my stay in Bangalore, I chose to be malnourished instead of falling sick. That's why I started looking like a pickpocket, but that's another story.

My unbelievable Valentine's Day, by accident

My this Valentine's Day was the stuff dreams are made of. Cool breeze. Two caring women by my side. One looking into my eyes, smiling, asking my height, weight etc. The other holding my hand.

Well, it was the stuff nightmares are made of. The breeze was coming from the AC of the hospital I was admitted in. Those caring women, "sisters", were caring because it is their profession. One was holding my hand to insert a needle in my vein (oooi!) and draw blood. The one asking height, weight and all needed that info for my surgery the day after.

Surgery? Yes. To fix my broken left collar bone. Broken, not fractured. How come? Courtesy, a freak road accident. That accident occurred at around 1 am on Sunday, February 6, when I was returning to my room after work. An ambulance hit me at a crossing. Haha... Yeah, ambulance hit me. Broken bone, torn ligaments, cut flesh (21 stitches on right foot)... Must have hurt bad, no? Actually, no. For, I was completely unconscious when all this happened. I just remember that I was riding my bike and then woke up in a hospital. Being blank helped. Felt noooo pain at all!

The darkness

But you know what's the worst part? The accident occurred just a week before Bryan Adams' Greatest Hits concert (highly anticipated) in the city. I had the ticket, bought at a princely sum of Rs 3,500, to watch the legend from aage se. Missed it! The ambulance-hit not only broke my bones but heart too. My favourite pair of Reebok shoes got torn down. Had bought them for Rs 4,000, man! As for my dear bike, rest in peace you metal beast. Obviously, I had to discontinue gym. Man, I had been working hard, putting on bulk. Now all gone :(

Silver lining
However, there were some plus points too. Got six weeks off from work. And got full pay for these off days! Was at my bro's house, watching TV all day! Enjoyed watching the audition round of Roadies, saw all movies of Rocky series back to back, two days in a row (and thought of becoming a boxer). Mom had come to Bangalore so got to eat butter-inundated aalu ka paraantha, without paying.

Wisdom dawns
There were some enlightenments too. Laughter is the best medicine. (It does have its side effects, though. After the accident I called my parents and told them I've had an accident, shoulder fracture, leg wounded and all. I spoke jovially. They thought I was kidding. It was only after my bro in Bangalore apprised them of the situation that they decided to come to Bangalore, eight days after I took the hit.)

Another thing I learnt about myself is that I may not have muscles of iron, yet, but I do have nerves of steel. Chest hurt while laughing but I used to watch funny movies nevertheless. It takes a lionheart to do that. Hahaha... Aahhh!

Well, life is limping back to normalcy now. Literally. I'm limping, can't walk properly for another couple of weeks. Have started office, getting bored, am thin as stick again. Everything normal.

This Valentine's Day I came close to my dream of being with a caring woman who'd hold my hand, look into my eyes, smile... Hopefully it will happen the next V-Day. She won't be "sister" and she'd hold my hand to set my pulses racing instead of checking my pulse/blood pressure and drawing out blood. Amen!

Click here to read what my friend in Deccan Herald wrote about my accident. (Suresh in the story is actually Hemant Gairola.)

Click here to read how the newspaper I work for reported my accident. Disgusting that they spelt my name as "Hemanth" (ewww)!!

Why I came to office in fake Adidas half-pant today

Today has been one of those days I'd like to forget. Your Honour, I ask, is it a sin to ride a bike in Bangalore with fake Adidas half-pants on? Why, why did those bloody *#%@~ traffic cops stopped me twice? A challan of Rs 600 (grrrrrrrr...)! Because of the series of unfortunate incidents today, I'm sitting in my office, wearing that fake Adidas half-pant, looking dirty and like a pick-pocket.

The day started off alrite, went to gym, worked out. Then came Khadag Singh (actually known as Kuldeep Singh, mera school-time, chaddi friend). He said let's go to buy supplement (for bodybuilding). Ok, we went. The address he had seemed non-existent. Kept going in circles. The first time around, a cop stopped and asked for licence. I had it, showed it and got going.

After another futile search for that mythical shop, proceeded to a different route. Bloody traffic cops stopped me again. (But my question is, why? Just because I'm wearing half-pants!!) They asked for licence. Gave it. The bugger then asked for insurance too (it has expired around three monts ago). Slapped a fine of Rs 500 for that. Then imposed a fine of Rs 100 for defective number plate. This is too much! The front no. plate is clearly visible, just that the bottom part of one zero is scratched. Damn it, saale ne kaat liye Rs 100 uske bhi.

Maa-baap ki baat nahi sunne ka yahi nateeja hota hai. Pitashri has been saying for three months, "Beta, insurance karwa lo. Beta, insurance karwa lo." Had I got the work done on time, it'd have cost me only around Rs 400. Now, after three months it expired, I got fined for Rs 500 plus I'll have to pay around Rs 800-1,000 for renewal.

But that's not all for today's bad day. After the penalty, I said let's go get insurance done today. Couldn't find the bloody office! I had a rough idea of the address, searched that bloody place for around two hours but couldn't locate it. It's only when we headed to our room that I noticed the office; it was in the next street. Ok, went it, spoke to them. They said, "Ohhhh.. 4:30 already. Now no cash transaction. Yooouuuuuu go there tomaarow."

Ok, the momentary joy of finding the office vanished. Started towards my room, feeling hungry and all (mind you, I was coming straight from gym). Ok, after riding for two km, bike ran out of petrol. Ewwwwww...... Pushed the bike for around 500 mtr, got refuelled.

Looked at the watch, 5 pm already. Office starts at 5:30. No point in going to my room and coming back (20 km total) just to change into full pant. So I came straight to office. And here I'm, sitting in my fake Adidas half-pant, explaining people the tragic reason behind my ang-pradarshan.

2011: I'm gonna make it fantastic

It's new year! Time to make resolutions, aye? Well, no more impossible resolutions like "bathe daily", "no birdwatching". But enough freewheeling. It's time to get serious, responsible. If I want this year to be different (read better), I have to be different (yes, better). Thus my new year resolutions:

1. Make a lot of money. I say I'm in love, wanna marry her. What sort of parents would accept a guy with a measly pay of Rs 13,500! Dude, get rich. Get a new bike and at least a car this year. (I'm not kiddin'!)
2. Start writing op-ed pieces, news features that are lying dormant in your mind, you jerk! They are excellent ideas.
3. Be a wordsmith. There must not be a word, an idiom, a phrase unknown to you.
4. Learn Kannada, swami. I'm halfway there. Nanage swalpa-swalpa barate. But dude, learn more. Get sakkath fluent.
5. Get better at guitar. I'm not even half as bad as my batchmates in IIJNM think. Just that I got nervous. I had picked up guitar in 2006. In summer of 2011, it's gonna be five long years since then! Get better, get better!
6. Get khatraa physique. Yeah, dude. Enough of being skinny. Time to put on some muscle. You're doing good, just keep up the tempo.
7. Stop being a clown. No tomfoolery unless I'm with my childhood friends.
8. Be punctual, boy. You don't like making people wait but you still end up doing so.
And most important...
9. Get her committed to you. I don't know how to do it, just know that gotta do it.

Less important ones:
1. Learn more recipes, especially south Indian.
2. Wash your bike regularly.
3. Stop chasing dogs to avenge their chasing you at night.
4. Get cell for your wristwatch. It stopped working more than an year ago, since then you've been wearing it just for show.
5. No more wearing socks with holes.
6. Blog more frequently.

Now, how has been 2010 for me? Well, watched Backstreet Boys from first row. Got to interact with MLTR (so what if I got tongue-tied and embarrassed myself). Watched Sachin score 200+ in India's win over Aus. My one-sided love life has been a roller-coaster ride and still hangs by an eyelid. Lost a cherished friend. Lived (and living) with beloved school-time friends. Whoa! Cool enough!

For 2011, Bryan Adams is gonna perform in Bangalore. Reportedly Boyzone too are gonna come. Maybe this year I'll lose my single status. (What maybe, I think it's gonna happen.) I'll become a model, a role-model, everything that I want to be. I have become serious (a bit serious, haven't lost my foolish charm). Well, life cannot be more exciting.

I'm not gonna wish that 2011 turns out to be good for me. I'm gonna work so that it turns out good. Nay, excellent. Yeah. Why not!

Watch a match in stadium. I just did!

So, what is it like to watch a cricket match in stadium, eh? If your team is winning, the icon player dominating and a rapturous crowd at its vocal best, be sure as hell that watching a match can be an exhilarating experience. The euphoria multiplies when, even as you are in the stadium, your friend calls you: “Hey, I just saw you on TV!”

I'm writing this minutes after India defeated Australia in the second test and won the series 2-0 in Bangalore. India won, Sachin slammed a double ton and then a half-century (hit four sixes), I was sitting in the front row of the best stand, got featured on the giant screen at the stadium soooo many times! Delight, delight, delight!! Can you ask for anything more!

Aussies can speak Hindi, dance Bollywood style

India made history and all, everyone knows. But do you know Aussie players are learning Hindi and Kannada too? Phillip Hughes and a couple of Aussies who are not in the playing 11 were sitting near the boundary, i.e., close to us. “Learn Hindi!” one guy screams to Hughes. “Theek hai, theek hai,” Hughes replies with a grin, to our obvious amusement! Spectators passed some more comments. “Chalo, chalo,” Hughes retorts.

Haha... Even more funny was when he and Steven Smith broke into an impromptu Bollywood-like dance: shaking hips, moving hands and all. But then they got nice comments too: “Come to Bollywood”, “Yo! Cheerleader”. Haha... Good fun :)

Everyone saw me on TV

Past night at office, after work, got to have the unbound pleasure of seeing myself on TV! Oh dude, I was like “Woooooohoooooo!!” Past night it was just I who saw myself. Today, as I come to the office after the match, six of my colleagues plus so many people in the office canteen told me they saw me on TV today! Our news editor just told me he saw me twice! Yo man, I am famous already! Haha...

Don't miss the experience

Dude, seriously, do watch a match in the stadium (when India is likely to win). Ask me. Watched four out of five days' games. And now, after endless dancing, screaming and cheering (no booing), my voice is like perhaps how Rani Mukherjee would sound when she catches cold. And because of clapping so much, my hands are as red as the poor, defeated Aussies' face.

For today, the final day's play, the stadium was nearly filled to capacity. And when a thus-filled stadium, capable to seat around 65,000 people, has viewers getting into Mexican wave so often, the joy is like something you can't experience anywhere else. Here comes your turn, and you go “WHHOOOOAAAA..!!”

Thank you :)

Thanks to our sports editor who gave me the free passes for pavilion. Thanks to the jolly guys sitting near me. Had great fun cheering and hooting. Thanks to my job, whose timings allows me to go have fun throughout the day without having to take leave, and which enables me to get free passes! And of course, thanks to the players for putting up a great show.

A man's account of unsolicited male attention in B'lore

When I told my friends during the final days of my college in Dehradun that I'd be going to Bangalore for studies, they predicted I'd revel in the female attention I might get there. I wish they were right.

In Bangalore, people did get drawn to me, wanting to be more than friends. Just that all of them were homosexual men. (Nothing wrong with being gay, just that absolute strangers approaching me out of the blue seems intimidating.) When not being accosted by these gentlemen on MG Road, I've had a pimp on Brigade Road diligently trying to make me avail of his clients' services. I stayed in Bangalore for six years. No girlfriend, just these experiences. Sigh...

Gay: You hungry? I: I've just had bananas :-/
Location: MG Road, Bangalore's hip and happening place.
Time: About 4 pm
I was roaming around on MG Road. Had gone there for some bird-watching (get it, aye?). But well, looks like another kind of bird, a queer one, was watching me there. A thin, young guy (must be in early 20s, wearing three-fourths and had Shaggy-like hair) asked me sheepishly, in a Goofy-like accent, "Dude, are you hungry?" Well, I had just had two bananas, and told him so.

I thought, why would this stranger be concerned whether or not my nutritional requirement has been met? Oh crap! It struck me, maybe he meant the other hunger, not the one the stomach craves for but an organ a few inches below it. Man! And to this guy—who's looking nervous, stupid and desperate—I've told that I've just had 'bananas'! What a jerk am I! (All this thinking happened in a flash.)

He perhaps read too much into my fruit diet and a glimmer of hope replaced nervousness in his eyes. Realising my folly, I just dashed off.

'Hi darling, what do you want?'
Location: The lush, green, vast Cubbon Park. 
Time: A bright, sunny, Friday afternoon
This incident happened when I had gone to watch actual birds, in nature's lap. I thought I should get off the beaten track and explore the hitherto unknown areas of the park. There were couples in every dark corner. One young guy (looked like must have failed all his school exams) felt he and I would make a good couple. He came up to me and said, "Hi darling! What do you want? Come here."

The emotion in his words could give inferiority complex to Shah Rukh Khan. Ruined my experience. I wanted to sit in nature's lap, and there I got accosted by a guy who wanted to sit in my lap. Of course I walked away as fast as I could.

'Come to my hotel room'
Location: Near Press Club, Cubbon Park
Time: About 6 pm
Was waiting for the traffic signal to go green so that I could cross the road. "Excuse me," said a distinctly masculine-looking man in a distinctly feminine-sounding tone. He asked me how to get to a hotel, where he was staying. I told him he could get a bus from near my office, which was just across the road. He dared ask me, "If you are not doing anything, would you like to come?"

S**t! This did him in. Damn it! I told him I'm a journalist and gotta go to office. No sooner than I told him about my occupation, he dropped the idea of catching a bus from across the street and said he would take an auto to his place.

But I don't get it! Why me? I should have been a chick-magnet. Why am I gay magnet instead! I know it's a cliched question but seriously, why?

'Lady hona?'
And if all this was not enough, there's this pimp on Brigade Road. This is where you get to see the young crowd any day. One fine evening past year, I was standing near a fruit shop on the road. Then came a man (in his mid-40s, looked like a typical Bollywood villain) in old, dirty clothes, stood next to me, and asked, "Ready ho na?" (Meaning, are you ready?) Ready for what, I thought, and asked him. He repeated himself. This time I heard him correctly: "Lady hona? College ka lady?" (Want a woman? College-goer?)

Damn it! I just moved away, disgusted. What crap, I was thinking about my sweet, beloved friend there and there's this pimp asking me if I want to screw someone! 

It's not a one-off incident. A few months later too, when I was standing at the same place, gleefully licking the vanilla softy I had just bought, the pimp came again. I moved away before he could say anything. "Hello, listen..." he called me, but I walked away. Every time I go to Brigade Road, that pimp will be there, looking at me. Heck!

Why do they think I'm such a person who'd be interested in, well... 

Once when I shared all this with a school friend (a perfectly sleazy guy), he explained it could be because I've got my left ear pierced. He said left ear piercing is an identifying mark for gay men. I don't know if that's true, but since then I got my other ear pierced too. Thankfully, I've not been approached since. Therefore, I'm happy and gay. 

Back For Good: Robbie Williams joins Take That

Can there be a better news? No, sir. Take That, the original line-up, is back together..!! WOOOOHOO!! The five, original five, back together, after more than 15 years. Robbie is back in the band! YIPPIE!!! Man, it's so exciting... Click here to read about it.

So, why is it such a big news to me? Four out of these five guys have been performing for the past four years anyway. Their comeback song had won my heart right away. The musical implications of Rob's entry is not the main reason that pleases me. That he agreed to join and that the remaining bandmates accepted him is the real heartwarming news!

Yes, the friendship has been restored. The hatchet has indeed been buried. Bitterness gone. Hurt healed. Egos overcome. Unholy pride abandoned. Reconciliation prevails over resentment. Forgiveness, finally, and acceptance. Friends-turned-foes are friends again!

Man, you should have seen For The Record, the 2005 documentary about the band's heydays, their break-up and post-break-up scene. They were such a rage! I had cried when in the documentary the bandmembers announced they were parting ways. Gary had to try so hard himself not to cry while announcing it. A generation of teenagers had plunged into depression. The UK had to set up helplines to console devastated fans. I was so overwhelmed upon seeing that part.

Then started the rivalry between the bad boy Robbie and the frontman Gary. Former bandmates, pitting themselves against each other. Friendship, lost. Love, lost. Brotherhood, lost. Hatred, resentment, despise, malice... In. Ah, that hurts me.

Friendship is sacrosanct
For me, my friends have been the mainstay of my existence. Have made excellent friends in school and college (love you, guys). Got pseudo-friends during post-graduation. I know how it feels when someone close becomes distant all of a sudden. I know how it hurts when someone you loved so dearly (we're talking about friends here) starts taking you for granted and chooses ego over you. It hurts like hell. I've wished I knew how to make nice. Have sometimes revelled in the joy of imaginary reunion too. The joy of being back together... I have longed for it. Still do.

That's why I am so happy that these guys are back. Even if they don't produce a single album, I won't mind. That friendship is back, differences have been settled, harmony is restored. That's what is most important. Everything else is trivial in front of friendship. I am so happy! I hope they stay together, forever. I hope no one fights, they all have a great time together.

And I hope they stay safe and well. I was very happy upon learning of Boyzone reunion too. So unfortunate that Steve died the way he did. May his soul rest in peace. I feel for the rest of the Boyz. I hope Take That remains safe and sound and gives us great music. I hope they rule the charts and re-establish themselves as the ultimate pop band! Wishing you love, luck and success...

“

In the twist of separation, you excelled at being free

Can't you find a little room inside for me?

”  

—Take That in Back For Good

First anniversary of my 2nd innings in Bangalore

Yeah... On this date, one year ago, I had arrived in Bangalore in search of a job. Not that I eagerly wanted a job. Just that parents didn't let me have a laidback, freewheeling time at home so thought of going far away from there.

Hmmm... So 12 months since I came here. Time flies really fast. It's been two years since I had started my journalism college. Man... Anyway, wanna know how was my "job hunt" like here?

Did I say "job hunt"? I should be saying "job kill". Yes, I didn't hunt jobs, but killed my chances of landing them. For example, reporter's job in The Hindu. A perfect example of how a dream-come-true can be turned into a nightmare. Of course, my ephemeral stints (of four days and one day) at two content writing jobs before and after that are not even worth mentioning.

Let's make a timeline of these past months:
July 30, 2009: I arrived in Bangalore
August 10: Applied for internet desk of The Hindu
Aug 10-Aug 30: Kept thinking I would get a call from The Hindu. Didn't get it.
September 1st week: Started my first content writing job (at monthly pay of Rs 8,500)
Four days later: Got up, took bath, got ready, had breakfast, left for office but stopped midway, in disgust and frustration. Decided to leave it. Split-second decision. Wrong, of course.
Next eight-nine days: Brooding over the frustration over which I left my job
September 19: Took membership of British Library
A few days later: Decided to do internship in The Hindu. Got starting date of internship as November 1st week. Kept waiting till then
October 23 or 26: Started internship one week ahead of scheduled start
till December 1: Reporting for The Hindu. (Boy, what a time!)
December 1: Gave test for sub-editor at The New Indian Express
till December 22: kept postponing going to The Hindu to collect internship certificate and send stories as freelancer
December 23: Went to office, discovered I could contribute only feature articles, not news stories. Disappointed. I had thought I could freelance that's why I had discontinued internship
December 24: Get an email from city editor of The Hindu. I am offered a job. A reporter's job! Wooohoooo!! Tone set for a joy-filled birthday, for a change. I went office wearing my new Reebok shoes for the first time, with my bling-bling and guitar
December 25: My birthday. I am happy that I got, nay, earned that job at The Hindu. My phone is not switched off and I'm happily answering birthday calls. But some jerk in our building stole my vest that I had kept on the clothesline for drying
December 30: Was supposed to be the day when my entry into The Hindu was to be sealed. Was supposed to be the last scene before "happily ever after..." gets played. I messed up in that last scene. Most unexpectedly. Of course, unwittingly. But tragically. Poor me. Awww...
January 1: New year! Bah.. Who cares, especially after unwittingly losing out on a hard-earned job!
till January 6: Nursed the flicker of hope that I'd get my dream job, that I had earned and lost, that of a reporter at The Hindu. January 6 clarified, "Not this time, buddy."
till February 12: Gave a couple of online tests for content writing exams. Cleared them but didn't go for interview. Bah, not interested
Feb 12: Got email from editor of The New Indian Express. They want to hire me! Had given test on December 1. I knew I had done well!
Feb 15: I join a content writing job. The Hindu job had slipped out of hand, so gonna take no risk this time. Man, got bored to death. What boring work. After a couple of hours itself I wanted to run away from there. And when I did run away at the end of the day, I never came back
Feb 22: Watched Backstreet Boys and Richard Marx live in Bangalore, from first row..!! WOOOHOOOO!! Yeah yeah..!!
Feb 23: Short, formal meeting with editor-in-chief of The New Indian Express. So short and seemingly insignificant, I wonder why was it held!
Feb 24, evening: I get a call from editor, The New Indian Express, asking me when can I join. (Looks like I made it, but still too early to tell, after The Hindu experience.)
Feb 26: I sign the offer letter, join the office. Nailed it. Finally. Done. Yeah!
since then: going to office daily, chopping stories ruthlessly (as I'm trained for) and having fun with it

Since then I've watched an IPL match of Bangalore vs Delhi and live concert of MLTR too! Hmm... Good enough. Well, past one year has... Will I be correct in saying it passed by rather swiftly? Man, I dunno. I'm just glad that it went by. Any fond memories? Ummm... Yeah, interning at The Hindu. That was fun. Although tiring, I had  sound, refreshing sleep at the end of the day.

Ok, any fond memories on personal front? Haha.. None. What is important is that even though I got neither my dream job nor my dreamgirl, it doesn't mean I can't or won't have it in future either! Right? Right :)

A letter to MLTR

Guys (I mean the members of MLTR), this is a letter to you. I don't think you'll come across it. But, to quote Harold Robbins, from Never Love A Stranger, "It is strange to write something you know may never be delivered but it is stranger still to imagine it will be."

I wonder if you remember. In Bangalore, in June 2010, you had a small performance-cum-fan interaction in a retail store before your concert that evening. I too got a chance to say something. Well, I became tongue-tied—as I was star struck and nervous—and fumbled and mumbled words that you couldn't understand. Whether you remember it or not is important, what is important is what I wanted to say. And here it is (I hope it reaches you):

I was 17 when I had first fallen in love. (Now I realise it was puppy love, but at that time I was madly in love.) She had big, beautiful eyes. All she needed to do was just look at me once with her those mesmerising, enchanting eyes, and I was in seventh heaven. And that was when I came across your Angel Eyes. She had angel eyes. Your song had the words for my unexpressed feelings: "Angel eyes, rays of hope that hypnotise... Lightning up my life"

I used to become euphoric when she used to "blind me with her light". Ah, your this song was the theme song of my teenage romance. At nights, I would lie on my bed, headphone on, listening to this song over and over, and I used to lose myself in her eyes. The beauty of your song complementing the beauty of her eyes. Ah... The theme song of my first love!

And when it was my last night in the township where I had lived for all the 17 years of my life, I remember listening to Blue Night while staring outside the window. I knew it was our last night there, was looking at the star-studded sky, the view obstructed by the huge tree outside my window. "When the blue night is over my face, under dark side of the world in space..." Was lost in my last blue night in my beloved place.

Well, three years after these things, I had actually fallen in love. True love. And when I was deeply, deeeeeply in love, she abandoned me all of a sudden. And then your Watch Your Back became the theme song of my heartbreak recovery. Yes, "The wolf inside her is never satisfied, she's like a spider and you could be the fly". Exactly, that's how I felt upon discovering the truth about her. Here I felt it, there you sang it!

Well, after she left me, I started my post-graduation and there seriously fell in love with a close friend. I could never tell her. And then More Than A Friend became the theme song of my longing. "Tell me you'll care for me now and forever, I'll give anything to hear you say, that I'm more than a friend." Ditto! Exactly what I used to feel (and still feel)!

I have always found empathy and sympathy in your songs. Could connect to them so easily. Guys, I love you. Thanks for churning out these beautiful songs. They are so close to me. Thanks for doing what you do. Thanks for continuing to do it for so long. Thanks for sticking together and thanks for coming to India. Wonderful performance at night! And I hadn't imagined that you guys speak so well, winning audience with your wit! Hope to see more of you wonderful people...

Love and gratitude
One of your biggest fans
Hemant

A walk to remember. Thank you, muggers

Visualise this: late-night walk on empty roads on a moonlit night. Ah... Beautiful, isn't it? No. Not for us Bangaloreans. There's no Batman looking out for us here. Muggers are. I had a shameful and embarrassing encounter with two such gentlemen one fine night, adding another inglorious chapter to my misadventures in Bangalore.

It was 2 am, I was walking towards my apartment in Basavanagudi after finishing work at office (at Indian Express Circle). Yes, in the dead of the night, I chose to walk 9.4 km to my room. Had given my motorcycle for servicing, so the only other option to get to home was taking the office cab. This meant that the commute that takes me 15 minutes on my bike would turn into three-hour Bengaluru darshan. Heck! I was in no mood to travel "cattle class", to different corners of the city, before I'm dropped at my place. Weather was awesome. A cool breeze was flowing and the sky was clear, moon was out (just one day shy of full-moon night). Perfect for a walk. Enough peaceful time, I thought. And so I started my ill-fated walk.

The streets that are jam-packed during day wore deserted look. Only occasionally would some car whizz by. Had walked some two-three kilometre when two ungroomed rookies on a khataara motorcycle approached me and asked time. 2 am, I said. They went. This was at Corporation Circle, an area that stays abuzz with traffic during day. 

Some five-six minutes later, I heard the sound of a motorcycle from behind. Looked back. It were the same ruffians on the motorcycle. They were about 100 metres away when I saw them. They were approaching me. I wondered: "They had just gone from here, what are they doing here again? Do they want to ask time again? What is it?" I stopped walking, waiting to ask them what I could help them with now

The bike stops near me. The guy on the pillion tries to grab my hand. Oh yeah! Now I get it: They are trying to rob me! (When at 2 at night, two loafer-looking people stalk you and try to grab you at an isolated street, you can be sure they are trying to rob you.) So, the guy on the pillion tries to get hold of me. But, come on, am I a dummy that he can do whatever he feels like! He just manages to graze my finger. I run towards the centre of the road. (Untill now I was on footpath, law-abiding pedestrian, even at 2 effing am.) The wannabe mugger runs after me with a foot-long, rusted machete in his hand, and a crooked look on face. And then... The most embarrassing thing happened.

I ran away, screaming "Help! Help!" So shameful! All this was happening in the central part of the city, which keeps seeing a steady stream of vehicles even at night. So, here is what the scene was like: Me standing in the middle of the road, desperately waving at the cars passing by to stop and help; the wannabe muggers standing at some distance, watching if any car would stop to help me. Even though I was frantically screaming for help, no car stopped. But cars kept coming, one after other. So the thugs thought it was better for them to leave. And they left. Phew! Then I hired a cab and reached home. Excitement over.

Now, see, whenever I used to read those crime stories in newspapers that how some person got robbed at knifepoint, I always used to think: "Let somebody try to rob me, I'll thrash them alrite!" In my imagination, I have floored these robbers with my Akshay Kumar-like roundkicks and twisted their arms with Bruce Lee-like manoeuvres. In my dreams, I have actually drawn their blood with their own knives (slashed their palms, to be precise)!

Heroic job. Isn't it? And that day, I had a chance to actualise my dream that I have dreamt so often. Imagine, how cool would it have been! The newspapers would have glorified me the next day. The story would have read like this: 

"Two robbers did not know what was in store for them when they tried to rob a journalist. Hemant Gairola (22), who works with a leading English daily, was walking towards his house about 2 am after finishing work at office when two motorcycle-borne youth tried to rob him at knifepoint. However, the young journalist gave those muggers a taste of their own medicine. Hemant, who has formal training in martial arts, vanquished the two robbers with his devastating kicks. He left the robbers writhing in pain, licking dust. He then called the police at 100 and waited till the patrol came and took away the muggers, who were trembling with fear and pain.

The city administration has decided to honour Hemant for his bravery. A teenager who lives in a building where the incident happened captured the whole action on his mobile phone camera. He has uploaded the video on YouTube and it has gone viral. Even Terminator superstar Arnold Schwarzenegger saw the video and has invited him for dinner..."

Man, how cool would that have been! I'd have become a hero overnight! Bah! I missed the opportunity. Well, no crying over spilt milk. Wise men make more opportunities than they get. That's what I thought as I was ruing over the lost chance. So, I decided that after a couple of months, I'll again go by foot at night. But that time, I'll be prepared. I thought I'd resume working out, restart my taekwondo classes. Then, when I'll feel I'm ready, I'll again embark on an adventurous walk. I was planning for a flawless victory in that mortal kombat. Wasn't sure if I should be hiding a sword or a baseball bat under my cloak. Yes, I planned on wearing a long cloak, like Neo did in The Matrix. Muggers, you want some, come get some! I'm a hardcore WWE fan. I'll smash you like an idli. I'll beat you to pulp. Na, chutney.

I was fired up. Then I thought, jaane do. Maaf kiya. Have been commuting only on my bike since then. 

What is love?

Love is what I'm feeling right now. Love is when I just see her new display pic on a social networking site and get delirious, euphoric, and crazy with unbound happiness, so much that just want to scream at the top of voice that I love her! Love is when it takes just one look at her sweet pic to make me overflow with gratitude, so much that I have to fight back the tears of joy. Love is uncontrollable joy (I want to run, scream, fly) and pride that I feel upon looking at her. Love is when just a look at her 3x3-inch photograph releases feel-good hormones in every cell of my 6-feet tall frame; I feel light as a feather, feel like I can fly. Love is when I feel so mighty at her mere mention that I feel confident of winning the world with my one hand tied behind my back. Love is when all it takes is just one look at her (photograph) to melt my heart and make me fall for her all over again, head over heels.

Love is the audacity, and optimism, with which I've changed my relationship status to "committed" on social networking (which means I am committed and she will be). Love is the hope that one day, very soon, I'll get to talk to her again, we'll be friends again and she will see my love and she too will love me. Love is perseverance, with which I'm still trying to make nice after the heartbreaking fallout. Love is patience, still trying even after 18 months' failure of making nice. Love is the pain of the disappointment, the frustration of dejection, the hurt of the snub.

Love is loyalty. Love is holding on. Love is sincerity. Well, love is going on :) Haha.. Love is a stupid attempt at rhyming. Love is me trying to write poems just because she does. Love is breaking into a smile all of a sudden, recalling the merry moments of bygone days of our warm friendship. Love is when her elegant, sophisticated, over-emphasised mannerisms floored me effortlessly. Love is when I got lost in her beautiful eyes and wanted the moment to freeze.

Love is knowing that it's going to be alrite again. Love is incomprehensible faith and inexplicable optimism. Love is what I feel for her.

I love you...

White shoes are not for faint-hearted

The worst time to wear your brand new white sports shoes is the rainy season. All it takes is one drive in downpour to soil your proud, new purchase. Splash, splash! And dirty, muddy water renders a dirty look to your no-more-white and no-more-new-looking shoes.

These were pre-monsoon rains here, which marred the beauty of my dear new white shoes (I emphasise, my “dear” new shoes). Partly white and partly not. Looks like they are no more virgin. I’m heartbroken. (sigh)

The possessive, perfectionist person that I am, I washed them up completely. A bit of detergent powder, a bit of detergent soap, a lot of brushing and even more hoping and praying. KABOOM! All this later, my shoes looked as good as new! As if they are virgin again!

However, my joy was short-lived, as another rain soiled my brand new, white sports shoes yet again. What hurts more is that the repeat-tragedy could have been averted. I had reached office before the first hailstone hit the earth. Yes, hailstones! I rushed down from second floor of our building, just to rejoice the sight of hailstones. Hailstones! Yippie!

Yippie no more. Suddenly out of nowhere came a gushing stream of dirty, muddy water and… I'm heartbroken again. I can write no more.

Backstreet Boys in Bangalore (Woooohoooo!!)

WHOA! Amazing, amazing, amazing!! Eeeeehaaaaawww!! Oh my God, I still… Oh, baby! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Yeah! Shout, scream, it’s the Backstreet Boys, baby! Right here in Bangalore! Woooooohoooooooo!!
February 21, 2010. When the “Greatest boy band on the planet” came down to Bangalore for a live performance. A whole generation of teenagers grew up on their love songs. Hitherto, only a BSB video on TV was enough to make me euphoric. “Oh my God! A Backstreet Boys song!!” If just their 2D image on my 21” Onida TV used to excite me like hell, imagine the delirium of seeing the boys in flesh and blood, L-I-V-E, from a distance of no more than 10 ft.

Yeah, I skipped lunch, rode bike like crazy, braved the blazing sun for an hour while standing in the queue, and ran so fast to claim a space in the front row. And a hundred others who were standing in the queue like me ran their fastest as well. Everyone wants to see the BSBs!

They were the main-event, so obviously the show started with other lesser known bands. The crowd, which kept getting larger and louder as the show progressed, was getting wild with anticipation.

Even as an amazing rock band, Jayce Lewis, was belting out a number, Howie sneaked into the backstage. That was our first glimpse of the boys. I felt sorry for the less popular rock band: though the lead singer was straining his vocal chords with utmost sincerity and the punk with funky hair was playing bass guitar superbly, it was Howie who drew the loudest cheer in their act, simply by stepping into the dead end of the stage for a couple of seconds. And then Nick stretched his neck from behind the curtains to see the crowd. AND EVERYONE WENT CRAAZZZZYYYYYYY!!!

Performance by five artistes later, the stage crew started preparing the stage for the main event: “BACK-STREET-BOYS! BACK-STREET-BOYS! BACK-STREET-BOYS!...” The whole crowd was so loud that the boys could have heard them even if they were sitting in their hometown — Orlando, Florida.

Crazy with anticipation. Yes. Thus far we had only seen them on TV. That’s it. The legends. On their first visit to India. Audience didn’t seem to mind the 20-minute time gap in preparing the stage. Even namma Kannadiga annas who were preparing the stage, while wearing fluorescent green jackets with CREW written on it, were cheered. “CREW! CREW! CREW!...” The poor chap, brooming the stage, wondered what happened.

And then the stage went dark and we knew the time has come. And then came the moment of the lifetime. The boys! On the stage! Live! In flesh and blood, here in front of our eyes. Yes sir, this is not a dream. It is a dream come true! And then…

“Everybody yeah…
Rock your body yeah…
Rock your body right…”
The blonde-haired Brian started singing. The assembly of fans became delirious. It’s for real!
“Backstreet’s back, alright!”

And then started what was perhaps the best night of my life. They belted out hit after hit after hit. And the crowd sang along with them. Brian waved at the front row audience who were continuously waving at him. We just got to see how hot Nick looks. The crazy, tattooed AJ is really cool even though he is losing his hair. And we learnt that Howie can do moonwalk!

Ecstasy, pure joy. Euphoria, delirium. Ah, pure pleasure. The whole experience was like, if I die tomorrow, I know I haven’t wasted my life. I got to see the Backstreet Boys live from front row! I wish the night hadn't come to an end. But it had to. But no regrets. It was the best night my life!

Yippie..!! Long live the BACK-STREET-BOYS! BACK-STREET-BOYS! BACK-STREET-BOYS!

Our Father in heaven, in Thy name I err

I've had a few misadventures in Bangalore, which are moments to cherish forever. This is one such incident that took place on a bright, sunny, cheerful day. Or, a typical Bangalore day. Holy Christ! I almost embarrassed myself that day. So, here's what happened.

 

Happily singing a Westlife song, merrily swinging the pack of new T-shirts I had just bought on sale, I was heading towards British Library. Right next to the footpath on the way, on MG Road, is St Mark’s Cathedral, where I noticed people sitting in the prayer hall, listening to some sermon. Ever since I had read 'Sermon on the Mount' in school, I’d been inclined towards Christianity and have been curious to attend mass prayer/attend a sermon. Having all the time in the world that day, I thought, why not do it right now!

I headed towards the entrance of the hall. Two beautiful, young women, dressed in exquisite saarees, were sitting outside the entrance and greeting everyone who was coming.

“I’m not a member of the church. I want to know if I may attend the function,” I humbly asked the girl who stood up to greet me and hand me some booklet. “Yes, yes, please,” said the other girl, looking a bit perplexed. Why this expression, I thought.

I was curious, did anybody tell her that whoever had smeared heaps of makeup on her face had done an awful job at it? And do they put so much labour in getting decked up for a weekly mass?

 

I took a seat in the prayer hall. The pastor was talking about love and marriage, Adam and Eve and related stuff. So that’s today’s topic, I thought.

I knew of the phrase “dressed in their Sunday best” but it's only that day I understood how seriously they take up dressing and appearance. Men, many of them, were wearing what was perhaps one of their best suits. And women too stood out, courtesy bright red lipsticks, over-zealously applied mascara and shades of make up on their eyelids and cheeks. Little girls were wearing frilly pink frocks.
I remember telling myself: "C’mon! It’s a sermon, why is everyone dressed as if it's someone's wedding!"

 

And why has the pastor suddenly shifted his focus from Adam and Eve to Jonathan and Sharleen? Who are Jonathan and Sharleen? I’ve read New Testament; there are John, Joseph, Jonas, but I can’t recall any Jonathan. Or Sharleen.

I was busy trying to recall any reference to Jonathan and Sharleen in the Bible, when the pastor said something about blessing the bride and the groom.

And then a man dressed in a grey suit, and a young lady dressed in a flowing, white gown appeared out of nowhere and started walking up the aisle. And then three great revelations dawned upon me.
1. Jonathan and Sharleen are not ancient, biblical characters, but 21st century people who’re getting married this day.
2. I have gate-crashed their wedding, mistaking it to be a sermon.
3. I’m an idiot.

I chided myself and quietly sneaked out of the other entrance, deciding against confessing to the over-made up ladies at the main entrance of my misunderstanding. As I stepped out of the hall and rushed towards the exit gate, I was just seeking forgiveness from God for gate-crashing the wedding. Oh, yes. I did say a silent, quick prayer for Jonathan and Sharleen.