Deciding a Gift or How I Got Anxiety for No Reason

The dates of a calendar mean nothing much for work means weekdays and some sacrificed weekends. But then it’s a particular day of some month and you realize that an event is about to occur soon for which you have to be prepared. The preparation involves very less about the physical make up of your attire or body and in the rarest of times remotely constitutes which you are an expert of. It is in concern of a composition, well thought out, expertly crafted, uniquely suited and fashioned in pursuance of conveying a birthday gift. At that point, with a pen or spoon or phone in hand, or standing, lying, sitting, jostling as the case may be, you encounter what the astronauts often talk about - ‘zero gravity’, except in your case, you have those feet firmly planted where you left them to be, attached to a body that has not left the known neighbourhood of solid ground, and yet you are now losing yourself rudderless in a maze, starting with the question –“What to gift?”

There can be no right answer. Trick question.

In the recent months to come, there are several occasions of such quality which will present a similar dilemma. Batman has taught me to have a contingency plan ready, but being a generally bad student, I have no plan prepared yet, although the thought buzzes annoyingly around me. I have begun to take longer walks in order to have time to think and figure out the perfect gift. I have become a brooding monk, and as the days fly away in the dust, the mad scientist at the verge of discovery will gradually take over. I hope it won’t come to the stage of a desperate and cornered politician. Nevertheless, I have learned a valuable lesson, something I learn every year but every year with flowers and the paddy, once the harvest is cleared, the lesson too fades away. I realise I know nothing about the people close to me.

I know something about what they like or they don’t because I have my choices to catalogue them by. However where I have no point of reference, the librarian simply jots them down in pieces of paper, stuffing them anywhere that is handy at the moment, and promptly forgets afterwards. I have listened to these people talk, enthusiastically, ardently, compassionately, honestly, but I have absorbed nothing. A sponge has more retaining capacity than me I am sure. I tell myself that it doesn’t make me a bad person. Unfortunately, I am not that confident that those persons will tell that to themselves about me too when I end up giving something that, when ripped out of the wrapping paper, doesn’t scream out “THOUGHTFUL.”

I honestly love people. I love their stories and minds. But I find no energy to judge them on the encounters I have with them nor the information I obtain. I simply immerse myself in the conversation, like a holiday maker in some beach, sitting on the sand, cradling a bottle of beer, looking at nothing but seeing everything, and leaving the beach unburdened. Conversations, when they don’t involve work, shouldn’t be like work, having to sift through for broken knowledge. Because that’s what assumptions precisely are. We find the pieces spread across many interactions under incomparable circumstances, and expect the jagged, scarred picture to be what the person is. It’s easy to just ask what they want and gift them with something they would truly enjoy. Instead I am expected to find something they may just like enough to smile saint-like, and hopefully not put it away in some Narnia closet, never to be found again. The worst case will simply inspire the three R’s of gifting – Re-packing, Re-gifting, Re-cycling. And by saving that person from suffering through this same anxiety of having to decide what to get as a gift for another, I shall consider my stupidly overthought gift to be the best one actually.

As I said, there cannot be a right answer.

Teaching is part of life

Teaching has become a part of the daily routine. It's been a decade since I started giving private tuitions to the local school children. I still remember when my grandmother suggested that I should try to earn my pocket money and introduced me to my first student. She used to teach as well but never took any payment. She believed that there is no price tag for education, it cannot be a commodity. To be frank, my financial condition prevented me then, and even now, to enjoy such a philosophy, but I have always made sure that I gave my full dedication as a teacher.

I have been lucky in my share of students. Although of various levels of intellect, all were more or less obedient. They were never "rebellious". The one thing about India is how we still treat our teachers with the same respect as with our parents. This has helped when I occasionally needed to be strict. 

Then everything changed when the fire nation attacked when I had this 7 year old as a student. 

To be honest, although I have spent a considerable portion of my life around kids, I have never felt much sentiment toward them. I'm not the one who likes to hold babies or pull a cute kid's cheeks. Children don't have the effect on me that people expect from me. I had been reluctant thus to take this little fellow as my student as well but the mother believed I had some mystical power of eternal knowledge and felt under my guidance her son will shine like a newly scrubbed diamond. (I don't make the propaganda, it just follows). Once I saw him I knew there would be a problem because that pampered little devil understood no authority. He won't even weep if beaten (his mother told me this, I never, could never if I tried, beat a kid) and didn't bother when scolded. His mother told me to punish him if he didn't behave (as if that would help!) and I was at a loss. 

The first four months were torture. He would not listen to what I said, wouldn't do his tasks on time, you get the picture. I would come home and tell my mother how I would definitely quit the next day. But I didn't. Somehow I went on. 

Then one day he asked me about zombies - how they were formed, what they would eat, how they could be killed. I promised to answer his questions if he finished his tasks on time. He did and I kept my promise. I have been keeping those promises ever since. 

-

It's nearly the end of the annual term. The mother says that I need to continue the next term for the son insists upon it. And she feels he won't respond to anyone else this well. 

I remember what my grandmother said to me and believed in. I know I am still not in a position to teach for free, I do need that money. But I do know how that kid loves to sit close to me when he would do his sums, how he loves to pull my cheek when he is happy that he got an answer correct and how he makes me smile when he proudly shows his mother his report card and tells the exam was easy because I had explained everything to him. 

I am not saying I'm a great teacher. I don't even know how much of his improvement is due to me. I do know but that he has changed me a lot. I have become a warmer, a calmer and more understanding person. Most importantly I have learned how important it is to treat people how they want to be treated rather than how you want to treat them. I think that makes me a little less self centered as well. 

What I mean to say is education isn't a one way street. It's a straight exchange between two individuals. A teacher is benefited just as much as a student is and there lies the true value of education. Or at least that's what I think it is, probably what my grandma wanted me to understand as well. 

Is this something I only think? No way. Is it something we should all think? I very well think so, yes. 

So let's not give up teaching, let's not be give up on sharing for that's also what education is. Even if you're not a teacher, never let go of an opportunity to educate someone, to share your knowledge . You will be pleasantly surprised of what you learn about your ownself. 

A Dull Poem

There is the crowd and here is me,

In an attempt to find unity --

I bridge the gap with eager steps,

Jostling for a place in the mesh.

It's hard to breathe.

It's hard to see.

I feel so tiny in this throng of human bees.

Buzzing and moving, to gather, to store,

An array of minds all synced to a single core.

I met Jack, on his way from work,

He’s a party loving and hardworking clerk,

He hates to be dull, and thus makes sure --

Like everybody, to follow the new haute couture.

His wife is happy, his second car works fine,

His boss laughs at his jokes and in fine hotels he loves to dine,

He hoped I was good, but didn’t ask for more,

His chaps were waiting with beers and cricket scores.

As Jack waved me bye, vanishing in the swarm,

Leaving me thinking, for a moment and few,

As I stood aside, watching the crowd pass by,

I wondered why Jack was called dull,

--- and not me nor you.

"Sleep No More!"

Shakespeare, the dude, always had it right. Do a hard work and baam! "Macbeth hath murdered sleep!" and he can't sleep no more! And they called it poetic justice!

But it’s hardly the time to make interesting remarks about life or the surrounding events, global or local.

Neither is it the lovable pleasing atmosphere, to tell lines of a pink romance or a cherry lip kiss, beneath a golden moon, beyond the city skyline.

It’s just a long night, creating droopy eyes and overactive brain, a night which, like any festival, is rare in its occurrence, but also unlike the festival, isn’t met with any whatsoever mirth and/or  smile.

It is the night of the eve of exam!!!

*apologies for the lack of thunderous background music. we are desperately short on funds*

I now am emblematic  of that particular feeling when you know that a single more word will blow your brains to small, not at all pretty looking, bits and provide food for ten winters to the ants in your room. I stand sit, as example and proof, that there is no such existence of a peaceful sleep that refreshes your mind and prepares you for the impending exam, with a brisk and invigorated outlook.

MYTHS!! LIES!!

Worse than the Santa Clause scam!!

Countless years, with even more unaccountable exams, have I experienced and that refreshing sleep has always eluded me. It’s as fantastical to me as my dreams to ride an unicorn, while i munch on a ham sandwich. But you didn't have to know that. Moving on...

Reader, don’t bore yourself further! If you are no student presently, and face no impending exam, be on your way.

*Male readers – Dude! Seriously!! Is something wrong with your testosterone levels! Not the site to be! Go incognito!!!*

My ramblings have helped in certain ways, to vent out the excess of words which have been bothering me like a crown of flies, found at the posterior of a holier than thou cow.

Don’t give that corrective attitude and a lecture on how a year long study helps. I can’t think of a smart retort right now, but I am still not agreeing with you. Sympathies please! I have studied for eight six umm, some straight hours.

Well, I feel less bored now.

I still find no sleep though.

I can so empathize with that Macbeth fellow right now.

Anyhoo! Enough of talks! I need to save some words for the exam.

Peace out!! 

My Glasgow Smile

They said it would be easy,

As easy as breathing‘s supposed to be,

Stretching a few muscles, to banish all pains,

A dose for a day, a few more to keep sane.

For Mother declared she was worried ,

And it displeased Father to see me lost;

My friends lovingly mobbed around me,

And over charred emotions, my smile embossed.

And I smiled as life rolled on,

I smiled at its mandates and jargons,

I smiled for the days to end,

I smiled for it is easy to pretend.

And I thought --

May be shadows do lighten the dark.

And bullets fly, for they love the beating heart.

But I feel them now, closing in,

See their fingers and arms stretched,

The corners of my mouth twitch uncomfortably,

And my blood boils for selfish carnage.

Some hold my lips,

Some pull my chin,

They spread my mouth

To a hideous grin.

My eyes pop out,

Something quietly dies,

I face the world,

With my Glasgow smile.

I, My Friend and "IT"

And I wonder time and again, what can destroy a perfect friendship. Here you are, best “bros over hoes” with your best matey, planning to take over the world, strutting like big shots, an breakable thread of steal tying the friendship together; no room for distrust or doubt, no space for anger, just the cool sea of mutual understanding. What a relationship!! Bravo! Beats everything else. I mean, seriously, a drink and some random gabble with your pal, is so much cooler and better than any romantic date, even if it is fully paid, with complimentary gifts..!! But then, gods laugh, and our evil dead twin’s spirit laughs with them, and then out of the blue, one fine day, your friend shows you something cool, something sleek, something really (pardon my language) sexy, something which you had been planning to get for yourself for a long while, only he gets it first.

Jealousy is a bitch. If jealousy could be packaged and injected via some serum, that would be killing more microbes, hell, even cancer cells, faster than anything else!! Man! The way it makes u feel is just downright astonishing! You know it’s not right, and still it makes you feel so good, it almost makes killing over a trivial issue justified. And because it feels so warm and comfy to plan destroy the friend’s end and smile than secret I-hate-you-you-son-of-a-(pardon the language again)-bitch smile whenever he is around, that u don’t even bother getting rid of it. And then one fine day, you see that that friendship is no longer there. The continuous snaps at the besty’s jokes (‘cause now you can’t laugh at his jokes anymore as he has become the enemy), the regular hangouts cancelled, new ones, with new “bros-worse-than-hoes” taking their places, and no more replying back to texts, all took you slowly to the vanishing point. And poof, it’s not there.

May be, some day you do get the thing which initiated the very elaborately diabolical and evil process, may be u don’t. but the obvious question is, of course, did you get your revenge on your friend?? Nah! Not that.  The question is, was it worth the friendship..

(Personally, I think it was, but then again, it might be my evil dead twin’s ego speaking.)

To God and You

A few months back, I was waiting for one of those official-life-depends-on-it types letter to arrive, and it was beyond late. Thus for the sake of my dear life, I did the obvious, and  prayed to God. During these frequent episodes of fervent praying, I began to wonder about God? Is the almighty the one who is found in our prayer rooms, or the soul within us? Prophets have dictated so many answers, that the truth suddenly seemed obscure. I wondered how God works. I wanted God to help deliver the letter. However, obviously God wouldn’t be coming on my doorstep. A postman will do that job. Then will God tell the postman to deliver the letter soon? No again. The post office department is going to take care of that. Then what?  Will God go ahead to give a man visions about how a desperate girl in some faraway city is looking with puppy eyes for him to post a letter. No, the man himself and his superior are going to be responsible for it. So is my God that one superior, bestowed with the powers to decide my fate? I wanted to talk to my mom about this, but she was somewhat busy at that time, waiting for the maid, and she, like me, was praying to God so that the maid comes, as there was a pile of washing to be done. But just like the postman, God, I am sure, wasn't enlightening the maid about her duties. So, again, who is God?

The Books tell us that our actions determine us, and in a way, God’s work is done via our deeds. It’s true, I suppose. But then terrorism is all around us and is the cause of numerous deaths and the destruction of countless families. And they too believe they are doing the work of God. Does that mean God is smiting us for something we did or didn’t do? I find that pretty illogical. Unless God is mad scientist, how can a creator go ahead to destroy his own precious creations? Thinking this far I began to remember God’s dimensions. He is omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, is everywhere, amongst us, beyond us, within us.

If we look at a larger picture, there are some billion people on this planet. Each in his or her own small way affects our life. The delivery boy makes sure the CEO gets his mails. The coffee bean picker in some South American village makes sure CCD continues to make many things happen over its cup of coffee. The president makes an intelligent decision thanks to the peace his wife ensured in his own home and thus another day of World War 3 avoided. So many people, surrounding us, hearing, seeing everything we do or have done, decide what we can do the next moment. They give us the opportunity to make sure our lives are as smooth as we expect it to be. (Now natural disasters are something else, and since Mother Nature is a woman I doubt any He can handle her.) So, is God actually the billions of people on this earth? Is God just the representation of this ever-growing number, the “X” of the equation which never stops changing?

So, is love thy neighbor just a divine command? Or that fellow human being who does indeed have the power to deliver your letter on time deserves that respect for the simple reasons? So whom do I pray to now? Personally, without the random events of nature and the universe, I would have been lost, because somehow the letter did come that day, as did the maid and thus another day passed.

(After I gave this theory to my mother, it infuriated her. She asked whether that means she puts up her and my picture and starts worshiping those? Not a bad idea, though). So, if this entire theory does go against your moral ideas, which I am pretty sure it would, check that blood pressure and don't get angry and start cussing. I pray to you. Right now, you are my God.

An Odyssey

If you had been here now,

You would have seen a cat

Sitting quietly in a corner of the street;

And listened to the duet of the silent night,

And the chirping bird,

Who forgot what night and day mean.

Had you been here

You would have felt the breeze,

As it would have cooled your sun warmed cheeks,

The starry night would have smiled down

And told you, why

Van Gogh loved her more than the sun’s streaks.

You might have enjoyed walking

The solitary road,

Loneliness wouldn't have touched you still;

Your own slow stride would have ruled the path,

And the race of man

Wouldn’t have trampled your prints.

As you would have made your way

With the living around you,

Safe in their beds, sleep oozing from their doors,

You might have had noticed,

A dreamless window,

Sighs clogging its every pore.

Had you looked there,

You would have found a soul,

Detached, yet forlorn;

A silent audience of the night

Lurking in shadows,

Torn.

Would you have looked closely

To find the secret?

Would you have waited to investigate?

The beauty of night is a cruel seductress,

Would you have delayed

Just a bit?

As the unknown entwines with magic,

And the breeze blows coolly

Pulling you,

Would you have walked, not looking back,

Or would you knock the door,

To make someone’s dream come true?

In Furious Memoriam

The one frozen moment when that beautiful white hot rage fills you up perfectly, and the supreme powerful being in this universe manifests itself through you; when a slight gesture of that almighty entity is enough to infest a destruction so huge, recovery seems wretched and unrealistic : What would you do when you get that power of the gods? Would you strike thunder, laugh at the shock of your victim? Or would you be the wise owl, and smile at your opponent’s perplexed face when no retaliation occurs?

Anger is a drug, and the release of this rage is probably the greatest consummation of human emotions. The moment the monstrous hold lets go and you escape in to that selfish joy of being victorious over your petty adversary, is simply intoxicating. But just that, it's just for that miniscule of moment, not a bit more. As the haze of white clears, red diminishes and all the colours surface again, you realize you just bought yourself a one-way ticket to your own personal pit of inferno. You may pretend otherwise, but it is inescapable, at least in the privacy of your closed doors. And you end up wondering, was it all worth it?

Now I am no moralist. I am a staunch believer of convenience, and pity doesn’t really take us anywhere. I have had my share of anger, and what I see from all those white bright sparks of wrath, I understand why hell doesn’t have an owl. I fought with someone, and the next day I had to fix my broken phone; another time I had to buy my own dinner. Once I couldn’t talk for three days as my throat had gone sore from all that shouting, and then there was also that time when I had to miss my favourite show because intoxication always leaves a bad taste with a hangover. So, I sold my anger for patience, and though I can’t say it easy, but at least I don’t have to think about making my own dinner or miss my shows. Let's face it, anger isn't all that "hot", and peace is oh-so-good!

Thus, this isn't me, lecturing about anger management. It’s just me telling, dude it's just not worth it. If you want to feel powerful, shout in a rock concert or may try breaking a wall. That might teach you something (like common sense, or get you a record deal or may be you would turn out to be Superman or Hulk. Go figure!).

Cheers..! :)

p.s I was really pissed a while back. But I managed and saved my lunch, wrote this amazing sh*t and now grooving with Lil Wayne :D

p.p.s I hope the Garfield pic isn't copyright infringement.

(Yawn) I Made Soup

Cold winter evenings. Correction, cold rainy winter evenings. Hungry, frozen, lazy and very bored. Nothing to do, no one to call or to meet, even Mary took away my little lamb. Trudging towards the shelf, I again thank the inventor of the mix-it-all-up soups. I finish stirring the ingredients of the packet in the boiling water, and pour all of it in a big bowl. There are some lumps still, but who cares. I take it to my bed and (sh@%), my bed's turned cold. Then I realize how hot my soup is. With a silent thanks to the physics of nature, I put the bowl on the bed, and after a few moments, take the bowl on my lap and sit on the very spot. Its not much, but warm enough. 

As I try my hand at a doodle, epiphany yawns : Laziness is definitely the mother of all inventions.

Lazy rainy winter evening, warm-ish bed, n mix-it-all-up soup. Sweet heaven. Slurp!

A Fresh Taste

Welcome New Year, along with a new cook. Presenting ME, a certified cuisine chef (confirmed and licensed by my mother, of course). I have, successfully, been able to prepare, dinner along with desert, with no help whatsoever, AND I have managed to do so without vandalizing the kitchen nor flooding it. Ergo, I am finally a grown up. (Applause)

So, here’s presenting my first chef-d'oeuvre, my masterpiece, two grilled pizzas - one topped with egg, and a strawberry custard. (Yaaeee, applause again).

Wish you all a good year ahead. Happy Eating!! :) :) 

(Random thought, no.54 : As I struggle with the piece of cheese stuck between my teeth, I  think about the stochastic cosmic alignments of the god forsaken planets, running after each other and getting barbequed by the sun, with their little alieny rulers, jumping here and there, looking at us with their big green binoculars, and getting turned on by some cow mooing in some green dung stinking field. Hmm..)

Discovering Shangri La

Life sucks big time. Yeah heard that, been there, (still there most likely). But there are good times, those good moments when life seems, well, heaven. Times when you feel the whole world centers around and everybody works for your euphoric approval. People fussing around you, and u sense that you are the queen of the world. Beautiful smells all around you. Lovely music in the background. And yes they are still busy, to make u beautiful, to make u feel beautiful, laughing, crooning near ur ears about how beautiful u look. But it all comes with a slight price. To know that consult the chart.

Don’t wonder more fellow readers, I went to a Habib’s store today and had a hair cut. And man! I look oh soooo pretty *blush blush*

So when's your date with the angels with scissors? :P

Healing The World - an essay on hope,love and coffee

Few days back, a friend of mine asked me, why do people love when they are not sure if it’s going to last or not, (most times it doesn’t though fortunately/unfortunately). And even though my friend’s question had a point, that point seemed to be in the blind spot of most people I saw. Because everybody was in the mission for love and nothing seemed to hinder the life-straining-tear-ducts-drying pursuit for the One, (or two, maybe three, I don’t know). This hara-kiri endeavor makes me wonder, is a human so fragile and incapable as a solitary entity and feels complete only with the company of another one, and not just anybody, the special branded one. I know human being is a social animal, but this current attitude of desperately-seeking-love seems to limit the social exchange between only two.

Now don’t think I am here to advocate love and preach it’s all mighty power to heal the world and so on so forth. I am trying to see if my theory does make any sense or not Honestly speaking there is nothing new to talk about it. If you are alive then you have felt love once at least.  Love is like a more complex stylish and miniature version of life, very much conditions applied. It’s the hot bath at the end of the day to release those knots on your back. It sometimes even is the morning coffee, (which I believe is the best discovery of man till date, how bland the world would have been without chocolates). Its like the first bite of sandwich after a whole day without food. (yum) So coming back to the question, why love when there is no telling when it goes poof? Sure the morning coffee and the hot bath (even a foot massage) sounds great, but they are not going anywhere till I want to. But love is beyond that restriction. Then why indulge in the self suffering and constant anxiety for the “next is what”? Lets take this example, if you had known what the match on the television would turn out like, you wouldn't be watching it, would you? The suspense keeps u going, makes you wait for the end. The “must see the end” keeps u awake till the wee hours of the morn and you don’t care if you feel sleepy. You stay awake to see your favorite team lift the cup, you cheer and hope that they do, but you also know for sure that you can never be sure. I suppose this is also the we human beings never stop loving, or more accurately, never stop trying to find love. Doesn’t matter how many bad failed relations we have had in our past, what does matter is the one right now, trying to make that work, loving someone, and being loved. Cause we all are blessed with that little thing in us, hope. And so we keep on hoping. hope to have a happy ending, hope to win the match.

So summing it up, if we hadn’t had the hope to bother with, maybe we wouldn’t have loved. If we hadn’t loved we would have never felt the need to make someone happy. If we never had felt that need we wouldn’t have had woken up early in the morning to make that special coffee for the special someone. If we didn’t have the need to make coffee, coffee would still have been a bean somewhere in some forgotten forest. And imagine where would have the whole human civilization be without coffee. Shudder to think about it.

I guess we really owe love a lot. It does heal the world (morning grouches are a serious issue).

School age to Cool-Age

Remember when we were in school? Geeky, clumsy, not sure whether to laugh at a joke or not, and how we all used to go starry eyed about life at college? To us, then, college was like the epicenter of EVERTHING nice and cool. It was where we HAD to be, and frankly, our life did depend on it. We decided then that we had to learn, to be prepared, beforehand, so we pulled up our sleeves (in some cases, we even cut them), and went ahead with trying out their “modus vivendi”. The result was something none of us is proud of (and will carefully omit the next time we talk ‘life at school’). We got caught bunking school. We got caught while coughing after a puff of the forbidden stick. And as the fear of everything that moved still persisted, so though we dared to wear cool belts and colored ribbons or a current hairdo when we dressed for school, we also made sure they were all gone by the time we reached the school gates. We wanted to be something we didn’t have a clue about and we couldn’t wait. The promised land beckoned to us and before we knew, it hit us.

Some one said it damn right, “little information is a dangerous thing” and how wonderfully it proved itself. Starting college the first thing I missed most was the ataraxis; school was a heaven which gave u peace of mind, filled with angels (though, with horns, fangs and claws) who did everything for you. There was no worries about notes or what-will-be-wont-be’s. There wasn’t any temptation to deal with about bunking an important class to hang out with friends, cause u just couldn't. Thus there was no tension about attendance and as a bonus, your nails stayed safe and looking good. (In college nail biting is a catchy habit. TRUE STORY.)  Due to the absence of uniforms, you end up always, ALWAYS being late, cause u can never decide what to wear, cause its either too bright, or too clean, or too old, or just not good enough for the day. It’s a never ending list of “before and after”-s and its heartbreaking to recount as well. Gosh!! I miss my school days, but mostly, oddly, I miss being told what to do. Responsibilities, my dear friend, are damn scary, very scary.

But wait! Lets not forget the crème de la crème of the promised deal : Bunking, the USP of college (or so they said). Lets suppose you got a bunch of college buddies, and u decide to bunk classes and watch a movie the next day. Pretty exciting, huh? Now here’s what happens. The next day two people have tests, one of them feels sick, the other has a private tuition to attend (which he completely forgot to remember when the plan was actually being made), another passes on 'verified' critical comment about the movie being bad. By this time the entire ambience has dropped below sea level and the plan’s cancelled.

Now, like always, we have the tragic heroes, who really wanted to watch the movie but alas! They go home sad. But there IS a happy ending, cause there is always one smarty pants who actually did bunk college and didn’t bother to show up. She stayed home, woke up late, and watched her favorite movie in her pajamas (which, by the way, are never “too” old).

Cheers to all bunkers.

What The Heart Wants?

Good question. And just as all good questions go, this one too is hard to answer. Its not as simple as deciphering the brains wants and demands. Lets turn to science 99. we all know, like a civilized organ, the brain sends out proper signs and signals for the benefit of the concerned human being so that the said human being can act accordingly. Its clean, to the point, hassle free. Now the heart is a different matter all together. Try expressing yourself amid gallons of liquid rushing, swishing in torrents. You wont even hear yourself, forget about some one else getting the message. Of course if u talk fish that’s a different story then. I don’t talk fish as far as I know not even the fish talk fish. So coming to the point, how can anybody understand what the heart wants. Easy to “presume” but come on, presumptions are as perfect as the promises of the dear politicians from 3^rd world countries. and even if the presumption does make a touch down, your heart doesn’t order for my heart dearie, I might want the other flavor of the ice cream. So how do u actually make others believe that what u want is what they want too? Is it really possible to pull it off?? Before u say no, whoa! Ask Farhan Akhtar. Cause he sort of proved it, that it is fairly possible to do that. (yeah homie.. it’s a movie review!)

Watching the movie, after like one year, I saw things I didn’t notice before. It does talk about friendship, yes, but it actually talks about relationships. True we cant really relate to the super rich guy driving a Merc or the philosopher in the body of an artist, but it did give me a quick reminder of what I read in my social studies books. RESPECT ALL and SAY SORRY. The sort of new age friendship rule about “no sorry, no thank you” (seriously! who invents these stuffs!!)  is very illogical. What’s the harm in admitting your mistake, and is thank you like curse or what?? Aakash showed how cool it is to say sorry, (he also made goatee and spikes cool too, but this ain’t a fashion post and I am not a guy, so no comment on that ).

To finish this off, doesn’t matter whether u know what the heart wants or not, just keep those people close who will be there with u despite of whatever your bloody heart wants. After all “dost hai yaar”.. and where will we be without friends. Three cheers for Dil Chahta Hai…!!

FUNFACT : Wifey Kiran Rao made her acting debut in the movie!!!