Careless Confessions

Prisoner of Life- Aruna Shaunbag

2011-04-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

Tucked away from the fast life of Mumbai, away from all the deadlines, away from time lives Aruna.

The smell of ether, moving wheelchairs, uniformed staff and patients are a regular sight at this part of the world. Beyond the huge French windows, stretched out Mumbai city- the city of dreams; the fast city life of a concrete metropolis whizzed past as the tall skyscrapers outlined the crimson horizon. Three decades--where each day brought about a new change; the city changed, its name changed, the people changed and their faces. 37 years or was it more. Aruna does not remember.

It was way back in 1970s, Aruna, a young and vibrant girl from a small village in Karnataka in her mid 20s had joined King Edward Memorial Hospital in Bombay as a junior nurse. One of the most rewarding professions, Aruna treated her patients with all the responsibility and care and brought back a smile in their lives.

It was a spring in 1970s. Aruna met the new handsome junior doctor in the hospital. It started with professional conversations and soon turned out to be something more than that. They were in love. Aruna wanted to settle down with him in life.

It was a pleasant autmn month in 1973. Her marriage was fixed with her fiance in November and both the families geared up with the preparations. Aruna colored her dreams red.

Sohanlal was a ward boy in the same hospital. Aruna was often irked by his negligence and one day she complained to the senior authorities against him. Sohanlal was badly reprimanded by the seniors and he felt humiliated. Sohanlal did not turn up for days.

It was an evening on 27th November, 1973. Aruna was supposed to meet her fiance at the bus terminus. She told him she would wear her favorite red saree for the evening. Aruna's dreams were crimson.

Aruna was a little late that evening. She hurried down the stairs and reached the empty basement washroom to change her clothes. But suddenly the lights went off. Was it a power cut? As Aruna took out the saree, she could hear some footsteps.

It was none other than Sohanlal. He was drunk. She screamed out desperately for help. Angry Sohanlal wanted to stop that voice forever. He strangulated her with a heavy chain. Aruna could only quiver like a half dead prey and was soon lost in some darkness.

Drunk Sohanlal repeatedly assaulted her. Aruna lay there on the floor. Bleeding and unconscious. Alone. It was darkness all around. The thick strain of blood stained the hospital floor.

Her fiance was left waiting at the bus terminus. It was raining heavily. The last bus left but Aruna did not turn up. Aruna could never turn up.

Clinical Report: "Lack of oxygen supply to the brain due to asphyxiation resulting in brain stem contusion injury and cervical cord injury apart from leaving her cortically blind"

FIR report: Case 1013: "Case of robbery and attempted murder"

Aruna's family did not accuse Sohanlal of rape charges. They wanted to avoid the social stigma and save her impending marriage. Sohanlal was convicted. He only served two concurrent seven-year sentences for assault and robbery. Sohanlal was free after 14 years. It was Aruna, who became the prisoner of life. Forever.

Its been three decades. Bombay changed to Mumbai. India celebrated its 50 years of independence. But life has come to a standstill for Aruna Shaunbag. Frail and wrinkled Aruna is in a vegetative stage for the last 37 years.

Its raining heavily in Bombay today. The moist winds kissed the glass windows in Aruna's room. Aruna's life has come to a standstill. Its the same hospital where she once walked through the corridors in her uniformed dress.Its the same hospital where she had once weaved her dreams and aspirations. Its the same hospital where she had fallen in love; where she received awards for her exemplary performance. Its the same Kings Edward Memorial hospital. Only the years have passed by and Aruna is a patient. A patient who will never be released.

Aruna still dreams. She dreams of red; of her wedding trousseau; she dreams of green; the green fields in her village in Haldipur; she often dreams of black;

Is it too late; is he still waiting at the bus stop for her? Is anyone out there waiting for Aruna. Cold and lonely, Aruna blankly stares at the walls for her answers. She can't speak, neither can she hear nor feel.

Aruna wets her bed and waits for the next nurse to clean her up. Its an endless wait as the country, its legal orders and Aruna's nurses want her to live.

Aruna Shaunbag lives. And we all hope her journey reaches a destination.

["Aruna Shanbaug (or Shanbhag) is a nurse from Haldipur, Uttar Kannada, Karnataka in India. In 1973, while working at King Edward Memorial Hospital, Parel, Mumbai, she was sexually assaulted and has been in a vegetative state since the assault. On 24th January 2011, after she had been in this status for 37 years, the Supreme Court of India responded to the plea for euthanasia filed by Aruna's friend journalist Pinki Virani, by setting up a medical panel to examine her. The court turned down the mercy killing petition on 7 March, 2011. However in its landmark judgment, it allowed passive euthanasia in India.[1]"-(From Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aruna_Shanbaug_case)

(*the post is just a fictitious perspective of Aruna Shaunbag case.)]

To Love,

2011-04-14T20:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Love, When was the last time you knocked my door, showered me with wet kisses and made me realize your presence. When was the last time you welled up tears in my eyes and made me realize you are still there beside me . When was it during an unexpected moment, you held my hand and whispered:"I'm there". I dont remember as it has been ages I was in love all over again; head over heels giggling with my girlfriends sharing little details with a precious glow in my mind. May be I lost you midway. I know you were never bound by completion, goals or aspiration. You only belonged to fools or romantics. I'm a fool. I still need you. I need you to reassure me that yes you will be there...forever. I want you to hold me when I feel lost. When the practicals and ambitious surround me, love I desperately want to be content in your arms. As the twilight sneaks in amidst the bright rays of sunshine, you will also sneak into our lives and never leave. I want on to hold on to this twilight, love. But I know its not there. You have deserted me long back. In my pursuit of practical wisdom I lost you. Love, I'm neither a romantic, nor practical, but I want you back. Do you still belong to me or have you really deserted my life just as the faded autmn leaves gives way to winter----endless and long lasting... Yours truly- .....

Monologue

2011-04-09T22:42:00.000-07:00

"Tomay chute chaoar muhurtera ke jaaney ki abeshey dishahara.." What is your status update all about... Cant u read Bengali? Yes i can...Whatever! "Listen Sarmistha, you have to be practical, you cant take your emotions in the market and buy stuff! You need money" "Sarmistha, stop acting like a baby. Everytime you can't just come here and say I havent done this or that" "Sarmistha, for everything there is a process. You just cant take somebody's word and believe it, you have to have written proof" "Sarmistha, grow up!" "Sarmistha please act according to your age. Look at other people of your ageand behave accordingly!" "God Sarmistha when will you become practical" "Life is not smooth Sarmistha, face it!" Are you tired Sarmistha. Are you lonely Sarmistha. Do you want to change Sarmistha. Do you really want to grow up? Do you want to become practical? Answer me back Sarmistha. I need you to answer all of them.

E se Erotica

2011-03-23T23:30:00.000-07:00

1960s: The lover amazed by the leading lady's beautiful feet, tucks a note saying: Yeh Haaseen pair zameen pe mat rakhiye mailey ho jayenge

1970s: Tulips, Rekha, Amitabh, Holland

1980s: Silk Smitha seducing the shy Kamal Hasan showing her sultry skin

1990s: Urmila Matondkar in a skimpy white dress running along the beach followed by rugged Jackie Shroff at the backdrop

Come to 2011, Shielas and Munnis gyrating effortlessly exposing her hour glass shape with her titillating jawani that sure turns the nation crazy.

Erotica in 2011 circa is no more about wet chiffon sarees, beautiful feet or sultry silk Smita. Thanks to our exposure to television, Internet and specially our current crop of leading ladies, theres no more mystery left in what lies choli ke peechey and saree ke neechey! 2011 erotica is not about a village belle Vidya Balan sucking Arshad Warsi's thumb its more on the face erotica where clevage Sawants and Emran kiss-me-s have taken over.

Be it films, tv shows, group discussions, texts, scraps, titillation is the "IN" word. TRPs are no more about some baritone Bachhan fulfilling the middle class dreams but its about the bold and the beautiful and their bedroom fanatics. From Bigg Boss to Splitsvilla to Calendar Girl, oomph sleaze and porn are slowly being catered to the so called Indian society where things like honor killing, child marriage, female foeticide are still predominant. So what the fuck man...progession is not about banning female foeticide but its about enjoying bare-it-all femme fatales on the move oh and with some emotions please.

For us, the youth (I can still have this much of liberty being the blog owner!) using abuses is just a part of the language. Fuck off is the new mantra which we almost chant a million times in a day. And the next time you are hanging out with friends and you dont know what to talk about, you must have a good collection of 'Non Veg' jokes. So before you become the vegetable in the group start practicing the new mantra!

But media is our social guardian always remember that. Our television channels ensure everytime the F word comes we should hear it with a beep. Well we are in an Indian society, where middle fingers can come at any pretext but on television it will always be with a BEEEP! Family audience hai bhai!

Finally India is the land of Kamasutra. And we Indians love our tradition. So the next time dont have to buy those x rated videos from your local porn dealer, Indian television is out there with its prime time reality shows; all you will get is some half naked women cosying up with multiple partners, or abusing 'beep'y shit to their fellow contestants. And the outcome of these shows--- for the next few fortnights media will cover the same story, focussing on the sleazy footage with big red circles! And the final consequence: if the contestant happens to have any Islamic connection whatsoever, immediate fatwas are declared with the Talibans up in arms against the poor fellow and in case the poor soul happens to be a Hindu...well dude Shiv Sainiks are not far behind!

Amaar Office Para

2010-10-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-19T07:42:00.000-07:00

"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.

2010-09-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-08-30T10:54:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-28T04:18:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-19T11:53:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-13T10:55:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-11T11:19:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-06T01:14:00.000-07:00

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"!

2010-08-05T06:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-08-05T01:35:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-05-31T10:45:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-04-11T06:58:00.001-07:00

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

2010-04-10T23:17:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-03-17T00:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-16T04:21:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-11T09:54:00.001-08:00

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!

2010-03-06T00:12:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-03-05T02:06:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-28T20:06:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-01-10T09:58:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-08T05:08:00.000-08:00

Have you ever begged for something...begged out of your own possessiveness...out of your own desire...out of compulsion of your own emotions...begged to make yourself wanted? have you ever begged helplessly...begged for something which you will never get? do you feel stuck...have you ever cried? felt alone? coiled inside yourself? wanted to speak but didnt have the right words? wanted someone to understand you..the you inside? wanted to hold that hand which was never yours...wanted to reach out but there was emptyness all around...?
where do these thoughts come from? why do we think? I picked up my phone again...thousands of names in the call list...hundreds of texts that filled my inbox...but there was hardly anyone whom I could call...I screamed inside the empty room...the mirrors reflected my helpless insanity...the marble floors wet with unreasonable tears...the room looks blurred now...its almost end of another day...like everyday...

2009-11-07T23:46:00.000-08:00

There are somedays, when you feel blank...there's a strange kind of emptyness inside..and its kind of stubborn like me...i dont know...have i lost something?

I have a presentation on Monday...Right now I'm supposed to work on online help and usability ...but as usual I end up posting silly stuff...

I'm really curious that who reads my posts? Do they really understand what I want to say? Does it really matter? My narcissm is getting hold of me again...I'm going through my blog...sulk written all over...

Monday I will be in that room..giant screens...white boards...fat markers...the rectangular table...my colleagues with their questioning glances, busy taking down notes...and me standing on one end of the room...alone... trying to prove myself desperately...what am i trying to prove?

Please do not post your comments for this one...its just one of my weird vent out posts....Guess I'll delete it soon...

...

2009-11-01T03:21:00.000-08:00

"We used to walk down by the river
She loved to watch the sun go down
We used to walk along the river
And dream our way out of this town
No one understood what I felt for Mary
No one cared until the night, she went out walkin all alone
And never came home..."
Hazard-Richard Marx

Its almost evening.. pale twilight sneaks into my room...music continues...My bed neatly done...pages of an unread book aimlessly flutters...The mirror with wooden frames reflects the last rays of sunset...The grey shadows kiss the dark walls...

The sky drenched in amber...birds on their way home... shops well lit...street lights glittered, though it was not yet dark...The air had a strange fragrance...it smelled of evening...the crowded streets looked empty...cars moved monotonously on the tarred stetch ahead...Far across the tall highrises blinked in the evening light... crisp air, rusty street lights and a cold evening, draped the city...

Ramblings...

2009-10-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Its almost midnight...I'm home...Pink walls..lampshades...mirrors...Music as usual...

My gtalk blinks with irrelevant unwanted messages..."Instablogs:Latest News"..."Best Forwards of the Year"..."Date with Kylie Minogue"...

I wanted a lazy Saturday ...But I was out for almost the entire day...My day started with usual coffee... mailbox...music...resolutions to clean my room and not living up to it...

930 am...North Calcutta with baba: The cab made its way through the bylanes and cobwebbed alleys...Red brickwalls...narrow lanes... porticos...the colonial hangover... the vintage smell...North Calcutta was waking up to a bright sunny Saturday...Smell of tea wafted from the streets...

An occasional halt near College Street- the hub of quintessential book lover and bearded antels... It took its turn around Shovabazaar... amidst snazzy hoardings Shovabazaar still retained the charm of its palatial mansions...

Passed through Boubazaar lined with the jewellery shops ...noted for their exquisite craftsmanship...And finally crossed Surya Sen Street with its ever crowded Putiram that reminds me of my college days and my regular excursions to Boi para...

The grand old Medical College on one end of the road has special memories for me...I often came here with Maa...I was a kid back then when Ma pointed out to a staircase in Medical College and said..."Oi dekh...oikhane Saptapadi-r shooting hoechilo"...I watched Saptapadi much later... The movie still reminds me of that staircase...

My cab got stuck near Amherst Street...Amherst Street and Mahatma Gandhi Road is lined with surma and band party shops... Mehboob...Roshan ... famous band parties of yesteryears... these musical groups clad in the brightest of colors--red , green, orange, performed in various social gatherings back in 18th and 19th century... However with music systems flooding the market, the melodious memories of the band party are almost extinct...Their dusty old drums, trumpets, saxophones, clarinets still echoes the musical melodies of "Le Jayengey Le Jayengey...dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge" or "Meri Pyari Bahenia banegi dulhania"...

Baba stayed in a rented apartment in College Street during the 70s...He showed me the buildings, streets, sweet shops he frequented...Nostalgia had draped us all over...

I came back home...I got a haircut today though it looks almost the same...

Around 4...I headed for Esplanade...Located in the hub of Calcutta, Esplanade still manages to reflect the ancient charm... The Cottage Industry building and the palatial Oberoi Grand overlooks the city's busiest area... During the days of Warren Hastings, Esplanade was considered as the promenade for ‘elegant walking parties’.

From Dostoevsky's Idiot to Nike shoes to Kashmiri shawls to ornate photoalbums, Esplanade is the hub of all confused tourists, aimless travelers and the shopaholics....

Years back when I was a kid I walked through these streets tagged along with my folks...We went to New market quite often...I still remember the name of a shop called Strawberry...My fashion statement in those years was largely dominated by this brand...

My sister was a cricket fanatic those days...Whenever the huge tourist bus carrying the cricketers stood in front of Oberoi Grand...she jostled with the crowd to get one glimpse of Imran Khan or Viv Richards...I joined her too...I pushed the crowd...tried to make way for her...But back then I really had no clue about Imran Khan or cricket!

During my college years I used to visit Esplanade during film festivals for that quick matinee show in Globe or New Empire....

It was evening in Esplanade...The sepia toned streets in front of Oberoi stretched towards the flyover... lined with usual cabs, busy pedestrians and cars...I hopped into one of the them..."Camac Street jaben dada?"

I do not have any memories about Camac Street...I never knew about Camac Street before college...I discovered Pantaloons and West Side much later in my life...However Coffee Pai in Camac Street was one of my favorite place...They made a special coffee with brownie, cookies and ice cream...

I dont like Camac Street much...The smell of Paw Bhaji, Bhelpuri and pop corns, somehow adds to my disgust...and may be the crowd...it makes me claustrophobic...

My day ends with Forum Elgin Road...A snazzy shopping mall in the heart of the metropolis... The MAC counter with glamorous sales personnel...The Burberry perfume counter eagerly waiting for your response, "Perfumes Ma'm"...Lakme counter promise that perfect make over for you...Shopper's Stop ...airconditioned...moderately crowded...Levis mannequins posed to perfection...The line of eateries in Burpp which exudes a strange smell...Its a combination of Dosa meets Kebab meets Manchurian...

Its 830....I'm walking out of Forum...My day almost ends here..I'm feeling sleepy...

I'm back home...had dinner....and my regular dose of reality tv...And yet another day ends amidst memories and moments...

...

2009-10-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

And then it was November... the crisp autmn wind kissed her face and stray strands of brown hair... She was walking down the empty street...busy creating a collage... a collage of images... reflections..

She loves this time of the day.... she ponders over every little conversation, moments, time that passed by... words that she loved... moments she wished she could wipe away...moments that she will cherish forever...

The image of the overdressed woman in the elevator...screaming managers... the shy new entrant... the glass highrise... the sound of the keyboard... chat windows...messages...phone calls...lunch boxes... onsite, offshore, promotions...projects..clients...headfones with the same music over n over again... restroom gossip...smiles... glances...

It was just a few minutes back...she was a part of all this... and now she is on her way home.. dust kissed shoes... smell of wild flowers...unfinished concrete structures... she was alone...away from the usual histrionics...

Yet another day ends in her life... another collage of innumerable images and reflections ...another walk down this road... she looks back... the overbearing highrise stands far behind in the middle of nowhere...

Theres an emptyness all around...theres a void deep inside... wish she could give words to it...

"I rent a room and I fill the spaces with

wood in places to make it feel like home

but all I feel's alone...

It might be a quarter life crisis or just the stirring in my soul

Either way, I wonder sometimes

about the outcome

of a still verdictless life"

...

2009-10-15T04:44:00.001-07:00

Office looks dull and empty...my cubicle is deserted...The skyline looks beautiful from this 10th floor highrise...I'm sipping the tasteless coffee... the usual sounds of the keyboard around...

I unlocked my treasure chamber today...It makes a weird screeching sound everytime...Guess its old like me...

A boquet of white flowers gently stacked inside... the flowers have almost withered... the white petals have turned pale with time...the leaves almost yellow and crisp...the white satin ribbons that carefully wrapped the roses looked greyish...I look at them often... I touched them like everyday...White roses from Scarbrique... a small town somewhere in Europe...

A boquet of white roses....Roses that smelt of lonely nights,teardrops, love and longing...it smelt of moments that were lost long back in the passage of time...it smelt of moonlit nights on a deserted beach...of footprints washed away by the waves of time...moments treasured...moments of eternal wait...moments of an inevitable end...

The girl who sits in my cubicle received these flowers a month back from a far away friend...She never took them home... She stacked them in my cupboard...
I don't really know how it feels when someone sends you flowers.... but these white roses will be special always...

Fair n lovely

2009-09-30T20:01:00.000-07:00

"Mirror, Mirror on the wall...who' s the fairest of them all?" the mirror replied: "You, my queen, are fairest of all"---

Rini stood under the shower... Water dripped from her face washing the traces of eyeliner that kissed her pan caked face... Her heavy Bangalore silk lay crumpled on the floor... The black satin petticoat was thrown on the bed...Rini had tried her best...She had put on a layer of compact on her dusky skin to make it fairer...She had worn the puffed blouse to make her look more fuller and the high snazzy stilletos to make her more taller...

They carefully scrutinized Rini...They whispered in front of her..."Ektu Kalo"... They checked her petite structure: "Boddyo Roga"..."Sareetai bhalo..."

As they left Rini stood in front of the mirror...she looked at her face for the last time... The mirror seemed to laugh at her imperfections... the make up, the grime, the dirt had covered her face... the drops of black tears left their impression on her dusky skin... Her smudged eyes bore the pain of rejection...

She screamed:"Mirror, Mirror on the wall...who' s the fairest of them all?" the mirror never replied...

American Pie

2009-09-11T02:58:00.001-07:00

Anasua Sen looked outside the glass window... She looked almost like her...

Manhattan looked beautiful in autmn...The warm rays of the setting sun glittered on the Hudson waterbed... Busy New Yorkers returned to their homes...The Hudson River Park looked beautiful during the fall... Draped in fiery red and orange it is visited by colorful residents as well as their avian friends... Far beyond, the tall skyscrappers kissed the November sky...

Anasua Sen was a Saggitarian... Her father was a history teacher in the local school and her mother a homemaker... First time it was from Baba she heard about America...

America the land of rich, famous and successful...America the land of glitter and sunshine...From her distant cousin Tublu to her neighbor's handsome brother in law all had headed for the West back then...People basked in the glory of their NRI sons and daughters...

Anasua grew up listening to George Michael, Elvis, watching Clint Eastwood, reading Sidney Sheldon... Her favorite subject was American Literature... During her graduation days most of her friends had left for US---GRE, TOEFL, job offers, NRI husbands....

She had an arranged marriage... An arranged 'NRI' marriage.. It started with the usual grilling session... Her parents carefully selected the prospective grooms... Rejection was quite common and expected--Astrological equations featured as the number one rejection criteria... Saturn, moon, sun, mercury all needs to be perfect before the grand Bong wedding...

Anu dressed up everytime..Anu expected everytime...Sarees, bindis, kajal, polished nails, blush on...and she was made to sit before them...From Pickwick Papers to Pabda Shorshe, Hater Kaaj to height... The discussions were endless as the would be grooms and their entourage minutely intersected her...

But Srijit's family was a bit different... Srijit tall, handsome and extremely submissive worked as a software professional in Manhattan...The families liked each other... They married in October... Anu on her wedding night dreamt of Times Square as they made love for the first time...

A week later Anu took the flight to US... At the airport all the teary eyed relatives bid farewell to Anu... As Anu waved her hand from the far end of the busy airport terminal, her father's eyes glittered overbrimmed with moist memories...

Srijit lived in Washington Heights in Manhattan...His apartment was not typically what Anu had dreamt of.. It was a messy studio apartment in Washington Heights... The neighborhood was not quite over friendly...

Srijit was unusually quiet for the first few days...Most of the time, he preferred to stay out of home... Anu felt strange...Everytime Srijit said it was office, work pressure...

It was around 3 months, and after much persuasion, he agreed to take Anu for sightseeing that weekend... Their day started with Empire State Building.. she had heard about this building from Baba, long back when she was a kid... She had asked "Baba ota ki Ranu Pishir barir thekeo boro?"...Her father laughed at her curious innocence... "Dhur boka, Ranu Pishi to chartolay thake!"
Srijit took her to Central Park that day... they visited the grand Belvedre Castle that overlooked the Delacorte... They enjoyed an open air performance at the Delacorte with the Turtle Pond at the backdrop... It was evening, the air was crisp... Anu snuggled in Srijit's arms...but he still seemed lost...

In the evening they reached the glitzy Times Square... The glamor wrapped theater district of the city, draped in neons, giant billboards, snazzy lights... She told Srijit: "Amader Park Street er moton tai na"...Srijit smirked... Anu laughed at her own innocence...

Anu missed home some days... She called up Baba... Her innocent excitement, her loneliness, touched the heart of Mr. Sen, sitting miles away from Manhattan..."Bhalo achis to maa?" was all he could manage to say...

Anu did the grocery, cooking and cleansing... Srijit told her not to explore the area, as it was quite unsafe... Sri used to be out for most of the days and often nights... Overtime at office...His job was quite hectic...

There were days and weeks when he hardly spoke to Anu.. At home he kept to himself... Anu shouted, screamed cried and at the end teary eyed and helplessly lost, she coiled on one end of the bed... She dreamt of home...

Anu sent picture postcards and letters to her family back in Calcutta... She scribbled li'l tit bits on their back...Pictures of Empire State Building, Times Square, Statue of Liberty, cruise photos... Her Baba proudly displayed them to the curious relatives...boasted about Anu's fast lifestyle in US...."Ekhaner moton akdom na" was something they all agreed in unison...

America was truly beautiful.. Glitz, glamor, fast lifestyle, snazzy shopping malls... But Anu was not allowed to step out of the house... There were days when Sri did not go to office... He spent the whole day at home...

Srijit's behavior was strange... He did not allow Anu to leave the house....He was often suspicious, violent and had strange withdrawal symptoms... There were nights when Anu saw the man fully awake and staring at her...There were days when Anu got beaten up...

Anu was scared... Anu felt terribly alone ...Anu called her in laws in Calcutta after 8 months...

Srijit Sengupta was the eldest son of Rajani Sengupta... His father had retired from a clerical job... Srijit had completed his diploma in Computer Science and with the help of an uncle he had headed for the West in search of a job ... He wanted to make it big...The West had lured him like everyone else... Srijit for a first few months worked as a car mechanic, contractual labor, security guard at some skincare company and so on... He was desperate to get a good job but he failed to do so...Back home, the parents unknowingly boasted about their son... Srijit hated to reveal the truth to his folks... He loved this false glory...However his anxieties overpowered his false fantasies...

Srijit came back home during a vacation.. His condition had worsened...He had withdrawn himself into a shell... The doctor back in India diagnosed it as Schizophrenia.... The family astrologer prescribed "a good marriage" as the only way out... Srijit was married to Anu...

It was November... Anu had already applied for a divorce...Their relationship had reached its fag end... Anu had to come back...Her big American dream had died a sudden death...

She sipped her Christmas blend Starbucks coffee for one last time...That evening she went to Times Square... Thousands of people, snazzy neons, glamor and glitter all over... But Anu felt cold and terribly alone....There were strangers all around.. Strangers who were busy...strangers who were a part of this glamor and glitter and strangers who made her realize her isolation every moment...

She clicked pictures beside the neon lit billboards in Times Square that night...The crisp autmn wind was cold... It was her last night in Manhattan...

Its been 3 years or more...Anu works in the US Embassy in Calcutta... She works in the Verfication Department... Everyday she gets to meet a number of newly married NRI women who have applied for their Visas... Their eyes full of expectations and excitement... Innocence smudged in their vermillion smeared forehead...

Srijit Sengupta is in an asylum in Calcutta... He still dreams of becoming an NRI software bigshot...Anu got her divorce, a year back.... Next vacation she has planned to take her parents to Mussoorie... Mississipi does not haunt Anu in her dreams anymore...

But there are some autmn nights when Anu looks at the secretly treasured Times Square photographs... Anu relives that autmn evening, the neons and the glitter, the smell of perfume, black tuxedos, sexy stilettoes, Starbucks coffee... She looks out of her rented apartment in Behala...
The autmn sky looks different... The wind is crisp yet warm...

Errr...

2009-08-26T05:35:00.000-07:00

I'm somehow pissed today. I dunno why or may be I know! Just cant bitch about it on the blog. Why do we always have to maintain this"Its Ok" face when nothin is ok...nothin is really working and u still have to say"Ya I'm fine"...

Bunk it...As if I care... But I dunno may be I do , thats why I'm like this...

Its raining outside. I can feel it. I can't see it though.Thanks to the shaded glass windows in my office.... They are sepia toned... Well sepia is my favorite...but right now I hate everything.. everything around me...

My notepad looks terribly silly with different irrelevant faces sketeched all over.....Thanks to my extraordinary artistic skills...
The phone beeps: "Vodafone brings special bonus cards for you!" It seems they will offer bonus cards with extra talktime on my funeral as well...

At the other corner... typically "working hard, dedicated and dont disturb me" kinda looks... God save them from this mundane life...I've seen them bitch and smile too...but thats once in a blue moon...the conversation is so god damn technical...the only thing you can manage to do is smile while you think"God what was that"! Nerds!
I've discreetly opened this document and I'm just keyboarding...I'm desperate right at this moment...I want to talk to someone...No one's available...

Hey but theres something that makes me smile...I have a coffee date in the evening..Barista Blast and brownie with icecream... Thats why someone said something about clouds and silver lining... Well silver lining and brownie!!@# No then make it brown with lotsa chocolate sauce...

Corporate

2009-08-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

They come in the best of their formal wear in tune with the latest fashion... Their ears jammed with headfones switching from chartbusters to client calls... They get into the swanky elevators with other tagged professionals... They reach their respective floors, swipe their yellow red blue I cards...
They enter into their snazzy workstations, switch on their machines... Their cubicles decorated with memorabilia that reflects a part of their personal identity, thats the only space to "show off" your personal taste...

Women head for the washrooms.... The touch ups continue... Finally they add the last coat of lipstick and exchange pleasant glances... and another day starts

It starts with exploring the over flooded mailbox... Forwards, junks, irrelevant information, missed conversations, deadlines, failure to meet deadlines, unimportant events and so on...

Then its work, intercepted with regular bitching sessions... These bitching sessions are almost endless... It completes a full circle always--A to B to C and back to A and the saga continues.... What goes around comes around...

Well if you are curious about the subject of conversations well it can range from your appearance, lifestyle, your wardrobe, your personal life to your so called corporate character... Criticism is a stress buster for the modern day corporates... In case you don't criticise, you are way behind the bandwagon... So play on fellows... join the group...

Apart from bitching another game is "mud slinging"... In the middle of a conversation, just spot your prey and make him/her the laughing stock to boost your ego... If your prey is insignificantly submissive, it surely adds to the pleasure quotient... sadistic pleasure? no not at all.....its all about taking a break!

And while doing all this, never forget to blow the trumpets... Shout scream speak... the louder the noise, more easily you will be heard...

Well after the usual sessions of bitching, smirking and over indulgently oiling..Its again back to work and slogging hard... At the fag end of the day as they leave their workstations in their crisp formal wear, they are tired, back to their own lives, exploring the left overs of their personal space...

Exhausted, drained out, unbuttoned shirts, a quick splash under the shower, kohl smudged eyes--- they are all heroes...Bruised and battered heroes borne out of everyday mundane struggle, humiliation, pain, success and failure...Some win, some lose and some give up... but the urge to get to the top continues... the urge to dethrone is carefully nurtured by all of them every single day...

In the end the tired soul, stressed out with the tough battles of life, comes back to its cocoon...

And again yet another day begins amidst airconditioned cubicles, amidst deadlines, amidst the rat race....the heroes fight it out again...

Crash...

2009-08-20T10:38:00.000-07:00

The blurred glass windowpanes wore a shade of grey. The empty coffee mug stained with the brown elixir stood on the bedside table. Pages from an unread book, her newly bought tees, her blue comb were scattered on the bed... Her dressing table was cluttered as usual... junk neckpiece, tribal earrings, safetypins, make up kits, broken edges of kohl and over used bindis sticking on the mirrror...

On the other end of the room, the books were stacked ... Her jeans was hanging from one end of the chair as it legs almost kissed the marble floor... The Denvers, Floyds and Jovis were all piled up... She loved this disorganised flavor about her room...
Her cellphone was lying on the bed as well... No one ever saw the phone as it was always sticking to her ears... Her huge leather bag was almost like a portable curio shop... from age old movie tickets to long forgotten bills all were stuffed inside... She carried a wallet always which had a photograph, a letter from Riju and her driving license...

Riju's flight had almost reached.... They would be meeting after a long time... She was speeding through Bypass... And it was then she saw the yellow cab at a distance...

The asphalt road was smeared with blood, a few confused shrieks over and there, shattered pieces of glass, a curious crowd, the monotonous whistle of an ambulance, her huge leather bag on one end, the overbearing smell of disinfectant in the morgue....

"Rash Driving kills woman"-- the headlines on one insignificant corner of the Monday newspaper had a few lines about the accident.

15th Aug' 2009

2009-08-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

Woke up early morning... switched on the television.... our independent spirit was in full swing by then... the Prime Minister's speech, music channels blaring out patriotic chartbusters, the Indian flag all over my television...sms-es poured in wishing "happy independence day" ....

Loooked out of my balcony... the para club had got some dusty faded string of paper flags .... they were busy decorating the club premises with the national flag (keeping the ma mati oops trinamool colors aside)...

Switched on the radio...The RJs aimlessly blabbered on..."whats the meaning of independence for you".... listeners, over enthusiastic callers sang in patriotic songs, criticized corruption, praised our freedom fighters and finally hanged up after being assured of food vouchers and discount coupons...

Flipped the pages of the newspaper... Mother dairy had released its tri color ice cream named "Swad Desh"---Glanced at the page 3 sections... celebs sporting the whitest of the white had celebrated pre Independence party at some infamous pub...

Went to the nearest multiplex to buy tickets of Kaminay for the Sunday show... The mall was over crowded at 11 in the morning.... From sniffer dogs to sniffer bitches!.... School kids, teenagers, love birds, socialites, hot babes, ma mashi dada boudi .... sporting the best of their kurtas, sarees, salwar kameez and to top it all the miniature national flag sticking on to them as the icing on the cake...

All the shops offered 50% discount to celebrate independence day... from United colors of Benetton, Tommy Hilfiger, Levis or Victoria's Secret.... all were a part of the Indian independence... and the music which played at the backdrop was none other than Lata Mangeshkar's "Vande Mataram".... tri color baloons, tri color sarees, tri color kurtas... independence smeared all over....

While coming back... got stuck in a terrible jam... the ruling party had organized a reddish tri color procession... celebrating independence and abusing the opposition in its own way!

Back home, sipped my cola and back to my television....Channels were busy flashing SRK's humilation at the airport while wannabe pg 3 ites shared the space to voice out their grievances at different airports in the world!!!! US inconsideration, racial discrimination again highlighted at its peak with independence at the backdrop...

15th August' 1942:
A woman in her mid 30s had walked 10 miles, just to get a glimpse of Bapu... She would be meeting Mahatma for the first time...She was a middle class housewife of 1940s in rural Bengal. A mother of five, married at a very young age, she was deeply moved by Gandhiji's fiery speech. She wanted to do her bit for the nation......
Her gold bangles were the only ornaments that were left..... She had saved them for her elder daughter's marriage....She touched Bapu's feet and handed it over to him....Her eyes were moist as Bapu blessed her.... She dreamt of an independent India someday....

I live in an independent India...

Happy Independence!

.....

2009-06-18T05:43:00.001-07:00

And 2mrw is my favorite day of the week ....

Techtalk

2009-06-16T22:57:00.000-07:00

After I completed my post graduation in Mass Communication, all I wanted to be was the next cropped hair Barkha Dutt spending stormy nights in Jammu Kashmir war camps or interviewing Shahrukh Khan in glossy airconditioned comfort! But as fate would have it, Peter Grainge overpowered Barkha Dutt in the long run!

After a few years of my short stint in freelancing, copywriting and content writing, I finally ended up as a Technical Writer. Well before this job, I really had no clue about technical writing, nor I had the slightest idea that where this would lead to. But as they say, Capricorns (goats) have a tremendous sense of belief in their career decisions.

During my content writing days, I received a job offer as a technical writer from a reputed multinational. The job offer came with a huge role description (people were really sure of my knowledge in this area!). The role description was almost Hebrew at that point.

With my limited knowledge, the day before the interview, I tried to do a small research on tech writing over the Internet. I really did not know where to start. There were a number of sites which had loads of information related to tech writing. But as luck would have it, I ended up reading a blog named “Tina the technical writer”. I was so interested in Tina that I did not waste my time in reading anything else. Alas! Tina was of no help!

The next day I went for the interview all dressed up. There was a round of security checks, which made me look like the next Osama in town. After waiting for sometime, I heard someone calling my name.

After all these years, I can hardly recollect the questions or the answers, but I still remember that someone had asked, “Do you know how to make Table of Contents?” I was feeling almost blank at that point but that did not stop me. There was a quick reply from my side: “Well of course I know. You have to write the content and then you arrange it in a table!”

Well I will not blabber any more about my profound knowledge in this area but creating a TOC was the most memorable lesson in my tech writing career!

Notebook

2009-06-15T00:07:00.000-07:00

“Let it grow, let it grow. Let it blossom, let it flow. In the sun, the rain, the snow. Love is lovely, let it grow.”

She looked at the notebook again. He had scribbled those lines years back. The worn out pages of this notebook was all that was left. It treasured a few scribbled thoughts here n there, scattered in the whirlwind of time.

He had called her after all these years. He wanted to meet. She was in a dilemma.

She came to office that day. She looked into the mirror. 10 years ---a long time. Once a petite 20 year old she has now turned into a married 30-ish woman. Her day starts with making scrambled eggs, dropping her kids to school, driving to her workplace and at night reading books as Vipul dozes off to sleep after taking a drink.

Her life was going on, when one late summer afternoon he called her. The images flashed again. How she waited for him for hours at the bus stop desperate to let him know, but he never turned up.

His voice sounded strange after all these years. He said he wanted to meet her. She was curious, excited. She thought for a while and then she called him.

She took a half-day from office. She got an Eric Clapton for him from the bookstore. She spent an hour at the beauty parlor, desperate to reduce those fine lines, those strands of grey here ‘n there and get rid of that tanned tropical look.

It was 6 in the evening. A busy Rashbehari crossing. She came out of the parlor. There was a lump in her throat. She was nervous. She looked at the watch. Its time to give him a call. Is he waiting for her? How does he look? Will he look at her in the same way as he used to years back, during her college days…She remembered every li’l detail, every late night conversation they had…

She finally dialed the number. It was busy. God! He must be calling her. She dialed again. The monotonous ring tone on the other side and then that voice picked up. She said “Ki re byasto khub? Dekha korbi bolechili”

He replied: “Oh tui… na re aj ektu byasto achi…aj hobena…some other time may be…
He uttered the same thing years back after she waited hours for him…

Mrs. Bose looked at her watch. Vipul will be home soon. It was time …Her lipstick was feeling sticky... She was drained out after a tiring day at office...Time to get back to her life… Time to get back to her world... The some other time never comes… Their time never came…

Eternal Wait

2009-06-08T10:07:00.000-07:00

It was a busy Monday morning...The vehicles queued up near AJC Bose Road.. honked monotonously to reach their destination...tagged professionals inside air conditioned comfort, sweating salesman in jam packed buses and uniformed children dragging the burden of life on their shoulders....set for another day...

It was then I looked at the blue whitewashed mansion on the other side of the road.... I saw them... Sitting on the balcony, listlessly staring at the busy scheduled lifestyle where they once belonged....

It was only a few days ago they were a part of this world. They had to meet deadlines, walk through the air conditioned corridors, engage in corporate power plays, or were busy preparing lunch boxes for their husbands and kids...it was just a few years back they were busy in their own world...It was only a few days ago they were carrying their school bags and they had started for school..Their tiny fingers gently clutched daddy's warm hands...It was only a few years back they had their crushes.... It seemed just a few moments back when they had exchanged sweet notes with their loved ones... It was all there...It seemed just a like a moment that has faded away in the blue distant horizon...

Now with wrinkled vision and parched lips they sit motionless in the blue balconies of St. Johns old age home... Life has pushed them to an edge which is beyond schedules...Its just an eternal wait for them as the clock ticks in an off hand way...

....

2009-05-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

Its just nothing that makes me bloggy tonite... I want to write something but not sure abt what... My face right now is greased with sweat, I have kohl smudged eyes and the lipstick has faded leaving a sticky feeling on my parched lips.... I was just watching Forrest Gump as Tom Hanks waited for his bus....then I surfed and shifted to "Fashion" ---Piggy Chops enacting the typical small town girl turning into a wannabe...then I moved on to DD 1 where some odd girls draped in horrible junk printed syntheic sarees, sporting white flowers on their bouffaunts(hope the spelling is right!) have participated in a weird fashion show!!! The judge is some known face small time actor who is asking typical age old questions like "Whats the definition of a proper human being"...Bullshit...God knows why beauty contest winners have to go through this ordeal! thats y i'm not there ;)

Finally when television seemed utterly frustrating I switched onto Orkut...the same old stuff...A list of updates which shows happy couples, friends stuffing their album with onsite memorabilia, people adding God knows what videos, people updating their profile...and a few boring scraps and friend requests: "Will you be my friend" ....
I opened my Gmail....My mailbox is loaded with forward mails like "A puzzle foryou" "Congrats, you've won $25000", " kinda mails...occassionally intercepted by "A has scrapped you" "B has tagged you" "C has sent you a friend request" "D f*d u"

Then I became bloggy...I wanted to write...But nothing came on my mind... I read the blogs by my fellow bloggers: God I stand nowhere... so whats the point of blogging!

So now I feel like calling up someone...I dont feel like blogging nemore....Lets c some other time may b.... God knows what I want...real "beauty contest" question in my life....!!!!

Of them, by them, for them

2009-05-10T10:05:00.000-07:00

Its that time of the year when the temperatures are soaring to 45 degrees, when the sweating citizens are looking for a breath of fresh air, when the Met Department responsibly spreads the news of approaching Norwesters almost everyday which finally God knows why gets drifted towards Bangladesh, with us being in the same boiling state as ever...during this Sweltering heat and rising temperatures, my country is going in for elections....
Well if you didnt know how elections really looked in this part of the world then lemme just give you a sneak peek into it.... Elections and summer seasons have somehow become synonymous... Every summer you'll find these impeccably starched dhoti kurta or saree clad politicians at every alley or bylane tearing their lungs out...this is the only time you can get to see them...

Genocides, Water issues, industry lockouts, jobs, tax---well almost every issue is seriously handled by them in their stirring public speeches...From hurling abuses to towards the opposition to wearing the most ordinary clothes, titillating "with the masses" sentiment, they are skilled actors of this trade...

Come April or May, these politicians are happily engaged in their task of spreading their same old party mantra door to door through pamphlets, leaflets,---- Red or blue, yellow or orange these party symbols come in different shapes...almirah, lanterns, sickles, flowers, lions, tigers, deftly painted on the white washed walls of your building...Graphitis are popular in this region.... just another expression of their democratic right...

Currently my para is decorated in orange and green as you can guess intercepted with red sickles. Every other evening, when I'm drained out in this sweltering heat, I enter my para which almost looks like a circus decorated with giant hoardings cashing on the poor fate of Nandigram, highlighting Tapasi Mallik's loss, Nano, Industry, ...each of them in their own way continue to tickle the regional sentiments....

Traffic jams are really common during this time as our netas are more concerned about larger issues than mere traffic jams... Every corner of the road is blocked by the maniac processions shouting "bande mataram"--well patriotism redefined at every turn of the road---

The television also plays its role in the elections... encouraging not only to vote but whom to vote as well... Naming specific parties different ad campaigns are launched to encourage the masses... The celebrities join in to encourage the young India to vote....However I have my strong doubts that how many of these pancaked page 3 socialites brave the april sun to cast their votes... (that was cynical me!)

As this frantic fanaticism continues for days, elections knock the door. We finally go to the polling booths, we vote(unless its already being casted by someone else)...and then the television continues on this boring post poll news for days... and finally someone gets the most coveted seat of power...and then.... it goes on...

corruption, bribery, jobloss, taxes, terrorism, power cuts continue till the next elections until you again get to see our starched articulate well wishers... Until this festival in the world's largest democracy is organised again.... Till then.... happy voting!

I need sleep!!!

2009-04-23T21:56:00.000-07:00

I hate everything around me now…I’m sitting in an empty cubicle…I don’t know the people around me…The cubicle has boring shades of pink and green…. It has a number of yellow post its clutching its green background….An empty lavender bottle…A black fat phone…And a boring me!!!

I’m not in a mood to work… its Friday…My guy is pissed with me for God knows what…The temperature outside is enough to boil eggs as well as human beings…. …. My liquid lipstick is constantly sticking to my teeth…look at me ….voila! pink teeth on a hot sultry summer morning… I’m bored…Someone’s playing Bryan Adams somewhere…I need some sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep….

Looking Back...

2009-02-24T23:16:00.000-08:00

It was way back in the 80s, when people like me who have almost fossilized on this earth were born, when life was all about Nirma Washing Powder ads, the glittering sparkle in Rajus pearly white teeth and the energy tonic—Hamdard Ka Sinkara…

Life in 80s and the beginning of 90s was untouched by the glitz and glamour of the Page 3 parties or the snazzy shopping malls…Entertainment was restricted to family picnics and occasional biye baris with a rare few Chunnu Munnus(those were the common names!) getting to celebrate their big birthdays…

Chitrahaar was the only Bollywood show we got to watch amidst much restriction ( my dad was against anything “Hindi”)… Chitrahaar was our key to Bollywood on those days…On every Wednesday we were glued to the tv set to watch the same old gyrating moves by Mithun, Jayaprada’s nagin style dance moves(with the dafli as a prop!) and Mr. Bachhan of cors …

We were never allowed to watch Hindi films when we were young… My first movie was way back in 1984 when I was a toddler…The film as I remember was Ghare Baire screened at our very own intellectual hub Nandan…Well the experience was not interesting at all… the moment I saw Miss Gilby(Jennifer Kendall) was injured I almost screamed out aloud and I just went on... As my parents were forced to leave the auditorium (thanks to me), a few self proclaimed intellectuals commented: “Boita Bojheni Bodhoy!”(my mom never took me to Nandan for the next 10-15 years)

Life in 80s was about watching television ads…The boring specs clad newscasters had already made the television unbearable (Sunit Tandon was good however!)…But I loved the ads…As the frilly frocked Nirma girl took turns on the screen even I danced to the same tune in my living room…. I still remember the catchline: Wah Raju tumhare dant to motiyo jaise chamak rahe hain….Well well you guessed it right the credit entirely goes to Dabur Lal Dant Manjan! It was during this kiddish family oriented advertisements Alyque Padamsee’s Liril ad raised much furor in the industry….Well who would really want to see a bathing Indian beauty considering our age old Talibanistic oops hypocrite Indian taboos… But Liril surely managed to capture the hearts of the Desi Girls back then…

My first Hindi film however was Maine Pyar Kiya in 1991…That was really an experience which I’ll never ever forget….When my life had turned almost black and white thanks to Ray and Hollywood classics there it was Rajashri pictures coming to my rescue with Salman Khan!!!! I was oh so used to the quintessential Bong look thanks to Soumitra and occasional Uttam Kumar stuff…this seemed to be a unique respite! For the first time I was introduced to glittery song dance and masala filled Bollywood oozing of passion, love, family values and separation and again boy meets girl story…I became an instant Salman fan ….

However 80s reminds me of something really unique and special…. The radio…The 80s radio was about the Bibidh Bharati which hosted shows like Bhule Bisre Geet and Aap ki Farmaish….Back then after our dinner as me and didi cuddled up in our beds we secretly switched on the radio…. There was a show called Aap ki Farmaish---Just like any other request show the presenter read the long list of requestors first and played their favorite song….There was a strange mystery in the names and the places where they belonged….”Subba sing from Badaun zila Rampur, Hawaldar Ram Pandey from Jammu, Suneeta, Santosh aur Tibbu from Latur”….The list seemed to be endless and we went off to sleep during that impeccable list reading session….But often looking at the night sky I thought, what is Subba Singh doing now when his favorite song “Chandan sa Badan” is being played at the dead of the night; is Hawaldar Ram Pandey from Jammu really listening to the song amidst the cold wintry Jammu night on a far away border post…Did they hear their names on the radio....As if I could visualize their lives through their names…the list went on and on….

My 80s was all about emotions, mystery, restrictions, frilly frocks, Mile Sur Mera Tumhara, Udaan, Humlog….It was about pastels, sketch pens and stone stickers…it was about my plaited hair uniformed childhood, it was about my didi and me, and about so many things which is lost in the passage of time...

As Cesare Pavese had rightly said…We do not remember days; we remember moments…These are some of the precious and cherished moments of my life!

Jay Ho...

2009-02-23T22:01:00.000-08:00

And the Oscar goes to…By the time you are going through this crappy blog you might have read hundreds of articles, watched innumerable newsclips and discussed at length about the Academy Awards of this season and the name Slum Dog must have etched a fair mark on your third world grey cells…. So what was it really about slum dog…Was it all about an age old voyeuristic pleasure which the westerners have gained in India’s naked slum life…Or the artistic package which has brought into the foray the lives of the filthy, poor and uncouth slum dwellers of a third world nation or is it all about India’s emerging status in the world map….

Well the Oscars---It seems like the Nobel Prize of the season… did you guys know that the highest degree of cinematic excellence is awarded at the Oscars where films like Titanic are awarded with 11 or oops is it 12 Oscars? …Well the boring, intellectually overburdened grey haired cynical critics have written off Slumdog , and even chooses to keep mum about Smile Pinky…but just like the average Indian, I’m really happy about its success…Whatever be it our Rahman has won the Oscars… Now its our Rahman….oops no more communal colors guys!

Lets look back now at the film which seems to be the flavor of this season... The story of a few slum dwellers of India who grew up amidst the poverty, corruption, filthiness and uncouthness…and finally lives to celebrate the experiences of their life…

So is it just the celebration of life, its experiences or the good wins over the bad philosophy iced with Bollywood boy meets girl theory… well well the critics might be able to explain this better…all I could understand was Danny Boyle’s film was truly made for the Oscars…Where in the world would you find cooped up holes, children covered with shit playing amidst the garbage dens….naked child beggars, garbage vats, slums… what a perfect setting for a third world film which is oh so popular amidst the progressive Westerners…

So let these slums continue to live on the face of grey haired critics…let creative excellence only be achieved through poverty and let Dharavi be haunted by a number of rucksacked red faced “Phoren-ers” who would smirk , grin and shower all their curious western sympathy towards the third world phenomenon…and let all the Indians criticize more and more about slum dog…Coz who would love to see the same old sordid Indian reality again on 35mm….We live with it…We earn Oscars for it….Jay ho!

Slum dogs...

2009-02-22T09:59:00.000-08:00

I was in Park Street the other day...Sitting amidst the red and white decor of KFC, I was happily munching on the crispy chunks of chicken intercepted by casual sips on the chilled cola... It was just then I looked outside... He was sitting idle...Tattered clothes, grease smeared face and a few pennies in his hand.. He was looking inside the restaurant... So many people inside, people hogging on huge pieces of chicken, people watching television and sipping their cola, people exchanging sweet nothings over a brownie sundae... all under the watchful eyes of that little kid...
His eyes wanted it all...Sitting on the other side of the window, it was reality staring at me... Inside the restaurant there were so many happy smiling faces, women with red lipsticks, men with their gelled hair and kids with ice cream smeared faces...But the li'l boy standing outside the window was the only thing that seemed real... As I looked at him I was forced to think, what was life really like at the other side of the window...Beyond our daily corporate power plays, beyond our popcorn soda lifestyle, beyond the glitzy shopping malls, what was life really for them?

In India,everyday we see so many child beggars on the streets...Most of the times you can find their little fingers knocking at your car window pane on a busy traffic... We either end up being sympathetic or just try to snub them for the umpteenth number of time... We go home and criticize the government at coffee table conversations and blame the European film makers for potraying Indian poverty...

But life still goes on for them...They grow up amidst these stuck up traffic jams, they grow up as silent onlookers always on the other side of the window pane...

My billboard dreams...

2009-01-30T22:41:00.000-08:00

The dark blue night smeared with twinlkling crystals covers the concrete skyline... Its another evening...The traffic stands still amidst giant "buy me now" hoardings---flashy and unreal----- unreachable yet so close----

I'm on my way home... the colorful neons which light up the billboards covers the entire stretch of my journey..They promise you a bright future, new home, discounts, more money, more comfort, glittering lifestyle...Stuck in a traffic it gives you a moment to live your dream...and at the next moment you're again under another billboard... Our life is somewhat similar...Our dreams never really end they keep on changing like the flashy giant sized hoardings... So what next "a dream home in south city, the dream car i10, modular kitchen or venetian floors".... live your dream in true billboard style!

Summer of 69

2009-01-10T23:56:00.000-08:00

"Standin' on a mama's porch
You told me it would last forever
Oh the way you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never...."

Its kinda strange the way our feelings are...Even years after you have pushed them in a dark closet, chose to ignore them, pretended as if it never existed ...a quaint forgotten fragrance takes you back where you left them... and when I look back now it still feels the same, its still afresh... and still undefined....but may be its always about moving on...and I have tried moving on...
I dont know whether those were the best days of my life but I'll surely miss being a part of them....
"Oh when I look back now...
That summer seems to last forever...."

Happy New Year People!!!!

2009-01-03T22:30:00.000-08:00

"Jaane Kahaan Le Jaayega
Khwabon Ka Hai Yeh Karvan
Jo Chal Sako Tum Bhi Chalo Yaaron
Apni Hi Dhun Mein Main Chala"

I'm listening to this song...Its from roadies...I dont know but theres a strange mushy smell of friendship, adventure, and bonding in this song which makes me reminisce abt old times I have left behind... Well its 2009 and I have left behind an entire big fat 2008 andI'm still carrying the memories in my backpack... So many things happened...I had innumerable fights with my boyfriend, I almost broke up with one of my friends(well we have patched up again...thanks to the year end gossips!), I moved on beyond my silly crushes... I tried to act mature and ended up being dumb...

2008 was kinda strange when it started...I landed up wth this job in my company where I hardly had any clue wat "technical writing" was all about...It seemed close to rocket science...but now well...its a little less than that thanks to all my seniors and friends...

In 2008 I took some time to get adjusted to my new cliched corporate life... But thanks to a few insane ppl around me...life was better...

2008 was also about making new friends... I met people who were younger than me yet quite focussed, matured and dedicated.. they knew really what they wanted from life...they were sincere towards their passion...I was impressed and pissed "why am I not like them"---well that was only for a moment...and at the next moment I was happy being me....

I goofed up a lot last year...well ask ppl around me...theyll surely admit that...Well it goes both for work as well as relationships...Im sorry guys I messed up... bt then hota hay... this "hota hay" word sounds comforting...

And 2008--- Jesus! all my friends got married!! I'm like depressed with my single status now! Wherever I went it was a friend's wedding where I was showered with the only probable question "so when is yours?" ---All I could do was smile and sport that "god knows" kinda grin.....damn it.... not again!

Apart from this I baked a cake for the first time in my life in 2008...that is surely an acheivement people...and I goofed up in that as well(ask my friends!!)..C'mon guys this is just the first time...

I bought my first digicam in 2008... and thats the best part... My room got a new color...I chose baby pink...and hate the girly look now!!!! cant help!!! Now I just call everyone to my room and force them to say" Ya your room really looks nice" ....What a pain and at all the wrong places...

Well I dont remember anything else that happened... The year passed away with me getting paranoid 100,000 times at every goof up, me getting sissy and sniffy at all the trivial but "extremely important for me " kind of issues, me calling up friends 1000 times just for a good dose of gossip...I'm still doin that....

But lets end this with my well prepared list of resoultions...Here comes the famous few:

Getting fat
Getting sane
Learning to Cook( wait till I bake another cake people!!!)
Spend less( no more foot spas , no more metro plaza every month, no more taking cabs, only bus....i cant keep this im sure!)
Clean the mess in my room every week (Are you kidding me!)
Reduce my phonebill (Gossips only.. nothin else...i swear)
No more silly soppy crushes! enough!( by the way my new neighbor is kinda cute)

And I wont bug you wth my boring blog until I think of a more "meaningful crap"---- Till then Happy 2009!!!

BOOM...

2008-12-05T18:54:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-12-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-11-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-08T11:25:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-11-08T10:39:00.000-08:00

" 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

2008-10-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-06T23:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-28T05:57:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

“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

2008-09-13T21:21:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-08-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-26T05:15:00.000-07:00

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....

2008-07-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-25T21:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-27T20:52:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-06-08T00:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-07T12:53:00.000-07:00

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.....