Amaar Office Para

Na..dalhousie-r jam noy, sector 5 er shuttle noy ba chowringhee metro noy...amar offc para shohor theke besh khanikta doorey...oi je doorer rasta jekhane poth beke geche naam na jaana gramer pash die...jekhane sondheybelar hatey abdul majhi tar aloo potol er poshra nie boshey...jekhane dhankheter paash die boye geche ochena pukur...amar offc para akhon seikhane...

Roj shokale amar offc bus ey chepe jokhon golay bideshi multinational company r tag jhulie, chora rodey kalo choshma lagie jai...tokhon pother dudhare shohorer byastota janjot kichui nei...ache sudhu sudhu mile er por mile shobuj dhankhet...kolmi shaaaker bagan.. ar bohu doorey amar shohorer akashchoa bari...

Amder bus ey shobai amra ottyodhik shohurey...Gramer rastay dhuktei amra mukhey roomal chapa di...Gramer rasta, roddur, gramyo gondho...konokichutei amra obhostyo noi..Amader bus jokhon egie chole, ashe pasher rastar manushra koutoholi chokh nie takie thakey...jeno kono ak onnyo groho theke amra ashchi..amadero hab bhab o aki rokom..oder dike takie...kichu upekha, ghrina or doya makhano shobder byabohar amra saradini kori...

Shunechi oder chash er jomi tey naki gorey utheche amader shilponogori...oder naki ta pochondo noy...shohure babu ra bole "keno...opochonder ki ache...onek chakri peyeche amader doyay..." "employment er sujog korechi amra"..."aha ora ashole difference ta bujhte parche amader sathe oder--etai oder basic problem"

Shottyi hoyto difference gulo thekei jay oder ar amader jibone.. ey shobuj galche pata gram ey, kurey ghorer majhe, fata tirpol er gheratope ey--amar offc ta shottyi akta boro "difference"...parthokyo ta hoyto kichu bochor bade ar thakbena.. karon pichdhala ey rastar akey bakey gorey uthbe aro koto koto SEZ aro koto employment er sujog...sudhu akta difference thakbe...kolmi shaker bagan thakbena, thakbena kantatolar pukur parey kolshir bhir, thakbena sondheybelar gondho...jhijhi pokar daak. Shohorer hawa boibe tokhon.

Shuru hobe dalhousie er jam, sector 5 er shuttle ar office parar bhir...tobey totodine hoyto amader onek kichui aro doorey shorey jabe...
"amader choto nodi choley akey bakey
baisakh maashey taar hatujol thakey..
---
chikchik korey bali kotha nai kada
akdharey kashbon fooley fooley sada
kichimichi kore setha shalik er jhaank
ratey othey theke theke sheyal er haak"

Of hurt, pretense and cowardice

"There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt. "

Often people don't realize that amidst a friendly banter or harmless humor they end up hurting someone...Often they don't realize, because the person who is worst affected still maintains the picture perfect smile, still pretends and still adds to that banter though deep down inside they are bruised...What makes us stop? Why don't we just scream out and say "Enough, I can't take this anymore"...We don't...We come back to our own comfort zone, crib , crticize, cry and again get back to our lives...

Why can't we say "Please I cant take it anymore" ..may be we have the fear of getting ridiculed if we raise our voice... We can't say 'Enough' because the person on the other side might be going through a rough patch and you have to always think about the other person...

Its nobody's fault...Its my fault..The problem lies with me... I end up getting hurt easily may be...So carry on folks...make fun...you can laugh, get cynical and criticize , I promise I will always participate in your unintentional ideas of hurting me even though I hate it...and trust me I will never bounce back...I'm a coward.

There are days when you look back...when you look back and realize the importance of someone who is no more a part of your life ...even if you want to, you can't really get back to that person... even if you wish to wipe away all the confusions...all you are left with is just a few thoughts and memories...

You wish if you could go back in time and treasure those moments forever... You end up flipping through the pages of time, pondering over each little word, the thoughts, the memories...They never come back...they still exist somewhere but they are not a part of your life anymore... They chose to ignore you...they forget about your existence in their lives...you don't matter to them anymore...
All you are left with is a strange silence and an everlasting vaccum that leads to that empty space in your life...You keep on asking yourself... will it ever come back...the answer is always negative, but still you wish to look back....

"How I wish, how I wish you were here

We're just two lost souls

Swimming in a fish bowl,

Year after year,Running over the same old ground.

What have we found...The same old fears.Wish you were here"

And you keep on moving...and you accept that they will never come back...yet somewhere deep down you just desperately want them back..

This is for all of you who chose to move away--- I miss you...I wish you were here...

As long as my cellphone's switched on, I expect...I expect they will call, I expect they will have the time to speak...I expect they will make me happy, I expect I will get the solace...i will share, i will listen....This fucking gizmo is making me one hell of a dependant bitch...I need to be happy on my own...

I will be happy...and no one else, but I will make myself happy...

About Me

And every Facebook or Orkut or watever XYZ site has a About Me section...I have seen people fill in this space with hundreds of poems, quotes, oneliners, funny messages and deep and soulful sissy lines...

How do people know so much about themselves...how are they so sure that they are confident or arrogant, negative or positive,selfish or selfless?

I have never really bothered to know myself..I have spent hours discussing other people, gossips, issues, sympathies, envious sighs...but when it comes to me I don't know myself at all...What are the things that makes me the me I am...I don't know..I may be arrogant sometimes, and sometimes a chicken, I may be confident while taking an escalator but scared to press a button inside the elevator...People call me jovial...'mishukey' is the term they use...but to tell you the truth...when I'm scared I speak loads...I'm scared to meet new people or talk to strangers... I don't have the slightest bit of confidence...public speaking makes me all the more nervous...(my boardroom presence is the worst)

I cry easily...I'm emotional...but then not always...there are times when I should be crying but then I dont...and vice versa...Right now..as I write this post I feel I'll break down...but then I'm not crying...I'm just listening to music and scribbling on this white space endlessly...

Crowds scare me..my parents said that during my adolescence, I was so scared, I used to run away from my house, hide in the terrace whenever a group of relatives, or any groups came to our place...I'm still scared to speak...I'll think a thousand times before asking someone.."Whats the time"...But well I hardly let people know about that... Take me to a new place, and I will be be the first one to make friends...Though each word comes out of my mouth is a desperate attempt to bring me out of my inconfidence...

I'm negative as a person and positive at the same time...I like to believe this will work..But then I don't like to be that positive, so that it wont hurt me...it really hurts me when something turns out not the way i expected...then I just console myself saying ...i knew this wont work...though i badly wanted it!

I'm a hypocrite..I'm pretentious...I can pretend and make you feel you're really the best...but I can just turn my back and bitch about you at the same time..I have all signs of a hypocrite...I can't keep secrets if they have the potential of becoming the juiciest gossip of town...

I'm totally in love with myself...I cannot think beyond me..Though I can never express that...I get a strange kind of happiness when I can make someone happy...it makes me happy...and when people are all in praises about me...i just love that...I don't know I always expect to be the centre of attention...I'm an attention seeker...i want all eyes on me! but scared to declare that! may be thats the reason i blog...

There are so many things which are so complicated about me...I hate so many things in life..but when it comes to Facebook/Orkut, I just mention body odour and snobbery....I hate so many things...I hate people who are practical, who are mature and boldly declare themselves to be the epitome of these two qualities.... i dont like too much of straight forward people..whats the use of so 'on the face' stuff if that hurts someone.....i hate people who ignore me...i love something more than photography, ice creams and music... i love to be wanted by everyone... i want attention...in my bedroom you will not only find my bed but my thoughts, my messed up bed and me...

there are more than 5000000 things i cant live without...i really have no clue what i cant live without...i can live without business news channels may be, i can live without hardware shops, i can live without strawberries and baby corn in the traffic jam...i can live without ministers, elections, i can live without furniture shops...and so on...and i can live without fake emotions!

I cant live without so many things...

I love to live on self pity...brood over my loneliness, create sad stories out of it and post it as sulk saga on my blog...i cant live without comments on my blog...

and still you want to know more about me...then keep checking my blog for more details.

Careless Confessions

I changed the name of my blog to Careless Confessions. Raindrops was a name which I coined up just like that...it hardly had any meaning...just out of the blue.. then I started a blog named careless confessions, but I was so in love with my 'Raindrops' that I stopped it midway... I have finally named my blog Careless Confessions...Though raindrops still remains a part of it...

Why Careless Confessions?

Is it possible to express everytime? Why do people expect me to express ? I think this is a disease...I cannot express ...I don't have enough words which will make me express...It seems I'm always short of words...always searching for the right words... I always end up dragging a burden of unspoken feelings , of silent nights and wet pillow covers...but I have failed...failed to exress...

Careless Confessions...is not just a blog...it means expressing 'Me'...I want the world to know 'Me'... I think someday someone will read this blog...and get to know...the real me...I call it careless confessions...each confession a part of my life...a part of my unspoken feelings, unseen smiles, unnoticed teardrops...I cherish them every moment...hope you will have the same feeling when you go through my blog...And if you don't, I dont care!

Journey of X

X is back to her workplace after a long time...X falters while taking the steps inside the highrise, may be its the slip ons...X looks around...familiar faces, indifferent expressions and usual pace...X wants to shout..."Look at me, I'm back"... X cannot...

X enters the elevator...X looks at the specky tagged guy and says "Excuse Me, Y floor please"...X ends up on floor Y...The same color, the same posters, unfamiliar security guard and familiar smell of room freshners...

X walks towards the same old door, swipes the card but the door doesn't open...through the transparent glass door, X looks at the cubicle, someone else sits there...the cubicle still has all the stuff.. ..the terracota mask, the clay dolls, the painting, the desk calendar, diary, scribbles all over, paper planes they made on one idle afternoon, the white floral boquet that came for a friend, the stick ons, X's blue bottle which often got lost...

X looks at them...yes they were there, having fun, throwing paper and calling names...they surely missed X ... X desperately swipes her card again...the door is still locked, it does not open...

X has every little moment etched on her mind about that room, her chair, her cluttered desk, the people who were not just team members, the time they spent, the pranks, the gossips, the giggles, smiles, and the tears, the anxious calls, the celebrations, the failures....At the end of each day X used to look beyond the the huge glass windows in that room that opened out to a vast green expanse bordered by the blue sky on the horizon...

X does not have 'access' to that room anymore...X lost the access to that room, to the moments, to the little treasures, and 'them' who X called friends...X takes a look from behind the closed glass doors... they do not allow trespassing...X is just an outsider right now...X does not belong to the place anymore...

X walks down the corridor...doesn't look back...gets back to her new seat.....sends out the mail..."chocolates at X's desk"...theres suddenly a rush...people run for the chocolates and occasionally stop by formally asking X "Ki kemon laglo", "How was your trip", "How does it feel to leave your husband and come back" , "how will you live, you poor soul, without him..", "Why don't you go back"...X smiles and then they leave... X walks towards her seat, leaving them alone to bitch about her which is the inevitable part of their conversations...

X sits alone...alone...no one to talk, no one to ask, no one with questions, no one with prank plans... no one who will just pat X and say "Ki re aj eto chupchaap...kichu hoeche"...no one needs to know how X feels, what X went through...

X will miss them... X will miss a lot of things... X will get used to her new life and to the busy professionals in this part of the world...X will surely become 'Formal' and 'Professional' some day...X will not make friends, X will only have team members...

X is back....X realized that X has lost a lot of things during her journey....X scribbles again...X gets used to the new cubicle, new seat, new people ....people call her X here...no more paper planes but documents on her desk... a new journey begins for X....Hope someday X will reach her destination...

Homeward Bound

Phew...last 12 hours was HECTIC! Real hectic... From Heathrow to Dubai to Calcutta...heavy handbags, duty free chocolates, running aimlessly, sitting in between a car geek and a makeover freak for 8 hours and finally taking a glimpse of my own city from 19,000 feet..............i'm back home!

Heathrow to Dubai:
All sad to leave my deodorant at the security check section...exploring the duty free shops in 15 minutes( 5 minutes more than my husband's specification).... picking up Toblerone and Kitkat packs (I know whats coming "Kitkat ota to ekhanei pawa jay")

Looked at the directions for my specified flight gate...It was Gate No. 7... Standing in a queue.. behind me a strange looking guy with a punk hair girl.....glitter all over...the girl was kicking her hand luggage instead of pulling or dragging it like me...Innovation at its best and faster than my strolley!...One kick and bull's eye, it was almost close to the ticket counter...

A gentleman with his wife interrupted me amidst my profound thoughts..."May I"....Its a polished way of barging in...polished me says "Oh Sure"... This couple was sitting beside me while I was bidding my husband goodbye.... "Mr. May I" speaks "Tumi ki Bangali" (my first thought "Shit I kissed him in front of Bengalis...Embarrassing realisation after an hour !)... Yet the curious me smiled "Ha apnara?" (though the answer is written all over the question!!!!) Silly me!

My Bong Connection:

Mr. May I: Rich upper middle class...J.U passout... Typically in his 60s...salt pepper hair...travels all over the world with his wife...plans his tour itineraries on the flight...has a share trading business...Has a famous Bong lineage...palatial house in North Calcutta..one more in Salt Lake (well furnished, in case you missed that)...got my invitation for the Durga Puja... baritone voice which comes more out of his snobbery... Frequent use of accented English..

Mr. May I's wife : Quite close to Arundhuti Debi...Interested only in making matter of fact statements and reiterating her husband's statements...Totally a "Repeat after me" chorus

As I was listening to the next announcement, Mr. May I said "Ki Nervous"...( read this as "Are you flying for the first time... look at us...I almost fly everyday! ") I replied in affirmative...As I could not find the perfect fake answer...

Was getting bored so I just moved on...thank god my seat was not next to them...My seat was between a blonde make up maniac and a car geek...both busy in their respective spheres for the rest of the flight that is 8 hours...so no issues...I watched Shrek, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Henry v, 7 things to do before I turn 30 (quite apt!) and Rebound and a few more!

Dubai, Mr.Drunk and Home :

Reached Dubai at 230 am IST... Almost running through the terminals for my next flight...I finally found my seat...Stacked my chocolate bags...And my first thought 'Calcutta--just in 4 hours'...

My co passenger speaks up, "Lots of chocolates"!
Me: Yes.
A specky geeky 40 ish Bong...works in an oil refinery in Bahrain...going to meet his parents...Was interested in talking about the recent economy in Bahrain, number of Bengalis in Bahrain, comparison of Dubai Airport with DumDum Airport (common topic for all flyers)...But I was more interested in the Jennifer Lopez movie, so he was forced to stop....But he was nice and quite simple...

It was around 2 hours to Calcutta....The guy sitting on the left aisle seemed drunk..Copper brown hair(overdose of cheap brown mehendi)...red tie with floral motifs, pointed shoes with heels which had geometric designs embossed on them..Style icon for sure...speaking crap with the air hostess like "You are so nice..I work in Dubai in a pub but I'm from India...I also worked in tv serials"...The air hostess mechanically replied " Thank You Very Much Sir...Would you like any drinks sir? (Gosh No!) ...he replied... oh yes.. "Do you have Rum"..The conversation seemed boring.. I went off to sleep...

The flight was approaching Calcutta in a few more hours...I took out my pen to complete the immigration form...

Mr. Drunk: Excuse me madam, do you have a pen?
Me: (Silently gave him the pen...scared of losing it forever, I keep an eye on him)
Mr. Drunk: Are you married madam? (read this as, "doesnt matter, I'll still try my luck")
After a few minutes I had to speak,
Me: Excuse me, I need that pen
Mr. Drunk: I cant believe this that you are married? ( talking to himself it seemed...disheartened for this child marriage taking place without his prior permission)
Mr. Drunk: How is your husband?
Me: Fine
Mr. Drunk: Is he handsome? !!!!!!!!@#$$$
The air hostess drops in..."Sir are you feeling okay"!

Passenger Announcement: "The flight will be reaching Calcutta, in 30 minutes. The weather blah blah blah".... I could not figure out the rest....I looked below... my city, my matchbox houses, the blue sky... my home...
Home again...Everything seems like a dream as I wake up in my apartment in Landsdowne...Everything is just the way I left it...Back to home, back to my empty room..and back to my reality...

Ode to Coffee

As I start this post I'm sipping my hot morning cup of coffee.

I guess the world is divided into 2 groups--"coffee or tea". I belong to the first one.

I'm not a coffee addict. But I hate tea and I have not tasted it at all or may be once ...once while trekking in Sikkim. I had to drink tea, as coffee was not available. The sad after effect was, I puked throughout. May be it was the after effect of the altitude and not tea. But then, I associate my puking with tea. So tea is totally out from my life.

My earliest memory of coffee traces back to my childhood when Pushudi made coffee every morning in a huge steel mug. She was in her 60s. A retired school inspector, she was the eternal dominating cynical aunt in the family. I was scared of her. She did not have a single 'grey' hair. It was all white. Her hair was like a bunch of white candy floss. That scared me all the more.

It was at her 'request' I was once served coffee. I hated it. Hated the idea of drinking something like a brown chocolately liquid in a huge cup. But I was so scared I could not refuse. I was around 10 years old and it was black coffee! To this day I hate black coffee. I like my coffee with lots of sugar and milk. Anything bitter, reminds me of Pushudi!

I remember when Pushudi came over and stayed with us she used to make me coffee every morning. I got so used to that aroma and the taste that I got addicted to that morning cup of coffee. I carried on the legacy for the rest of my life!

My memories of coffee takes me back to my Darjeeling trip. I remember a foggy morning in Darjeeling. I was walking down the mall with ma and we felt like having coffee. There was a coffee shop right at one corner of the mall. Keventers. That was my first trip to Darjeeling and to Keventers. But trust me it was not the last.

But then, we did not have coffee that day. We had hot chocolate with bacon sandwich. The hot chocolate flavor still lingers on and everytime we are in Darjeeling, Keventers is surely on the list. From the terrace at Keventers we watched the busy Darjeeling mall waking up to a new morning as the sun rays glittered on the snowy peaks of Kanchenjungha.

I think I associate coffee with moments more than its flavor. I remember every time during a train journey, my father asks me "Coffee Khabi" and I smile. The coffee vendor with his skilful hands pours the milk from the steaming kettle and adds sugar and coffee. He hands over the paper cups to us while my father gets busy taking out the coins. I promise to myself I wont sip the hot coffee, but invariably I do that. I always end up sipping the hot coffee that leaves a strange sensation on my tongue throughout the day. But then it does not stop me from having it. I like it everytime. Not the coffee. But the feeling.

Our neighbors were South Indians. Everytime I went to Sanju's place, Aunty asked me 'Coffee'? And I happily nodded as I loved their taste of coffee. May be it was not Nescafe, it was Bru coffee. They had a strange way of serving coffee. It was in a stainless steel glass placed in a bowl. I loved the entire experience of having coffee holding the bowl and the glass. The coffee had a different flavor too.

Well if its about coffee I cant forget the innumerable coffee dates I had with friends, boyfriends, crushes and can be crushes and casual dates. My first cafe date was with a guy and we went to Aqua Java in Elgin Road. I ended up marrying that guy later on but then thats a different story. The place has closed down. Though I was quite reluctant to go to a coffee shop with him. We had something in Mocha flavor, the first time we had coffee. Even he doesnt remember, but then we enjoyed it. Though we ended up fighting!

Later I tried a number of coffee shops. Different Barista joints, CCDs, Costa Coffee, Starbucks, Zen, though somehow Barista remains my favorite. Specially the Gariahat Barista. And yes how can I forget my Barista Blast!

Lake road CCD or fondly called Ashok er Dokan is also special. But the breakfast at Flury's with a cup of hot coffee beats any cafe joint coffee for me! Well may be I have special memories with Flury's as well.

The coffee at Compare, my previous office also deserves a special mention. The "Coffee Khete Jabi" call meant GOSSIP! Also if we were stressed out, we often consoled each other during the coffee breaks. There used to be a thousand coffee breaks during our 8 hours of work which we called 'pata lekha'. Miss the terrible coffee at Compare and the gossip sessions all the more.

This December, me and Supriya discovered a restaurant called 'The Cafe' while walking down the streets. Though we planned for Flurys , as luck would have it, it was overcrowded on 25th December morning. We were in a queue waiting behind 1000s of Flury's fanatics. So two hungry souls( we had a few jalebis only), tired after street hopping ended up at this insignificant place called 'The Cafe'. Its just close to British Council. We even decided not to spill the beans and pretend to others that we had Christmas breakfast at Flury's . This was our statement :

"Shobaike bolbo Flurys ey amra kheyechi" ! But the purely South Indian meets continental breakfast at The Cafe was not even close to Flury's at all in any possible way.

And yes how can I forget Sector 5 CCD and Barista, where me Pallavi and Supriya used to meet. I almost sneaked inside to find indifferent Supriya with that typical "You guys are always late" kinda expression on her face while Pallavi missing as usual. She is usually inside the elevator during these 'SOS' situations.

Miss u guys and that coffee and the sizzling brownie too!


However would like to mention this strange incident related to coffee:
A few years back when I went for a trip in North Bengal, we stopped at small street side shop and asked "Coffee kothay pawa jabe"--- The man was kind of half drunk it seemed. He took out a large cauliflower and said "Phul kopi ---ey to"!

I finally added some color to my blog! Hope it adds color to my sulk posts as well! and I end up writing something other than sulk stories.

I often end up writing my posts in a note pad and not saving them, bingo its lost! However this is not a good enough reason for not posting for the last 2 months.

Its not really working these days. I feel I cant write anymore. Not that I was a Shakespeare meets Tagore in my last birth, but then whatever it was, at least there was a need to express, need to shape up my thoughts, I dont feel that within me anymore. Back then I felt that I wanted to write, scribble, sulk and ended up posting my eternal melancholy on raindropsandshadows. And yes I badly waited for those detailed comments.

I have often asked myself, why did I end up creating a blog. I was quite comfortable scribbling on notepads, scribbling on the pages of my diary, on the last page of every school/college/office notebook I have used for all these years...Was it just to be with the trend, to post the link on orkut and facebook and say, hey I have a blog too, or was it just simply to give a shape to all these confused yet myriad thoughts that haunt me all the time.

I really dont have a clue. May be all of you have a reason for blogging , for me, I simply cant find any. May be the attention seeker I am, this was just the probable after effect. I dont know. I dont want to think. These days I have stopped thinking. I just like to go with the flow.

However this post has a reason behind it. The reason why I ended up posting today. Last night as I checked my mailbox there was a mail that said that some Anonymous has posted a comment. It was for a post written ages back. I published the comment. There was a strange kind of satisfaction that I owed to myself for a long time. And so I ended up posting once more. Thanks Anonymous. For you I ended up scribbling on a notepad again. And this time I wont lose it , at least for the time being.

London Memoirs

London sky ocassionally looks blue. The drifting clouds hide the peeping rays of sunshine that often sneaks inside my windy 13th floor apartment.

I'm sitting on my balcony and sribbling words, as the wind plays with my unkempt hair. Beyond my glass balcony lies the beautiful horizon mixed in blue and grey with a few highrises at a distance. The city often reminds me of Calcutta, though it is quite different from my hometown filled with different colors, people, faces and different names.

I have never been out my city for such a long time. This was the first time I'm not there for a month. I have left behind my usual shuttle hopping and switched to the red buses and fast moving local trains. I have left behind my Gariahat street side shops and done window shopping here; converting every pound with my currency and leaving it back to be picked up by some snazzy Londoner.

I often don't understand why everyone is in such a hurry over here. May be I'm out of that race, or has it always been like that..I love watching life in motion as I quietly sit on one corner bench around the street.

Theres a man who strums Bollywood numbers on his guitar at the end of the street. Its mostly 'Tujhe Dekha to Yeh Jana Sanam' and 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hay". He is a musician. No actually he is a beggar . People throw coins while he strums the guitar. On lazy Sunday afternoons I often sit on one end of the street and listen to him playing the tunes that reminds me of my city, my home, and my regular dose of Channel V and MTV.

Sometimes I dont understand their dialect. May be I'm still not used to their way of speaking English, intercepted with occassional 'eh's and 'yeah's. I have noticed they dont move their lips as much as we do while speaking. That might be the British subtle art of communication, which I'm trying to get used to.

The strange thing about the Brits is just as Indians are after fairness creams, most of the Brits here are crazy about tanning. Wherever I have been there are tan parlors, tan lotions and potions, tan beds, tan areas. During the sunny weekends as I dab an extra dose of compact on my dusky skin, the Brits are out there on the parks, streets almost half clad busy getting a tan. No ones happy with their color!

Most of the newspapers here hardly have any important news. The entire fat newspaper is like Calcutta Times filled with mindless page 3 gossip. I hate reading the newspaper here as I cannot relate to any one of their page 3 personalities! I miss my Telegraph and Calcutta Times!

However theres one section in the newspaper that was quite interesting. Just like our matrimonials they do have their dating columns where they look for dating partners:

There was one advert that went out like this:
"Looking for lifetime love with someone who would hold hands and just stroll on the beach, kiss me goodnight and look at my eyes every morning when I wake up"... Can we really do this back home instead of "5'8 , fair skinned groom earning 8 lacs per annum and looks for homely beautiful convent educated bride"-- May be thats the difference between lifetime love and marriage. Though I'm sure nothing really lasts.

I will miss London, I will miss my home here and my life too...Loved this experience of living a life on my own. But then so much waits for me in Calcutta... maa, baba, bari, my office, my friends, my streets, my shuttle hopping and my usual life ... may be my space...does it really exist..who knows..right now I'm packing my bags for Flight EK 007 to Calcutta via Dubai...

I intended this post to be like a travelogue though it ended up as an anecdote of my personal experiences in a different city. Trying to come up with a travelogue soon!

I'm feeling terrible tonite...my machine says its 11.16 PM...and wat am i supposed to do now? sulk? sleep? scribble crazy stuff? silently look at the lavender walls? everything looks so neatly arranged....is this my room? no unfolded levis...no half opened books... no scattered towels... I have changed...

My window opens out to a 19th century red brickwalled structure... a mansion built by some nameless zamindar of yesteryear...the dark terrace looks eerie tonite...its lonely out there too... the summer breeze gently whispers through my half opened window...may b i cant write anymore...may b i'm losing it...

How would you feel if you were under a microscope, where you're completely unable to do anything...and even if you do...that would be the laughing stock of millions who are watching you... the eyes that follow you every moment... the glances, the smiles exchanged...why do you have that spot on your face...why is it kept this way? why this and not that...why dont you smile? why are you crying? are you feeling lonely? hungry?

And burdened under this 1 million whys ifs and whats...you start parting with the 'you' which you had carefully nurtured for all these years....

Silhouette

She walked down Mandeville Gardens every evening... Her floral printed skirt kissed by gentle summer wind...Her legs covered in stockings that almost resembled her skincolor... She carried a dark red umbrella, with its brown oval end clasped in her palms....her black shoes though quite old fashioned had the pointed heels, that made a quaint sound on the tarred stretch of the posh locality...

I saw her always from a distance..Never managed to see her face...Her back was quite alluring..Her fully formed hips, her stockings, shoulder length hair that kissed her loosely fitted shirt, formed a silhouette on my mind...I follwed her often, though keeping it as a cherished secret...Her red umbrella, and floral printed skirt, gently combed hair all added to the silhouette... I never had the courage to speak to her... I was never confident...My middle class Bong sensibilities overpowered me, everytime I wanted to approach her...

Today I had made up my mind... I stood on the other side of the road for the entire afternoon, just to have a glimpse of her face...

"She listen'd with a flitting blush...with downcast eyes and modest grace...and she forgave me, that I gazed too fondly on her face!"

I was in love...I knew her by now almost...How she walked...how she gently moved the curls that kissed her face... how she wiped the trail of sweat from her face...i just wanted to lift the veil...
just like the anxious lover on a first date, I almost stood there for hours....expecting her long awaited arrival...expecting the sound of her heels...her floral skirt and a girly fragrance that filled in the air each time she walked by...

There was a commotion near the main road...May be some sort of accident...I rushed to the spot...A trail of blood on the black asphalt...over enthusiatic and curious crowd...clueless cops...

A speeding vehicle had crushed another life... The face could not be identified... I peeped in... The red umbrella was lying on the side of the pavement... The pointed heels on the other side...It was almost twilight... I returned home carrying the silhouette on my mind and a secret in my heart...

Loneliness overpowers me sometimes...Though I desperately stick on to my facade of "oh me so happy" "oh me so fun" "me the extrovert" but still sometimes my lonely self surfaces over all facades, all the fake smiles, all the "I don't like it but I need to smile" moments...I lose the battle...I give in sometimes...Its embarrassing...
The world around me is not used to my lonely and quiet self...thanks to my pukish pretentions...they keep on nagging me with the question ..."Ki holo, aj eto chupchap keno? Mon kharap korche?" I answer with renewed vigour..."Arey na na...emni"...I can never define this "emni" in my life...I don the mask again...and again I'm a part of the world around...
Nights are all the more empty...a vast expanse of dark sky stretches beyond my iron grilled windows...I have figured out the world outside is equally lonely and cold ...just like me...

The night unfolds and my eyelids get heavy with age old slumber...I'm tired...it finally gives me the long awaited respite from my facade...shields me from all the pretentions...I hide like a helpless child inside its unfathomable darkness...but then yet another day begins...

La Lettre

She finally wrote the letter..the letter was a vivid detail of her emotions...bare naked emotions..She read it all over again..How would he react? Is it okay to let him know....the questions overbrimmed her helpless mind...she was desperate to let him know of her feelings....she badly wanted to speak to him once...let him know how she still feels about him...is it too late? whats the point? the eternal negative pangs of reality stopped her again...

She badly wanted to tell him tonight... tell him how important he was in her life...wanted to tell him that how his absence affected her... how she wanted to get back...how she just wanted a world of their own...

"Maa..." Her 13 year old son shouted from the other room...18 years or was it more? the letter was stacked in one of the dusty useless envelopes in the attic, written ages back...Mrinalini discovered it this afternoon , while cleaning the mess...A teardrop gently kissed her cheek after all these years...She crumpled the letter inside her soft palms...she tore it to pieces...the waft of autmn wind scattered her emotions over the concrete skyline... The white pieces of paper abandoned in the whirlwind of time kissed the tarred stretch beneath...words ruthlessly crushed under speeding vehicles... or was it speeding Time?

"Maa",Mrinalini wiped off the last trail of tear drop that kissed her dusky skin...Its too late...Its really too late...

Influenced, Inspired plagiarism

I was going through a blog last night...author was a friend of mine...shared a lot of precious moments with her years back...As I read her posts...I saw how she had skillfully lifted from my posts ....She not only lifted them...edited them...added her own words and posted it on her blog...My posts my creations but with a little here n there modifications...

It was not surprising...as she had done this before as well...but then I will not really get into this...I take it as a compliment friend...You can go ahead and lift the rest of the stuff...well of course I'm no Shakespeare and blogs are not copyrighted...

Somebody once said , "Copy from one, it's plagiarism; copy from two, it's research. "...

Well hope your inspired research continues...And moreover "influence is used as a nice word for plagiarism"

So happy lifting...though I really love my posts, my phrases, my words...but then at least I'm happy my posts are worth lifting...a big thanks goes out to you sweetheart!

This post goes out to all the mindless readers who hardly read/think/ use their brains before they comment:

You may be the smart ass in town...do not have to prove it on my blOG...SPARE MY BLOG from your cheeky idiotic comments...

There are days when you just feel like talking...saying the right words...but then there are also days when you dont have a listener.... I have somehow started smsing myself...

Its kind of strange, when you start speaking to yourself...somedays...when life suffocates you, you feel like taking a break, when theres a lump inside and you cant speak about it, when you are happy, when theres nothing, yet something to talk about...talk to yourself... it doesnt help...but it doesnt harm either...fast life, facades, faces, words, time...things are moving so fast, all I can hold on to is... Me... may be

Of Airports, God and Airhoshtesh

Well someone once said: Just got back from a pleasure trip, I took my mother-in-law to the airport"

Airports and railway stations somehow are a place where the phrase 'endless wait' really holds true...Either its waiting for the long planned departure or long expected arrival...Thanks to the flight schedules these days, endless wait is getting a bit more stretched...

I somehow love going to the airports...I have lost count of the number of times I went to the airport, though my flight journeys are quite less in number...

I went to the airport early this morning... Busy, sleepy yet snazzy as usual... A few frantic luggage stuffed travelers, Air India airhostess in neatly done horribly printed silk sarees, sexy Kingfisher 'bitches', yellow sleek Jet crew and so on... but wait till you visit the airport washrooms... They are almost similar to any local train station 'toilets'...Dim lights, smelly, and watery floors...watever be the source of that flood!

I was going through that endless wait phase in the lounge. As I looked around, a kid was moving his both hands aimlessly in the air ...the jesture was followed by the adults sitting beside him... the playful act was one of the ways to keep the mosquitoes and flies away!

But this post is not about 'toilets', 'flies' and other third world theatrics... Someone once said "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"-

I spotted a number of Hare Krishna hippies today...Rucksacked, Krishna clad, sporting shaved heads, the tuft of hair on the back of their head, fair skinned legs wrapped in silk white dhotis... Each chanting Krishna prayers oblivious to the world around though making it more obvious for the people around...God knows what Krishna had in store for them which Jesus did not!

Well I'm not that religiously inclined to get into a debate. I spotted a middle aged woman... Trendy tracks, almost 6 feet, well built female in her 50s...Busy stretching half the time...Her tees boldly declared her love for the Himalayas as she was busy reading a book on the British Raj days in India...

Airports are not only about international tourists.... Our good old Dum Dum airport has the local flavor too...The doting son, bidding farewell to the proud North Calcutta parents, leaving for - Mumbai! The frantic newly married jeans clad wife, vermillion smeared forehead, overdose of Shakha Paula, Mangalsutra, bidding farewell to the husband, going somewhere I don't know... The husband ensures everything is in place, before the newly born oops newly married starts to fly... He even explains her how to fasten the seat belts... May be the airlines industry would soon get a few volunteers... Parents providing breakfast to their sons , husbands checking the documents and the sisters and brothers doing the last minute security check- "Nailcutter ta bag ey rekhechish to?"

I can't miss out the group that inspired me to pen down the post... They were like me , had come to 'see-off' someone...May be the daughter in law/ daughter... She was wearing stretch jeans and a well fitted shirt that made her plump figure all the more prominent....red shoes... red vermillion that ended in a triangular shape on her glowing forehead ( typically inspired by the daily soaps)... Her relatives ogled at the pancaked air hostess who passed by... pointing at them one of the yellow tanter saree female told the old man in the group: "Oi dekho...era shob air hoshtesh"--- The man stared silently at the picture perfect fashion school dropout divas ... "O erai"--- Seemed like the most important information he was waiting for, a minute later he answered..."Bhaloi banieche" --- May be he was talking about the airport, whatever...

I left at around 530 am... The sun had already kissed the Calcutta skyline... The city was waking up to a Monday morning... I need to get back to office... A new month begins... On a positive note... and I was coming back with my mother in law...so the pleasure trip quote was not much applicable for me though! ;)

P.S: My comments are solely based on my travel expereinces to DumDum airport...Haven't done much airport hopping in this short life!

She finally packed each little thing, which she wanted to take... She stood in front of the over cluttered dressing table... Cosmetics, jewellery carelessly all over the place...
The silver junk from Park Street, way back in 2003... The chocolate wrapper stacked in the little wooden box ...it was from school...Gifted to her by a friend..."Bideshi Chocolate"---they were rare those days...The colorful shampoo satchets, the free gifts that were carefully treasured, unused bottle of wheatish foundation...last time used for that boring Biye bari...string of friendship bands.....the Oriental dragon pics taken in some monastery in Sikkim...Kanchenjungha sunrise from Darjeeling...Valentine's day greetings..Salman Khan with the pigeon...a Maine Pyaar Kiya cut out...all carelessly stacked inside the wooden chest...



She had stored them over 27 years... she will be leaving this place soon...she needs to pack the 'important' stuff... She needs to dump the unimportant rest...