BOOM...

The air is thick with the smell of gun powder … The broken pieces of chandeliers of the lavish ballrooms, glitter amidst the pile of debris which bears a mocking silence for the curious onlookers… Taj, the hub of luxury for the rich n famous is now haunted by a stench of the casualties....All that remains is a bitter , burnt reality …

In Jerusalem, Moshe's deafening scream breaks the silence of the funeral prayer...This two year old desperately cries for his mother who lies mutilated in a coffin ready for the last rites...

In India, the civilians and the armed forces pay their last homage to the respected martyrs. But far away from all this in a different part of the world…A mother sheds a few drops of helpless tears…She has lost her son…who was not a martyr but a Jihadi….The smoke bellows from her kitchen roof and kisses the pristine blue sky...Life goes on till another blast...a strange silence prevails till another BOOOOOM!!

Lonely and Cold...

Somedays are really bad...You are down, you wanna crib, you desperately search through your phone book...but you dont know who do you really wanna call...who do you wanna talk to... what do you wanna tell them....your side of the story...or just end up with some fake smiles wen all you have are tears swelling up in your big fat eyes...What are you really looking for girl...some bits of sympathy....some kind words...a shoulder....or you just wanna come out of this claustrophobic moment....ohhh its really suffocating.... its like a lump... it never goes....
You keep on walking...the journey seems to end, the destination still is a mirage...it appears so close yet its still far way... It doesnt really matter...Its the journey that matters...One day I'm sure the destination wont b far away...I'm hoping and I'm just walking.... But its lonely...really lonely out here...its too cold....cant really take it anymore....

Bitch!

And yet another day ends in my life...Its just another Tuesday... The boring phone alarm beeped at the right time----well 655am---I started off for my office which was a journey intercepted with running after shuttles, trying to hold the coins and the cell phone, looking at other travelers like me and gaining a unique narcisstic pleasure... I reached near the elevator...I found my fellow tagged zombies around me....Formal and indifferrent!!!

Work was usual... If you didnt know what I get paid for...rather what I really do for a living.... Well everyday for 8 hours and for endless moments I slog to write something like this: "Click this...that screen appears"....

"MSTP" thats wat I call her suddenly shouted at me today...for no reason at all...I tried to defend...But she went beyond reasons.... Well the bitch that she is and the luck that I have ....I guess I have to bear with her for a few more Tuesdays of my life.... And the thought depresses me!!

I'm back home....listening to Vincent...and wiping off my day's grey ordeal with a dab of cotton dipped in thick cleansing milk... Hope its a just a few more Tuesdays!! hope a few more cotton pads and a few more patches of grey...

Rong- Berong

Aynar samne sajano ache horek rokomer rong…ekhuni tumi kalo kore nebe nijer oi gobhir chokhguli… mukhey porbe aro kichu ronger prolep…hashite ektu lal ronger choa…ekhuni koto rong eshe porbe tomar amar majhe… tomake chinte parchina…tomake aj abar boro odbhut lagche…ak raash sugandhi, kalo kajal laal lipstick er bhire tumi kirokom ochena…harie jachho bhirer sathe…ami ekhane bohujuug dhore eka darie… rongin prithibi gorbo bole…aksathe..tomar sathe….

arektu badei ghorite 12 ta bajbe…prithibir shob cindrella-ra tader poshaak chere firbe bastober kure ghore…ekhuni firbe tumio…klanto oboshyonnyo….ami thakbo tokhono pashe…tumi boroi klanto…kalo chokher arale tokhono mayabi rater shopno…ar amar shopnoguloy sudhu mishe jachhe bastab-er kothin kalche kajol rong…

Of Tinchulay....Marcelo...and...

" Strangers on the roads of life…makes your journey worthwhile”

It was a winding road that circled around the green valleys with the snowy mountains at a
distance...The small wooden huts were their homes.... homes to the Gurungs, Lepchas and so many of them ...The kids came out and waved at us..Their cheeks were reddish grey and their moist noises added more glitter to their smile.... The monastery was still far away....Its white tomb and the colorful prayer flags waved against the blue sky which was dotted with pristine clouds…
I had taken a break from my monotonous city life...Away from my cubicled existence I tried to breathe in the fresh air... But I was still carrying the baggage... The baggage of my deliverables... Work was over, stress was still there… I kept on thinking…What about the review comments? What do they think about me? Will it be a tab or a button? …Ahhhhhhh the list was endless!

It was a trip to Tinchulay… The white vehicle sweeped through the hilly roads with the Kanchendzonga at its backdrop… It sudenly screeched in front of a dwarfed wooden cottage surrounded by a small garden….This was the house of the Gurungs in Tinchulay….

Tinchulay is one of the little hamlets near Darjeeling. This virgin piece of land nestled amidst the Himalayas is the home of the Gurungs. A dilapidated cemetery, a small health care center and a monastery is all Tinchulay can boast about. Far away the snow capped mountains kept a strange vigil on the innocent lifestyle of the people out here. The life here seemed to be straight out of a wallpaper…simple and beautiful bordered by the vastness of the mountains

The wooden décor, a quaint smell and soft spoken people--- the Gurungs of Tinchulay are noted for their hospitality services.

Gurung’s cottage was situated on the side of a road. On the other side there were terraced acres of cardamom plantations and far away the waving line of prayer flags that lead to the small monastery. Each little cottage in Tinchulay had decorated their homes with colorful season flowers. There was a cemetery of the Gurungs. The date and the name of family members showed that they were very early residents of this part of the world.

It was time for sunset, and the reddish golden hues of the setting sun kissed the forehead of the Kanchendzona. It was then I saw Marcelo, from a distance.

Marcelo Sanchez was from Argentina. A tall bearded man wearing a navy blue faded jcket seemed like any other traveler. But soon I saw him interacting with the kids in their language.

Away from home, from his family, Marcelo was looking for peace in the comfort of the Himalayas. He had become a part of them...the Tinchulay lifestyle. His daughter had settled in Spain and his family was in Argentina. But he never even wished to get back. He had fallen in love with the Himalayas and was interested in Buddhism. Marcelo traveled to India lured just like any other westerner for a taste of the east. But it was the Himalayas that finally scored over the Andes in his life…

Marcelo’s daily routine was going to the monastery and exploring the village lifestyle. Every morning when I went to the monastery, I found Marcelo engrossed in the Buddhist scriptures.

Marcelo was somewhere close to 60. He smiled and asked me about my profession the first time we met(…it was difficult to explain content writing to him!!) He hardly discussed about Argentina. His little room was filled with books, books about India, Buddhism and the Himalayas. His Tinchulay trip was not mainly for his traveling experience but also to gain some knowledge about Buddhism.

Marcelo once mentioned about his daughter. Just like every father , Marcelo had a strange twinkle in his eye as he talked about her. He gave me her visiting card with the hope that if I ever go to Argentina, I might be able to meet her sometime. And may be talk about Marcelo.

My Tinchulay trip was just for two days. It was over soon. Marcelo, the Gurungs, waved their hand as the car whizzed past the cottages… But my mind was filled with so many thoughts….. Can we really let go? Can we?…

Its been sometime...Marcelo often sends emails… He teaches in a Tibetan school or may be in a monastery now…. He’s happy with his life and I’m back to my deliverables…Back into the cocoon of my city life, I have found my answers… I cant really let go…I can never let go…

Nabami night

A few minutes back I was sitting on my balcony.... I looked around...Nabami was at its fag end...The night was young and the revellers in huge numbers thronged the street..The images conjured a feeling of joy and happiness cocooned in age old traditions...

The air was heavy with the festive fragrance, loudspeakers blared out the
eternal hit numbers...the gas balloons kissed the dark autmn sky and the toy pistols echoed a strange noise that made me nostalgic... The city seemed to be dressed in its
bridal finery...
I desperately tried to cling on to this moment...cause it was soon going to be over...

It seemed like an eternal celebration. The drumbeats, the smell of sandalwood, and the smiling faces will soon fade into oblivion...We would again turn into zombies leading our concrete existence... The streets would soon bear the look of monotony intercepted by deserted skeletons of the beautifully decorated pandals...These pandals which exuded a subtle mix of grandeur and craftsmanship would turn into mere bamboo structures. Naked, stripped off and abandoned...facing the hard reality.

Theres a saying "baro maashey tero parbon"... It seems this part of the world tries to
celebrate every other festive occassion...But the grandeur and vastness of Durga Puja can
hardly be compared with other festivals...Its not only about a relegious or a ceremonial worship of the Goddess...Its about 4 days of celebrating life...Its about dreams, fantasies,
extravagance, grandeur and desires...

However the Nabami night reminds us the inevitable truth... everything has to come to an
end...Nabami for me is the time to recollect, to look back and to accept that reality is just knocking on our door...

But nabami is not the end...It is about optimism, about weaving new dreams and waiting for another year ..."Asche Bochor Abar hobe" ...

So as I spend this night penning down this post, somewhere deep down I console myself coz the celebration is not yet over..With a heavy heart and a lazy self I pray to God..."Abar esho ma"...

Maha ashtami

Aj Ashtami... dhaker awaz, goroder lal par saree, pandel theke bheshe asha loud speaker ey purohit moshay er montro path....ar kichukhon badei sondhey nambe... sohorer manush ey dintar jonnei jeno opekkha kore thake sara bochhor....charpashe dhaker awaz, dhoop dhunor gondho ebong mondop shojjyar protijogita....ey shob kichu ke chapie manusher jowar...manusher badhonbhanga anondo....

ami prottek ashtamite shokale ma r sathe parar pujoy anjali di...bochor ghure geche...boyesh bereche....amar purono parao palteche...kintu akhono shei dhorabadha ak niyom..... hatey kichu tukro gada fool guje chokh bondho kore purohit moshay er montro uchharoner sathe taal melano....

"Arey oi to sondesh er dokane bhir...ashtamir anjalir mishtita kinte hobe to"....

Dupur hotei bhoger tor jor.... ebong sondheybelay saree pore achol samlate samlate, hochot khete khete, nijer priyo manushtir sathe sondher anondo ta bhag kore newa....

Amar ashtami shei chotobelakar moton....saree, prasad, notun jama.....amar ashtami mar sathe anjali ....amar ashtami bhire hothat ek poloke dekha hoye jawa purono ak bondhur sathe.... "kemon achish....bhalo to".... amar ashtami kono ak chotobelakar kotha mone pora.... didir kotha mone pora....amar purono parar pujor kotha...amar shei "udyan sangha".... chader kone darie pa uchu kore uki mere parar mondop dekha....aj shei chad o nei.... ar amake ar pa uchu kore uki marte hoyna....

Ashtamir ey purono sur, ey purono gondho mishey jay nobomir ayojoney...ar koyek ghonta badei nobomi...shomoyta boddyo kom...dhaker kathitey ar kichukhon badei beje uthbe biday er sur..."thakur thakbe kotokhon ...thakur jabe bishorjon...."

Khamkheyali

khamkheyali elomelo
sesh bikeler brishti shey...
bhije haway matie tola
aadhar alor drishti shey...

thomke geche hothat hawa
hothat jeno harie jawa
notun kore fire pawa
ochena ak srishti shey...
obhuj kalo, thanda alo...
odbhuture doshhyi meye

jotpakano moner majhe...
akche nanan rong diye...

Beyond Comparison

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time”---

Tucked away from the swanky high-rises, multinational big shots and snazzy décor in a dingy lane stood this ‘infamous’ 8 storeyed pink colored building in Sector 5---Well a year back sitting on the third floor of this building all we could dream of was a job, a fat pay package, a brand name and desperation to move out of the mess. After a year as I look back, when I'm settled, I'm happy with my job, I have found new colleagues and friends …the pink colored building, the unpaved road and its people still haunt me----

Compare Infobase----it was my second job---a new designation---"knowledge executive" they called me –I’m not sure what knowledge I had or what knowledge they inferred but its true Compare taught me some important lessons of my life-

Endless bitching sessions, suggestions, pranks, numerous ups and downs, copy paste issues, salary hitches and between all this I found them...Do I mean colleagues?

My job was to write travel articles ...all about the journey--- where to go, what to do and how to reach--- but my life was not restricted to these travelogues…My life was with them….We spent endless hours…Hours iced with gossips, hours of struggle, hours of doing nothing---
We shared our lunch, our thoughts, and our dreams. Be it the end of the day aloorchop or the after-lunch orange sticks, life had a different flavor---may be a different color--Did you say ‘lavender’?

Job hunting was a part of our weekly schedule--- we went for interviews together, applied to different organizations with the only hope of getting a job. Numerous resumes, job portals, interesting HR calls and interviews--- and finally the lucky few moving out leaving the rest—But the rest never gave up!

I still don’t have a clue what binds me to that place. I wanted to leave it desperately but on my last day I realized it was really difficult to come out of the Compare cocoon. What was so interesting about Compare? My team? My friends? The morning breakfast queue? My salty lunch? The frequent and much awaited power-cuts? or the “meet your new friends” episode? Can’t single out one thing----

The evenings at Compare ended with an interesting shuttle ride. When the rest of the world packed in that crowded shuttle with glum faces carried on with their dumb monotonous ordeal---We were different! We shared office gossips, eavesdropped into strange conversations and laughed aloud to our way home.

Yes it all started with that pink colored building, with Compare and with all you guys. I still remember my last day as I walked out of the building--- I was sure Palla will again be late the next morning, Maddy would happily log in others and Sup will be taking home the pending work or ‘patas’ as we called it----

I’m writing this after 8 months---Its been 8 months I have left Compare--- Compare does not exist physically between ‘us’ anymore. The connection is not there. But today I realize the bond is still there, the lavender colors are still fresh.

Here’s to all the pseudo-names, all the ‘LS –HS-MS’ people, the interesting HR, the salary issues, ‘polka dots’, our wallpapers, the messy track changes, budding love stories, the 10 page targets and so many more things----Without you my journey would have never been so interesting and so ‘in-comparable’!!!

Bong Connection

Her name is Calcutta. Does the word conjure images of quintessential intellectuals, the juicy Roshogolla and mishti doi? No. Calcutta has grown far beyond that. It’s the Calcutta of the tech savvy, swanky mall hopping and hip swinging generation. It’s a new Calcutta which has shrugged off its images of “bangaliana”.

Let’s talk about a different breed of Kolkatans. The “Sector 5” Kolkatans or do I say the new age Kolkatans. Every morning as I start for sector 5, I get to see a new Calcutta. The shuttle takes us to this “Land of Oz:” where you can get to see all of them everywhere.

They come out in the morning wearing their tags heading for the never land. The car halts in Sector 5. And bingo here you are…. is it Dallas, Bangalore or Hyderabad? No it’s our very own Kolkata. All over its swanky plush high-rises, smart tech savvy office goers and everywhere there’s an expression of monotony. Actually “being formal” is the code.

Throughout the day they spend their “Microsoft” lives in front of that big fat box. As the day gets over the techies come out. Waiting for the shuttles they have their earplugs on so that the voices don’t reach out to them.

In the weekend you can get to see the new age Kolkatans. It’s not the Flury’s or Nandan for them. It’s the Inox and the City Centre. Come to any of these glittering malls and multiplexes you can spot them. Food tastes better if it’s Mc. Donald’s, KFC or Pizza Hut. And if you wish to try out some “Bengali” stuff, well you can trust the master chef Bhojhohori and Oh Calcutta to bring in that “Bengali” flavor in to your lives.

Junk food movies disc and then back home. They buy the tickets; watch a film head for a nightclub and the weekend is over again. Literature and Bongs have a close association. They display dusty Tagore on their book shelves, read One Night at a call center and praise Chetan Bhagat as the world’s best author. Movies appeal to them only if it’s fast and programmed. Murder scores over Motorcycle Diaries and Golmaal scores over Ganashatru. They also go for shopping the daily groceries at C3 or food mart. From branded vegetables to branded emotions, they have it all.


Somewhere this Calcutta seems more like Bangalore, Hyderabad or Mumbai. It’s not about spending your days over cups of coffee and raising a storm. It’s not about strumming the guitar at the Jhilpar or just taking a walk through the by lanes of Shyambazzar it’s all about joining the bandwagon.


Coffee House is still there only carrying its age old but ‘better-forgotten’ legacy. CCD is the new mantra. The cobwebs of 36 Chowringhhee Lanes and the rooms in Bow Barracks lie deserted as it’s totally ‘down-market’. Nahoums is a passé and Biscotti has taken over. The city does not wake up to the age old Akasvani tune but it’s the new age “good morning Calcutta” from the over friendly RJs who have taken up the job.

Welcome to this new city which swears by pizzas and not mishti doi, by sushi and not Ilish Mach and by Inox and not Nandan. The city has gone through a magic makeover in just a few years. From the Bangali Babuana it now boasts of a Bong Connection.

Somebody had said variety is the spice of life. And voila we are all spiced up right now. And infact I love every bit of it, I love every change but desperately cling on to every passing memory as this is the place which I call home. And wherever I am in this world I wish “the country road always takes me to my Home ...to My Calcutta”.

amar 9 tolar janla....

amar 9 tolar janla...sekhan theke amar sohorta dekha jay....jotodoor chokh jay dekhi it kath pathorer khachagulo gheshagheshi kore darie...bhirer modhhey kauke alada kora jayna....nicher manushguloke boddyo choto lagey ekhan theke...

amar 9 tolar janla die dekha jay amar byasto sohorer akash....amar saradiner byastotar fakey jokhon chokh pore dekhi akashtake...dekhi bohudoorer barigulo...byasto ey sohortake.....kokhono dhoasha....kokhono ba kalo megh...aj jemon bodyyo domka hawa dicche......kothao jhor utheche... kalche pora chadey lal parer achol urche....akashke chute chay sheyo...onnyodiker akashe tokhon lal ronger ghurita...cheleti latai ey shuto charche...doorey...aro onek doorey....aro opore...lal parer sari, tetolar baranda, seola pora chader opore.....amar 9 tolar janlar baire.....aro aro dooorey.....

Brishti

Chotita chire gelo
hothat hawar jhapta....
ar shey brishti namlo....

Adhar aalo,
akash bhore
kalo megher khela...
Diner seshe ekla ami...
Bari ferar pala
Emon koto brishtibheja sondhey geche kete...
Chera choti, bhije ami
Cholechi je hete...

Ronger Khela....

Idaning besh kichu bochor holo akta notun khelay peyeche amake....manush dekhar khela...amar charpasher lokera...ki bhabche...ki bolche...Onek shomoyi rasta die to koto lok jay, majhe majhe mone hoy tara thik kemon...tader bari...tader ghor...thik tader prithibitake chenar amar khoob icche hoy....hothat kore bhabte boshi tader nie ....
Ey to bari jacche oi byasto office theke berono oi mohila....kadhta laptop er bhare ektu jhuke poreche...hatey file....autor line ey darie she thik ki bhabche....bari...bari gie thik ki ki kaj..naki kalker deadline..naki amar motoi she thik onno kichu bhabche...na eto options diyna ami nijeke...ami nijer moton kore bhabi...amar je je rong dite iccche kore tader jibone...thik sheiguloi di...keu lal...keu shobuj...keu dhushor ar keu badami... oi je oi busta dekhchho....janlar dhare boshe ache oi meyeti...kichhukhon agei kono ak mondir theke pujo die firche....mathay sidurer tip ta ghame bhije dhebre geche.....tar o bari ferar tara.....tar barite onek kaj...bachara opekkha korche...aj rateo ki tar bor firbe? hoyto ba firbe... hoyto kalker dingulo onek bhalo hobe etai cheye shey aj mandirey pujo
dieche...jibonta ki palte jabe erpor?...rastay paner dokaner dhare oi lokta....nichu hoe
jhuke, hothat cigarette er agunta jalie nilo....mone hoy er mathay ojosro chinta...client, bari, office, promotion... dhoar majhe sukhtan dite dite bhire harie gelo......era thik
kara....prottekta manushi khub alada......kenoi ba eder chinte eto bhalo lage ....kothao ki theres something that binds them.... seta thik ki.... amader pariparshik jogot ta...amader bhetorer idur dour...naki eto bhirer modhhey eka nijer jaygatuku akre dhorte amra beporoa.....kono ak bohutol office barir thanda ghore bosha, byasto manager ar rastar hawker dujoner ey bachar lorai tai ki eder ak kore dey.....ami khub impractical...ami uttar khujina..amar kaj rong khoja.... tader kalponik jiboner rong gulo ami bhori..era shobai amar kache ak choloman chobi......ja ichhe rong tai debo...achha amake nieo ki keu bhabe ...keu bhorte chay rong....

Brooding Again

It was just one of those days....
When I felt like saying something....
But the words where not there......
I felt like screaming aloud....
Didnt really care...
But I lost my voice...
It was just one of those days
When I knew what I should have done
Should have said , should have told....
But as u see...
It was just one of those days....
When I was again silent and numb...
Still afraid to lose
Still undecided, unsure
Still waiting for the sunshine....

Come cross the line

"Come cross the line....
Moner Choukath
Come cross the line....
Shomoy er bibhrat
Come cross the line
amar hathta dhoro
tumi chailei paro....
Come cross the line ...."


Shottyi ki I can cross the line... desh kal shimanar gondir baire....amar chotto prithibi...amar janla amar ghor...ar ghorer bairer akaash.... eshob er gondi perote chailei ki para jay....ami janina...ami parini...bar bar kothao amay era atke feleche...amar ey sadamata jiboner doinondin obhhyesh gulo jeno boddyo beshi kore akre feleche amay...ami jani ami aj ar chaile parbona...ami aj 26ta bochhor ey sohore katiechi...onyo desh dekhar icche nei bolata bhool hobe.... kintu sohorta shottyi charte parbona.... amar alo adhar goli, pich gola rasta, rastar opor brishtir joley bhije jawa oi chottyo chai er dokanta....amar sohor jodio onek palteche ey 26ta bochhore.... kintu tar bhetorta shei ak.... thanda dokane sariboddho kretara rastay berie shei akrokom manush.....shei amar sohorer manush.... micchil er modhhe hothat harie jawa kono mukh dekhlei ajo amar chena lage...karon ey sohorer shobaikei to ami chini....chinina gondir bairer jogot ta ke...ichhe chilo....kintu shottyi shei ichhe take shottyi kore tolar khomota ba sahosh konotai holona....ami gondir moddheyi bachte chai..etake ami amar har bole manina....etai amar sukher chabikathi....ar hoyto akhon onek deri hoe geche....amar charpashta ekirokom thakuk..... bhoy kore bodle dite .... i can't cross the line....i can never cross the line.....

Narcissit

Take me away from reality,
From the suffocation and hypocrisy ...
from the humiliation and appreciation...

Take me away from all of them...
'Them' ....whom i call friends
with whom i share the details of my mundane life...

I pretend i dont understand
I'm immature as they say, im eccentric, im a hypocrite
I'm not you and i dont want to be you...
Leave me alone...For some things are better left that way...

Leave me alone from your criticisms
As I can never be perfect

Let me live my own life
Let me breathe, let me be complicated to the core
Let me dream about my kind of tomorrow
Let me cherish my kind of past memories

Stop laughing at me
Stop trying to make me perfect
Leave me alone...For some things are better left that way...

Leave me alone...


Let me celebrate my kind of life...

rong-berong

Bohu bochor dekha hoyni tar sathe...
Bohu bochor hoyni kono kotha...

Shey je shebar deshe firechilo
Bakshobojhai kore ene chilo rongberonger jinish
Tar chokheo chilo onnyo ak rong
Odbhut chilo shei ronger-i khela...

Kintu rong gulo shob palte gelo hothat,
Sesh holo tar rong khelar pala...
Abar shei sada kalor jogot
Majhe majhe adahar alor chomok
Brishti kore dey elomelo
Tar sajano rannabati khela

Shopnogulo harie gelo tar
Byasto sohor byasto jonopothey
Rong diye shey ajo jaal bone
Bhabna gulo ajo chay rongin hote.....