Wander Lust

         It was around 6:30 in the evening and I was moving swiftly towards the Metro station after a tiresome day at office. It was mine second day at Delhi, the National Capital and I was still calibrating myself to the tune of the mega polis. Funky metro trains, overcrowded roads, paan spewing rickshaw drivers, artificial looking girls in short skirts, chic shopping malls, beggars and a sea of people everywhere. All in all, a total contrast to mine Himalayan state . Here life seemed ten years ahead and twenty times faster. Hailing from such a silent state and having to live now in this city, I was in middle of a culture shock, right in my very own country. So, I was about to enter the metro station  when a voice  addressed me as ‘Babu ji’ from behind. He was  a middle aged man, most probably in his early forties, with uncombed hair, a uniformly thick moustache with a grey beard , a thin and a long face. He was wearing a c...

It was a pleasant summer morning at Dharamshala. I was coming back to my office from bus stand to my office in a bus, seated on the seat behind the front door. A girl was standing right next to me. She was around 5’ 4’’, in early twenties, wearing blue jeans and a white sleeveless top. She had a very beautiful face, with untied hair falling over her shoulders. Needles to say, like any normal guy, I was regularly peeping on her every now and then. She was attractive and I was doing my best to impress her. For a second, I even contemplated giving her my seat, just to break ice but then thought it to be a bit being too bold on my part. So I held my self back, trying to figure out a better idea. Five minutes had passed since the bus started and I was completely in love with her. I had thought of marrying her and living happily ever after….yeah, men can be insane sometimes. Soon the conductor came, I paid my fair, she did too, probably a college student or a lecturer there, as she asked ...

Sir wants all of new joiners to write something in 1000 words by evening, our Manager told us. Sir, you mean we have to write a story, Ishan, a lean 22 year old guy asked. Can be anything, story or anything you feel at home writing about, Sir replied. Okay!! Now why do they want the Zuckerburg to write stories? Praveen, turning his chair towards me asked. No idea mate, I replied smilingly. It sucks man, I’m a programmer, gimme some fuckin’ programs to code, that’s what I’m good at, not writing some crappy stories, he said throwing his hands on table. Maybe they wanna see how creative we are, how artistic we are or how beautiful we can think? , Gaurav another new recruit, who was sitting to the other side of me said, He was thinly built, with short curly hair, wore specs , IAS aspirant with always a billion questions with him. Dude, its govt sector, nobody gives a fuck how beautiful you think. The only art that matters here is to create ways to shirk work, Praveen ...

May 2011, Chandigarh. I had left my earlier company of four years and was searching for a new one with full vigour. Every morning, I would get up, dress up in my formals and used to visit those petty job consultants and other companies for interviews with sun blazing overhead. Every passing day took a bit of me with itself. Summing up, a pretty frustrating time. Life seemed to be at its lowest ebb, but still, hopes of getting through those times and prospects of happy days ahead livened me every morning and with every failure in the evening, I would console myself by saying “things always get worse before they get better” Its times like these when we know about our true self, when we start appreciating life, when we start acknowledging the happiness we get from living every moment of our lives. For most of the time, we are alone, thinking about our mistakes in past, watching others excel in their worlds, in other words a perfect front row seat in a game called “life”. Outside, on my...

What's the time? taya ji (my uncle) asked me, giving me the cup of tea he had just brought for me from the shop. Its 10.15 pm, i said. that bus is half an hour late, will be here by 11 pm...taya ji said. how come? dunno...your dad just called me. Me and taya ji were at bus stand to receive my parents, who were coming from Shimla that night. It was the month of December and gods had just wrapped a fresh layer of snow around mighty Dhauladhars that day,submerging whole valley under cold waves with mercury shrunk around freezing point. Cold waves seemed to have sucked the life out of the valley.Bus stand was also in a lifeless state with very few souls present there. So, idea of spending 45 more minutes in such weather saddened me.I tried to concentrate on my tea. It was Kangra tea and its splendid aroma always kept my senses in check during the harsh winters in our valley. I was fully under my pashmina shawl from head to toe. "Excuse me, is the bus for Jammu here yet?...

It was a typical May afternoon at Dharamsala that day, a bit hot with mercury in early thirties. Except for the noise of buses and their shouting conductors at bus stand, everything else seemed to be setting its equation right with the nature. Behind stood the mighty Dhauladhars, with their snow capped peaks towering over the beautiful valley of kangra. The valley, with dhauladhars as its vigilante, was calm as ever, brimming with life.This valley is known all over the world for its pleasant weather, scenic beauty, youthful rivulets, amazing painters, pristine temples, tea gardens, authentic chinese food, fresh weed and Dalai Lama. When sun bakes up the plains in summers, valley is full with all kinds of tourists from everywhere. So, i was sitting at HRTC's canteen at Dharamsala bus stand, having lunch with ronnie. We're going to Chandigarh, 150 miles away, where both of us worked and boy, going away from home from such a beautiful place, it sucked big time. I often wondered w...