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Press confirm to complete the transaction. Somehow it read press confirm and we will screw you. I can sense these things. But sensing is one thing and knowing is other. If we knew everything we sensed, things would make much more sense. Anyways.

I confirmed. And i wait.

5 seconds gone.

I haven’t realised yet that I’ve taken the ride. My brain works with a lag of 5 seconds. If there was a way to delete those 5 seconds in every conversation i have had, i would be the most quick witted person ever. But that is not how those 5 seconds work. So I stare at my screen like a dim-witted retard.

Nothing happens.

Now it clicks. Brain starts to connect logically the events that have taken place in last 5 seconds.

I pressed confirm. Transaction was made. Money was debited. The TICKETS should have been booked. Simple silly.

Another 5 sec lag.

Tickets should have been booked. But that doesn’t look like the ticket page.

Then what is it?

It says TRANSACTION FAILED, TRY AGAIN.

Brain is clueless. But knows it’s duty. It has to come with the answer. What next is the question.

Neurons are running helter-skelter. Right brain left brain. Every freaking corner.

This is called panic. Not a very profound situation to panic but 4745 is decent sum of hard earned money, which looks like, have been gobbled up by the nexus of Makemytrip and HDFC bank.

Brain as useless as it might be is a clever organ. It knows how to save it’s arse without delivering. RELAX it says. Calm down. Things are totally under control. Whose control??? I ask nervously. That is not important, Brain replies. This gives those neurons time to make up some response. Go to the website and look for the customer care option. I do like an obedient child. Dial the number and you will get your money back. Everything is under control. I take a sigh of relief. If not for my brilliant brain i would have been a dead man.

I dial. Computer lady replies, “Welcome to Makemytrip. We make memories unlimited”. Do not trust any lady who says this. Even if she’s a computer. I wait impatiently. She continues,” dial 1 for ...dial 3..dial 123 for.....”. I look clueless-ly at my brain. I get an out-of-office reply. I’ll have to do it myself. I dial 3. Computer lady, “dial -56 for...dial -55 for....dial 103 for..”. In a desperate attempt to save myself from the embarrassment of my inability to decipher large chunk of numbers, I disconnect. I need time to regroup. I must be more prepared. I look at my brain again. It winks and shows a thumbs up. I dial again. Computer lady, “dial 1 for...dial 2 for....”. I follow intently. I dial every freaking number she tells me to with the hope that finally she will say dial 1 to talk to our customer care executive. After 5 mins and dialling all the even, odd, prime, rational, irrational numbers, I look at my phone screen. It reads f#78% u b$%322$%!.

I give up. Welcome to Makemytrip and we will take you for a ride. After all we make memories unlimited.

Funeral Rite

i turn back n i see no shadow,

no foot prints on the sand,

no drop of blood,

not red not black,

cul-de-sac.

i gaze..

further...

there's no trace,

there are no memories,

images are black,

no words no verse,

not even a curse.

i look for the witness,

there's none,

but one

my own reflection.

screaming of non existence

of existence,

of waiting for Godot,

of turning into wife of Lot,

stinking rot.

i run

from the reflection

into the sun

of oblivion,

i shall burn

into ashes

and there will be no phoenix rise,

'coz ashes have drowned

into the river of life,

of absolute might,

And that my friend is the funeral rite.

Anna and the underwear of Hope

I was not to be stopped. You can be cynical and sit back and do nothing or you can do your bit, not much just a bit but your bit, I roared with rare conviction. That’s the beauty of this nation, the enormity of its size, your bit multiplied by a billion and you have a tsunami to wash away all evil, call it population dividend or whatever. Mix Mathematics, Economics, Philosophy with a little rhetoric and you have an argument which cannot be defeated. Add a pinch of self righteous morality and you have created a monster argument which will plunder innocuous rational thought. But it wasn’t about winning the argument, it never is with me. I really believed in everything he was doing and everything he was saying. Anna Hazare it felt was doing it for me. Corruption was manifestation of everything I abhorred and detested. Unfairness, Greed, Shallow Ambitions, Selfishness. And no matter what the cynics said, I was going to make my contribution. I was going to sacrifice my otherwise very meticulously planned Saturday and offer my fast. Glory was just a night away. Not the glorious glory but the tiny personal glory. Kind of glory you can bask in for a week. The kind you can use all your life to teach your kids important lessons of almost anything in life- integrity, honesty, brushing, washing, morals, higher morals and even maths. The kind which will distinguish you from the corrupt father of the ugly neighbourhood kid. The kind which lets you say things like....

I almost went to jail in the fight against corruption and you are 2 and can’t even talk! I fought against the government and you can’t even by heart the table of 27! Me and Anna we did Satyagrah for you and you want to graduate in commerce, you son of a b#$%^!

Flying on high moral jet, I logged onto my Facebook account to see how my comrades were spreading the fire in the virtual world. We did it in Egypt, we will do it in India!!

Holy Shit!!, Cry of anguish. What happened?, Asked my friend who am sure was bleeding in self pity from my just concluded assault of interdisciplinary moralistic missile. Lemme refresh, I wanted to double check. This was the moment of disbelief. Of broken promises. Of shattered dreams. The kind musicians earn their bread and drugs from. All heavens came falling down. Government has agreed to all the demands. Movement has been withdrawn, I said poignantly. That’s great news, ohh but you were going to dharna tomorrow? Said my friend incredulously or so he pretended. These are the moments when all you are wearing is underwear of hope and somebody pulls it off. It’s there and then it’s gone and you are naked. And you have a friend to tell you, dude i think you are naked. Don’t give me the damn mirror you bas#$% give me hope!!

There wasn’t going to be a dharna, no fast for me. Mortality it felt was in love with me. Government I declared in anguish was not just corrupt but also spineless. How can they let a septuagenarian hold the country to ransom? They could have waited for a day at least, he wasn’t going to die!!What will I say now? The battle got over and I was shining my armour? Reason and hope are twin sisters. They both leave you together. Distraught I crashed onto my pillow. With stoned eyes I kept gazing the ceiling. Well it wasn’t about the corruption or revolution or Anna. It’s that thing they call happiness.

One more night to kill. One more day to live. Who am I? Body without a soul or soul without a body?