Rendezvous with Formula One

Sounds can be intoxicating but on Sunday, it was seducing, enthralling and deafening at the same time. It was the sound of 24 formula one cars, travelling at more than 200 mph at the Buddh International Circuit at Greater Nodia.

For someone, who has burnt enough midnight oil playing 'Need For Speed' games, it was time to get face-to-face with the sport and I can say now, the rendezvous was sumptuous. The first thing, I noticed the moment I stood in queue to enter the picnic stand in BIC was the 'sweet' sound of the vrooming cars. It was seducing and intoxicating.                                

But the moment, the chequered flag waved off and the cars started their lap, there was no stopping the adrenaline rush. The whole stadium was plunged into a deafening sound of the engines roaring past the stands in no time.  Some blocked their ears, while some just stood there applauding the drivers, most, I assume, without a clue who all were racing. I too stood there soaking in the ambiance. 

The cars set ablaze the track and soon cameras were out with the spectators trying to capture whatever they could with their cameras and mobile cameras. Friends and families huddled together, while the photographer had the challenging job of capturing the zooming cars at the background to create the mood in the pictures.               

After sometime, people relaxed. Some sat on the grass, while others lied down comfortably. Like many enthusiasts, we followed the cars initially but gave up after sometime as the race heated up.

Even as the race touched a crescendo, I sat there, still hearing the sound. The voices inside my mind were drowned in the maddening ambiance and I let my imagination flow. I closed my eyes and could almost visualize the slowing down and the acceleration of the cars, of course they were not correct or even if they were there was no way of finding it out then. I let my mind waver a bit.                    

When I was out of my reverie, it was almost time to leave. For the last time, we feed our eyes. Red Bull's Sabastian Vettel was racing away to victory and Fernando Alonso was trying his best to make a statement. Force India's Nico Hulkenberg was behind but still in the race. I took one last look at the watch and then we walked away, almost tearing our eyes away from the action.

When we came out, the only sound that we could still hear was the 'sweet sound' of the cars. Well, sounds can be intoxicating  but on Sunday, it was seducing, enthralling and deafening at the same time.

Yash Chopra: A life lived in films

"Main pal do pal ka shaayar hoon, Pal do pal meri kahaani hai, Pal do pal meri hasti hai, Pal do pal meri jawaani hai..., this song penned by Shahir Ludhiyanvi from the film 'Kabhie Kabhie', probably describes best the life led by Yash Chopra.  Even though he lived for 80 years, he always lived in the present and his films reflect his deep philosophy of life.

Right from 'Dhool ka Phool' to 'Daag', from Deewar and 'Trishul' to films such as 'Kabhie kabhie', 'Silsila' and 'Darr' and 'Lamhe', Chopra always tried to re-invent himself and weaved his stories, which sometimes portrayed the socio-political scenario while at times, talked about the changing nuances of relationships.

It was Chopra, who reestablished Amitabh as the 'angry young man' with 'Deewar' or brought the concept of anti-hero in Bollywood with 'Darr' starring a young Shah Rukh. To his credit, he never allowed his films to get type-cast for the major part of his career.

From hard-hitting political dramas to thrillers, he juggled in all kind of cinema. Some were hit with the audience and some received flak. Even his romantic films, always raised some questions and his depiction veered on aesthetics and nuances of human relations rather than candyfloss portrayals.

A director of his stature, Chopra could have continued making a series of action anti-establishment films like 'Deewar' with Amitabh, but he decided to explore the more myraid aspects of human heart and once again cast Big B in roles which challenged him as an actor.

Even in the 80s, even though his films like Mashaal and Silsila flopped, they went on to achieve cult status in the later years. It was only in the last decade that he decided to stick to romance and made successful films like 'Dil Toh Pagal Hain' and 'Veer Zaara'.

It is ironic that Chopra had already announced 'Jab Tak Hain Jaan' as his last directorial venture and it is sad that he could not see the release of the film. But then in films, there are no fairytale endings in life as well sometimes.

For a man, who scripted the careers of so many actors by challenging them with varied roles, he too could not have imagined that life would write such a shocking script for him.
It was just a month ago that he had celebrated his 80th birthday and in less than a month we are now condoling his sudden death due to dengue.

True, there won't be anymore 'lights, camera and action' for Yash Chopra, the man who changed the face of Indian film making, but his legend will continue to inspire for generations to come.

"Main pal do pal ka shaayar hoon, Pal do pal meri kahaani hai, Pal do pal meri hasti hai, Pal do pal meri jawaani hai..., this song penned by Shahir Ludhiyanvi from the film 'Kabhie Kabhie', probably describes best the life led by Yash Chopra.  Even though he lived for 80 years, he always lived in the present and his films reflect his deep philosophy of life.

Right from 'Dhool ka Phool' to 'Daag', from Deewar and 'Trishul' to films such as 'Kabhie kabhie', 'Silsila' and 'Darr' and 'Lamhe', Chopra always tried to re-invent himself and weaved his stories, which sometimes portrayed the socio-political scenario while at times, talked about the changing nuances of relationships.

It was Chopra, who reestablished Amitabh as the 'angry young man' with 'Deewar' or brought the concept of anti-hero in Bollywood with 'Darr' starring a young Shah Rukh. To his credit, he never allowed his films to get type-cast for the major part of his career.

From hard-hitting political dramas to thrillers, he juggled in all kind of cinema. Some were hit with the audience and some received flak. Even his romantic films, always raised some questions and his depiction veered on aesthetics and nuances of human relations rather than candyfloss portrayals.

A director of his stature, Chopra could have continued making a series of action anti-establishment films like 'Deewar' with Amitabh, but he decided to explore the more myraid aspects of human heart and once again cast Big B in roles which challenged him as an actor.

Even in the 80s, even though his films like Mashaal and Silsila flopped, they went on to achieve cult status in the later years. It was only in the last decade that he decided to stick to romance and made successful films like 'Dil Toh Pagal Hain' and 'Veer Zaara'.

It is ironic that Chopra had already announced 'Jab Tak Hain Jaan' as his last directorial venture and it is sad that he could not see the release of the film. But then in films, there are no fairytale endings in life as well sometimes.

For a man, who scripted the careers of so many actors by challenging them with varied roles, he too could not have imagined that life would write such a shocking script for him.
It was just a month ago that he had celebrated his 80th birthday and in less than a month we are now condoling his sudden death due to dengue.

True, there won't be anymore 'lights, camera and action' for Yash Chopra, the man who changed the face of Indian film making, but his legend will continue to inspire for generations to come.

How night grows old

Every night, I stare at the endless structures which stand in front of my eyes, blocking my vision of the horizon that lay far beyond my sight. I would have loved to stare at the wide open where there would be nothing but the endless skyline adorned with the celestial bodies, mainly stars, and its different patterns and structures which emerge by their location in the great vastness. These shapes and sizes, which defy our structured thought process and knowledge, intrigues and challenges me, makes me think to find meaning in its layout. Often these patterns goes beyond anything that we know and sometimes there are hidden codes, like a cryptic message waiting to be found. I stare, gaze and observe them till my eyes grow heavy. Often I come up with my own theories which fluctuate from cliches to absurd with occasional 'eureka' moments, when I feel like the great astronomers of yesteryear.

But all these feelings I go through only when I have the chance of starting at the wide open. Nowadays, there is hardly any skyline, all that we are left with are the innumerable, identical match boxes which sprouts from the land, which once upon a time were jungles and barren land, perhaps not even ruled by bandits. Now the sky has shrunk and I can see them only through the gaps which these match boxes leaves between them. Soon these too would be plugged and all we would be left with is boxes of different shape and size, walls after walls after walls, all arranged in pattern, like a mathematical formula,  which spring up and shape our world. Perhaps then we would stand in front of these walls and speak to them about our pains, the way we used to do it with nature in my childhood days. There won't be a river to cry with, no breeze to sooth the soul, just air-conditioners which will caress the wriggled souls of the privileged and smoke out the under-privileged. There won't be grass or shurbs or trees of any nature, all that we will have are wires, something like 'Brazil' and 'Matrix' movies which speaks of a dystopian world.

Nowadays, nights are more older. They are growing old with each passing day. I at times wonder if it is the nights or me which is growing old. Perhaps, it is better to put the blame on the night, it is more convenient. As night grows old, I find codes and meanings in everything, the air we breath, the darkness that envelops us, the neon lights that keeps the streets illuminated, the moonshine and the stars which cast its shadow on the earth at night and every other things which is still unfathomable for me. Every time, I look closely at one of these things, something new is born inside me, but I am not good enough to hold on to it, to treasure it, because they die within sometime or change direction, almost at a sputnik speed. I plead, I beg and sometimes bribe myself to remember the 'new borns' but my struggle continues. Each moment a thousand things are created and destroyed. I try to control them, force them to obey my rules and commands but they are epitome of freedoms, because they don't hold captive to my tactics. 

So every night, they leave me in tears, tears which washes away the guilt of not being good enough, the guilt of incompetence. Perhaps that why I am able to get over these wasted feelings and once again look at the structured blocks which stand like soldiers in the night. I call these walls and structures as soldiers, because they protect the hidden secrets of mankind, they protect the thousands of complex layers which we have made our skins, layer which have become important to keep us safe from the brutal world outside, to save us from the eyes of the beholders. I look at these match boxes and follow the clues which are left behind by the remnants of moments that passes by. Sometimes these clues, led to another clue and then another and a new story emerge, a new born once again, while sometimes, the clues are washed away by the a flickering of my focus. 

Sometimes I get tired of watching these blocks, I move away from them and lie down on my back at my terrace and gaze at the wide open into the great void and often than not it is a joy ride into the vacuum which have grown inside me over the years. The more I gaze, the more deeper I travel, the more deeper I travel, the more close to the lost spaces I come as the night keeps growing old around my existence.

A biker's tale

                                                 credit


On a bright sunny day, standing in the middle of an endless queue of vehicles, which waits patiently in a zigzag manner at the traffic signal on a BRT corridor, can become very unnerving for a biker who doesn't have any way to escape the wrath of nature's fury. His eyes get tired looking at the light which doesn't show any sign of turning green, his skin smells of roasted human meat, his head pounds every time some one honks at his back or ahead of him, he can feel sweat buds which grows on his skin before slipping down and he can almost hear and count the sounds of his heart beat under his skin.

Those two minutes seems like two hours because time slows down then and the images which he sees in front of his eyes unfolds in almost a languid pace. His tired eyes veers to the different faces, moments and incidents that happens around him. Its like his eyes captures different camera frames of the slice of life and tries to find meaning in them. Sometimes, he observes the sudden gust of breeze that brushes the dust from the streets, makes it spiral in the air, before slapping past him. 

Once in a while, he steals a look at the traffic light in anticipation before sinking back to his helpless state of mind. He peeps inside the four wheelers and three-wheelers, scanning the different faces and their indulgence in this two minutes of leisure. Sometimes he feels envy, and sometimes feels pity and sometimes a sense of stoicism is all he feels. He lets his thoughts take wings, as they float languidly around him. 

A sense of commotion breaks his reverie, his thoughts are cut short and are brought to the ground as quickly as they had taken wings. The moment the light turns green, as if a sort-of energy runs through the vehicles and humans alike, connecting each other and waking them up from a stupor. Life kick starts once again and serpentines through the roads in top-gear, living behind a mirage which will soon be lost in the depth of the myriad of conscious.

My two minutes at Traffic Signal

 There are two ways which stretches out, leading to my office, almost an equal distance, but one road has a traffic signal.  Everyday on my way to office, I take the road with the traffic signal because it gives me my precious few minutes in these humdrum of city life. There are days when the signal is green and I zoom past that point (without any regret when I am awfully late)  but on most days, it is red and I get to perk my bike, sit and breath a bit and look around the life at the traffic signal for a couple of minutes.

A child selling Indian flags on a traffic signal.

Of course, there is a film by Madhur Bhandarkar named 'Traffic Signal' released in 2007, which dealt with the lives of the people who live and earn their livelihood staying around similar signals but that depiction was more inclined towards the underworld and the underbelly of Mumbai slum. 


In contrast, when I stop around this signal and see the lives around me, I see stories all painted with so many emotions and feelings. I see struggle, pain, hopelessness and also human endurance and the zeal to strife for a better tomorrow.

Sometimes there are kids trying to sell pens, pencils and balloons, sometimes there are women trying to cook something in their makeshift kitchen-cum-bed room, because this was nothing more than a piece of cloth tied to the grills of the wall which made their roof near the Indira Gandhi National center for Arts at the Rajendra Prasad Marg in New Delhi, the capital of India. Sometimes, there are some old men, sitting hunched forward in a circle, talking about somethings which I probably would never know. 


Sometimes I have this urge to skip my office and sit with them, spend an evening with them, listening to their stories, stories of struggle, loss, defeat, pain and hopefully hope. I mean there ought to be some hope or else how can they spend their days, day in and day out, on these streets. Sometimes, I wonder, probably they would have a lot of anger for the better off or the have-nots, who perk their cars and bikes (like me) for that two minutes, often not even bothering to give them a look, as if they don't even exist. I too probably do it everyday, sometimes intentional, sometimes unintentional but always without any malice or perhaps that the way I would like to justify my actions.

Even though I think so much about their lives, I never stop by, never get down from my bike, never talk to them, never offer any help, never try to make any attempt to bring any chance. Perhaps, I think I am not capable enough. But then they say change may start from anywhere, from anyone. Then why not? I don'y know. Something binds me inside, stops me, tells me if I can't make a change by talking to them should not give them any false hope or perhaps they might interpret my action as an attempt to take some sadistic pleasure knowing their lives lived in squalor and penury.


I am still looking for answers to these questions, probably I will not get them because for that I would have to take that one step someday. Knowing everything, still the hunt for the answers continue and continues my two minutes of solace at the traffic signal amidst the humdrum of the city.

Chakde India!!!! Rise of the fallen Heroes

The Noise that drowned the Dhyan Chand stadium at the capital never sounded so sweet before and the floodlights that drenched the stadium faded in comparision to the light in which Indian hockey found itself tonight. Our national game had once again achieved its rightful place. Indian hockey had finally erased the ignominy of not qualifying for the Beijing and had earned its right to fly to London, the hosts of the 2012 Olympics. 

Even as the countdown began for the final hooter, thousands of hands applauded the feat, fans who have been waiting for this moment for long, stood there and screamed their lungs out, the national flags fluttered under the night sky.

It is quite an irony that the victory came on a day when many many miles away, the Indian cricket team had laid down their weapons once again against an emerging Australia, the pain and shame of the disastrous tour written on their face. 

While on one hand, some stars fell, at Dhyan Chand Stadium many new heros were born, where on one hand a game followed like a national game plunged into further shame, the actual 'national game' was once again finding its foot in the world of sport, where cricketers were finding ways to escape the limelight, Michael Nobb's boys were basking in their new found glory. 

For many in this Indian team, this win will put to rest the 'nightmare at Santiago' four years ago, for many it will be the answer to their prayers over the years and for many it will a day when they found their long due. But nevertheless for everybody it will be a day of pride, a day that would stay enveloped in the corner of their mind forever.

Of course, many would argue that for a country that taught hockey to the world and have been the Olympics champion eight times, qualifying for the event shouldn't arose so much emotions but one shouldn't forget the condition in which, the game had found itself after their 2008 disaster. 

It wouldn't be wrong to say that perhaps hockey in India would have died a silent death, unmourned and unheard and this win has actually given a new lease of life to the game which had been catapult to the international arena by none other than our own major Dhyan Chand. 

India can still come a cropper against the mighty teams such as Australia, Holland and Germany, who in the last three decades have galloped away too far but at least this win has given a ray of hope to a lot of future hockeyroos who otherwise would have picked up a racket or a bat instead of a stick. This win has shown as coach Nobbs very rightly puts it "that this team is worthy of admiration and respect of the people of India."