Walking into Oblivion 

She woke up with that feeling when one wants to vomit after a night of drunken extravaganza. Her feet felt cold as she dragged herself to the bathroom. Slowly lifting herself till she was in line with the pot. Her arms still aching but not even in close contention to her sides, she puked out a cocktail of alcohol, food, blood and a part of her soul.

In a night that had involved meeting this ravishing looking fella, that had led to drinks and debauchery, this moment was nowhere part of the picture. But as she turned to wipe her face, she could not help but notice her hands covered in red. Where did the blood come from, she wondered?

A slight push of strength and now she was on her knees. Another push and she got herself in front of this full-length mirror. Her face looked as if a truck had rammed it. A vision of the previous night flashed by and all she could think about was the list of drinks she had had. Not a single moment that recalled how she got where she was. Bloody and bruised.

She slowly crawled back into the room, dragging her left leg which seemed to be broken. It surprised her how she did not feel the pain a few minutes back, but now it had reached a level beyond imaginable. She used the edge of the bed to lift her self and with all the remaining upper body strength she finally managed to get onto the mattress.

She lay there for what seemed an eternity, still trying to recollect her surroundings. The blood still dripping and a strange sense of calmness blanketed over her mind as she still couldn't recall a single memory of where she was and what had happened to her.

Just then, the phone rang and a man's voice said, "Hope you love your birthday present."

   Yeah, I'll Try Keeping It Real for Sure

If you’d ask me whether any actress managed to replace Madhuri Dixit in Bollywood, i’d say no. She left a huge void. Her versatility, range of choice and years in the industry ensured so. That said, the contenders for the crown narrows down to very few actresses (purely on their craft, not merely looks) who somehow lacked consistency. And still do. There’s no Hindi film actress around who can do justice to the C-word. Nope, not even Kajol or Vidya Balan. The former had a phase and so does the latter. Let’s not even talk about Deepika Padukone or Katrina Kaif. Yes, both have Smita Patil Memorial Award in their kitty but that doesn’t alter the fact that acting remains alien to them. Which is why it’s a good enough time to go back to Aishwarya Rai. She has had her share of rubbish movies but there are some gems she should be proud of. Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999) takes the cake for me—Raincoat (2004) comes close second, interestingly co-starring Ajay Devgan again—for the sheer contrast between her character in the first half and the second half; the bubbly spirit giving way to a subdued married naari. And that particular scene where she is asked to smile for a picture remains epic. Holding back one’s sorrow with a pseudo-smile can’t get any better than this.

       The Unresolved Visits a Neighborhood

There had been a robbery. Nobody was home and when the family members returned, they were greeted by a guard-less gate followed by chaotic rooms. It was as if the culprits had set a timer, giving themselves few minutes for each room. Leave no valuables behind must have been the mantra. More than 10 kg of gold was missing along with some super-expensive gadgets. Oh yes, the security guard too. Obviously, the sword of doubt fell squarely on the poor fellow. A manhunt was announced as the family wouldn’t let someone betray their trust and get away with it easily. An example had to be set. Little did any of them know his body was slowly rotting in the backyard away from everything and yet so close. 

Amit's Reflection: "Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job you fucking fucks! Slow the fuck down! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Fuck those motherfuckers that grenaded our soldiers in Uri. Fuck this fucking Metro Traffic. Fuck this smell of people in the bus. Fuck those grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in their country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. shit. Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Worldcom! Fuck this fucking job change. Fuck the colleague next to me. Fuck that chick with a conniving prick. Fuck overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. Fuck the uptown brothers and those fucking YouTube trends. Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay! Fuck al-Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. Fuck all for killing innocent thousands, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. Fuck this phone. Fuck that Apple 7. Fuck this misery. You ain't fooling anybody sweetheart! Fuck you bitch for putting me up on the rocks for 5 years. I gave you my trust and you stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck. Fuck I still love you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck that I am into it today. Fuck this anger that I project on others. Fuck that I'm angry at myself, at my shortcomings and my helpless failures. Fuck that I look for scapegoats and dump the unreasonable avalanche of emotion on them. God Kill me. I wanna die.

                 Amit's MBA in Anger Management

Amit's Reflection: 
"Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job you fucking fucks! Slow the fuck down! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Fuck those motherfuckers that grenaded our soldiers in Uri. Fuck this fucking Metro Traffic. Fuck this smell of people in the bus. Fuck those grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in their country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. shit. Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Imclone! Worldcom! Fuck this fucking job change. Fuck the colleague next to me. Fuck that chick with a conniving prick. Fuck overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. Fuck the uptown brothers and those fucking YouTube trends. 

Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. Try seven years in fuckin Otisville, Jay! Fuck al-Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. Fuck all for killing innocent thousands, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. Fuck this phone. Fuck that Apple 7. Fuck this misery. You ain't fooling anybody sweetheart! Fuck you bitch for putting me up on the rocks for 5 years. I gave you my trust and you stabbed me in the back. Sold me up the river. Fucking bitch sipping on club soda, selling whiskey to firemen and cheering the Bronx Bombers. You had it all and then you threw it away, you dumb fuck. Fuck I still love you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck that I am into it today. Fuck this anger that I project on others. Fuck that I'm angry at myself, at my shortcomings and my helpless failures. Fuck that I look for scapegoats and dump the unreasonable avalanche of emotion on them. God Kill me. I wanna die.

       You've got a terrible name? Pity!

Do you know the name of your maid? If you don't, chances are you'll be the first to accuse her of theft if you misplaced your earphones (only to find it in your car two weeks later). When you don't familiarize with people, the communication and emotional barrier is always present. And what is the first step towards building a relationship? Bingo! Knowing each other's name. Something we tend to ignore mainly because of laziness than anything else. The immediate excuse is, why include one more contact to your phone? There's already more than enough on your contact list whom you haven't met or heard from in over a year now. Fair enough. But the people i'm talking about here happen to belong to the lower rung. People who are perennially overlooked for some reason best explained by the fast emerging middle-middle class. These are the very folks who serve you in the cafeteria on a daily basis; the guy who salutes you (as if you won PoK for the country) while opening the colony gate; even your office boy whose job is to clean the mess your leave on your desk. They are everywhere and yet nowhere. They remain nameless. The most basic tenets of civilization is not accorded to them. And then we wonder why some restaurant didn't let a driver have a meal. Chances are racism might go out of fashion someday soon. But classism? Can't say.