BHELPURI THOUGHTS - THE KINDLE EDITION
(LOOKING FORWARD TO YOUR REVIEWS)
became a Physical paperback book
available at Amazon ( all over the world)
Paperback BHELPURI THOUGHTS at AMAZON INDIA
https://www.amazon.in/Bhelpuri-Thoughts-Innovation-Entrepreneurship-Stories/dp/B0BBQ9YM52/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
and at AMAZON.COM for US
https://www.amazon.com/BHELPURI-THOUGHTS-Innovation-Entrepreneurship-Stories/dp/B0BBQ9YM52/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
From #BhelpuriThoughts
Bhelpuri Thoughts - On Innovation and Entrepreneurship with Poems and Stories of my Times
- releasing on 15th August 2022
The New
The New Me
And the New You
Must have
Courage
to be
New
War and Peace Mix
War is always on, As is Peace
Both Exist – Together –
Same time, Same space, Same mind
And this Mix of War and Peace is not what it used to be
Peace-War Mix has changed, is changing -
A dynamic
Evolving and natural
Just like LIFE
Freedom
My Heart
Experiences Freedom
When
It is allowed to
Imagine
Evolve
To Evolve in Life
Accept
Imperfections
Words
Running behind words
I got just
Nothing
#entrepreneurship #innovation #Poems #StartUps #creativity #Life
......
have you pre-ordered it yet ! https://lnkd.in/gxRh9t7G
https://lnkd.in/g3Vfh5x9
![BHELPURI THOUGHTS: On Innovation and Entrepreneurship with Poems and Stories of my times by [Navneet Bhushan]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/41BuE2huRjL.jpg)
Releasing on 15th August 2022 !
Pre-order at Amazon .com
if you are in India - order here
BHELPURI is a serving of puffed rice in spicy sauces with onion,
coriander and other condiments. The interesting ingredient of bhelpuri
is the puri (a wafer), which is edible and serves as a spoon. Bhelpuri
though associated with city of Mumbai, has found its variants all across
India and in fact the globe.
Metaphorically, Bhelpuri can also
map to the French word “potpourri”, a veritable collection of odds and
ends. The ingenuity of the bhelpuri server lies in adding different
ingredients into the sauce createing unique flavours. It also could
reflects the multitude of activities that is a part of life. Our
disordered thoughts when they get manifested and expressed, potentially
could be unique, tangy and mouth watering - most important - fulfilling
and meaningful.
I hope you will get a taste of Bhelpuri – reading this small book and savor the flavors slowly!
Let us meet
Thoughts
that arise inside my mind are so diverse and are influenced by so many
triggers that it is impossible to capture them all. Surprise that they
became stories and poems over a period of time in my life. Further, many
of these started as questions in my professional work as a scientist,
researcher in applied software science and then as an entrepreneur and
an innovation consultant. Most of these were unplanned – perhaps
therefore real and pure – from deep inside me. The small poems that I
call thought-snippets are windows to my mind and feelings over multiple
years of passing through life. The stories – some of them happened
because of specific events, some my mind imagined and created. The
articles on innovation and starting up on developing an idea are part of
potential ways and means to achieve your goals and ends. The key is
these are not straight forward as steps in a process or an algorithm.
All these are interlinked in ways that you - dear reader - have to find
on your own.
The question is why these thoughts occur and why I
expressed them in these articles, poems and stories? It is a mystery and
a personal journey to understand myself. Who am I? Why am I? What am I?
Why do we exist? Why does the universe exist? The questions remained
unanswered to me. Experts were ignorant of my questions
Experts
On War
On everything else And love -
Experts are Ignorant
Mind
gets vibrations coming from multiple directions, from variety of
events, triggers and experiences. These for me became my thoughts. Then
were manifested into multiple artifacts – the articulation form took
articles, poems and stories. Looking back at these, it gives a flow of
my mind in different dimensions and directions.
Perhaps these will connect with you at some points and paths – lets meet and feel each other’s hearts at least once – welcome!
The Book has five parts Part 1 is on Innovation, Starting-up, Entrepreneurship and Global Changes. Part 2, Part 4, and Part 5 are Poems of various aspects and dimensions written over different periods, collated on specific themes or aspects. Part 3 has short stories written during the decade of 1985-1995.
This story is not real. But the characters did exist in the real world. I am going to talk about three persons – all three came in my life at some point of time or other but were not linked in any manner with each other. Yet my mind always links them together.
First character is a girl. She used to serve us tea in a shabby shed near out hostel. Actually there were many sheds in a row parallel to the road. The road led to the main market. These sheds have cropped up on the road over the years because of the need of the hostel students to have some meeting place. In each shed a middle-aged person used to make tea and his or her children used to serve it. We used to go to those sheds. The girl’s shed was in the middle. She was very fair – her face was full but she never smiled. Her forehead had vertical lines – the lines were in the area between the two eyebrows – those lines were always there, indicating continuous tension. She looked permanently tensed. Her feet were large. By continuous work and walking around throughout the day near the dirty sheds her feet were broken at various places – yes broken – they were torn – her age would not be more than eighteen yet she looked more mature. She always wore a very light colored suit that was always very neat and clean. We students regularly went to those sheds, sit there, take our tea, read the local newspaper – talk among ourselves and come back to our hostel. We never really gave any importance to the girl. She was there but for us her existence was immaterial. I don’t know her name but we will call her Rani for our story.
The second character is Inspector Loha Singh, a six-footer, with jet-black moustache and with a head built like a battle tank. Hairs on his head were small and were always standing up like the thorns of a porcupine. The thorns were always shining as he kept them well drenched in the barrels of mustard oil. He always carried an iron rod. It was rumored that he was very strict. His name was Loha Singh as he was known to beat the criminals or who so ever is considered a criminal with the iron rod. It was rumored that he had killed many people in the lock up but because of his political connections no action more than his transfer to another police station was ever taken against him. He was the most corrupt police inspector one can think of, the whole city was in awe of him - some liked him, many didn’t. We students, had heard about him – he never really mattered for us – we knew that he existed but he was immaterial or us.
The third person is the most interesting one. He was black, very thin and mad - completely. Hairs on his head were small. His madness was almost harmless. During the winter season he used to roam around the roads without his clothes. On any bone–chilling morning he could be seen jumping only quirkiness was that he would always be without any clothes. We always passed him without giving much attention. During summer days, of course, he would be wearing a warm three-piece suit with a matching black tie. It was unbelievable. Some times we discussed amongst ourselves that may be his mind has lost the sense of season – and it believes winter is summer and summer is winter. These discussions invariably were limited till we pass him; afterwards we never discussed him. His name will be Kalu for our story. While going to the tea-stalls where Rani’s tea stall was also there, we would always meet Kalu – either while standing at a place and brooding over God knows what; or running to and fro between two points.
It was a summer evening; the state elections were to take place within few days. We were sitting in Rani’s tea stall. Evening was very beautiful. Everywhere election candidates were the hot topics. Every one was discussing the possible voting pattern. We were also sitting and in between the tea sips we were talking about that Gopi Gajanand will win the elections. He had good support and it was clear that his opposite candidate would have very difficult time. Radio at the Rani’s tea stall was singing some old Hindi film songs. Suddenly a police jeep came and stopped, four constables armed with rifles got down from it. Then Loha Singh got down. He came out very fast. His huge body came up to Rani’s father who was putting tea in the glasses and he slapped Rani’s father, “Where is that Bastard?” “Tell me, You Dog’s Son, now you will know the meaning of supporting a terrorist”. We were stunned. We didn’t know that had happened. I went up to Loha Singh & asked what has happened. Loha Singh “you don’t come in this; this is not your business”. His son in law has killed Gopi Gajanand Sahib today and he is hiding him. Rani’s father was shocked and pained, folding his hands and with tears in his eyes he said “No Sahib, I don’t know. My son in law can’t do this – I don’t know what you are talking about – Sahib”. Loha Singh slapped him once more “Today, your son in law threw a country made bomb on Gopi Gajanand’s rally and he was killed and I know who has given you money to do this you bastard”. Loha Singh slapped him twice. Rani’s father fell and his face hit the corner of the wooden bench – blood started pouring out and he lost some more of his remaining teeth as well. Loha Singh pulled him up by holding his hair and asked “tell me you bastard where is he or you will be killed” and he hit Rani’s father with the iron rod in his hand. The strike was very powerful and definitely some bone of his arm must have broken with the hit. He fainted.
Suddenly Rani came running and threw herself on Loha Singh” and shouted” you pig, you dog why are you doing this to us. “She leapt up to Loha Singh face and clawed his face with her nails”. We were stunned the peaceful face of Rani was contorted into bitter rage as she scratched Loha Singh’s face. Loha Singh threw her down “ and barked” you bitch, what do you think, you will be saved – you are bastards and will remain bastards only – you bitch “ Loha Singh slapped her once more and then said to the people around, ” This girl’s husband has killed Gopi Gajanand today – and I am going to take all of his family into custody. They are terrorists; they should be treated like dogs – yes like dogs “…”. He could not complete the sentence. Rani had suddenly sprung up and with a roar of a lioness she plunged two iron rods lying nearby into Loha Singh’s enormous stomach. Blood erupted out of his uniform. His face was shocked and we all were stunned by what has happened – Rani didn’t stopped at that, like a cat she poured the kerosene from the kerosene jar and lighted Loha Singh – Loha Singh started burning – his enormous frame was burning – and she was shouting, crying and laughing simultaneously. Suddenly two more police jeeps came and sent us onlookers back to our houses.
Later, we heard that Rani’s, her father and her husband were arrested and will be charged with murder.
After many weeks we went back to the tea stall. We talked amongst ourselves and I don’t know why I asked the tea stall owner “where is Kalu these days what has happened to him”. He said “you don’t know Babu; He was arrested by the police”. I was surprised and asked him “on what charges could a mad man be arrested” He said for killing the party candidate. I said killing the party candidate. I said what do you mean - Rani’s husband killed Gopi Gajanand. He very calmly said “yes, Kalu is Rani’s Husband, babu”.
BHELPURI
THOUGHTS
Navneet Bhushan
Bhelpuri is a true reflection of India. It is a serving of puffed rice in a spicy sauce with onion, peanuts, coriander and other condiments, served typically on the roadsides in major cities of India - especially in Mumbai.
Bhelpuri has another dimension - the collective taste that gets generated by the mixing of multiple ingredients by the Bhelpuri vendor reflects the life of India. The emergence of India is not in the ingredients but the way these get enmeshed in the history, culture, colors and social life that makes something that leaves a continuous taste for the outsider who visits here, just like the bhelpuri.
Thoughts that arise inside my mind are so diverse and are influenced by so many triggers that it is impossible to capture them all. But it is a surprise that they get manifested in stories, poems, essays, articles and dialogs over a period of time in my life. Some of this articulation happened through a definitive process of writing something on a specific topic. This required reading, research and analysis. On the other hand some of the thoughts occurred without much knowledge or effort – the small poems that I call thought snippets are windows to my mind over multiple years of passing through life. The stories – some of them happened because of specific events, some I deliberately created.
But the question is why these thoughts occur and why I expressed them in these multiple articulations? It is a mystery and a personal journey to understand myself. Who am I? Why am I? What am I? Why do we exist? Why does the universe exist? The questions remained unanswered to me. However there is a mixture of thoughts coming from multiple directions, from multiple events, triggers and experiences. The thoughts were manifested into multiple artifacts – the articulation form took poems, thought experiments, stories, articles, analytical insights, etc. Looking back at these, it gives a mixture of multiple thought streams flowing from my mind in different dimensions. Is it a thought Bhelpuri or Bhelpuri Thoughts - I really dont know!
Slowly, I opened my eyes. The sun has come up and it is shining straight into my eyes. Now my daily routine will start. I will get up now, pull the curtains and will get ready for my office. “Oh! Hell, I had to write that dull story about the foolish politician who was my Boss’s mate”. I had written something last night and I know it had not come up well. My boss will say today, in his raised eyebrow style, “Girlie, you should concentrate more on the guy’s personality rather than his work – you know no politician works – so why give more importance to his work, why not to the man himself, his charisma, his following”. I will listen to him and will meekly say `Aye sir’. I was not such a meek reporter in the beginning; I was full of fire and jest and had a sense of justice. I use to think that my pen had a power that must be used for the right cause. All that has changed now… How? I don’t know- there were compromises….
The sun was hurting my eyes now. I got up and put water on the gas for making my morning tea. It is 7 o’clock in the morning; I have to report at 8.30. So there is still some time…
I looked myself in the mirror – the face that I saw still had life – eyes still had some sparks though there were some indications of initial lines of age under the eyes. I am – what – twenty eight years old – a good reporter in a national news paper – doing my job – you can cal me beautiful – people still turn around to look at me twice – I am happy, easy going but somehow my writings do not have life in them. That is what my literary guru Tony Guha told me. He said “Your life has too much goodness in it, you had lived in `rich environment’, you don’t know what is suffering, you don’t understand poverty – you simply can’t comprehend – you don’t even had any personal sufferings – you got whatever you wanted in your life. You can’t write until you yourself suffered a big blow in life”.
I had differed strongly from Tony that day, but now I am feeling that may be he is right. I do need a big blow in my life – something like a lover suddenly killed – so that I could write in the loneliness afterwards – a great tragedy writer….
Already it was 7.30 a.m. I got up and drank my tea. I dressed up and boarded 8.15 bus – there I met him – Sameer Sharma – we used to call him SS in our college – He was a tall, lanky guy, with very sad eyes, yet his lips were always smiling, irrespective of where he is – they were smiling now. He looked at me “Hi! Nisha, how are you?”
“What a surprise SS, how the hell are you? Where have you been all these years – no news yaar” I said. He smiled “I wasn’t well”. “Well! What happened to our young philosopher, who dreamt of changing’ the bloody, Hippocratic, lying, decaying society”? I asked. His smile deepened “you still remember my words – I have completely forgotten them – life was not fun al these years, Nisha…”
Then my bus stop came. I gave SS my card telling him to come to my office or flat at any time, and got down from the bus.
For the next three days I was busy reporting a murder of an elderly couple by some robbers. I didn’t get any time to think. On the fourth morning I suddenly remembered SS – I used to like him in the college – he was a shy lankiest boy – he didn’t use to talk much – but when discussing a point on which he head some knowledge he used to argue with such confidence that it was hard to think that this was the same shy guy. These inconsistencies I used to like. That day I didn’t even get his address. I was in such a hurry. Now I wanted to talk to him about our college mates, teachers and the incidents which looked so useless then but were so useful now. The memories have their own importance. The mind keeps track of its own history and brings out more and more of the beautiful incidents from its hidden recesses when some part of the same environment is generated in the form of person, place or thing of that time.
The ringing of the doorbell broke my thoughts – my doorbell has a shrill voice that jars you out of even the soundest of your sleeps. Reminding myself to replace the doorbell, I opened the door and found Sameer – he was smiling as always…’
“What a pleasant surprise, I was just thinking about you”. “You won’t change Nisha. Why do you continue to lie”, he said. “Honestly Sameer, I was thinking about you, that day I didn’t even ask your address” I said. “Forget it. I have come to you for some help. I need five thousand rupees in cash today – I have to pay to the hospital then only I will be admitted. My draft will come in two or three days. Then I will pay you back”, he said.
I said, “don’t worry. I have the money, but what is the matter with you. Why do you want to get into a hospital bed”? He smiled with slight widening of eyes “you don’t know – I am a cancer patient – lung cancer – doctors say that there is a fifty percent chance if they operate me within four weeks else I will go and honestly Nisha, I was not meant for this world – the bloody, Hippocratic, lying, decaying society” He Laughed – his eyes were dancing but only for a moment then again that sad gloom.
I felt God knows what? I wanted to put my hand on his head and wanted to tell him that he will be O.K. Then an idea came to me “any how SS will die in four to five weeks – his face had that look of death – can I simulate love in my heart and then feel the pain that is missing in my writings. My writings will have that missing ingredient and I will get the best – will become the top tragedy writer – the best”.
The idea appealed to my mind. I started molding my mind to love SS. I started looking for all his mannerisms that I liked and stared ignoring all those features that I didn’t like. I convinced my mind that I should actually love him then only I can feel the pain of his loss.
Three weeks before his operation, I told him that I loved him. He was startled and laughed at me “Why are you making fun of me, you know that I may die – rather there is a strong likelihood that I won’t live longer than three weeks”. I told him that he won’t die and my love will bring him back to me from the approaching clutches of death, but in my heart I was happy that he would die – I wanted him to die but told him that he will live. He thought about it and feeling my seriousness told me to get away from him, “Why do you want to suffer because of me – go – take yourself away from me.”
I looked in his sad eyes and told him that he will come back to me and together we will create a much better society – a true beautiful world full of love and peace.
He nodded his head and looked down. Slowly I raised his chin; his lined cheeks had two streams of tear coming down from his beautiful black eyes. I held him in my hands and looked at him, hoping that I won’t overdo my love act and light a will to live in his heart.
As the day of his operation was coming nearer, my excitement was increasing. For all those days I went to the hospital after my office. I showered my love over SS. I wouldn’t even talk about his coming operation but I would talk about the life that we would be sharing after three weeks – a life of love, understanding, peace and good fun. Whenever I entered his room, SS face would light up and his smile would generate a pinkish glow on his otherwise pale face. I prayed to God to take away his life so that I could suffer in his memory and pour my heart in my stories.
SS died exactly after five days of his operation. The death was quick. The doctors told me that there was no pain – the cancerous tissue had come over the heart and had stopped the blood supply completely.
I came straight to my room after his funeral. I was completely exhausted so I couldn’t write any thing that day. Next day I woke up with a slight headache, so I took leave from my office. I spent whole of the afternoon sleeping. At night I made up my mind to write – to write about things that would stir the emotions of the hardest hearts.
It was about nine o’clock, I took my pen and started writing – I wrote for the next three or four hours – I don’t know when sleep took over my consciousness and when I fell on my bed.
Next morning I went to my writing table to find out what emotional outbursts my heart had poured on the paper. There were about two hundred pages – but I had written only one word all over them. I had written Sameer – from the beginning till the end – there was nothing else, no extra word not even an extra comma – my heart had used all the space available to pour the only thought that it wanted my brain to think – I started crying, slowly at first and suddenly I was shouting – shouting – so loud that all my inner feelings were pouring out – “I love you Sameer” – “Sameer Oh! God I have killed you” – Oh Sameer, Sameer oh…
…And I knew that I won’t be able to write anything anymore – it was all over for me – I had lost – my heart has revolted against my ambition – oh Sameer…
*****
