Combating boredom

I was pretty bored yesterday, so I watched four movies consecutively. The movies were, 'Doomsday', 'Wanted', 'Mithya', and 'Step brothers'. The first two were a complete bloodshed narratives with a typical si-fi touch. The third one was a mixture of comedy, thrill and suspense, and the last one was an unalloyed comedy.

I wondered, what if Karan Johar plans to make a si-fi flick? Which would have Shahrukh Khan in the lead role, Kajol or Rani would lead the feminine presence. The story would initiate with a pandemic, natural catastrophe or the invention of an anti-cancer or anti-aids drug. A mongrel will be the consequential side effect of the drug. But, contradictory to the Hollywood flicks, the movie would gyrate in a family controversy casting Amitabh in a special appearance, making the audience weary with heavy emotional sequences. The climactic scene may comprehend a marriage of the mongrel(resultant of the drug's side effect) with the actor or actress.

In the middle of my journey of movie watching, I tried to cook a nice and different meal for myself. It comprised of onion, potatoes(both cut into strips) with garlic fried in olive oil. The fried vegetables were poured on the mixture of lettuce and cucumber. It was awesome and delicious. Looked cool as well.

I also tried to play some new songs, and practise the older ones, on my guitar and read a novel as well. I tried to defeat my extreme boredom the same day, but it vanished the next morning with new, fresh and random thoughts in my half asleep mind.

My cricket career...

I get quite nostalgic when I recall the moments of playing cricket in our society. I call it my gully cricket career. I want to share the passion of 6 of us(me and my friends) to play cricket and the agony of the elders in our society caused by us.

My Gully Cricket career started when I was in the 3rd standard of school. We used to play a series tournaments, usually during the after hours of our exams. Who said ball and bat are mandatory to play cricket? We used a writing pad and a ball made with handkerchiefs to play cricket. We had a cricket stadium specially architected for us to play cricket after school. It was a durga mata temple.

We had six different stadiums in our society. First one was in the parking of my building. This stadium was a compact one and we just had a chance for leg-side strokes for single, doubles and boundaries. No straight shot was allowed as it was the house of our watchman. Offside was a canal and backside was a bloody witch who used to eat our cricket balls. It was closed down by the cruel societians by allegedly parking their vehicles between our cricket pitch.

The second one was, in one of my friend's bungalow. It was a nice, safe area and free from elder's conspiracy to stop our play. It was all well until I - inspired by some Indo-Pak tournament - took the responsibility of breaking two consecutive windowpanes. My friend's family finally outraged their agony and their long lasted patience was over.

The third one was one of our friend's terrace. It was the best place to play cricket, no pressure of breaking windowpanes, no disturbance of vehicles. The only problem occurred was when the ball was shot out of the terrace. The person responsible for the stroke was also responsible to go 3 floors down and climb up with the current or a new ball on his own expenses. In spite of the immense physical labour of bringing the ball up, climbing the stairs, the batsman used to be declared as out. It was a strict rule in the terrace stadium. This was all going well, until my friend, who was living on the last floor below the terrace, complained of the plaster falling off from his roof. It was emphasised more as one night the plaster fell on his father's nose, which led him to stop our play in immediacy.

The fourth stadium was granted to us by the government, after watching our agony and passion for cricket. We started playing on the roads. Now that was well going, we had a big space, long boundaries, and we were able to play with full-pitch bowling. It was again my honour of breaking the fourth and fifth windowpane. The fifth stroke was so hardly and blindly hit that the glass was shattered in innumerable pieces, some falling into the house and some outside. This resulted in sacrificing my cricket bat for halal to the house owner. The anger of the house owner was so immense that we fled leaving all our cricket kit there itself. We lost our three new wooden stumps, two bats and three tennis balls. One of our younger players also lost his new pair of floaters in the attempt of fleeing. That poor guy was just removing the dirt from them while waiting in the resting area.

Then the sixth and the last stadium was on the other side of road. Same things happened. We weren't mature enough to learn from the history and it repeated itself almost 6 times, this was the sixth one. One of my friend and me distributed the responsibility of hitting the belly of a mid 40s women and breaking a windowpane respectively. That was the time when we felt like the societians would commit a satyagraha for us to quit playing cricket. The agony of that women was immense as the ball we were using that time was a plastic one. We fled as usual, and the news reached our parents. Most of us were beaten up by our mums or dads as our parents were unwilling to pay the expenditure of replacing the windowpanes.

Finally we were granted a legal permission to use the terrace stadium as my friend's father had fixed the roof with new cement plaster.

Graffiti

A couple of days ago, while I was roaming on the streets of Dundee, I came across an exhibition of Dundonian graffiti artists possibly exhibiting their art work for the entertainment of people passing by. I suppose, these artworks depict the outrage of people on a personal front.

I have taken a few snaps from these fine artworks...












© Images copyrights reserved by Ketan Kulkarni - 2009

Dreams

I have heard my grand parents saying that the dreams seen at dawn come true. Also sometimes my parents used to say that. I am absolutely thankful to god for not letting them come true.

If supposedly my dreams would have come true, the consequences would be disastrous for my individual self. I don't know the rocket science behind this mystery of god, but I do wonder why such dreams come at dawn and not in the night or midnight?

Till I was in the school, I always dreamt of failing the examinations or arriving late in the examination hall to see the closed door. Roughly analysing the average of my exam failure and late arrival dreams, they would approximately count 100. I would get it every year, one month prior to the final examination. If we suppose that dawn dreaming is a true phenomenon, then I would have failed a hundred times, never reached early to the exams and would still be in the second grade. To formulate the fact, 100 (the average of my dreams) divided by 10 (from 1st till 10th Grade, the SSC) equals 10, which is the result of my repetition in each grade. So, concluding the fact, I would have been somewhere in the middle of 2nd Grade appearing for the 5th or the 6th time.

In another instance, when I planned to study in the UK and after I booked my plane tickets, I dreamt of missing the flight until I was sleeping in the flight itself. Recalling those days, I can figure on myself dreaming the flight miss, which was approximately 10 days. That means if the dreams would have come true then I would have missed the flight 10 times. In that case, I would have to book the plane tickets for those many times, which would cost me approximately 4000 pounds, which are actually half of my living expenses for the complete year in the UK.

I have dreamt of riding a 36 geared bicycle on the steep road of Mahabaleshwar. I have driven a car on the highway at the speed of 200 miles an hour in my dreams. I had a motorbike race with a cheetah after discovering on the discovery channel, that cheetah's the fastest animal on earth. I have also dreamt of Deepika Padukone being my girlfriend and Shahrukh Khan being my fan.

I have many a times fallen into the valleys of sahyadris after coming back from a long trek. I used to dream of myself shouting "fall", which was taught to us in a mountaineering course to alert the lead climber if you're falling while climbing a rock patch.

I wish some of my dreams would have come true, but I can't imagine the consequences if all would have turned into reality.

Autobiography of my 6610i

This is the autobiography of my mobile phone, same kind as we used to write in school. I can remember our Hindi teacher asking us to write, "Cheenti ki aatmakatha" or some similar subjects in exams or as a homework, indirectly torturing our innocent minds.

So I'll handover to my mobile phone for sharing his experience of four and a half years with me.

Hello, 6623s and some 1100s or my rival iphones, I hope you all are doing well. To initiate with, I would like to recall my owner's desperation of buying me, one of the popular mobile in my species, four and a half years back. His eagerness, enthusiasm to play with me and use me still gives me a shiver. I still remember the care taken by him for my complexion, and the extra clothing for me to protect me from accidents. There was a hype of condom covers at that time. Though the real name of that cover was different, I remember him calling it by the same as it was elastic and white coloured same as a condom. I felt ashamed at first hearing the name but was fine after its comfortable fittings. But soon it was removed as it was difficult for me to enter the pocket of a jeans or any other trousers due to sturdy friction. Then many different clothes came and went away keeping my nudity intact at the end.

Gradually, the use became rough. I was beaten up whenever my keypad won't work. I remember one incident, when one of my owner's friend tried to punch him and it hit on my face. My display panel was broken into pieces, but I was happy to have a new skin after that, like having done a plastic surgery. The fake beauty wasn't for a long time, it vanished when I was dyed in pink from grey on the festival of colours,'Rangapanchami'. I suffered in agony, whole of my life by being dropped away on a running motorbike, being thrown on bed several times and also being thrown on floor in someone else's anger.

My respect was descending towards my owner due to his attitude towards me, and I used to be jealous when he saw at my advanced friends. He would always think of replacing me with them, but for my fortune and his bad luck, I am still with him. My life is like a long term bitch by gaining complete satisfaction until I become old and then my place is taken by another beauty.

I have become old, I can only store 200 text messages, and use 3 mb of space for the rest of applications and capturing images. My camera is like an eye suffering from a cataract. It can shoot images but keeps the identity secrecy of the person or thing shot. My skin was again changed recently, this time with a duplicate one, black in colour. The back portion of my skin is not changed but the front part with keypad is new. It has already lost its colour. My look is like an African-American breed of humans, but not merged together. The front is African and the back is American. My heart, the battery is on the verge of extinction. I am feeling like being on a dialysis like a human suffering from kidney failure. I need to be charged almost daily or sometimes two times a day. I remember the early days when my stamina was praise worthy, and I had a status in our ethnicity of Nokians regarding my battery life.

After serving for four and a half years of my faithful work, I will soon die of a battery attack. Till then I hope my bastard owner keeps me in a good condition.

Hero

I wish, I was a hero,
trillions would know me and millions would admire me.
I wish, I was a hero,
The young would keep me their exemplary model,
an attraction of the adolescence.
I wish, I was a hero,
a reason of endearment for girls or an ideal man of their lives.
I wish, I was a hero,
to kiss the most beautiful woman on earth,
or a reason for beauties to lose their virginity.
I wish, I was a hero,
not for controversies, bodyguards, media around me,
but for resemblance to be made with legends.
I wish, I was a hero,
for trends to follow me, styles to change on my will.
I wish, I was a hero, not for directors, producers to make a blockbuster or for any financial gains,
but for a change, to experience the fame, the thrill.
I wish, I was a hero, to run on the train, to cry in the rain, to jump on the trees, to fight against the badies,
not in the film but in the actual drama of life.
I wish, I was a hero to bring a change, to brighten the depressed, to bring equality, to reduce poverty.
I wish, I was a hero to make the world a happy place, co-operative space, to motivate masses lend a helping hand.
I wish, I was a hero to ask mother nature, the forgiveness and exception of her disastrous arrogance towards her misled kids, an exception for pandemics, and an exception for nuclear fireworks.
I wish, I was a hero to educate the masses about power of love, lust of money, for my words would count more than their lives.
I wish, I was a hero to make the world a happy place, end in peace and leave a remark for unborn legends to follow, not in any movie, but I wish, I was a hero in reality!

Chewing gum

Apologies for making ketan-daily into weekly. I wasn't well for a couple of days.
Here's the next post, hope you find it interesting.



I was just scribbling on my notebook and I drew the above illustration. I was chewing a chewing gum and thought, what if we consider life as a chewing gum? The nonsense illustration above states that the art sense inside me is still alive.

Things in our lives are comparable to a chewing gum, considering the fact that things are sweet and luscious at first and gradually lose attraction, same as a chewing gum. Chewing relationships is different than chewing materialistic things. When you chew anything like an ipod, mobile phone, computer, clothes, etc. you gulp the juices by boasting yourself up through showing off to your friends, relatives, and other people prone to jealousy from your show off, and gradually your interest in them decreases and you search for a new and better chewing gum with more different and luscious flavours.

If we take relationships, for instance between a man and a woman, its like a chewing gum with multiple flavours. Those can be categorised as trust, devotion, attraction, sacrifice, etc. Some chew it hard, gulp the juices, throw the chewing gum and buy a new, fresh one. Some take their time enjoying the taste, blowing a balloon out of it and at times chewing multiple gums at once in an attempt to make a big balloon. These kind of chewing gums usually don't have all the flavours and hence don't last for a long time.

Our school and college life, initially, is an ambrosial chewing gum but as years pass on, the taste vanishes and we spit it for a degree or certificate. After going into the professional world we recall the taste of it and wish if we had one of that kind again.

"वादळा पुर्वीची शांतता", PRE STORM SILENCE

I am NOT forecasting any weather or disastrous circumstances! I discovered that this phrase we usually use in marathi is derived from HOLLYWOOD! I'll explain how...

Basically, I wanted a topic to write on. So, while I was having my dinner yesterday night, with the TV on, while watching some thriller movie named Dr. Who. The movie casted a doctor, supposedly mutated into a monster by typically mixing some green and pink coloured chemicals, having clouds coming out of tubes, putting them in a microwave like instrument and drinking the so formed compounded chemical. One thing I don't know about these movies, why do these doctors, scientists, heroes, destroy almost everything, with majority of glass materials, in their labs to show the reaction of chemicals consumed? Although this was just a supposition from my si-fi Hollywood movie knowledge, I wondered why don't they use a different room to conduct the experiment?

Moving ahead, there was a scene in which the hero - I suppose, as he was the lone combatant against the demon - as well as the monster get silent for a couple of seconds. They both are on either sides of a closed passage divided by a firm door. Hero, his girlfriend, her mother and some side actor (an intern I suppose) were on one side, and the monster on the other. The hero has strength, courage, and all wit to combat the monster even if it contradicts the laws of physics, chemistry and biology. He asks the ladies and the guy around to calm down, keep complete silence and face the situation. Both the sides calm down for a couple of minutes, may be building up strategies, coming up with plans to either destroy the opponent or fly off from the spot somehow. I can understand about the humans, but why does the monster need to think or stop suddenly? In the next instance, the hero and the demon try to hear noise on either sides at the same time. Hero hears a silent roar of the monster and feels him moving backward. Then there is a complete silence - pin drop silence as our teachers used to scream in school - and everything goes numb as if things have frozen. This lasts until the monster blasts again breaking the silence, giving the hero an opportunity to impress the lady's mother, by of course fighting with the monster.

Then, when I thought of silence, the marathi phrase, "वदळा पुर्वीची शांतता", came in my mind. Then I made a conclusion that the phrase, is derived from Hollywood action movie sequences. We can take examples of hundreds of action packed thrillers from Hollywood, like the matrix trilogy, Harry potter, Bond movies, etc. who work on the principle of "PRE STORM SILENCE", incorporating a huge piece of silence before an attack and then an explosive, reverberating sound, almost tearing our eardrums . This is called a storm.

I switched off the TV before the climax scene, because as soon as the silence began to rise my food got empty. End of my day wasn't as climactic as the movie, it had washing of dishes, utensils than kissing a girl, which usually concludes any movie's climax.

TIMETABLE

I am becoming lazy gradually, I felt when I saw the morning sun. I thought, I need a change. Something which would keep me going. I came up with an idea of creating a timetable for myself. I know, its not a miraculous idea, as if I've come up with the timetable invention, but its sufficient to keep me going.

I planned of preparing a timetable for myself. But I was reluctant to create one. There were two things disturbing me, one, I don't like my friends, who visit my place, see my time table displayed on the display board, second, I wouldn't obey the schedule if it wasn't in front of my eyes. So, I needed some creative solution for that.

Scratching my head for several times, I opted of writing my time table in bold letters and displaying it on the board. But, I'd use Marathi language instead of English. The reason behind this creative conspiracy was an incident, a couple of months back, when I had just started with my classes. I was scribbling on my notepad and trying to do some rubbish, awful and disgusting calligraphy in Marathi, which would have indeed led to my demotion as an artist. While I was busy, some of my classmates saw my scripture in Marathi and kept their mouth open for a couple of seconds. The reason behind this was not related to my disgusting calligraphy, but they were amazed by watching a different cultural identity. I was famous! I was then contracted to write names for each of them on their hands or notepads in Marathi. They simply loved it.

This incident motivated me to write my timetable in Marathi. This solved both the problems, one, this would give a wow! expression on my friends' faces when they visit my place and also my motive of a motivating timetable would be accomplished.