One morning, when she sat next to me, my heart started engaging. The sun was blazing, I turned on the ignition, hit the highway and the car was racing. At 150 kph she looked mighty impressed with my driving skill and pure thrill, and ignoring the rupee-v/s-dollar price of diesel, the entire experience seemed amazing. But then wait, as I was about to ask her out for coffee and an evening of stargazing, an SUV honked incessantly and came too close for embracing. What, even at 1...50 kph it was embarrassing, that an SUV that was so long tailgating, whizzed past as though I was nothing and he was everything. She pretended not having seen anything; kya yaar, saw must have seen something? The SUV-wala had a number plate in Devnagari, black-tint windows and a saffron flag to complete the package, and he looked like a Cobra King ready to sting. He never stopped to pay toll as though he was God who owned the road, while others were there merely to seek his blessing. Just then, she asked me if 50 days were over. I nodded in agreement and wondered how, even now, the servants of the public own the road, behave like a mighty toad, rise to fame, engage in blame-game, and treat their tax-payer masters so lame. Anyway, SUV or no SUV, I remain eternally hopeful for an evening of coffee and stargazing! Haha! #Blackwhitehua #Hangmeafter50days

Ever tried meeting an acquaintance under/near a statue? I never did. It takes me a little over 3 hours from Thane to reach Gandhiji’s statue in Juhu, the most famous statue in Bombay at the moment. Of course, Gandhiji will soon have competition in the Arabian Sea in Bandra. The new incumbent is bigger, expansive and expensive at 3600-crore-rupees, until further cost revision. However, since it will take me about 5 hours to reach Bandra despite using multiple modes of transport, I shall continue meeting my acquaintances “under the indicator”, since trains also run in the statue mode. That said, I wonder if 3600-crores could be used to renovate the brave warrior’s forts and legacy, both of which are in complete ruins in a debt-ridden State he couldn't have imagined? Or perhaps on more pressing initiatives like education, inferior-structure, health, sanitation, farmers, etc? Anyway, whoever decided on banning notes also announced the statue-in-the-sea, and has data to back all his decisions. And, I don’t understand data. Given my cattle-class background, zoologically speaking, data and mathematricks to me have always been arithmetical equivalent of an all-zebra; now, whatever that is.#ChalKheleinStatueStatue

Bhidu, God toh hai. Kya yaar, grow up, transcend beyond how, where and why. I see and speak to Him every day, Bhai. Palatial homes, 1 room-kitchen, sewage pipe, Ulhas river, skies, oceans, barren lands, buses, trains, cars, traffic jams, the overpacked 8.33 am Virar fast, the scantily crowded 1.04 am Kalyan slow, Serengeti, Switzerland, Thane, Bombay, Dilli, USA, India, Chennai, Horse’s stable, guarded prison and/or pig’s sty; faith ka chashma laga aur dekh, He is eagerly waiting to say Hi! And nope, no display of might. His philosophy is uncomplicated and straightforward: just, spread light. Take away fright. Let faith take flight. Jesus, Allah, Mahavir, Buddha or Krishna, none's so big nor the other so small; yeh sab God ka equal hai height. Mary's Christmas, toh meri bhi Christmas; think big, be Humble, and readily accept defeat in a meaningless fight!

Indian economy surpasses the UK economy for the first time in 150 years. But wait, wasn’t India a UK economy 150 years ago? In which case, who surpassed whom? Anyway, now that India seems to have surpassed UK, will the British start reading Kabir ke dohe? And, did Shakespeare have an Indian connection? Did Robinhood of Sherwood visit the Borivali National Park while it was still green? Will England ever defeat India, 4-0? Will Charles love Diana, posthumously? Will 10 Downing Street be renamed 10 Janpath? Will Her Majesty return the Kohinoor before Indian I-T sleuths conduct a demonetization raid? Will 1 GB Pound = 1 rupee? Will the British queue up outside the Indian embassy for an Indian resident visa? God knows. In the interim, I see History being created. 150 years from now, 2016 will be etched in History on account of India's demonetization (or the lakhs of it), Hillary's failed quest for Presidential know-me-nation and Trumputin's Russian States of Amerika election. Haha!

Applications invited from candidates aspiring to build their careers while breaking many others’ by joining my revolutionary Bhartiya Aam Aadmi Con Sena (BAACS). Vision: to build a memorial in the Indian Ocean. Mission: to get there in a bullet train via the Pacific Ocean, while being wary of the South China Sea. Core competency: a surname that starts with G. Should have a broad chest that no vest can best. Physical stamina is an imperative: lifting chairs, tables and throwing them with accuracy at the farthest opponent is a plus. Language skill sets: conversant with all cuss words. Write-in. Benefits, bonuses and compensation are from across the nation. Just. Dream platinum, earn diamond, market gold, swear white and convert black.

We went to deposit Rs.3000 in my Mom’s savings account today in denominations of old 500-rupee notes. The teller informed me that one note was pre-2005, and “hence couldn’t be exchanged owing to a directive from the RBI”. I had heard something similar in the past. Hence, I went ahead and deposited Rs.2500 at the first instance, but not without doubt. I called up the bank’s contact center, and their rep informed me that the bank should accept the note. I politely checked with ...a senior at the branch who reluctantly agreed. She took my Mom’s signature (she’s a senior citizen!) on the deposit slip. Makes me wonder: aren’t banks intermediaries? And infer: from whatever little I know about Economics, the entire demonetization exercise with a solid PR to backup is only an exercise in futility, and no more than gaining brownie points. All ye out there make money from divide-and-drool, and this one’s no different. A common law-abiding senior citizen depositing Rs.3000 is made to sign a deposit slip as evidence, while those defaulting on NPAs running into lakhs and crores of rupees, or those siphoning off money to Maldives and Switzerland are entitled for even more loans from the money deposited by the commoner who signed the deposit slip! Sahi hai yaar, ab ki baar, woh hai sarkaar; merit nahin toh kya hua, PR hi karlein yaar.

Heard Sultan is the Brand Ambassador of Bombay Municipal Corporation’s campaign against open defecation? S***, imagine letting an Ambassador loose in his swanky SUV in areas where pavement dwellers sleep and defecate in the open? Sahi hai yaar, ek baar jo Ambassador ke driver ne ignition ON kar di, toh log confuse ho jayenge ki baithe kidhar aur bhageey kahaan pe!

Jaani, to whomsoever it may concern, what’s the relevance of clearing competitive IAS, IPS, Income Tax, Banking, Rail, Air, Harvard, Oxford, MBA, PhD, Cambridge, DSE, LSE, UPSC, HSC, SSC, IGCSE, CBSE and bureaucracy, when the end-result (and intent) is stealing poor people’s money? Millions or minions, there will still be 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week, 365 days in a year, a cycle of seasons, 2 square meals, sunrise and sunset, and an average lifespan of 70-odd years? Anyway, what's the difference between a rich man and poor man’s diet plan? Simple. The rich follow an individual GM diet plan. The poor, a PM’s diet plan for the entire clan.

India seems to have become supremely mega-physical. Someone who is a no-one wields a sword on-stage in a public park amid roars of language and people divide. Someone who is known to everyone brags about his broad chest and broad shoulders worldwide. Someone who wants to be known by everyone recuperates for free in a 5-star with expert medics on all side. Someone who knows none, yet presumes HE is THE ONE, speaks in the Parliament, causes earthquakes and covers up Robert’s landslide. That’s not all. Speakers, audio, law and policy are flung high and mighty around a bloke sabha where none can hide. Stares are exchanged after breaking toll booths and traffic rules, and made to appear that the other didn’t abide. And what am I doing midst so much din and downside? Er, the someone mentioned above keep me busy with grocery bills, potholes, Aadhar, traffic, demonetization and ATM-hunting from time-to-time; here, there, far-and-wide. Rasta de na shaane, zara hat na side!

Kya yaar, do hazaar ke liye rote ho? It’s not even a month since the demise of 500 and 1,000 and look at them; each one of them boarded a flight from Delhi airport to travel to Chennai in separate jumbo jets! Socho, an entire plane dedicated to themselves. Nice, no? And 40,000-feet below, you and I continue to fight over fuel and grocery bills, physical deficit, NaMo, RaGa and the empty ATM saga? Grow up. Think Big, yaar. Think Boeing-787. By the way, Jaya gaya; kya lagta hai, dal mein (Sasi) kala hai?!

Move over Modi, prove Donald's Trump, I hereby confer the honorary "Time Person of the Year" title to myself. After all, to me, life has been so much about time. I try and get up on time. Fill buckets and store water by spending one helluva of time. Brush for some time. Bathe in no time. Breakfast while racing with time. Leave for work on time. Wait for the 8.49 am CST fast that rarely arrives on time. Board the local that’s crowded all the time. Reach office at Indian Stretchable Time. Work during lunch time. Eat during work time. And work until I realize there’s hardly any time. In the evening, I visit the ATM presuming it won’t be peak time. Glance at the serpentine queue and go back in time. Withdraw cash and buy groceries that last for some time. And finally, return Home at, God and Mom alone know, what time. Sahi hai yaar, time and tide wait for no man. Or, maybe tides do? In form of marble and concrete memorials that can breach all the boundaries that a commoner like me can't reach? Shivaji’s Park. Poes' Garden. Marina's Beach.

Prime Minister Sahab, I am a patriot. While I don’t have the valour to guard my country’s borders, I also don’t have an urge nor inclination to cross them to earn dollars, bask in cleanliness and/or observe traffic discipline in an alien country that foreigners call Home! This decision is purely personal and hasn’t got to do with merit, qualification and/or expertise in my area of work; it’s just that I love my country, my family, people, festivals, food and fervor. I was born here. Nurtured. Cared. Loved. Disciplined. Educated. Here. I am a vegetarian and a teetotaler, an avid biker, a mountaineer and football fanatic, thanks to the country that gifted me Mom, Dad, friends, Himalayas, school grounds and a racing 2-wheeler that's definitely male! I remain hopeful, Sir; whether it’s you, or someone else. Hence, I pay my taxes on time, and put up with potholes and rampant corruption, bureaucracy and lackadaisical attitude of those who are supposed to govern and serve, yet fail to discharge their duties. I am hopeful. Sir. I don’t lip-sync nor believe in supporting my motherland from outside by remitting a lot of money. I wish to be a part of the incomplete, raw, rustic, enthused, amused and confused journey called India. Don’t let me down; after all, when there’s so much to look up and be thankful for. Sir?

Yes, it’s all changing, post-08 November. India is suddenly an honest country (or, perhaps it always was?) Children seem to be loving going to school, adults to office, and Netas to the Parliament with an honest intent to serve people. Ministers are brushing their Smriti and giving up ministerial berths, since they know that running a country is not the same as a running TV serial over a cuppa tea. Ministers have started to go to municipal hospitals for treatment, while their children are being admitted in municipal schools and share a clean and hygienic mid-day meal. Indians are immigrating back to India (!), thus supporting their country from within. In fact, everyone Sarkari has made their pre-and-post-election earnings public: the sentry, opposition, Mantri and Pradhan Mantri. They have given up subsidies, lavish ministerial houses and 100-car-cavalcades as well as Z+ security. Mining barons and transport ministers wed their children with a modest spend of 2.5 lakh rupees. Roads are becoming well-paved, traffic rules are being obeyed and justice is being meted out fast-track. 80+ deaths are minor inconveniences. Merit is taking precedence over "credit". Isn't this change? Of course, when a commoner like me is within close-firing range. Strange.

Having seen pests of both worlds, I am ready to take on the responsibility of running a nation. Please, mujhe PM bana do. It’s very easy. Seriously. Grow a beard. Tweet as though everyone matters. Remain mum while opposition blathers. Listen to your boss however hard she shatters. Cite “coalition dharma” when Raja’s Commonwealth ruthlessly batters. Run a survey when the Nation is in tatters. And finally, extract Indian savings to cover up Swiss black money chatters. By the way, a man learns to become God-fearing only in 2 ways: one in a Dadar/Shirdi temple queue, and the other in the bank ATM queue. Of course, in both queues, the Qs he asks repeatedly are the same: Hey Bhagwan, main hi Queue?

I attended a wedding over the weekend. The family is highly educated, and hence settled only for about half-a-crore rupees in dowry. Or so I hear. The figure is subject to revision post-demonetization, and post-marriage when reality sinks. The family is a bunch of patriotic Indians settled abroad for more than 30 years, and support the Indian Government’s move from there. In India, they vouch for Make in India from their lavish German limo, even as Indians can't think beyond NaMo. In fact, I heard one of them speaking about their laziness + reluctance to cast a vote during an Indian election, as opposed to celebrating maiden voting rights in America after having attained the citizenship of that country. Anyway, the family by their own admission, decided to keep the marriage celebrations very simple: the ground resembled Wankhede, catering was Taj, lights and decoration were grand, switches were Legrand, the jewels shone bright, and everyone, including me, relished every meal to heart’s delight. Next day, I attained nirvana. As opposed to Buddha who meditated under a Bodhi tree, I attained enlightenment while waiting under the sole banyan tree that was 2 km away from the nearest ATM. He got Buddhism. I got buddhi. What buddhi? Arre bewakoof, banyan ho ya Bodhi, paise kahin jhaad pe ugte hain? Huh?

I wish to thank Mrs.Zender from Africa for her email seeking my confirmation to be a beneficiary of her 50-million pound fortune. I also wish to thank Coca Cola, RBI and Chevrolet for their emails declaring me as the winner of their grand 100-million dollar lottery. I guess, it will be easier to convert pounds to dollar, than it is to convert rupees to rupees. Ok, so, this time I am willing to believe each one of the emailers for all that they've told me, more so, after having witnessed everything that seemed unbelievable across the world, until 08 November 2016: Trump in America, Rahul and Heeraben at the bank, bump in New Zealand and a mighty slump in India. By the way, Mano ya na Mano, at every ATM the message remains loud-and-clear: chhutta nahin hai, aage badho!

Questions that leave me scrambling for a baton. Haha! On a Sunday afternoon: holiday, today? In a social gathering even after marking my presence for more than 30 minutes: came alone? Why? Is everything okay? During lunch in the office cafeteria: having lunch? And another: Eating? Good. With my bag at the office exit door in the evening: Going? And another: Going Home? So soon? Half-day? Seeing me in a formal outfit in the building parking area: going to the gym? Seeing me ou...tside the department store with bags of grocery: shopping? Or another: Where are you going? In a crowded train compartment: very crowded, no? And one which has all ingredients of multiple questions and answers in the same statement: when did you come? Just came? So early? How did you come? By car? Did you get traffic? Where did you park your car? Good you came. Sigh! Yaar, bade sach hi keh gaye hain: intelligent sawaal or Artificial Intelligence ka koi Quotient nahin hota!

The Swiss President didn’t oblige? Banks unable to recover NPAs? Mallya and Subroto still not scared? Mukeys bhai and Anil bhai still at loggerheads? Gautam bhai heading to Australia for gold, er coal mine? Can’t give up control of Asia’s richest municipal body that holds the patent for maximum potholes for more than 20 years? India’s real estate developers, close confidantes? So, one night he said a prayer, and had a dream. Morarji bhai appeared, whispered, and disappeared. Next morning, India demonetized over a cup of chai. After all, Ghar ki murgi dal barabaar; the irony though, is that the ghar, murgi and dal still remain “Queues” away from the common man. Bhaisaab, change hai kya? Hai? Kahaan? Zara batao toh.

Lessons learnt. Celebrities, industrialists, politicians, babus and the rich get clicked only outside airports; they don’t clicked inside banks while exchanging 500 and 1000-rupee notes. Perhaps, they only deal in dollars and Brexit. It is important to attend lectures in college; especially, lectures in Economics. Else, it is thoroughly impossible to understand the “Dhan Ki Baat” lecture of a Prime Minister. Money is of 2 types: black and white. White is owned by some, black is owned by one. Everyone else in-between exchanges “chillar”. 15-lakh rupees from Switzerland do not walk-in to a middle-class savings account; smaller amounts are debited at a national level, and credited at an invisibly irrational level. There’s heaven, tax-haven and Switzerland. Bank of Panama offers better interest rates than Bank of Punjab. Sharad is naturally corrupt during an election, and a legend post-election; that’s the Pawar Subroto Mallya has. Gandhi always smiles his way to the bank: both, in original and in duplicate. And finally, life isn’t always fair; as a law-abiding citizen, you need to pay penalty for someone else’s greed and undoing: bole toh, Bhare Koi, Bhare Sab Koi.

Notwithstanding what the world says about Hillary, I have always held her in very high esteem. She earned my respect when she stood steadfast by her husband, during his scandalous and stormy trial, and an eventual downfall. She accepted her electoral loss with a lot of grace this morning, truly befitting the essence of leadership that, at times, needs to be unlearned to learn. Of course, I am a very small man in comparison to the giant of a persona that she is, and my appreciation and admiration for her might matter little or nee. Yet, to me, she upholds all the qualities in a woman of *substance*, and she exudes character, virtue and demeanor with elan. While men are no stars in my personal opinion, they seem to have run out of raw material for making women like her, these days. Thank God for Hillary, she still holds the fort high and mighty.

For the next few days, robberies in India will be lower than Sweden. ATMs will be safer havens compared to Panama. Modi will be more famous than Miami, Michigan, Maya, Manmohan and Mallya. Much Pawar will be lost. 2-wheeler owners will create History and fill their tanks for 1000-rupees. Real estate will be (mutually) virtual. Jewellery will be equivalent to the price of Gems. As for me? Well, I am rejoicing! Since, after this move, I will be richer than Small A, Big A, Big B, Sallu, Lalu, Arun, Varun, Rahul, Jaya, Maya, Sushma, Najma, Sonia, Robert, Mehbooba, Amar, Akbar, Antony!

My India scripts a new story each time. The Himalayas in the North, a Bay in the East, the Sea in the West, and an Ocean deep-rooted in History and culture, in the South; Hanuman’s plunge of the Indian Ocean enroute to Lanka, and the arduous labour of “ram-setu”, remember? My India is Nature’s bounty. It’s plain and mysterious. It has been Home of legends, emperors, mighty warriors, pious princesses, leaders, revolutionaries, saints, intellectuals and administrators. India is a place I call Home. A Home I can’t live without. A Home that gave me family: a doting mother and a staunch supportive group of girlfriends in my sisters whom I date each day, our age differences, notwithstanding. I am thankful. I am glad. I was born here. Here. In my country. I call it India.

An appeal: for all those having scheduled a visit to the headquarters of an ISO-certified and renowned 100-billion dollar coup in South Bombay, please check their security retards, stop and reconsider your decision. However, if it’s still necessary, then it is advised to reschedule your visit to another date and time. In the interim, please workout to develop VISIBLE 35-inch biceps, 50-inch quadriceps and 48-inch triceps, and ensure to know all street intercepts. The minimum chest size should be 56-inches, atleast. Be aggressive and don’t follow the Gandhian ideology of “ek gaal, doosra laal”. There’s World War III raging in their board room, lobby, WC, reception and the street, including Dalal Street. By the way, whosoever suggested a Bharat Ratna for Ratan, should get a chaata; Mistry Dhoi style!

Mum bhai, socho if a "pramukh senapati" of a local Sena was kept under detention for 3.33 seconds? Of course, that’s an impossible scenario in our city in backdrop of the 56-inch chest; phir bhi, socho. Hai na, solid tension? Offices, including Bombay House, would abandon work half-day, mutually agreeing to reschedule their battles to a later date. Buses and cars would burn at every turn. Empty local trains would resemble the Orient Express. Cops would disburse crowds that reimburse them. ADHM would chant Shivaay. Groceries would be locked and stocked in barrels. Normal message and calling rates would apply. In a rare gesture, city roads would be empty and Homes would be full. Doodhwala wouldn’t come Home; paperwala would stay at Home. More games would be played in building compounds than in office boardrooms. Aur hamari Dilli mein abhi bhi, One Rank One Pension. When RaGa proposed, NaMo disposed; now, NaMo will propose, and RaGa will oppose. Tooth-and-nail. Jantar-banter.

Squint-essentially speaking, never judge a woman by tears she weeps, a man by the company he keeps, a company’s reputation by its turnover in heaps, a leader’s competence by his verbal sweeps, another person’s intelligence while your own brain sleeps, any alarm that beeps, water that seeps, and human greed that leaps. And. Probably. A Prime Minister who tweets. Courtesy: excerpt from Sagar’s exclusifz, circa 2016, verse still, November 2016.

Jio God for giving me only some-small-room-kitchen; can't imagine how they do "Diwali ki safai" in the 27-storey Ant-Qilla in South Bombay, yet stay there for a mere 8 hours per annum. Fun intended. Anyway, I heard of an ongoing clean-up drive in an Indian prison. What's fascinating about Indian prisons is that anyone can escape them; from the inside, as well as from outside.

I am blessed, God. A loving family, good health, timely meals, earnings, a Home to call my own, a sense of direction to differentiate the right from wrong, and the wisdom to remain firmly grounded and humble at all times. You've given me more than I deserve or wished for. You care. You love. You never let me fall. Shortcomings, any and all, are solely mine. There are millions out there, God. They look up to you, the harbinger of hope, to bring cheer, lights, happiness and so much more in their lives! This day, evening and time, I pray for their well-being, happiness and prosperity. Bless them like you’ve blessed me. May the spread of lights and cheer be contagious!

Yaar, check karo. Please check the syllabus at Wharton, Stanford, MIT and LSE. Earlier, two bhai-bhai having studied at prestigious Universities separated, and now a global Indian icon and a local yeh-kaun are infuriated. Politically speaking my mann-ki-baat, why spend money to obtain a global degree when the end-goal is you-come-you-go-nothing’s-bigger-than-ego? And, do rich people in plush 85,000-per-sq-ft South Bombay offices and highrises also quarrel like their counterparts in Chakala, Kurla, Malad, Thane and Bhiwandi? By the way, does the global syllabus end with an Indian adage that sounds something like, “bajaate raho”?! Huh?

I built this. I am building that. I own this. I own that. I bought this. I bought that. I can afford anything. I know everything. I did this for him. I helped him. I recommended him. I promoted him. I do charity. I donated. I am the reason. I, this. I, that. Sahi hai yaar, sahi bole Gandhi Bapu about that I for an I. Par, yeh I ke namoone kahaan se aaye? Kya short-sighted hain yaar, jo sirf I ka hi chashmah lagaaye?

What’s the Cyrus Mystery? He did away with loss-making entities? Or so I hear. Which means, now his decisions will be reversed? Which means, more Nanos on the road? Which means, Jaguar will be Safari? Which means, no gratuity for him? Which means, PR will cover up his departure, and FIIs the stock price? Tata, buy-buy? Tata, sell-sell? Arre Shapoorji bhai, tameh bolo ne bhai, Kem Ratan Ban Aayo?!

Hey Shiv, say na, what’s the Raj that despite a lurking urge within, none has the protein, vitamin, carbohydrates nor fat to openly hurl abuses at you or protest against you? Is it their lack of courage? The North Indian language? Your image? Or is it the rage of the young age in your highly-secured entourage? And then, what’s so special about your histrionics? The wielding sword? The Dassera rally? Dilli-daily? Anyway, somewhere down South, jahaan Jaya hai, there’s a game played Polo; arre bhai, zara darwaza toh kholo. Itni police aur kitne hi Doctor; er, zara bill toh bolo, Apollo?

Age: 38 years. Daily working: 11 hours. Daily traveling: 4 hours. Daily sleep at Home: 5 hours. Aggregate hours of sleep in the 8.43 am CST fast and 7.43 pm Thane slow: 2 hours. Adept at sleeping in all positions: standing, lying down, leaning, being leaned upon and wanting to lean upon. Exercise: daily, cut-to-size. Daily meal: Thank God. Wake-up hours: erratic. Sleeping time: sporadic. Precious assets owned: fan, fridge, TV, photoframes, sofa, mobile and furniture; mere paas Maa bhi hai. Frequency of taxes paid: daily. Product wish-list: affordable dal-chawal-roti-sabzi and a makaan without leakage. Favorite shopping destination: can’t say, it's a Big Bizarre. Commuting records created every day: crossing 16 platforms, changing 4 buses, 3 trains, and battling 5,000 people each time while boarding and alighting a train. Annual sick leave: boss thinks, one. Paid leave: gone. Kya yaar, itna struggle, phir bhi mujhe koi legend nahin bolta?! Modiji? Rahulji? Manmohanji? Kejriji? Bolo ji? Aap sab legends milein hue hain ji? Ain ji?

I asked Mom today if she is confident that Dad loved her. They were married for about 23 years, before my 6-footer-well-built Dad bid farewell without a party. Mom looked at me with condescension in response to my question, as though I was talking like Mark Shutterbug. Agreed, there was no Facebook those days where both could publicly exhibit, declare and display love, and exchange “mwahs” (to whomsoever it may concern) with each other, just like a lot of couples do these days during their long stints of 23 months, 23 days, 23 hours, AND/OR 23 seconds. Mom informs me that they never had the urge to let the whole world know what they felt and did last summer, winter, monsoon and during all seasonal cycles. She wonders though, when Mausi became maus? Bhabhi became bhabhz. Touching feet with both hands changed to touching thighs with 2 fingers (ouch!). Girl became gal (dono gal zara aage toh karo?) Happy birthday, HBD. Thank you, TY. Good Night, GN. Good morning, GM. Good Evening, GE. Happy New Year, HNY. Anyway, to me, at 3.23 pm, what matters most is that I Still Know What They Did Last Summer (_evil grin!_) #Facebookwalapyaar

Trump, you don’ wanna appease Indian diaspora, eh? Let me tell ya, the Indian in me loves America more than I love my mother, motherland, father, father’s grand, sister and sister's hairband. And there are many like me, mate! Every day, every hour, you’d see Visa power. I am going to America. I returned from America. I slept in America. I woke up in America. I brushed my teeth in America. I used toilet paper in America. I bought my first ever Indian flag from America. I recently married an American in America. Before that, I married an Indian in India who was earlier married to an American in America. They don’t litter in America (only in Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq). I miss India; solely in America. They lead some life in America. They also have a few wives in America. The boy is an NRI educated and settled in America. He takes dowry only outside America. Anyway, Trump how can you now hope, when you thought you could just grope? Swatch your crotch; Hillary knows your life’s Wiki, Donald!

Hey Dipa, why are you returning the BMW gifted by “Bharat Durghatna” who parks more cars than he drives? And, Agartala is backward? Huh, really? I mean, just look at Dilli and Bambai. Jumbo jets fitted with *Rolls-Royce* engines hover in the skies for hours just waiting for a signal to land. German, Italian, American, Japanese, Korean and boring Indian cars with extravagant cc engines lag behind rickshaw and “saikil” during peak and non-peak hours. Every time one car wants to move a metre forward, 8 cars have to move 6-metres backward; please calculate the forward-to-backward ratio yourself. By the way, do they drive on footpaths in Agartala? Are there chinkaras, too? No? Good. I asked, because jo toofani hote hain, unhe chahiye hamdardi ka tonic, chinkara!

I went for Darshan today. And boy, what a divine experience it was! The grandeur of decoration and lights, fancy stage, yummy food, unwashed red-carpet, expensive clothing stalls, bank loans, insurance policies, vacuum cleaners, Pepsi and Coke in the same stall, average men (barring a few handsome ones like me!) and gorgeous women. There were queues: 100-rupee, 500-rupee, free queue and “no Q”; the last one was only for VIPs and the likes of officials who arrived in their official cars with tinted windows on a late Sunday evening. And there was God, too. I wonder how God categorizes and processes applications. Anyway, I have a very compelling question for Him: how does someone, who stood 1000 steps behind me, jump 2000 steps ahead of me in a matter of seconds? Kya God, fate hai, late hai, par woh seth hai, toh kya aap se bhi great hai?!

The bearded old man holding pan masala in his hand. Kaun hai? Seen him somewhere. On TV, for sure; cinema is darn expensive, I tell ya. Aah, the famous Bond, James Bond! But wait, is America in such dire straits that 007 has to sell Pan Masala in India? Obama? By the way, did Bond go to Smriti's Photo Studio for a click? Just see the effects; even with Irani's Photoshop skills, he looks like a dilapidated agent with token wealth, devoid of any stealth and in extremely injurious health!

Obama Uncle, God promise, Kashmir is mine. No uncle, Hafiz ki saugandh, Kashmir is mine, all landmines are not made to shine and Azhar is doing fine. No uncle, Nawaz is lying, we paid stamp duty and registration for PoK that he is occupying; why is he jhoot-jhoot crying? No uncle, ask He, ask Xi, both will tell that Naren is lying; he created a MHADA scandal when I was applying. Please uncle, don’t listen to Nawaz; Sushma, staring off her chashma, won elocution at the UN where none participated and empty chairs were drying. Ok! Ok! Naren I will call you Gandhi, and Nawaz you take billions and my weaponry goldmine. Please stop the danga-Fawad, ye kids. I am very concerned with Donald’s Trump on cloud nine, while Aye Bill Hai Mushkil, since Hillary is falling behind the line. Get my Airforce One ready ya mate, I need to jet set flying! #NawazNarenObamaUncle

But of course, strikes took place! Else, how does one explain the 8.43 am Churchgate slow to be overcrowded; hai na, shaayad the motormen are on strike. Rickshaw drivers decline to ply short and long distances with tenacity; possibly, transport buses are on strike. Well-paved roads are riddled with gaping holes; maybe, the “daambarwala” and road contractors are on strike. Prices of dal hover around the 200-rupee level; perhaps, truck drivers are on strike. The likes of Subroto Mallya and Vijay Sahara siphon off crores; hmm, the taxman is on a holiday strike. Chinkara and human killers roam Nirbhaya; what, the lawman is on strike. Global prices of fuel drop in USD, while those in India decline in paise; are Saddam and Osama on strike? Anyway, notwithstanding numerous internal strikes, the jawan remains on a high alert at the border; definitely, terror from across the fence is waiting to strike. And then, hope Nar grows up to become Man and learns from Mohan who never spoke; after all, “strike” bolo toh problem, “no strike” bolo toh bhi problem! By the way, sach mein, Sirji kal strike? Huh?

Can the Indian Army carry out covert operations and surgical strikes inside Indian jails? There are a number of terrorists known, and they’re one of our own. Indicted. Convicted. Yet, always conflicted. Don’t get it? It’s fine, be Nirbhaya. After all, while there’s unflinching valiance at the International borders, there’s utter leniency in Indian court orders.

Hey Cauvery, how’s the flow in Jhelum, Chenab and Indus? Heard "paani" is also under the ambit of treaties these days? Is Ganga, Brahmaputra? Ya Muna? So, how do they measure and divide litres and cusecs among different sects? And, whose side are you on: Bangalore, Madras, Islamabad or Dilli? Which divide is better: State-level or country-level? Heard of “ullu, bhar paani”? They say that a lot in Bombay during summers. By the Bay, did you watch Ram Teri Ganga Maili? At Haridwar. And Varanasi. Starring the wet-and-wild Mandakini; not the river, naughty! And a famous punchline, “main nahaya nahin hoon, (isi liye) Maa Ganga ne mujhe dhulvaya hai!”

Jaani, if an asteroid from nowhere can strike Earth and destroy an entire generation of “saurs”, animals can evolve into humans (who seem to be evolving into demons), plants and animals can communicate and human beings often miscommunicate, matter can become antimatter, antimatter can become any matter and any matter can become a funny matter (now, whatever that is!), then there surely is a Creator, somewhere. He turns the lights ON every morning, turns the tap ON every year from June to September, installs the annual AC compressor that chills, and a heater thereafter, that moderates. 100% subsidized. Unhe hum God bolte hain; koi shak? Anyway, the views expressed here are solely that of the author; please don’t bother. Resemblances to any person, living, dead or lurking in-between (ouch!) is coincidental; just, don't be mental.

Sir, this week has been widely celebrated as the Pakistan week in India. I miss Obama and his “condemnation”; at least? Anyway, it might be worthy to run a cost-benefit analysis of all trips undertaken to-date vis-à-vis the “image of India created abroad”. While you carried goodwill from India with a view to develop healthy relations with other countries, the reciprocation in this hour of (severe!) crisis has been nothing more than “verbal condemnation”. No one (will) is ostr...acizing Pakistan (directly); they’ve their own gains (and perhaps, fears!) of a “terrorist State”. India. Stands. Alone. Meanwhile, it’s worth-your-while to imbibe good qualities even from those whom you consider to be opponents. In this case, your predecessor didn’t stoop low with personal attacks; there are complexities and compulsions for you at the top, and everyone understands this. In fact, his predecessor, Mr.Vajpayee, too, was a very able Statesman, and there’s a lot to learn from such Leaders and Statesmen. Sums up, jo toofani hote hain, woh baraste hain; garajte toh sirf badal hain!

So, what does Nawaz’s day look like? Get up at 5 am; the alarm resembling multiple detonated bombs on M,W,F and gunshots on T,T,S. 6 am: Check mail to ascertain that he is still the PM. Sleep. 6.45 am: check mails with eagerness to ascertain if Raheel is alive. 6.46 am: curse his fate. Sleep. 8 am: call from Raheel. 8.05 am: diarrhea. 8.30 am: call to check if the office building still stands. 9 am: leave for office. Enroute, read Bombay Times, Page 3. 9.30 am: reach office and fill his water bottle. 9.45 am: check mail to see if ships have crossed the Panama canal. 10 am: confidential meeting with Hafiz and Zaki to discuss all-fayda. 1 pm: lunch with Raheel. 1.05 pm: diarrhea. 1.30 pm: daily pledge of ensuring that nothing’s OK in PoK. 1.45 pm: meeting new recruits and admiring their Guns-n-Poses. 3 pm: Listen to Modi’s Mann ki Baat. 3.15 pm: checking Kashmir’s weather on accuweather. 3.30 pm: daily call with Xi’s interpreter. 4.30 pm: the daily urge to immigrate to London. 5.15 pm: call from Raheel. 5.20 pm: diarrhea. 6 pm: shut down. 8 pm: reach Home. 8.30 pm: dinner time. 9 pm onwards: coordinate Uri, Pathankot, Mumbai and Kashmir. Hai na, sahi? Sun UN sun, Nawaz ki dhun…!

Nawaz isn’t Sharif. Raheel wants Nawaz. He wants Kashmir, too. Xi wants Raheel and Nawaz. Obama wants them, too. Xi builds a pipeline for them to pass through India. Obama takes the aerial route and gifts them dollars, aeroplanes and drones. Xi and Obama: them, clones. Happy with Obama’s barracks and Jinping’s ping-pong, Nawaz and Raheel develop a network of terror, load it with idealistic error and make it so complex, that it becomes difficult to say who’s the bearer. Bole toh, unki nazar hai buri, hence they attacked Uri. It’s time India wielded a “Chhuri” and fried them like garma-garam puri! Angry kya? Grab their knickers!

“Sir, I have been in the hotel industry for 31 years. I worked abroad for 11 years when I missed my country and came back. It is painful to see food going waste in an impoverished country like ours. While we make money, someone somewhere is going hungry, while leftover on the hotel tables is being cleared. Sir, did you know, the amount of food wasted in India annually is sufficient to feed Egypt for a year? We can’t utter a word, since we’re in the service industry, Sir. I come from a very humble background, and hence I know the value of food. Even educated people waste food, and this practice is widely prevalent across categories of hotels”. Now, whosoever said that formal education can buy class, didn’t know where to go schooling…haha!

Kya zamana hai yaar. People declare their 5-star check-in, (strictly) aviation travel (no doubt, State Transport Corpn and railways in India are a loss-making affair), lunch, dinners, breakfast, pee-poo, honeymooning and love-and-longing for one another on social media, as also claim that it’s their PRIVATE life and the whole world’s got nothing to do with it. Anyway, never trust one man’s power and the nearby electric tower; one uses and then refuses, while the other just fuses! Hahaha!

Even in the lonesome stillness of the night, I’ve seen Her shining, O so bright; She held me like a guiding light, and stood steadfast when things weren’t right; She’s frail, She’s worn, yet has the invincible might to never gave up on me when I think it won’t be alright; She stands, sits, walks, ascends, descends, cries, laughs, wanders (even aimlessly), sleeps, awakes, feeds, goes hungry; She is all that and only what a true Mother can be; after all, if She weren’t she, then who would teach ME to be me?

Children, as per a new syllabus devised on either side of State borders, water is a highly combustible substance that can cause fire when one State’s desire evokes another State’s ire. The situation is dire. Who is a liar? The answer is known only to the big Sire. But then, where did the river originate many centuries prior? And then, why to burn a bus and its tire? What do they think, riots and arson result in the water being transferred wire? Can’t those who incite in their well-toned attire remember that they’re well past the date of expire, and on the verge of retire? But child, you don’t perspire, such lessons will always be there to learn as you grow higher. Bole toh, while the situation appears scary, don’t be so teary-weary. The river’s not Ganga or Yamuna, yet; it’s only Cauvery.

Mom thinks times have changed; while I am still young, she’s old. Technology is on a threshold, yet relationships are cold. Parents are too busy to scold, children don’t like to be told and empty homes make a household. Lo and behold, money and power redeem gold and virtue is sold. Summers and monsoons are scorching hot, while winters aren’t even bold. And then, as she is about to break into another mould, I bring her back into the fold. Is she fashioned old? Can’t be, since the world she grew up in appears to be tad different manifold!

Tourists, visitors and travelers scheduled to arrive in Bombay from Monday, 05 September, onwards are requested to ascertain direction to their destination beforehand, since all direction signboards are likely to be covered with posters. After all, it’s the time of the year when Gods will reincarnate in Human form and welcome (“hardik swagat”, remember?) one and all! Please do not get carried away with finger-pointing photos of the Gods, since these are eternally misleading in all directions. Do notice the shape, size and thickness of God’s moustache and its evolution over time, as well as the jewellery worn by Goddesses, sufficient to feed India’s poor for 1000 years. Did you know, it takes an annual budget of about 35000 crore rupees to maintain these Gods? By the way, what did Mom say when I asked her about Govindas flouting the 20-feet dahi-handi guideline issued by the Supreme Court? She said, “keep quiet and don’t utter a word; don’t you know they’re Goliaths and you’re Hardly David Son?!”

In the gym this morning. He: our gym in USA is bigger than this. Me: is it your private gym? He: Er, no. But then, our entire family lives in the US. You have relatives there? Me: no, but wait, you got mouth sores? He: No, why? Me: oh, that’s the American accent, eh?! He (elated!): we have been living in the US for more than 25 years now. Me: nice. He: It’s very clean compared to India. People are nice, the Government takes care, a very safe country. Me: you own a gun? He (dumbfounded!): What?! Me: nothing, so, what brings you here? He (in original Indian accent): oh, it’s the Ganpati festival. So, have you visited the States? Me: No. He: am sure, you too must want to go and settle there? A lot of Indians do. Me: I don’t, there’s so much to be explored in India. I love my country. He: you serious? You can still love your country and do things for people while staying abroad. Me: True. But why go and stay in someone else’s Home when you’ve got one to call your own? He: Perplexed. Me (with my hands on his shoulder): Mera Bharat, Jahaan! Cut to climax: He shifted from the bench to the treadmill :-)

I attended a 3-day leadership training recently. The cost per participant was 35000 rupees + tax, and hence I learnt a lot of learning from the session. To start with, the venue was an architectural marvel at land’s end where the sea began and ended again, abruptly. Wah Taj! A Make in India conclave was in-progress at the venue. The cutlery, chandeliers and carpets were imported; none were Made in India. The hostesses were beautiful and gracious; thankfully, they wore make-u...p only and no accent. Surely, the staff must be paid well. The gatekeeper was tall and well-built; he greeted everyone with a smile. All meals were served on time. Cookies served with tea were soaked in yummy dark chocolate, and the lunch menu was elaborate. I think they use refined cooking oil; not Dalda. Training? Well, participants in the training room, including me, already knew everything about leadership; or so it seemed. In fact, on completion of the training, as everyone emerged from the session, it became difficult to distinguish the trainees from the trainer. What did I learn from the session? A lot: some leaders are born (never heard of them), others are bred, while several others always show everyone in the red.

I feel lonely in a crowd. After all, the only “toast” I’ve heard of is bread-toast, maska maarke. The only precious memories of "bottoms-up" I have are those when I never completed homework at school, and the teacher cracked the whip. The only “F” word I grew up learning and using most often is F for Father, and the only "drinks" I grew up consuming are doodh, chai and paani. The only non-vegetarian bheja fry I’ve ever eaten is my parents’ brain. I grew up learning to look through objects, not people; both, in concave and convex mode. The only time I got real close to women and drooled with them was when I boarded the over-packed Thane Municipal Transport bus No 65 from Thane Railway Station to Ghodbunder Road. I am still averse to smoke; from humans and machines. Hence, I feel lonely in a crowd where the world says only “men” allowed. But then wait, I just heard my dad and mom shout out loud, like a thundering cloud: son, you've been a MAN, and we're both so proud!

Agle saal Kashmir, Pakka? You see, in a nation divided between Ramya Rahim, it’s the preconceived notion and an addiction to diction that causes friction and misconception, provokes a section, creates an equal and opposite reaction, and is responsible for an impulsive decision to invoke a serious charge of sedition. So, watch what you say! But hey, wait, I love Mysore Pak!

A human being. Human beings are nice people. They are gentle, loyal, faithful, honest and devoid of vices like anger, jealousy, lust and cruel intentions. There are many types of human beings; they are called lion, tiger, birds, eagles, sparrow, parrots, chicken, cow, buffalo, owl, rhinos, hippos, cats, dogs, etc. Human beings respect and owe everything to Mother Nature; both, in thoughts and action. Their predatory nature and ambush tactics are Nature’s creation, and they adhere to Mother Nature’s laws in full spirit. Human beings don’t burn forests nor cause earthquakes. They don’t pollute Holy rivers and mighty oceans in the name of religion or development. And when they pull down each other, it’s only to hunt. There’s also a 2-legged animal creature called Man, who is far more literate, superior and technologically advanced, yet has evolved into a fully-grown superficial animal that threatens every one’s existence: human beings, his family, his neighbor, colleagues, friends, nature and above all, himself. Now, only if the world went to the dogs! Sigh!

Urjit bhai, kem cho? You, a Patel? Met Smriti at Yale? Grew up in the same neighborhood as Hardik and Anandiben? No? Ok. Welcome to the Reserve Blank of India. I don’t understand Ecocomics, yet have a suggestion: if only you could do something about the link between inflation and TV serials. You see, none of the characters go to office. Middle-class homes appear as though they get an increment every hour. Lavish marriages happen every 30 minutes, every day of the week. Characters die, come alive, only to die again, until they decide to quit altogether (labour flaws, anyone?) The quantum of gems and jewellery worn in one episode is sufficient to cover India’s debt for 100 years. What’s more, many Bahus even have the potential of becoming India’s Union Ministers in the future! Brush your memory; Smriti, know her? And then, midst all the clamour for glamour, the FM, who was also I&B Minister once, thinks that similar luxuries also exist in the real world, since “media is a reflection of society”. Hence, he imposes burgeoning taxes like rising TRPs! Bhai Jo, tame jo, avjo and please, Arun bhai ne explain kar jo?!

My phone is some find. It gives me company in a crowded office conference room where I wish to avoid colleagues, and show every one that I am very busy. It helps me arrive at all terminals – rail, air and road - in style. I drive my car with my phone ON (and brains OFF!). My phone helps me ignore those who are equally eager to ignore me. I believe in the contemporary adage: why call and speak, when you can text and tweet? Sweet. I spend about 80% of my time in social gatherings and during vacations clicking photos with my phone, and another 10% time in uploading them on social networks; if my contacts visited the Taj Colaba recently, I visited the Juhu Marriott – now, take this! Of course, the balance 10% time is spent figuring out what to do with myself and others in the social gathering. I use my phone to declare love for my better-half publicly, though we question (and curse!) the other’s presence in our life, strictly in private! I compliment my colleague on his promotion using my phone app, though I am very eager to know his CTC and “knowing him, just how did he get there, itni jaldi?” By the way, did Isaac Newton see a connect between Alexander Graham Bell’s invention and the Apple? Huh?

Good morning, am I worthy of accolades, too, the day after? Don’t think so; it’s the athletes’ personal achievement, yet they share credit with me and I remain indebted to them. After all, it is their discipline, endurance, sacrifice and endeavor that catapulted them AND the country to the pinnacle of victory. They stood against odds and held their heads high in backdrop of lack of support and infrastructure (death-defying Produnova using parts of a scooter, remember?), finances (a billionaire Bharat Ratna MP-cum-sporting legend zyaada!), yet managed to be a saving grace for a billion. Arre O samba, kitne medal mile? Sirf teen, sardaar. Aabadi 125-crore aur medal sirf teen? Bahut na-insaafi hai re!

Game it ON Rio, Sindhu. It isn’t so much about the Gold, as it is about your indomitable spirit against odds! Hyderabadi Biryani aur Charminar ki kasam, I mean no disdain, though, today make Carolina’s reign in Spain to appear very plain!

Question: who is faster than batti ka volt? Answer: Usain Bolt. Kya bhaagta hai yaar; bhaagte bhaagte smile bhi karta hai! It is confirmed: Indian Olympic brand Landcruiser, er, Ambassador Salman can run away from the law but not Usain Bolt 😂

Sister, it's intriguing as to why only you NEVER appear "HOT" or "s***" to me? Ever. Anyway sister, I pledge to protect your honour. For a lifetime. AND. Always remember that ALL other women are also worthy of that respect. Locally. Nationally. Globally. Verbally. And in motion. Anywhere. Everywhere. On the road. Highway. In the morning. At noon. Afternoon. In the evening. At sunset. In the silence of the night. Midnight. Any time. Every time.

Oopar wala Malik Sakshi hai, you are a saving face for a Nation that celebrated it's 70th Independence Day, three days ago! You and the entire contingent of Indian athletes were exemplary in a highly competitive global fora. After all, it takes immense courage and mental resilience to be among legends, compete with them and overcome adversity in backdrop of a complete absence of infrastructure, finance and logistics. By the way, hope that the Olympic brand ambassador will now remember Karmakar as Dipa, and not Deepika! Hahaha!

The weather is cold in the Himalayan terrains of Siachen. The weather is very humid in the plains of Rann of Kutch. The weather remains highly uncertain in the mountains of Arunachal. Why? Because, Nawaz Jinping and Xi Sharif want a slice of every thing that does not belong to them. Why? Because, the Pakistani dragon and Chinese ISI want them to do so. Why? Because, the South China Sea is deep, and the mountainous terrains of Balochistan and Afghanistan are treacherous and unsurmountable. Why? Because, Osama lived long in those mountains. Long? Why? Because, he applied for a Chinese visa on Pakistani passport that was rejected. Why? Because, he missed his appointment at the local passport kendra. Why? Because, he mistook a flight to America’s World Trade Centre instead. Now? Now he is dead. And what about the weather in Siachen, Kutch and Arunachal? Heavy thundershowers and lightening expected. In Kashmir.

Jaani, what's the difference between 1947 and 2016? Indians wanted Whites to Quit their country, then. H1-B, Green Card aur immigration ki kasam, Indians want to Quit their own country, now! And on occasions, when Indians are forced out of foreign land, there's an Air India, Twitter, tweet and a Sushma who is virtually so sweet 😂

Maa, is it such a coincidence that Independence Day and Raksha Bandhan are cause for celebrations in the same week? I get it Maa; after all, sometimes life's big messages lay hidden in small "coincidences". Bande, Mata Ram ek hain and both are worthy of equal respect. Samjha kya, bhidu?

One life. One family. One love. One time. One, just one;
I owe it all to them, for all that they’ve done.
A time when the Nation was beyond all desire,
bravery faced bullets, and stories of virtuous queens raged like burning pyre.
Men, women, children who gave it all, in the face of a Raj that stood strong and tall....
They were tortured and tormented, and threatened so Dyre,
it appeared that the sun would never set on the empire.
Yet, they fought, weathered the onslaught and brought the invincible to a naught.
One life. One family. One love. One time. One, just one;
They gave it all for me; but see, O see, what have I done.

There's something about G. G comes after F. G for God. G for Gandhiji, Gun and Godse. G for Rahul G, Sonia G, Priyanka G; all in a spectrum of 3G, sharing common wealth from CWG, at speeds of 4G, and protected by NSG. G for GDP and GST; aur kuch pataa nahin ji. And then, there's G in Uddhavji, Modiji, Jaitleyji, Sushmaji, Sheilaji, Jayaji, Mayaji, Yadavji, Rajnathji and Arvindji; sab mile hue hain ji. In office, G as in sirjee, at home G in veggie, in the train, kahaan se aaye ho ji, and in the temple, kyon Bhagwanji, main hi kyon ji? By the way, will India win G for Gold at the Olympics? Yes? When? Tomorrow? Today? Ya phir jab bhi Shobhaa De?

Notwithstanding the numerous challenges and umpteen struggles that Bombay offers, I feel really blessed and privileged for having been born here, and owe it to my elders who made it their Home, millennia ago. Bombay is in close proximity to the Western Ghats, a fast depleting forest cover, and home to hundreds of species of animals and birds; some local, a few migrants (rings a bell?!) I am an avid driving enthusiast. Long drives appeal to me. Cars and bikes, alike. Midst the... scenic landscapes and majestic hills of the Sahyadris, traverse many a highway, including Bombay-Goa, where a major portion of a British-era bridge collapsed in the Savitri river, recently. The bridge needed urgent repairs, yet repeat warnings since the last 4 years were ignored. None cared. And then, when it collapsed, a number of vehicles, including a couple State Transport buses went down. Rescue operations are ON. Mahabaleshwar and surrounding hill stations have been shut down. A few lakh rupee compensation has been announced. Not sure, if a few lakhs (or even crores!) can reimburse loss of human life and the scars they leave behind. I want to drive down the scenic Bombay-Goa highway. And the last thing on my mind is monetary compensation. Or twitter condolences. Fadnavis Sahab?

My name is Sagar. I live in Thane. Thane is in Maharashtra where Thackeray is an English surname, the barren surface of Vidarbha is from Venus, and Marathwada ain’t the quintessential Mumbai. Maharashtra is in India. India is my country. All Indians who chant NaMo RaGa are my brothers (subject to review every 5 years). I am unable to see my own sisters in Indian women, yet. Hence, hashtag “Nirbhaya” is a growing trend in my country, even within a mile radius of Supreme Lord Narendra’s abode. I love my country; this year, I am loving it even more, until 15 August, an extended weekend holiday. I am proud of India’s rich and varied cultural heritage and shall strive to be worthy of it, even after immigrating to America. I was not Born in the USA; I can migrate there, at least? I support Hillary Trump and Donald Clinton. I admire the Statue of Liberty more than the Statue of Unity, since Vallabhbhai shares his surname with Hardik and Anandiben. By the way, how old is Uncle Sam? Was he a vegetarian with a 56-inch chest? And a PM, too? No? Yes? The first PM born in post-Independence India? Er, America? Haha!

Who is more dangerous? The known gun-trotting enemy who lurks at the borders? Or unknown beasts within who roam free with utter disregard for the law in Kopardi, Bulandshahr, Bangalore, Bombay, Delhi, Assam, et al? Who is more lethal? The criminal? Parents who exercise little or no control over their offspring? A society and media that absolves itself of all responsibility by claiming that the content children watch on TV and Internet is the sole responsibility of parents? Or is it a Government and opposition who work in tandem to trivialize, cut-to-size and politicize a gruesome crime called r*** for personal gain? Whatever it is, billion-dollar investments, bullet trains, highways, swanky airports, accolade-laden speeches, a handful women in positions of power and globe-trotting CEOs do not constitute a nation; moreover, when women and innocent children are the most unsafe “COMMODITY” in the world’s largest democracy (!) that’s about to celebrate it’s Independence Day.

I am nearing 40, yet, Mom narrates bedtime fairy tales to me. Of times, when monsoon in Bombay arrived on 10 June every year, and one season did not interfere with another. Of times, when tomatoes and veggies were ripe and affordable, and when many uneducated and illiterate couples celebrated life with commitment, what if both were shy and minus compliment! When social media was unheard of, and public displays and declarations (sounds familiar!) of love were solely a domain o...f the movie industry, even as real-life marriages celebrated jubilees. When expressions of love were too precious and private with a sparkle of shyness, and marriage anniversaries were greeted in-person, minus LOUD public announcements of thanking one another for having "tolerated each other"! Whatever. Circa 2016-17, I still remain at the deceiving end when it comes to status updates about check-in to Taj, Oberoi, Hilton, Hyatt, Airport lounges, etc; anyway, that I can help? :-) In any case, I, too, will check-in tomorrow: at the GB Road bus stop. And Thane railway station, thereafter. Good night, Mom. I Love You.

Foreign Investors, please value your billions as I value my hundreds. Book a prepaid cab at the airport. Don't be disheartened if it takes 45 minutes to reach the airport hotel, a stone throw away; improbable patrons like me have the fortune of admiring such luxury only from the outside. Get your children along. They will enjoy the bumpy car ride, courtesy, potholes that are carefully crafted after annual investments worth crores. Bombay is India's commercial capital. There's... a difference between Burhan Wani and the PM speak on Akash Vani. Tur dal is grown in Mozambique, and Nawaz is eternally under the influence of ISI-mark opium. Gods in gold and diamond-studded jewellery welcome commoners like me, every year; their hoardings are scheduled to come up soon. Notice the amazing shape and size of moustaches and expressions that the Gods display; these are subject to change every year just like the vagaries of Indian monsoon. You, come soon. To Bombay. India. Truly, Aisa.

Move over Smriti of Modi's degrees, where did Sallu's lawyers study? Which syllabus did they refer to? Who attended college? They? Or their driver? What do they think, will "black bucks" return to India? Where was the bakery? Jodhpur? And the black buck? Bandra? In which case, Lallu was flying a kite in Gujarat? With whom? Er, ok, got it. Was the black buck drunk when it testified? How many hours did Lallu take to digest the black buck? Which car does Lallu's driver like the most: a black Buick or Landcruiser? Now that Lallu is acquitted for black bucks, will Mallya return to India? With Modi? Lalit, I meant. And, who fought the case for the deceased? Sibal? Bhujbal? Or was it someone really Durbal?

Shiva. It’s the holy month of Shravan. A month of faith. Belief. Prayers. O Shiva, grant me wisdom when power, position, money, fame and arrogance come-a-calling. May I always remember where my humble journey began, and the imperative of respecting every one, big or small, rich or poor, literate and the under-privileged. After all, nothing, absolutely nothing, is permanent in your Universe. May I always look at those who are lesser privileged than me and be THANKFUL to you, r...ather than constantly comparing myself to those who are well-to-do! May I always remember that the journey of a thousand vices begins with a single misstep. May I respect women as an epitome of Adi Shakti, your confidante. Respect beyond mere idol worship. Shiva. Temptations lure. Problems galore. Many a raging storms at the shore. It helps to turn to historical folklore; tried, tested and proven, on all occasions, they show how prayers can cure and give the courage to endure. For sure.

India mesmerises me. The Himalayas in the North and the confluence of the mighty Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea in the South. An ancient land deep-rooted with many million miles in History, a country that prides itself with world's greatest thinkers, poets, mathematicians, revolutionaries, brave princesses and majestic emperors of yore, a land that witnesses a perfect time for sunrise and sunset every day, and a perfectly balanced skin texture of its populace (FMCG, sorry!) Its extremely sad when we bend to the West for approval and use them as a benchmark for our own individual successes. In any case, I return Home within a Home with respect and admiration for Vivekananda and Thiruvalluvar.

On those rare occasions that I can manage a walk on the street, every pothole reminds me of some thing. That life isn’t always about a swanky International Terminal T2; it's also about the 6.43 pm Kalyan fast. That the water stored in Bombay’s potholes, is sufficient to fill up the entire Gobi desert. That, in life, sometimes roads are meant to be token, and hence a “Swacch Khadda” cess might be on its way. A glimpse into a pothole reveals how the Universe is One, where the inner core of humans remains divided, while that of birds, animals and all other planets is seemingly united. That commoners like me still make our own road and manage to reach office every day, since we’ve got to afford a few gram vegetables and dal-chawal, every fortnight. That Fast-track courts hit potholes too, owing to which a driver and owner displace each other while in-motion. That judgements have potholes whereby brutal convicts and murderers are awarded State-sponsored tailoring shops. After all, UP there, what’s Maya without Daya? As for me, it’s an annual stint with the hole.

Geographically speaking, the radius, width, circumference, diameter, centimeter, perimeter and depth of a crater on SV Road, JVLR, SCLR, Airport road, Hill Road and Ghodbunder Road, is disproportionately vast than craters found on other planets, including, 7 Race Course Road, 24 Akbar Road, 10 Janpath Road and those hills that offer free chills, including Raisina in Delhi and Malabar in Cuffe Parade. Of course, the annual appearance, architecture, creation, expansion and maintenance of these craters remains a mystery. The layman in me estimates their water storage capacity to range from 1-100 litres. By the way, why did a monk sell his Ferrari? Simple, because he couldn’t drive on a road less levelled :-) :-)

Messi exits because he believes in the spirit of "tyaago" and is simply Fantastico. Raghu will exit because he is Rajan, not Swamy. Britain mulls exit because unke paas Mallya hai. None will ever exit the BCCI nor the Indian Parliament. Of course, tomatoes and all other veggies have exited my plate, and dal-roti is likely to follow suit. I look to conquer my hunger pangs with Yoga. Among other updates, I eagerly look forward to Monday, 11 July, when one crore Government employees will celebrate an extended weekend nestled in rain-soaked mountains or sipping chai-paani at Home. After all, who gets infinite leaves, free lunch and transportation, ultra-flexi timings, a 24% hike in salary and a strike from work?! By the way, what’s their collective CTC (Cost-to-Country)? And then, who is more expensive? Mehengi tarkaari? Or Mehenga sarkaari?

O what a life they lead,

They have all that they need.

A world of order, their range knows no border,

they fly, high, so high.

From Syria to Siberia, wet and wasteland to the Mirage of desert sand,

they’ve seen the mighty ocean and the unwavering Earth and land.

They don’t need an excuse nor a reason to enjoy every season,

they care, they dare and touch those skies where money can’t fare.

And when they kill, it’s purely nature’s will,

no passport nor visa, no attacks nor gun,

they’ve lived, they’ve flown, so what if all alone,

those little big things, that have wings.

Modi travels the world. Barack skips apologies since he owns the right to disown the world. For Xi and Li, China is THE WORLD. However, ultimately, it is Nawaz who’s a proud man; every day, when a spark is ignited, someone, somewhere, even in a remote corner of the world, thinks of him. And no, he didn’t bother with the occasion when his neighbor received a standing ovation in a House that has Demo-Republican representation. As always, while his neighbor will receive accolades for oration, Nawaz will get away with ration, ammunition, a verbal rap and a billion-dollar donation!

What an amazing start to the weekend at home in Thane, the city of lakes. Water supply for the day increased to 35 minutes for today, as against the usual 30 minutes over last 4 months. Tamatar prices at 55 a kg, down from 65 a kg a few days ago; of course, at 55 a kg, the tamatar size and shape resembles mutter. Gourd, prices are only bitter when I think of karela at 90 a kilo. And then, like every year, the roads have been dug like a deep borewell at all places, in anticipation of a strong monsoon. Desh badal raha hai? Kabhi? Kidhar ja raha hai? USA? UK? Emirates? Singapura? Family saath mein? What carries more status and style and less weight? Aadhar card? Ration card? Green card? 15 per cent service tax ki kasam, soch badlo, kaunse desh ko badalna hai?

Jaani, electricity toh hai par bijli nahin. Nal hai par paani nahin. School hai par donation ke paise nahin. Beti jo hai woh safe kahin? Kanoon hai par sazaa nahin. Kisan hai par fasal nahin. Namak hai par dal nahin. Maggi hai toh bread nahin. Raaste hai par jagah nahin. Train hai par ticket nahin. Mango toh hai par kya Alphonso hain sahi? Khuli jagah toh hai, par wahaan bhi pheriwale hain kai. Kya baat hai yaar, ab ki baar woh hain Sardar; in a make-believe world, jo prestige se karein pyaar, woh jashn se kaise kare inkaar?

Kya baap kamaal hai, what an electoral victory it has been! An unprecedented victory of those who represent India’s women: Sonia, Smriti, Sushma, Jaya, Mamta and Karuna (oops, sorry!), all replicas of Maya, UP there! A triumph of the eternal birth-right of aged men and women, cutting across party lines, who rigorously pespire and remain very close to date of expire, yet never tire or retire despite always being in the line of fire. But then, what drew Rishi’s ire? Name? Surname? Fame? Or simply, blame? Sea-link? Toll-plaza on the sea-link? Where’s the weak link? WE Highway? Airport? Indira? Gandhi? Ranbir’s Kat? Ram’s temple? Babur’s mosque? One statue in the Arabian sea, and another statue of Unity in debt and drought-ridden States? What’s the Raj, Kapoor? And then, kya kisiko mera khayaal hai, jab mere paas ek bada sawaal hai? Tur dal at 200 and tamatar at 60 rupees a kilo; kaho na, kiski keemat zyaada bemisaal hai?

How can the UK agency reject car models from Maruti and Mahindra after a crash test? Ok, it is fine to blame the erstwhile Government for having set-up an auto manufacturer with the name Maruti, when the sacred name should ideally be confined to a Ram temple. But if Tata Steel’s UK, why penalize Mahindra for it? Crash test speed of 64 km/h? Where does this figure come from? Cars on Indian roads ply at an average speed of either 5 km/h in peak hours, or 160 km/h in non-peak ho...urs on pavements and Hill Roads. In fact, post-midnight, when darkness descends and all shops and bakeries close down, many manual cars become self-driven in auto mode. Moreover, many cars don’t even move a kilo nor a metre during monsoon. Can the agency double-check to ascertain if the crash-tested car was a Landcruiser and not a Scorpio? And, who was the driver behind the wheel during the crash test? Rocky? Janhavi? Some man? Which man? Salman?

Mallya fled to the UK; but of course, because he can fly. He will repay the money; his terms apply. He will return to India; only if his conditions apply. The SC asked him questions; he might or might not reply. The jet and the villas are up for auction; none will buy. He demands Z-security; none questioning him, why? By the way, when his birthday present grounded, did Sid cry? Am sure, right now he must be around the KF calendar shoot, somewhere nearby; such a naughty guy! But then, who lost more money: shareholders, KF models, employees or the SBI? And, anyone in the Government taking stock of the “dhan ki vaat” during their charcha with chai?!

Right now, the only degree that bothers me is 48-degree summer and 38-degree winter. Of course, there’s a degree of variation. Separation. Emancipation. Out-of-the-nation. Graduation. Post-graduation. And then there’s a degree that is old. A few that are sold. And several others worth their weight in Gold. And, there are degrees that suddenly go cold, and appear years later only when told. Of course, the reasons can be manifold: claim-and-truly-hold, claim-yet-not-hold, claim-and-then-clean-bowled. Degree chahiye? Bas bolo, Yale lo and behold!

I wonder, why hasn’t anyone considered approaching Pranab for his opinion to ascertain if Kangana practices black magic or whether she lacks magic? After all, hasn’t he presented her with so many National awards. Did his hands shiver while presenting the citation to her? Was it out of fear or blushing? Did he notice another figure, besides her, while she was approaching the dais? Did Hrithik’s song, bolein choodiyaan bolein Kangana, play on his mind while presenting the award to her? Has he ever asked her if it’s easy to be Queen midst the King of Good times? Has he wondered how she become so Roshan? Does Pranab retire for an afternoon siesta after the award ceremony? What does he do on the day when there is no award or swear-in ceremony?  I’ve heard the Rashtrapati Bhavan has 300+ rooms. Any up for rent? Is there water in all toilets? Yes? So, can there be a pipeline from the Bhavan to Latur? How many lotuses bloom in the Bhavan’s gardens? All grown by “hand”? What does Delhi have to offer apart from JNU and Jung? Why does Sushma go to AIIMS despite public health centers having improved since 2014? Does Vadra still vacation in a DLF Enclave to beat the Delhi heat? How many marks did Mallya score in moral science at school? Too much drub? Sorry to rub. Pranab?

Timberman Producers present, Jungle Cook and the Dand of Uttarakhand. Location: soon-to-be erstwhile Himalayan range. Theme: President's rule midst raging forest fires. Guest appearance: Shaktiman, the horse, and all his friends who lived in the jungle with Mo-glee. Intermission. So, now that the Himalayan ranges are destined to be plain and the Ganges river bed in Allahabad has also dried up into a plain, does it make sense to divert the bullet train to Ahmedabad via Allahabad, Uttarakhand and Godhra? No? Why? Because the focus aren't plains or Kingfisher planes, but helicopters? Ok. So, what will you do now? Chop-her and shop her to Italy? Yes? Bhai Jo, mere liye toh na tum bhale na woh!

I "support" the judiciary. I "support" the acquittal. I "support" the Olympics. I "support" the decision to makeover an Ambassador of a Landcruiser in a world that's Mary Kom, Priyanka Zyaada. Yet, I am worried. What will happen when he inspires Indian athletes to have a "drive"? Are there bakeries in Brazil? If yes, are they called American Express bakeries? Do they have a Hill road where people sleep on pavements? What's the ratio of Landcruiser cars to pavement dwellers? Is it easy for Bajrangi to "convert" to Bhaijaan? Most importantly, are the authorities sure that "HE" is the Brand Ambassador? I ask, since if India achieves wins a poor medal tally, then will they blame him, the participating athletes or his driver? Main kyon Rio raha hoon? Theek hai, Janeiro Bhi Do Yaaron!

Raghu, you ain't Ram, hence it's impossible to be on the same pedestal as the other demo-Gods. Remember the story about "The Emperor's New Clothes" that you learnt at school, while Irani was being rejected for admission? Anyway, I am eager to know what it takes to be King in blind man's land? Another compelling question: why didn't the Rs.1.5-crore Mercedes ahead of me, and the Rs.5-lakh Maruti behind me pay a 35-rupee toll at the check naka? Can Mangalyaan help detect a water body in Latur? What's cheap: shifting Latur to Mars at Rs.7/km, or a diesel-locomotive-driven water-train at Rs.56/litre? Is there a 80% water cut in Indira, Devendra and Narendra's home? And finally, kaun sabse zyaada door: Is it Mars? Black money? Mallya? Kohinoor?

I will be going to the temple this Friday to wish Happy Birthday to the almighty, Lord Ram. I won't push anyone, nor will I make the pretty woman standing ahead the cynosure of my (prying) eyes. I won't jump queues, nor indulge in calculations, complaints and conjectures about “that” fellow devotee who was standing 50 steps behind in the queue until a minute back, yet managed to move ahead 100 steps. I won't question the Lord about the queue: why did it start, where was I when it started, when will it end, how will it end and whether it will ever end? I will keep myself hydrated by sipping Bisleri paani, cutting chai and Parle-G biskut while in queue; let's see if they store Patanjali. Now, all categories of queue still remain beyond my comprehension. So, there are free queues that appear to be a straight line, and then there are paid queues that are long and serpentine, while VVIP queues are eternally quarantine. I wonder if Ram differentiates and divides his people in categories? And then, who is God in His abode; Him or the VVIP? Anyway, Ram, will I be Bharat Ratna? Padma Shri? Sri Sri? Tridev? Ramdev? Padma Bhushan? Vibhishan? Yes? No? Q?

When my dapper neighbour flashed his diamond ring from Kalyan Jewellers while smoking a Panama cigarette, I decided to give him some competition, and decided to buy mangoes. So, off I went to the nearby department store, only to realize that mangoes were selling at a price similar to French beans whose price could be interpreted as “Gavar” that appeared closer home to bitter-gourd that sounded something like bottle gourd, that wasn’t green as the “mirchi” being sold at a price similar to Ginger whose color appeared faded compared to potatoes, even as tomatoes and apples appeared similar in shape, size and price. While I stood gazing at the price tags and felt spoilt for choice, I was dumbfounded that in a country so diverse and divided, atleast the prices of vegetables, fruits and king of fruits stand united by defying all the laws of gravity, centrifugal forces, economics, demand, supply, consumption, marginal utility swerve, multiplier defect, monopoly, duopoly, oligopoly, NITI , SBI, UTI, UBI, RBI, Jet Li, Rajan, Modi, Singh, Sonia, Prabhu, Prasad, planning commission, omission and revision. Now, in the back drop of prices as mysterious as the Pathan-code, I am wondering if I should say, “Bharat khaata bhi hai?”

My monthly travel allowance permits me to travel only local, Mumbai local. Of course, I’ve heard of birds, planes and direct flights to London, courtesy, Mr.Mallya. Now, Panama? Where’s Panama? Is there a direct flight to Panama? And what’s all the drama in Panama? I knew Nawaz was not Sharif, and suspected Vladimir to be Putin his billions somewhere. But then, Big B, aap bhi? Bahu B, tum bhi? Is there a shortcut from London to Panama? Is the Kingfisher calendar shot somewhere in the Panama canal? Does Mallya own a KF mansion on its shore? Does he swim in the canal? Wait, why am I even asking all this? Instead, let me check my passbook to ascertain if my savings account, devoid of any credit, has sufficient balance for monthly debit. And, Jet Li’s taxes :-)
 

It’s been more than 25 years since the last period at school, but then I still seem to be learning, St Theresa’s. I am learning that it takes much more than formal education to stop and wait patiently at a traffic signal when none’s looking; that honking hard, accelerating harder and (empty) show of bhp shows the “true class” of the driver irrespective of the premium brand they drive. I am learning that being modern isn’t about expensive phones/brands, foreign holidays, palat...ial residences, premium cars, etc, nor about going on a drinking binge, partying late nights and/or smoking relentlessly to lung’s discontent. I am learning that University degrees don’t define CHARACTER, and that PhD, MBA etc are mere higher degrees in LITERACY, not EDUCATION. I have experienced that words speak louder than action, especially in a company townhall and during performance appraisals. I am learning that fair isn’t always lovely and that true love is devoid of display and repeated declaration on social networking sites. I agree with Corleone and his wisdom of “a man who does not spend time with his family, can never be a real man”. Oh wait, I realize that there’s so much homework left to be done. And I thought, I had graduated St Theresa’s. Period?

Yes Minister, no amount of advertising will help garner Indian tourist traffic into the UK, unless you promote your country as a land of Vijay Sahara and Subroto Mallya. They both flew planes with elan, before grounding them with a plan. Anyway, when Vijay was in India, Kingfisher shut down. Now, when he is in UK, Tata Steel is shutting down. I wonder, what’s this Mistry behind Mallya Being Cyrus? Has it got to do something with Kriisis 3? I mean, Hrithik the plaintiff, Kangana the defendant and Pope the pontiff. Who is more Roshan? Modi’s Jaadu? Kejriwal’s Jhaadu?

Trees. I love trees. They come in all shapes and sizes: full-grown, half-felled and now-extinct. In olden times, there were many tall trees. Now, there are a few small trees. Trees provide shade from the scorching sun. They give rain, too. However, now that the trees are being replaced with tall towers, light poles, coastal roads, national highways, a few million slums and shopping malls, there is a severe drought. In Maharashtra, it’s called Developmental Eco-comics. Of course, I continue to pray and wish for more trees. Though, wishes are amputated horses that have been trampled upon and lathi-charged by some "Shakti-man", somewhere in the Himalayas of Uttarakhand.

There are Times. Good times. Bad times. And then there’s a king of good times who appears to pass through bad times. But then, he anticipates the arrival of bad times, and decides to wade through these bad times by indulging in good times in the English countryside. Joining him in his lavish indulgence on good times are those who, at times, sit in the opposition, or in power at other times; they all fight at all times. But then, let me recall as to what I was doing on 02 March when the king flew to the Queen’s country? Ah yes, I informed the kirana-wala that I am a Modi supporter; he didn’t extend a discount. I deciphered Gandhi’s monologue into an epilogue and tried to impress my boss with a (questionable) conclusion that the former’s speech was actually a dialogue; the annual increment still remains in single-digits. I also enquired with the sabzi-wala as to when would he enrol his children in school? He informed me that he has already enrolled them for a crash course in Photoshop and doctoring videos at the neighboring Smriti Photo Studio, helmed by one Professor Irani. I attempted playing Kanhaiya to Yashoda, the girl-next-door; she immediately shifted her residence to the city of good times. In fact, she followed up with email while attending a PM-inaugurated “Women’s Day” celebration, asking me to address her as “Yashodaben”, unto time immemorial. Kya time aaya hai yaar?!

Woh toh gaya; yaar mujhe hi Rajya Sabha MP banaa do! I have solid credentials. To start with, I am not Mallya, and I don’t believe in spirits, UB or down. I submitted (atleast!) 30 documents, availed a housing loan and now pay it’s monthly instalments on time; for all delays, I’ve always paid a fine. What’s more, I have availed a loan from one bank, only. While flying is a luxury for me, owning an airline is a far-fetched dream; in fact, for booking a journey, I pray to Prabhu first, and then login to IRCTC. I don’t have a Kingfisher calendar at Home, and look up Kaalnirnay, instead. I drive my sole car and pay my maid, cleaner and washer their salaries on “pehli tareekh”. I have been filing my returns for all years, without expecting anything in return. I pay service tax, too, for services availed-yet-not-rendered. To me, F1 and IPL are mere brands that bring big bucks, babes and barbs. Siddhartha, to me, is a Historic figure who renounced the world and became the enlightened one; he bears no relation to Prakash Padukone. And why am I looking to become an MP? Simple, to resolve a household’s (including my own), monthly concern of, “Bhaji Laao, Sasta Nahin”!