The realm of Bollywood music

Be it a thriller, biopic, love story or a slapstick dramedy, a Bollywood movie is incomplete without its share of songs. No matter how irrelevant a song may be to the story of a movie, swaying to the beats of the song, while lip-syncing to it is central to any Hindi drama. So much so that even foreign imports like Nargis Fakhri and Jacqueline Fernandes have managed to survive in Bollywood for this long by simply mastering the 'thumkas', to strike a chord with their desi audience. Sadly for these ladies, the UP, Bihar market has already been captured by Shilpa Shetty.

From Lata Mangeshkar's 'Ae mere watan ke logon' to Honey Singh's 'Char bottle vodka', the meaning of love has come full circle. From using metaphors to describe a woman's grace and charm to outrightly describing her as a vice, Bollywood songs have always gained traction, be it for their mediocrity or their plain lyrical genius. To those that have never been exposed to Hindi film music, it wouldn't take more than a few hit Bollywood tracks to convince one that it is the songs that make the movie, and not the other way around. As I stand here, today, I can proudly attribute all my extended imagination and feminine impracticalities to all the Hindi film songs I grew up listening to. 'Chhaiya Chhaiya' from Dil Se seriously got me contemplating taking a top-of-the-train ride for the longest time, as a kid. 'Nimbooda' from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam was such a rage that, to this day, I bear the most expressive face every time the song plays. Kal Ho Na Ho's title track was everybody's favored nostalgia-inducing, sad song. The song was a saviour for every person who couldn't sing to save their lives. Ila Arun's voice in Choli Ke Piche Kya Hai always served as a good remedy to scare an ill-behaved child into discipline.

On the one hand where A.R. Rahman songs have been a treat to the ears, a chiffon saree and the alps have done little to break the Bollywood romance stereotype. Looking back, there doesn't seem to be one single auspicious occasion/festival that hasn't been acknowledged with a Bollywood song. If the upbeat and larger-than-life Bollywood songs are the life of every party, then Arijit Singh songs work like magic for the lovelorn hearts. The latest musical sensation that the Tum Hi Ho singer is, he has seen an entire generation let its emotions find a voice though his soulful tracks. Although I have never been a fan of old Hindi film songs, I never seem to get enough of how flowers remained a permanent fixture in songs that tried to potray physical intimacy between the hero and heroine of the movie. Well, it seems like the phrase 'the birds and the bees' found its origin in the old, magnificent Bollywood songs.

Many may thrash Bollywood songs, and brush them off as inferior; but, very few can deny the thrill of grooving to a Bollywood song. As much as Hindi movies are incomplete without their fair share of songs, every wedding, party, and festival lacks worth until the DJ plays at least a few Bollywood dance numbers that can hardly stop people from getting hungover. I have started compiling all the hit Bollywood songs of 2016, and realised that maybe we should get some international artists to sing for Bollywood movies. Or maybe, we can follow in the footsteps of Priyanka Chopra, and try and maybe get someone like Chris Martin to collaborate with Kailash Kher, to get some indie cred. If such a thing has to happen, then I can already see the international audience being left awestruck by Kailash Kher's vocal strength, while Chris Martin entertains the audience with the piano and contemplates being a judge on Indian Idol.

D stands for Dark

The trees were swaying back and forth in the cold of the night, while the gusty winds produced a sound of their own. The leaves of the banyan tree started falling, and soon covered the ground, like a carpet. A beige cat found its little kittens, and proceeded to look for a safe haven. The two barking dogs fighting across from the street, suddenly became quiet.The door of the distant lighthouse started to swing with the winds, making a sound so loud every time it closed, that it almost seemed like some invisible hand was trying to push it as hard as possible. The branches of one of the trees, in the way they were shaped, resembled a ghost. Or maybe, the Dopplëganger of a ghost. The small yellow bulb inside the lighthouse fused, and darkness invaded every corner of the landscape. The door which was swinging very hard with the winds, stopped moving, and fixed itself at a 45 degree angle. The storm, which refused to die down, had now joined forces with torrential rains. At the top of a tree, whose radius was covered with leaves, was a black, horned owl. The owl gave the impression of a spy. A ferocious looking and unforgiving spy, that would send all the alarm bells into a tizzy. The swaying of the trees, back and forth, could be easily mistaken for a demonic spirit, inching closer with every move, and trying to scar any being on its way, physically and emotionally.

Tossing and turning in the bed with disturbed facial expressions, and eyes shut as tightly as possible, loathing every bit of the way the nightmare unfolded, I decided to end my sleep. I exhaled, but not before I could grasp that what I had experienced was just a figment of my imagination. I spent the next 10-15 minutes in bed, trying to understand what had led to the disastrous dream. There are some nightmares that hardly ever leave a trail beyond the time they last, and then there are some others that continue shaking you up, long after they have transpired. As surreal as some good dreams are, a bad dream tends to lurk for much longer, in one's memories.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

As someone who has confronted fears and nightmares quite well, or at least pretended to do so, I was shocked to see my heart fill with trepidation and anxiety, when I recently watched a movie inspired from the real life story of a teenage girl's brutal murder. So much so, that I felt petrified while walking towards my room, after watching the murder mystery. Maybe, there are times when the connect with a particular thing becomes overwhelmingly strong, and thus, internalising a lot of aspects of which one is a mere spectator, some of which may not even seem real, becomes inevitable. And most of a layman's exposure to horror and dreadful experiences comes from movies. Much has been spoken about and debated, when it comes to the existence of paranormal activities and spirits. As curious and intrigued as I may be about mysterious episodes, I haven't quite been able to understand what it is that is scarier, the timing of the occurrence of the mysterious incident or the incident itself. What is it about the dark that makes the world of murders, horror, and mystery take shape. But, as is quite palpable, some questions only add to the mystery.      

After catching an afternoon show of Conjuring 2, I was more thankful for having chosen the right show timing than for being able to watch the much-talked-about movie on the first day of its release. But the one thing that remains sure is that it feels much safer to experience horror and mystery through someone else's eyes, knowing full well that there are others who are sharing in the experience of shutting their eyes every time a loud and scary sound hints at the arrival of the evil spirit on the 80 inch screen, jerking off their seats when the ghost finally arrives, and slightly leaning on a shoulder next to yours when you are scared as against visualising oneself falling prey to a ghost or blackout, and trying to hide when the ghost tries to follow him/her, until he/she finally wakes up with a thousand minor heart attacks. Also, I plan to watch Conjuring 1, which I have been told beats its second instalment with its fear quotient. This time, I think, I will be sending invites on social media platforms to find good company for the movie, which I plan to watch in the morning.

Autobiography of an abandoned goat

Please help me!

I'm an Asian goat who is currently on the run. I was bred in a farm in North India for milk. My mother gave birth to me and my two siblings in the same farm, which was owned by an elderly man and his sons. We were well-fed to ensure that we grew up healthy enough to fetch our master a good price for our quality milk. Unlike me and my sister, my brother was sold off to a butcher at four months of age, who would eventually slaughter him for his meat.

As new-born babies, when our farm owner didn't depend on us to serve any commercial purpose, I and my siblings enjoyed following our mother everywhere in the farm, grazing through the green pastures of land and indulging in some fun and frolic. I grew fond of my life in the farm, not realising that soon all of us would be separated. My mother was soon sent to another farm, after she was plagued with a rare disease that mired her ability to breed. She went out of favor with the elderly gentleman, who transported her to a farm where she would be reared for meat. My brother met with a similar fate after he outgrew the nursing phase. My sister and I bred once a year ever since we turned one year old, except that my sister died at three years old. She hadn’t been milked for four days in a row, a few months after she gave birth, causing internal congestion to take her life. I realised that as I kept getting older, the attention given to me kept reducing. I knew that I would soon be traded for younger goats, once I stopped giving enough milk. There would be days when I would cry for long hours in my shed, thinking about my family and how much I missed them. Sometimes I wish my flesh wasn't edible and tasty for a goat's meat. Now that I'm baring my heart out, let me also say that being an animal in a world selfishly dominated by humans is a bane.

The day I had been dreading arrived sooner than I imagined. My owner soon started to look at me as a liability, and saw my rearing as unproductive. Like most other goats, I started giving smaller quantities of milk as I grew older. My farm owner was looking to sell me off when he was approached by a local butcher who offered him an attractive price for purchasing me and a few other goats in the farm. Before I knew it, I was already on my way to face the dreaded sword. My owner, who I had thought of as a very kind soul as an infant, now became a demon in my eyes. His actions would only mean that the bond and attachment that I had forged with him through the years were also going to be sold. I desperately wanted my mother to come to my rescue. I felt cheated and vulnerable, and my eyes were filled with terror. I did not know what lay ahead of me. I could now come to think about all the poor animals who, in the past, had met with horrific fates. In no possible way could I get myself to think about many a young goat, whose lives would end in a fashion similar to mine. On my way to the butcher's shop, I tried to escape from the vehicle that squeezed 15 other goats along with me. Alas, the human on the road gestured to the driver of our vehicle about our escape, who in no time jumped to his feet to catch me by the horn! I was pulled inside the vehicle with bleeding horns.
I wasn’t done with my struggle yet.  I tried to escape for a second time when I was inside the shop.

On entering the shop, I  saw a tonne of goat meat lying in the garbage can. As it turns out, the demand for our meat varies on a daily basis. Hence, a lot of our meat goes to waste when stored in mass quantities. I was eighth in a line of sixteen goats that were meant to be butchered for their meat and skin. I could sense the fear building up in the eyes of all the goats. The butcher picked up a large sword that had dried blood stains and sprang into action. And, we were one down! Blood spewed over all our faces, taking our fear to its peak. Some of us indulged in loud cries, but even our loudest screams seemed to fall on deaf ears. Our cries got worse as the next three goats shut their eyes, one after another. The butcher, now, decided to attend to his customers, but not before chaining the rest of us inside a room. The room looked like a store-room for all the live animals that were brought in. The room had two exits, with the second exit leading to the main street. My brain started running helter-skelter, trying to find ways to break away from the confinement. I tried to pull myself away from the chain that held me close to a wall. While I was helplessly trying to loosen the grip of the chain, I heard something snap. Bravo, I had finally managed to set myself free! I decided to make a secret escape using the second exit. I pushed the rickety door hard and quickly made a non-fussy exit. I felt very sorry for the other goats that were left inside, and sincerely wished for their rescue. I, still, was not totally safe, but experiencing some freedom for the first time, while I was on my own, surely added enough value to a goat's life in this human-centric world. 

A day without internet

Wake up. Go to the loo. Plonk on the bed with the mobile phone. Multiple screams from mother go ignored. Check all the accounts across various social media platforms. The final call for breakfast arrives. Get up and brush the teeth. Eat the breakfast. Pick up a news daily. Check the phone before settling down to catch up with the latest news. The rest of the day passes with frequent breaks to check the phone. To be precise, the breaks are exclusively reserved for checking WhatsApp, Facebook, mails, and Instagram, among other things. Well, that's what my routine consists of, when the internet is working.

There are times when this routine is disrupted, although, not very often. They are the times when there lacks a secure internet connection. And those days seem like the worst of the nightmares. Recently, the WiFi connection in my house had lapsed for one entire day. Yes, you heard it right, one entire day. As someone who mostly relies on WiFi connections, a mobile data pack is rarely availed of. Contrary to the tone expressed in the previous sentences, the beginning of the day without internet was pleasant. Surprisingly, I did a lot of things that wouldn't have been possible to do, alongside the constant buzzing of the phone. For the first time in a long while, I looked around my messy room and realized that I had the last opportunity to save my room from looking like a godown that stocked all the trash one could possibly find in a room. Hey, I've never felt more productive than when I finished the herculean task of cleaning up my godown-like messy room! Constant struggles to fix the dormant internet connection were on, all through the while, without any success. There is a vast difference between voluntarily choosing to turn off the internet to avoid distraction and not having access to internet, and thus having to make do without it. It is at this point that I realise how I may be missing out on some important mails and messages, and I simultaneously start feeling disconnected from all the goings-on around me. And it is also these very moments that trigger a quest for occasional detachment. In the meanwhile, various books were browsed through. Also, I began scrolling down my contact list with the hope of talking to people I've not been in touch with. Voila, I manage to surprise a couple of contacts with the gesture!

Today, we live in an era where almost half of the world's population makes use of the internet on a daily basis. I wonder how the older generations saw people live a life without television, mobile phones, and refrigerators, let alone an internet connection. Late afternoon, I sat my grandmother down to know what life was like, in her heydays. I couldn't help but feel enchanted while my grandmother shared some anecdotes from her life and reminisced about how a big family always found enough ways to remain amused and entertained. My evening plans of watching a movie, online, were substituted with a visit to the Juhu beach. The beauty of the sunset, which I have heard of more than I have witnessed, was experienced in all its glory. The gentle ocean waves, cool zephyrs, and the sand castles seemed to quickly fill all the empty spaces in my life, and everything felt just perfect.

Something seemed amiss when I headed back home. As it turned out, I hadn't touched my phone in a long time. Just like how an empty house lacks value, my phone, on that particular day, seemed empty and worthless. I frantically made a few calls at my internet provider's office, just to know that I would have to wait until the next morning to get my internet connection fixed. Honestly, no problem or obstacle in my life has ever seemed as grave and severe as the one I was facing, when I was cut off from the digital world. I planned to buy a mobile data pack, the next morning. The plan didn't materialise as I woke up to an active WiFi connection, the next morning. It felt like the most pleasant start to the day. There is a saying that goes as 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' and in my case, this statement couldn't have meant more.

The high-octane life!

I found myself in a catch-22 situation when, despite assuming that my life had steadily changed over a period of time, I couldn't help but admit how life looks drastically different at various micro-levels, looking back. These micro-levels altered my life at a macro-level. Upon having a discussion with a friend who drew my attention to how, today, we all prefer living our lives in the fast lane, and many compromise on their future needs and requirements, just to be able to sustain a modern-day lifestyle. Can money buy comfort and luxury? Yes. Does a glorified social status improve one's standard of living? Yes, under pressure. Does money indulge? Certainly. But the real question here is, 'At what cost?' Money's indulgence seems short-lived and fails to seem legit when bigger hopes and wishes are compromised upon. As much as the argument of enjoying the allowances of a friendly environment and lifestyle seems appealing, there is also a thought spared for the output and longevity of our actions, for the greater good.

The atmosphere is competitive. Time is running out. There is a drastic upsurge in the activities and ideas that multiply rapidly. Making quick bucks has become a norm. And there is no looking back for spendings. Educational qualifications are at par. City life has gained totally different momentum. Material riches are shaping attitudes and personalities. Nuclear set-up of homes has catalyzed independent thinking. Has the change struck, now? But, in keeping with the daily requirements and demands of the life I lead, this qualifies as a very basic life, say many. In fact, my outings and parties with friends, my fitness and vanity enhancing regimens, and healthcare requirements haven't even found a mention in this ever expanding list, says one of the 21st century go-getters. Amidst all these doings, how and why should one ever find a reason to slower his/her pace of life and let a low-on-ostentation life take over, like before? Much to my dismay, I have lived my life according to a certain standard, without ever thinking if my life has been a product of the society's influence or if I have inadvertently been pressured to chug that path of life, which is both emotionally and financially exploiting. Although, today it seems like my life is torn over between what has been socially deemed acceptable and what I have grown up on.

Media has been the biggest game-changer when it comes to enlightening and overthrowing the old, familiar Indian lifestyle. Fashion senses have evolved, and how! Shopping season that would arrive once every year, mostly coinciding with a festival, no more requires an occasion to arrive. An organic generation gap seems too heavy to bear, and at times also seems like mental baggage. Family outings and get-togethers over dinner have been traded for potlucks, clubbing, and weekend getaways with friends and colleagues. I was growing up when this noteworthy transition took place, and for some reason, this transition victimized people before they could manage to come to terms with this speedy change.  Growing up with the basic necessities of life and occasional add-ons, gratitude has become second nature to me, for all that I had back then, but seems somewhat missing, today. A city like Mumbai may resemble a match-box when one considers the proximity and size of homes. But, the warmth and affection do not flow as easily as the wrath of the people, around. Sharing a bed, earlier, never required much of a thought. The same thing today, after a decade or two, seems like a major life decision. What can these changes be attributed to?

Today, there is no better feeling than that of being born at a time when the constant buzzing of a phone did not eat into my personal space. It feels good to revel in the old world charm of people being able to afford to be totally inaccessible, and access their deepest desires. Gratitude is also shown for the time when family talks/chats were prioritized over reel life family dramas. The art of sharing and saving up for later, and the greater joy of rejoicing the stored treasure of one's favorite cake have become the fondest memories. And also, the feeling of having witnessed a life where the people living together made a house, and not the other way round. I shall pride myself for being able to differentiate between a robotic and absolutely carefree and non-robotic life. And also for knowing what it is like reading a hard copy of a book before the kindle came in, what enjoying swings and see-saws in a park is like before video games took over. I know that a bed-time story will always hold more essence than falling asleep to Angry Birds on television. I know how a normal life existed before the high-octane life took over.

Air rides, flying syndrome, etc

Summer is right here. And when summer cruises through, travel plans decide to invade. So of course, it is destinations galore. Except, every time one has to clock long miles by air, the thought of long flights makes every other thought turn turtle. Or maybe it is the jet-lag which follows, that plays spoilsport and disrupts the excitement and immediate schedule of one's travel plans.

I'm someone who seizes every opportunity to cuddle and play with babies. Babies are soft and warm; and the cute species that they are, they also make for the best stress busters. As honest and factual as the previous statement happens to be, it is also an open-ended one. No guesses then, that baby passengers are a big no-no. My dislike for baby travelers can be attributed to a flight I was on, sometime back, when an infant had resolved to cause a mental riot on the aircraft; maybe so that he could draw everyone's attention to how his bassinet had no comfort, while the babies seated in the first class were having a gala time in their comfy and spacious bassinets. Also, I'm not sure if it's just me, but late night flights seem to be the most adventurous ones, when it comes to tracking one's actions and emotions. Every time I have boarded a late night/midnight flight, the importance of my bed in my life has increased substantially. The compact and if-you-recline-the-passenger-behind-gives-you-dirty-looks seats just add to the misery of every economy class traveler. As a kid, I always admired air travel. I don't know if I was lured by the goodies that a kid receives on flights or by the air of sophistication and the sense of everybody showing high levels of discipline or at least pretending to do so until the aircraft landed, when it began to look more like a Mumbai local. Window seats are great when one wants to remain oblivious to the on-flight happenings, until that extra glass of water makes you rush to the loo, inconveniencing everyone on your way out. Unlike the scenario on every train journey, on a flight, one is unknowingly expected to head straight to where the lavatory is, without making any animated gestures towards anybody on the way. Like anybody who has traveled by trains in large groups would know, there are always a few people from the group who love to jump compartments. These are the people who, when they want to use the toilet, leave their seats minutes in advance, just so that there is ample time to greet everyone on the way and have a cup or two of tea, if insisted upon.

My vote always goes to the helpless flight attendants who are at the receiving end of many a passenger's frustration and high-handedness and still have to smile like they are pleased to have them on board. It is both annoying and hilarious, in equal measure, to see some passengers ignore the flight crew, when they prepare to spring out of their respective seats before every landing. I seriously wish to know if these people really think that the flight is going to take-off without letting them exit. How I wish I could know the answer, someday! The other alternative to understanding the reason behind this oh-so-silly action is to get feedback forms filled by passengers, just to know if that is their way of retaliating for a terrible flying experience. Whatever the case, these are the same people who believe in halting the road traffic when they get into a minor accident with another vehicle.

I'm looking forward to a journey when every passenger will have a separate cabin, which will almost be akin to a private journey. The cabin should be inaccessible to any view or sound of babies throwing a fit, and fat aunties encroaching on the other person's seat through the arm rest, while using the reclining mechanism. Meanwhile, I hear that the real reason why Kingfisher Airlines got grounded was the free flowing booze, that left the passengers incapacitated. Guess, extreme sophistication brings its own perils.

The act of balancing the equilibrium

It is quite often that I find myself mulling over the ironies of life. And I dare not say that they are far and few between. I have reached a point where I enjoy looking at everything as a third person. Right perspective is often obtained when things are looked at without dragging oneself into the situation, which is also when things start veering from 'Me against the world' to 'This is what the ideal situation should have been like.'

You know irony exists when you see a person who finds it difficult to make a choice between a $2000 Versace bag and Swarovski diamond set, when there is someone on the streets who barely has any clothes for cover. Irony is right in your face when you witness nations warring in the name of religion, and simultaneously you see fundamentalists stressing on why a woman on her periods should not be allowed in the periphery of the idol of a God. Irony is palpable when a meritorious student commits suicide for losing his/her college seat to someone who gets in by giving a donation. The irony gets greater when a woman wearing a crop top is labelled 'untamed', whereas a woman who reveals her stomach and back in a saree is seen as being virtuous in the name of 'sanskaar'. Why is it that a beggar sleeping on the roadside seems much more content and peaceful than a successful entrepreneur, who pops pills to handle the stress of juggling a dozen ventures? Why are marriages often dreaded and made to be the target of jokes, when people that choose to remain single are subjected to strong judgements and snide remarks of the society? We live in a world where it takes a person's death to realize their importance and value in our lives. We have resorted to the medium of satire to understand and tackle the society in a better fashion, and on the other side we have politicians, like say an Arvind Kejriwal or a Rahul Gandhi, who have proved that they can go to any length to get votes, even if that means having to ridicule and shame themselves into furthering their ulterior motives. The hit on the head that secures the nail comes in the form of a certain section of the society frivolously upholding its religious tradition of protecting the cow by violating the human peace on the basis of a mere suspicion of someone having violated that tradition.

The line between being virtuous and ethical and accepting everything at face value and not questioning the existence of norms is blurred. Realizing the existence of that blurred line is mastering the art of balancing the equilibrium in a place where distortion exists in every respect of life. Ironies arise from the lack of practice of questioning why things exist a certain way. We simply view success as rising higher in the eyes of the world and hence, comes the pressure of keeping up the facade of being subservient to commonalities and stereotypes. And failures have a yardstick that is defined by the most miserable downfalls, by default. Picture an A car running at 120 kmph in front of a B car that is moving at 100 mph. The driver of car B may find 120 kmph too high a speed limit. Sure. I agree. And as a third person who is just an observer of the two cars, I also do not approve of the speed limit of car B. But, the driver of car B who compares the speed of his car with that of car A will always live thinking that he is driving safe. Such is the method of our functioning? Why is someone's wrongdoing used to balance our acts? A wrongdoing will always remain a wrongdoing, however much it is tampered with.

So, why is one religion's misfortune blamed on the existence of another religion? A blame game does not reduce the intensity of a misfortune. How does a rival's downfall and source of pain become one's antidote? Treading the path of non-encroachment seems like the best way to maintain the balance in life. Competing with someone above oneself leads to a life of underestimation, whereas looking down will only delay the journey to reach the finish point. To sum it up, an ice-cream either melts or causes a brain freeze, if eaten at a speed other than your own.

Teachers' wonders

         


                                                               
                     
Helping hands have blurred
Warnings and scoldings have waned 
Care and concern have died a sudden death
Lessons have become shallow,
O teacher, how I miss the days,
When finishing your homework was the biggest worry!
                                

Living without a time-table borders on helplessness,
A break lacks worth without a bell,
Notoriety without punishments is futile,
The blueprint for life is unavailable,
O teacher, I want to relive the days,
When getting a star in my book was the greatest source of joy.


The time when 'Sorry' was a golden word,
Getting consoled after tears filled the eyes was the best therapy,
A remark in the handbook was the only disappointment,
The excitement of sitting on the front desk was palpable,
O teacher, I yearn to learn more.
And I promise to never give you a chance to complain.


Under your tutelage, time just rushed,
Glad I am to have been your protégé.
Even a million thank you's will not justify your stature,
For every child you have enlightened,
Gratitude will flow through an entire generation.
O teacher, do look back to see your child soar high,
It is my teacher who believed in my ability to fly.

2000s video games that rule our memories

Realization dawned on me when I tracked the source of various life lessons to the many video games I played as a child, even though a lot of them were also responsible for letting my imagination go into overdrive. I doubt whether kids of today's generation would even come close to cherishing the few-but-spectacular video games the way the kids in the 2000s did, let alone underscoring their learnings. One of the major reasons why our bond remains special was the lack of easy access and frequent hanging up of the computer screen, back then. Isn't it?
Here's my vaguely arranged list of all the killer video games that rocked the 2000s....

1) NFS (Need For Speed) - My earliest memories of playing video games remain those of aimlessly pressing all the buttons on the keyboard, hoping that my car's speed would accelerate to 200 kmph so that I could win the race. Sadly, I did not know that those fancy cars and the speed they were driven at are the stuff dreams are made of.

2) Super Mario - This is the one game I could always play without having to worry about what my parents would think. Because seriously, what would anybody's parents find offensive about a man who rightfully collects money on a rescue journey that sees many a hurdle and perpetrator. On the contrary, Super Mario teaches us that if you aim high enough, then even you can collect some coins along the way.

3) Prince - My real fighting prowess came to the fore every time Prince picked up a sword to fight the devil. For me, MCP will always stand for Male Chauvinist Prince. He resembled the ultimate dream man, albiet on the computer screen.

4) Disney's Alladin - I was totally smitten by Genie and had bought into the notion that Genie actually existed in real life and that it had magical powers. So much so that I bought a water bottle just for the cut out of Genie pasted on it. Alladin's nemesis haunted me for the longest time in my dreams. A part of me always wanted to grow up to be Alladin's princess. This game literally personifies the term ''smiling away to glory.''

5) GTA Vice City - If someone ever asked me what was addiction, then this game would me my savior. Aspirin found a totally new place in my dictionary after GTA Vice City came into being. Killing and running over people never seemed more fun. Thanks to this game, my experience of mass murdering has seen me do away with various miscreants in my life, even if it is just in my imagination. Unfortunately for my parents, by the time they started to reprimand me for my obsession, I was already an expert in the game.

6) Doom - This game should conveniently be renamed 'Don't play this game if you suffer from Misophonia.' How was one supposed to play this game with no one around! Opening the doors of a prison cell with a 180-degree view only added to the horror. Sometimes, a game like this balanced the overtly bright and colorful setups in most other games.

7) Stuart Little - A little cuteness and notoriety was something we all needed after fighting terror and Armadeggon in some other games. As someone who played for Stuart, looking at humans all around did seem a tad bit agonizing when miniatures did not find a voice in the happenings around.

Today, when I come across games like The Angry Birds and The Temple Run among the others, all I think is that the options may have increased a hundred fold, but I doubt if the levels of ecstacy and the fervour of kids, today, can ever match the excitement and thunder that kids experienced a decade ago. Meanwhile, Nintendo is launching an updated version of Super Mario through its app. Let's see if it is able to arouse the child in me!  

Scenes from a farewell

The much awaited D-day came and stirred many an emotion and unfolded all the classroom razzmatazz for one last time with a pinch of nostalgia. The day was marked by forging the final set of memories constituting the college life. The many memories of getting away with notoriety and loud talks, because one is still considered to be in a learning phase, then, laughing without a care in the world, bright smiles, and the bare hugs shall refuse to fade away for the longest time, and will always hold proof to the fact that good times don't last forever.

Surprisingly, I did not realize that my college life was almost behind me till I was at the farewell. And should I mention just how thrilled I was being there! It was an evening where I rewinded the time to when I first entered the college, directionless, with a set of pre-conceived notions about being in an environment of the grown-ups. I always fancied the idea of a farewell since I was a child. Seeing pictures of people gleefully posing in graduation robes never failed to mesmerize me. And now, it was my time to don one, ready to be catapulted into the big world. In some way, the farewell validates our ability to take over bigger challenges in life. So it was quite ironic for me to think ''Why is it all over?'', when my dream was coming true. For once, I just wanted to hold onto everything happening around me. Yes, I wanted to hold onto that time, I wanted to exhaust myself into talking about the days gone by and how much I was taking back from the college. The college that turned my doubts into certainties, my vulnerable streaks into formidable ones, my risks into challenges, and my passion into my strength should never know of grudges and complaints. Today, all I wish for is to strive towards never failing my very-soon-to-be alma mater.

The farewell took place on a Saturday evening, which meant that I had ample time to enhance my vanity. Many outfits were changed and frowned upon before settling down for the one which suited best for the occasion. The hours following up to the prosperous evening bore witness to my excitement and many hushed whispers about the big celebration. My Whatsapp chats with friends were flooded with pictures and ideas about the perfect dress for the evening and the anxiety within everyone to get the perfect look was palpable. The anxiety within me died down only when I reached the venue before time. I was advised from home to ensure that I had enough storage on my phone to save the countless selfies that I ended up taking. Being in a gathering of 1500 odd students meant that we would be overdosing on smiles and chirpy laughter that evening. While a lot of us were buzzing with talks of future plans and goals, some just decided to let their emotional streak get the better of them. And while future options and plans were being discussed, there were a few who were certain about where they saw themselves in a few years, while some restricted themselves to talking about their immediate academic goal. The one thing that remained constant throughout the evening was a satisfactory smile across 1500 faces. And that had to be inevitable, given the first big step towards success had been attained. On the one hand, where the student committee members were running helter-skelter to manage the proceedings of the evening, the rest were going berserk over the EDM music that was blaring. And there was no way anyone could get away without getting crashed by a multitude of high-on-graduation students. Sometimes, mobile phones can wreak havoc at social dos, where every other person in a group is only interested in taking pictures and selfies in every corner of the venue, posing with every mortal, like they are a rare commodity. Much to my surprise, I acknowledged quite a few classmates only in pictures on my phone, as it turned out that I was engrossed in posing and photobombing. Such is life, these days!

A couple of decades down the line, I wish to remember this life as vividly as I can, just to be able to tell my grandchildren that glorious moments may not find permanence in life, but they always live on in the memory of time. And this farewell shall never be forgotten, as till I will know life, I shall call myself a proud graduate.