For once am at home for legitimate reasons, a public holiday called Bakri Id!
But I feel guilty. My immediate senior has to run around attending conferences with various clients today. She was hoping to be able to stay out of office today especially after we'd worked so hard last Sunday and of course, the following Monday was just crazy!! Filing a writ petition for a paranoid and finicky client is never easy, they want you to change submissions, evidence, people signing Affidavits all the time without completely understanding their legal implications. They can't keep a cool head. Appeasing them, hell, putting up with them is a huge art one learns in this profession.
It beats me how I managed to wriggle out last night of that awkward and frustrating situation when your boss asks you whether you'd be cool with attending office or conferences on a holiday, you try your best to produce a 'yes' poker faced, yet inside you're screaming out 'NOooooo!'
I kept mum when my senior stormed into office late last evening, picked up a bundle of papers and hurried out saying she wouldn't have a day off today cause she has coferences to attend, I could've offered to help out. I didnt. I didnt say a thing. I wanted to eliminate displaying even the slightest bit of intention, reluctant though, to attend those client conferences.

Should I switch off my cell phone right away and forget about things, try my hardest to enjoy this rare treat and risk snide remarks from my seniors tomorrow at work? Or do I keep it switched on, have my formal clothing and laptop on standby, just in case and not go out anywhere cause I may be called to work any minute?

Either ways, my holiday is ruined!

This morning while washing my hands vigorously with liquid soap in the office toilet I realised I'd been indulging in that practice way too many times over the last few days! True, my hands kept getting extremely dusty from digging into those disgusting old book-shelves, hunting out bundles of prehistoric case-briefs, office copies and gathering evidence pretty much the whole of this week yet why do I still feel the need to get cleaned up all the time ,even when I am not in the archives-floor?
Am I taking a quirk too seriously? Or is it that I am gradually getting an obsessive disorder? I sincerely wish it's the former though.

I am sure this could be linked to my rocketing temper and that slight paranoia of late. I always felt I needed some sort of therapy, but never knew for what exactly. For starters though, I am quitting coffee!

I am an angry citizen tonight, I am livid.

Don’t get me wrong though, I am not exactly mad because Mumbai has been treated as a sitting duck yet again, I am not mad because this is not the first time that the nation’s financial capital has taken a blow owing of it’s much debated, yet remarkably bad coastal security, I am not mad because this time the buggers showed up in boats formerly belonging to Indian fishermen, I am not mad because the buccaneers ran across streets free and unrestricted, emptying magazine after magazine of bullets on innocent, unsuspecting people, most of whom were foreign tourists, I am definitely not mad at the concerned (yet I very much doubt it) Home Minister and I most definitely am not angry at all with the Centre as it is supremely illogical expecting any strong action from such a wimp of a Ministry, that immediately after it’s inception had POTA repealed calling it a ‘Draconian legislation’. Clearly, none of them did a complete job, none of them leafed through the TADA.

What has gotten my blood simmering is but the shattering slap on the face, the pain of which, at this point, I seem to be feeling personally. It is the thought of the destroyed families of the likes of late Inspector Hemant Karkare, Encounter legend, Vijay Salaskar, Additional Police Commissioner, Ashok Kamte and Major Unnikrishnan, probably the only class of individuals in the country who know and appreciate fully the method of dealing with such predicaments, it is the realisation that in reality, the Indian Intelligence is nothing but a joke, it is the idea that the ISI chief is going to be ‘invited’ to India to take evidence and is probably not going to be sent back to Pakistan in a body bag with a bullet in his skull, is exactly what gets me seething.

I am angry because yet again will such insult have to be borne timidly by not only the physically and emotionally bruised Mumbai-kars but the entire nation. And we shall stay quiet once again. We shall ‘exchange intelligence’ with Islamabad and not invade it, we shall ‘hold talks’ and ‘act tough’ with Bangladesh and not bomb it’s terrorist infrastructure to bits, we shall keep letting settlers in without issuing them ID cards and I am angry as we shall again believe the Politicians next time they lie that the nation is in safe hands. This slumber, this docility is suffocating.

I quite agree with adman Mr. Alyque Padamsee's assertion that an undertaking should be sought from the ruling party stating that if such a security breach were to take place once again they’d allow themselves to be thrown out. Also the question by him, that after the attacks on November 26th why were there no resignation letters from the Intelligence fraternity is highly relevant!

Another such attack and it could have very serious consequences on the nation’s political and economic establishment and at this juncture that’s the last thing we can afford. The masses would pour out into the streets and go on a destructive rampage, countless offices would be destroyed, people killed; there would be processions and a likely communal explosion resulting in massacres and finally, a Gujarat like situation.
Where were Mumbai’s big-mouthed Saffron comedians and their poodles when the Taj burnt? Where were their gallant men when Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus came under attack? I wouldn’t hesitate to go to the extent of saying that the Hotel Staff at Taj and Café Leopold proved to be the actual lion-hearts when things came to saving lives and delving into action in the face of danger.


We have just about had enough with people deliberating on and on about legislations, enough of the Politicians hog washing us the minute they get an opportunity, enough of this lollipop-ministry and enough of shuddering about Geo-political consequences. If I may be allowed to say so we need a change in the Government and someone like Mr Modi taking care of business at the Centre. We need a strong Internal Security Cell with trusted people from the forces running it and having links with the Centre only. We need a very strong Anti-Corruption Legislation and there under an active Anti Corruption Department, again, comprising of persons appointed by the President after consulting the Chief Justice; and finally, POTA needs to be resurrected.
Defences need to be built along the Western coastline with the Indian Navy keeping a closer watch. Police reforms need to be introduced and better training, gear and weapons should be provided to the Police force.
Citizens must play a major role in co-operating with the authorities in their efforts to curb terrorism by doing whatever it takes to assist them and abiding by the law.
Finally, we need to quit going easy on our insidiously hypocritical Western neighbour who's literally been asking to be bombed back to the stone age for decades.
Its time we either put those Sukhois and T-90s to use or donate them to Sri Lanka where they’ll be put to much better use.

So, I lost my courtroom virginity early today morning and quite surprisingly my head still remains!

So, I lose my courtroom-virginity tomorrow!

For the kinky, I am not even distantly contemplating an escapade anywhere inside a courtroom. I make my first submissions in court tomorrow before the judge...

This one, I am told, likes to 'chew the heads off' first-timers!

I foresee considerable hardship, a whole lot of humiliation and possible headlessness......

Writing about how weird my dreams can usually get could make a novelist out of me, it would also most definitely render me unemployed, therefore I shall spare myself the privilege and you that trip through the concentration camp and talk about a particularly nasty one I saw last night.
Last night I dreamt of taking my own mother to court for snoring too loudly.

We settled out of court!

My life is precisely balanced and therefore sometimes a little frustrating, but its the surgical precision of things that amazes me the most. Good and bad, happy and sad, luck and the lack of it are all rationed and perfectly measured. For instance, if a day at office goes off pretty well it’s highly possible that I might get into trouble the next day, if I enjoy a lot on a certain weekend either the next one or the one after that is bound to be rotten and if it so happens that I get lucky on an occasion or two there’ll definitely come a time when things will get terribly messy because of sheer want of luck. There’s more….

But, to a large extent this balance seems to be skewed in a lot of areas, for instance, I have enjoyed a pretty much non-existent love life throughout my post pubescent years so would that mean I’d be surrounded by women for the rest of my life?

Does it also mean that in the years to come I'll take a keen liking for bubble-gum pop?

Last weeks been terribly hectic at work and I dozed off during a conference at a client’s office last night. Any good times ahead, lady luck?

Tomorrows not going to be any different, dad has already left for a long tour, mom has work and I’ll probably be getting back from work after 9.00 pm.

Another frightfully lonely and depressing Birthday evening to be dealt with…

Any surprises why I dislike my birthdays so much...? Maybe they just dont make any diference anymore, maybe they shouldn't and if its all a part of growing up, at 24 I'd better be growing the fuck up!

How would you deal with a situation where, all along you knew you were the hero of the story, the story that your life is, when all of a sudden you realise you are and actually were, all along, just a silly sidekick..?

Its a perfectly beautiful Sunday evening and I am in office, tearing my hair trying to figure out if Sections 581 ZM(1), 581ZM(2), 581ZM(B***c!!) and a horde of other mumbo-jumbo belonging to the Company's Act are of any use to a company (our client) without a Managing Director!!!



GO GET A MANAGING DIRECTOR YOU IGNORAMUSES!

A writer’s block can at times be the single worst thing to happen to some people, although fortunately it seldom stays too long it most effectively brings about a frustration that far surpasses even the most intense of despairs.

Nothing feels worse when settled down in front of the computer, your attempt to excavate those buried inspirations, little anecdotes, incidents or ideas that you had set aside thinking you’d write about them later because you had work to do, office to go to, other worries to engage your mind with; just wont work and those ideas wont flow when you need them or you don’t like the language you use while writing or for that matter, your thoughts feel like as if they’ve been stuck in some sort of a brain-strainer that lets out the choicest of bullshit restraining the good stuff. Have you ever felt this way? I have. I still do and I hate it.

However, the issue with my blocks are quite different, in the sense; they are unusually prolonged, like a sickness. Every now and then an inspiration used to come flittering around my nose like Gandalf’s little butterfly and I used to try and grab it, if I missed, the idea was lost forever. But of late I seem to be suffering from quite a powerful bout of the block as I feel blankness every time I feel the urge to write, such prolonged lack of inspiration threatens of a possibly permanent creative impotency.

So I found a way around the problem, writing about writer’s block itself. Just for the time being, hoping it would act as a much needed aphrodisiac for my mind and also in a way live up to the description of being a perfect blog-post. But the dilemma lingers, what next?

Where’s that butterfly?

Its 6 o'clock late in the evening and I am the only one in office watching my Saturday disappear slowly amidst the clouds, soon a depressing twilight will descend all over Old P.O. Street announcing the day's slow demise and I shall still be in office waiting for it to be 8 o’ clock.

6.30 pm; Noisy shutters can be heard closing down nearby and the sparrows outside in the trees seem to have notched up their frenzied cacophony by a few counts, a common phenomena I have often observed among these birds during such times of the day, strange, where do they get all that energy from?
It’s a rare pleasure to be able to sit back and watch through the blinds a quintessentially lazy, old-Calcutta evening roll by. I enjoyed myself watching tiny light bulbs flicker from little shops smattered all around the old street through the blur created by the thick smoke emanating from the clay stoves. Groups of fruit vendors and sellers of small wares chatted as they packed up for the day, the thick smoke descending over Old P.O. Street, the soft chatter, the sound of a perfectly rhythmic, distant temple bell, the smell of freshly fried samosas nearby and the gradually disappearing light, all added to the peculiarly picturesque setup of the place and I sat absorbing it all, feeding that rarer than rare romantic side of mine.

As I wait for it to be 8.00 pm at which time I am to start for Jodhpur Park to attend a meeting with a senior Barrister at his residence and my boss (who by the way conveniently left for home at 2.30 pm), a realisation gripped me. I realised that after all this while I actually sat there killing time! The familiarity of the feeling reminded me once again of how far I had drifted away in these four months, the thought that only four months back I was a student, rich on time made things worse. I had taken for granted something that I was so generously bestowed with and now the tables had turned.

The days of rolling around on moist grass on a hilltop looking up at the clouds, of going for long evening walks down never ending roads, of jamming with the guys, beer drunk or for that matter just sitting by the window on a breezy, cloudy October afternoon looking out at the green hilltops and clouds, are gone and time has become an indulgence I can ill afford.

Its 7.00 pm now, soon after I am done typing this I shall sit back, rest my arms and legs a little, sip hot tea, maybe get a few samosas fom the shop right opposite, I shall enjoy every minute of killing this 1 hour.

(Writing during office hours, or after, has become a terrible habit with me but it can't be helped, the work is such that a little bit of penning around here and there is necessary to keep me from dozing off and it's anyways better getting caught writing your blog than snoozing in office, correct?)

I am amazed at the way, courage sometimes tears out of the obstructive walls of pessimism and fear projecting the brightest rays of courage into our hearts, helping us row our way through the torried waters of life, adding the might of an extra arm to the oars. Call it hope, call it faith, call it what you may, pray, why does it only last for a day?

Fear, a sensation I have known for years is an old nemesis; a deep, rotting sense of fear boiling and gurgling deep beneath, splashing against the walls of my stomach and scorching my visceral organs insidiously, fear, that pair of green eyes, that twisted smile of destiny, the conspirator, rubbing its hands, images of which I quite inexplicably see before my eyes every time trepidation grips me, I have often felt it at work, destroying me systematically, breaking me down piece by piece, step by step, disintegrating me, crippling me. I’ve felt it swell up behind my ears, in my head, in my eyes, I’ve smelled it’s overpowering stench, I’ve felt it scream in my ears and buzz in my head rendering me drunken, dizzy and spent. Fear, like a grotesque lizard creeps down your spine, fear dements, it chokes, it sticks to one’s mind like stains of dry blood splattered against a wall, sickening and demobilizing, fear ruins, fear murders slowly...

So everytime I am afraid I go get a drink....