Bhaiya In Mahrashtra...

Took the train from Patna Junction,
Next day I landed at Kalyan,
I had to reach somehow to Dharavi,
where already I have half my 'gaanv'.

Everyone kept yelling 'Pudhe Chalaan Bhaiya',
Though I had never tied rakhi on their hands,
I though it meant 'Ram-Ram',yelled it back at them,
And in return got a thrashing,grand.

Somehow finally made it to Dharavi,
On the spot,I was given a new ration card,
Then they started a fight over whether I'll be,
a Taxiwalla,Dudhwalla or Security Gaurd.

One day while waiting for fare in Dadar,
I played Ravi Kisen's latest Bhojpuri soundtrack,
Suddenly I was surrounded by 'background dancers',
who beat me up into lot more colours than blue & black.

I am an alien,I am a beaten alien,
I am a Bhaiya in Maharshtra!

I learned basic Marathi faster than a Sehwag century,
Told 'Dhagala Lagli' was my favourite song,
And I thought my 'beat'-fication was over,
But how I was to be proved wrong.

Just like Pakistan blames India for everything,
Be it floods,match-fixing or a crashed plane,
So was I blamed for every wrong here,
They loved me as much as Bush loved Saddam Hussein.

And one morning I read in 'Amar Ujala',
that BBC(Beat-Up Bhaiya Campaign) was launched with fanfare,
It was worthy of being a Marketing Case Study in any B-school,
It was that successful here.

On the train back,I told my story to one Kamal R Khan,
Moved,he made a movie on it,with himself as the star,
And since people got to know the culprit behind this disaster,
I am beaten up daily even in Bihar.




Gaanv-Village
Pudhe Chalaan-Move ahead


Disclaimer-My name is Tickoo and I am not a Bhaiya!

This is an Indian take on Sting's 'Englishman in New York'...I just hope nobody finds it offensive coz it's all in good humour and if he/she still does,I promise to vote for MNS in the next elections to make up for it!Jai Hind,Jai Maharashta!

A Stone's Throw Away From..

Shouts..angry shouts..shouts that made your blood boil even more with rage or could make your skin crawl with fear depending on which side you stood.

Till a week back,Azhar could never have imagined being one of 'them',"the disgruntled unemployed misguided youth" as they were portrayed by most.

The face that lit up on seeing anyone,was today covered in a mask;the hands that healed,were today willing to hurt;the dream of seeing peace prevail one day,replaced by a simple lust for revenge,and then Dr.Azhar Siddiqui thought,"Shit happens!".

And yet he couldn't escape thinking,"How did it all come to this?"

Another crowd,another cacophony of angry shouts;Iftikar Chacha had died in an accident with a police vehicle.

All we wanted was an inquiry into the incident.

Amin,Anam's little brother,all of 7,and just like a kid his age would do,nagged his Ammi into letting him join us in the procession moving towards the police station.Somebody stopped us as we neared the place,all we could hear at the back were snippets of an argument.Tempers flared,somebody throws a stone,a couple of gunshots and it's commotion all around.

"Amin!Stay with me!",I yelled without looking,as I felt his grip on my hand changing,and when I looked at him,those words had no meaning anymore.

He lay on the ground,his small hands unable to cover the large blood spatters on his kurta.


I stand infront of Anam,my head down.We buried Amin an hour ago.

"Azhar,look me in the eye."

I slowly lift my gaze to meet hers.

"I know what they are planning to do,you are not going to be a part of it;it isn't right!"

I flare up,all the guilt,anger,frustration comes out,"Wrong and right can only be decided by might."

She shakes her head and simply says,"When will this end,Azhar?When?"


And here I am,with a stone and a choice on my hand,a legacy and a so-called enemy infront of me.

And why are they an enemy?Would I have done something different in their place,surrounded by an angry crowd which could have turned violent anytime?Maybe.But how can I condemn someone's action if I am not sure what would my reaction be?

My anger,my hurt is justified;violence?I guess not.Though it is the easiest and probably the most satisfying way to react to hurt,but is it the best?Probably not.

Yes I might be able to hurt one or two of them,I might create a stir in their ranks but is it going to bring a change to the human instinct for survival when cornered?Definitely not.

So how is what I am doing,going to stop what happened from happening again?

And then I thought of Anam,the hopelessness on her beautiful face.Anam,I know,I know,how this is going to end!Atleast for once,somebody has to learn to forgive.

The arm which was ready to hurl,relaxes;the tightly held stone,falls out of Azhar's hand.

He only wishes that he could have realized it when his heart was shattered by grief and not by a bullet,but what he regrets most is not being able to share his epiphany with Anam.He hopes that God judges him well for these final moments.He removes the mask and smiles his last smile.


Today as Azhar's funeral procession moves away from his house,Anam looks at it from her doorstep,covers her face,picks up a stone lying on the ground and starts walking the other way.



Wrote it a couple of months back(before Lamhaa released!),have tried my best to be non-judgemental coz anybody who is not in that situation,doesn't have a right to judge those who are.

Celebrity..An Ode To Paris Hilton et al

I know it's a mission impossible,
like FIFA World Cup featuring the Indian team,
But like every middle class person,
becoming a celebrity is my dream!

A cricketer,a movie star,a politician,
Even being a Pg 3 personality would do,
Forgetting all concerns over human dignity,
I'll readily act in a K-serial too.

Even being dumb would make news,
People would finally listen to my drunken rants,
Every stupidity could become a new style statement,
including going out partying without any underpants!

My inactive blog would have visitors and comments,
I could even tweet about time I spent in the toilet,
And if anybody ever finds anything offensive,
I could simply claim that they always misinterpret.

Women who tried to get rid of me by tying rakhis,
would want me to hold a 'swayamvadhu',
I'll throw tantrums publicly for a change,
Because that's what a celeb is supposed to do!

Pretty easy to become one,that aliens kidnapped my cows,
to some news channel I could tell,
I could ask someone to forcibly kiss me,
or simply fall down a tubewell.

After a couple of weeks..

Damn,it's hard to find tubewells in city,
& Bobby Darling was the only celeb willing to kiss me,
though Abhishek and John may have made it cool,
a Gay Icon,I ain't ready to be.

But I assure that there'll be a time when,
they'll bid for my used toilet paper on e-Bay,
So my Dad turns overnight into Vijay Mallya,
is something I have begun to daily pray!



Had fun writing this one..visualizing people like Paris Hilton,Lindsay Lohan,Kamal R Khan in my mind,had started on it a month back and then had put it on a backburner..already started working like a celeb! :P

Paimona..

Sometimes,you just have an indefinable craving to share what you have experienced :).Below is the translation of a Persian poem written by Omar Khayyam.I came across it on another blog.Advise you to check out its rendition by Zeb and Haniya which is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard.

Bring me the chalice, so I may lose myself,
for, I'm in love with my Beloved’s intoxicating Gaze.
Your Eyes light up my secret garden
Your Face makes luminous every rose therein.
Face like a flower, it give petals their sweet fragrance
The mystic land of my Beloved is placeless.

I'm in love with my Beloved’s intoxicating Gaze,
Bring! bring! so I may annihilate myself.
Bring me the chalice, so I may lose myself.

If I hear the message of Your sacred arrival,
Under Your feet, I will spread a carpet of flowers.
Spread flowers, Spread rose flowers,
I will sacrifice myself at the dust of Your feet.
Bring me the chalice, so I may lose myself,
I'm in love with my Beloved’s intoxicating Gaze.

Journey Without End..

Date: 23rd October, 2007.

Alarm rings, wake up, brush your teeth, have a bath, breakfast, grab the newspaper, head out for college, catch the 7.30 a.m train for Bandra.

Every special day starts with the same ordinary things.

Jostle through the sea of humanity, get on the train; mission accomplished.

Vacant seat found, the feeling is equivalent to winning the World Cup for a rush-hour traveler in a Mumbai local.

I settle down and open the crossword, and can God be any crueler! I see an aged woman standing right in front of me. Times have changed, Knights of the Past have been replaced by harried commuters and Fair Princesses by Aged Women. I vacate my seat, half-chivalrous, half-grumpy and start looking around for a place to stand and that’s when time stops for me; There she stood in all her glory, in the Ladies compartment, smiling at me from across the grille.

If my life was some Hollywood movie, I am sure James Blunt would have started crooning,

“I saw your face, in a crowded place,

And I don’t know what to do?”

Now considering that I am no Tom Cruise (or even Shakti Kapoor), girls only smile at guys like me when we are making a fool of ourselves. The top 3 possible explanations in my mind, ”My fly is open.”, “ I have a stupid expression on my face.”, “I am dreaming.” . Check the fly, put on a serious expression, pinch myself and she still smiles. All three explanations nullified!

It takes a shove from some jerk to bring me back to Local-Trainland; I do what any sane person would have done at first go, I smile back. She waves and if love at first wave existed, I think I had it.

I had one special thing added to the list of ordinary things each morning; her smiling and waving at me. I say, forget getting AC coaches, just get a pretty female to smile at you from across the coach, local train travel becomes so tolerable.

I kept moving closer to the partition each day, feeling like Moses parting the Red Sea (in my case, smelly people) in slow motion. And one fine day I am standing next to her; we start chatting as if we have known each other for ages (which we have, right?). That 1 hr of travelling together, slowly becomes the best hour of the day for both of us, and one fine day, I find the courage to ask her, “Do you mind travelling in my compartment?”

She starts laughing, “I thought you were going to ask something else.”

And realizing, it was my cue to do, as they say colloquially, ”Chance Pe Dance”, I say, ”What if I did ask you what you thought I would?”

She smiles and replies, “You really are the Slow Local”.

And then we became one compartment from two!

Life couldn’t have been better. Time flew by like the stations going past, memories crowding our minds like people getting in.

23^rd October 2009, our 2^nd Anniversary, we are both done with college and have started working; I want to take her out for shopping. She insists we travel by train, “It is what brought us together, you know.”

It is drizzling steadily, the train is unusually empty. We both are standing at the door (Only a Mumbaiikar can find such a setting romantic). We feel as close to each other as we have ever felt. We look outside but think about each other.

Out of nowhere, there is a huge jolt, the compartment is in the air and gets off the track(I later get to know a pipeline fell on the train); I see her falling out of the door, my hand reaching out to her…

...there is a sudden jolt, I wake up, she, my wife now, is smiling at me, “We have reached Bandra and I don’t need to be saved again, oldie!” . I look down to find that I am holding her hand tight, just the way I had held it 40 years back on that day. I smile,”Just making sure I don’t end any journey without you, alone.

Author's Note - Got myself medically tested after writing this, Testosterone levels were at an all-time low :D

First Post after getting an Editor.Thanks Jules :)

The Rainbow Painter

Long ago I had heard tales about someone,
whom everybody called The Rainbow Painter,
She coloured everything the way you wanted,
using that magic brush of hers.

For years I searched her everywhere,
Like a lost sailor looking for land,
and just when I had given up on her as a myth,
she came and touched my hand.

One look at her and I knew,
what I had heard of,was for real,
Because when she began to paint,
She made even the mundane,ethereal.

The whole world was her canvas,
If she didn't paint it,its meaning would cease,
So I asked what I had always wanted to ask,
"Could you draw me something please?".

She smiled and began her work,
Colouring my life with love,joy & contentment,
To thank the Heavens for letting her find me,
I closed my eyes for a moment.

When I opened them,it was all colourless again,
She had never been here,it seems,
I realized,I had dreamt of her once more,
But I know my Rainbow Painter isn't a dream.



That my friends,is the 50th post on my blog!!!Yippee!

She Will Be Loved...

"You will always be loved."

That is what he had told her 13 years back,when they had gotten married much to the surprise of everyone around them,including himself.

He always knew that it wasn't going to be a smooth ride,but he didn't expect it to be this rough either.

They were two completely different individuals,chalk and cheese,he sometimes referred to themselves jokingly as 'India-Pakistan',much to her embarrasment.But he had faith.

They tried hard,both of them,but some differences are just too huge to bridge.

He thought of the last time he had seen her:
Things had been awfully bad,both for them as a couple and as individuals.He had been having a tough time at work,working late hours everyday,and she had had a miscarriage.But today was different.He had just recieved a promotion.He knew that she had been really irritated and disturbed for the past few weeks but hadn't been able to pay too much attention.He thought, taking her out,would be perfect way to make it up to her.

He reached home at 7,a few hours earlier than he usually did.He opened the door using his key.He heard music;Mr.Brightside,her favourite song playing,he smiled,it seemed like a good sign.

It started out with a kiss,
How did it end up like this?

He tip-toed towards the bedroom,wanting to surprise her;he pushed the door open and yelled jubilantly,"Saakshi,let's go out!"

And it’s all in my head,
But she’s touching his—chest,
Now, he takes off her dress,
Now, let me go.

But neither was it just in his head and nor could he,or any of the other 2 people in the room,let it go.But yes,he did surprise her.One is bound to,when you walk onto your wife cheating on you.

Or probably,he is the only one surprised,was he not stupid,not to realise what had been going on?!

The other guy tries to explain something,he cannot hear anything,all he can do is simply stare at her face;she seems angry yet guilty,she picks up the gun lying by the bedside....

I just can’t look its killing me.

3 years have passed,he has spent a lot of time,trying to decipher the look she had on her face at that moment.Perhaps,she hadn't felt guilty.He,for some reason,just hasn't been able to let go.

It's time again,he wakes up from his reverie.

The setting is very much the same and yet so different.

The same song plays but it's a different set of lines,they both are still in the room,they haven't seen him but still seem a bit nervous and he sees them but doesn't need to open the door for that.He simply stands at the doorframe,where he was shot dead by her.It hurt in the beginning but now he has come to look forward to the whole routine,he has a sense of power over them which he lacked 3 years back.

And taking control..

He smiles sinisterly,afterall,death wouldn't prevent him from making sure that his promise was kept,whether or not,"She Will Be Loved".




For Best Results-Read it while listening along to Mr.Brightside by The Killers :D
Have just been listening too often to Mr.Brightside(it's my cell's ringtone) and reading too much of Stephen King.
P.S- For those who didn't get it,the guy was shot dead by the female,but his ghost has been there,haunting her for the past 3 years.