pointless!!

There are so many incomplete posts that i never bothered to finish or post. what do i do with them?
while i was writing these posts either there was a powercut, or i was called away by someone, or i ran out of ideas. the stream of thought once broken, and i lost all interest in completing them. now that i am too lazy to write a new post today, how about a series of incomplete posts.

last i was working on a post to be titled- 'Things that i love to hate.' here are bits of it-

"Chino- he absolutely takes the cake, as the topmost ‘thing’ that I love to hate. If I had psychic powers, he’d be dead by now. Now that he has already been hacked, guillotined, scalped by Indians, raped by neo nazis, stoned to death, tortured and made to live with cats, I feel better. NO! I wish. But there is still hope. The last time we brokeup, oh no, the last to last, wait the time before that or was it….grrr…he’s like a chronic ailment, like a sty. Why couldn’t he have been more like chicken pox, or the mumps. Worry not, there is still hope…once when we had brokenup, I came across this email about how a large percentage of left handed people die trying to use things invented for right handed people. Hallelujah!
Online communities- oh my god! Whats wrong with people these days
Sappy movies with meg ryan n Julia Roberts
Ppl who come to my gym
My class in south campus
Ugly love stuff
Women sexier than me….oh wait…I dnt love to hate them…I just hate them
Kids…."

make of it what you will. i am just too lazy...

VARUN

After watching the Da Vinci code at spice, ma, papa n I got delicious dinner packed for an evening of kebabs n beer. Didi was waiting for us at home. All of us were arguing about what music to listen to. Papa and I wanted Abida and mum absolutely insisted on Kenny g., and the only consensus was on how sucky fm is.

Then we stopped at a red light and an old beggar, with no clothes on his back, and a tattered dhoti around his waist knocked on our car window. He was bent, one could not say whether from age or poverty. Of course this sight made us feel completely guilty for leading the life that we do, and call it pity if u may, papa gave him a five-rupees coin. Just then a guy on a scooter came n hit the beggar on his arm. (I cant keep calling him the beggar, and I don’t know anything more about him, so I shall give him a name, Varun.). Varun staggered a little, and then started walking, but the obscene man on the scooter grabbed him by his spindly arm and slapped him across his face. Varun still didn’t react, he took it as if it’s his lot to be slapped around, n started walking away, without the least retaliation, and it was as if he hadn’t even registered what had just happened. And then the man (who I have no qualms in calling the obnoxious scooter guy) hit him again. Shocked I rolled down my window and yelled at him- “ kyun maar rahe ho use, who toh bechara garib hai, aur galti toh tumhari this.” Immediately papa rolled down his window and shouted at the obnoxious guy to let go of Varun. Mum said- “dekho uske paise bhi gir gaye”.

Three of us were screaming at obnoxious, and Varun just walked away, as if four people fighting would not change his lot. Then obnoxious turned towards us and asked my father to stay out of this, and then asked him to park his car a little ahead so that he could teach us what a mistake it was to standup for a defenseless guy. When he saw that his lame threats weren’t bothering us, he took out his cell phone, and noted the car number.

All this while there were people all around us who saw, but never said a word. The guy on the bike behind obnoxious just signaled to papa that obnoxious was drunk so we should just let things be.

The signal turned to green and all of us drove off. Varun had moved to the other side of the road and was hobbling along as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I felt hot tears sting my cheeks, and a huge sense of shame that crying was all I could do. I stood up for someone, but was it enough?

Here is Varun, who I know nothing about. Who probably is a junkie, sleeps on the streets, is harassed by cops, ill-treated by people, and has become completely numb. People don’t see him anymore. Maybe he doesn’t see himself either. He’s lost himself in the thousands of Varuns who like him sleep on the streets and are like dogs who children pick on for their amusement. He is as speechless as an animal, coz there is no system, no government protecting him, and if someone beats him or even runs him over, the mcd would just put the carcass away . But the fact that we don’t see him, or that he doesn’t see himself either, does that mean he doesn’t exist?

And writing this blog, does it free me from the guilt I feel at living the way I do. At being privileged. The biggest problems in my life, like guys and friends and a career pale…I feel foolish. I have no right to call him Varun. Maybe I should have gotten out of the car and asked him if he was ok, asked him if there was anything I could do apart from giving him money, given him a hug, some sign of acceptance…asked him his name. Do you think he knows what his name is?