Loneliness in 21st Century

"I wish you were here. Your love would have helped me feel good about myself." He sent her the message on Instagram and went back to sleep.

The next day, he woke up early in the morning, opened his phone to check for any new messages. As expected, there was nothing. He calmly messaged her Good Morning and slowly typed his whole schedule for the day.

It had become his routine to be in touch with her either through social media or through phone. They had known each other for the past 7 years and in love for the past 4 years. Or at least he was. \

Few months ago, little did he know, she had gone to a party when he was out of town and she had fallen in love with someone else. She called it 'struck by lightning'. From that day, her interest in him dwindled and reduced to such an extent that she demanded a breakup. Naturally, it was difficult for him. He pursued, kept on trying but to no avail. She was so lost in love that she blocked him everywhere - her phone, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and what not. She didn't leave any stone unturned and ensured that he isn't able to connect with her at all.

But he was stuck in the past. Even though the world around him had moved on but he didn't. He was in love and missed her badly.

"Darling, today I miss you a lot. I wish you were here to see how alone I am without you." He messaged her at the end of the day and went back to sleep.

On some days, he would dream that she would unblock him from all the social media. Suddenly all the messages would sync in to her phone and she would realise how much he missed her. It would melt her heart. She would own her mistakes and would come back to him. That thought would bring a smile on his face even though he knew it was next to impossible for something like this to ever happen.

It was fine Sunday Delhi morning. Winters had set in. He woke up early in the morning and messaged her good morning as it was part of his routine. Then he drank hot tea slowly and stood up to go to the washroom. He ignored the messages by his friends and colleagues. He brushed his teeth lost in thought. He wondered what Sunil was doing. He hadn't been in touch with her for years. The last time he had a huge fight with him regarding something which he doesn't even remember. But his ego stopped him from acting on that impulse. Quietly he washed his face and came back under the cozy blanket lying on his bed. He opened his laptop and started reading his work mails. One by one, he kept on replying to them.

After the break-up, work had been his support. He had started spending more time at work, letting it engulf him completely. Initially, he convinced himself saying that as he has a lot of free time, he should use it to further his career. And he worked harder than ever. It had its side effects also but he didn't care about it. There were only two things in his mind - she and work. Rest all things took a back seat.

The clock struck 12. He got up from bed to eat. He had two pieces of bread with jam. Then finally, he opened his messages on Whatsapp to read them. 200 group messages and 1500 unread messages, and that too in one night. "Oh it will take me hours to go through them," he thought to himself. But that didn't deter him. He started reading the messages one by one, critically analysing and replying to wherever it deemed him necessary to reply. By lunch time, he had read all the messages to his satisfaction. He didn't reply to any of his personal messages, thinking he would reply to them later as when he would have free time. He went back to sleep to calm himself.

It was later in the evening that he woke up with a sharp pain in his chest. As soon as he got up, the pain vanished. The pain was very mild and felt like a needle had stuck to his chest. Few moments later, there was another sharp pain. For the next 30 minutes, the pain was coming and going away. He was confused about what to do. He shouted for his flat mate, Ashish. Ashish came running in to the room asking what is the matter.

“I am having chest pains and I don’t know why!” he replied.

Ashish, fearing the worst, asked him to get ready as quickly as possible. He got into the car, parked just outside the house, and waited for him to get into the passenger seat. Ashish then quickly drove for 15 minutes to the nearest doctor.

The doctor took 30 minutes to examine him. He did a series of tests to determine the cause of the pain. Finally, with no conclusive result, he gave his report.

“There is nothing physically wrong with you. All your vitals are okay. However, due to modern lifestyle, eating habits and stress has caused vitamin deficiencies in your body which has resulted in pains.”

He and Ashish were relieved as soon as doctor said those words. The doctor continued.

“However, you must change your habits to better otherwise the next time we will meet under dire consequences.”

The doctor's words hit him hard. Quietly, lost in thought, he sat in the car. He didn't utter a single word or when provoked answered in a single sentence to Ashish's questions.

That night, sleep didn't come to him as quickly as it did compared to normal days. The whole night he turned from side to another, wondering how can stress cause anything to him. He was young and had a long life ahead of him. Stress related aches were reserved for old people. He had never imagined something like this ever happening to him. It was the first time in a long time that he had forgotten to message her on Instagram.

The next day, he woke up late in the morning. It was half past 10. His head was numb with pain. Slowly getting up from bed, he went to the bathroom to wash himself and get ready for office. And it was another stressful day for him. He worked till late in the night, making presentations and running here and there to finish the tasks allotted to him. His company believed in the mantra - "Go on adding workload on a weekly basis till the man fails!" His ego will never let him fail. Whenever, he was close to failing, he would go the extra mile to prove himself and his doubters wrong. All his bosses were happy with his never die spirit.

It was 11 at night when he finally booked the cab to go home. In the cab, he felt like talking to someone and explain his current situation. In his youthful days, he would pick up his phone and call up any random person in the phone directory to talk to, regardless of whether he was close to that person or not. But now, no one came to his mind. He didn't know whom to call. In the race of life, he had lost touch with everyone and now felt odd in calling up anyone for anything. In 20 minutes, he reached home. He changed his clothes, ate his food and went to sleep, without talking to anyone except for exchanging pleasantries with his flatmate Ashish.

That week, he didn't talk to anyone. Not talking to anyone took a toll on his mind. The whole week, apart from sharp pains in chest, there was constant headache. Medicine didn't help. In the weekend, he was to board flight to Goa which he didn't. He was so lost that he didn't even care to cancel his flight. He messaged Pallavi, his lost an old friend. But he couldn't even express to her clearly about was going in his mind. His 'near death' experience had brought a new side to his personality. And he didn't know how to deal with it.

A week later, he woke up early in the morning. Without thinking too much, he simple wore his shoes and went on a short run. The run made him feel good about himself. That day, for the whole day, he didn't feel any pain in any part of his body except for his legs, which was obvious pain. Many people complimented the big smile and asked for the reason behind it. But he couldn't express the joy of running to anyone clearly. He shrugged his shoulders and went about his day.

For 21 days, he kept on going for a run early in the morning. To ease the pain in the knees, he ordered the most expensive shoes from Amazon. And slowly, the ugly side of his 'stress struggle' went away. As his head cleared, he started to think clearly and analysed the reason for his stress. He realised that he didn't want any more exponential growth and wanted normal growth like his peers. Exponential growth would do more harm to him in the long run compared to normal growth. He looked around for more examples and came to the same conclusion upon seeing the physical condition of his office colleagues. A scary thought went through his mind. 'He was a good, diligent and cooperative worker', he didn't want his tombstone to read those words. And with those words in his mind, he wrote down all the negative things in his life. The first item on the list was to let her go. She hadn't bothered to talk to him since the break up and yet he hoped for her to come back. No more of waiting for her. So he stopped messaging her on Instagram.

Next agenda on the list was to calm himself. So he developed a routine. Every morning, he decided, he would go for a run for 30 min. After which, he would come back and listen to peaceful soothing music till there was no other thought in his mind. He would then get ready and leave for work. In the evening, upon returning from work, he would call up one long lost friend and talk for a good amount of time. The routine helped in improving his self confidence and reduced a lot of weight from his head. The last piece of the puzzle, and the toughest was on how to align himself to normal growth. He knew it would take him months to get the right answer but it was necessary.

To change his career, he started to do a lot of introspection and soul searching. First thing he did was to divide his personalities in to fundamental elements i.e. desire - money, passion and power, collaboration style - individual or team based, working style knowledge based or execution based and more. This deep introspection helped him a lot in understanding himself and his abilities. He realised there were boundaries to his abilities and his needs. And he should align his career around those boundaries. After a lot of introspection, he realised his dream job.

It was 90 days ago when he had first started running early in the morning. Now it had become a habit for him to wake up early in the morning and go about his routine. He had become very active on LinkedIn too. He would connect with a lot of people, search for opportunities to crack his dream job. But God hadn't started to smile on him. But he didn't lose hope. Thanks to the new routine, it felt as if his soul was refreshed. No amount of rejections let him down. He knew deep in his heart, all he needed was one phone call to crack his dream job. And he had full faith in his abilities that he will be able to crack it. His new found faith didn't have any adverse effect on his work. On the other hand, the quality and quantity of his work output improved tremendously in this time period.

At last he got the dream call, through his old boss in his previous company. And he managed to crack the interview process with ease.

His transformation from a lost soul to energised self was completed.

Untold truths at MDI

MDI Gurgaon is a myriad of facts and figures and knowledge which we gain by attending lectures. I have spent a month in the campus and with each passing day, I get to experience something new and beautiful. The main source of information, apart from the professors, is talking to my peers and to my seniors, who share great deal of interesting snippets. For example did you know that there is an actual bat cave in Takshashila where actual bats live, one senior asked me. Gleefully, he replied we call ourselves Batman. Another one shared that in Sanskriti, the initiation to getting inside the inner circle is to listen the Pink Fridge story. This tradition was started by Apratim Maitra. Hey I got another truth for you, said another senior, MDI is an alcohol free campus, with a slurry voice. He gave me another tip - We definitely do not Faff in our exams. Jhajhi is the best place to have Parathas at this side of the city said a home stricken senior. A friendly senior told me shyly that girls visit guy’s hostel after 10 PM. During the conversations, I happened to hear lot of usual chatter from the seniors - in a weeks’ time, a months’ time or in 6 months’ time, MDI will be a Wifi enabled campus. Some of them said so by imitating Arvind Kejriwal’s tone and manner perfectly. Subway, CCD and McDonalds are going to open their outlet in the campus one day, they sighed. Another senior mentioned that Whatsapp pings have become her jingle, the music to her ear, co-incidentally by pinging me over Whatsapp. Maybe this was her way of telling me that the same thing is going to happen to me.

My experience at MDI has made me realize few truths, obvious yet not so spoken openly. Firstly, I have come to the conclusion that Computer Center will one day make me an expert printer mechanic. Secondly, pen is an essential commodity in college. I can trade it for dollars. I think I have unearthed a conspiracy, maybe my mind is going bonkers, I don’t know but there is something wrong. Hostel and Mess Committee, is on a mission, I believe, to make us all appreciate the importance of Parathas and Rotis as part of our diet, especially during lunch and dinner. On a serious note MBA life has started teaching me the ills of Procrastination. One full day of MDI Gurgaon is worth a lifetime of another human being's is a mantra which comes to my mind each and every moment I am swamped with work. Last but not the least, the most important untold truth of them all is that I have become expert at taking power naps otherwise I don’t know how I will survive the forthcoming months, at this beautiful magical place known as MDI Gurgaon.

Short Story on how I ended writing my first book

Hi I am Utakarsh Jayant and this is my story on how I ended up writing my first book. The first time it struck my mind to write the book was when I was 19 years old, second year in college, bright and charged up, all ready to pen down something. With not much thoughts in my mind, a vague idea, full of vigour and enthusiasm, I sat on my laptop, which co-incidentally even after 6 years I am still using, to start writing my first novel. I wrote and wrote, continuously, for two weeks and then the whole steam blew off, leaving me battered and bruised but not disillusioned. I couldn’t think of anything else to write after those two weeks. With time, I stopped working on it. I had lost all the zeal of the beginning. But the aspiration and passion wasn’t lost. I made a promise to myself to get published before I turn 25, how and when will I be able to achieve it, I didn’t know.

As time passed by, gradually the idea of writing the book went from the front to the back of my mind. It doesn’t mean that I had given hope to ever write, it was just that I needed the right time and inspiration to once again start writing. Meanwhile I would always talk to people to absorb their stories, observe things around me and try to experience new experience, making a note of various noteworthy incidents which I thought I could inculcate in my book.

The real chance to write the book came when I joined my office after graduating college. During the first few weeks, the honeymoon period, I would have trainings during the morning half and post lunch, I would sit idle, waste away my time. As a person I cannot sit idle, do nothing. I need to always, continuously do something productive. If I don’t do anything, something starts happening in my brain, a voice starts telling me to do something interesting, productive otherwise you will rot. Me, sitting idle, doing nothing was pinching me. Suddenly my life-long dream of writing became the top priority for me. From nowhere the idea of writing about real estate industry, keeping Dwarka and Gurgaon as inspiration, came in to my mind. I started writing, again. The whole plot wasn’t clear in mind, just certain incidents which I needed to highlight. From page 1, I went to the page 2 and so and on, at a frantic pace. Before I knew it, I had ended up writing 40 pages, the whole plot clear in my mind.

Doing any work without homework is like going to war without having shooting practice. While writing, I would always research, to bring interesting views and perspectives, add depth to characters and plot. For example to give a background story to one of my characters, I spent one whole night reading about 1965 India Pakistan war; reading blogs and Indian Army and Navy and Pakistan websites, to have a good understanding of the war. Another night I went through DDA websites to read about SEZ and the laws concerning it. Writing about Ram Leela and India v/s Pakistan 2003 cricket world cup final was fun. There is one real life real estate scam about which I studied thoroughly and have tried to include it in my book. What's the scam, well, I won't like to talk about it. Let it be a mystery for you, my dear readers :)

The most important juncture of during the writing process, which tested my patience level and made me realize how I determined I was, was when during Feb 2013, I had written 58,325 word, something about 147 pages. I added a simple yet crucial line, which was very important from the perspective of the plot. Writing that line didn’t make sense to the whole story written in previous pages. Unacceptable. Ghor Paap!  I couldn’t do away with that line, an important element. Hence I took the only option available to me at that time. Re-write. To actually write that line, to make it justifiable to the previous pages, I re-wrote the whole work, a good 4 months effort.

Two years I have taken to finish writing the book. It took my 6 months to find me a publisher who agreed to publish my work and another 3 months to sign the legal document. I feel immensely proud and happy. And being able to do so before I turn 25 is the icing on the cake.

Lastly before I finish this story, let me share another juicy tidbit. Throughout the time I was writing the book, I couldn’t come up with a name for the book. It was very difficult to put a name to my work. Finally, after regular pestering of my editor, publisher, family and friends, I was able to think of a name. How? I prepared a list of 9 possible names, made a Google poll and asked my friends to vote for the name they find best. Around 50 people voted. Chasing Illusion is the name of my book which ought to be in market by end of June 2015.

Solo trip to Pondicherry

I recently went to Chennai to attend my cousin sister's marriage. The marriage was a big two day affair where I met lot of interesting people. I had good fun interacting with them. My sister got married on the Wednesday night. I woke up the next morning, around 9 AM, tired and drowsy, thinking of attempting an ambitious plan. I had the whole of Thursday and half of Friday free, nothing to do. My flight was on Friday afternoon and I didn’t know what to do till then. Hence an idea struck my mind - Solo trip to Pondicherry. I was hesitant, scared a bit as I knew in case by any chance if I missed my flight to Delhi, there wasn’t any way for me to go to Delhi, no bus, train and I wasn’t mentally ready to pay exorbitant flight ticket prices. My friend, she, calmed me down on phone and advised me to take the chance, to go for the adventure of a lifetime. Upon her insistent enthusiasm, I stopped thinking and made up mind to go for it.

I had slept at 5 in the morning. I had no idea on how to go to Pondicherry, no idea at all. I was in the heartland of Chennai, Tamil Nadu where no word of Hindi is spoken, English is spoken but broken. I didn't know a word of Tamil. But I had made up my mind. I needed to go to Pondicherry, no matter what, thinking of ways to bypass the obstacles which lay ahead. I quickly got ready, had a hearty breakfast, said my byes to my relatives and was at the hotel gate, asking for ways to go Pondicherry. "It is a 3 hour bus journey, buses leave in every 30 min," said a gentle soul. Another gentle soul dropped me to CMBT (just like ISBT, Delhi) bus station, Chennai.

CMBT is a massive, clean and free wi-fi zone with buses leaving in every other minute. Someone directed me to a green bus, informing that it will leave for Pondicherry in 15 min. Happily, I boarded the bus, kept my bag on the space provided above head, sat on a seat next to the window and mentally started counting the various things I need to take care of to make my journey a success. Incidentally, while making a list, my eyes wandered off to ceiling of the bus and then it wavered to the sideways. I couldn’t believe it. I was sitting inside a railway compartment, recycled as bus body part. The cushion I was sitting upon was same as that of Indian Railways train compartment, so was the curved ceiling and so was the windows. I even noticed the seat numbers in black painted near the windows, 37L, 38M, 39U. Quickly I touched the walls of the bus and other bus parts, noticing that except for the grills on the windows, each and every part of the bus was not hot, a refreshing thought since I was to spend four hours cooped inside. Soon the driver took his place and started the bus.

The road to Pondicherry was via ECR (East Coast Road), a four hour journey through beautiful landmass. The roads were in perfect conditions. Incidentally, now I come to think of it, I can’t recall a single pothole anywhere, on any road I travelled upon in Tamil Nadu. Sitting in the midst of all the South Indians, I was the odd one out. All around people were speaking in foreign language, giving a quick glance at me, an odd dressed individual with a laptop in hand. I didn’t care. I was looking outside the window, lost in the greenery on both sides of the road. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I went on staring, marveling and was noticing the differences between the North and South Indian villages. Few of the differences I noticed for example were that the most of all the walls of the South Indian villages were whitewashed, devoid of any advertisements, especially advertisements advertising varied solutions to manly non-performance problems which ever so popular in North Indian villages.  To escape the heat and sun rays, the houses on the either side of the road were constructed in the midst of many planted tall palm trees, whose shade must be keeping the houses cool during summers. Most importantly almost all of the buildings in South India were pucca houses, which told me a lot about prosperity of the region. I saw lot of schools, colleges, parks, nurseries, resorts, holiday gateways, restaurants and scientific research buildings on my side of the road. Sitting inside the bus, I had constantly kept my face glued to the window, feeling the cold breeze on my face which was completely betraying the 37 degrees Celsius temperature. It was truly a journey through heaven.

Soon by 6, I reached "The Retreat" a guest house maintained by Aurobindo Ashram. The man at the reception gave me a pass to the ashram, informing me about the timings to visit it. But I wasn’t interested in that. The sound of the crashing waves had captured my heart. I didn’t want to miss for anything in the world. Quickly I went to my room, changed and came back to the reception. I opened the front door of the reception and out I came to the main road, in front of which lied the majestic Bay of Bengal. The water was blue, dark blue, clear and eyes-popping-out beautiful. I was on the Rue de Marine, and I started walking towards my left direction, went on and on, till the end and came back to explore the other end.

Walking slowly and slowly, I was marveling the French construction, the colour coding, the pattern of the construction and buildings’ architecture. On my walk, there was only odd building, on the whole stretch, sore to my eyes. The building was very ugly, bad and completely ruining the pattern. The building was Pondicherry Secretariat, the front of which was under repair of some sort. Ufff. Ignoring it, I went on walking, seeing BR Ambedkar, Mahatma Gandhi, Jwahar Lal Nehru and other notable French intellects' statues and Pondicherry war memorial. I started exploring the cafes and other eating joints, noticing that the small, small roads looked similar to Paris roads which were shown in countless of movies.

I finally spotted a happening restaurant where I had my dinner and met three college drop outs who were busy and working on their startup, as I got to know later, http://onrusticroutes.com/. Those three were fun, warm and good natured people, very enthusiastic about their work. They recounted their own car trip to Pondicherry, which included getting lost in villages, thanks to Google Maps and others.

As time passed, I got back to my room, to rest, awaiting next day adventure. My flight was at 2 PM. I was at Pondicherry and a four hour bus drive and an hour auto ride awaited me. Thankfully I woke up early in the morning, by 7 AM, boarded the bus and reached Chennai CMBT by 11 in the morning. Quickly I de-boarded the bus to take an auto to Chennai Airport.

Imagine a situation, where when you try to bargain, sounds such as, Sirrrrrrr, yaaaada, verrrry faaaaar, yummmmmaaaa and other weird sound come out from the other side. I was feeling like a foreigner, stuck in babel land. The autowallahs were refusing to go by meter, charging an exorbitant amount, and if asked why charging so much, answering that sir, return empty, no savari, an hour journey. I smiled inwardly and shook my head. Whether South India or North India, the autowallahs will remain the same. As few more autowallahs joined the game to con the foreigner, finally one person budged, lowered the fare and took me to the airport. He was a very friendly chap, trying his best to communicate with me in broken English and few words of Hindi. He showed me the house of a big Tamil actor Vijay, told me about RSS slogans and few others Chennai notable areas. We were having a good time. I told him I was from Delhi and was returning from Pondicherry. He was perturbed after hearing that, shaking his head. I could only guess that the reason for his confusion might be related to me being a totally opposite to the image of the Delhi people, he was carrying, I assume.

Soon we reached the airport, shook hands and he left me at the airport, bringing down curtains to my first solo trip, that too to the magical land of Pondicherry.

Eye Witness to a horrific accident - True account

Just a while back, I was walking back home, having bought eggs from the market. Walking, lost in my own world, I reached the busy intersection, in front of my society. Now the intersection in front of my society is a busy intersection. Seeing a minor accident, people hurling abuses, cars honking incessantly, others watching the show is not new for me, yet today I had a new experience. Around 8:35 PM, among the loud honking, I saw a huge crowd standing, encircling something on the footpath. Lots of bikes were parked near the footpath. I decided to take a closer look to see what was happening and see if I can offer any help. I entered the circle of people. At the centre, I saw a man sitting and another lying, shaking uncontrollably. There was a by-stander asking the sitting man for his family's contact number while others trying to think of ways to comfort the shaking man. Talks of drunk maniacs was doing the rounds. There was a man, dressed in white, looked in charge, was talking to someone, presumably to police I thought.
Just near, there was a concrete white wall, of height close to my knees, which had survived the banging of a red Maruti 800. The front passenger seat of the Maruti 800 was gone, due to the door bent inside. The backseat was in an even worse shape. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept quiet, looked around, wondering where I can pitch in my help. Soon an auto was stopped and the two men were picked up, given support and helped inside the auto. I, for the first time, saw the two men clearly. The sitting man was bald, with blood slowly dripping from his forehead. He was dressed in an orange shirt. The other guy had stopped shaking. I went to help him get up. His dark coloured shirt was drenched, not with blood, thank god. After few more seconds, since him being heavy, I almost gave away. Suddenly some other guy came, took my place and helped him till the auto. Meanwhile, the owner of the auto was shouting, "I will not take these two to the hospital alone. Someone needs to come with me." As expected no one volunteered. A traffic police cop arrived and then was lost, under mysterious circumstances. Maybe he had gone to call his superiors to give a quick first-hand account of the dire situation or call for backup, who knows. The accident victims were seated comfortably inside the three wheeler auto, to my horror. I believe, three wheeler auto and bikes should be last options for transporting any accident victim.

I looked around, again. I saw a cute girl, dressed in pyjamas and a yellow top, talking quietly and quickly on the phone with a serious look on her face. Another call on 101 was being made, I assumed. The man in white brought one litre packaged drinking water and gave it to the victims. And in about 5 minutes, the auto was gone.

Then the real fun started. Police arrived, with 3 uniformed men. Within 2 seconds, the crowd halved, approx from 30 to 15. One uniformed guy went to Maruti Swift Dzire, which was parked few meters away, surprisingly not at all damaged, to note down the first hand information. I hadn’t noticed the Dzire at all. The other two uniformed men cleared the place and started asking for witnesses. No one dared to come forward. Soon all the bikes left. As a sign of fate or bad luck, CAT ambulance arrived. The navigator of the ambulance got out to ask for the victims. Upon hearing that the victims had already left, a sad look came on his face and the ambulance quietly left. I was amazed to see the sad look.

I stood there for two more minutes to see if I can do something else, apart from volunteering to be a
witness, which I wasn't. A well-built, handsome guy, looked very smart and educated, dressed in red, had started to walk away. He was walking ahead of me, briskly. I ran, caught up to him, introduced myself and asked him on what actually had happened. He, in an excited voice, explained the whole situation to me. Approx 35 minutes ago, a red Maruti had jumped the red light. From the opposite side, a Maruti Dzire was taking a right turn. Dzire rammed in to the red Maruti 800. Due to sheer force of impact, red Maruti dragged, skidded and hit the white wall. On the other hand, the Dzire slowly crawled towards the footpath. Its driver had already been taken to a hospital, by one of his family member, presumably. Upon seeing the accident, people came forward to help out. They pulled out the driver of the Maruti 800 very easily. The passenger seat traveller, the guy who was shaking, was the actual and tricky problem. For about 10 minutes, people struggled, tried every manoeuvre to move the door and finally took him out through the window, successfully. At this point, I was heartened to know people, in a crazy situation, had come out to help out in an accident. Who says Delhi people are cold hearted and leave people to die on the streets. If someone think so, please do re-read the above lines and you will change your opinion.

As he was explaining me the whole situation, few things became clear to me.
1. Police response to the accident, 30 minutes. Around 10-15 calls were made on 101.
2. CAT ambulance, phone number 102, response time was 35 minutes.
3. No one came forward to be a witness.

After getting the whole picture from my new friend, I turned back and started my way back to my house. The Maruti 800 was totally totalled. The windshield was broken in to pieces and was lying on the street. A scooty activah had almost skidded on those broken pieces. With one last look, I sighed, thanked that the authorities had arrived who I am sure will take care of the situation to the best of their abilities and made my way to my house. And then I noticed the most ironical/funny thing of the night.

A guy dressed in black, taking pictures. The quote on his shirt

 *"Shhhh......Desh so rha h!"*

Joy of Writing

Writing is a journey between a man and his thoughts. The writer has an idea to share with the world which he knows will make everyone stop and listen to him. The writer is enthusiastic, happy and has the will to share the idea with the whole world. He starts penning down his thoughts on a piece of paper. Slowly and slowly, as the idea develops in his mind, the writer becomes a story teller. The writer has to think of the scene setting, character development and narrative development as well as make the story lively and entertaining. And this is where the joy is. He has to intrigue, educate and stimulate the reader simultaneously. He has to exploit the theme to catch the attention of the reader.

The writer needs to put his heart and soul in his writing. He first writes, then reads, rereads, rewrites, and so on, and, till the point the writer isn’t satisfied with what he has written, the process goes on and on. As the saying goes, success is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration.

Throughout this roller coaster ride, the writer feels the joy of expressing himself. The world which exists in his mind is more complex, interesting and as the way he sees, not the world which we live in which is harsh, cruel, yet friendly and full of love. At the end if the writer has given his all, his story never disappoints.

The biggest joy for the writer comes at the end, when he showcases his work to the whole world. His eyes, his voice and his actions portray his feelings. Proudly and happily, he makes the world read his hard work.

For the readers it’s a joy to read the efforts of the writer. The reader feels and experiences what the writer has written. At the end the reader appreciates the hard work of the writer. This confirmation from the reader, for whom the whole process was undergone, gives the writer immense pleasure and satisfies his inner self.

The year gone by

Happy New Year!

Welcome to year 2015. I hope your hopes and aspirations come to reality this year provided you work hard for it. But before I welcome the New Year, I will like to look back and list the things which happened in the last year. By all definitions, the passing year was my best year and I don’t think there is anything I will like to change about that. I experienced so many things which has left a big impression on my mind. These beautiful memories, I will carry with myself for the rest of my life.

1. The year started with disappointment. I gave my XAT in the first week of 2014 year, hoping for something. But since I hadn’t prepared anything, nothing happened. This didn’t leave me disappointed. On the other hand, I promised myself that I will work hard and will do better in forthcoming exams.

2. I got my promotion. I wasn’t particularly surprised about that as it was due. Nonetheless it was a happy start to a fruitful year.

3. Summer vacation in Rio de Janeiro. I spent one whole month in Rio where I saw the world cup in the mecca of football, Estadio de Maracana. I enjoyed football with the Brazilians, sharing their joy and enthusiasm for the sport. It was my dream come true. 

4. I finally bought my 2BHK house. Not a big achievement, neither it's small :)

5. In the month of Dec, I signed my first ever contract. Yipeee. Soon I am going to be a published writer. I am hoping for the book to be launched by May 2015. *Fingers Crossed*. Facebook page -

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Project-Ibigo/1438685936352164?ref=bookmarks

I will post the updates about the book as they happen.

6. CAT results were declared in the last week of December. A satisfying end to 2014. I am looking forward to GD/PI calls from good B schools and hoping to convert one of them.

PS - XAT is in 2 days. Let’s see how I perform this year.

Ola Ola Ola Ola Messi Messi! Ola Ola Ola Ola Messi Messi!

Today is the day after the day I went to the Maracana Stadium, the mecca of the football, for the first time. The clock had struck 63rd minute and Messi received the ball half way up the opposite field. And then came his trademark run, dodging one, then second, then third and finally ball went to the far post, beyond the reach of the Goal Keeper. And the stadium lit up.

Poor defenders wondering what to do

All were enthralled by the goal and the fans stood up, giving their customary bow to the magician gracing the Maracana Stadium on its birthday. For the fans all over the world, not so for the Brazilians, the goal was the perfect gift to the Maracana stadium on its birthday, 15th June 2014.

I will always remember the day I went to the stadium. I woke up early in the morning around 7'o clock. I had my tea and patiently started waiting for the clock to tick itself to 3'o clock, the time we would leave the house. Finally it did. To reach the stadium we first boarded a bus. The journey was an hour long but it was worth it. On my way to the stadium, I looked outside the window of the bus and I was travelling in, trying to understand the city which is playing the perfect host to me. Favelas are the most paradoxical presence in the city.

Favela

For the visitors they are a sight to hold, something from which they cannot remove their eyes from. In a way they increase the charm of the city and makes you talk about them for on and on to people back home thus increasing curiosity among the future travellers. But for the Cariocas, it’s a blemish. Favela literal translation is 'House on the Hills'. The poorest of the poorest Cariocas, who can’t afford a house, live there. The legend has it that the soldiers who didn’t have any place to live, lived on the hills which then developed in to a big slum. But if we look closely, I find favela, the slums, more developed than slums back in my country. And in general that goes for the whole city itself. Strangely, the country has the infrastructure of a developed country yet it’s a developing country, part of BRICS.

We reached Vincent de Carvahlo, the place where we switched over to the metro. In 30 minutes or so we reached the stadium. All paths leading up to the mecca was littered with Argentinians, again not a happy sight for the Brazilians. They were cheering and singing on their way to Mecca. I could see few people with play cards "Comprendo". They were looking for one seller. We marched on and on, in the sea of fans, towards the Gate D. Our ticket had complete information which helped us to reach our seats, without anyone helping us neither we knowing, except for one, more than few phrases of Portuguese. A similar feat back home will be impossible for any.

White - Blue wave

Blue wave part 2

 

I will never forget that time when I stepped inside and saw the field for the first time. I couldn’t close my mouth for few minutes. It was a sight to behold. The brightly lit field, with fans all over the stadium, Bosnian fans, with Brazilians counterpart, having their shirts out cheering, and the Argentinians singing. A competition was going on and I was a spectator. I wish I knew their language. The only negative thing which I found was that the football field looked smaller than it appears on the television.

Before the match we knew that Bosnia was making their debut in the world Cup and no one expected them to do much. Argentina, with names such as Gonzalez Hugain, Sergio Agüero, Lionel Messi and Angel di Maria, can intimidate any team on this planet. But how wrong we were. Bosnia played good, played much better than my expectation. I had expected Edin Dzeko (No one is more involved in more goals than him in the European qualifiers: 14 – 10 goals, 4 assists) to carry the team on his shoulders but it wasn’t so. They had cohesion, discipline, stuck to tactics and more importantly didn’t gave enough space to Messi. Except for the first corner in which the own goal was scored on 3rd minute, Bosnia didn’t gave me any indication or proof that they are newbies. Match went on. Argentina was playing a passing game, building the game from the back. They would move the ball around and around. But the third part was packed up by Bosnia, not allowing either Messi or Angel di Maria to showcase their talent. Poor Agüero was most of the times left alone. This didn’t mean Bosnia had come to defend. When they had the chance they went on doing their business. Sadly apart from Dzeko, they lack world class finisher hence nothing productive came out of it.

Maracana

Since the start of the game I was not hopeful and wasn’t expecting Bosnia to do much because I was aware of their problems. Dzeko was well guarded. And that Messi goal in the 64th minute made it clear to me that Bosnia will go home empty handed. But my youngest fufaji had faith in Bosnia and since fifth minute he had been saying on and on that Bosnia will score a goal. That moment came in the 85th minute when Bosnia scored from open play. From there on it was game on. The whole stadium, Bosnians and Brazilians stood up, cheering the men forward. Sabella, the Argentinian coach, substituted Sergio Agüero and shut the shop. It was a nervy end for them. All in all the match was money worth it. I got my own cup at the end of the match, Budweiser, the official sponsor of World Cup :)

We should give credit to the Brazilians for constructing such an amazing stadium. We were out of the stadium in 15 minutes without any hiccups. We walked and walked, mesmerised. We had witnessed history. I would surely recount it to my grandchildren. Walking out towards the station came the first nervous moment. A team of riot control police was on duty. They had the full gear on with the gun and the shield. I walked quietly, trying to pass them quickly. At once I crossed, they changed their direction 180 degrees. It felt that something wrong is going to happen. I stepped on a temporary bridge which was connecting to a concrete overhead footpath which then connected to the subway station. The temporary bridge was jam packed but we still went on walking. At this moment I was nervous and wanted to enter the station quickly. The worst imaginable thing happened at that moment which made my heart race. The bridge started to shake, just like in an earthquake.

On way to the Bridge. Notice darkness at the top.

Dhakk! Dhakk!

All around me people started shouting in Portuguese, Spanish, English and French. The only word I could make out "Shaking". On and on I walked. I knew that that I cannot go down and swim against a strong tide. I know I can’t. And since I was in middle of the bridge, the only way out was up. Thankfully I am not back home, otherwise there would have been stampede. Brazilians and the rest are cultured and we managed to climb up without any other incident. With Argentinians singing and we enjoying the music managed to board the metro. The metro at that time resembled Rajiv Chowk which was a soothing thought. Through the metro, then the bus and finally car, we reached home safe and sound.

Lo! What surprise. A birthday cake was waiting for us at the home. Not that we reached home safely, neither we were celebrating Maracana's stadium birthday, it was my eldest Fufaji's birthday.

Is something wrong? -- Another Short Story

"Is something wrong with your mother? She was talking nonsense to me for a long time" said the school sports teacher to a young small boy of 13 years.

The young boy had a puzzled look on his face. He didn’t know how to reply to the question. Inside his heart he knew that on some days his mother did talk nonsense but he couldn’t fathom the fact that his teacher was talking about the same to him. He kept quiet.

Now it was the time for the teacher to feel awkward. He reproached himself for asking such a stupid question. Building upon that stupidity, he asked "Are you listening to me boy?" this time a little louder.

The boy didn’t reply. His friends, who were sitting next to him, hadn’t heard the teacher the first time, now looked at him and then at the teacher. They could sense something was wrong but couldn’t pinpoint to it. Upon realising that there wasn’t any reply to come, the teacher went away shaking his head, leaving the child alone with his friends.

They were sitting in the middle of the auditorium, waiting for the annual day program to start. The most outspoken child of that small group looked over to the child and asked politely "What did that A-hole want to know?"

The child looked directly at his friend’s face, as an acknowledgement to the question, and didn’t reply. But the emerging tears in his eyes were enough to tell his friend that there was something wrong. The whole group started to badmouth the teacher. The program started and all was forgotten.

That afternoon after the school got over, the young child walked to his home, alone lost in his thoughts. He knew that his teacher had asked him a good question, a question to which he himself didn’t know the answer to. He walked quietly on the footpath. The footpath ended and he crossed over the road and went to the other side. On this side of the road, there was a school from where the children were making a lot of noises. But the young child was oblivious to the craziness around him.
"Should I ask my father about this? Will he be able to give me a proper answer? ....Nah he wouldn’t be able to. He always busy in his work and if I ask this uncomfortable question, he might shout like the last time when I had asked him where did the children come from?....Who else can help...hmmm…who else can make me understand and let me know of the proper answer. Maybe the kind lady who lives on the first floor will be able to say something. No she wouldn’t be able to and I don’t think I am that comfortable discussing with her."

The young boy was lost in his thoughts. No solution came to his mind. He went on walking sheepishly. In an about half hour, he reached his home, dropped his bag on the chair present inside the drawing room and switched on the television, forgetting the all important question which was bugging him. An hour went so. No one came to trouble him. His mother had prepared the lunch and was sleeping noiselessly in the next room. Finally his thoughts came back to the question. Still nothing came to his mind. But this time, instead of procrastinating, he had made up his mind. He switched on the iPad, which his cousin brother had gifted him for his birthday, and searched for "My mother is mad?" on Google. The search result astonished him.

"My mother is angry at me, what should I do?" Irrelevant question! He flipped through some more results. They were as useless as the first result.

There was a nice article "My mother is sick and I am mad as hell." It was a heart wrenching article about the mother suffering from cancer and the daughter who couldn’t do anything about it. Even though the article was beyond the maturity of the young boy, still tears came in to his eyes at the end of the article. He could empathise with the pains of the daughter. Still it didn’t answer his question since he knew that there was something mentally wrong with her.

This time he searched for "My mother is mentally sick." and the results came more specific to what he was looking for. They were lot more serious and grave.

The firs result was "mental illness, suicide, depression in my family." He opened the link. It was a gruesome description about the family and how it was affecting the psyche of the author. In the middle of the article, the young boy scared closed the link. His heart was pounding. It took him a while to understand that such problems weren’t present with him. He went to other results and started to read them.

After a while of reading, he finally he came across an article which was more suited to his taste. It was a list of mental disorders on Wikipedia. It was a comprehensive list which didn’t make much sense to him. But the idea struck his mind. This time he did a better phrase search on Google.

"Mental disorder + hallucination + nonsense talking"

The search results were full of schizophrenia. Excitedly, finally being able to find something concrete, the child started to read as much as he could about it. There loads of articles, stories, news and images about it. He went on reading about it for an hour.

Looking over to the symptoms, he started to make a mental note. There were words to which he didn’t know the meaning of for which he had to do search for their meanings.

Distress - Yes
Hearing voices or noises that are not there - Sometime, as stated by others
Inattention – Don’t know
Confused or unclear thinking - No
Reduced emotional expression and social engagement - Definitely yes
Paranoia - Maybe
Hallucination - Yes

Most of the symptoms matched with his observation and he was convinced that his mother had schizophrenia. Happy to solve the problem at hand, he went on reading. Suddenly he came across a word he had recently studied in school "genetics". He did a search on the word to confirm its meaning. As per the meaning and the article, schizophrenia is genetics; hence he has a 50%-50% chance that he himself is suffering from it. This revelation stumped him. He started to think. In his heart he knew that he wasn’t like his mother, neither has he behaved like her nor his actions suggest. He knew he was completely different from her. He didn’t face any problems nor had symptoms like the ones mentioned in the article. But as per Wikipedia, schizophrenia sometimes had a slow onset and can hit a person in his middle age. "Am I mad? No I am no mad. I am sane. But yesterday I was behaving like a lunatic when I had caught Daman cheating. He had started to shout that I am mad. Oh he must be joking…… What if he was right and I am actually but I don’t see it myself just like my mother.....stop talking nonsense....what if Daman is right?"

His mother walked in the room. She had a smile on her face. She quietly kissed on his cheek and everything was right in his mind. Forgetting the stupid fight he was having with himself, he switched off the iPad and the television and started to describe the whole day to his mother. His mother listened to everything he said. She then stood up to warm the milk and came back with a milk with bournvita in a glass. He drank it quickly, asked her permission for going out and went out to play.
Later in the evening, he came back tired and sat on iPad to open Facebook. The page on schizophrenia was still open. He looked over to the page and his doubts again sprang in his mind.

And the debate started again. "No...Yes...No...Yes...No..." It went on.

Suddenly someone tugged at his shoulder, breaking his chain of thoughts. It was his younger sister. He smiled and asked what was troubling her. She looked squarely in his face asked softly, making sure no one else could hear, "Bhaiya Bhaiya, is something wrong with mother?"

He looked at her, dumbstruck.


PS: Sorry for the mistakes. Didn't have time to edit the story.

Tribute to Beatles!

Fab 4

"We all live in yellow submarine, yellow submarine"
"We all live in yellow submarine, yellow submarine"

Vivek was brushing his teeth while listening to this song. It was his favourite song with his favourite sound, the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks. “Ah this is heaven” thought Vivek. The crashing waves reminded him of his home. The voice of Paul McCartney was majestic and the guitar strumming and the drums added music to the soul. Humming the tune inside his head, Vivek pressed the replay button on his phone. He could listen to this song whole and do nothing.
He finished brushing his teeth and went back to this room. Benjamin was waiting for him for there.

“Oye how was the last night’s dinner date? Got some action?” he asked in an excited tone with an wink at the end of the comment.

Vivek’s face, which till now had a smile, suddenly had a horror look. He took a moment to steady his heart. He said “It was more of dinner fight. All was going smoothly. And suddenly she had to bring up something. Damn! All went downhill. We ended up fighting till the end.

“Ohho” replied Benjamin.

“Let’s change the topic. I was hearing strawberry field forever. That song never makes sense to me. Then it struck me. I replaced strawberry by opium and the whole song now makes sense to me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Vivek, irritated.

“Here I wrote it for you some to make you understand”

Let me take you down

Let me take you down
‘Cause I'm going to Opium Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Opium Fields forever

Living is easy with eyes closed
Misunderstanding all you see
It's getting hard to be someone
But it all works out
It doesn't matter much to me

Let me take you down
‘Cause I'm going to Opium Fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Opium Fields forever

“Hahaha….I see..that makes perfect sense to me now too” Vivek said.

“Just imagine.”

The two friends started to laugh and went on laughing for half hour. They cracked jokes. They made faces. They shared stories. Finally Benjamin left leaving Vivek alone in the room.

Suddenly Vivek’s phone started to buzz. It was a message. He took the phone in his hand to scroll to the message. It was from his girlfriend.

“I hate you :X Never contact me ever again”

“Eh!”

Vivek tried to message her on whatsapp to explain. She had blocked him. Phone. Again blocked. Message. Blocked.

“God what has happened” he thought. His Ipod changed to another song. He had forgotten about it playing.

You're going to lose that girl,
You're going to lose that girl.
If you don't treat her right, my friend,
You're going to find her gone,
'cause I will treat her right, and then
You'll be the lonely one.

You're going to lose that girl,
You're going to lose that girl.
I'll make a point
Of taking her away from you, yeah,
The way you treat her what else can I do?

His iPod was playing the song “You are gonna lose that girl!

What coincidence!

He angrily shut his iPod off and went to sleep

An hour late he woke up. He was sweating. His clothes were drenched. Sweat was flowing down his forehead. He was scared. He had a nightmare. He went outside the room to the water cooler. He bent down and drank cold water. He washed his face. And then came back to the room.

His room was dirty. Dust and garbage was accumulating. Every day he would always think of cleaning his room. But something always came up and this idea took a backseat. But today is the day. He decided to finally clean his room. He picked up the broom lying in the corner and was about to start cleaning.
But first thing first. Songs need to be played on his iPod. He pushed the play button.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly, I'm not half to man I used to be,
There's a shadow hanging over me.
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go I don't know she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday.

Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.
Now I need a place to hide away.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

“Damn!” The song finished. He replayed it. Again. And again.

And then the tears started to flow down his cheeks which lead to bursting of the dam. He was crying.

Later in the day, Vivek stopped crying. He was alone. He missed her. He wanted to talk to her. He was sad. Benjamin had come to invite him for lunch. Seeing him so sad, he thought otherwise. Vivek was angry. Hurt. Blocked.

“How can this happen to me?” he thought.

He picked up his notepad to write something. Somewhere in between, he had written lyrics of ‘When I am 64’. He played that song on his iPod.

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?

And the song went on as......

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

“Oh man! Crap!” The song ended with the things he wanted to say.

“That was something” he realized. Satisfied. Complete. He stood up.

And in came Benjamin. “Sorry bro. Sorry to know. She is a bitch. Don’t worry” he said.

“How do you know?” asked astonished Vivek.

“Well it’s the gossip of the day in the hostel” replied Benjamin.

“Great what I needed.”

“Anyway I have something to cheer you up.” Benjamin took out weed from his pocket.

And then the two smoked up listening to John Lennon’s trippy song

I am the Walrus, goo goo g’joob.

Ernest Dichter - The man who made advertising sexy

This post dedicated to the man who made advertising sexy. The small stocked man from Vienna, with a Phd psychology in hand, entered USA to change the landscape of the advertising world. He was one of the first man to realize the potential of Sigmund Freud and his pyschoanalysis. Behavioural analysis & Motivational Research was Dichter's forte and it was used to the maximum potential.
Humans are impressionable, emotional and irrational. They buy things they don’t need, often at arbitrary prices and for silly reasons. Studies show that when a store plays soothing music, shoppers will linger for longer and often spend more. If customers are in a good mood, they are more susceptible to persuasion. They believe price tends to indicate the value of things, not the other way around. And many people will squander valuable time to get something free. So true!

He used this concept to turn around the businesses of so many giants Procter & Gamble, Exxon, Chrysler and many more

He understood that in this world with so many choices, the consumer is confused so as to what to buy, what not to buy. He utilized Freudian concepts as well as sexual allusions and desires in advertising campaigns to lure the customers to buy the product.


One of his earliest assignments were:


What makes soap interesting? Why choose one brand over another? Dichter’s first contract was with the Compton Advertising Agency, to help them sell Ivory soap. Market research typically involved asking shoppers questions like “Why do you use this brand of soap?” Or, more provocatively, “Why don’t you use this brand of soap?” Regarding such lines of inquiry as useless, Dichter instead conducted a hundred so-called “depth interviews”, or open-ended conversations, about his subjects’ most recent scrubbing experiences.
The approach was not unlike therapy, with Dichter mining the responses for encoded, unconscious motives and desires. In the case of soap, he found that bathing was a ritual that afforded rare moments of personal indulgence, particularly before a romantic date (“You never can tell,” explained one woman). He discerned an erotic element to bathing, observing that “one of the few occasions when the puritanical American [is] allowed to caress himself or herself [is] while applying soap.” As for why customers picked a particular brand, Dichter concluded that it wasn’t exactly the smell or price or look or feel of the soap, but all that and something else besides—that is, the gestalt or “personality” of the soap.

This was a big idea. Dichter understood that every product has an image, even a “soul”, and is bought not merely for the purpose it serves but for the values it seems to embody. Our possessions are extensions of our own personalities, which serve as a “kind of mirror which reflects our own image”. Dichter’s message to advertisers was: figure out the personality of a product, and you will understand how to market it. Soaps could be old or young, flirty or conservative. Ivory, Dichter inferred, had a “sombre, utilitarian, thoroughly cleansing character”. It was the mother-daughter of soaps, whereas a brand like Camay was a seductress. Such insights led to the slogans “Be smart and get a fresh start with Ivory Soap” and “Wash your troubles away”.

This marketing is what now led to and is called 'Branding'. Some of the other examples of his works are

Internet Revolution

The times are changing. The days of “Study hard, get a good job” are becoming a thing of past. The parent’s of golden rule of a better life is losing its sheen in this new, brave and bold world. The youngest generation is coming forward with radical ways to earn money. I cannot help notice a many new advertisements on television of a string of internet based companies like jabong.com, flipkart.com, yebhi.com, godaddy.com, shiksha.com, bharatmatrimony.com, yatra.com, makemytrip.com, snapdeal.com  and many more. Seems like dot com boom (a passé thing for the west) has finally hit India. People have started realizing the potential of internet and its lure to earn easy money. Not much requirement of capital, one of the best ways to sell your product, almost no technicality required, easy to advertise and the best way to have a close relation with your customers, how can this not be an attraction for a start-up.

Recently Flipkart became India’s first billion dollar internet based company and too in a space of 5 years, pretty huge deal for a startup. Becoming a millionaire before turning thirty, a dream come true for many. Zomato.com was started by ex-Bain employees. They forsake their cushy jobs of 11L to start their own endeavours. One of my seniors has started a successful website making company, another one is starting an online shopping, someone has an e-magazine and a friend of mine has started a company which provides online servers. Many new ideas submitted in Business Plan competitions are internet based companies. Letsinter.com, wittyshit.com, newsthatmattersnot.com are all winners of many of the major ‘Business Plan competitions’ and have won accolades from the business community. Even many established businesses are not behind. One must have heard of paan.com and its success story. A taxi hiring company, which my dad uses to hire taxis, has started an online website for its customers to avail the services provided. Even in my college many people have started companies to supplement their weekly income. Everyone is hoping on the bandwagon to do something special. I can go on and on. I am sure as the reader you will also have some friend, family member or acquaintance who is trying his or her luck through the internet medium.

An internet revolution has started in the country, thanks to better connectivity, 3G internet and better broadband speed, people can now access to the internet wherever they are, whatever they are doing. This is phenomenal. But no one knows where it will all lead to. All I can hope is that this revolution doesn’t take that the road taken by the western dot com companies and lead to a bust.

Joseph P Kennedy - The Self Made Man

"They used to say that Joe was trying to get up in the world--he was trying to promote himself and his family"
---Dot Keegan, Brookline Neighbor

In USA the Kennedy family can be considered equivalent to British Royal family. They are one of the richest family and have a very rich heritage. This family has produced a president, an attorney general, several businessmen and several senators. And Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. is considered the patriarch of the Kennedy family.

Childhood

Born September 6, 1888, Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. was the grandson of impoverished Irish immigrants. His father Patrick Joseph "P.J" Kennedy was a powerful Democrat Ward Boss of Boston and a successful saloon keeper. Joseph's mother, Mary Augusta Hickey was a woman with a great ambition that she passed down to her son Joseph P Kennedy. Mary Augusta's desire for Joseph to succeed was so great, instead of naming him in the tradition of his father and grandfather, Patrick. Mary Augusta gave decided Joseph would be his first name, leaving Patrick as the middle name. Patrick would be the telltale sign that he was Irish and Mary Augusta did not want that.
Mary Augusta encouraged her only son to great heights but shuttled her two daughters off to private proper girl Catholic schools. If Joseph wanted to be the best, he would have to go to a school of Protestant distinction with all the little Brahmins. Mary Augusta sent him to the Boston Latin School. It was one of the elite schools for rich Protestant boys. With the help of his father's shrewd understanding of people and his mother's ambition young Joe did not waste his opportunities.

Harvard

At Harvard, Joseph actively involved himself in Harvard's social stratosphere. He imitated the Brahmin's dress, eating style, conversation, accents, mannerisms and social attitudes and was always aware never to betray his Irish Catholic past. He even set out to join an elite club--a private club, where all refined Harvard gentleman, drank, ate, and conversed. Joseph knew that having money and class were the only way to achieve any type of notoriety or attention in American life. He saw it in the social registers published in the daily papers and in the fact, half his classmates families were those names on the social registers. He knew for them Harvard was a stopover before going on to own and control some of the more important and expanding businesses and corporations in the country. Seeing the realm of acceptance and power within his grasp, Joseph struggled to eliminate anything in him as Irish. The Brahmins hated the Irish and all immigrants.
His final step, and highest goal at Harvard, was to join a private club for which you had to be extended a bid from a member. As the story goes, Joseph and his roommate paced in their rooms as the bids starting being handed out at dawn. They kept pacing and waiting nervously until the sun was in the lower part of the sky. By the end of the day, his roommate was extended a bid. Joseph P. Kennedy was not. He was the star of the baseball team, son of a prominent man, but he was still an Irish Catholic and not suitable to join the Brahmin's private social clubs. It infuriated him and left bitter memories that resonated with him for the rest of his life.
Joseph graduated with a degree in music appreciation, the only major he could get through Harvard with. For Joseph P. Kennedy it was not a minute too soon. He graduated with two burning desires: to become a millionaire by the age of thirty, and to show up the Protestants who had snubbed him. He was out and ready to make his own fortune and dynasty. 

Marriage 

Joseph for all his desperation to be in the Brahmin world, did not want a Protestant for a wife. He wanted a Catholic woman, preferably Irish. And he went after the best Boston had to offer. Her name was Rose Fitzgerald. And she was the daughter of the first Irish Catholic mayor of Boston, John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald. She was also the most eligible Catholic and Irish woman in town. Rose had a strong Catholic faith; and a strong belief in a motherhood that champions and encourages children, made her an excellent wife who complimented Joseph's ambitions perfectly. They wanted to see their children have everything. They did not want them barred from social life as they had been because they were Irish and Catholic. Joseph and Rose had nine children: Joseph Jr., John (Jack), Rosemary, Kathleen, Eunice, Patricia, Robert (Bobby), Jean, and Edward (Ted). Several of his children went on to develop distinguished political careers, including two U.S. senators and one president. 

Business Success 

Kennedy was a shrewd money maker. He showed an entrepreneurial spirit and an appreciation for money at an early age. Kennedy held a number of jobs as a youngster, including candy vendor, newspaper hawker, and play producer. He also performed jobs for Orthodox Jews, whose faith prohibited them from working on their holy days. During his student days at Harvard, he and a friend bought a bus and began operating sightseeing tours. Kennedy negotiated with another tour operator to share working hours. He was successful at this, earning $5,000 over the course of several summers.
After graduating from Harvard in 1912, he took his first job as a state-employed bank examiner. This allowed him to learn a great deal about the banking industry. In 1913, the Columbia Trust Bank, in which his father held a significant share, was under threat of takeover. Kennedy, borrowing $45,000 from family and friends, bought back control and at age 25 was rewarded by being elected the bank's president. Kennedy told the press he was "the youngest" bank president in America.

At 30, he became a stockbroker and made a fortune through insider trading and stock manipulation. He was a master of the stock pool, a then-legal stunt in which a few traders conspired to inflate a stock's price, selling out just before the bubble burst.

Kennedy may also have traded in illegal booze, although the evidence is circumstantial. His father had been in the liquor business before Prohibition, and Joe himself got into it (publicly, that is) immediately after repeal. Some believe the family business simply went underground during the dry years. He may have been strictly a nickle-and-dimer; Harvard classmates say he supplied the illicit booze for alumni events.
Kennedy's real strength was his business smarts, notably an exquisite sense of timing. He always made a substantial profit on the properties he bought and sold. In 1957 Fortune declared Kennedy one of the richest men in America, with assets of 200 to 400 million bucks.

Political Ambitions

Kennedy's own political involvement began in 1932, when he supported the Democratic presidential nomination of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. He worked as campaign contributor, lender, and fundraiser. In return, President Roosevelt rewarded him with the position of first chairman of the Securities & Exchange Commission, a decision that was not popular in some circles. In 1938, Kennedy was appointed ambassador to England. During this sensitive period just prior to World War II, Kennedy made a number of unfortunate mistakes.
Kennedy's life was fraught with tragedy during the 1940s. His eldest son, Joseph, Jr., was killed in action during World War II. His favorite daughter, Kathleen, was killed in a plane crash four years after the death of her husband. His son, Jack, was seriously wounded when his boat was attacked by the Japanese.

A Kennedy in the White House

After World War II, Kennedy concentrated his efforts on getting his sons elected to political office. He began by working on Jack's campaign for representative in the 11th District of Massachusetts. Kennedy was a quiet but effective campaigner. He contacted every powerful person he knew to assist him-with votes and campaign contributions. The tactic-and his personal $50,000 contribution-proved successful. Kennedy employed the same successful strategy in 1952, when Jack ran for the state Senate.

During Presidential election, Kennedy was accused of influencing delegates at the National Democratic Convention and of buying the nomination for his son. Jack himself once observed "Dad is a financial genius all right, but in politics, he is something else." Kennedy distanced himself from his son during the period prior to and during the nomination process, and did not return to Massachusetts until the election took place. His wife, Rose explained: "He has been a controversial figure all of his life and he thinks it's easier for his sons if he doesn't appear on the scene."

Jack Kennedy won the presidential election in 1960, fulfilling his father's dream. But Kennedy's reaction was modest: "I have a strong idea that there is no other success for a father and a mother except to feel that they have made some contributions to the development of their children."

Tragic Years 
Despite suffering a stroke in 1961, Kennedy remained active and interested in the lives of his grown children. However, tragedy continued to plague his last years. He suffered a series of strokes that left him in a wheelchair and unable to speak. His son Jack was assassinated in 1963, before completing his first term as president. His son, Robert, was shot and killed in 1968, while campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination. His youngest son, Ted, was involved in a scandal with a young woman who drowned while in his company.

Kennedy died in 1969, at the age of 81.

Source: Internet and my little understanding

Imagine

A full pot doesnt make much noise
But beneath the surface,

Carries the shouts of 1000 different people!

What will happen that day when the pot melts

Epic Battle

Shall light conquer all

Shall inner Darkness within win

Will sun shone bright

Or night Seize moments to awaken

Waiting for the brave

Waiting for the weak hearted

Waiting for the worthy

Waiting for the greedy

Sometimes it wins

Sometimes it looses

Men fight for light

Men fight for dark

Both fight each other

Light wins light losses

 Time comes to decide

Who shall fight for who

Cant there be a middle ground

Should eternally they fight

Cant anyone stop it

 Olive branch is an option

Still none give ground

Eternally shall both fight

Never shall a winner be

Never shall over it be

------

Aarkane

Farewell Tips

Farewells are one of the most important days in the life of a college going student. Students are very sentimental, spend a lot of time saying good byes and click lot of picture to capture the memories. But no one tells you what to do or what not to do. So here is a list of instructions you must keep in mind to make sure that the day goes very successful.

1.      Make sure to have a cameraman (friend) nearby. You may never know when you will get your chance.

2.      Plan a photo-date with hot girls to increase amount of respect among your friends.

3.       Carry shades otherwise chances of momentarily blindness increases due to very high intensity of flash of the cameras.

4.      Do have a full stomach otherwise you may not manage to give appropriate facial expressions during the photo sessions.

5.      Practice a particular expression, cuz that will be there pasted on your face for many many hours.

6.      Awkward Moment (Guys): The deciding moment, where to put your hands, around the waist or the shoulder when the guy next to you is very tall.

7.      Farewell is the worst day to ignore people you don’t like.

8.      Learn how to be a revolving snake, moving from place to place, position to position to get the best camera angle and the best pose among the crowd of people.

9.      Food stall is by far the worst place to ask anyone to pose.

10.  That jaw literal breaking moment: When there are more than 3 cameras in your friend circle.

11.  Try to avoid your heavy “OUT” friends who try to come in between every picture with those *heavy eyes* and ruin your moments.