Archive for the Uncategorized Category

Unnecessary Relationships are Garbage

Posted in Uncategorized on March 5, 2015 by Shry

This has been on my mind for quite a while but the rigours of life obstructed me from penning my thoughts down. A chance phone call from some people saat samundar paar brought out the apathy I feel to the fore. I realize this is a rather radical thought-process and most people would find it uncomfortable and perhaps even offensive. BUT I find it tough to keep up with people and relationships I don’t genuinely care about. And while I am not outrightly anti-social, I am reserved. I see zero sense in keeping up pretences. I think I lack the stamina. I refuse to be bound by socially set and accepted notions of love, loyalty, fidelity, and rather ironically, Family. I wonder whether blood can be the sole link between people. Whether blood alone is somehow a parameter of anything at all. I don’t believe in this for a second anymore.

Some of my closest and most-fulfilling relationships are with people I am not linked to by blood or birth. We had been strangers wandering across the canvas of life till the days our paths crossed and souls entwined. And that’s that. They make life magical, which is not something I can say about the relationships I am expected¬†to pay obeisance to simply by virtue of being born in a particular set or belonging to a particular group.

2015. No dearth of means that can be used to stay in touch practically around the clock. And if inspite of that you find yourself losing touch with some people, it is a testament to a shift in priorities. It is not about not having the time, having a busy job, a family to take care of, deadlines to meet blah blah blah. It is simple. You have fallen through the cracks, and are no longer in someone’s immediate orbit of consciousness and existence. It is not worth the effort to drop a random ‘hi’ through the phone or in that revered fb inbox. Accept it. Move on. But PLEASE DON’T keep up the charade of being related/friendly, because that’s a highly explosive irritant. Except trails of paper and sadly blood, there is really nothing that shows or proves a connect, and let’s make peace with it. From relatives to acquaintances, friends to foes, lovers to strangers…some relationships come with an expiry date irrespective of our likes and dislikes. And when you try to milk something that’s past its date, it becomes TOXIC. It breeds unhappiness, dissatisfaction, frustration, perhaps even madness. Let’s stop pretending that any one of us is morally bound to keep the show running. Because we aren’t. Fuck morals.

This rant has a few fundamental truths behind it. One, I do not preach what I cannot practice. Yes I have people in my life with whom I do not interact 24×7, but when it matters, I am either there, or I have a damn valid reason to not be. Rare. Because I am generally there when I am needed. Been told, FYI. Second, inspite of belonging to a field where communication is always going to be on and off, I make efforts to stay in touch with those I care about. Because for some people, no excuses work. When all else fails, I will happily write a letter just to tell them they mean the world to me.

And last, dont let the ‘I’s above fool you. This is my rant, but I know where my loyalties lie because by nature, I am loyal. Intensely. Fiercely. Fuck-the-world-ly. If you have me in your corner, rest assured I will be there even when no one is. And this is the only reason why I expect the same in return. I am not asking you to chain yourself to me. Because if chaining is how you see it as, I would rather be alone in any damn corner.

At my eloquent best- Fuck it.


Rgnul Speaks’ Interview with Shreya Sood.

Posted in Uncategorized on March 9, 2014 by Shry

Rgnul Speaks’ Interview with Shreya Sood..

30 Greatest Quotes About Women

Posted in Uncategorized on October 29, 2013 by Shry

Aaaahhh well said! ūüėČ

Thought Catalog

There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature. Henry Miller
Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. Joseph Conrad
I want to do it because I want to do it. Women must try to do things as men have tried. When they fail, their failure must be but a challenge to others. Amelia Earhart
Women kill me. They really do. I don‚Äôt mean I‚Äôm oversexed or anything like that ‚ÄĒ although I am quite sexy. I just like them, I mean. They‚Äôre always leaving their goddam bags out in the middle of the aisle. J.D. Salinger
And yet women ‚ÄĒ good women ‚ÄĒ frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Charles Bukowski
As usual, there…

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Posted in Uncategorized on May 23, 2013 by Shry

Staying in a PG in a mammoth city like Delhi might not always be an easy task. After warring with my family that no, i would not stay at home but in a PG, because commuting to work would be easier and it was a new experience and etc etc etc, I finally had my way. PGs were hunted for and a suitable one was found. The exorbitant rate did not include food, but that didnt pinch me as such since i was anyways not gonna be around for all the three meals. Same went for the other three ladies with whom i was sharing the flat. Really, there werent any hassles. Sometimes we would cook on our own, sometimes we would order some fancy food, other times make use of a tiffin service, or else just rely on good ol’ maggi! ūüėÄ

This is how it continued and there was nothing too blog-worthy about it at all. But theres one minor incident that stands out in my mind. About food, ofcourse! One night, we had ordered khana from a nearby tiffin service. We placed the order, sorted out the math over the bill, gave our address and patiently ignored the growling monsters in our tummies, which had been energized by a super long day at work. The food was to be delivered by 2030 hours. We waited, and waited a lil more. And then some more. An initial phone call to the tiffin carrier revealed that he was on his way. However, as the intensity of our hunger pangs increased, so did the effort to track down the exact location of the tiffin carrier who was literally carrying four innocent lives in the tiffin boxes, down to the longitudinal degree and grid reference. BUt well, now our calls were going unattended. Even the most patient soul amongst us was getting pissed, to say nothing about the author who has an overactive volcano for a temper. Finally, at 2200 hours, the bell rang! All of us froze. Really. My friend opened the door and announced that the dinner had arrived. FINALLY! Upon hearing this, i immediately marched towards the door, fully armed to¬†annihilate¬†the imbecile at the door who had nearly caused us to die out of sheer hunger. I edged my friend out of the frame and opened my mouth to yell down whoever was at the other side. The Enemy. But…all i finally managed to do was gape at him, silently, with my mouth hanging open and then closing like a fish. Standing before me was a short, slightly stooped, kindly looking old man. He gave me a tired smile as he waited for my friends behind me to empty the tiffins and return them. I looked at him for a moment and then went to join my friends. No words were spoken, but all of us were thinking along the same lines. We quietly emptied the containers, fetched the money and not surprisingly, paid a lil more than the bill, feeling that it was grossly inadequate. The old man accepted the money gratefully and gave me that heart-wrenching smile again. Haltingly, he told us that the lady for whom he delivers the food had given him the wrong address and he had been running around the area looking for our house, constantly being yelled at by people whose doors he knocked, irked by a carrier whose food they hadnt ordered. I was the one handing him the money, overcome by a strange sensation to run and lock myself in my room. It was obvious for me to react in this manner since i lost my grand dad last september whom i loved dearly, and the vacuum can never be filled. So an old gentleman invariably reminds me of him.

So well, this was an unexpectedly emotional ending to a normal meal… Strange are the ways of God.


I feel sorry for Ms. Sherawat!

Posted in Uncategorized on May 23, 2013 by Shry


Well, yes! I just can’t help it. I am no fan of hers, but I feel sorry for the poor lady who is ¬†being ripped apart post her Cannes performance. Be it her clothes, her accessories, her hair ¬†or the person’s arm on which she draped herself, everything is under fire! It wont be wrong ¬†to ask whether you remember the last hit delivered by her. But man, cut her some slack!

I remember reading¬†somewhere¬†about her trip to Hong Kong and how she constantly ¬† ¬† ¬†tweeted about what she saw and what she bought. This action was called as being tacky and ¬†that ‘money cannot buy class’. I was just wondering whether sharing about your experiences ¬†gets you labelled tacky, or are these parameters just for celebrities and mere mortals like ¬†this author can get away with simple joys of life?

Yeah she ain’t a fab actress. She’s not won some swanky beauty pageant. One might ¬†remember her more for her err…curvaceous assets than acting skills but if she’s really ¬†so¬†unbollywood-ish, then why write about her at all? LET HER BE!

If she doesn’t have what it takes to consolidate her position in B-town, for whatever reason, ¬†then let her at least fade away with dignity!


Posted in Uncategorized on May 23, 2013 by Shry

By virtue of studying in another town, I don’t get to be home all the time. Sometimes I come over for the weekends if my college schedule permits, else I need to wait for a proper break. These days I am home because my exams are on and there’s a gap after each exam, and I go about my¬†daily¬†routines without much variation. That is, till it’s time for lunch. Because on certain days, sitting at the dining table meant for 6 and eating alone reminds me of another time. The fact that I eat alone does not bother me at all simply because I love being on my own. However, the ‘other time’ I referred to is one that drowns me in waves of grief and guilt. And this is because this ‘other time’ reminds me of my Grandfather, whom I lost last¬†September.

My grandfather and I used to get along fabulously well. I always thought of him as an amazing man, who in spite of belonging to another time altogether, had such a liberal and intelligent outlook on life! We would often have our little arguments and I would annoy him like hell, but that never stopped him from pampering me and spoiling me to the hilt. As I grew older and became an adolescent, I began moving away from him. I was too caught up in my own new world and people and things who had been there throughout began taking a backseat. Fortunately, as I approached the end of this period, I began to realize that this was wrong! But sadly, this realization came a little too late. By this time, I was addicted to technology and living in my own thoughts, far removed from everyone and everything around me. My phone and laptop were all I needed and I was content. Living in the hostel suited me perfectly since I was away from all domestic obligations of all natures. There was nobody to tell me what I should do or that it was time to cut down the conversation on the phone or switch my laptop off. I was enjoying my freedom. Invariably, this would come in conflict with my routine whenever I went home. BUT, now when I look back, I don’t remember much. I have a bad memory and I tend to forget things, even if they are important. But what I do remember, kills me. I remember the times when I would be called for dinner and I would get late because I was too busy on the phone or doing something on the net. The dinner would get cold, people would tire of calling me and well, that’s that. But there was one person who never tired of asking me to join him for a meal, and that was my grandfather. My family is well, lets say, a multi directional family i.e. everyone is running in different direction. Chasing what? I don’t know! So I would get that dinner call and my maid would tell me that my grandfather was waiting, but usually I would forget and make it to the dining table an hour later, where the food still remained but the person had long gone. Sometimes he would come to my room to ask me to join him for dinner. Sometimes I would saunter out and get a jolt when i’d see him eating his meal all alone. I felt guilty, and so I justified my horrendous behaviour by telling myself that I couldn’t eat so early. Well, then why didn’t I simply sit with him and talk as he ate? It would hardly have taken 10 minutes! But no, I messed up everything. Later however, I did start having dinner with him whenever I was home. If not that, the evening tea was definitely with him. And I was surprised by how joyous these little incidents were!! He would share his experiences and wisdom with me, and ask me about my life and college. He would tell me that I must travel if I really wanted to live life and not merely exist, and would playfully ask me about the guys in my college and whether I had a ‘special friend’. both of us would have a hearty laugh at this ūüôā Ironically, I cant IMAGINE having a conversation like this with my father, though with my father’s father, this was just natural!

But today, as I had my lonely lunch, I couldn’t help but think what I¬†have lost out on. Five minutes of my company made my grandfather’s day but¬†I was too¬†busy¬†selfish to give him even that. What I write or say doesn’t matter anymore, because he isn’t there. I cant make it up to him. Thanks to my fantastic memory, I don’t remember the last conversation I had with him. My last memory of him is that of rushing from college to the hospital where he was in the ICU, and swallowing that lump in my throat as I looked at his ashen face, the day old stubble and those horribly intruding tubes running in and out of his body. I stroked his hand, tried speaking to him…I hope he heard me. Because that was the last time I ever spoke to him. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I never got to say goodbye. And perhaps this is why the smallest of memories related to him bring that sense of loss crashing back. Unfortunately, I am not a very emotional person. That is to say, I cant express a lot of things and thanks to this, I have often missed out on all those little moments that give colour to the canvas of life. Therefore, it takes deep and strong emotions to make me understand. In this case, they happen to be grief and guilt. Grief that Baba isn’t there anymore and that i wasn’t with him in his last days…he was 89 and looked 65…people never really believed that he was completing 9 decades on the planet! There was no illness, no health issue. But I guess Gawd just wanted one of his finest men back…. And guilt because even when he was there, I didn’t exactly contribute much to his happiness.

How lonely he must have felt,¬†spending¬†day after day fighting¬†loneliness, going for his walks alone, eating alone….just being on his own with only a television for company, and sometimes other members of the household if they had the time. Here, i need to give full credit to my younger brother who in his own little way brought a smile to our Grandfather’s face with his antics. A better person than I’l ever be.

But Baba, wherever you are, I know you are having a blast ūüėČ I just wish you were still here so that I could alter the course of certain moments and fill then with joy and happiness….for you.

Worth a read…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 23, 2013 by Shry

Most of us have certain goals and ambitions in our lives. I do too. Related or unrelated to these are our personal preferences, likes and dislikes, opinions, principles, etc etc. Now in my case, one field that interests me greatly, and which i consider as my goal, is Defense. Hence, it’s really no surprise that I should start my blog with a post dedicated to the Indian soldier.¬†I have been a fan of the Indian Armed Forces since I was a li’l kid, and inspite of all the Adarshs and Sukhnas and Lals and all, I still admire the Indian soldier. Kargil War Memorial, Drass Unfortunately, the actions of a few often stain an entire organization, but then such is the social psyche. One cant shut his or her eyes to brutal facts, after all.

Well, this post is dedicated to the Indian soldier who continues to fight the enemy, usually external but now internal too. How he keeps his head low and goes about his work, aware of what’s happening around him, but not a direct participant. Iv neither been a witness to the incident mentioned below, nor am I the narrator. Its something I read elsewhere and I think it’s a story people should know. The story has no chest-thumping patriotism, no grand claims, not even a debate! What touches the reader is the sheer simplicity with which it unfolds. Because Heroes don’t always make it to the silverscreen.

A conversation between a Soldier and Software Engineer in Shatabdi Train

Vivek Pradhan was not a happy man. Even the plush comfort of the air-conditioned compartment of the Shatabdhi express could not cool his frayed nerves. He was the Project Manager and still not entitled to air travel. It was not the prestige he sought; he had tried to reason with the admin person, it was the savings in time. As PM, he had so many things to do!!

He opened his case and took out the laptop, determined to put the time to some good use.

Are you from the software industry sir, the man beside him was staring appreciatively at the laptop. Vivek glanced briefly and mumbled in affirmation, handling the laptop now with exaggerated care and importance as if it were an expensive car.

You people have brought so much advancement to the country, Sir. Today everything is getting computerized. 

Thanks, smiled Vivek, turning around to give the man a look. He always found it difficult to resist appreciation. The man was young and stockily built like a sportsman. He looked simple and strangely out of place in that little lap of luxury like a small town boy in a prep school. He probably was a railway sportsman making the most of his free traveling pass.

You people always amaze me, the man continued, You sit in an office and write something on a computer and it does so many big things outside.

Vivek smiled deprecatingly. Naive ness demanded reasoning not anger. It is not as simple as that my friend. It is not just a question of writing a few lines. There is a lot of process that goes behind it.

For a moment, he was tempted to explain the entire Software Development Lifecycle but restrained himself to a single statement. It is complex, very complex.

It has to be. No wonder you people are so highly paid, came the reply.

This was not turning out as Vivek had thought. A hint of belligerence crept into his so far affable, persuasive tone. 

Everyone just sees the money. No one sees the amount of hard work we have to put in. Indians have such a narrow concept of hard work. Just because we sit in an air-conditioned office, does not mean our brows do not sweat. You exercise the muscle; we exercise the mind and believe me that is no less taxing.

He could see, he had the man where he wanted, and it was time to drive home the point.

Let me give you an example. Take this train. The entire railway reservation system is computerized. You can book a train ticket between any two stations from any of the hundreds of computerized booking centers across the country.

Thousands of transactions accessing a single database, at a time concurrently; data integrity, locking, data security. Do you understand the complexity in designing and coding such a system?

The man was awestruck; quite like a child at a planetarium. This was something big and beyond his imagination.

You design and code such things.

I used to, Vivek paused for effect, but now I am the Project Manager.

Oh! sighed the man, as if the storm had passed over,

So your life is easy now.

This was like the last straw for Vivek. He retorted, Oh come on, does life ever get easy as you go up the ladder. Responsibility only brings more work.

Design and coding! That is the easier part. Now I do not do it, but I am responsible for it and believe me, that is far more stressful. My job is to get the work done in time and with the highest quality.

To tell you about the pressures, there is the customer at one end, always changing his requirements, the user at the other, wanting something else, and your boss, always expecting you to have finished it yesterday.

Vivek paused in his diatribe, his belligerence fading with self-realization. What he had said, was not merely the outburst of a wronged man, it was the truth. And one need not get angry while defending the truth.

My friend,¬†he concluded triumphantly,¬†you don’t know what it is to be in the Line of Fire


The man sat back in his chair, his eyes closed as if in realization. When he spoke after sometime, it was with a calm certainty that surprised Vivek.

I know sir…. I know what it is to be in the Line of Fire…….

He was staring blankly, as if no passenger, no train existed, just a vast expanse of time.

There were 30 of us when we were ordered to capture Point 4875 in the cover of the night.

The enemy was firing from the top.

There was no knowing where the next bullet was going to come from and for whom.

In the morning when we finally hoisted the tricolour at the top only 4 of us were alive.

You are a…?

I am Subedar Sushant from the 13 J&K Rifles on duty at Peak 4875 in Kargil. They tell me I have completed my term and can opt for a soft assignment.

But, tell me sir, can one give up duty just because it makes life easier.

On the dawn of that capture, one of my colleagues lay injured in the snow, open to enemy fire while we were hiding behind a bunker.

It was my job to go and fetch that soldier to safety. But my captain sahib refused me permission and went ahead himself.

He said that the first pledge he had taken as a Gentleman Cadet was to put the safety and welfare of the nation foremost followed by the safety and welfare of the men he commanded… ….his own personal safety came last, always and every time.

He was killed as he shielded and brought that injured soldier into the bunker. Every morning thereafter, as we stood guard, I could see him taking all those bullets, which were actually meant for me. I know sir….I know, what it is to be in the Line of Fire.

Vivek looked at him in disbelief not sure of how to respond. Abruptly, he switched off the laptop.

It seemed trivial, even insulting to edit a Word document in the presence of a man for whom valor and duty was a daily part of life; valour and sense of duty which he had so far attributed only to epical heroes.

The train slowed down as it pulled into the station, and Subedar Sushant picked up his bags to alight.

It was nice meeting you sir.

Vivek fumbled with the handshake.

This hand… had climbed mountains, pressed the trigger, and hoisted the tricolour. Suddenly, as if by impulse, he stood up at attention and his right hand went up in an impromptu salute.

It was the least he felt he could do for the country.

PS:-¬†The incident he narrated during the capture of Peak 4875 is a true-life incident during the Kargil war. Capt. Vikram Batra sacrificed his life while trying to save one of the men he commanded, as victory was within sight. For this and various other acts of bravery, including the capture of Tiger Hill, he was awarded the Param Vir Chakra, the nation’s highest gallantry award.