Tuesday, November 25, 2008


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...

Saturday, November 8, 2008

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 d├ęcor, 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…